The Algorithm

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at

http://archiveofourown.org/works/31356278.

Rating:
Explicit

Archive Warning:
Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:
F/M

Fandoms:
Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Draco - Fandom

Relationships:
Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Daphne
Greengrass/Blaise Zabini, Luna Lovegood/Theodore Nott, Neville
Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson, Tracey Davis/Ron Weasley, Mr
Granger/Mrs Granger (Harry Potter), Angelina Johnson/George Weasley

Characters:
Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Ginny
Weasley, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Luna
Lovegood, Daphne Greengrass, Astoria Greengrass, Kingsley
Shacklebolt, Lucius Malfoy, Neville Longbottom, Pansy Parkinson, Terry
Boot, Michael Corner, Teddy Lupin, Andromeda Black Tonks, Parvati
Patil, Justin Finch-Fletchley

Additional Tags:
Forced Marriage, Marriage, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and
Hurt/Comfort, Best Friends, Good Draco Malfoy, Redeemed Draco
Malfoy, Adult Hermione Granger, Adult Draco Malfoy, Adult Harry
Potter, Post-Hogwarts, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Draco Malfoy, Enemies
to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Hermione
Granger/Draco Malfoy, Smut, Fluff and Smut, Shameless Smut, Birthday
 Smut, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Smut, Good Theodore Nott,
Jealousy, Supportive Narcissa Black Malfoy, Light Bondage, Good
Parent Narcissa Black Malfoy, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter
Friendship, Hermione Granger & Ginny Weasley Friendship, Possessive
Behavior, Possessive Draco Malfoy, Possessive Sex, Martial Arts, Kung
Fu, Mutual Pining, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Forced
Relationship, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Murder Mystery,
Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Serial Killers, Death Eaters,
Darkness, Dark Draco Malfoy

Language:
English

Collections:
Alysoun's TBR Pile, I Can’t Have 100+ Tabs Open., Dramione, Books I
want to read, Ongoing fic, Dramoine In Progress, dramione i'll read soon,
Alaskas_Dramione_WIPs, Dramioneotp, WIP but want to read, WIP I'm
waiting😫❣, Back_Burner_Fics, 🐍 Dramione feat. Complete Cast of
Slytherin Babies 🐍

Stats:
Published: 2021-05-17 Updated: 2024-11-28 Words: 697,393 Chapters:
75/?
 The Algorithm
by SamadiW

Summary

The first week, she had gotten horribly drunk every night, crawled in
between the cotton sheets and slept.

Week two and three followed the same way, except the drinking binges
stopped after Harry and Ginny staged an intervention.

Harry shot out in concern, “You have more vodka in your veins than
blood.”

Hermione tried to take the bottle from his hand and hissed, “Malfoy!
Harry, I got fucking Malfoy.”

Harry nodded in understanding and took a long swig from the bottle
firmly in his grasp, “I know it’s disturbing. “

Ginny rolled her eyes and asked the group, “No one’s seen him in
years. Where do you reckon he is?”

Ron placed the bags of Chinese takeout on the counter and glared,
“Yeah, saves me from having to murder the bastard.”

He added knowingly, “I heard he’s living as a Muggle in Russia.”

Harry let out a short laugh, “Probably the most farfetched theory is that
he’s Polyjuiced himself to look like the Muggle Prime Minister.”

Hermione groaned, “For Merlin’s sake, Skeeter hasn’t lost her idiotic
touch then.”

None of the theories mattered. She would not be forced into any sort of
union with Malfoy. The very notion was vile and disturbing, to say the
least.
Notes

I'M BACK WITH ANOTHER STORY! 😍

Why? Because this ship is so damn addictive. 🥰

Marriage Law and much more, I just had to put it down, but please
heed the tag's. There are parts that aren't for everyone.

Again, a BIG THANK YOU for the amazing support and comments
on ALL my stories.

Thank you so much, @spuffycarrie, for coming up with the name and
being awesome. ❤

I love reading reviews because it helps motivate my writing, while

other reviews help me become a better writer.

Disclaimer: These beautiful characters belong to the talented J.K.

Rowling. I have only borrowed them to fuel my soul! 😊

Enjoy Chapter One!

HAPPY READING! 🥰

Translation into Italiano available: The Algorithm by Rose_tortora16

 Chapter 1
Draco Lucius Malfoy.

The name jumped out at her. Black and bold interweaving letters, whoever
wrote it had exceptionally beautiful handwriting. It must have been Stacy
from logistics, stupid bloody cunt. The sadistic woman was jealous of her
position and took every opportunity to remind her that she did not deserve
the prestigious place the Minister trusted her with.

Hermione stared at the parchment with mixed feelings, all anger but
different shades of it; she simply refused to accept her fate. The mere
thought of tolerating Malfoy’s presence was unfathomable.

Clearly, this was some horrible mistake made by The Algorithm. She
wanted to crumple the official piece of paper and chuck it in the bin.
Actually, she did just that, then quickly fetched it out, smoothened out the
heavy creases, tried to erase the tomato sauce stain on the side and fought
the urge to burn it to a crisp.

Three months had passed since she first received the dreaded letter of
doom, and the rage she felt then had not lessened. The first week, she had
gotten horribly drunk every night, crawled between the cotton sheets, and
fallen asleep.

Granted, sleep had evaded her, and she had stared at the ceiling in deep
thought, chewing on her fingernails and contemplating the unfairness of the
situation. Weeks two and three followed the same way, except the drinking
binges stopped after Harry and Ginny staged an intervention.

Harry shot out in concern, “You have more vodka in your veins than
blood.” He watched his best friend stagger into the office sporting tasteful
dark shades to hide her red-rimmed eyes and dark circles around her eyes.

Hermione tried to take the bottle from his hand and hissed, “Malfoy! Harry,
I got fucking Malfoy.” She was in complete and utter denial. Had she not
sacrificed enough for the good of the magical world?

Harry nodded in understanding and took a long swig from the bottle firmly
in his grasp, “I know it’s disturbing." He did not blame Hermione for
feeling the way she did. It was understandable. It was a severe
understatement to say they had a complicated relationship with Draco
Malfoy.

They all needed a bloody drink. Preferably something strong enough to

numb the unequivocal shock they had slipped into.

Harry pointed the bottle at Hermione and softened his tone, “But clearly,
this is not the way to be reacting.”

Ginny advised sternly, “Put your brain to work and find a solution.” She
had never quite seen Hermione behave in such a reckless and foolhardy
manner, which worried her. This was the sort of thing that pushed someone
well over the edge.

Ron grunted as he placed the many bags of Chinese takeout on the counter
and then glared, “Yeah, saves me from having to murder the bastard.” They
had taken a liking to the cuisine some years back while out in Muggle
London, and somehow, the fondness for stir-fried noodles and scrumptious
crunchy spring rolls stuck with them, and they indulged often.

Hermione drunkenly slurred, “Aww, I appreciate the sentiment, Ron.” She

really didn’t, but her ex-boyfriend’s bark was far worse than his bite.

Ginny rolled her eyes and asked the group in general, “No one’s seen him in
years. Where do you reckon he is?” It has been a topic of much discussion
over the years. Still, the only one who knew anything about Draco Malfoy
was his mother. She remained suspiciously quiet about his whereabouts,
leading many to speculate and come to their own scandalous conclusions.
Rita Skeeter, in particular, enjoyed letting her imagination run wild.

Harry shrugged, “Merlin knows. Maybe he won’t show?” One could

certainly hope.
Ron bobbed his head in agreement and, after a moment of thought,
knowingly added, “I heard he’s living as a Muggle in Russia.”

With a roll of her eyes and a frown forming on her pretty face, Ginny said,
“Oh please, never listen to gossip, Ronald.”

Ron shrugged and defended weakly, “What? It came from a reliable

source.” If a random customer to the shop could be considered reliable. He
didn’t know the man at all.

Harry let out a short snort of laughter, “Probably the most farfetched theory
is that he’s Polyjuiced himself to look like the Muggle Prime Minister.” The
notion had been brought to their attention, and Kingsley had discarded it for
being beyond ludicrous.

Hermione groaned, “For fuck’s sake, Skeeter hasn’t lost her idiotic touch
then.”

She plopped herself down on the sofa and held onto her aching head. The
last bloody thing she needed was a throbbing headache.

Harry sat beside Hermione and squeezed her hand reassuringly, “Look, let’s
figure this out, don’t think about it too much.”

Ginny muttered from the corner, “Good luck with that.” It was common
knowledge that Hermione obsessed over matters that others would brush
aside or not bother with a second thought. Still, it was an endearing
personality trait and one that paid off once in a while.

Harry chucked the empty glass bottle in the bin and added seriously, “And
no more drinking!” His tone mirrored his concern.

Hermione pouted and mused, “Fine, take away my happiness, why don’t
you?” She was being a tad bit dramatic, but given the circumstances, could
anyone blame her?

A nervous, shaky voice made it to her ear, “You can marry me instead, and
all this will just go away.” It was put forth so casually that it boggled one’s
mind. Hermione struggled to wrap her head around the abrupt declaration.

Three pairs of eyes turned slowly to stare at the tall man in the kitchen,
taking out the chicken chow mein and mixed seafood noodles from the
large brown paper bag. Ron looked up from his task and caught their
glances of mixed reactions. His features twisted unpleasantly, and he cried
in outrage, “What? I’m much better than the pale-faced prick.”

Not this again, Hermione thought tiredly. Was he fucking bonkers?

Her headache reached an unbearable high. Hermione fought the bile that
rose but managed to keep it down as she composed herself and struggled to
come up with a reasonable retort.

She exhaled, kept her cool, and replied carefully, “Thank you, darling, but
this is not just about Malfoy. I won’t be forced into marrying anyone.” It
was imperative to tactfully handle the situation without needlessly
shattering Ron’s fragile heart to pieces.

Ron wagged a warning finger in her direction and tried to hide his true
feelings on the matter, “Fine, but the offers open if this bloody problem
persists.” He would rather be impaled than watch his beloved walk down to
marry the blonde git.

Harry felt sorry for Ron. It was hard not to feel some compassion for the
obsessed man, but Ginny proved him wrong again by calling out her brother
most harshly, “Will you please get it through your thick skull that it’s over
between Hermione and you.”

Ron pursed his lips and glared at his younger sister. Ginny could be a
heartless, dare he say it, bitch at times.

Harry ignored the snubbed, fuming man pacing around the kitchen, smiled
at Hermione and reassured her, “We will figure this out.”

Hermione grabbed a stuffed teddy bear she kept on her sofa, nuzzled into
the soft fur and hugged it close, “If you say so, Harry.”
In the three following months, she had done everything possible to escape
the grim situation but with no such luck.

The morning she received the letter was your typical morning, but the air
was crisp and cold. She buttoned up and got ready to weather the storm.
However, she had no idea the storm would be raging inside the depths of
her mind for months to come.

Since the passing of the Marriage Act, the Ministry had received praise and
vicious backlash from witches and wizards who were paired up with, in
their words, useless wankers and witless sods.

The Algorithm used to set up the matches was flawless. Never blame or
question the math. It was a vastly complex bit of magic that combined
blood compatibility with mind-boggling calculations that considered every
possible compatibility aspect for a successful marriage and birth of magical
children.

That was the main problem, wasn’t it? It was the reason such a law was
even considered.

The number of magical births had dropped so low that magical folk were
forced to shack up to boost the population.

The majority of Pureblood families were first to voice their outrage at

having to sully their bloodline with half and Muggle-born matches because,
heaven forbid, they widen the bloody gene pool. The others accepted the
terms without fuss and welcomed the union forced upon them by the
Ministry. It was their ideologies that were to be blamed for their current
predicament.

Most Muggle-born witches and wizards accepted their pureblood matches

almost with perverse pleasure. They welcomed an opportunity to show their
worthiness that overshadowed the lack of blood purity. The Ministry was
well prepared for their counterattack.

They sat down with the elders of each pureblood family of the sacred
twenty-eight and determinedly explained and showed them exactly what
their inbreeding had achieved. Still, most remained sceptical and faithful to
their traditional ways. Only when threatened with the alternative of living
as Muggle if they declined to abide by the Ministry’s wishes did they yield
and come to a halfhearted compromise.

Besides producing squib after squib, miscarriages and multiple stillborn

births, the Pureblood families had no more than three healthy births to share
over five years. That was hardly enough to begin repopulating a community
that pureblood dominance had ruined with a madman at the helm.

Hermione, as usual, greeted her enthusiastic, pretty assistant, Brenda, a

feisty, energetic woman in her early twenties who took her job seriously.
She took a sip out of her tall coffee grande and sighed. The cute barista had
added an extra pump of chocolate while she flirted with him mercilessly.
The envelope had been waiting for her, carefully placed on her
immaculately neat table. Hermione stood rooted to the spot and stared at it,
and it stared right back. She was undoubtedly sure that the sealed letter
mocked her. A sinister cackling bounced off the walls of her mind.

Fuck! No, this was a nightmare, indeed. Please wake up, Hermione, she
stubbornly told herself and pinched her arm for good measure. She
recognised the seal at once. Of course, she bloody did.

Hermione Granger, Undersecretary to newly appointed Minister of Magic,

Kingsley Shacklebolt. It was a position she had held for nearly ten years.
Following Voldemort’s defeat, they had all chosen their career paths.
Naturally, Ron and Harry had opted to join the Auror division.

They were given a hero’s welcome. Harry had risen to head the department
in a few short years while Ron left to help his brother George with
Weasleys Wizard Wheezes. After Fred’s passing, George needed his family
to keep him from falling into despair over his beloved twin’s death. Ginny
played Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies until her pregnancy brought that to
a screeching halt. Still, she was a valuable consultant and frequently visited
Hogwarts to train the younger students.

Kingsley himself had approached Hermione with the job. He needed a

young witch with her head on straight and passion for a worthy cause.
Hermione agreed to think about it, but really, what was there to consider? It
would provide her with the platform to do some real good. Two days later,
she accepted the job, and together, they started the long road of rebuilding
the wizarding world by bringing in essential policies. It was then the
committee touched on the topic of population decline. It gravely concerned
everyone present. The numbers dwindled and steadily decreased. Immediate
action was needed, and the Marriage Act was first proposed.

Hermione openly scoffed at the medieval idea of an arranged marriage. It

was archaic and barbaric even.

She conveniently forgot arranged marriages in the Muggle world had a far
lower divorce rate, but they were allowed a say, weren’t they? Yes, no, I
would rather not spend my life with a man who picks his nose openly and
shovels food into his mouth. The law would not have been passed if the
council had kept their wits about them, but they passed it and with
Kingsley’s blessing. What did he care anyway? He was happily married.
Hermione rolled her eyes at the announcement, and for some stupid reason,
she thought she would be spared the humiliation of being paired up with a
wizard she had not met or, worse, met and hated.

It would take nearly eight years and many failed attempts to create The
Alogthrim and introduce it to the general populace.

After opening the letter, Hermione quickly read its contents, saw the
dreaded name of her would-be spouse, and screamed so loud it caused
Brenda to come rushing into the room with her wand drawn.

Hermione grabbed the letter, took off her high heels and sprinted the short
distance to the Minister of Magic’s office. She completely ignored the look
of bewilderment her assistant bestowed upon her. His assistant tried to
block her path to ask what was the matter, but nothing and nobody would
stand in her way. She effortlessly sidestepped the older woman and barged
into the office unannounced.

Kingsley looked at the fuming woman standing barefoot on the white

Persian carpet and braced himself. He had anticipated a visit sooner.
Hermione wasted no time in proclaiming her disappointment. She marched
up to the table, slammed the letter down, and demanded an explanation.

Kingsley took in the name written below and frowned. He understood the
reason for the anger radiating from the thoroughly pissed-off woman before
him. He sighed and explained to the best of his ability, “I’ll do what I can,
but it’s not like we pulled names out of a hat, Granger.”

Hermione bared her teeth and hissed, sending flecks of tiny spit particles
flying out of her mouth, “I do not give a fuck. I will never marry Malfoy or
even tolerate being in the same room as him.” She hardly swore in the
Minister’s presence but, on some occasions, merited an excellent cussing
out.

She fetched her wand, dangled it in front of his face and spat bitterly, “You
might as well take my wand now.” Her actions were hasty and fuelled
solely by the many emotions ravaging her.

Kingsley ignored the wand and brought his hands together in thought, “This
is rather unfortunate, I admit.”

Hermione felt angry tears gather, “It’s a bloody disaster.”

She snatched the letter back and stormed out of the room while Kingsley
yelled for her to return.

Later that day

The gang met up at the Leaky Cauldron for drinks. Twenty-six years of age,
except for Ginny and at the pinnacle of enjoying life. They deserved it,
didn’t they? They gave their childhood to fighting a madman who
periodically tried to kill them.

Harry drained his drink and voiced his concern loudly, “I still can’t believe
they went ahead with this.” He threw the Daily Prophet down and shook his
head in disappointment. The front page carried a detailed article about The
Algorithm.
Wizards at the next table turned to stare. Ginny smiled sweetly at them and
tried to flag down a server. She shot Harry a warning look and glanced at
Hermione, who stared deadpan at the wall. Harry acknowledged his wife’s
attempt to grab his attention and muttered, “I’m sorry, Hermione.” The
young server nearly tripped over his feet in haste to make it to The Chosen
One’s table. He wondered whether it would be highly inappropriate to ask
for an autograph.

Hermione’s news about her forced union with Draco Malfoy had not been
well received by her friends. Ron sulked and sat about with a murderous
expression for the most part and promised he would find a way to break her
free from the unjust pairing. Harry sat uncharacteristically still in shock and
wondered how he would tolerate Malfoy’s presence as Hermione’s
husband. Still, Ginny offered words of wisdom and suggested they pop by
the Leaky Cauldron to lighten the mood, which worked wonders.

Ginny ordered another round of shots and frowned, “It seems rather
extreme. Is there anything we can do to help?”

Hermione hung her head bleakly and stated firmly, “I don’t want to talk
about it. Let’s just get sloshed.”

She looked up and quipped with a hint of jealousy, “At least, you guys will
be spared the humiliation.”

Harry married Ginny two years after the battle of Hogwarts, and they
welcomed a baby boy shortly after. Ginny had not planned on starting a
family so soon, but happen it did, and the news overjoyed Harry. Without a
second thought, she gave up her aspiring career and settled to raise their
child. They were very hands-on parents with little James. She confided to
those who asked that she did not regret quitting Quidditch to tackle
motherhood, but Hermione knew the bitter truth.

Ron munched on a chicken leg and snickered, “Well, I hope I don’t get
stuck with some stupid bint.”

Hermione said with a definite roll of her eyes, “Classy, Ron.” He was
oblivious to his chauvinistic behaviour at times. He turned to face his ex-
girlfriend, softened his features and pleaded, “Why don’t we get married,
Hermione? At least we’ve shagged, and I know what you like.” They had
been quite steamy between the sheets, and he missed and ached for the feel
of her soft skin.

Her inner voice screamed, “You really don’t.”

Ron offered to marry Hermione so casually that the others stared at him,
perplexed. He held onto the hope of rekindling their relationship and having
their happily ever after.

Hermione moved her chair away purposely and scoffed, “I’ll pass.” She
saw Ron’s face fall in despair, but he masked it well by passing a silly joke
and ordering another portion of chicken and crisps.

Harry disregarded the awkwardness and asked in interest, “Is divorce an

option?”

Hermione recited the clause on the document; she had gone through each
paragraph twice and scrutinised every single detail, hoping to find some
bloody loophole, but none existed.

She downed a tequila shot, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and
elucidated, “After three years, but sooner if the matched spouse is abusive.”

Ginny raised a curious brow, “No adultery clause?” Surely, there was some
meaning to these marriages. Hermione laughed sarcastically, “Apparently
not; you are free to mess around and only use the martial bed for breeding
the next generation of witches and wizards.” The sanctity of marriage was
ruined. She had always wanted what her parents shared, and achieving that
reality slowly slipped out of her grasp.

Ron swallowed hard and grimaced, “It sounds utterly disgusting when you
put it like that.” The woman had no filter.

Hermione stuffed a few crips into her mouth and shrugged, “But that is the
truth, isn’t it?”
Ron made a repulsed face, “Yeah, it is, but did you have to get all fucked up
about it?”

Hermione playfully punched his arm, “Oh shut up, Ron, I’m not going to
sugarcoat anything.”

She bit down hard on a plump sausage and added viciously, “But there is no
way in fucking hell I will remain faithful to that slimy git.”

Ron choked on his drink, looked properly scandalised and thundered, “Are
you entertaining the thought of marrying the bastard then?”

Hermione sneered, “If and only if the Ministry forces my hand, but I will
fight them every fucking step of the way.”

Ginny frowned, "Will you please stop cussing."

Ron seemed pleased with her answer and didn’t push it, but Ginny and
Harry exchanged a grave look of concern.

She and Ron were just friends now. They had given the whole relationship
thing a go and even come awfully close to tying the knot when Hermione
realised he was not the one for her. Her fifteen-year-old self had definitely
held a torch for the tall, youngest Weasley boy, but the more she entered
adulthood, the more she pulled away from him. When her needs and desires
began to change with age, they had a long chat and amicably decided to part
ways. Well, more on her part than his, he had stubbornly refused to accept
that their relationship had run its course and vowed to win her back
someday. She had no wish to hurt him, so she purposely neglected to
correct him whenever he brought it up.

Hermione knew Ron still had deep feelings for her; he made it obvious
every time she went out on a date or someone at The Ministry showed her
an inkling of interest. It became rather tedious, and other men stirred clear
away from her, not wanting to step on the toes of a war hero.

It infuriated her, but despite her many explanations, the men smiled at her
sheepishly and avoided her at all costs. While she loved Ron dearly, she
was not in love with him. She craved intellectual banter, fiery passion and
heat that curled her toes. Ron, being a proverbial caveman in bed, left her
horribly wanting.

To everyone’s surprise, Ron got paired off with Tracey Davis, a Slytherin
girl in their year who fought on their side at the battle of Hogwarts and who
everyone had long thought dead. Apparently, they were all mistaken since
Tracey had used family connections to flee and returned because of the
marriage law. He was adequately mortified at first, but his opinion changed
for the better once he met the pretty brunette.

Ron shrugged casually, “Well, it could be worse; she seems pretty nice and
loves Quidditch.” Their first date had gone rather splendidly. Hoping to
throw her off, he had invited her to a Chudley Cannons match and was
pleasantly surprised to find she was a fan but of the Kenmare Kestrels. They
exchanged good banter and got along reasonably well.

Harry smiled and nodded his approval, “She’s a decent witch.”

Ron chuckled, “Although mum thinks Tracey is completely full of herself,

especially after she went on and on about the wedding details.”

Ginny stifled a laugh, “Mum is not used to taking orders from anyone.”

Hermione crossed her arms over his chest and hissed her displeasure, “That
is beside the point; they are taking away our free will.”

Ron cocked his head to the side and mistook her reaction to the law as
jealousy over his pairing with Tracey. He hugged her tight and whispered so
only she could hear, “I will always love you.” The declaration caused
Hermione to cringe, but found she was trapped to his broad chest and
unable to break free.

Oh, Merlin, kill her now.

He continued to mutter into the soft curls of her hair, “You mean everything
to me; once this is over, it will be just the two of us.” Yeah, you, Malfoy,
and I will get along just fine. The random sarcastic thought almost made
Hermione giggle, but instead, she rolled her eyes but returned the hug
without much enthusiasm and did not reply. There was nothing to say; she
could hardly be blamed for his infatuation with them reconciling one day.

Hermione returned to her one-bedroom, immaculately clean flat and headed

straight for the kitchen. She dropped her bag, and an eerie silence greeted
her.

Nursing a giant chocolate chip ice cream tub, she plopped herself down on
the sofa and turned the TV on. Sticking the spoon savagely into the melting
ice cream, she attacked it viciously, brought it to her lips and licked the
spoon clean, deep in thought. An evil laugh made its presence known, and
Hermione shuddered. The tears of frustration came before she could stop
them. Hermione thought back on the day’s events, and it was maddening, to
say the least.

Let it be noted that the Ministry of Magic was not without mercy. Any
witch or wizard refusing to accept their match could do one of two things.

1. Redo the Algorithm and let math and complex calculations work their
brand of magic. If the results yielded another match, then partners could be
switched. The Ministry graciously allowed three tries before saying, “Sod
off; you’re stuck with who you got paired with.”

2. The less appealing option was being stripped of their wand, memories
wiped, being marched into Muggle London and being let go, much like a
mongrel dog after serving its purpose.

After three months of staring at the same bloody name, she had pulled
strings and got them to run the Algorithm no less than six times, hoping and
praying for another name to appear. It was a futile yet valiant effort, but
bold as brass, the same name popped up each time, and it seemed to mock
her in time. The utter humiliation of being paired up with the boy who
wished death upon her in school disgusted her to the core.

How the fuck were they even going to sleep together? That was the main
prerequisite: they were expected to have sex, and she was to bear little
Malfoy babies; the very thought made her skin crawl.
Had he not taken every opportunity to express how degrading and dirty he
found her?

Argus chuckled as he pulled another parchment out of the odd-looking

contraption, “Well, it looks like you’re stuck with Malfoy.”

Hermione rolled up a piece of parchment and hit the unsuspecting wizard

on the head, “Fuck off, Argus, we’ll see about that.”

Kingsley grew weary of her behaviour; he visibly cringed when she went
into a detailed explanation of why sex among couples forced to suffer a
loveless marriage was the same as rape, deemed acceptable by law.

He put up with the first two months as she made presentations armed with
visual aids on why the law was a bad idea, as if the hour-long lecture on
rape was not enough. Furthermore, he patiently looked at the petition she
got signed by no less than 1500 witches and wizards who shared her point
of view, but eventually, he snapped. Kingsley banged his fist down on the
large table, unceremoniously sending most of its contents to the floor; he
brought his head up and roared, “Enough! This is final. If you are unhappy
with your match, you know the alternatives.”

Hermione felt her lip quiver, but she held her head high, nodded curtly, and
fled the massive office while Kingsley watched her depart without a single
word. She ran down the hall, locked herself inside her room and sobbed.
Her only saving grace was that no one had seen Malfoy since he was
cleared of all charges when they were seventeen and eighteen, respectively.

The trial had been a hugely publicised event, and the heir to the Malfoy
name and estate trembled in the ages-old chair as witches and wizards took
to the stand to plead his case or accuse him of heinous crimes. Harry’s and
Hermione’s testimony really got through to the ruthless-looking bunch of
older wizards and witches in plum-coloured robes. It took them a little over
an hour to deliberate and clear Malfoy of all charges; he was let off with a
strict warning of the fate that would await him if he made another costly
mistake.
Hermione remembered the usually arrogant youth staring at his feet and
only nodding when spoken to; he had studiously avoided her curious gaze
and refused outright to acknowledge her. Without so much as a thank you,
he left the Ministry with his mother and two hefty Aurors assigned to stand
guard over the aristocratic Lady. Lucius, of course, had no such luck; his
fate was determined a mere thirty minutes into his trial; his crimes were too
awful to ignore or pass off as not his own.

Oh, but he tried and did all he could to convince the Wizengamot that he
did what he did to protect his family and had no recollection of certain
events. There was a collective murmur through the crowd, and Lucius was
sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban. He was spared the Dementor’s
kiss.

Out of sheer desperation, Hermione reached out to Narcissa Malfoy. The

well-dressed Lady was thrilled with the match, bizarrely. If anything could
have shocked Hermione other than being paired off with Malfoy, it was
Narcissa Malfoy's reaction to having her as a potential daughter-in-law.
Still, not surprisingly, she kept mum on her son’s whereabouts but
maintained that he would return soon, especially with Lucius Malfoy’s
passing the month before.

Narcissa was serving the last few months of her house arrest, but she was
allowed a certain number of visitors. Hermione had used her connections to
secure a visit, though she dreaded visiting a place where her blood was
spilt.

Malfoy Manor had undoubtedly changed. Hermione figured Narcissa had

seen to its refurbishment the second Voldemort snuffed it. Too much
suffering had occurred within the dark halls; it felt downright barmy to sit
in a place where she had been tortured and branded like a cow. She crossed
and uncrossed her legs and fought the urge to search the immediate area for
any evidence of her suffering at the hands of the maddened witch who lived
rent-free in her head.

Sensing her plight, Narcissa graciously offered, “You needn’t feel unease,
my dear. I give you my word that no harm will befall you.”
Hermione blushed deeply. She sat in the lavishly decorated foyer on a
purple velvet cushioned chintz chair. She sipped the creamy milk tea with
poise, set the cup down, and cleared her throat nervously, “Mrs Malfoy,
thank you for agreeing to meet me.”

Narcissa studied the attractive woman sitting in front of her, who was
wearing a long white blouse, navy blue pencil skirt and stylish bun.

Hermione felt scrutinised and quickly offered her condolences, “I am sorry

about the passing of your husband.” She wasn’t sorry. Nobody felt a smidge
of remorse for Lucius’s passing. He was a loathsome man with no true
friends except his Death Eater buddies.

The older woman took in Hermione Granger's slightly shaking hands. The
young witch fiddled continuously with the corner of the napkin on her lap.
She smiled genuinely and dabbed the corner of her mouth delicately, “Are
you really? And please call me Narcissa.”

Hermione returned the smile and said tensely, “If I may be so bold and get
straight to the point.”

Narcissa raised a brow and gestured, “By all means, Miss Granger.” She
was highly curious about what Hermione had to say.

The ex-Gryffindor offered the elegantly dressed witch the same courtesy
and muttered, “Hermione.”

Narcissa nodded slightly in acknowledgement, “Alright, Hermione, what

can I help you with?”

Hermione cleared her throat and asked anxiously, “Are you aware of the
Marriage Law?”

A smile tugged at the corner of Narcissa’s mouth; she replied at once, “I

am, and I’m also aware of your pairing with my son.”

Hermione tried to hide her shock poorly; how would she know about that?
This was an unprecedented turn of events.
Narcissa grinned rather mischievously and addressed the elephant in the
room, “I have my ways, my dear.”

After her initial reaction, Hermione gathered her composure, “Ah, that is
what I’m here to speak to you about.”

Narcissa laughed. Her peals of laughter bounced off the walls, “I’m sorry,
darling, but I truly fail to see how I can be of any help.” She looked around
pointedly and glared sternly at the Aurors standing by the doorway,
listening to every single word, “I have no privacy.”

Hermione knew who the Aurors were, and she gestured for them to take a
long walk with her head. They acknowledged her request and made
themselves scarce. She finished the piece of chocolate-covered cake and
said sarcastically, “Obviously, given our history, you must be mortified by
the possibility of having me as a daughter-in-law.”

Narcissa raised a brow and quipped, “And what makes you think that?” She
helped herself to a mini fruitcake rich with wine and plums.

Hermione wanted to shout, “Hmm, well, let’s see. Every bloody thing came
out of your son’s pale lips or perhaps your husband’s blatant hatred towards
Muggle-borns. Oh, and as if I’d be able to forget, your fucking crazy sister
curving the hated word into my arm.” But damn her upbringing and the
instilled need to be polite, her good manners kicked in, and she mumbled,
“I was led to believe that Muggle-borns were beneath a Malfoy.”

Narcissa laughed, “My dear, it has been years since the war, and it may
come as a surprise, but I never shared those ideologies.” It was a startling
revelation as many others believed her to be sympathetic to Voldemort’s
fruitless cause. In disgust, she further included, “Those were the ludicrous
ramblings of a man who wanted nothing more than to cover up his
heritage.”

Her striking blue eyes sparkled, “I am thrilled by this match, and you’re a
good if not a perfect match for Draco. You will find him to be a very
different man from his younger years.” Her eyes bore into Hermione’s,
causing the younger witch to look away for fear of her mind being read. She
had heard somewhere that Narcissa Black Malfoy was a gifted Legilimens.
Her skill of concealing her true thoughts led to Harry’s final escape from
the clutches of a power-hungry fool.

Curiosity got the better of Hermione, and she boldly inquired, “No one has
seen your son in years; where is he?” She couldn’t bring herself to utter his
putrid name. Tread carefully, Hermione. Curiosity killed the cat, but
satisfaction brought it back. She pondered wisely.

A fond smile crossed Narcissa’s face, “I assure you he is alive and well; he
has been on a path of self-awareness and atoning for his sins.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow and internally raged, well, I’ll be damned,

seeking redemption, are you, you slimy fucking git?

She looked into the hand-painted teacup and asked meekly, “Does he know
about the Law?”

Narcissa sighed, “He does not, but I know he will feel as strongly about it
as you do.” Hermione rolled her eyes before she could stop herself; of
course, he would; he would rather die than touch her, the bloody bastard.

Hermione straightened in her chair and declared cheerfully, “Excellent!

Perhaps together, we can make the Ministry see reason.”

Narcissa finished her tea and replied calmly, “Perhaps.”

The following words out of the regal Lady’s lips truly flabbergasted
Hermione.

Narcissa leaned forward, covered Hermione’s hand with her own and
gushed, “It was good to see you, Hermione. It gets quite lonely in the
Manor, and I welcome some friendly conversation.” Hermione felt her heart
clench and made a mental note to visit the charming older woman
occasionally.

Still, occasionally, it became frequent, and she enjoyed the few hours she
spent in Narcissa’s company. She owed the woman nothing, but being
around Narcissa, away from her life’s regular hustle and bustle, was
appealing. It was a distraction she wholeheartedly welcomed.

They usually met once a week for high tea. The Manor House elves were
excellent chefs and always provided an impressive assortment of cakes and
pastries. Hermione always went for the mini fruit cake. It was absolutely
divine, with chunks of fresh fruit baked to perfection. The food aside, the
Lady of the Manor was both wise and intelligent. They gossiped and caught
up on current affairs, but neither mentioned the missing Malfoy heir.

One particular afternoon, though, Narcissa seemed lost to the world.

Hermione put down her teacup and cleared her throat, “Umm, are you
okay? You seem rather far away.”

Narcissa attempted to smile, “I wish things had ended differently. I haven’t

seen my son in years, and I couldn’t leave. He never visited until he
accomplished what he set out to do.”

That last bit piqued Hermione’s interest. Where the heck was Malfoy? And
what did he set out to do? Curious, very curious.

Hermione nodded; she couldn’t possibly begin to understand what the older
woman was going through. Grudgingly, she said, “Well, if I know one thing
about Malfoy, it’s that he’s quite resourceful.”

Narcissa wiped a tear that raced down her cheek and smiled warmly, “For
what it’s worth, my dear, Draco would be a lucky man to call you his wife.”

Hermione averted her gaze and muttered, “Oh, umm, I don’t plan on
marrying him or anyone else I’m not in love with.”

Narcissa waved her hand casually, dismissed Hermione's words and

retorted, “Yes, I know, but in the unlikely event that you do, know that I
will cherish you.”

Hermione blushed and fought the urge to bawl like a baby. She choked back
a sob, “Thank you, that means so much.” Despite her growing fondness for
Narcissa, Hermione wished Malfoy would stay wherever the hell he was
and not step a toe on British soil.

She blinked and looked at the name again. The memories faded, and she
was again sitting in her tidy little office, staring at the parchment with his
name artistically sprawled across it.

Draco bloody Malfoy.

Even with her unparalleled hatred towards the match, she was forced to
admit the superiority of math and the Algorithm’s unparalleled
determination in pairing her up with a despicable human being. Hermione
knew she had to get out of it. There was no happiness in a forced marriage
or any union between her and Malfoy.
 Chapter 2
Chapter Notes

Draco makes his entrance. :)

I have taken a few liberties, so, please read with an open mind. :)

Inner turmoil, Kung Fu and peace.

Please read and review. I love reading reviews because it helps

motivate my writing, while other reviews help me become a better
writer.

Enjoy Chapter Two!

HAPPY READING! :)

Draco frowned at the sight of his toes sticking out from under the hand-
woven sheet. The dark grey of the covering was a stark contrast against his
pale skin. Its only job was to cover his rather long body, and when he first
arrived, it had done its job marvellously. However, as the years went by, his
body changed from the pale-faced ice-blonde youth to a paler-faced, long,
silky, haired man with clear grey swirls that felt as if they penetrated his
soul.

It was clear grey now, with no blackness, no streaks of uncertainty, clear

grey with knowledge, understanding and inner peace.

His build was impressive, perhaps not so by modern standards, but it was a
hardened sculptured body made firm by his daily routine of nearly ten
years. The many calluses that adorned his hands were a testament to his
dedication.

Draco reached for the glass of water to quench his thirst. Tiny beads of
water made their way out of the corner of his mouth, down his chorded
neck, spread over his chiselled chest and eviscerated before reaching his
firm thighs. Having an appealing appearance was in his blood. He came
from a long line of handsome men and women, and even in the harshest,
most foreboding conditions, it could not be squashed out of him.

His thoughts went to his father’s dire circumstances before death. He was
certain his estranged father, Lucius Malfoy, would disagree.

The once handsome man succumbed to his fate and passed, looking nothing
like his former self. His once long silver-blonde hair was nothing but a
distant memory; bald patches were all that were left of his famed locks. His
skin was pulled tight over his skeletal frame, and dirt took permanent
residence under his long fingernails. It was a pitiful sight.

In deep thought, Draco placed his hand under his head and stared at the
ceiling. The little plates that formed the roof above spoke to him. During
the first few nights he spent in the room all those years ago, he counted and
recounted the clay tiles to help pass the time. It had been a difficult period
of adjustment. Seventy-five chipped ones let in the soft rays of sunshine,
one hundred and five blackened with age and sixty-three new tiles used to
keep the whole thing from collapsing on his head.

The boy who had everything catered to him had to now fend for himself.
Still, he welcomed the challenge.

For the first time in his life, he was alone without the dominating presence
of his father to influence his decisions. Though Draco missed his mother
terribly and worried endlessly about her well-being, he knew his current
path to finding his rightful place in the world would also benefit her.
Through her many letters, Draco knew his mother had changed. She had
endured the cruelty of Voldemort and come out unscathed. She wrote long
letters detailing the loneliness of her house arrest and the mundane activities
of tending to Malfoy Manor.

With only the house elves to keep her company, her penned words made it
plain that she yearned for conversation and companionship. He welcomed
the weekly letters, read them eagerly and saved them to read again later.
A rat scurried across the bannister and disappeared through a hole. The
hurried movements of the rodent distracted him. He envied the insignificant
creature. Even the rat had more freedom than he. In the beginning, it had
been hard to adjust to his new surroundings. They were vastly different
from the comfort he was used to. There were no house elves to do his
bidding. If he wanted to retain his position and remain a part of the tranquil,
calm world, he would have to pull his weight and do as told. Oddly, he
embraced his surroundings and became one with them over time.

He came to anticipate and long for the rustling of the leaves, the cool breeze
and the chirping of birds that gathered in the large courtyard in the morning.
Most nights, while the monks tended to tasks or meditated, he would sneak
out of the temple and head towards a nearby stream, sit by the edge bathed
by the moon’s glow in deep thought and skip pebbles across the still water.

Draco sighed and let the memories of the years passed wash over him. He
often let his thoughts wander to how superficial and meaningless his
upbringing had been. The harsh reality that he knew nothing beyond his
father’s teachings was a bitter pill to swallow. He had spent years in denial.

Lord Voldemort’s defeat at Harry Potter’s hand was the point of Draco
Malfoy’s rebirth.

The fear and repulsion that consumed him disappeared into nothingness, but
the dread of an uncertain future ominously replaced it.

Come what may, Draco was determined to change his ways and become a
decent human being.

Obviously, they would all be held accountable for their part in the Dark
Lord’s heinous plans. There would be no escaping their costly mistakes, but
his mother helped Potter. She had risked everything to have her only child
by her side and unknowingly saved them all.

Some called her actions one-sided, that she only did so to find her son
among the chaos, but it was an act of pure love in its true essence.
Draco had attempted to save the Golden Trio by purposely neglecting to
identify them at the Manor. Despite their poor attempt to conceal their true
selves, he knew the second he looked at them who they were, but in a split-
second decision, he kept the valuable information to himself.

Seeing Granger screaming and writhing on the ground in unimaginable pain

was when Draco realised his loyalties lay elsewhere. They were children.
Granger, despite her blood status, was a child. She didn’t deserve the fate
she suffered through. There was no love lost between them, and besides the
cruel taunts, never in his darkest dreams did he wish her bodily harm.

So yes, they helped in small ways that changed the war’s outcome.

Of course, they did. Why would he bend to the will of a madman?

Voldemort was a skilled wizard, without a doubt, but he was a deranged
maniac intent on fulfilling his needs above everything else. A man with
such thinking could not possibly lead. It would have sent the wizarding
world spiralling into anarchy. Draco bitterly recalled the darkness that
plagued his childhood home before the maniac’s death and during his
horrific reign.

Blood. There was so much innocent blood spilt.

He distinctly remembered the ramble of bastards that strode in and out as if

they owned the place, but no more. Only an eerie silence surrounded him.
The family gathered in the dark, drab foyer, sat perfectly still, and waited
anxiously for the Aurors to arrive. They arrived in all their splendour within
the hour. There were no less than six of them, all clad in black with wands
drawn and Kingsley leading them forward.

The young wizard sat very still. His eyes were downcast, lips pressed hard,
fighting the inescapable fear from clawing its way to the surface. Narcissa
cried aloud in pain. Draco could hardly bear it. In anger, he shot to his feet
as a hefty woman Auror, grabbed hold of his mother’s arm roughly and
unceremoniously hoisted her to her feet. With trembling hands streaked
with his blood, he held out the wand in his possession and surrendered it
without pause.

His voice cracked as he pleaded in desperation, “Stop, please don’t hurt her.
We will come quietly.” His mother didn’t deserve such lowly treatment.

Shacklebolt whipped around and shot the Auror, holding Narcissa a

withering look. His usually calm face darkened with fury. The woman
quickly let go and mumbled insincerely, “My apologies, Mrs Malfoy.”
Draco kept his eyes on Narcissa and ignored his father’s pathetic attempt at
escape and cries for help as he tried to shake off the Aurors wrestling with
him for possession of his wand.

A large Auror tackled Lucius to the ground and used his body weight to pin
the older man to the floor. Lucius cried in outrage, “Unhand me, do you
know who I am?”

The Auror sneered, “It would be in your best interest to keep that big fat
mouth shut.” He had little patience for the aristocratic man.

The man muttered under his breath, “Death Eater scum.” He fought the urge
to kick the man squealing on the floor. It was a pitiful sight.

Draco slowly turned to stare at his snivelling father lying face down on the
imported Persian rug and shot him a look of deep loathing.

Their current predicament was his fault. Initially, Draco had reservations
about joining the ranks of the infamous Death Eaters. Still, when it came to
light that his mother would be executed, he did what a loving son would do
and offered himself willingly to the cause.

Lucius had been delighted, or so he portrayed, and his aunt Bellatrix had
cackled in delight. However, Narcissa begged and pleaded with her husband
to refuse the Dark Lord’s request, but her woes fell on the deaf ears of a
man who had little choice in the matter.

The process had been excruciating. He was given no potions to numb the
pain but encouraged to embrace the searing of his flesh with the macabre
snake that he would carry for the rest of his days. Somehow, Draco survived
the ordeal thrust upon him against his will, and despite his boisterous
speech to his peers about how he had been chosen, he wished the noseless
fuck would’ve forgotten his existence.

He wanted no part in a meaningless war.

After their arrest, they were side-along apparated directly into the bowels of
The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, bypassing scrutinising eyes
and grieving witches or wizards that would seek revenge to avenge a lost
loved one. Draco held onto his mother’s small hand tightly as they were
marched through a narrow corridor and into a room flooded with white
light.

It was a small flat of sorts. The area was clean and well-equipped, a luxury
his family did not deserve, considering the crimes they were accused of.

Draco took in the living quarters and other rooms. It later became known
that it would be their makeshift prison until the trial. They were stripped of
their wands and served platters of food, but who could eat at a grave time
like this? The only comforting thought was that they were spared Azkaban,
pending their trial. Lucius was at it the second the doors closed, yelling
incoherently and tossing small pieces of furniture at the door like that
would help their current predicament.

Something snapped within Draco. Seeing his father needlessly destroy

another thing caused his temper to spiral out of control. He sprang to his
feet, grabbed his father by the collar, pinned him to the wall and snarled,
“Enough!”

Lucius froze in fear at the fire burning in his son’s clear grey eyes. Never
had he seen Draco’s face contorted with so much hate, anger and
distinguishable pain. The young wizard left his stunned father’s cowering
figure and locked himself inside one of the two rooms the flat offered. He
sat on the bed, grabbed hold of his head and bared his teeth in a futile
attempt to control himself.
Draco found a bunch of Muggle textbooks hidden under the mountain of
disregarded books, and in his two-week imprisonment, he devoured the
writing and let it resonate. He sometimes wondered who the books
belonged to and how they ended up in the room, but he was highly grateful
to them and silently thanked the mysterious benefactor.

The days blended into each other, and Draco read the books from his place
in the corner, not bothered by his surroundings. Lucius threw his only child
a look of disapproval and scowled. Narcissa pursed her lips, shot her
husband a warning look and returned to her embroidery. Like her son’s
books, her embroidery kept her occupied and sane. The intricate bunch of
roses she had started a day after their arrest was nearly complete.

Among the tattered books was a hardcover book on Muggle Martial Arts. It
was a complete handbook on Kung fu alongside a detailed explanation of a
strangely constructed Muggle building known primarily as "The Shaolin
Temple.” He had never laid eyes on a more serene and tranquil-looking
place. He poured hours over the thick book and swallowed the knowledge it
held. Artistic drawings of men and women sitting cross-legged with their
eyes closed and emitting calmness were sprawled across the pages.

The strange practice enthralled him and caused him to read every bit of
information about it at his disposal. The Muggles called it Meditation. It
sounded so appealing and refreshing. The more he read, the more convinced
he became of the path ahead. To control one’s mind and thinking, to let go
of all the pain and suffering he endured, and to find a way to calm and tame
inner demons spoke volumes to him. It was what he yearned for.

Peace.

How he craved it, he had much to pay for. Draco decided to leave the
Magical world and search for his true self. His past self disgusted him, but
he could embark on his journey only if he were found not guilty. He
desperately needed to find himself.

Many horrific nightmares continued to plague him daily. He continued to

see many dead faces. They plead with him to help them escape persecution,
but he does nothing but helplessly watch from the sidelines as Voldemort
slaughters them all without a shred of mercy.

During his time in the flat, their temporary prison, he memorised the
legendary temple’s text, location, and description. Few, besides his mother,
knew he had an eidetic memory. As the days of the trial got closer, tempers
ran high, but Draco controlled himself, as did Narcissa. Lucius made no
such effort and created scene after scene, which eventually caused the Auror
on guard to intervene and threaten him with bodily harm if he failed to
remain quiet.

Their costly lawyer sat with them, his expression solemn and grave. He
shifted through some papers and pointedly kept his eyes trained on the
parchment. Lucius tapped his leg impatiently.

His patience snapped, and he hissed in arrogance, “Well, what are you
going to do?” He pushed the papers roughly aside, causing a few to fall to
the floor.

Daniel threw his client a deep look of loathing, bent to pick up the essential
documents, straightened and sighed, “Narcissa will most certainly be
sentenced to a term of house arrest. “

He would not tolerate Lucius’s childish conduct. For years, he had

diligently tended to legal matters regarding the company and Manor, but
there was a fine line, and he would play no part in helping a cause that
murdered innocents.

Draco slowly looked over to where his mother was stitching. She neatly
placed it aside and lifted her head. Narcissa kept her air of grace and said
without hesitation, “I will accept any fate they bestow upon me.” The young
wizard could hardly contain himself.

His mother did not deserve such a fate. He shook his head in disbelief and
retorted in pain, “No, Mother, you barely did anything, and you saved
Potter.”
Lucius scowled, his arrogant voice cut through the tense moment, “What
about me, Daniel?”

The smartly dressed man eyed his once-formidable client with disgust and
leered, “Do you care for no one but yourself?”

Lucius’s face contorted in anger, but he averted his gaze and struggled to
find the right words, “I....fine, what about Draco?”

Daniel pointed to the pile of papers and said, with a hint of hope, “He’s
young. We can only hope for some sympathy.” His tone turned serious:
“But his involvement in Dumbledore’s murder will weigh heavily against
him.”

Draco closed his eyes and let the truth sink in. He bit down hard on his lip,
causing his pink lip to split and forcing him to taste blood.

He cursed his stupidity. The second he took the bloody mark, he should
have gone to Dumbledore for help, guidance, anything. Things might have
drastically changed if he did.

Daniel smiled half-heartedly, “On a brighter note, Potter and Granger have
agreed to testify on his behalf; that will give us a huge advantage.”

Draco’s head snapped up in utter disbelief, “What? Why?” It was

impossible. They would never willingly help him, mainly because he had
undoubtedly not given them any reason to. Potter’s actions he could
understand, barely, but Granger, he had gone out of his way to taunt her,
make her miserable and enjoyed every fucking second of it.

Daniel stared at the shocked boy and chuckled, “Hermione thinks you
deserve another chance at life. Potter is grateful you didn’t rat him out at the
Manor.”

He recalled the meeting he had with the duo. Potter had been reluctant at
first, but Hermione was different. She was adamant Draco deserved a
second chance at life. So stubborn, in fact, even Harry had stared at her
oddly.

Daniel shared her sentiment. If not for Lucius and the circumstances of his
upbringing, the young Malfoy brat would have turned out differently.

Lucius voiced his opinion, “How dare the Mudblood speak of matters that
she knows nothing of.” Her actions also surprised him, and he couldn’t help
but wonder why. He grew suspicious of the unprecedented turn of events.

Draco turned slowly and gritted out, “Don’t use that word and don’t call her
that.” Even though he had been the first to call her that unforgivable word,
he deeply regretted his actions.

He exclaimed further with fierce determination, “She is willing to risk

public humiliation to defend me. If that does not make her a good person, I
don’t know what will.”

Narcissa nodded in complete agreement, reached over and covered her

son’s hand with her own, “I agree with Draco. It would be prudent dear, if
you would, for once in your life, be a proper man and not the spineless
arsehole you have become.” Daniel became acutely aware of the shift in
mood and tense situation.

Draco flinched; his mother hardly ever swore. It sounded unnatural, rolling
out of her refined tongue.

Lucius got to his feet and towered over his wife’s petite frame in a way
meant to intimidate her, “Narcissa, how dare you!”

Narcissa dug her nails into the seat cushion, stared her husband down
defiantly and narrowed her eyes in anger.

Draco lunged forward and stood between his parents; his long fingers
curled to make a fist.

He roughly pushed Lucius back and threatened, “Touch her, and I will kill
you with my bare hands.”
Daniel sprang into action, pulled the older Malfoy man away and spoke to
him in hushed tones.

Draco knelt at his mother’s feet and held her hand in his as the tears she
held back slid down her cheeks.

The day of the trial arrived, and they were led to the dungeons in the lower
levels of the Ministry. True to their defendant’s word, everything happened
like clockwork. The council members of the Wizengamot sat quite still in
their rich plum-coloured robes with an elaborately decorated M on the left
side of their chest, bestowing looks of disapproval upon those they judged.
About fifty of them, some with very sombre expressions, and others carried
looks of curiosity.

When the Chief Warlock called her name, Narcissa took a deep breath of
fresh air, held her head high and walked into the centre of the room. She
kept her hands pinned to the side as she awaited the verdict. It was short
and decisive. They deliberated for a while, arguing among themselves on
what would be the most prudent way forward, and then it was decided.
Narcissa Black Malfoy would serve nine years under strict house arrest.

Narcissa showed no emotion. She kept her eyes downcast and accepted her
sentence without uttering a word. Two Aurors led her away as the Chief
Warlock announced in a loud, carrying voice, “Lucius Malfoy! Please
present yourself!” His tone clearly showed that he had no sympathy for the
man who had been one of Voldemort’s most loyal servants.

Lucius slowly rose and almost crumpled out of pure fear. Daniel placed a
consoling hand on his shoulder and nudged him forward. Draco averted his
gaze and purposely avoided any eye contact with his father. Once the fallen
Death Eater entered the arena, the hushed whispers and statements of the
council members filled the area. Lucius looked at the bunch of people who
would decide his future. He knew most, if not all, had entertained some at
the Manor and donated to their causes.

The decision was unanimous, and the newly appointed Minister of Magic,
Kingsley Shacklebolt, delivered the sentence, “Lucius Malfoy, you are
sentenced to life in Azkaban on the charge of aiding and abiding
Voldemort.” He would never see the light of another day.

Lucius fell to the ground in despair and cried in frustration, “No! He tricked
us all.”

In desperation, he begged, “Please, spare me!” His cries were ignored. Two
Aurors strode forward, pulled him to his feet and all but dragged him away.
Draco and Narcissa heard the sentence, and both felt an ache in their hearts.
Despite all that had come to pass, they loved him.

Lucius glanced at his family and couldn’t help the tears that rolled down his
cheeks. He had failed them miserably. It was the one moment of remorse he
ever showed.

Narcissa choked back a sob and hugged Draco tightly. She whispered so
only he could hear, “No matter what happens, I love you, son.”

Draco replied in hushed tones, “I love you too, Mother.”

They stiffened as his name was called. Draco exhaled and gathered his
strength.

Narcissa held onto her son’s hand, refusing to let go until he smiled and said
gently, “I will be fine,” Still, she held on tight and shook her head in
despair.

A heavyset Auror appeared and ordered, “They are waiting for you,
Malfoy.” His eyes took in the heartbreaking moment between mother and
son.

He softened his tone, “He has to come with me, Madam Malfoy.”

Narcissa let go reluctantly. Draco dropped a quick kiss to her forehead and
followed the man into the gloomy, dimly lit room. Fifty pairs of eyes turned
to stare at him. He braved a look at the wizards and witches that would
decide his fate and tried to determine what they were thinking. They stared
down their noses at him, trying to size him up.
The Chief Warlock announced, “Mr Harry James Potter and Miss Hermione
Jean Granger to present defence theories on behalf of the accused, Mr
Draco Lucius Malfoy.” There was a sudden uproar of comments and a
murmur of approval.

Draco could not bring himself to look at them, but he heard their testimony.
Potter did not say much; his words were direct and straight to the point, but
Granger fought so persistently on his behalf that he sneaked a peek at her.
She was dressed in black robes, and her hair had been pulled back into a
tight, neat bun for once.

Blimey, what were all those papers in front of her? It looked like a
mountain of homework.

Her last words pierced his fragile heart, “He is just a boy!”

The Wizengamot deliberated for a few moments. Draco sat still, his heart
pounding, and he feared he would pass out from anxiety.

Silence followed. He closed his eyes and waited for the verdict that would
change his life.

Kingsley’s deep voice bounced off the stone walls, “Cleared of all charges.”

A stern-looking woman who sat among the council members cleared her
throat. It was apparent that she was respected.

Once she had everyone’s attention, she spoke, “However, should Mr Malfoy
step another toe out of line, he will be charged to the full extent of the law.”
She greatly resembled Molly Weasley, and it was evident to those present
that her advice came from a good place.

She softened her tone somewhat and addressed Draco, “You have been
given a second chance, young man. I trust you will use it wisely.”

Draco nodded but sat motionless until it began to sink in. He felt relief wash
over him momentarily.
They might have cleared him, but he had not even begun to forgive himself.
He had so much wickedness to pay for. He knew Granger was staring at
him. He purposely looked at his polished leather shoes and refused to
acknowledge her. He felt unworthy to look upon her, the words she spoke
on his behalf, the passion, the forcefulness that effortlessly flew out of her
mouth. She was in every sense a Gryffindor.

Once the trial was over, along with two Aurors, Draco accompanied his
mother to the Manor. They stood on the Persian carpet and looked around.
The Manor held many secrets, and so much misery had occurred within the
walls. Narcissa hugged Draco, and both shed tears of joy and sadness. She
knew he was leaving; she had known for weeks, yet she said nothing. She
knew it was the only way he could survive.

Draco kissed his beloved mother’s hand and choked back a sob,
“Mother….”

She cupped his face and pleaded, “No, you owe me no explanation. We
ruined your life.”

He stepped away and looked around deliberately, “You had nothing to do

with any of this.”

Narcissa wiped the tears that fell steadily down her cheeks, “Go! Do what
you must, but return to me once you have forgiven yourself.”

Draco brushed away a rogue tear that stubbornly escaped his eye, “I don’t
think I can ever forgive myself for all that I have done, Mother.”

Narcissa grabbed hold of Draco’s shoulders and instructed firmly, “Hush,

yes, you can. I want my son back.”

Draco looked deep into his mother’s clear blue eyes and nodded slowly. He
carefully packed his trunk, nothing extravagant, just the basic amenities and
warm clothing. It was chilly where he was headed, or so he had read.

The Ministry froze the Malfoy accounts and assets at Gringotts until
Narcissa’s house arrest ended. She would receive a monthly allowance from
the company’s earnings for her basic needs. Having foreseen this, Narcissa
had withdrawn a generous amount, converted the Galleons into pounds, and
hid it in the safe in case they needed to escape into the Muggle world. She
told Draco to wait until she returned. He raised a curious brow but followed
his mother’s instructions.

She hurriedly re-entered with their house elf following close behind and
thrust a small bag of bills into his hand. Draco peered inside the bag and
gasped, “Mother, what’s all this?”

Narcissa sighed, “You need Muggle money where you are going.”

Draco tried to hand it back, “I cannot accept this.”

Narcissa insisted desperately, “Take it!” She had risked her life but had help
from an old family friend. Bernard was their saving grace.

Unwillingly, he took it because the harsh reality of what she spoke was the
truth.

Draco hugged his mother tight and swallowed hard to keep the tears at bay
while Narcissa sobbed inconsolably, “Be safe, darling.”

He dragged his trunk and used magic to appear at London Heathrow

Airport. His attire and the hefty trunk garnered him some suspicious
glances.

The airport was packed with Muggles arriving from exotic destinations,
taking business trips and departing on new adventures. Jet-lagged
individuals dragged their feet and luggage behind them while loved ones
waited anxiously for their arrival. At first, Draco had been completely
overwhelmed and distraught. He felt completely and utterly lost.

An hour or so later, after some navigating, he arrived at the British Airways

counter and presented his passport to the polite woman behind the counter.
His mother had planned their escape well. She would never cease to amaze
him.
It took hours, nearly half a day, in fact, but he arrived in the ancient land via
aeroplane. While in his seat, he thought of a great many things. Being on a
plane was quite strange and uncomfortable at first, but he became
accustomed to it after a while. The man seated next to him was kind. He
sensed his nervousness and offered comfort and reassurance.

Draco was determined to make a difference. After arriving in China,

looking around in utter confusion, and speaking with the locals who knew
little English, he pulled out the magazine in his possession and pointed to
the temple. Then, a kindly man came forward and directed him on the right
path. Grateful for the help he received from the stranger, Draco gave the
astonished man a stack of hundred-pound notes.

He took an old train, settled near a window, and wistfully took in the
picturesque images that whizzed past. Acres of paddy fields and farmers
knee-deep in mud flew by. There was so much he had to learn about the
world. He knew nothing. Never in his life had he felt more like a useless
and complete utter idiot.

In the dead of night, Draco arrived at the foot of Wuru Peak of the
Songshan mountain range in Engfeng County, Henan Province, China. He
walked up the many steps that led to the Shaolin Monastery. His black shirt
was soaked with sweat, even though coldness seeped into his pores, making
his movements stiff and sluggish.

Shivering uncontrollably as the freezing wind beat around him, he reached

his destination and, gathering what little strength he had, banged on the
large wooden door with a dragon carved on the front and stood back
nervously.

He hadn’t eaten in two days, even refusing the meal on the flight, but he
welcomed the suffering.

A kind-looking monk holding a candlelit lantern opened the door to the

legendary Shaolin Temple and took in the trembling boy standing on the
centuries-old step. He was dressed in orange-coloured robes, and as the
light from the candle fell across his face, the concern that twisted his
features was apparent.
Draco barely managed a smile, but before he could utter a word, he blacked
out and fell to the floor.

An hour passed, his eyes fluttered, and he heard whispering in a foreign

tongue. He opened his eyes a crack and saw a few bald, light yellow-robed
figures moving around him. He shot up in alarm, but a firm hand on his
chest pushed him back down.

The voice was quiet yet authoritative, “Calm down, young foreigner.”

Draco rubbed his eyes, tried to gather his bearings, and struggled to sit up,
“My apologies, sir. I did not anticipate the weather to be this harsh.”

The old man chuckled, “Are you not from England?” Surely, the winter was
quite rough where he was from.

A bowl of steaming hot soup was placed in front of him. Inches from his
face, a steady stream of steam spiralled upwards. His stomach churned in
hunger. The same voice commanded, “Please eat. We will speak
afterwards.”

A quick dismissive nod from who Draco assumed to be the Abbot was
enough for the others to leave. They bowed respectfully and hurriedly left
the room. The wise Abbot regarded the boy curiously yet with a hint of
suspicion. It was apparent the disturbed youth had travelled far to make it to
their gates, but what was his purpose and most importantly, could he be
trusted?

Draco devoured the soup. His upbringing was forgotten as he held the bowl
tight and greedily drained the clear vegetable broth in a few minutes. He
wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve and nervously looked at the wise man
regarding him curiously.

The Abbot asked solemnly, “What brings you here?” The young man
clearly belonged somewhere. His clothes, the heavy ring on his finger that
bore a large black diamond and the family court of arms indicated that he
was well off and possibly part of an influential family.
Draco held onto his head, letting his fingers slip into the unkempt mess of
platinum blonde, and bared his teeth, “Pain! I don’t know who or what I’m
meant to do.”

The older man’s eyes crinkled at the side, and he stated plainly, “You are
Draco Lucius Malfoy.”

Was this some otherworldly trick? How would he know who he was?

Draco’s eyes widened in surprise. The Abbot let out a hearty chuckle,
“Calm yourself. We looked through your pockets and found your passport.”

He explained further, “We do not permit entrance to every stranger that

arrives on our doorstep.”

He tossed the passport, and it landed neatly on Draco’s lap. Without wasting
a moment, he gestured casually with his hand and implored, “Again, I ask
you, young master, what do you hope to accomplish?”

Draco looked at his trembling in shame, pale hands and muttered, “I have
much to pay for. I am here to find inner peace.” His mind was in a
continuous state of unrest. To rid himself of the burden of his dark past, he
sought refuge with The Buddhist monks of The Shaolin Temple in China.

The Abbot was sceptical at first, but he took in the dark circles under the
eyes, his ashen skin colour, thin, tall frame, but mostly the troubled and
disturbed eyes. The pain and suffering he saw swirling in the cloudy grey
mist convinced him to help the young foreigner.

Until the early hours of a new day, Draco poured out his story, holding
nothing back, and by the end of it, he was a shaking, sobbing mess, but it
felt glorious to let go finally.

The wise older man sighed at the details of the sad tale, nodded, and got to
his feet. The boy had made the right decision by coming to them.

He glanced at Draco and smiled warmly, “Alright, young wizard, we will

help you, but you must live by our methods and not resort to magic.”
Draco could feel his heart soar with happiness, but instead, he kept his
composure, bowed his head, and responded politely, “Thank you.” He
would be reborn.

They let him rest for the first three days. The room was small but clean. He
was presented with a set of grey robes.

Draco regained his strength and pulled the simple garment over his head.
He ran his fingers over his wand and hesitated before placing it inside his
truck and closing the lid.

A senior monk was assigned to teach him their culture and ways. The eager
young man is up, ready and waiting for his lessons to begin at the crack of
dawn. He had a purpose once again.

Standing in the middle of the centuries-old buildings, tranquil gardens, and

stillness was immensely satisfying. Draco leans into the wind and takes a
deep breath. His bare feet are not used to the small stones under them; the
sharp edges dig into the sole of his foot, but he steps forward with purpose.

The wise older man instructed the troubled youth to sit cross-legged on the
mat. He takes a deep breath and starts to speak, “Empty your mind. Let
nothing remain.”

Draco frowned. Easier said than done, mate. He closed his eyes, and as
usual, random thoughts and faceless strangers swirled around his mind,
followed by blood-smeared walls and screaming.

A sharp voice bore into his thoughts and instructed, “Concentrate.”

Draco took a deep breath of fresh air and tried to rid his mind of all the
unwarranted thoughts.

He silently encouraged himself, “You can do this. You must not fail.”

The lessons began slowly, but his quick mind picked it up faster than they
thought.
Chun Yi, his trainer and Master, was a short, balding man in his forties who
had lived at the temple his whole life. He took an instant liking to the boy
and dedicated his time to showing the path of freedom to the distressed
young man. Draco did what he was told without fuss. He completed chores
assigned to him without a single complaint. It is gruelling, and it takes a toll
on his body and mostly his mind, but he desperately wants to be rid of the
darkness.

The sympathetic monks shared their wisdom and ways of the world with
him. The boy, who never lifted a finger to do anything, grabbed the broom
handle and swept the centuries-old stone stairs. He washed empty pots and
dirty clothes till his skin was reddened and raw, but he used no magic. His
wand resting inside his trunk had lost its appeal.

As the years merged, Draco picked up the dialect, changed his selfish ways
and grew to an imposing height of six feet and two inches. His hair was
long enough to be pulled back into a ponytail or twisted into a small bun.
His body was hardened by the strict exercise regime he followed, and now
his work is oddly gratifying.

They visit the village often, and Draco is fascinated by what he sees. It is a
life where magic could not begin to compare. After being raised a certain
way, the freedom and harmony he experienced were heavenly. He quickly
becomes known for his hypnotic grey eyes, tall frame and flawless smile.

Women blushed as he walked past, with his long platinum blonde locks and
fitting jet-black robes. He is a dashing sight. Chun Yi laughed as another
group of girls discreetly pointed at Draco, whispered among themselves,
and giggled. Their parents would never agree to an open courtship with a
foreigner, but that didn’t stop the ramble of girls in the village from lusting
over him.

He pointed to the group with flower baskets and advised sternly, “You must
be careful not to give in to temptation.”

Draco glanced over his shoulder at the girls hurrying down the cobbled
street and bit into a juicy green apple. They were quite attractive, with long,
straight black hair and almost ceramic-like skin that lacked any
imperfections.

He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his robe and nodded in agreement,
“Yes, Master.”

The old man waved his hand dismissively and chuckled, “Ah, but you are
young. Did you have a girlfriend back home?”

Draco grinned, “No, there was hardly time to woo a girl.” However, there
had been plenty of flings and willing girls to take to bed.

Chun Yi stopped dead in his tracks. He spun around and raised a

questioning brow, “Woo?”

Draco spent the next hour explaining the mechanisms of courting a woman
back in England.

Astoria was his betrothed, but since her blood curse had risen to the surface
while they were still at Hogwarts, her mind had slipped. Her infatuation
with him was unhealthy and, at times, dangerous. She was not the same girl
he grew up with, but he never truly intended to carry forth with their
nuptials. Astoria Greengrass did nothing to stimulate his mind or get him
hot around the collar.

However, there was one pretty girl who often came by the temple. Her
father was an established merchant and well-respected in the community.
She regularly brought supplies and other required items for the monks. Suri
Jun Lee was an exquisite beauty with silky black hair she wore parted in the
middle. She had a slim figure and flawless skin. Draco often saw her
wearing long white dresses with painted pink lotus flowers.

She was among the first to befriend him, and they worked well together.
They usually put away the items, and he helped her store them in the high-
up cupboards, for which she gifted him delectable sweets from the village.
They spent a considerable amount of time together.

His sweet teeth had not lessened despite the change in continents.
They also meditated together. However, she was a distraction he did not
welcome. In a primarily male-dominated space, she was a rare loveliness,
and whilst he felt nothing for her sexually, he was still a young man with
particular needs that rushed to the surface around her. It had been years
since he felt any sexual stirring.

Still, one night, he bolted the door and laid on the bed. He had a satisfying
wank to the licentious thought of Suri’s beautiful naked body pressed up
against his. Still, shockingly, when he felt his balls rupture, it was a mane of
thick, bushy hair that floated across his fluttering eyes.

What happened in the name of Merlin’s saggy left testicle?

The mind could conjure the most unimaginable thought. It couldn’t be who
he thought it was. His release is swift; his thick seed spurts out and flows
down his long fingers.

A loud “Ahhh…yes,” escaped his lips and cock in hand; he fell onto the bed
and willed his breathing to return to normal.

After four years of seeking refuge, the temple’s keeper requested his
immediate presence.

They drink herbal tea silently, and Draco wondered whether he had
overstayed his welcome.

The Abbot starts to speak, “Mr Malfoy...”

Draco winced. It has been years since anyone referred to him by his
surname. He cleared his throat and answered nervously, “Yes...”

The older man refilled his cup and brought it up to his lips. He regarded the
young man before him curiously, and before taking a sip, he inquired, “Has
your time here been beneficial? Have you found the inner peace you seek?”

Draco smiled uneasily and nodded meekly, “Not yet, but it is certainly
getting there.”
That was the truth; the nightmares had lessened in intensity, and he was at
times able to go days without waking up in the middle of the night drenched
in sweat, but they still tormented him.

The Abbot observed Draco intently, “Do you still have nightmares?”

Draco’s lip trembled. He looked away in shame, “Yes, there are so many
people I could’ve helped.”

The Abbot shook his head and slowly sipped the hot tea. He said
thoughtfully, “Ah, there was little you could’ve done to save them.”

Draco hissed through clenched teeth, “I did nothing but watch him kill
them. I am a worthless coward.”

The elderly gentleman sighed and patted Draco’s shoulder reassuringly,

“You are wrong, young wizard, and I have a proposition for you.”

Draco bowed his head at once respectfully, “I will do anything you ask,
Master.”

The Abbot smiles warmly, “It is my wish that you learn the ways of Kung
fu.” He had seen the troubled youth stare at the younger monks training and
learning with an intense hunger in his eyes.

Draco can barely hide his surprise. He always watched in fascination as the
monks practised diligently and even tried a few memorised moves in the
darkness of his tiny room.

He could hardly keep the utter shock off his face. It was a rare privilege. He
bowed his head again reverently, “You honour me.”

The Abbot smiled again and nodded, “It will aid you greatly in your journey
to peace and fulfilment.”

Draco struggled with his words, “Thank you. I cannot express my

gratitude.”

The wise man’s eyes sparkled, “In time, you will be able to perform magic
without the aid of a wand.”

Draco’s mouth dropped open, “Wandless magic?”

Wandless magic was a rare talent, scarce and not recently heard of.

The Abbot moved his hands in a fluid, circular motion, and a fiery ball of
red appeared out of thin air before them. The young wizard widened his
eyes in surprise.

Draco’s eyes moved with the flames dancing in the sun’s rays. It was
beautiful.

The astute old man grinned, “Yes, I will show you the way.”

Draco fought to find the words, "But how?" Was the Abbot a wizard? How
was any of this possible?

The wise Abbott smiled and offered an explanation, "The mind is a

powerful tool, Mr Malfoy. If you learn to control it, the possibilities are
endless." The red ball of fire evaporated in a puff of smoke.

Draco trained, meditated, and became one with the temple and the monks
for nine years. He gave up all worldly needs and wants and finally reached
the state of inner peace he craved all his life.

“Good, Mr Malfoy, you are learning fast.”

“Please call me Draco, Master.”

“Continue.”

He went back into repeating the moves. To everyone’s surprise, the once
pampered boy takes to Kung fu like a fish to water. He practised day and
night on the wooden dummy to harden and condition his arms and, in next
to no time, became a formidable opponent. Most are impressed, and Chun
Yi worked tirelessly with his young protege. They train diligently, and
Draco’s height is a great advantage.

His kick has more reach and lands a devastating blow. It is no easy task; the
training is complex and challenging, but Draco’s dedication and
determination are second to none. He excelled, and by the end of the
seventh year, he could perform wandless magic at will. He practised
advanced defensive spells in the privacy of his room. Bellatrix and his
mother had taught him quite a bit.

They give him the name “Black Mamba.” It fits, as his moves are fast,
accurate and deadly.

On one particular night of the full moon. Draco grabbed a leftover bean bun
and sat on the expansive terrace to enjoy the treat. He stared into the
heavens and marvelled at the glistening stars that were spread across the
dark canvas. His mind wandered to how his mother was fairing in his
absence.

He knows from the many owls and Muggle telegrams she sends that
Bernard is overlooking the operations of Malfoy Industries. The older man
was trustworthy and had been a dear family friend before Draco’s birth. He
knew his mother held the wise man in high regard, and above all, Draco
trusted his mother’s judgement.

She always ended the letter with the words, “until you return,” but would he
return? He had been giving a lot of thought to becoming a monk and living
the remainder of his life behind the temple walls.

A pair of soft hands covering his eyes interrupted his train of thought. He
knew that subtle fragrance of sweet jasmine and rose.

Draco covered the small hands with his own and whispered, “It’s late; your
father will be angry.”
He had been teaching her and most of the village children English. He
enjoyed being around the little rascals. Just the day before, the little scamps
had swapped salt for sugar in the kitchen, making everyone spit out their
herbal tea and the cook running after the children responsible.

Draco turned to face the pretty girl, “Jun, why are you here?”

She sat next to him, crossed her legs and bit into a long stick of sugar cane,
“It is a full moon; you can see it best from here.”

He smiled warmly and brushed a strand of hair off her face; Jun leaned into
his touch, boldly leaned forward, and kissed his lips softly. Stunned into
silence, he moved back at once and dropped the half-eaten bun, “What are
you doing?

Jun frowned, looked at him shyly and questioned innocently, “Why? Did I
do something wrong?” She had such strong feelings for him, even though
she was destined to marry the councilman’s son. Her bottom lip trembled.

She pointed at him accusingly and said brazenly, “You are not a monk; it is
not wrong.”

Draco ran his long fingers through his hair and tried his best to let the girl
down easily, “Jun, please listen to me.” His former self wouldn’t have given
her feelings a second thought, but he was a changed man.

Her bottom lip trembled, “You don’t like me?” She had been so sure her
feelings would be reciprocated.

Fuck. It was the first time he swore in years. He shook his head and pleaded
with her to understand, “Not that way. You are a very good friend, and I
care about you, Suri.”

Jun didn’t take his honest declaration kindly. She wiped the tears off her
pretty face and muttered a quick “I’m sorry” before hurrying down the
steps, leaving him alone and angry in the dark. He stormed into his room
and turned it upside down out of frustration. It was nobody’s fault but his
own for getting far too close.

Draco dreaded the following day; how would he face her? Troubling
thoughts riddled his mind.

He hardly got any sleep that night, and it showed. He dragged his feet,
nervously entered the breakfast hall, and saw Jun turn towards him with a
bright smile. Her reaction was not what he expected, but it was certainly
welcome. She truly was beautiful; her smile lit up her face, and her long,
straight hair was one with the wind. They maintained a healthy distance
after that. He had no wish to cause her any pain.

Draco returned to reality, and the rat returned with its mouth full of dinner.
He flung his long legs off the bed, delicately sat on the wooden floor,
crossed his legs, and cleared his mind of any thought.

An hour passed, and the fluttering of large wings distracted Draco from his
meditative state. The owl was known to him; he stroked the majestic bird’s
feathers and took the sealed letter out of its hooked beak. He opened the
letter; his stunning grey eyes took in the beautifully handwritten words and
blotches of ink where tears had fallen and stained the parchment.

His fingers numb, the letter fell to the floor and stared at him accusingly.

Dearest Draco,

I hope this letter finds you well.

My son, your father, has succumbed to his prison term in Azkaban. It is a

kindness that he passed away with his mind still intact.

His funeral wasn’t the lavish affair he always wanted but an intimate
gathering of myself and the house elves.

I know there was no love lost between you both, but he was your father
despite his shortcomings, and he loved you.
Now, onto more bad news: Bernard has fallen ill, and I do not understand
much about the family business and Manor and have no one to trust with
it.

It is time for you to come home.

Love always,

Your mother.

Draco closed his eyes, his hands balled into fists at his side, and a dark blue
hue surrounded the clenched hand. The magic in his blood rose to the
surface and encompassed him whole. He was no longer the aimless,
helpless boy who arrived at the Temple gates all those years ago.

He was now a twenty-six-year-old man with much to offer the world. His
eyes moved to where the clear green jade pendant rested on the cupboard.
He had worked tirelessly to acquire it, but she deserved it and the
superstitious power it held.

His many demons were put to rest; Draco opened his eyes, and they
sparkled with renewed purpose.

Mother was right; it was time to return.

 Chapter 3
Chapter Notes

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Ministry Of Magic

Hermione shifted in the seat, crossed her smooth legs, tucked a strand of
hair behind her ear and smiled sweetly at the man who had summoned her,
“Good morning, Minister.”

Kingsley’s loud voice bounced off the walls in his impressive office. He
was far from pleased, “Do not give me that shit. Do you honestly enjoy
making my life a living hell?” Prior to his meeting with Granger, he had the
pleasure of listening to a thoroughly hysterical woman who blamed his
Undersecretary for placing a hex on her.

Hermione calmly studied her painted, manicured nails and retorted smugly,
“Well, at times, what's got your wand in a knot?” She had a reasonably
good idea as to why he summoned her.

Kingsley frowned but brought large hands together until the fingertips
touched and leaned forward. He kept his voice low and mocking and
inquired with an amused expression, “Did you call Stacy from Logistics a
cow who should never reproduce?

What a load of codswallop. The bloody no-good snitch.

Hermione had the good grace to look mildly ashamed, “Oh, umm, it wasn't
nearly as bad as it sounds.” At least not for her. Stacy, however, took the
brunt of her frustration.

The Minister narrowed his eyes, “Granger, I'm warning you.” The two
women were constantly at each other's throats, and he was tired of playing
referee.

Hermione exhaled, threw her hands in the air in defeat and scowled, “Fine!
It was not my finest moment, but she started it, and err, words were
exchanged.” They had a minor altercation in Argus's room after Stacy
barged into the room unannounced and passed a crude remark that
prompted Hermione to reduce the older woman into a blubbering mess of
tears.

Kingsley regarded the woman before him sceptically and countered,

“Somehow, I doubt that, but go on, tell me your side of the story.”

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip and reluctantly admitted, “I was

pestering Argus to rerun the Algorithm.”

Shacklebolt’s features contorted unpleasantly, and he sighed exasperatedly,

“Again?” He pinched the bridge of his nose and severely reprimanded,
“What did I tell you about using your status to get around the system?” She
hardly ever abused her position for personal gain except in this one
instance.

Hermione stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest and pouted, “Well,
you didn't get paired up with an insufferable moron.”

“How many times have you run it, Granger?” Kingsley narrowed his eyes
and demanded. They had to lead by example. If word got out, the Ministry
would be overrun with requests to reevaluate matches made by the
Algorithm. Granger’s actions had put them at significant risk.

Hermione pursed her lips, averted her gaze, and avoided the question.
Truthfully, she had run it a grand total of one hundred and fifteen times, and
it was maddening to have the same name appear each time, but she was not
about to tell Kingsley that minor detail.

In bitter disappointment, Kingsley shook his head, leaned back in his large,
comfortable seat, and said, “Forget I asked. Go on.”

Hermione straightened and spat with a mixture of hostility and resentment,

“She came in when I was pestering Argus, and without minding her own
bloody business, she had the fucking audacity to imply that Malfoy was the
best I could ever do and that I should be proud of the match.”

Kingsley let out a hearty laugh before he could help himself. He could not
fault Granger for wanting to teach Stacy a valuable lesson. That comment
was strictly uncalled for, but an underlying reason for the unforgivable
remark seemed to be.

Hermione’s face twisted in disgust. She was clearly repulsed, “The woman
was practically wetting her knickers for him; it was a pitiful sight.” Stacy
had spoken highly of Malfoy and hinted at a past relationship between the
two, but try as she might, Hermione could not recall seeing the two
together.

At first, The Minister flinched at the obscene way one of his staff had been
described but regained his composure and replied, “Ah, makes sense. Stacy
knew him at Hogwarts, if I am not mistaken.” The truth behind Stacy’s
behaviour towards Granger was slowly becoming known.

“Perhaps, she's jealous that you nabbed him.” He added teasingly

Hermione cried in outrage, “I did not nab him. She can have him for all I
care.” She would gift-wrap him, stick a bow on top of his blonde locks and
hand-deliver him if it helped her dilemma.

Kingsley could not hold in his amusement any longer. He pounded the table
and laughed aloud.

Hermione grew thoughtful. She remained silent until it dawned on her,

“Hang on, I don't remember her being in our year.” Perhaps, Harry or Ginny
would recall, and she was exceptionally gifted with faces, but Stacy’s
presence in Hogwarts was a mystery.

Well, of course, the Minister would know. He interviewed Stacy and went
through her detailed curriculum vitae. It was a pity since the two women
shared some similar character traits. If the circumstances had been different,
they would have been great friends.

Kingsley nodded knowingly and offered some insight, “She was in

Ravenclaw and a year above you.”

Hermione smirked devilishly, “Oh, so Malfoy was sticking it to an older

woman.” Interesting. She knew he had a bit of a scoundrel reputation at
school, but this little tidbit of information was most intriguing.

Kingsley choked on his coffee and coughed. He reached for his

handkerchief and wiped the corner of his mouth, “I'd rather not picture
that.”

“Aren't you a few months his senior?” he added with a smug smirk.
Hermione blushed but lowered her voice and kept her mouth shut for the
moment; she had walked right into that one.
After a moment of awkward silence, Kingsley basked in his triumph of
getting under her skin. She bit back a laugh and argued weakly, “That is
beside the point. Age is but a number, and....”

Kingsley's hand shot up in a pleading manner, interrupting her well-

thought-out sentence. He grimaced, “This conversation has officially started
to make me feel uncomfortable.”

Hermione giggled at his reaction, nodded in agreement and fiercely added,

“Stacy is off her potions, Kingsley. How the bloody hell am I lucky to be
paired with a snivelling git, not to mention a man who could very well be
dead?” That last bit of her bold statement was wishful thinking on her part.

The Minister shrugged and said thoughtfully, “Narcissa swears he is alive

and well, and I have no reason to doubt her word." He respected Narcissa
greatly and made it a point to visit her every other week to check on her
well-being.

Hermione looked away, rubbed her neck and muttered, “I hope he

disappears permanently.”

Kingsley stifled a laugh, “I doubt that will happen,” and added strictly,
“You need to apologise to Stacy.”

Hermione protested rather loudly, “Definitely not. I'd rather marry Malfoy
than do that.” She regretted the poor choice of words the second they left
her mouth.

Kingsley raised a quizzical brow. “Really?” He did enjoy the odd banter
with Granger. Her sharp mind and witty remarks kept him on his toes.

Hermione rapidly shook her head, causing the pins she had used to hold her
bun in place to come loose. Ignoring the falling pieces of minuscule metal,
she mused, “Forget I said that.”

Shacklebolt groaned and addressed the grave problem at hand, “Stacy has
been crying since morning." He cringed, "Need I remind you how
uncomfortable crying women make me?” He wasn't at all in touch with his
inner feelings and whatnot. Who had time to be sensitive while trying to
keep a community in order?

Hermione openly rolled her eyes to register her irritation and quipped. “I
pity your wife, Minister. Perhaps we should find her a better match than
you.” Like him, Kingsley's wife had been an Auror, and she was a tough
woman who ran her house with an iron fist and unconditional love.

She cocked her head to the side and mocked with dripping sarcasm,
“Especially since the Ministry regards themselves as excellent
matchmakers.”

Kingsley knew she was goading him but remained calm and retorted,
“Hilarious! Now go and apologise to that hysterically sobbing woman who
mildly believes you might have cursed her ovaries.”

Hermione could not believe what she was hearing. Was the woman actually
crazy? She was now properly cheesed off, “Oh, for Merlin's sake.”

In his most stern voice, Kingsley demanded, “Just fix it, Granger. I don't
fancy another visit from Stacy.” His tone would do little to sway the
headstrong woman before him.

Hermione got to her feet, smoothed the wrinkles on her tailored black
trousers, adjusted her long-sleeved white blouse and scoffed, “As you wish,
Kingsley.” She had no intention whatsoever of apologising to the daft bint.
The second she stepped out of Kingsley's large office, her mobile phone
rang.

Hermione reached into her pocket, connected the call, and kept it to her ear.
At once, she wished she hadn't. Ginny whispered urgently, “Where the
bloody hell are you?”

Hermione mused, “I was reprimanded for being a bully in the Headmaster's

office.” She could hear the confusion in her redheaded best friend's voice,
“Headmaster? What are you on about?” Ginny was clearly not amused and
made her displeasure clear, “Are you drunk, Hermione?”
Hermione chuckled, “I wish. Now, what's the matter?” A glass of red wine
would most definitely take the edge off and help her make amends.

Ginny’s tone turned icy and foreboding, “You forgot, didn’t you?”
Hermione vaguely recalled a conversation a few days back she struggled to
remember, and then it hit her like a metaphorical ton of bricks.

Oh, Merlin! She quickly screamed into the phone, “I'm on my way, have the
wine ready.”

Ginny dropped her voice and mused, “You’re such a boozer.” She went
silent for half a second and then hurriedly pleaded, “Please hurry. They just
got here, and we’re about to start.”

Hermione rushed past a perplexed Brenda and practically dove into her
room to grab her bag. She flung it over her shoulder and told a curious
assistant who followed her, "I was feeling sick if anyone asks."

Brenda grinned and gave a lazy two-finger army salute, “You got it, boss.”

Hermione glanced over her shoulder and winked, “Oh, do me solid and
send a letter of apology to that bitch in Logistics. Make it short and sweet,
love.” Brenda would do the needful. That was one problem laid to rest.

However, Brenda reacted more enthusiastically than necessary and

absentmindedly played with her eyebrow ring. She loathed the prissy twit
on the first floor, who took it upon herself to look down on everyone who
crossed her path. A playful smirk curved her lips.

The card arrived at the desired location, and Stacy took it with a haughty
expression, making a big show of the process. She had won. Kingsley had
sided with her and commanded an apology out of his Undersecretary.

Gingerly, she took out the beautiful card with caution. It was from Granger,
after all. Stacy flipped open the card and widened her eyes in surprise. Her
inner thoughts screamed, what the fuck? She received an enchanted fat cow
mooing in a singsong way, "I'm sorry for being truthful." Many onlookers
turned to stare and get a glimpse of the commotion. It was unprofessional,
childish and utterly pathetic.

The distraught woman shut the card, pulled out her wand, lit it on fire and
watched as the flames devoured the poor attempt at an apology. Stacy broke
down again in frantic sobs and blew her nose hard. Wizards and witches
poked their heads out of their cubicles to see the ruckus.

She covered her face from wandering eyes and managed to say, between
sobs, “Stop looking, get back to work.” Her voice cracked, becoming
annoyingly squeaky and high-pitched. She shook in unmistakable anger and
muttered, “Just you wait, Granger. You think you’re invincible, but I will
knock you right off that bloody pedestal.”

The Burrow

Hermione arrived on the boundary of the Burrow with a loud thud and
nearly lost her footing. She landed in a puddle of water, and the heel of her
new shoe dug into the mud, making her cuss out aloud in frustration.

Fuck, all the magic in the world, and they can't cover up these bloody
sludge holes. She looked at the familiar home, spiralling up into the sky,
and sighed. It felt so good to be anywhere near it; the place radiated
warmth.

Hermione walked up the winding pathway, occasionally stopping to smell

the abundant wildflowers around the property. A wave of nostalgia
surrounded her, and she saw her younger self sneaking off with Ron for a
quick snog under the giant oak tree and Ginny and Harry reciting vows on
their wedding day.

She pushed open the wooden door to the kitchen and expected to be
welcomed by loud shouts as usual, but only a strained silence greeted her,
and she looked at the gathered group of witches and wizards, puzzled.
Ginny got to her feet at once, closed the gap between them, pulled
Hermione into a tight hug and whispered, "Thank fuck you’re here. Mum is
about to kill someone."
Hermione glanced at Molly and felt the motherly figure's well-hidden anger
radiating off her in waves, but she somehow kept her composure. Sitting on
the slightly worn-out sofa were two of the three Greengrass sisters who
looked her way and spoke in hushed tones among themselves.

Hermione kept her voice low, "Can you explain why I'm at your future
sister-in-law's bridesmaid thing?"

Ginny muttered so no one else would hear, “Because I have to be here alone
with these women, and I needed backup.” She wasn’t keen on being around
these snooty women and couldn’t be trusted not to speak her mind and ruin
the proceedings.

Hermione looked about and retorted sarcastically, “And you couldn't think
of anyone else? Don't you think the presence of the groom’s ex-
girlfriend will put a damper on things?” She looked towards the living room
and added confidently, “Besides, you have Molly, and that’s about all the
backup you will ever need.”

Ginny opened her mouth to respond, but on cue, Ron bellowed from across
the room, "My darling, so good of you to come." Two pairs of keen green
eyes continued to stare at Hermione, who was standing with possibly one
foot out of the door if she needed to dash out the door quickly. This
situation made her exceedingly uncomfortable, and she could not fathom
what Ginny thought by asking her over.

Ron practically steamrolled the furniture in his haste to get to her. He put
his long arms around her, squashed her to his broad chest, and pleaded
desperately, "Save me."

Hermione let herself be held and hissed in his ear, "What the heck is going
on?"

Molly cleared her throat, "Hermione dear, how lovely to see you."

Tracey narrowed her eyes at the embracing duo, "Indeed, I was led to
believe this was a family affair." Her tone clearly showed that she did not
appreciate her fiancé’s eagerness regarding his ex-girlfriend.
Molly exhaled, smiled sweetly, and replied a touch sternly, “Hermione is
family, my dear, and you best not forget it in a hurry.” She would not
tolerate an ill word against a woman she considered an adopted daughter.

The elegantly dressed woman next to Tracey scoffed openly. She was
breathtakingly beautiful. Tracey nudged her in the most ladylike manner,
smiled at her future mother-in-law and responded, "I can see that. I meant
no harm, Molly." A thin sheath of doubt dropped over her heart, and she
knew at that exact moment that Hermione Granger would prove to be a
problem.

The same sugary sweet voice impatiently interjected, "Shall we go over the
patterns for the bridesmaids’ gowns? The wedding is in a week."

Molly flashed her most motherly smile and nodded in agreement, “Yes,
please.”

Hermione swapped a look of shock with Ginny and mouthed, “A week?”

Ginny shrugged, rolled her eyes, and went to sit next to her mother.

Gorgeous, hooded eyes outlined heavily with thick black eyeliner and
mascaraed lashes followed Hermione’s every movement. Hermione sat
uncomfortably in the background, well out of everyone’s way and
wondered why she had agreed. Still, Ron plopped himself next to her and
proceeded to send lingering glances her way or reached over to squeeze her
hand at odd intervals. His blatant display of affection and trying to show
something that wasn’t remotely there was starting to get on her nerves.

After the third attempt, she slapped his hand away, glared sternly and
hissed, "Stop it."

Half the day went by before everyone settled on a bloody dress. Many
arguments and disagreements followed, with Ginny firmly refusing to wear
anything magenta. When Tracey shrewdly suggested that she did not have
to be a bridesmaid, Ron stepped in and ended that discussion, much to
Ginny’s and Tracey’s disappointment, “My sister will be a bridesmaid at my
bloody wedding. Let us all make our peace with that.”
The wine was served along with cheese and delectable pastries Molly made.
After all, she was an excellent cook. Even the snobbish women closed their
eyes and savoured the buttery pastry that melted in their mouths. Glad to
get away from the penetrative gaze of the Greengrass women, Hermione
took her glass of wine out and stood under the last dying rays of the sun.
She closed her eyes and thought of her earlier visit to Narcissa the week
before.

Hermione popped the last piece of fruit cake into her mouth and said, “The
new curtains are lovely.” She had noticed them on her way in.

Narcissa sipped her tea and smiled graciously, “Thank you, darling. It
matched the new glass cabinet I purchased the other day.”

Hermione sighed and decided to address the bloody elephant in the room.
Narcissa was clearly not going to give her any information related to
Malfoy. She cleared her throat and asked casually, "Do you plan on telling
him about the law?"

Narcissa remained calm and shook her head. "He will find out soon
enough. I would rather have my son return before scaring him away."

Bloody hell.

Hermione played with her fingers nervously, "So, he is coming back then?"

Narcissa eyed the woman in front of her over the rim of her painted china
teacup and smiled, "I’ve written to him and stressed that I need him to
manage matters here. Bernard is growing senile in his old age, and there is
a lot of money to manage."

Hermione nodded in understanding, "Ah, with the end of your house arrest,
they released the Malfoy accounts at Gringotts?" A sparkle kindled under
the sophisticated woman’s eyes, "Indeed, I must spend a ridiculous amount
of money purchasing new clothing. Will you be a dear and accompany
me?"
Hermione grinned, emptied her cup of tea and nodded
enthusiastically, "How does Saturday sound? I'm free as a bird."

Narcissa beamed, “That sounds marvellous.”

A strange silence surrounded them.

The mature lady cleared her throat and asked curiously, "Hermione, when
did a man court you last?" Court? Ah, date, not the direction she intended
the conversation to go.

Hermione squirmed in her seat. Was it hot in here, or was she burning up?
She giggled nervously and replied, "Oh, I guess it's been a while.”

After taking in the look that crossed Narcissa’s face, Hermione added
quickly, “Not because I don't want to; there's a very cute Auror I have the
hots for, but Ron keeps getting in the way."

It was unthinkably weird to speak of her relationship dilemmas with the

woman who was supposed to be her intended mother-in-law. Narcissa
raised a brow and inquired curiously, "Mr Weasley still has feelings for
you?"

Hermione nodded unsurely and hoped it would not come to bite her in the
arse soon, "Well, that’s what he says, but honestly, it’s been over for years. I
don't see him that way anymore. He even offered to marry me to get out of
tying the knot with Malfoy." She saw the delicate features of the older
woman twist in displeasure. She had completely forgotten who she was
talking to and rambled on as she would to Ginny.

Hermione massaged the bridge of her nose irately and apologised, “I'm so
sorry, Narcissa.”

Narcissa reached for a crumpet and raised curiously, “You hate my son that
much?

Hermione saw little point in lying. She took a deep breath and replied
strategically, “Hate is a rather brutal way of looking at it, but I have
nothing positive to offer him. He was beyond cruel to me at school, and
some wounds take a lifetime to heal.”

Narcissa reached over and patted Hermione’s hand, “I understand, but you
might be pleasantly surprised by the man he is now.” Eager to stir the
conversation away, Hermione said excitedly, "Saturday then?"

Saturday could not come soon enough. They met in front of The Leaky
Cauldron and browsed the many shops that had exquisite robes on display.

Narcissa looked around in awe, “There’s a lot of unfamiliar places.”

Hermione nodded, “After the war, some foreigners set up shop. There are
some French boutiques that you would die for.”She pointed to an
elaborately but tastefully decorated shop. The exquisite store dummies were
fashioned after French models and enchanted to come alive. They strutted
their stuff inside the display unit and battered their plastic eyelashes at
people passing by.

Few witches and wizards stopped to stare at the regal woman and
whispered callously among themselves. Narcissa moved closer to Hermione
and uttered miserably, “Maybe we should retire for the day.”

Hermione glared at the small, gathered group, took hold of Narcissa’s hand,
and dragged her forward, “No, we still have a great deal to do.”

Narcissa held her head up high and refused to show any weakness. She
nodded and let herself be dragged away. Once they were out of earshot,
Hermione dropped Narcissa’s hand and softly reassured her, “Don’t worry
about them.”

Narcissa cupped Hermione’s cheek and smiled like a mother would, “Thank
you.”

They had an enjoyable day shopping, and at Hermione's insistence, the

sophisticated lady enthusiastically devoured an ice cream cone. Narcissa
gushed excitedly, “I haven't had one of these since I was a child.”
Hermione eagerly licked her melting chocolate cone, “It’s delicious, isn't
it?”

A smile curved Hermione's lips, but a voice of pure ice drew her back to
reality. The deceivingly sweet voice cut into her thoughts, “I didn’t expect
to see my future husband’s ex-girlfriend here today.” Hermione spun around
to find Tracey watching her with a somewhat pained and uncertain
expression.

She sighed, “I was asked to come. I do apologise if my presence makes you

uncomfortable.”

Tracey let out a loud ha and replied, “Of course, it does. Have you seen the
way Ronald looks at you?”

Hermione struggled to find the right words. The woman had her there,
“Umm...”

Tracey took a sip of wine and stared into the distance, “Please don’t lie on
his behalf.”

After a moment's pause, she added, “These marriages are not our first
choice, but he’s a good man, and I want my marriage to work.” Turning to
Hermione, Tracey rubbed her arm and tried to muster a smile, “It bothers
me that I'm marrying a man still in love with his ex.”

Hermione tried to defend her ex-lover, “I doubt that's true. Ron is one of my
best friends, nothing more.”

Tracey started to laugh, “Granger, you set the bar so high it makes me
insecure to just be in the same room as you.”

Hermione smiled sympathetically. What was this myth that surrounded her?
She hated it passionately, making it nearly impossible to have an ordinary
life, and she was utterly sick of having it hang over her head like some
superficial crown. Men and women alike thought she was this indestructible
woman sent to save humankind, but she sometimes wanted to shout, “No,
I’m flawed just like everyone else. I bleed, love, fuck, make mistakes, the
same as every person.”

She chose her following words carefully, “Tracey, please know that I have
no feelings for Ron, and nothing will ever happen between us. Trust me. It
is not my intention to make you feel uneasy.” The woman seemed decent;
Hermione hoped Ron wouldn’t bugger up.

Tracey smiled gratefully, “Thank you for understanding. I appreciate it.”

They drank the rest of the wine silently until Tracey broke the awkward
stillness, “Ron mentioned you got matched with Draco.”

Bloody bigmouth.

Hermione frowned, “Ah, did he? I was not keen on making it public
knowledge.”

Tracey blushed, “Well, he let it slip, and I coaxed it out of him. You must be
horrified.”

Hermione groaned, “Believe me, that's just one thing I'm feeling; it's more
anger at even considering Malfoy as a husband that gets me running to the
loo to throw up.”

Tracey let out a laugh, and a high-pitched squeal of dismay made them
jump. Astoria made her presence avidly known, “The Ministry paired you
off with Draco?”

Bollocks, I guess the world was finding out.

Hermione uttered almost silently, “Umm, yes...”

Astoria shook her head rapidly. It was pretty disturbing to see her long
black hair flying in all directions. Tears filled her eyes and threatened to run
down her pretty face, “No, that’s impossible. Draco is my intended. We will
marry when he returns.”
If he returned, Hermione could not help but notice the deranged look in the
woman's eyes. Something was off and alarming about Astoria’s behaviour.
She was tempted to say, “The Algorithm doesn’t give a hoot about what we
want.”

Tracey snapped to attention, "Astoria, love, calm yourself. Hermione

doesn't want to marry Draco."

Hermione nodded at once and grimaced, “I really don't.”

Astoria let out a sarcastic laugh and mocked, “That’s a relief.” She added
haughtily, “No offence, of course, but Draco needs a woman with a more
refined upbringing to represent the house of Malfoy.”

The snobbish pedigreed bitch.

Astoria eyed Hermione critically from head to toe, cocked her head to the
side and muttered arrogantly, “As if Draco would ever go near you.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes angrily and opened her mouth to retort, but
Tracey quickly grabbed Astoria’s arm and steered her inside before things
got out of hand. She instructed anxiously, “Why don't you go inside and
show Ginny some more fabric samples.”

Astoria nodded unsurely but kept glancing over her shoulder at Hermione
with a smugness that made the ex-Gryffindor want to put her fist through
the conceited witch’s face.

Tracey shot Hermione an apologetic look, “I'm sorry about my stepsister’s

crude conduct. She has not been the same since she learned of her blood
curse.” That piqued Hermione's interest, and she raised a questioning brow,
“Blood curse?”

A sadness fell upon Tracey’s pretty face, “It is a curse placed upon her
ancestor that she is paying dearly for.”

Hermione tried to get a glimpse of Astoria, who was now talking to Ginny,
and muttered, “That’s awful.”
Tracey nodded and explained further, “She was also Draco's betrothed, but
besides the odd roll in the hay, I doubt he would marry her.”

Hermione frowned and tutted disapprovingly, “That's appalling for him to

keep stringing her along if he never intended to make her his wife.” That
was another reason to loathe the unscrupulous bastard.

Tracy sighed, “Well, it's not that easy. They were children, and at Hogwarts,
he tried to end it while the whole Death Eater mess was closing around him,
but umm, she took some rather potent poison and ended up at St Mungo's
for a week.”

Hermione widened her eyes in shock. She had absolutely no idea that
Astoria was unstable. The reasons to get away from Malfoy were mounting,
and a suicidal ex was never a good thing.

Tracey frowned and continued, “I guess it did not help that he disappeared
without a trace or so much as a goodbye, and Narcissa always puts off
meeting her.

Hermione thought that extremely odd. Narcissa always had time for her and
encouraged her visits.

Tracey smiled, “Anyways, it was terrific talking to you. Let's catch up

soon.”

Hermione was lost to another world. She heard the woman but barely,
“Yeah, sure.”

Tracey kissed Ron. He held on tight and deepened the embrace. Apparently,
he had no qualms about the physical aspects of the relationship. Astoria bid
everyone but Hermione a fond farewell. She stepped into the Floo network
and disappeared in a puff of bright green smoke. Tracey followed her
stepsister with a happy smile. The second she disappeared, the collected
Weasleys and Hermione fell onto the patched sofa in distinguishable relief.
Ginny shook her head, “This wedding might be the most stressful one yet.”

Molly nodded in agreement, “Merlin, bless you, son. You will have your
hands full with that one.”

Ron looked at Hermione meaningfully, "I’ll put up with it for three years.
By then, I’ll have the person I want most."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but Ginny beat her to it. She scoffed,
"Will you please get it into your moronic head that you and Hermione are
done, kaput." Hermione doubled over in laughter at the sight of Ron's
horrified face.

Ginny winked cheekily and skipped over to where Hermione was stood
rooted to the spot. She took her hand in hers and said, “Besides, the elusive
Miss Granger is soon to become Mrs Malfoy.”

Hermione shoved Ginny and scolded, “Shut up, no bloody way.”

The redhead tapped her chin in thought and asked devilishly, “Also, that
reminds me, how is fit, Mr Terry Boot? I saw him the other day, and I must
say, he is quite fetching.”

Ron’s annoyance with his sister peaked, and he fired without remorse,
“Why are we talking about that wanker?”

Ginny blew him a kiss and simply explained, “Hermione has the hots for
him.”

Ron’s ears turned crimson, and he shot the women a look of disgust,
“Bollocks, he’s an imbecile.”

Hermione bit her lip and gushed, “An incredibly fit imbecile that I would
like to get to know better.”

Ron glared and hissed, “Over my dead body.”

Hermione shot back in frustration, “That can be easily arranged. He is an
Auror.”

She added harshly, “Focus on your upcoming wedding and keep your nose
out of my business.”

Ron opened his mouth to hurl an insult when Molly pointedly cleared her
throat and interrupted, “I met Narcissa at Madam Malkins the other day
when I dropped in to check on our dress robes. She was extremely polite.”

She chuckled, “I wasn't expecting such a warm welcome since I killed her
bitch of a sister.” Quite frankly, she had expected to be ignored or even
snubbed, but Narcissa had been gracious and nice.

Ginny cried indignantly, “Mum, James can hear you. Please behave
yourself.”

Molly blushed, “Oh, sorry, love, well, she was eager to chat. We exchanged
a few pleasantries, and she went on her way.”

She added fondly, “Her temperament is so much like Andromeda’s. I wish

the sisters worked out their differences and reconciled.”

Hermione smiled tenderly, “Narcissa is a precious soul.”

Molly beamed, “She speaks very highly of you, Hermione. I daresay she
will be a wonderful mother-in-law, almost as good as me.”

Hermione gushed lovingly and truthfully, “You are the best; no one can
compare.”

She added pointedly, “And can we all stop assuming that I'm going to marry
the snake.”

Ron got to his feet, “Fuck yeah.”

Ginny yelled, “RON!” James wheezed past on a toy broomstick and giggled
uncontrollably.

The youngest Weasley boy kissed his mother on the cheek, "I've had
enough girly time to last me a bloody week. I need to get back to the shop."

Hermione waved lazily, poured herself another glass of wine and said sadly,
“I haven't seen Meda in months. I miss Teddy terribly.”

Ginny fussed with James, looked over the active toddler’s head and
scolded, “If you could tear yourself from your stupid job and have some
sort of life, you would know that he comes over for dinner every Saturday,
and you are welcome over at any time.”

Hermione sipped the rich red wine and pointed the almost empty glass at
Ginny, “Fine, woman, set an extra place because I'll definitely be there to
see my little bunny.”

She drained the wine and picked up her Gucci bag, "See you on Saturday."
She blew the Weasley matriarch a kiss at the door, "I love you, Molly."

Molly smiled warmly, “Be safe, Hermione. I worry about you being
alone.”

Hermione smirked, “I'm not alone; I have...”

Ginny rolled her eyes and completed the sentence, “You have work, yes, we
know.”

Hermione's Flat

Hermione smiled sheepishly and walked to the edge of the boundary to

disapparate. She dropped her heavy handbag on the wooden floor of her flat
the second she landed, pinned her hair up and stripped on the way to the
bathroom.
The bulky clothes came off first, then the red lace bra. She stood in her
thong, and a coolness washed over her body. The tantalising sensation made
goosebumps appear across her svelte figure.

Was she alone? Perhaps, it was time to get another Crookshanks. Her
bathroom was her haven, where she could shed her tough exterior and be
vulnerable. It was a refuge away from the nightmares that plagued her
occasionally. After the effects of the war began to take their toll on her
mind, she reluctantly consulted a Muggle therapist on the sly, but it proved
futile since she could not share pertinent details with the psychologist.

“Hermione, do you still have nightmares?”

“Yes, it’s always the same person and occasionally others.”

Loud scribbling on a notepad, Hermione had the urge to grab it and toss it
out the window.

“I see. Did you try the breathing exercises before bed?”

She hated the tone. It made her feel inadequate like she had skipped a
homework assignment.

“Yes, I tried them, but they don’t work.”

“Why don’t we give it more time?”

No, I don’t want to give it more time. I want to be rid of the cackling cunt in
my head.

“Okay, if you insist.”

The only helpful thing she learned was that she had mild post-traumatic
stress disorder.

Instead of continuing the sessions, she stopped going and suffered through
the cold sweats and Bellatrix’s taunting laugh and evil voice inside her head
in the dead of night. Each nightmare followed the same way.
She screamed in her sleep till her voice was hoarse, curled herself into a
fetal position, stared at the now barely visible scar and wept for being
considered unworthy over something she had zero control over.

How could she be expected to forget all that and jump into bed with her
torturer's nephew?

Still, Malfoy’s whereabouts intrigued her; the secrecy of where he had been
all these years ate away at her curious mind, but this was not the time to
mull over the so-called Slytherin Prince.

Hermione closed her eyes and willed herself to remain calm. She looked
around her surgically clean bathroom, neatly arranging every towel and
soap. It was her place of sanctuary.

She let the water run and pulled out a sweet-smelling bath salt and bubble
bath. Once the tub was half full, Hermione poured in the liquid and stirred it
with her hand, feeling the water slip through her fingers, leaving a trail of
foamy residue. She took a deep breath of the comforting scent, yawned, and
stretched, causing her pert breasts to pull tight and rosy nipples to harden to
the change in temperature.

Hermione pulled her thong down, and it lay discarded near the claw foot of
the tub. Dipping a long, smooth leg into the bubbly bath, she descended into
the warm water and settled into the solace. She lathered and covered herself
with the bubbles, threw her head back and groaned.

She lay that way for a while with her eyes closed when sudden hotness
pulled at the inner trappings of her womanly core. Horniness was the unfair
mistress of a single woman, but in the privacy of her well-equipped
bathroom, she could close her eyes and picture whoever she fancied and
bring herself to a satisfying orgasm. Today's lucky gent would be the
rugged and built Terry Boot.

Boot had joined the Auror Team a year after her employment, and he was as
fit and firm as they come. She knew he was interested; he gave her enough
signs and subtly brushed his fingers along her arm during meetings, and he
certainly had no issue with Ron hovering around.

Hermione wondered whether he was already matched and decided she did
not care since his actions towards her proved one of two things: either he
wasn’t matched as yet, or he was and, like her, did not approve of who the
Ministry deemed fit.

Her hand disappeared under the many bubbles covering the surface. She
parted her soapy-coated thighs and parted her awaiting pussy lips to seek
the wetness. A sultry moan escaped her already parted lips as the tip of her
finger brushed up against the sensitive nub that rested within.

She rubbed small circles around her eager clitoris, applying the right
amount of pressure to push her over the edge. A mewl of want involuntarily
flew out of her as she closed her eyes and pictured the tall, dark-haired,
broad-shouldered wizard. Fantasy Boot pushed her back roughly, climbed
on top, pinned her hands over her head, and bit down on her collarbone.

She stroked her inner folds steadily and gasped, "Fuck, yeah, Terry...more."

Hermione adored a bit of roughness. She was expected to be the model

citizen without kinks or vices, the perfect war heroine and that's precisely
how past lovers treated her. They were afraid to venture into anything
remotely complicated and handled her with kid's gloves as if she were a
delicate flower that would wither and die at the slightest hard movement.

No, she craved a man who could handle her, take control, and punish her
dearly.

Her digits entered the tightness, and slow pumping turned urgent as her toes
curled, and the steady build of heat crawled up her body and came to rest
over her gloriously swollen clitoris.

Boot's imaginary thick cock was now buried in her, moving mercilessly.
Hermione demanded of an empty room, "Fuck me harder." Her eyes flew
open on the cusp of orgasm, and a clear image of an ice-blonde man crossed
her blurred vision. The image moved past so fast that there was hardly a
face to it, but the uniqueness of the hair jumped out at her and slapped her
right across the face.

Boot had thick black hair. What the fuck just happened? Her thighs clamped
down on her fingers, Hermione closed her eyes, her eyelids fluttered in
erotic bliss, and her body rode its much-needed high.

Once it settled, she sank below the water and desperately wished for that
last image to disappear.

She could picture the headline.

Hermione Granger was found naked and dead in her bathtub.

She seems to have died following orgasmic relief and shame.

No foul play was suspected unless you count the last memory on record.

An elusive blonde-haired man seemed to be roaming free in Miss

Granger’s mind.

She surfaced, took large gulps of air, pounded the water in frustration, sent
droplets flying, and cursed.

That bloody pale-faced ferret; how dare he invade her mind without her
permission.
 Chapter 4
Chapter Notes

I wish you all could see inside my head and just how neat and
handsome Draco looks in his black and white robes. :)

He's heading home, and now the real drama begins. :)

Please read and review. I absolutely love reading reviews because it

helps motivate my writing, while other reviews help me become a
better writer.

Enjoy Chapter Four!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

Carrie, I love you for all the wonderful suggestions and edits :)

HAPPY READING! :)

Ministry of Magic

Concentrate, it's Friday, one more hour, and you can go home, Hermione
told herself repeatedly. Yeah, to an empty space, old comedies, and takeout
food, how delightful. Maybe it really was time to get a pet. Perhaps, a fish?
They required minimum upkeep, right?

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose irritably, “Why won’t this bloody
paperwork end?” She called her assistant, “Brenda, did you find the Smith
file? I need that to plead Miss Foreman's case. She deserves half of the
settlement.”

Brenda held up a thick brown file packed with papers over her head with a
triumphant grin, “Got it right here, Hermione.”
They worked till 3.45 p.m. when a hard knock on the door interrupted them.
The uninvited intrusion was unwelcome; she only had two more paragraphs
to go over, and nothing would get in the way of completion. Hermione
adjusted her spectacles and looked up from the parchment to greet whoever
it was.

The person would most likely get a tongue-lashing for interrupting. A tall
man with broad shoulders, wild, unkempt black hair and a mischievous grin
leaned casually against the door frame and watched her intently.

Hermione blushed crimson, "Terry, what can I do for you?" Her voice
lacked the usual authority. Her vivid fantasy that Malfoy hijacked a few
days ago roared to the surface and floated shamefully in front of her eyes.
She wondered whether his cock was the long thick attachment she lucidly
imagined while lying naked in the bathtub.

Terry walked confidently, strode to her desk and drawled, "I thought you
might like to grab a drink after work." It would be an unofficial date of
sorts.

Hermione snapped back to reality and replied quickly, “Oh, that sounds
lovely. Just us then?” She hoped it was, and it was time to bring their
friendship out of the shadows and explore other more interesting titles.

Terry grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck, “I wish, but not
really. Potter will be there and a few other Aurors. We closed a case. It's
customary to celebrate.”

Hermione’s face fell, but she hid her disappointment well. Harry’s presence
was sure to put a severe damper on things, but a drink after work did sound
utterly tempting. Truth be told, she would rather skip drinks and get right to
the, your place or mine part. She raised an eyebrow at her assistant hovering
in the background and invited, “Smashing, Brenda, do you want to join?”

Brenda stopped flipping through the many papers and looked up. She
glanced at Terry, shook her head, and retorted glumly, “Oh, I wish, but I
can’t. My boyfriend’s cooking dinner, and if I cancel, he will moan like a
little bitch.”
Hermione reeled back at the words that flew out of the ordinarily sweet and
innocent girl’s mouth, and Terry stared with his mouth open. Brenda was
feisty in her own right but hardly ever swore except when absolutely
necessary.

Well, if that was not a shocker.

Hermione stifled a laugh, “Ah, right, well, we wouldn’t want that.” She
wanted to double over with laughter but instead wondered who Brenda was
dating and what kind of a man merited such abusive language.

She turned to Terry and flashed him her most winning smile, “I'll come by
your desk at 5.30 then?” She hoped she didn’t sound too eager.

Terry smiled warmly and replied with a wink, “Sounds good, Granger.” He
turned on his heel and walked out. The women cocked their heads to the
side and checked out Boots bootylicious booty. He was a slim youth with
longish hair back at Hogwarts, but strenuous training had transformed him
into the man before them, and he was but a shell of his former self.

Brenda bit her bottom lip and quipped, “He's good looking in a fuck me
hard sort of way.” Terry wasn’t her type, except he knew her type
exceedingly well.

Hermione raised her brows and shook her head in mock disapproval, “We
must talk about your language, child.” The women burst out laughing.

They went back to work adamant about finishing before nightfall, and they
managed to accomplish the impossible with time to spare. Hermione threw
down her quill, leaned back into the comfort of her chair and exclaimed,
“Finally!” She grabbed her bag from the corner sofa, bid Brenda a fond
farewell and made the short walk to the women’s lavatory.

The likeness in the wide mirror made her frown. She peered at her
reflection and muttered, “What a hag.” She was grateful that she wore the
red silk knickers instead of opting for a more comfortable cotton pair. If
things took a more interesting turn, she would be prepared.
Quickly rummaging in her bag, Hermione pulled out a red lip gloss, black
eyeliner, and mascara. A quick flick of her wand tidied up the messy strands
of hair sticking to her sweaty forehead.

After applying a generous layer of red gloss, she smacked her lips and
winked at her reflection, “Much better.” She checked the time and quickly
walked over to the elevator. After pressing the button, she stood back and
tapped her heel impatiently until it arrived.

From behind, a deep voice interrupted her thoughts, “Granger, fancy

meeting you here.” Perplexed, Hermione turned around and almost bumped
into the olive-skinned handsome man.

She greeted with enthusiasm, “Blaise, it's been ages.” They often crossed
paths in the Ministry when he popped by for business-related queries. He
was doing remarkably well for himself.

She addressed his earlier declaration happily, “Well, I do work here,

Zabini.” Blaise chuckled. They swapped air kisses and exchanged a few
short pleasantries.

Hermione looked him over and asked curiously, “What brings you by?”

Blaise glanced over his shoulder and said crossly, “I just dropped in to see
how the permission to expand my Quidditch store in Diagon Alley was
fairing.” He was glad he ran into Granger. She would, if willing, speed up
the process. He had a shipment due and no space in his current warehouse
to store boxes of supplies.

The man singlehandedly supplied uniforms and equipment to all the League
and English National teams. He married Daphne Greengrass just before the
marriage law was passed and was featured quite often on the cover of Witch
Weekly magazine. They were considered the ultimate power couple,
probably after Ginny and Harry. Still, since Ginny’s retirement, she was
featured less and less and only when she accompanied Harry to a ministry-
related event.
Hermione grew thoughtful. It was strange that Blaise had not received it
yet. She had approved the expansion herself. She kept that bit of
information to herself and informed, “Ah, you should get it soon. It has
been approved.”

Blaise punched the air like an adolescent child and grinned from ear to ear,
displaying a perfect set of sparkling white teeth, “Brilliant.” The lift arrived
and dinged to make its presence known. Blaise stepped in and held the door
open for Hermione. She thanked him and stepped inside. He glanced at the
witch standing by his side. It had been months since he last saw her, and she
looked stunning.

They stood side by side, and Blaise cleared his throat, “How is, umm,
Ginny?” He knew he shouldn’t ask, but he could not help himself.

Hermione looked sideways and sized up the man with a thin layer of sweat
coating his upper lip. The mention of Ginny’s name caused the man’s
nerves to crumble. She smirked for good measure and answered, “Doing
quite well.”

They arrived at the Department of Magical Enforcement. Hermione stepped

out, and Blaise called after her, “It was good seeing you. Listen, tell Ginny I
said hi.” Hermione smiled, the doors closed, and Blaise disappeared. He
was a good sport and tolerable, more so after Ginny, and he had a brief,
torrid affair that ended amicably in their fifth year. Few knew of their secret
rendezvouses or that they had been somewhat of a couple.

She rounded the corner and ran straight into Harry. His astute eyes
narrowed, and he took in the matte lip gloss and done-up eyes suspiciously,
"What are you doing here?"

Hermione smoothed her navy blue pencil skirt and replied casually, “Terry
asked me out for a drink.”

Harry smacked his forehead and whispered, “This could become extremely
complicated. Does Boot know about Malfoy?”
Hermione was adequately scandalised. She hissed in displeasure, “What is
there to know about Malfoy? I am not married and free to date whoever I
choose.”

Harry frowned and made his displeasure at her poor choices quite vocal,
“This is not you being smart. This is you being utterly reckless. Think this
through because I guarantee it will not end well.”

“It is just a drink. He’s not going to fuck me in the public bathroom.”
Hermione said with a definite roll of her eyes.

Harry winced, his face contorted in disgust, “That is not something I want
to picture.”

Hermione smirked and opened her mouth to retort when Terry shouted
cheerfully from the other end, “Granger!” He approached them, threw
Harry a look of uncertainty, but took her hand in his and led her out, “Come
on, let's get going.”

The imposing group of black-clad Aurors and Hermione in her pencil skirt
and black blouse arrived at The Leaky Cauldron. It was crowded, typical for
a Friday night where everyone was looking to unwind and grab a pint
before heading home. Tom, the innkeeper, caught sight of Harry and rushed
to his side. Harry shook the flustered man’s hand, and Tom graciously led
them to the best table in the house.

It paid to have drinks with the Chosen One.

Other patrons quickly stepped out of the way and let the group through
without fuss. It would be unwise to pick a fight with many highly skilled
men and women. Terry took a seat and pulled Hermione in next to him.
Harry shot his best friend disapproving glances, much like an older brother.
She stuck her tongue out at him childishly and gave Boot her undivided
attention.

They placed their order, and Hermione felt the rough pad of Terry's thumb
caress the sensitive skin of her leg. She shot him a bold look, moved closer
and snaked her foot up his trouser leg. It felt sinful to be fondled in public.
She wanted more.

Her vodka cranberry arrived, and she delicately sipped the concoction. Hot
breath ghosted the shell of her ear, sending renewed sensations through her
body.

Terry leaned in closer so his lips touched her ear lobe and drawled, “Let’s
get out of here.” Bold, wasn’t he? They had barely finished the first round
of drinks, but his confidence excited her.

Hermione tossed hers back, swallowed the burning sensation in her throat
and nodded in agreement. They got to their feet, and Harry asked loudly
enough for everyone to hear, “Leaving so soon?”

She wanted to scream but kept her composure and shot him a look of
annoyance instead, but Terry answered hotly, “Yeah, mate. Granger and I
have some unfinished business to attend to.” Harry might be his boss, but
that wouldn’t stop him from pursuing the woman of his dreams. Terry put
his arm around Hermione’s waist and pulled her closer to his side.

The other Aurors at the table wolf-whistled while Harry downed his drink,
stared into the empty glass, and shook his head in frustration. He refrained
from making a scene. Hermione was a big girl. It was not his place to tell
her how to live her life.

Terry took Hermione’s hand, and they stepped out onto the street. The crisp
evening air hit them. First, he let go, cupped her face gently, and leaned in
to kiss her. Hermione closed her eyes, grabbed onto his thick coat, and
closed her eyes in anticipation.

Merlin yes. Take me, Terry. Ravage me with your mouth. Her sinful
thoughts raged.

A familiar motherly voice made it to her ear, her eyes snapped open, and
she shoved Terry back hard as the realisation of who it was sunk in.
He stepped back, stumbled and stared at her, puzzled and opened his mouth
to question her bizarre behaviour, “What was…?”

Narcissa pulled down her white gloves and came closer, “Hermione, is that
you?” Fate was having a good laugh at her expense.

Hermione moved clear away from Terry, and he shot her another look of
surprise but did not pursue. Something had clearly startled her, and he was
curious about what would ruffle her feathers this way.

Hermione pulled her jacket tight, stuffed her hands into the pockets to keep
her fingers trembling, and strolled towards the regal lady standing under the
streetlamp. She spoke softly, “Yes, it’s me. I wasn’t expecting to run into
you today.”

Narcissa looked past her and eyed Terry, shifting uncomfortably in the
background, and grinned, “Clearly.” It dawned on her, and she quizzed,
“Oh, is this the gentleman you told me about?”

Blimey, Narcissa did not bother with subtlety. She motioned hurriedly for
her to lower her voice. Hermione glanced over her shoulder at Terry, who
was now eyeing Narcissa suspiciously with narrowed eyes and trying to put
two and two together.

Somehow, the way he regarded her newfound friend with such hostility did
not sit well, and she walked further away and waited for Narcissa to catch
up. When she did, Hermione weakly defended, “This is not what it looks
like.”

It dawned on her that she felt guilty about being caught with another man.
No, this simply would not do. She owed no explanations for her conduct,
and she was perfectly at liberty to pursue and be pursued by anyone who
grabbed her fancy.

Narcissa smiled, causing her blue eyes to sparkle, “Indeed.” So caught up in

portraying nothing was happening, Hermione completely missed the well-
dressed man standing to the side with a warm smile, waiting for Narcissa.
Hermione looked the man over and grilled with a rather devilish grin, “And
why are you out this fine evening?” It was nice to see Narcissa out and
about. She had been cooped up in the Manor for far too long, which could
not be healthy. Besides, the gentleman seemed refined and charming—a
perfect match.

Narcissa blushed and let out a composed laugh, “Hush now. Bernard is a
dear old friend, and we are just returning from a work-related dinner.”

Hermione raised a brow and teased, “He doesn’t look senile to me.”

Narcissa grinned. A mischievous glint flashed across her eyes, “I need my

son back. So, I resorted to a little white lie to get what I want.”

Hermione shook her head and wagged a warning finger, “How very
Slytherin of you. You should get home; you know it’s not safe.” Did that
mean Malfoy was expected any day now? She couldn’t quite fathom how to
go about breaching the topic of marriage with him or, more importantly,
how they could collectively work towards getting out of it unscathed.

Narcissa glanced back at Boot, who took a deep drag from his cigarette and
frowned, “I could say the same to you.” The smoke washed over his face,
but he didn’t seem too put off.

She took Hermione’s hand and added sensibly, “It would be fine to let him
court you, but perhaps, it would be wise to free yourself from any pending
arrangements before you do.” Her prudent words stung and went straight to
the heart. Hermione detested that Harry had been right all along. She hung
her head and kicked a stone with her heel, “Yes, I know.”

Narcissa touched Hermione’s face tenderly, “Goodnight, dear.” Hermione

watched the graceful lady walk up to Bernard and link her arm through his.
The nobleman tipped his hat in her direction and flashed a bright smile
before leading Narcissa to an apparation point.

Hermione sighed and returned to her would-be shag buddy. Terry put out
his cigarette and wasted no time in demanding, “Wasn’t that Malfoy’s
mother?”
She resented Boot’s condescending tone but nodded at once and replied
firmly, “Yes, that’s Narcissa Malfoy. Her house arrest ended a few months
ago.”

Terry raised his brows so high it nearly disappeared into his hairline. His
tone was laced with malicious suspicion, “What business do you have with
them?”

Hermione felt a certain degree of anger creep up steadily, which was doused
by the sheer will to put him firmly in his place.

She gritted out, “That is none of your business.” She turned away and
almost entered the Leaky Cauldron again, but Boot caught up, grabbed her
elbow, stopped her, and an apology tumbled out, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean
to pry.”

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and glared sternly, “We would all
be dead if Narcissa had decided to rat Harry out to Voldemort.”

Terry reached over and tucked a loose curl behind her ear. His fingers
brushed against her cheek, “I want to get to know you better.”

Hermione mustered a smile, and though she was tempted, it would not do to
act under false pretences. Gathering her courage, she retorted, “That does
sound extremely tempting, but I have some serious shite going on in my life
that needs immediate attention before I jump into bed with you.”

Disappointment floored him, but Boot put his hands into the deep pockets
of his coat, rocked on the balls of his feet and smiled, “Well, we can always
give it a go once you figure things out.”

Hermione returned the smile, reached to kiss him on the cheek and said,
“Hmmm, sounds like a definite plan.”

Boot cocked his head to the side, and the wind blew his hair over his face. It
was boyishly enduring. He asked curiously, “Is it because of Weasley?”
Hermione touched his sleeve and laughed, “Merlin, no, Ron and I have
been over for years.”
It's Draco Malfoy, but she kept that bitter thought to herself.

Terry grinned, “Well, that’s a relief.” He gently kissed her lips, “Goodnight,
Granger.” Merlin. She wanted to stick her tongue down his throat, but she
broke the kiss and touched his cheek with great restraint, “See you on
Monday.” She turned on her heel and walked away from the wizard,
watching her intently.

Boot watched Hermione leave and sighed. He wanted Granger writhing

under him, but his affection for her went beyond sex. With Weasley out of
the way, he could finally do something about it.

Hermione apparated into her bedroom, tossed her handbag aside, fell on the
bed fully clothed, and stared at the ceiling. She was royally screwed.

Dengfeng, County, Henan Province, China

The cobbled streets were busy with patrons moving about with platters of
food and boxes bursting with decorations, and some were climbing ladders
to hang the many lanterns that would be lit up in celebration later. Chun and
Draco walked along the street, taking in the different sights with awestruck
amazement since each year yielded something vastly different.

Many greeted them with silent nods and broad smiles as they walked past.
Master Chun was respected by the village people even though they had
reservations over teaching their sacred ways to a foreigner, even though he
wasn't the first. Still, over time, they grew fond of the boy who went above
and beyond to help them when needed.

They would participate in the festivities and help the villagers hang and
decorate the narrow streets with cutouts of red and gold dragons and plenty
of streamers. The older man picked up a brightly coloured lantern and
handed it to Draco, who was halfway up the ladder but was so caught up in
his thoughts that he completely missed the gesture.

Chun observed his apprentice's troubled state and asked, “Are you okay?
You are very quiet.”
Draco snapped to attention, carefully took the lantern, hung it, and climbed
back down, “I'm sorry, Master. Please forgive me. I am not myself.” He had
hardly slept a wink since receiving the letter. Every waking minute, he
thought obsessively about his mother and her well-being.

Chun questioned with a raised brow, “What's on your mind?” The boy was
most attentive, and he had observed a change in disposition over the past
days but waited for him to open up about the true nature of his attitude.

Draco sighed and stared into the distance, “My mother sent a letter two
days ago. My father has passed.” The mountains in the distance were barely
visible but still beautiful.

Chun bowed his head in respect, “Oh, I am sorry, my son.” He had heard
some horrific stories involving the boy’s father, but they were taught to look
past the hatred and focus on inner healing. He hoped Draco would be able
to forgive his father someday.

Draco straightened and answered at once, “No, please don’t be. He was an
evil man; he caused so much pain to everyone around him, but still, I feel
my heart ache with sadness.” The kind older man patted the young man on
the shoulder, “It is perfectly natural to grieve. You loved him.”

Yes, he loved him once, an exceedingly long time ago when he was a boy
eager for his father’s enthusiastic approval. Something that never came his
way, no matter what he did. Even when he adorned the Dark Mark, his
father seemed more dismal than proud.

His face fell in sadness, and he confided the dreaded conclusion eating
away at his consciousness, “My mother wants me to return home.”

Unfazed by the declaration, Chun carefully picked up another lantern,

arranged the tussles so they fell in place and nodded in understanding, “She
needs you, Draco.”

Draco concurred, but his mind was conflicted, and he still fought the inner
darkness that he feared would arise, “I'm in two minds about leaving.”
Chun smiled knowingly, “You fear going back will tempt you into your old
ways.” It made perfect sense for the boy to feel this way. When he first
arrived, he had been a wreck of a human being holding onto the threads of
his sanity.

Uncertainty and sadness engulfed Draco. He shielded his trembling hands

and muttered indecisively, “I left that life behind. Going back will mean
embracing it and taking the title passed down to me.”

Chun placed his hand on his disciple’s shoulder and encouraged, “Go, face
this final fear. Your mother will need you more than ever.”

Draco nodded in agreement. He would do anything, even the unthinkable,

for his mother, “Thank you, master, for all you have done for me.”

Chun beamed, “We showed you the way, but it was you who walked down
the path of righteousness.” He was enormously proud of the young wizard
before him, who exceeded their expectations. It was a rare occurrence to
have a prodigy with such remarkable gifts. It pained him to watch the boy
who was like a son to him leave, but he was destined for greater things and
a higher calling.

They continued to hang the lanterns and red and gold streamers in
companionable silence. Once the sun's rays took their leave and beams of
moonlight fell upon them, the sky was set ablaze with an extravagant
firework display.

Draco stared, so mesmerised by the blending of colours in the sky that he

did not notice Suri Jun standing by his side. A flowery scent invaded his
space, and he involuntarily inhaled deeply. She gently touched his hand,
and when he turned to look at her, she smiled shyly and pointed to the
dragon flying across the sky before it exploded in a brilliant myriad of
colours.

He stared into her face and swallowed hard. She looked pretty and soft in a
light blue robe with a jewelled ivory comb holding her hair to the side. She
thrust a bag of sweets into his hand and hurried off to join the giggling girls
waiting for her. A small child waved at him cheerfully, and the others threw
Draco appreciative glances before skipping down the street.

Chun frowned at the retreating girls but eagerly took a sugar-coated treat
Draco offered. They savoured the sweet, but a loud, angry cry and toppling
wooden boxes shifted their attention. A bunch of rowdy men knocked the
crates over and leered as the poor vendor cursed and hurried to arrange
them again.

Draco narrowed his eyes, pulled up his long sleeves and took a step
forward, but Chun held him back and issued a warning, "Patience."

The blonde’s eyes darkened as he took in the misfits in mismatched outfits,

creating a commotion. He hissed, “Who are they? I have not seen them
before.”

Chun calmly pointed to the group of three rowdy men. They looked
intoxicated and intent on causing damage, “I recognise them; they’re known
troublemakers from the neighbouring village.” He gestured to the one
making the worst scene, “The large one is a politician’s son.”

In slight alarm, they watched from the sidelines as Jun and her friends
hurried to help the older man desperately trying to collect his wares that
rolled down the street while his wife tended to the broken baskets with tears
in her eyes.

Suri Jun dug her foot into the soft soil, stood her ground and yelled in
Mandarin, "How dare you hurt this man? Have you no shame!" The men
looked at each other and laughed mockingly. The largest of the trio closed
the gap between them, grabbed Jun by the shoulders, peered into her face
and leered, “A pretty girl like you should mind her manners."

He leaned closer and rasped, “You don’t want to get hurt, do you?” His
breath smelt of cheap whiskey and stale tobacco.

Suri Jun’s younger sister grabbed the man’s arm and screamed, “Let my
sister go.” The man shook the child off, and the small girl fell to the ground
and started to cry inconsolably.
Draco felt his temper spiral out of control. Still, he remembered his training
and kept his wits about him until Master Chun directed otherwise. Seeing a
person he cared about dearly in danger made his resolve crumble with every
passing second.

Jun struggled in the man’s grasp, but when it became clear that he had no
intention of releasing her, she efficiently used her leg to give her assailant a
well-aimed kick to the groin, and he fell to the ground, howling in pain. The
other trespassers cried in outrage and closed in on Jun. She raised her
hands, took her stance, and prepared herself for a fight. She momentarily
glanced over her shoulder, and her eyes found Draco’s.

When one unruly man tried to grab her, she went to deflect the attack, but
long, pale fingers grabbed the man roughly by the collar, pulled him back
and tossed him aside. The thug fell to the ground and glared.

Draco hissed in clear Mandarin, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Throughout the years, he picked up the dialect and spoke it lithely. It was
no surprise since he was gifted with languages. Besides Mandarin, he spoke
French and German fluently.

He pointed to the mountains covered in a bluish hue and warned darkly,

"Leave while you still can."

One threatened in broken English, "Who are you to command us,

foreigner?" He spat near Draco’s feet. The other sneered, “You have no
rights here.”

Draco kept calm, rolled up the sleeves of his black robes, looked the men
dead in the eyes and smirked, "Do your worst then." He straightened,
shifted his feet, and skillfully placed one hand behind his back, and with the
other, he beckoned them forward.

Chun tended to the crying child, stood by Draco’s side, and instructed
sternly, "Jun, take your sisters and go home." Jun hurriedly picked up her
little sister, shot Draco a look of worry, and disappeared into the nearest
shop.
The large man had recovered from Jun’s kick. He rubbed his groin and
jeered. He pointed at Chun and laughed, “You and this old man are no
match for us.”

Chun raised his hands, took his signature Kung fu pose, and fired back,
“Old man? I'll show you.”

The men attacked first, but it was futile. They were somewhat skilled, but
the fight was quick and effortless. Draco quickly sidestepped the clumsy
punches and cowardly attacks, and a few well-aimed but subtle blows and
kicks to the right places and face had the men retreating fast.

His fist was inches away from one of their faces. If he connected, the bones
in the cheek would shatter to pieces. The men rubbed their sides and limped
away. The surrounding villagers cheered, and one grateful merchant tossed
Draco a juicy, shiny green apple.

Chun rubbed his knuckles and frowned, “Ah, you never let me have any
fun.”

Draco bit into the apple and laughed, "We wouldn't want an old man like
yourself to get injured."

Chun shook his head, muttered to himself about hot-headed youngsters and
turned to find Jun and her friends hiding and watching the whole thing from
the shop window. The wise old man stood his ground, “Jun, come here. Did
I not instruct you to go home?”

The pretty girl held onto her sister’s hand tightly and walked over with a
sheepish expression and a small imploring smile, "But uncle, the festival is
just starting. Draco got rid of those boys. Please, can’t we stay?"

Chun sighed and conceded defeat, "Yes, yes, let's go."

Jun shot Draco an adoring glance, "Thank you for saving me." She was red
in the face and could not bring herself to look directly at her rescuer.
Draco smiled warmly, “You hardly needed saving; that was a well-placed
kick.”

Jun giggled, "Thank you."

They walked among the lights and stalls, and Draco enjoyed his last festival
with his adopted family.

No 12, Grimmauld Place

Hermione held up a bottle of red wine and grinned the second Ginny threw
the door open, “I come bearing gifts.”

Ginny looked at the bottle and frowned, “Wine? You really are a borderline
alcoholic.”

Hermione kissed Ginny on the cheek and muttered, “Oh, shut it.” She
wiped her feet on the rug and stepped into the warmth of No. 12 Grimmauld
Place. Ginny had done a fantastic job of doing up the place. Gone were the
darkness and horrid fixtures. In its place were colour and elegant pieces of
wooden and cushioned furniture.

Hermione did a quick look around and asked curiously, “Where’s Harry?”

Ginny rolled her eyes, “At the Burrow with Ron, my brother is freaking out
about his upcoming nuptials.”

Hermione let out a laugh, “Yeah, I got a frantic phone call from him last
night sobbing about how we are meant to be.” She had tossed the phone
aside while Ron bore his soul out and gone back to sleep.

Ginny shook her head exasperatedly, “He’s still holding on, isn’t he?”

Hermione sighed, “Yeah, I guess. It's exhausting, to be honest, at times.”

She tugged at her jumper and entered the living room. A loud “Aunty
Mione!” erupted from the corner, and a bubbly eight-year-old Teddy Lupin
jumped into Hermione's waiting arms. She kissed his head and hugged him
tight, “Oh, my little bunny, I've missed you so much.”

A tear rolled down her cheek. The boy's bright purple hair reminded her so
much of Tonks. She broke free and cupped the small boy's sweet face,
“How are you, Teddy? Tell me everything.”

Teddy beamed, “Good, Muggle school is boring, and my broom broke.

Gran promised to buy me a new one for my birthday.” Hermione grinned
and tapped her chin in thought, “Did she now? Maybe I can buy you one
sooner, if that’s okay with her.”

Andromeda’s voice interrupted them, “You spoil him, darling.” She walked
over, hugged Hermione and smiled warmly, "It's good to see you."
Hermione could see precisely what Molly was on about. Despite the
differences in height and hair colour, Narcissa shared many traits with her
older sister. Andromeda had no clue that she maintained a close friendship
with Narcissa, and perhaps, it was time for the sisters to bury the hatchet.

Hermione watched Teddy play with James dotingly, “It's great to see you
too. I'm sorry I haven't been around."

Andromeda waved her hand casually and dismissed her apology, "You have
plenty to deal with.” She asked in concern, “Did you manage to get out of
your current predicament?"

Hermione frowned and shook her head, "No, looks like I'm stuck for the
time being."

Andromeda smiled sympathetically, "I'm sure you will find a way out; you
always do."

Ginny called out from the other room, "Hermione, come see who it is."

Hermione beamed, “Oh my goodness, Luna, it's been yonks. How are you?”

Luna smiled in her usual whimsical way, “Busy with Theo and
redecorating. His home lacks colour and any kind of warmth.”
Ginny and Hermione swapped a fond look and thought about how Nott
Manor would now be sporting beautiful blue and bright yellow shades.
They spent the rest of the day drinking wine, eating, gossiping, and having
a wonderful time.

After Teddy and Andromeda left, the women retired to the kitchen and
opened a fresh bottle of wine.

Ginny sipped the rich liquid and cleared her throat, “How is married life?”

Luna radiated happiness. Her clear eyes sparkled, “It’s amazing. Theo is a
wonderful husband.”

Hermione asked softly, "Do you think Theo knows where Malfoy is?"

Luna shook her head and gave Hermione a look of remorse, “He definitely
does not. When I asked, he looked like he was about to cry. His bottom lip
quivered, and he sort of blurted out that Draco left without a word to Blaise
or himself.”

The fuckers covered his tracks well.

Luna sensed Hermione’s restfulness and offered her thoughts, “You can't
fault Draco for wanting to get away. After everything he has been through
all his life, I wouldn't be surprised if he never returns to England.”

Good.

She poured herself another glass of wine, leaned against the kitchen counter
and continued sadly, “Theo told me a few things about how his dad and
Lucius treated their sons. Theo more than Draco because they endured a lot
of physical and verbal abuse because at least he had Narcissa to help him.”

Luna took a sip and wisely added, “Theo hates his father, and I am fairly
certain Malfoy feels resentment towards his father. We are quick to judge
them for being bigoted bastards who shunned us and treated us horribly in
school, but I learnt to look past that and ask Theo why they did what they
did.”
A fondness touched her face, “Once he explained, it became so clear, and
he’s such a loving man now, I couldn't be happier.”

Hermione got up from the small table in the kitchen and hugged Luna, “I'm
so happy for you.” But Nott was not Malfoy. He was nowhere near as cruel
and demeaning towards her as the blonde-haired fuck had been.

Ginny tossed a large piece of cheese into her mouth, “I guess you have a
point, Luna.”

Luna stared deep into Hermione’s tawny brown orbs and advised,
“Anyways, everything happens for a reason. We all have a purpose. It
becomes clear soon enough.” Hermione averted her gaze. Her purpose was
to get out of her marriage with Malfoy at all costs without surrendering her
wand.

The Shaolin Temple, China

The nervous wizard took a deep breath and knocked on the carved age-old
wooden door. A voice came from within, “Come in.” Draco took off his
shoes and went in. The Abbot smiled warmly, “Ah, Draco, Chun said you
wished to see me.”

Draco nodded, pushed his robes back and took the seat the High Priest
offered, “Yes, Master.” The wise ageing man offered tea and inquired,
“What is troubling you, young wizard?”

Draco stared at his hands in anguish, “My mother, she needs me.”

The Abbot nodded in reply, “Of course, and you wish to return.” It was a
statement, not a question.”

Draco looked into the face of the calm, holy one and replied hesitantly,
“Yes, but I don't know if I'm ready.”

The Abbot intently regarded the struggling man before him, “You have
acquired far more than you wished. Why do you still doubt yourself?”
Draco stuttered, “I...,” but he was interrupted, “You have turned into a
remarkable man. I use the term man, not wizard because that is what you
are. We have done all we can for you, and you have taken that knowledge
and used it to become better.”

Draco bowed respectfully, “I know, Master, I am forever in your debt.”

The kind, wise old man tapped the once-troubled youth on the arm and
advised, “Unless you intend on following the path of enlightenment, your
time here is over.”

The Abbot got to his feet, and Draco followed. He clamped him on the
shoulder and smiled warmly, "I am proud of you. It has been a privilege to
teach you."

Draco returned the smile and bowed reverently, "You have honoured me by
helping me find my way." There is no longer a doubt. He stepped out of the
room and stood in the middle of the training ground. Absentmindedly, he
played with the wooden dummy in the ancient arena for possibly the last
time.

Master Chun came from behind and requested, “One last lesson?”

Draco turned to face his mentor, teacher, and friend and bowed in reply,
“Yes, Master.” They stood a few feet from each other and raised their hands
to take their stance. Chun attacked first, and Draco countered effortlessly.
The fight was a graceful, skilful dance, and they blocked and countered the
strikes effortlessly until Chun slipped, giving Draco the advantage he
needed to win.

A happy smile curves the lips of the teacher, "The student has become the
master."

Draco quickly removed his fingers from Chun’s throat, took a step back and
replied, "Never."

The old man grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug,
"I will miss you, son."
Draco returned the embrace and fought the overwhelming emotions clawing
their way to the surface, "Thank you for everything."

Chun could barely control his own emotions, “You have a good life waiting
for you; make it a good one.” He inconspicuously wiped a tear that rolled
down his cheek.

He advised sternly, “Don't forget our ways.” The young man needed not to
move away from his current direction.

Draco straightened and responded confidently, “It is my way of life. I will

never deviate from this path.”

The following day, the temple's inhabitants gathered in the Great Hall, and
goodbyes were exchanged. Draco caught Suri Jun discreetly trying to wipe
tears off her porcelain white cheeks. He felt an unfamiliar ache, and his
heart slammed against his ribcage.

She, indeed, was a sweet, innocent thing.

Draco retired to his room and began packing his trunk. He stared at the
washed-out Slytherin stickers on top, solid sliver Hogwarts Crest, and his
name, which was bold as brass in plated gold. He ran his fingers across the
lid and flipped it open. The clothes he brought with him remained at the
bottom of the trunk. He had outgrown them mentally and physically. Draco
reached for his washed robes and gently placed them on top.

His hair was long, and a few strands fell carelessly across his forehead. He
tied it back and returned to his task. The door closed, and he turned around
fast as lightning.

Jun stood with her back to the door and whispered heartbreakingly, “Do you
have to go?”

Draco nodded and hoped his explanation was enough, “Yes, it is time for
me to return home.” She closed the gap and hugged him around the waist,
"But this is your home. I will miss you so much."
He let himself be held. She stepped back briefly and pushed a package into
his hand. Perplexed, Draco opened the small box and took out a polished,
gleaming bracelet of black beads with silver lettering. He placed it around
his wrist and stared at it in fascination. The bountiful rays of sun bounced
off the shiny surface, and numerous colours dappled a pretty pattern across
the wall.

Jun reached over and touched the beads tenderly, “Something to remember
me. It will bring you luck.” Draco pulled her to him, kissed the emotional
girl’s forehead and mumbled, “I will never forget you. Thank you for this
generous gift.” He fought the almost irresistible urge to brush her soft lips
with his. She let go when it became clear that he would not kiss her and
slowly walked towards the door with a heavy heart. He would always
remain her first love.

She threw it open, glanced over her shoulder and choked back a sob, “I
hope you will always be happy.”

Draco could not help but smile and nod. Once alone, he took the wrapped
jade pendant and silver chain and placed them on top of the contents of his
trunk.
He threw it one last lingering glance and shut the heavy lid of the trunk. It
fell into place with a loud thud. His fingers tightened around his wand, and
the magic between the two flowed naturally and synchronised. The ancient
magic in his veins called to him with renewed purpose. It surged forth and
placed its claim to the last remaining heir of the Malfoy bloodline.

The journey home would be long. Draco stared at the ancient buildings
from outside, and a feeling of deep sadness washed over him.

He stood in the courtyard of the Shaolin Temple, the early morning mist
clinging to the ancient stones. He had spent years here, training his body
and mind, seeking redemption for his past sins. The monks had taught him
discipline, humility, and the true meaning of strength.

But as he stood there, a sense of longing tugged at his heart. Memories of

home, of his friends and family, flooded his mind. The temple had been his
home and the one place where he had felt true peace and the confidence to
be himself. Leaving it behind left a gaping hole in his heart, but he decided
to return one day.

He would return home, not as the arrogant boy he once was, but as a man
humbled by his experiences and determined to make amends. Turning away
from the temple, Draco began the journey back to England, ready to face
whatever challenges lay ahead.

There was nobody to escort him out. The enormous wooden doors closed
behind him with an audible thud, and he dragged his trunk down the exact
steps that brought him there.
 Chapter 5
Chapter Summary

There's a storm brewing. :)

Draco makes his appearance. :)

To all the comments: - I really am blown away. I'm so glad everyone is

connecting to the story. Much love!

Carrie, I have no words to express how much your support and

additions to each chapter mean to me. You are an absolute gem. :)

Enjoy Chapter Five!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Hermione's London Flat

A loud ringing filled the small bedroom. Hermione burrowed under her
large pillow and willed the annoying noise to fade away. She groaned,
“Argh, go away, five more minutes.” It dawned on her that only she had the
power to end the deafening noise pounding into her head. She reached over
and felt around the night table in the dark.

Hang on, dark? Why the hell was her alarm ringing if it was still dark? Still,
she didn’t rise but lazily felt around until her fingers touched the large blue
clock her father gifted her when she moved out. His words were clear as
day, "Hermione Jean Granger, your mum won't be around to wake you up.
Instead, this clock shall take her place."

She could practically hear his hearty chuckle as he presented her with the
elaborately packaged antique clock. Hermione loved it. It was loud and she
made sure she was up on time. She was so attached to it that she took it
everywhere, including overseas visits on Ministry business. She grasped it
and brought it closer to her face. Any minute now, she would open her eyes.

Hermione groaned and opened one eye to look at the time. The glow-in-the-
dark needles of the clock were stubbornly fixed at 07:00 a.m. Odd, she
thought it was darker than a whale’s belly. What the heck was going on?
And then she heard it: a loud rumbling shook the windows, and she
practically wet her knickers and dived under the sheets. The rain beat down
hard, allowing no sunshine to break through the clouds. It was gloomy,
dreary, and cold. Hermione covered her head with her duvet and stared into
the flooded balcony. Her potted plants resembled bowls of overflowing
mud.

She gloomily pushed herself off the bed and padded barefoot into the living
room, switching on the lights as she went. Days like this were not meant for
going to work; she wanted nothing more than to crawl under the covers and
sleep, but an angry image of Mrs Gladys Perkins came to mind.

Hermione frowned. She had a meeting with the maddening old witch, and it
was bound to end up in a bitter argument. It was only natural that it would
fall on a miserable day such as this.

She scratched her arse, pulled the wedged underwear out of the crack and
dragged her feet lazily to the ensuite. Eyes still half-closed, she looked at
her reflection and rolled her eyes. Her hair was a complete and utter mess,
and she violently tamed it with her fingers, tied it up in a bun and reached
for her toothbrush. Her eyelids started to close, but she pinched her arm and
struggled to stay awake.

After a quick shower, Hermione fetched a short black dress out of her
cupboard and walked barefoot into the kitchen. She fixed herself a bowl of
cereal and attacked it with a spoon: soggy flakes and cold milk, breakfast of
champions. The weather had gotten worse. She stared at the drops of water
chasing after each other and tried to produce a believable excuse to stay
home. Cramps? Food poisoning? A Muggle parent emergency?
Again, Mrs Perkins came to mind. Ah, the annoying woman would make
this miserable day ten times worse. Hermione reluctantly reached for her
bag, stepped into her red heels, and held her wand tight. She closed her eyes
and disappeared with one stupid, unbearable destination in mind.

Malfoy Manor

Narcissa watched the steady downpour and frowned. She called out, "Dotty,
please come here."

The tiny house elf rushed to her mistress's side and bowed, "Yes, what can
Dotty do for you?"

Narcissa rose from her place by the fire, looked out the window and pointed
outside, "Are the peacocks in the shed?" Her voice was laced with concern.
The majestic birds detested getting their feathers wet.

She shuddered as the sky was set ablaze with lightning, and a roar of
thunder followed.

Dotty dove behind her mistress's gown and muttered weakly, "The peacocks
have been moved to the side shed by the groundsman." She was terrified of
heavy rain and never ventured outside unless absolutely necessary.

Narcissa nodded in satisfaction, "Ah, good. Dotty be a dear and..." She

watched the elf stare at the entrance with her eyes wide open—so wide, in
fact, that you could see half the room mirrored in the giant clear orbs. Dotty
was rooted to the spot and staring straight ahead. Her gaze did not falter.

Narcissa asked, perplexed, looking to her side, "What is the matter, Dotty?
You look like you've seen a ghoul." She heard steady, sturdy footsteps and
purposeful footsteps coming toward her. Each step echoed in her mind.
Curiously, Narcissa turned to see who it was, but strong arms went around
her and cradled her to a broad, firm chest. It knocked the proverbial wind
out of her.
A voice she knew well whispered lovingly; it was deeper, huskier, and
richer, but she knew. A mother always knows. My beloved son.

She rested her cheek on the broad chest and closed her eyes in relief. It was
hard to express the rush of emotions that washed over her.

"Mother, I've missed you very much, " The voice breathed almost
reverently." It took Narcissa a few minutes to gather her thoughts. She let
herself be held. Her arms were pinned to her side, but she managed to open
her eyes to stare past the long, wet, ice-blonde hair falling across her cheek
into the gardens, barely visible through the veil of steady raindrops.

Dotty continued to gawk, and eventually, her little knees gave out. She fell
to the floor in utter disbelief. Draco kept his arms around his mother but
lifted his head to peer into her face. He towered over her. His mother
seemed frozen, unmoving and lost to the world.

He inquired softly, "Mother, are you alright?" That voice. She drank it in
and opened her mouth in a silent sob.

Tears pooled around Narcissa's eyes and spilt over. She snapped out of the
daze and reached to caress her beloved son's face. Her fingers trembled as
they made contact with a face she had not touched or seen in over eight
years. She slowly raised her face to stare into her son's handsome face. Her
voice cracked with overwhelming emotions flowing through her body.
Nothing could have prepared her for this.

She kept her hand on his cheek to ensure he was real and not a figment of
her imagination. How she longed for this blissful day. Her son, her blood,
her one and only baby boy, except this, was no boy but a man with a
purpose. She could feel the peace he found radiate off him.

Draco closed his eyes, covered her hand with his and leaned into his
mother’s warm touch.

Narcissa finally found her voice, "Draco, oh Merlin, is it really you?"

Something within her broke, and she wept. Hot tears flowed down her
cheeks as she held onto her son.
They stood there for a long moment, mother and son reunited after years of
separation. The rain began to cease as if nature itself was celebrating their
reunion.

Draco held on tight and soothingly whispered, "Yes, it's me. Please don’t
cry, Mother, I'm here now." He let her unleash the pent-up sadness and
shock of seeing her only child appear out of thin air. Minutes passed, and
Narcissa tried to catch her breath.

The magic in him was intense; it hummed, and she felt it flow through him.
He gently broke out of the embrace, took his mother’s hand, and led her
into the foyer and lavish sofa. Still, in a stunned daze, she let herself be led.
They sat on the sofa, and Narcissa held onto Draco's hand tightly in fear
that he would disappear or leave her once again if she let go.

They sat in silence for what seemed like a lifetime. Mother and son stared at
each other, trying to find the right words, but Dotty broke the silence.

She hurried to Draco's side and squeaked, "Master Draco, is that really you,
sir?" She repeated Narcissa's words.

A smile curved his lips, and joy shone in his eyes, "Yes, it's me, Dotty.”

He looked at the small elf and mused, “I think you've grown taller." The elf
beamed proudly, pulled her red polka-dotted dress, and straightened to her
height of two feet and three inches.

“Draco,” Narcissa uttered his name again in pained happiness. She wrapped
him in her arms, whispering words of love and welcome, unable to contain
her emotions at having him back safe and sound.

He cupped his mother’s tear-stained cheeks, "Mother, it’s me; I'm here now.
Everything is going to be fine. You have my word."

With shaking hands, she gently touched his head and then face, "Let me
look at you. You have changed so much." Her eyes took in the long
platinum blonde hair, intense voice, pitch-black robes buttoned to his chin
and serene features of her son’s handsome face.
He smiled fondly, "And you have not aged a day. You look beautiful as
always." She continued to watch him and took in the small details. Gone
were arrogance and self-importance. In its place was a reformed man who
seemed wise beyond his years. Draco looked around his childhood home
and barely recognized it. He was grateful for the many changes. He felt no
darkness or sorrow within the walls. It felt oddly like home again.

Narcissa spoke softly, “Why did you not owl ahead?”

Draco gave his mother his full attention and grinned, “I wanted to surprise
you.”

Narcissa placed a jewelled hand over her chest and laughed, “You almost
gave me a heart attack. I was convinced it was a cruel joke.”

His eyes moved around the ample, renovated living space, “The Manor
looks, umm, different.”

She followed his gaze and nodded happily, “I had many changes done. I
couldn’t bear to think of all that took place within these walls.”

He nodded, “Yes, I can see. You did the right thing; everything is as it
should be.”

Narcissa took his hand again and asked earnestly, “Would you like a cup of
tea? You must be hungry after your travels.” He was ravenous.

Dotty reappeared with a tray of the best cakes, pastries, and other delicious
items.

Narcissa pointed to the tray and said sadly, “I don’t know what you might
like anymore.”

Draco reached for a piece of chocolate-smothered cake and laughed,

"Mother, I have the same likes. It is only my outlook on life that has
changed. I think we can both agree that’s a good thing." During his time at
the temple, he had followed a strict vegetarian diet and did not partake in
dinner, for it made the mind lethargic and disturbed meditation.

Narcissa could hardly contain her exhilaration, “I cannot believe you are
sitting with me; I keep expecting to wake up from his wonderful dream.”

Draco tossed a piece of fruit cake into his mouth and chuckled, “I assure
you it's no dream. It does feel good to be back on English soil. Many things
have changed, and I'm looking forward to catching up.” The Manor was
completely different, and he wondered about the rest of London.

Narcissa smiled, “I daresay your friends will help you there.”

A smirk crept up Draco’s lips, “How are they? I hope they don’t hate me too
much.”

Narcissa stirred her cup of tea and sipped the sugary concoction, “Ah, it's
best you find out yourself. They will be as shocked as me to see you.”

Draco looked to the floors above and asked curiously, “Can I use my old
room?

Narcissa nodded, but a frown creased her delicate features, “Yes, I would
have had the room ready for your arrival. It still has your school things,
Slytherin posters and old Quidditch equipment.”

Draco added an extra sugar cube to his tea and watched it disappear. He
replied casually, “There will be time to renovate. There are a few additions I
need to be done.”

Narcissa felt the hole in her heart fill abundantly each time he smiled. My
beloved son, she thought endlessly.

She smoothed her gown, kept her hands on her lap, and requested curiously,
“I want to hear about everything.”

Draco drained his cup of tea and got comfortable. It was a long story. He
smiled lovingly and asked, “Where would you like me to start?”
Narcissa’s blue eyes shone excitedly, “At the very beginning.”

They spent the rest of the day speaking of his time at the temple and the
fantastic people he shared his life with. Narcissa, in turn, spoke about her
house arrest and other matters, including the family business and Lucius's
passing.

Draco felt his heart clench. He was wracked with guilt over leaving her at
such a sensitive time. Still, he raised a brow, “Have people been kind to
you?”

Narcissa stiffened and remembered the incident in Diagon Alley. Hermione,

bless her soul. She mustered a smile and said, “It will take some time for
people to warm up to our family.”

Draco sighed exasperatedly, but yes, his mother was right. They had much
wickedness to pay for, but Narcissa waved it off casually, “Let us speak of
happier things.” She sent her son a secret smile, “Suri Jun? Was she
someone special?”

Draco blushed, a steady redness creeping up his pale cheeks. “Oh, very
special, but not in that way. She would've liked to have been more than
friends, but I wasn't there to break hearts.” He stared into the distance and
muttered, “Especially hers. She's a delightful person, and she meant a great
deal to me.”

Candlelight flickered, but the rain had not let up. Streaks of lightning lit the
night sky, illuminating the grounds and surrounding areas, and roars of
thunder followed the steady downpour. He leaned into the chair and sighed.
There was so much he had missed and so much to learn.

Narcissa bit her lip and decided against telling him about the marriage law
and Hermione Granger. It was the one thing she omitted and neglected to
mention. She did so because she was afraid he would leave once again.
From what he said, he was always welcome at the ancient monastery, and
second, she had no wish to overwhelm him on the day he returned. There
would be plenty of time to knock the socks off him later.
A German shepherd puppy came running across the marble floors, followed
by Dotty shouting for it to come back. Its furry paws left a trail of muddy
pawprints. It came to Draco's side, waged its tail, and begged to be picked
up. He obliged, and it squirmed and licked his face.

Draco patted the animal and declared with a slight smile, “Affectionate little
rascal. When did you buy him?”

Narcissa gushed, “I didn't. I found him abandoned on the outskirts of the

Manor. I love him dearly.” It had been quite by chance that Dotty had
spotted the puppy.

The puppy eagerly devoured the treat Narcissa tossed at him. Draco
watched the display with a slight smile on his face, “I can see why. Does it
have a name?”

Narcissa picked up the puppy off Draco’s lap and cuddled it, “Max, I felt it
suited his disposition.”

Draco yawned. He was exhausted by the day’s activities and long flight. He
needed to rest his eyes and body before he collapsed.

Narcissa noticed her son’s eyes droop, “It's been a long day, hasn't it? Why
don't you retire?” She was still coming to terms with his arrival.

Draco got to his feet and stretched, “That sounds smashing. I do feel dead
on my feet.” He dropped a kiss to his mother’s cheek, and she held on and
pleaded, “Please be here when I wake in the morning.”

Taking his mother’s hand in his, he kissed it and promised, “Of course.”
Turning to the wide stairs that brought them to the upper floors, he touched
the intricately carved bannister to reacquaint himself with the surroundings.
Some things came naturally, and his feet carried him down the familiar
path.

On the floor passing his parent's room, he caught sight of his father’s
portrait through the crack in the door. His father's painted eyes caught him,
and Draco looked away and hurried down the corridor to his room. Seeing
his father’s accusing eyes prompted heavy, unsteady breathing. He was not
ready to face his father.

Pushing the double doors open, he stood at the entrance of his childhood
room. Mother was right. It was left untouched; his eyes moved over the
objects he held dearly in his youth and marvelled at how much each item
meant to him.

The silver markings on the broom handle gleamed even in the darkness.
Draco gravitated towards it and closed his fingers around the handle. He
hadn't given flying a second thought, but now, it came roaring back, and he
couldn't wait to take to the skies.

Among the clouds was where he felt free from the burdens that plagued his
youth. It had been his escape. He looked around and saw his trunk in the
corner. He discarded his robes on the way to the massive ensuite connected
to his room. Stepping into the large glass cubicle, he turned the silver
knobs, and the large overhead shower came to life. He leaned into it and let
the cool water wash the grime off his chorded neck, muscled back, chiselled
chest, and firm, hardened thighs.

The faded rose-pink Sectumsempra scar that entwined its way down to his
groin was kept company by a few new additions he acquired during sparing
sessions and excessive practice. Long strands of platinum blonde hair stuck
to his face, and Draco made a mental note to get a haircut.

Now that he was back home, his long locks were a constant reminder of
how much he looked like his dead father, and he had no wish to bear any
resemblance to him. He stood under the spray for nearly an hour. His mind
wandered to the family business. Reaching for the large white towel made
available for his disposal, Draco vigorously towelled his hair and then his
balls. Discarding the towel, he walked around his room naked. His cock
swung in tandem as he fetched a pair of black silk boxers from the
cupboard in the corner.

He held them up and eyed them critically, “Well, they will have to do for
the time being.”
Stepping into them, he struggled to pull them up to his long legs. It was a
snug fit, and the material almost burst at the seams but fit tightly around his
waist. A shopping trip was a must; he knew he couldn’t wear his kung fu
robes everywhere, no matter how comfortable they were, and now that he
was back, he would, in time, have to get used to certain luxuries again and
dress appropriately. He slid between the white Egyptian cotton sheets,
placed his hand under his head, and stared at the ceiling in deep thought.

There was much to do. He had many wrongs to the right, starting with one
particular witch first.

Exhaustion washed over him, and he fell into a content dreamless slumber.
In the depths of his mind, he embraced the feeling of satisfaction at being
back home, but he missed the temple dearly. There was a serenity about the
place that could not be replaced with all the comforts in the world.

Thunder rumbled in the background, but the real storm was yet to pass.

Hermione's Flat

Hermione let her handbag drop the second her feet touched the carpet. It
had been another long and horrible day. She looked around the familiar
space and sighed.

First, she arrived in the downpour, and her beautiful red heel got stuck in a
crack in the stairs and refused to budge no matter how hard she pulled it.
After much pulling, she was forced to resort to magic to retrieve her
beloved and expensive shoe. This resulted in paperwork explaining why she
had to blow up Ministry property and why there was now a sizeable hole
where a stair should be.

She had a weird fascination with footwear. Her cupboard had boxes upon
boxes of heels, boots and colourful sandals. Her friends always had a go at
her for purchasing shoes. She kicked her shoes off, and the silver ankle
bracelet with otter charm bounced energetically. Her stomach rumbled, and
it demanded sushi. By the time she showered and put her hair up in a towel,
the food had arrived.
Hermione paid the Muggle delivery boy and settled in front of the telly with
her sushi and sashimi. It took practice to balance the bowls, but after years
of devouring her weight in the delectable Japanese food, she was a certified
pro. Mrs Perkins had been a bloody nightmare. The woman just would not
take no for an answer. Her farm was on the outskirts of London. She ran a
sanctuary for Magical creatures, and her funding was adequate, but she kept
demanding more.

When Hermione suggested she hand over the books to see where the money
had gone, the woman threw a proper hissy fit and refused outright.

There was definitely something fishy going on. Hermione reported the
incident to The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical
Creatures, and dear Miss Perkins would face an inquiry. Hardly anything
got past Hermione; that's why Kingsley valued her and put up with her
otherwise obsessive behaviour. She was bloody brilliant at her job.

Her mobile phone buzzed, and Hermione set aside her sushi and reached for
it. It was a text from Terry. She tucked her legs under her and clicked on the
little pulsating envelope.

I hope you had a good day. I'm thinking about you.

Hermione grinned from ear to ear. If he wasn't the sweetest bloody man.
She replied quickly. Her fingers moved across the pad expertly.

Pigging out on sushi and heading to bed soon. I missed you at work.

His reply came almost instantly.

Miss you too, darling. See you tomorrow, sweet dreams.

It was more like wet dreams. She replied without a second thought.

Good night, sleep tight, and don't let the bed bugs bite.

She pressed send and regretted it immediately. Don't let the bed bugs bite?
Hermione smacked her head and groaned. She seriously needed to up her
flirting game. Her fingers would be working their magic later. After the last
attempt and Malfoy's untimely appearance at the point of orgasm had scared
her from trying again, but the need to let go of pent-up frustration
overpowered the fear she felt. She desperately needed to reach a satisfying
climax.

Terry stared at the screen and grinned. Oh, if he could have one night with
her, it would be enough. He could not get her out of his head.

Malfoy Manor

Draco was up at dawn; it was a practice that he would not give up. The first
rays of sunlight made their way into the room, licked the floors, and filled it
with a warm glow. He pulled on a fresh set of robes and buttoned them to
his chin. The transparent grey of his eyes adjusted to the mood.

Not a creature stirred, and he enjoyed the quiet. It was shattered by an over-
enthusiastic puppy running about. He called it to heel. The dog whimpered,
obeyed, and followed his master into the flower garden. Draco grinned and
ruffled the fur on its head affectionately.

The sun was barely out. Insistent drops of morning dew hung on the leaves
of the many trees in the immaculately preserved gardens. He walked
aimlessly and came to a small clearing where he used to play with Theo and
Blaise in their younger days. He sat down among the grass and small white
stones, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes.

With proper concentration, he could block out the noise of a crisp morning.
The puppy sensed his master's need and sat next to Draco, keeping his soft
head on his lap. He became one with his surroundings.

Crossing his legs and straightening his back, Draco closed his eyes and
focused on his breathing, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. With each
breath, a sense of calm washed over him, grounding him in the present
moment.
He let the energy around him flow through and pull him into its inner
warmth. This was how Narcissa found him hours later. She dared not
disturb but watched in awe at the man before her. He was at complete peace
with himself. His features were relaxed and serene. She observed for a few
more minutes, left him in silence, and retreated to the foyer.

With his return, many things would need their immediate attention.
Narcissa owled Bernard and requested his presence at once.
 Chapter 6
Chapter Notes

The Slytherins make their appearance. :) These first few chapters are
paving the way for the rest of the story. :)

I felt the need to elaborate on everyone's background stories.

I'm thrilled everyone's enjoying this story! :) :)

Please read and review.

Enjoy Chapter Six!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Malfoy Manor

Narcissa generously buttered a piece of toast when Draco appeared in pure

white robes with black buttons and sporting a shorter haircut. She smiled
affectionately and got to her feet, "The short hair suits you better."

Draco ran his fingers through his terse hair and rubbed his neck, "Dotty did
a decent job." He recalled how the elf had to balance two chairs to reach his
head, even when seated. The tiny elf did not take criticism well, but she
hardly needed it. His hair was neatly cut. The long locks were gone, and in
its place was a shorter fashionable do that Dotty had seen in Witch Weekly
Magazine's most eligible wizarding bachelor edition.

Dotty pointed to the picture of a rather good-looking young wizard in the

magazine and said wisely, "This is the newest cut for a handsome man, sir."
The man was younger than him but not by much. Draco sighed and
conceded defeat, "Well, you know best. Just don't make me bald."
Dotty's face contorted unpleasantly. She seemed highly insulted by what he
was insinuating. He saw her pouting face in the mirror and quickly
reassured her, "I have complete confidence in you." The elf grinned broadly
and set to work. Draco said a small prayer to Merlin and sat very still. A
few strands fell onto his forehead, and once the job was done, Dotty had
beamed at him and taken immense pride in her handiwork.

Draco sat down at the table and looked at the lavish breakfast spread. His
stomach rumbled, but he reached for a slice of bread and spread marmalade
across it liberally.

Narcissa observed and scolded, "Son, you must eat more than that." He
smiled slightly, took a bite, and replied, "I will. I'm just pacing myself."

A loud voice came from the foyer, "Narcissa, I left when I received your
owl. Are you alright, my love?" An ageing man with silvery hair and light
green eyes in a crisp grey suit rounded the corner and entered the clean
dining room. Bernard came to an abrupt halt. His eyes fell on the tall, pale
man sitting next to Narcissa.

A happy smile crept up his face, and he laughed, "Merlin's beard, is this the
little scamp that I used to give sweets to?" The older man radiated warmth.
His eyes pleasantly lit up when he laughed. Draco pushed back the heavy
chair and rose to his feet, greeting, "Bernard, it is so good to see you, and
I'm forever in your debt for taking care of matters and my mother."

Narcissa blushed and pointed to a chair, "Please join us."

Bernard closed the gap, held Draco by the shoulders and nodded in
approval, "You have become quite the man." He took a seat, and Dotty
poured him a glass of orange juice.

Draco bit into another piece of toast and muttered, "I'm sorry about your
illness."

Narcissa choked on her juice, and Bernard raised a curious brow, "What
illness?" He pounded his chest and exclaimed, "I am as fit as a Hippogriff."
Draco looked perplexed, "Mother wrote to me about your heart issues."

Bernard grinned and turned to face the uncomfortable lady at the table,
"Care to elaborate, Cissy?"

Draco glanced at his mother with a half-smile and shook his head, "I cannot
believe you would lie about such a thing."

Narcissa defended weakly, "I did not lie. Remember the chest pain you
had?"

Bernard chuckled, "You mean the bout of indigestion I suffered." He added

fondly, "You should be ashamed."

Narcissa attacked her scrambled eggs, "If wanting my son back is

something to be ashamed of, then yes, I'm guilty. Whisk me off to
Azkaban."

Draco reached over and squeezed her hand, "That's all right. Everything
happens for a reason; it was my time to return."

He rose with his empty plate in his hands, and Narcissa, Bernard and Dotty
stared at him as if he had lost his mind. The nervous elf rushed to his side
and held out her hand, "Master Draco, please give me the plate, sir." He
shook his head and held the plate out of her reach, "I'm quite used to
washing my things. Now show me the way to the pantry."

Dotty looked utterly horrified. She glanced at Narcissa for instruction, and
the stunned lady nodded. Once Draco disappeared with Dotty, Bernard
broke the silence, "He seems rather put together. I am astonished at the
change." Narcissa sighed in relief, "He certainly has mended his ways and
let past demons go. I hope he can apply himself to running the company."

Bernard nodded and pulled a platter of food close, "Give the boy some
credit. I have complete faith in him."

Narcissa picked at her food and delicately munched on a scone.

Bernard cut a fat sausage in half, "Have you told him about the Marriage
Law?"

Narcissa shushed him urgently, "He arrived yesterday. I'm not going to
burden him with it right away."

Mouth full, Bernard sniggered, "The clock is ticking, darling."

Narcissa pushed her plate aside and exhaled, "Yes, I know. I will tell him
soon. I need to find the right moment."

Draco walked back in with a green apple firmly in his grasp. He bit into the
ripe flesh of the apple, wiped the juice that trickled down his chin and
asked, "Mother, do you have a way to contact Theo, Blaise and Pansy?"

Bernard puffed his chest out proudly, "Oh, those three are all doing well."

A fond smile made its way onto Narcissa's face, and she replied
enthusiastically, "Of course, they come by once in a way and call to see
how I'm doing. I'm quite used to using a mobile phone. It's much more
efficient than sending an owl." Hermione had bought the device and spent
an entire day teaching her to use it. It was not easy, considering she had the
knowledge of a troll regarding Muggle devices.

Draco finished off the apple and mumbled, "It is. Lots of Muggle ways are
better if you think about it."

Silence followed his alarming statement. The quiet was pierced by

Bernard's fork scraping determinedly against the white china plate. After
breakfast, Bernard wiped his mouth with the serviette, threw it down on the
table and addressed Draco calmly, "Son, when you are ready, there is much
to discuss." The young wizard nodded, agreeing, "Of course, I will be ready
to begin going over business matters next week."

The older charming wizard tipped his hat, threw Narcissa a loving gaze and
took his leave. Draco retired to his room and stared at his mother's mobile
phone. He decided to call Blaise first as he was the levelheaded one. He
hoped his friends would understand why he did what he did and not resent
him too much. A few rings passed, and just as Draco was about to hang up,
Blaise answered, "Good morning, Narcissa."

Draco struggled to find the words; he held the phone silently, but this was
his best mate.

Blaise's deep voice came through, "Er, hello?"

Draco took a deep breath and exclaimed, "Blaise, it's me." He heard a loud
thud and a slew of profanity.

Blaise came back on and asked suspiciously, "Draco?"

Draco replied at once, "Yeah, it's me." He asked casually, "Listen, are you
free to drop by?"

A loud laugh cut through the moment, "You're having me on. This isn't
Draco. It can't be."

Draco grinned and recited one of their most memorable pranks, "In our first
year, you set fire to the curtains in the Slytherin common room and blamed
it on Montague."

Blaise shook his head in disbelief and stumbled over his words, "Morgana's
tit, it is you, I, fuck...."

Draco interrupted and insisted, "Come over."

Blaise couldn't believe his ears but replied at once, "Yeah, of course," and
the line went dead immediately.

Draco scrolled through the numbers and stared fondly at the name Theodore
Nott. Always the more emotional of the trio, he would have to tread
carefully with him.

Theo answered after the first ring. His bubbly voice was calm and warm,
"Narcissa, this is a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?"
Draco smirked, "Always happy and ready to help. Some things never
change." An uncomfortable silence was followed by frantic crying in the
background.

Theo's voice cracked with heavy emotion, "Don't fucking play with me. Is
this really you?"

Draco sighed. Like Blaise, Theo would need convincing, "In our fifth year,
Romilda Vane sent me an enchanted Valentine's Day card. You took it and
snogged her inside Filch's broom cupboard."

Theo blew his nose hard and chuckled, "Holy shit, I'm coming over right
now! Are you at the Manor?"

Draco quipped, "Where else would I be?" There was a loud crash, and Theo
yelled, "Luna, where is my bloody coat? I need to leave at once." The line
abruptly cut off, and Draco could not help but laugh. Lastly, he reluctantly
called Pansy. She would literally have his precious balls. The call
connected, but she spoke to someone else, "Neville, love, can you fetch the
cat from outside? I worry about my baby."

Draco stared wide-eyed at the black device in his grasp. Longbottom? That
was the only Neville he knew.

Pansy giggled at something Neville said and spoke, "Yes, darling, how are
you, Cissy?

Involuntarily, the dormant snake in him rose to the surface, and Draco
questioned, "Pans, are you really with Longbottom?" A strained silence was
punctured by heavy breathing.

Pansy sneered, "I'm going to kill you slowly, Draco. You are going to wish
you didn't return." It was the kind of response he was expecting from her.

Draco snorted and mused, "Sounds good. Why don't you come over?"

Pansy replied sternly, "Oh, I'm on my way, and you better run, Malfoy."
Obviously, his friends had changed and adapted as much as he did. It was a
comforting thought. Draco returned to the foyer and sat next to his mother.
Narcissa placed the intricate lace embroidery aside and inquired curiously,
"How did it go?"

Draco laughed, "Better than I could hope. They're coming over."

Narcissa smiled warmly, "Ah, I'll make myself scarce and have
refreshments ready." The air was punctured with the urgent sounds of
apparation and loud chatter.

Draco braced himself for the incoming barrage. His mouth was dry, but he
swallowed hard and got to his feet.

Theo shoved Blaise out of the way and yelled, "You rotten wanker." He had
always been the tallest. The gangly man had hit another growth spurt. His
dirty blonde hair was cut short, and he narrowed his clear blue eyes at his
best friend. Theo instructed Blaise sternly, "Grab him and hold him still so I
can kick his nuts." He added angrily, "You turn up after all these years, you
fucking arsehole."

A high-pitched voice hurled, "Do you have any idea what you've put us
through?" Heels clicked impatiently against the marble floors, and everyone
ground their teeth. Pansy hadn't changed much except that she looked like
she had stepped out of Witch Weekly Magazine with her short bob, stylish
pleated pants, manicured nails, and a fashionable silk shirt.

In surrender, Draco put his hands up and backed away slowly, "Calm
down." He went to stand behind a rather sturdy cushioned armchair. The
more distance he put between himself and the enraged frothing woman, the
better for his wellbeing. Pansy wasted no time; she strode up to him, and
Draco closed his eyes and surrendered to what might follow.

She grabbed his face, and he felt her nails dig in slightly. She pulled him
down to her height, "What have you been doing? Your skin is so soft."

Letting go, she took a step back and cocked her head to the side, placed her
hands on her hip and grinned, "You look hot as fuck and weirdly different
but in a good way." She looked him over and whispered, "So fit and firm."
Theo chuckled, "Steady on, Pans," and unconsciously sucked in his small
protruding gut. He clamped Draco on the shoulder and grinned, "It is good
to see you, mate."

Blaise walked behind the impulsive duo with a happy grin and his hand out.
He was an inch shorter than Draco but broader and built. His chocolate
brown skin was gorgeously tan, and his green-tinged eyes lit up happily at
the sight of his long-lost friend.

Pansy choked back a sob, "You miserable worm. Do you have any idea how
worried we've been?" She added in concern, "You could've died."

Draco looked at each of his friends and solemnly replied, "If I had stayed, I
would have. I needed to leave."

A deep voice concurred, "Yes, we know."

Pansy rounded on Blaise and admonished, "Don't encourage him."

Blaise glared sternly, "We all know what he did was right, so shut it."

An awkward silence filled the space.

Theo pulled Draco into a tight hug, "It's good to have you back." He let go
and asked earnestly, "Are you here to stay?"

Draco smoothed his robe and smiled, "Yes, Mother needs me, and I
accomplished what I set out to do."

Pansy sat down, crossed her legs with poise and probed, "And what pray
tell is that?" A smile split Draco's face in half.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, "Inner peace." The rattling of a
tray reached their ears, and they turned towards the sound. Dotty balanced
an enormous silver platter with a large pot of steaming tea and plates of
cake, pastries and cut sandwiches.

Dotty flashed a bright smile at the group of young people and offered
politely, "Tea?"
A hearty laugh erupted from deep within Theo, "Salazar, no! I need
something much stronger; I'm still recovering from the shock of seeing this
git." Dotty left the platter and hurried off to fetch a bottle of aged scotch.

Draco leaned back, ran his fingers through his ice-blonde short locks and
asked with a grin, "So, what have I missed?"

Blaise shrugged and reached for a piece of cake, "I suppose we can start
with the most obvious ones."

Dotty reappeared with a golden tray laden with scotch in an intricately

carved decanter and crystal tumblers.

Theo was first to pour himself a drink. He tossed it back and hissed as it
laid a trail of fire down his throat. He smiled, displaying nearly all his teeth
and gushed, "I married Luna Lovegood a few months back."

Draco raised a brow, "Lovegood? As in Loony?"

Theo suddenly became defensive, "Hey, watch it. That's my wife, and she's
been my bloody saving grace."

Draco smiled warmly, bit into a cream-filled pastry and managed between
mouthfuls, "I'm sure she's great.

Theo poured himself another drink and continued, "We started dating after I
ran into her at Blaise's Quidditch store press conference about three years
ago. Anyways, she was from the Quibbler. We talked, and boom, she broke
through all my insecurities, and here we are."

Draco looked at Blaise lazily munching on a sandwich and asked curiously,

"Quidditch stores?"

Blaise swallowed and smirked, "Yeah, it turns out I can be a decent

businessperson when I put my mind to it. I own shops in Diagon Alley." He
pointed to his gleaming gold wedding band, "I married Daphne, maybe a
year or so after Hogwarts. We have a boy and a girl."
His face softened, and he added lovingly, "Carrie is almost five, and Adam
is eighteen months."

Draco could hardly believe his ears. He mused, "Wow, been busy, haven't
we?"

Blaise took the scotch-filled glass Theo handed him and chuckled, "Yeah, I
guess."

Draco winced at the mention of the older Greengrass sister. Astoria's name
was bound to come up.

Pansy swirled the contents of her glass around and stared into it. She
sighed, "When they passed the Marriage Law, and I got paired off with
Longbottom, I was properly horrified, but oddly enough, he was delighted. I
fought the poor man all the way, but now, I'm so in love with him I can
hardly breathe." With a small smile, she added, "The Ministry knew what
they were doing when they ran the algorithm."

Thoroughly confused, Draco inquired further, "Marriage Law? Algorithm?"

Pansy's gaze softened, "Of course, you know nothing about it." She added,
"But yeah, I suppose since you're back, they will also run your name."

Blaise coughed. He knew from Daphne exactly who Draco had been paired
with, thanks to Astoria arriving on their doorstep sobbing hysterically, that
her betrothed was matched with someone else. For half the night, Daphne
had tried to calm her younger sister and assure her that it was such a bizarre
union that it would never happen.

Close to dawn, Astoria had finally calmed down enough to go home. Blaise
thought it was brilliant that Draco got paired up with Granger, but he was
undoubtedly sure there would be plenty of drama. Granger would give
Draco a bloody good run for his money. She was a no-nonsense type of
witch and certainly one that could knock their temperamental best friend off
his high horse if need be. He kept mum; it was apparent Narcissa hadn't
gotten around to telling her son about his pending nuptials.
Instead, he stirred the conversation away, "You remember Davis?"

A knowing smirk curved Draco's lips, "Oh yeah, I remember Tracey."

Intimately, they had shared a kiss or two in Hogsmeade. Sadly, though
curious, he questioned, "I thought she died."

Theo put the half-eaten sausage pastry down and shook his head, "That's
what we thought, but apparently, we were dead wrong." Everyone groaned
at his poor choice of words and attempted humour. Undeterred, he
continued, "She's getting married next week to Weasley. Once she finds out
you're back, I'm sure you will get an invite. I think your mum already got
hers."

Draco could feel the sweat build on his upper lip. He asked anxiously,
"What? Was that also a Ministry matchup?"

Pansy grinned and leaned forward conspiratorially, "Yeah, but she took it
rather well, Weasley, not so much. The bugger is still hopelessly in love
with Granger."

Draco swallowed hard. This law sounded utterly insane. He mused

sardonically that he had chosen the opportune time to reenter the wizarding
world. He wondered who he would get paired off with if they decided to
run him through this algorithm. Perhaps ex-Death Eaters were exempt from
the new law. Not that he would ever entertain the idea of marriage to
someone he did not know.

It went beyond that. He had not entertained the idea of spending the
remainder of his days with anyone. He was happy to dedicate his life to
meditation and looking after the family's interests. Of course, the matter of
an heir to carry the Malfoy name would be important, but there was time,
and he was not going to bend to some bloody law.

Draco pushed the thought away, cleared his throat and asked curiously,
"What's Granger doing?"

Pansy ran her finger around the rim of her now empty glass and smacked
her lips, "She's the Undersecretary to the Minister."
Draco widened his eyes, "Blimey, that's impressive."

Blaise grinned devilishly, "You won't recognise her. The woman's come out
of her ugly shell."

Theo licked his bottom lip and indicated to a point between his chest and
hip, "Those legs of hers go on forever."

That bit of information piqued Draco's interest. He wanted to see what they
were talking about, but he showed indifference. "Yeah?"

Pansy frowned and spat in disgust, "You fuckers are disgusting. Show some
respect."

Theo laughed, "Says the woman who wanted to hand over Potter gift
wrapped with a bow."

Pansy leered, "Sod off, Theo."

Blaise laughed and stuffed his face with yet another piece of fruit cake.

Theo asked impatiently, "Well, cough it up. Where and what have you been
doing all these years?" He looked around and dropped his voice to a mere
whisper, "Narcissa isn't around. You were shacked up with some Muggle
broad, weren't you?"

Draco replied, rolling his eyes, "Yes, you caught me. I fathered a bunch of
kids who are running around Muggle London."

Pansy reached over, smacked Theo's head with a rolled-up copy of the
Prophet and hissed, "Idiot."

He paused for effect and told them the truth, "I've been living and training
in Kung Fu at a Buddhist monastery in China."

Blaise narrowed his eyes in thought and questioned, "Isn't that some sort of
deadly Muggle self-defence?"
Draco got his feet, moved them fluidly, and took his signature stance,
"Depends on how you use it."

Theo gawked and said in awe, "That's bloody brilliant."

Blaise watched intently, and Pansy eyed the movements in interest, "That's
hot."

Draco added purposefully, "After everything that happened, I didn't know

who I was, what I wanted or how to go on."

Blaise raised a brow, "And do you now?"

Draco nodded at once, "Yes, I have purpose again. My mind is crystal

clear."

Pansy stared at his face and smiled warmly, "Well, I can see the peace in
your eyes. I'm thrilled to have you back."

Blaise cleared his throat, "Not to burst the happy bubble, but have you
spoken to Tori?"

Draco averted his gaze, "No, I will in time." The mention of Astoria
Greengrass brought back some rather painful memories.

Blaise advised solemnly, "Mate, be careful. Time has not been kind to her."

Theo looked uncomfortable. He rubbed the back of his neck and muttered,
"She's still in love with you, and her mind slipped. You will need to deal
with her carefully."

After all this time? Draco wondered but kept the thought to himself and
replied gravely, "I understand, but I cannot give her what she wants from
me.

Blaise sighed, "I don't think she will be easily discouraged."

Pansy got to her feet and touched Draco's robes. Her eyes roamed over
them critically, "You need to get some bloody clothes."
Theo nodded vigorously, "Yeah, mate. She's got a point."

Pansy looked around the room excitedly, "Have about a day out in Muggle
London?"

Theo clapped enthusiastically, "Oh, how fun. I'm in."

Blaise rolled his eyes and frowned at Theo, "Shopping? You really are
almost batting for the other side." He smirked at Pansy, "I would love to,
but I've got three shipments in and a ton of inventory to go over."

Draco leaned forward. His eyes shone bright, "I have one request."
Everyone gave him their undivided attention and listened intently to his
following words. Once satisfied that everyone was listening, he asked
graciously, "I'd rather keep my return away from the public eye for the time
being. Keep this between us."

Theo raised his hand, "Can I tell Luna?"

Draco rolled his eyes, "Put your fucking hand down." He locked eyes with
his tall best friend and said, "No, not yet, at least."

Theo's face fell in sadness. There were no secrets between Luna and him.
He was awful at keeping things from her, but Draco insisted he should keep
his mouth shut.

Hopefully.

Blaise lit a cigar and tipped his chin, "Yeah, The Prophet will blow this way
out of proportion." If he told Daphne, it would be practically the same
thing. He loved his wife, but she was a horrible gossip, not to mention
running off to tell Astoria.

Pansy touched her full red lips with her index finger and winked, "Our lips
are sealed."
 Chapter 7
Chapter Notes

The much-awaited meeting between Hermione and Draco. :)

I've taken a few liberties. :)

I love giving more insight into all characters. :)

Slow burn! It's about to get intense in the next chapters. :) :)

Enjoy Chapter Seven!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Ministry of Magic, Cafeteria

Harry drank his hot chocolate like a greedy child, and Hermione bit
delicately into her chicken sandwich. They always had lunch together, the
small perks of working in the same building.

Harry tried to scrape off bits of chocolate stuck to the side of the cup and
asked casually, "Are you coming over on Saturday?"

Hermione swallowed and nodded, "I spoke to Meda about taking Teddy out.
There's a new games arcade that’s opened in Diagon Alley."

Harry's face lit up, "Wicked, I saw that."

He grinned sheepishly, "Can I tag along?"

Hermione popped a thick-cut chip into her mouth and munched happily.
She bobbed her head in complete agreement, "Sure, sounds like a plan."
She kept her gaze permanently fixed on the plate of food in front of her and
mumbled, "How is Ron?"

She hadn’t seen him since the catastrophic bride’s maid incident at the
Burrow. However, Tracey seemed to be keeping him on his toes.

Harry grinned, reached over, grabbed a handful of chips off Hermione's

plate and mused, "Terrified but coping. He hasn't chucked everything and
disappeared yet."

The wedding was literally a few days away, and Hermione toyed with the
idea of asking Terry to be her plus one.

Hermione stared into the tall glass of her milkshake and shrugged, "Yeah,
but Tracey does seem genuinely nice and wants her marriage to work
despite the circumstances of their union."

If only everyone had that mindset.

Harry frowned, "He's still hung up on you."

Hermione grimaced, "He’s not hung up on me. He is hung up on the

concept of us."

She added firmly, "Well, Ron is going to have to move on, Harry. You know
I feel nothing for him."

Rough hands massaged her shoulders. She leaned into the touch and sighed.
The subtle touch of a man in the right place was enough to send rippling
sensations through her body.

His fingers pressed into the hollow of her shoulder blade. She felt a moan
bubble to the surface.

Harry eyed the man disapprovingly and drank the last of his hot chocolate
before something nasty left his mouth.
Terry pulled out the chair next to Hermione, turned it around and sat on it
with its hard wooden front to his chest.

He reached over and played with a wild strand of hair, "Hey, gorgeous."

Hermione blushed, "Cheesy much?"

Terry smiled affectionately, "You bring out the best in me."

Harry frowned at the pathetic display and forced down the bile that rose.

Terry leaned over and placed an enduring kiss on Hermione's forehead.

Hermione moved back. Her chair scraped loudly against the hard floor in
her haste to put some distance between herself and the undeterred man.

Hermione hissed, "Boot, people are watching."

Completely unfazed, Terry leaned forward and whispered, "So, let them. I
like you, remember?"

Hermione shot back without hesitation, "And I wanted space, remember?"

Boot got to his feet, towered over the duo, pushed the chair aside and fired,
" I missed you. Is that a fucking crime?"

He stormed off. People in the canteen watched him leave and threw a look
of suspicion toward Hermione. She sighed and pushed her plate aside.

Harry continued to stuff his face with greasy chips and mumbled between
mouthfuls, "I told you not to encourage him."

Hermione pulled the plate away from his grasp, and Harry protested loudly.

After lunch, Hermione strode into the Auror department and placed a
chocolate-smothered cupcake in front of Terry Boot. Her critical eyes
roamed over his exceedingly untidy desk.

Mountains of papers were piled to the left, and pieces of parchment and
pictures littered the surface of his desk.

Hermione couldn't help but ask, "How do you get any work done in such a
mess?"

Boot looked up from his papers, stretched and regarded her lazily, "Madam
Undersecretary, what can I do for you?"

Hermione stomped her foot down impatiently and whined, "Come on,
Terry. I'm trying to apologise."

A grin curved his lips. He kept his eyes on a paper covered with untidy
handwriting and muttered, "Let me take you out to dinner."

He slowly lifted his head and looked into her chocolate-brown orbs, "You
know, as a punishment for earlier."

Hermione had to hand it to him; Boot did not discourage easily.

She giggled, "You're incorrigible."

Terry pushed hopefully, "Is that a yes?"

Hermione conceded defeat. She placed her hands on the table and leaned
forward so their faces were inches apart. As a result, he got a great view of
her ample bosom and red silk bra.

His eyes lingered on the parting.

She bit her lip and warned, "I'll go out to dinner, but no touching."

Terry shot to his feet, grinned devilishly, came around the table and cupped
Hermione's face.
He stepped into her space and rasped, "One kiss, Granger."

Harry chose this moment to poke his head out of his office and yell, "Boot,
Corner, get your pathetic arses in here."

Terry stiffened and let go at once. He hurriedly tried to get papers in order,
"Ah fuck, got to go, Granger."

Michael Corner rose from his seat in the corner, looked Terry in the face
with pure dread and headed into what was widely known as the Lion's Den.

Harry was at it the second the door closed shut. Hermione heard her best
friend berating the two wizards for not doing a thorough job and missing
paperwork.

Malfoy Manor - Shopping day with Pansy and Theo

Pansy breezed in, wearing a stylish outfit that suited her well, and asked,
"Are you ready, Draco?"

Draco ruffled Max’s head, and the loving puppy ran in circles around him.
He smiled warmly at the well-dressed woman in stylish heels, "As I'll ever
be." They heard a loud crack and a montage of colourful curses.

Theo hurried in and dusted the dust off his robes, "Thought you buggers left
without me."

Pansy rolled her eyes and mused, "So close."

They disapparated into Muggle London and walked along the paved streets
packed with bustling people. Draco looked around in awe. So much had
changed. It was hard to wrap his head around it, but he marvelled at the
significant changes. The men followed Pansy. She seemed to know exactly
where to go. They entered a posh clothing store, and a vibrantly dressed
young man rushed up to Pansy and swapped air kisses, "Darling, how
marvellous to see you."
He knew a big spender when he saw one. His commission would be
through the roof. Theo and Draco swapped a look of discomfort.

Pansy smiled warmly. Her ruby red lips parted, and practised words flew
out of her mouth, "Good to be back, but I'm not here for me."

She grabbed Draco by the arm, pulled him forward and displayed him as if
he were a store mannequin.

Pansy touched the robes on Draco in mild disgust and grinned at the eager
salesman, "We need the works, jeans, shirts, trousers, shoes, everything."

The young man fanned himself with his fingers and gushed, "Oh my, he is
quite the specimen."

Unashamed and boldly, he took hold of Draco's hand and dragged him
forward, "Come this way, Adonis."

Theo chuckled and followed after a determined Pansy and reluctant Draco.

A myriad of different options was pushed into Draco's arms. He struggled to

carry them all, and a few items fell inelegantly to the floor.

Some he liked, others not so much. They were too flashy for his taste.

He sighed, disappeared into the dressing room, and walked out wearing
different outfits to parade in front of his friends and the shop clerk.

Each outfit garnered an approving nod or quick dismissal.

While Draco got ready to showcase his tenth outfit, Theo put on a wide-
brimmed hat and grinned, "What do you think?"

Pansy laughed, "I think I pity Luna."

Theo quickly took the hat off, carefully placed it back and quipped, "Fuck
off. I could say the same about Longbottom."

Pansy opened her mouth to retort, but Draco strode out in a black shirt and
trousers.

The clerk swooned. This man was worth a wank over when he returned to
his lonely studio flat at the end of the day.

Pansy groaned impatiently, "For fuck sake, can you please pick a colour
other than black?"

Draco was having none of that. He cut her off, "Black is my thing, and
nothing you lot say will ever change that."

Theo eyed his best friend and nodded approvingly, "He does look rather
fetching, though."

Draco frowned at his tall best friend and warned darkly, "Theo, don't
comment on my appearance."

Theo shrugged, "I'm just being honest." He paused for effect and joked,
"We would make a splendid couple."

Draco threw him a look of loathing and disappeared into the dressing room.
He banged the door shut, and Theo and Pansy burst out laughing.

Three long hours later, Draco had everything he could possibly need.

The sophisticatedly dressed woman who sold underwear insisted he walk

out wearing the boxers she presented to make doubly sure that they were
indeed a good fit.

Theo raised a questioning brow, "Umm, is that necessary?" He knew

without a doubt the odd request wasn't necessary.

Draco concurred, "I don't think..."

The woman replied hotly, "Oui Monsieur, it is important that your bits have
sufficient breathing space." The men swapped a look of concern, and Pansy
shooed Draco into the dressing room, "We don't have all day, Malfoy."

Theo grinned at the two women drumming their fingernails on the counter
impatiently, "You just want to see the man in his underpants. Shame on
you."

Pansy smirked, "Mind your own business, Nott."

Draco stepped into the pair of white silk boxers. They felt good; even over
his briefs, they felt comfortable. He turned the price tag over and gasped. At
one hundred and fifty quid, his cock and balls better feel magical in them.

False modesty aside, he came out of the dressing room wearing only a pair
of black boxers with red trimmings and black socks. The clerk grabbed onto
the clothes railing to steady herself and muttered incoherently in rapid
French.

Draco glanced her way and smirked. Whatever she said was definitely
complimentary because when he replied with a quick, “Merci,” the woman
blushed crimson.

He really was fit—all taut lines and not an ounce of fat on his physique.

Draco tugged at the waistband, "I think they fit perfectly."

The French woman nodded vigorously, "Indeed, Monsieur. As if they were

made for you."

His softened cock pressed against the material, and even in his flaccid state,
it was plain to see he was packing something worthwhile between those
firm pale thighs.

Theo whistled, and Draco threw him a scathing look.

Pansy cocked her head to the side and bit her lip, "Turn around."
Theo reached over and pinched her ear, "Slut."

Pansy came back to her senses and clicked her fingers, "Wrap these up,
Nicole."

She pointed to the far end where pieces of black leather bras hung, "Bring
me size 36 C."

Neville was in for a rather unforgettable treat. Nicole nodded and hurried
off to comply.

Draco emerged fully dressed, ran his fingers through his hair and groaned in
exhaustion, "I think we've just about bought everything in London."

Once shopping was done, they piled into a crowded Muggle pub and
ordered some much-needed nourishment and beer. Blaise joined them after
a bit, sat down and ordered a scotch neat. Muggle women threw the wizards
appreciative glances and looked their way suggestively.

Blaise downed his drink and mumbled groggily, "I'm exhausted."

Pansy signalled for a server and replied sympathetically, "You look it."

Draco opted for fruit juice. Theo and Pansy frowned.

Theo exclaimed, "Are you fucking serious?"

Pansy added in confusion, "You're going to sit there and drink that shite?"

Draco shrugged, "What? It's good for you."

Theo rolled his eyes and replied sarcastically, "Thank you, Grandpa
Malfoy." He pushed a mug towards his long-lost best friend and
encouraged, "Have a pint, mate."

Draco wasn't easily swayed, "Maybe later."

Theo took a sip and wiped the foam off his upper lip, and said, "Malfoy?"

Draco raised a brow, "Yeah?"

Theo beamed, "It's good to have you back, mate."

Draco smiled, "It's good to be back."

Hermione's London Flat

The doorbell rang. Hermione sighed, kept aside the book she was reading
and got to her feet.

She was dressed in a modest, short, dark purple dress that skimmed over her
figure at the right bits. Nothing too provocative or alluring. Agreeing to
dinner with Terry could easily backfire on her, as Harry had eloquently
pointed out in frustration.

She looked through the peephole. It was him, all right. He was neat, his hair
brushed back, wearing a wrinkle-free grey dress shirt and what looked like
black trousers.

What the hell was he doing? Hermione pressed her eye to the hole to get a
better look.

He seemed to be giving himself a pep talk. The man pounded his fist and
took several deep breaths.

Hermione fought the urge to burst out laughing. Instead, she moved her
shoulders in small circles to calm herself and threw the door open.

Caught off-guard, Terry stumbled and dropped the small bouquet he was
holding. It hit the floor and came apart.

He cussed, “Fuck,” and bent to pick it up.

Hermione stifled a laugh, kept the door open and walked into the thick of
the living room to fetch her handbag.

Terry gathered himself and followed. He looked around and whistled, “Nice
place.”

Hermione slipped into her heels and closed the gap between them,
“Thanks.”

Terry held out the flowers, “For you, sorry I squashed them.”

Hermione took the flowers and inhaled the sweet scent. She reached to kiss
Terry on the cheek, but he turned his head and caught her mouth instead.

He deepened the kiss. Then, using his unusually long tongue, he pried her
willing lips open and sought the inner sweetness she offered.

Terry groaned. She tasted faintly of peppermint and cinnamon.

Hermione dropped the bundle of flowers and moved her fingers up the crisp
shirt and into Terry’s hair. She fisted it and held on hard as he pulled her
closer and kissed her fervently.

Things were getting out of hand, but none seemed concerned with ending
the kiss until good sense kicked in, and Hermione abruptly broke free and
stepped back.

She touched her lip and felt a wave of bitter disappointment wash over her.
The kiss was pleasant and enjoyable but lacked the spark, the fire she
thought existed between them.

Of course, Terry had felt all that and more. His chest heaved, and a sappy
grin split his face in half. He pulled Hermione closer and muttered against
her lips, “Shall we skip dinner?”

Hermione pushed him back and grinned, “I don’t think so.”

She sashayed towards the door, glanced over her shoulder and said, “Come
on, I’m starving.”

Terry shook his head to shake the mental image of her bouncing arse and
followed her out. He put his arm around her waist, pulled her close and
whispered, “Tease.”

Dinner was a pleasant affair, and Hermione thoroughly enjoyed Terry’s

company. The restaurant was adequate, and the food was scrumptious. She
Immensely enjoyed the butter chicken that oozed liquid cheese when
pierced with the fork.

After the fourth glass of wine, she was feeling rather adventurous and nosy.

She stared at the rugged man over the candlelight and asked curiously,
“Who did you get paired with?”

Terry choked on his wine. Finally, he cleared his throat and replied
hesitantly, “I think you might remember her. Susan Bones, Hufflepuff.”

Hermione nodded eagerly, “Of course, I do. What happened?

Terry chuckled, “Well, she was already pretty serious with Ernie. They
eloped the day after she got the letter.”

He gestured to himself mockingly, “And here I am. I can’t say I’m not
relieved. Susan was not my cup of tea.”

He added with a tinge of discomfort, "They were rather heartbroken and

second-guessing their relationship since they didn’t get paired up in the first
place."

Hermione took a sip of the red wine and nodded. It made sense, she
supposed.

Terry cut into his steak and asked, "Any bloke would be lucky to have you.
So, fess up, I told you mine."

Hermione drank the rest of the wine slowly and dabbed the corners of her
mouth with the napkin. She averted her gaze, "Lucky isn’t the word I would
use. I got Malfoy."

Terry spat out his drink, “No fucking way. He is a complete arsehole.”

Hermione stared into her empty glass and muttered miserably, "Don’t I
know it."

Boot was absolutely livid, "How could they pair you with someone like
him? It's barmy."

He added confidently, "But no one’s seen him in years. So if you're lucky,

maybe he’s dead or married some woman abroad."

Hermione raised her glass and slurred, “Cheers to that.” She knew it was
wishful thinking. The powerful magic at work would definitely know if
something were amiss. Besides, Narcissa offered no insight, nor was she
overly upset, so it was safe to assume Malfoy was alive and well for the
time being.

Quite tipsy, they stumbled out of the restaurant, and Terry pulled Hermione
close and nuzzled into her neck.

She felt his lips caress her skin, and it felt good, but reluctantly, she broke
out of the embrace and kissed him hard before letting go.

Hermione smiled, “I had a good time.”

Terry grinned and suggested hopefully, “Me too. Can I come back to
yours?”

Hermione laughed and took a step back, “Definitely not.”

He closed the gap and grabbed her by the shoulders, “You can’t deny this
chemistry between us.”

Well, that remained to be seen.

Hermione patted Terry's cheek, “I have a lot to figure out.”

So she kept saying.

She backed away and blew him a kiss, “Good night, Terry.”

Terry rubbed his hands together to generate heat and replied, “Sleep well,
Granger.”

Unlikely.

Hermione appeared in the middle of her living room, lost her balance and
fell onto the sofa. She pulled a cushion close and hugged it. Sleep came
before she woulded it.

Nott Residence

Luna looked at her husband over the mixed salad, "Theo?"

Fuck.

Theo felt his palms sweat profusely. He wiped them on the napkin and
faked a smile.

Luna pointedly stared at his full plate. Then, her eyes grew wide in concern.
She reached for his hand and asked, "Are you okay? You haven't touched
your food."

He usually wolfed down his wife's delicious cooking.

Theo moved his sweat-soaked hand away from her grasp and replied with
weaning confidence, "I'm fine. Just not hungry."
Luna smiled warmly, pulled a bowl of hot bread pudding towards her, and
inhaled deeply.

She looked at her husband lovingly and said, "I made your favourite
dessert. Would you like a piece?"

Theo shot to his feet abruptly, "I need to visit the bathroom."

Luna's face fell in sadness, and her bottom lip quivered, "Are you sure
everything is okay?"

Theo looked away and pretended to rub his abdomen to hide his discomfort,
"Yes, I have a tummy ache."

Luna wasn't buying it. Theo was a horrible liar.

He turned to leave the table, but her voice made him freeze, "Theo, I love
you."

Fuck. Hold it in. Do not cave. You can do this, man.

He glanced over his shoulder and muttered, "I love you too."

Theo locked himself inside the bathroom and sat on the closed commode.

The look of pain on Luna's usually calm face gutted him. He mumbled into
the silence, "Draco, this better be worth it."

Hermione's Flat

A frightened voice pleaded, “No, please….”

Bellatrix screeched, “Where did you steal it from?”

She cried in alarm, “Have you been inside my vault?”

Hermione sobbed in unimaginable pain, “Please, let me go.”

The deranged witch screamed, “You filthy, Mudblood bitch. I will gut you
alive.”

A silent scream tore through Hermione's chest, and she woke with a start,
drenched in sweat.

Her hand unconsciously covered the faded scar on her arm.

She was already sobbing, but the intensity returned. She fell to the ground
and wept for the cruelly taken lives and for the magic that flowed in her
blood.

Hermione yelled into the darkness, "I never asked for any of this."

Chest heaving, she bent herself in half, hugged her knees to her chest and
let hot tears fall down her cheeks.

She mumbled weakly, "Get out of my head."

Malfoy Manor

Draco stood by the window and stared into the immaculately kept grounds.
So angelic and peaceful by day when night fell, the trees twisted themselves
macabrely.

He returned to his place by the roaring fire and let the heat seep into his
bones before picking up the leatherbound book once more.

His eager eyes scanned through the ancient manuscript. The ink was faded
in places, but he knew to look beyond that and take in the words of wisdom.
Magic simmered at his fingertips, and he moved them gracefully in front of
his face. A glistening ball of blue appeared before his eyes, and Draco
stared at it mesmerized for a few seconds before letting it disappear into
nothingness.

A voice filled with pride made it to his ear, "Impressive."

Draco smiled, "Mother, I thought you had retired for the night."

Narcissa waved her hand casually, "Ah, I couldn’t sleep."

She pointed to the heavy book, “A bit of light reading?”

Draco nodded and ran his fingertips over the embossed lettering, "Brushing
up on our history."

Narcissa sighed, "That book belonged to my dear departed sister."

Draco closed the book and shot it a look of disgust.

Narcissa saw the flash of hatred in her son's eyes. Then she sat down and
explained, "Bella wasn’t always the monster you knew. There was a time
when she was more human than beast."

Draco had no wish to speak of his murdering aunt. Instead, he steered the
conversation purposely away, "Do you think about your other sister?"

Narcissa choked back a sob, "Andromeda."

She got to her feet, walked over to a high shelf of books, and felt around.
Draco watched his mother’s actions intently.

Taking out her wand, Narcissa tapped an area, and a secret safe revealed
itself. She opened it and took out what appeared to be a large leather-bound
album. She blew the dust off it and returned to her seat.

She opened the book, and pictures came to light. Three sisters, who were
exceedingly different in looks, smiled and stood next to each other in their
long, flowing gowns and pinned-up hair.
Narcissa touched Andromeda's smiling face lovingly, "I was most fond of
her. We were exceedingly close. I loved her then. I love her still."

A tear rolled down her cheek, and Draco caught it before it fell to the
ground.

He took his mother’s hand in his and asked soothingly, "Have you not tried
to speak with her?"

Narcissa flipped the page, and more pictures of the sisters posing were
visible under the bright candlelight. Finally, she whispered inaudibly, "I’m
afraid."

Draco implored, "Of what?"

Narcissa smiled weakly, "That she will reject me, turn me away."

She knew more about Andromeda and Teddy than she led on. Hermione
was always happy to dish out details about her darling sister, and she longed
for the day they would reconcile.

Hermione herself had hinted that a reunion between the two estranged
sisters was overdue.

Draco made a mental note to reunite the sisters and right the many wrongs
done to Andromeda Tonks.

He spent the rest of the week playing catch-up. He had a training room
installed with a wooden dummy and covered the space with mats.

Every morning diligently, he practised with the dummy and did his
mandatory stretching.

After that, Max became a permanent fixture in his life, and the puppy
followed him everywhere, even sleeping in his room.

Gone were the old posters and childish furniture, and in their place was a
walk-in wardrobe filled with new clothes and other basic accessories. A
shelf of books he kept handy for some nighttime reading adorned the entire
left side of the room by the fireplace.

The smaller bed was now replaced by a larger four-poster bed draped in silk
sheets that hugged his naked form in the night.

He continued to meditate outside, surrounded by the calm of falling leaves

and trees swaying gently in the wind.

Blaise's Residence

Blaise's daughter Carrie jumped on the bed in her heart-printed nightdress

and giggled, "Daddy, please read us a story."

He strode into the room in his work robes, fell onto the bed, grabbed his
daughter and tickled her.

The toddler laughed uncontrollably, "Stop, daddy. I want a story."

Blaise let go and replied lovingly, "Of course, Princess."

Adam struggled to climb onto the bed. Blaise scooped him up and brought
his son closer to his warmth.

He settled in next to his daughter and asked, "What would you like me to
read?"

Carrie excitedly handed him a book from her nightstand, "Oh, the one about
the brave dragon."

Blaise sighed. A few days earlier, he had already met one dragon, who
seemed well put together and ready to face the world.

He flipped the book open and tapped it with his wand. A bright green
dragon materialized, "Alright then. Once upon a time, there was a baby
dragon."

Carrie requested loudly, "Do the voices, Daddy!"

Blaise rounded his cheeks and deepened his voice to match the dragons.

Daphne poked her head into the room, “Are you coming to bed, darling?”

Blaise smiled fondly at his sweet wife, “As soon as the dragon frees the
Princess.”

Daphne grinned, “Don’t take too long.”

Blaise winked and went back to reading the story animatedly.

Hermione glanced at the clock and decided she could skip work early. It
was her day to visit Narcissa. She could not help but marvel at how close
they had become over the many months.

She picked up the neatly wrapped package and hurried to an apparition

point.

She always preferred to appear near the angelic fountain on the property.
This is because it was so beautifully carved, and the area reminded her of
her mother’s prized rose garden.

Hermione entered the usual way, but it was empty and usually, and Dotty
was always around to greet anyone entering the Manor. She thought it
strange, but boldly, she walked in and rounded the corner when the most
beautiful melody flowed into her ear.

She had no idea Narcissa played the piano. It was the most beautiful sound.

Hermione followed the music without a second thought until she ventured
upstairs into a part of the Manor unknown to her.
The music became louder, and it was obvious it was coming from within
the room ahead. The door was ajar, and she curiously peeked through the
crack and saw long fingers moving effortlessly across the ivory keys.

Her first thought was, oh, that's Lucius's ghost, but that seemed farfetched
and borderline ridiculous.

Who the fuck was this stranger serenading the Manor? And why had
Narcissa failed to mention it?

They spoke only the other day before Hermione placed the order for an
expensive glass bowl Narcissa wanted.

The grand piano was a slave to the strong fingers caressing it and playing it
expertly. The door hid the face, and she wondered who the regal woman
was harbouring.

She snickered and wondered if Narcissa was dating a younger man. It

wasn't unheard of, but it would send ripples of scandalous gossip through
the community.

Hermione hardly noticed the puppy running across the polished floors to
where she was spying. Then, it started to yelp and growl, forcing her to step
back.

When had Cissy gotten a dog? Could so much change in a bloody week?

The music came to a blaring halt and stopped entirely, and the figure rose,
giving her a full view of who it was.

The room grew small, and Hermione's heart slammed against the ribcage
and fought to dislodge itself from her body and flee.

Oh fuck, it was him.

His deep voice drawled, "What is it, boy? Is someone outside the door?
Older, much taller, and strikingly handsome, but it was him.

She would know those clear grey eyes anywhere. But the lines that defined
them were new.

Hermione backed away, but she was not fast enough. The doors opened,
and Draco Malfoy strode out and asked the seemingly empty space before
spotting her almost cowering behind a large potted plant.

He narrowed his eyes and scanned the area, "Is anyone there?"

She could hardly hide behind the plant until he went away.

The man who stood before her was a far cry from the Draco Malfoy she
remembered. His posture was straight and confident, his eyes clear and
focused. The years away had chiselled away the boyish arrogance, leaving
behind a man who exuded a quiet strength.

Hermione gathered her bravado, stepped out of her hiding spot, and stood
her ground. A stubborn leaf stuck firmly onto her elegantly done chignon
bun, but of course, she noticed nothing but the man in a dark blue suit and
crisp white shirt towering over her.

Her heartbeat rang steadily in her ears. She was surprised there was no
blood trickling down her cheek from a busted eardrum.

Gods, he smelt heavenly. She wished he would not come closer. Her body
was having enough unexplainable reactions.

Draco eyed the woman before him cautiously. He knew those eyes and that
hair, but could it really be Granger standing in his ancestral home, staring at
him as if he were a ghost?

He couldn't help but notice the subtle changes in her demeanour. She
seemed more confident, more at ease with herself. Her eyes, once filled
with uncertainty, now sparkled with a newfound inner strength.
His eyes roved over her, taking in the small details.

Her hair was still a mass of wild curls but with light brown highlights,
tamed and styled to suit her outfit. Gone were the buck beaver teeth, and in
their place were a set of pearly whites. Her lips were lush and swollen, and
her mouth parted in shock.

When had she changed into this shapely woman? Still, bits of her youth
lingered, which attracted him most.

Her chest heaved, making her full breasts rise. The white shirt outlined her
curves. Its material hugged her figure tight, and it rose and fell with the
contours of her body.

His eyes moved down her shapely legs and took in the pedicured feet in
dangerously high heels.

Blaise was right. Granger had undoubtedly put the awkward phase behind
her and blossomed. And Theo was fucking spot on about the long slender
legs.

Draco hadn't given a second thought to sex in a while, but he was now. It hit
him like the Hogwarts Express, and he almost doubled over to hide his
mortification.

As his gaze lingered on her, Hermione felt a familiar discomfort creeping

in. She shifted uneasily, suddenly aware of the intensity in his eyes. The
way he looked at her made her uncomfortable. Under his critical gaze, she
felt like a prize show pony.

Draco swallowed hard. His feet moved of their own accord. He closed the
distance between them. She was unmoving, rooted or frozen to the spot.
Once he got close enough to smell her womanly perfume, he brazenly
pulled the lodged leaf out of her hair and tossed it aside.

It fell to the ground in slow motion, and his fingers brushed over the outer
skin of her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.
Draco kept his voice to merely a whisper, "Granger?"

His low, seductive drawl prompted her to act.

Max started to bark, snapping Hermione clear out of her daze.

"Tell your mother I came by," she threw the parcel at him. Her instincts
kicked in. She turned on her heel and fled, her footsteps echoing through
the empty corridor. Panic seized her chest as she dashed away, the echoes of
her past haunting her every step.

Draco caught the rather heavy package effortlessly and yelled, "Granger,
wait."

She wasn't waiting for a damn thing. She needed to get the hell away from
him.

Draco called out after her, his voice filled with confusion and concern, but
she didn't stop. She needed space and time to process the whirlwind of
emotions that his unexpected appearance had stirred up.

Run stupid shoes, she commanded of her ridiculously high heels. Hermione
flew down the stairs, into the grounds, took out her wand and disappeared.

Draco watched in stunned silence as Hermione disappeared, his heart

sinking with each retreating footfall. He had hoped for a chance to make
amends, to show her how much he had changed, but now he realized that
the wounds of the past ran too deep.

With a heavy sigh, he bowed his head, understanding the magnitude of the
task ahead. If he wanted to earn Hermione's forgiveness, he would have to
prove himself, not with words, but with actions. And he was determined to
do whatever it took to make amends for his past mistakes.

No 12 Grimmauld Place
Ginny flew down the stairs and growled, "Hold your bloody horses."

James was asleep, and the impatient bastard on the other side of the door
was going to die.

She threw open the door impatiently and snapped, "What?"

Hermione doubled over, trying to catch her breath. The stitch in her side
was unbearable.

Ginny caught her best friend's elbow and peered into her face in concern,
“What happened? Are you hurt?”

Hermione took in large gulps of air and muttered, "He's back."

Ginny felt her blood run cold. Her voice shook, "Who's back?"

Hermione tried to regain her composure, but it evaded her. Finally, she
blurted out, "Malfoy! He's back."

Fuck.

Ginny frowned, left the door open for Hermione to enter and walked
towards the kitchen, "Come in. I'll open a bottle of the good stuff."

Hermione kicked off her shoes angrily. Then, with her feet bare, she jumped
over discarded toys and followed her best friend.

A bottle was hardly going to be enough.

 Chapter 8
Chapter Notes

Thank you so much for everyone who posted a review and for
everyone following! It means so much! :)

Narcissa comes clean. Draco and Hermione are in a permanent state of

shock. Ginny and Harry are awesome! :)

Please read and review. I love reading reviews because it helps

motivate my writing, while other reviews help me become a better
writer.

Enjoy Chapter Eight!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

No 12, Gimmauld Place

Harry stepped out of the Floo network, dusted off the particles of dirt and
straightened to his full height. There was an eerie silence. Harry scanned the
area suspiciously, pulled out his wand and called out to his wife, "Ginny."

Ginny came rushing around the corner, her apron flapping madly, and
urgently shushed him, "For Merlin's sake, keep your voice down. James is
still asleep."

Harry grinned, pulled Ginny closer and placed a lingering kiss on her lips.
He whispered into the warmth of her mouth, “I missed you. You look hot in
that apron.” She kissed him back but broke off the embrace and ran her
fingers through his thick black hair.
Ginny pointed toward the kitchen and said, "As much as I love where this is
going. We have an inconsolable guest in the kitchen."

Harry raised a brow and followed Ginny curiously to the kitchen. He

desperately thought to himself, please don't let it be Ron. His best friend
was driving him around the bend about the wedding. He caught sight of the
bushy hair and relaxed, but not for long.

Hermione was slumped over the table and peered into her empty wine glass
as if it were a magnifying glass. She spied Harry's blurred vision through it
and squealed, "Harry!! How nice of you to join us."

Harry eyed his best friend in concern, "I, umm, live here." He kept his bag
aside and watched Hermione pour herself another drink and smack her lips.
Looking over at where Ginny was making dinner, Harry raised his
eyebrows in question. Ginny hid a smile and beckoned him over. She
dropped her voice low, "Hermione is drowning her sorrows."

Harry quipped, "Clearly, but what brought it on?"

Ginny stared into Harry's confused face and told him the upsetting news,
"Malfoy has returned."

Harry laughed in complete disbelief, "That's a load of tripe."

Hermione let out a loud ha, "Oh, but it's not. I saw him at the Manor." The
sinfully smelling sod.

Harry took the seat next to his best friend, took hold of the wine bottle, kept
it to his lips and drained a good portion of it.

Hermione mused, "Keep doing that for another two hours, and you might be
where I am right now."

Harry wiped his mouth and stared at his distraught friend, "Well, what did
he say?"

Ginny kept aside the pot, wiped her hands on the cloth and smirked, "Oh,
please let me tell him this part."
Hermione glared, “Thrilled to know my life is amusing to you.” She
pointed to Harry and leered, “But yeah, carry on.”

Ginny stifled a laugh and adopted a falsely sweet voice, “She saw him,
threw a package at him and ran away.”

Harry was indignant, “You did what?”

Hermione peered into the empty bottle and confessed miserably, “I ran
away like a frightened little mouse.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open, “Why?”

Hermione shrugged, popped a piece of cheese into her mouth and defended
weakly, “I don’t know why. It just happened.” Merlin, she was embarrassed.

Harry frowned in disappointment. Since when did his best friend run from
anything? The woman was tough as nails.

Hermione tossed back her drink and looked sheepishly over the glass at
Harry.

Gryffindor where dwell the brave at heart or something like that. She had
uncharacteristically run away from the dragon with steely grey eyes with
her tail firmly between her legs.

His teeth looked good enough to devour her whole.

Malfoy Manor

Draco stood at the entrance and stared at the place where Hermione
Granger disappeared for a good fifteen minutes or so before walking
purposely into the foyer and minibar.

Max wagged its tail, and Draco patted the keen puppy’s head, “Yeah, that
was extremely strange.” If there was a time to have a bloody drink, it was
undoubtedly now.
He whispered into the silence, “Master Chun, please forgive me.” Draco
poured himself a generous helping of expensive scotch and brought it to his
nose. After inhaling the rich fragrance, he kept it to his dry lips and took a
satisfying sip. His eyes closed on their own accord as the fiery liquid laid a
gratifying path of fire down his throat.

He banged the tumbler down hard and cursed, "Fuck." His habit of using
profanity returned with a vengeance, but some situations merited such
language. What the fuck was Hermione Granger doing at Malfoy Manor?

It was the one place he figured she would avoid, like the bubonic plague. It
made sense, considering she was tortured and bled out on their earlier
carpet. You can change the furniture and things but not the heinous acts that
occurred within the walls.

Still, the woman had seemed perfectly comfortable enough to stroll through
the hallways. Obviously, she was familiar with and had no problems with
the many wards placed around the ancient home.

"Darling..." Narcissa's voice invaded his thoughts from around the corner.
She came into the room and took in her son, nursing a glass of scotch,
looking dazed and forlorn.

Narcissa raised a brow and bent to pick up the growing puppy, "What's the
matter?" She ruffled the dog’s fur and said matter-of-factly, “He’s getting
heavy.”

Draco stared at his mother intently, swallowed the lump that formed and
casually informed, “We had an unexpected guest.”

An awkward silence fell upon the room.

Narcissa paled, “Oh, what day is it?”

Draco raised a brow and answered, “Thursday.”

Narcissa let the squirming dog down and exasperatedly pinched the bridge
of her nose, “Oh dear, did Hermione come by?”
Draco choked on his drink. Finally, he surfaced, spluttering, “Hermione?”

Narcissa crossed the room and helped herself to a small drink of brandy.
She took a dainty sip and replied calmly, “Yes, she comes by every
Thursday.”

Draco looked at his mother in bewilderment and mused, “You say that like
it explains everything.” He inquired impatiently, “What haven't you told
me, mother?”

Narcissa had the good grace to look mildly ashamed. She defended weakly,
“There was nothing to tell, but of course, let me explain.”

Draco rolled his eyes and shook his head in complete disbelief, “Nothing to
tell? So a girl I wished death upon is visiting my mother, and you think I
didn’t need to know?” He was riddled with shock and fought to control his
temper at being kept in the dark.

Narcissa frowned, “Wished death upon? That is awful.”

Draco wagged a finger, “Do not try to change the subject.”

A hearty laugh escaped him before he could stop it, “I think I scared the
wits of her. She threw a heavy parcel at me, ran away and disappeared
before I could stop her.”

Narcissa gasped, “Oh my goodness.”

Draco crossed the room, took a seat by the elaborate fireplace, and asked,
“Care to enlighten me on why Hermione Granger, of all people, is visiting
you?”

Narcissa sighed, sat down across her son, looked into his face and readied
herself to offer the dreaded explanation.

She held her head high and replied confidently, “Yes, of course.”

Draco pointedly looked towards the entrance, took a sip and asked jovially,
“Can I expect Potter to turn up as well?”
Narcissa’s refined upbringing prevented her from rolling her eyes. Instead,
she fought the urge and frowned to show her irritation, “Don't be
ridiculous.”

Draco took another sip of the rich amber liquid, leaned forward, and
inquired seriously, “What is going on, mother?”

Narcissa spoke into nothingness, “Dotty!”

Dotty appeared with a loud crack and came rushing to her Mistress's side.

Narcissa smiled fondly at her beloved house-elf, “Be a dear and serve tea.”

Draco held up the carved crystal tumbler in his hand and tapped it with a
long finger, "No, thank you. This is working wonders." He threw his mother
a look and smirked, “I'm dying to hear this.”

Dotty bowed and disappeared to sort out tea.

Narcissa neatly folded her hands on her lap and cleared her throat, “Months
ago, the Ministry passed the marriage law just around the time my sentence
came to an end, and Hermione paid me a visit because she wanted my
help.”

Draco narrowed his eyes and questioned, “How could you....” Realization
sunk in, and it dawned on him. It was such an implausible notion to
entertain. Surely, he was horribly mistaken. He kept aside the glass and
widened his eyes in shock, “No, wait.”

His voice was low and calculated, and he asked slowly, “Did Granger get
paired off with me?” A loud, manically laugh burst out of him, and Draco
started to laugh uncontrollably.

Narcissa eyed her son, laughing and pressed her lips together in
disapproval. Then, when it became apparent that he would keep laughing,
she interrupted loudly, “As a matter of fact, she did.”

Draco took note of his mother’s tone and struggled to compose himself.
Finally, he gathered himself and mused, “And she must be thrilled about it.
How could the Ministry be so tactless?”

The Golden Girl and the Ex-Death Eater, a match made in heaven. Were the
idiots at the Ministry gormless?

Dotty appeared with tea and other treats. Narcissa carefully held the hot pot
of tea and gingerly poured it into a flower-patterned China cup. She added
two sugar cubes, stirred them and replied before taking a sip, “Well, she is
not pleased.”

Draco stared into his almost empty glass and muttered, “And rightly so. I
was a dreadful git to her back in school.” He added in disgust, “I took every
bloody opportunity to make her feel absolutely shite about herself.”

Narcissa watched her son’s reactions intently, “I'm aware.”

Draco felt his face contort unpleasantly, “I was more horrid to her than I
ever was to Potter.”

Narcissa delicately bit into a mini fruit tart, “Hmm....”

Draco averted his gaze and looked around the area they occupied, “She was
this nobody who swooped in and started outscoring all of us.”

He slammed the tumbler down on the small table and hissed, “It infuriated
me. I wanted to remind her that she was nothing. An abnormality. That she
had no right or place in our world.” His face fell into his hands in despair.
He ran his fingers through his hair and surfaced, “All my life, I was taught
to shun people of her heritage, and she came along and outsmarted us all.”
He sighed, “Granger rocked the foundation of my upbringing. She caused
me to question everything I was led to believe.”

Narcissa nodded in understanding, “Yes, well, things are different now.”

Draco’s face hardened, “I doubt she will forget all I have done.”

Narcissa saw little point in lying. She sighed and replied gravely, “She
hasn't. Hermione has tried everything possible to get out of this match, but
so far, there has not been a proper solution but to carry forth the marriage.”
A genuine smile of affection tugged at her lips, “Truth be told, if I were to
have a daughter-in-law, I would welcome Hermione with open arms.”
Beads of sweat gathered on his upper lip, and Draco raised a questioning
brow. Lately, his mother had tended to render him speechless with her
changed ways.

Narcissa laughed, “You could do a lot worse,” and added fondly, “She's
brilliant, funny and such a positive presence.”

Draco sat up straight and retorted firmly, “Mother, I will not marry Granger
and do her the dishonour.”

He shook his head slowly and said sarcastically, “I can only imagine how
she must have felt when presented with my name.”

Narcissa stated bluntly, “Obviously, she was very upset.”

Draco rose and went to refill his glass. He glanced over his shoulder and
said, “It’s ludicrous to expect her even to entertain the idea of marrying a
man like me.”

Narcissa felt her temper rise, “Man like you? You are not the same boy you
were at Hogwarts.”

Draco sat by his mother and patted her jewelled hand. He chuckled, “I
know, as my mother, you want to see the best in me, but believe me when I
say I was a snobbish little prat whom I would punch in the face if I ever
went back in time.”

Narcissa covered his hand with her own and advised sternly, “You must
speak with her.”

He would have to tie her down and make her listen. The thought made him
grin.

Draco swirled the contents of his crystal glass around and watched the ice
cubes melt. He shook his head firmly, “No, mother. I will not force myself
upon Granger. I can at least do her this kindness and figure a way to get out
of it.”

Narcissa scowled at her headstrong son, “Fine if that is your wish.”

He took a sip, and the cool rim of the glass pressed into the thin skin of his
lip. Draco licked the drops of water and murmured, “Hermione Granger
deserves far better than the likes of me.”

Narcissa felt an ache pierce her heart. Her voice trembled, “It pains me to
hear you speak of yourself so lowly.”

Draco added decisively, “I will meet with the Minister and straighten this
mess out. Anyways, I need to visit the Ministry.”

Narcissa raised a brow but decided against probing further, “I understand.”

Eager to stir the conversation away, she smiled warmly, “I was at the
dressmaker's. Tracey and Ronald Weasley’s wedding is in two days, and I
thought you would like to come as my guest.”

Draco nodded unsurely, “Ah, Pansy did mention it. Do you think it is wise
of me to attend?”

Narcissa quipped, “You can hardly hide out in the Manor for the rest of
your days.”

Draco grinned, “I always did like to make an entrance.”

Narcissa let out a poised, ladylike laugh and stated the obvious, “The
Prophet will benefit well from it.”

Draco smiled, but his mind was elsewhere. Surely, the Ministry would see
reason if he voiced his concerns as well. He decided it would be wise to
educate himself on this so-called law that had everyone falling over
themselves.

The Burrow
Molly scolded, “Ron, stand still for Merlin’s sake.”

Ron tugged at the collar and coughed, “Mum, it's too tight.”

Thoroughly fed up with her son’s juvenile behaviour, she shoved the silk
material into his hands and scolded, “Here, do it yourself. If you learnt to tie
a bloody bowtie by yourself, then we wouldn't be in this mess.”

Ron grinned sheepishly and held out the fabric to his mother, “Is this the
last fitting?”

Molly smiled lovingly and retook the bowtie in her hands, put it under the
collar of her youngest son and proceeded to tie a perfect knot. Once done,
she patted it and grinned, “Yes, and you look so handsome.”

Ron looked at his reflection and nodded in approval. He fixed the cuffs of
his shirt and asked curiously, “Is everything ready?”

Molly moved aside some freshly laundered clothes and muttered, “Yes,
Tracey has looked into all the details.”

The lanky redhead hung his face and questioned, “Do you think I'm doing
the right thing?”

Molly set aside her task and patted the area next to her. Once Ron sat down,
she took his hand in hers and gave it a slight squeeze: “Oh, darling, I would
have preferred you to fall in love and marry like the rest of your siblings,
but we live in uncertain times.”

She added reassuringly, “Tracey seems to be a decent woman, and she is

making an effort to be liked.”

Molly pointed to a large box in the corner and smirked, “She sent me a box
full of recipe books because she either thought my cooking was awful or
wanted me to try new things, but either way, I appreciate the gesture.”

Ron laughed aloud, “Bollocks! The woman must have a death wish.”
His tone turned serious, and he shuffled his feet anxiously, “What if I’m in
love with someone else?”

Molly hid the smile that made it to her face, “If by someone else you mean
Hermione, then I am inclined to tell you to get your head out of your arse
and move on.”

Ron flopped down on the makeshift bed in his room and closed his eyes, “I
miss her terribly.”

Molly nodded in understanding, “She is wonderful.”

She pressed importantly, hoping her youngest son would see reason, “I'm
sure you do, but that ship has sailed. Hermione does not return your
affections except as a jolly good friend.”

Ron sat up and implored desperately, “But...”

Molly raised her hand and cut him off, “Give Tracey a chance. You might
find love in the unlikeliest of places.”

Ron pulled his mother into a tight hug and muttered, “Thanks, mum.”

Molly patted his back and wiped the tears that fell. Finally, she managed
between silent, happy sobs, “Hush, that’s what I'm here for.”

Hermione drank her sixth cup of coffee and stared into nothingness.
Morning and evening bled into each other, and yet, she sat by the window
of her flat and looked at the visible parts of buildings transfixed.

She called in sick, hung up before Kingsley could protest and took the day
to herself. Her head was pounding dangerously.

Her thoughts went back to Harry's house.

Harry bit into the sandwich Ginny handed him and licked the sauce off
his thumb. He shrugged, “So he’s back. It's not the end of the world.”
Ginny leaned against the kitchen counter, sipped a cup of tea, and
advised, “I doubt he will be thrilled about tying the knot.”

She added wisely, “He just got back from wherever the heck he was.”.

Harry munched on the sandwich happily and asked offhandedly, “What

does he look like?”

Hermione stiffened, and her palms beaded sweat.

Unbelievably sexy.

She rolled her eyes, showed indifference, and recited, “A lot like Lucius
but taller, more fit with broad shoulders and strong arms.”

Ginny snorted into her tea and teased, “But of course, you noticed none
of that, right?”

Hermione reached over, took the uneaten half sandwich off Harry’s plate,
and took a large bite.

The Chosen One protested loudly, “Hey!”

Her mouth full of chicken, she fired back, “I'm horrified at having to
marry him. But, I'm not fucking blind.”

Either she was sex-deprived for far too long or weak-willed or both, but it
was with increasing alarm she realized that she had noticed him a bit too
much before she fled.

She banged her head on the table and cried, “Oh, Merlin, this is a
complete nightmare.”

Ginny cut pieces of apple, handed them to James and scolded, “Stop
overthinking everything.”

She pointed to a lengthy guest list and a bunch of name-placement cards.

Ginny grumbled, “We are going to have to put your predicament with
Malfoy on hold and focus on Ron's stupid wedding.”
Hermione reached for a light blue card with a rose printed at the side and
groaned, "Wonderful. Is it too late to take Ron up on his offer?"

Ginny grinned, “He would chuck everything in a heartbeat and run away
with you.”

Harry took the opportunity and quickly gobbled up the rest of his lunch
and offered pointedly, “The wedding is in two days. So, yeah, I would say
pretty late.”

Hermione slumped her shoulders and whined, “Why does everything

awful happen to me?”

Ginny tossed the last piece of apple into her mouth and scolded, “Stop
your bellyaching and come help me.”

Hermione pushed the chair back and dragged her feet to where Ginny
was organizing the cards.

The fiery redhead asked curiously, “Did you get a dress?”

Hermione felt instant panic. No. Fuck. She needed a bloody dress.

Hermione picked up a card, wrote “Charlie Weasley” in perfect

handwriting and avoided Ginny’s penetrating gaze.

She bobbed her head up and down comically and reached for another
card, “Yeah.”

Ginny raised a brow sceptically, “Oh really? What colour is it?”

Shite. Think fast.

Hermione blurted out the first colour that came to mind, “It’s light
purple.”

What? Purple? Another lie.

Ginny shook her head. Clearly, she wasn’t buying it.

Hermione came crashing back to reality. She had forgotten all about the
dress, and the wedding was tomorrow.

She smacked her forehead and jumped out of the chair. Then, rushing into
the room, she pulled up her jeans while brushing her teeth, attacked her hair
and put it up into a messy bun, grabbed her bag and flew out the door.

There were a few places she frequented. Hermione walked into the rather
run-down boutique. The place looked washed out and unattractive from the
outside, but once you walked in and looked through the racks, they had
some of the most stellar designs in London.

A middle-aged woman chewing gum came toward her and greeted her,
“Good evening, lovey. What can I help you with today?”

Hermione hurriedly looked through the racks full of dresses and implored
impatiently, “Evening, Helen. It’s my best mate's wedding tomorrow. Have
you got anything elegant in purple?”

She thankfully remembered her lie.

Helen smirked, “Of course we do.” She went into the back and returned
minutes later with a protective garment bag, pushing it into Hermione’s
hand.

She blew a bubble and pointed towards the dressing room with her head,
“Go on then, give it a go.”

Hermione stepped into the dressing room, locked it behind her, nervously
unzipped the bag and pulled out the most stunning light purple dress she
had ever seen.

The beads were of clear grey, and light rays bounced off them, leaving an
elegantly sparkly effect.

Grey, stormy, translucent pools of hidden secrets crossed her mind at once.
Her mind wandered, and she thought of the imposing man she had
encountered at Malfoy Manor.

His presence disturbed her in a way she could hardly begin to explain.

She hated him in their youth, and she hated him still, but there was a
profound difference in him. She felt it radiate off him in waves, and the
subtle brush of his thumb over the sensitive skin of her ear felt like a
metaphorical punch to the gut.

Anger and frustration ate away at her, and seeing him in all his glory
instilled a deep fear that their pending nuptials could happen and that not
being in control infuriated her.

She would have to have a few words with Narcissa. The shrewd woman had
omitted everything and behaved as if everything were normal.

Whether she liked it or not, she would have to face the hunky prat about
their ridiculous situation. Hopefully, he would not be an arrogant asshat
about it.

A loud knock on the small door brought her crashing back.

Helen asked in concern, “You alright, lovey?”

Flustered and hot in the face, Hermione stammered, “Yes, just give me a
moment.”

She pulled up the beaded off-shoulder dress and, with some difficulty,
secured it at the back.

It was exquisite. The material skimmed over her body and clung to the right
places.

She walked out, did a twirl, and Helen whistled, "Gorgeous, love."

Hermione eyed herself in the mirror. The dress flirted indecently with the
line between sexy and modest.
She turned to Helen and winked, “It is, isn’t it? Wrap it up, and I expect a
discount.”

Happy with her purchase, Hermione folded the bag over her arm, stepped
into the crisp London air, and hugged herself to keep warm.

She walked down the crowded street searching for a cafe to have a hot
chocolate and buttery croissant.

Malfoy Manor

Draco sat cross-legged, closed his eyes and commanded, "Inner peace."

A vision of brown hair and gorgeous eyes kept invading his thoughts. Soft
skin and long legs kept playing on repeat. His cock twitched in anticipation.
He had been trying to meditate for hours, but Granger kept floating by
mocking him and pulling him further into some rather sinful thoughts. It
was a matter of time before he would face her again.

She would be at Weasley's wedding. Mother was right, and Draco made up
his mind to speak to the ex-Gryffindor and set the record straight. She
deserved that much from him. However, it was intriguing that a complex
algorithm found them to be compatible. It was mind-boggling but also
fascinating.

Draco took a deep breath and tried again, "Clear your mind." This time, he
was successful. Finally, he managed to detach himself from his disturbing
thoughts.
 Chapter 9
Chapter Notes

The much-anticipated wedding of Ronald Bilius Weasley and Tracey

Davis.

I do adore playing around with multiple characters and really bringing

in their side stories.

Enjoy Chapter Nine!

I would love to know everyone's thoughts on this chapter! Trust me,

and it helps loads! :)

Stay safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

The Burrow

Molly yelled, and everyone shielded their ears and ground their teeth. She
looked around madly, "Can someone please find my mother’s ruby
brooch?" The boys fell over themselves, trying to find the priceless family
heirloom.

Ginny held the studded brooch carefully and brought it over. She pinned it
to her mother’s dress and scolded, "Mum, will you calm yourself."

Molly rolled her eyes and waved her hand dismissively, "Ron and his bright
ideas. We should have done all this at Astoria’s home."

Arthur grinned, adjusted his new suit, and stood by his wife’s side, "Ron
wanted to spend his last few moments of single life at home." At Ron's
insistence, the groom’s side would be getting ready at the Burrow and
joining the wedding party at Greengrass Manor.
Molly shook her head, "The idiot."

Arthur hugged her tight, and they swayed to imaginary music, "You look
lovely, Mollywobbles."

Ginny snorted but smiled fondly at her parents. Molly poked her head from
under Arthur’s arm and widened her eyes at her only daughter as if she had
just laid eyes on her. She shrieked, "Why are you still here? It starts in two
hours. You need to be with the rest of the bridesmaids."

Ginny scowled, "I'm not spending a second longer than I have to with those
uptight toads."

Harry handed Ron a glass of bubbling champagne. The redheaded man in a

new tuxedo took the glass and questioned, "Don't we have anything
stronger?"

Harry bit back a laugh and recalled his mother-in-law's strict instructions.
Ron was horrible at handling his booze. He took a sip of the bubbly and
responded, "Molly insisted we keep it light."

Ron tossed the drink back and raised a brow, "Too late to run away?"

Harry chuckled, "Far too late, mate."

Ron's face fell, and he asked guiltily, "Where's Hermione?"

Harry shrugged, "I haven't seen her yet."

Ron stared into the sparkling golden liquid and muttered, "I miss her."

Harry cautioned, "Come on, it's your wedding day."

Ron snickered, "Yeah, yeah."

They clinked glasses and tossed them back. He smacked his lips, "It's not
bad. It's got a good aftertaste."
Hermione twirled in front of the mirror and smirked. She looked quite
appealing. The long, elegant dress was lavish, so there was no need for a
necklace. Fetching her grandmother's diamond drop earrings, she fastened
one to each lobe. She had done up her hair in an elegant bun for the
occasion but let wild curls fall carelessly over her face. Her makeup was
perfect, nothing too glamorous—a soft eyeshadow and a fine line of
eyeliner with a rich nude lip gloss to finish the look.

The phone buzzed. She glanced at the number and grimaced. Then, clicking
the button, she put the call on speaker.

Ginny's impatient voice came through, "Where the fuck are you?" We are
about to leave.”

Hermione answered urgently, “Okay, okay, I'm on my way.” She dabbed the
gloss with her index finger, reached for the beaded clutch and wand, and
disappeared with one destination in mind. Thankfully, they had adjusted the
wards so everyone could apparate right outside the large backdoor. Thus,
she would be spared the pools of mud. She pushed the door open and was
surrounded by a bone-crushing hug.

Charlie held on tight, "Hermione, so good to see you."

Hermione urgently tapped on his bulging bicep, "I can't breathe, you
muscled moron." It was a standing joke that Charlie worked out religiously
to maintain his curling biceps. He let go and flexed, "Feel it, Granger."

Hermione laughed, "No, thank you."

Bill and Fleur glided towards her. She swapped air kisses with the stunning
French woman in a tight pink gown, "Ma Cherie, you look so pretty."

Hermione returned the compliment, "And you look fabulous, Fleur."

Bill gave a quick hug, "Hope you are well, Hermione."

Ginny came out of the kitchen in a flowing light blue bridesmaid gown that
made her look practically saintly until she opened her mouth, "Ah, decided
to join us, have you, Miss Granger?" She looked over her best friend and
added grudgingly, "You look stunning, by the way."

Hermione snorted, "The makeup helps." She looked around and inquired
curiously, “Where's Percy?”

Ginny replied sadly with a touch of disappointment, “Stuck with work. Poor
bloke tried his best.”

Hermione bobbed her head in understanding.

Ginny blocked her path and looked to the floors above, "Ron's been asking
about you."

Hermione frowned, "That can't be good." She slowly went up the winding
stairs and knocked on the door. Harry opened it wide enough for her to
enter. A warm, affectionate smile split her face in half, "Ron, don't you look
dashing."

Ron approached her, took her hands in his hand, and gushed, "And you look
gorgeous, as always."

He turned to Harry and keenly asked, "Harry, can I have a moment alone
with Hermione?"

Harry looked at his watch pointedly, "I don't think we have time."

Ron insisted, "I need a minute."

Hermione swapped a look with Harry that said, "Don't you fucking leave
me alone."

Harry threw an apologetic look before closing the door behind him. The
second the door closed, Ron cupped Hermione's face and leaned to kiss her.
She moved back and cried, "What the hell are you doing?"

Her face was squashed between his large hands, but she wriggled out of his
hold and said harshly, "Ron, look, I don't love you." His face fell, "I know."
Hermione asked in irritation, hands on hip, "Then what the hell are you
doing?"

Ron shrugged and retorted sheepishly, "I just wanted to remember what it
felt like to kiss you."

Hermione cried indignantly, "And you thought your wedding day would be
the best day to do that?" They sat down next to each other and awkwardly
stared at the hands on their lap.

Ron broke the silence and smiled meekly, "You mean the world to me."

Hermione returned the smile, "As you do." She added without hesitation,
"Tracey is good for you. I really think you can make this work."

Ron sighed, "It's too soon to tell."

Hermione patted his hand reassuringly, "Give this a chance. I will always be
one of your best friends." They hugged tight until Ginny burst into the room
and yelled, "What the fuck are you doing?"

She added impatiently, "Let's go! Tracey is going bat crazy. She's convinced
you're about to leave her high and dry."

Hermione got to her feet and pulled Ron up with her, "Come on."

The grounds were decorated tastefully. White canopies trimmed in gold

decorated the large garden, and hundreds of candles lit the way and
illuminated the evening sky. Each table had a beautiful centrepiece of dark
blue roses that entwined its way upwards and glistened with white fairy
dust. Clearly, no expense had been spared.

Hermione looked around and gasped, "Everything looks stellar."

Ginny and Harry nodded in agreement. Ron had gone pale white and stared
emotionless.
Charlie put his arm around his younger brother and quipped, "You hit the
jackpot, mate."

Ron turned paler still. George excused himself from his wife Angelina, who
held on tightly to their son Fred's hand and came to stand by the youngest
Weasley boy's side.

George patted Ron on the back and smiled, "You can do this."

Since Fred's passing, he had bonded with his younger brother, and they
worked well together in the shop. In addition, Ron had confided his many
insecurities about the marriage to George.

George pointed to a window where Tracey was clearly visible in her lace
wedding gown and matching veil, "That's your future wife." She looked
amazing. Ron smiled blushingly, "She's a good woman."

Ginny’s sharp tongue cut through the moment, "Yeah, she's a fucking gem.
Now, off with the lot of you. Get ready; it's almost time."

George chuckled, and Charlie frowned, "You sound more like mum with
each passing day."

Ginny punched her brother in the arm, but Bill's calm and collected voice
made them all freeze, "That's enough mucking about. Behave yourselves."
She turned red, stared at her dainty feet and replied embarrassedly, "Yes,
Bill.” She dragged Hermione towards the gathered group of women. They
got closer, and Hermione complimented without hesitation, "Tracey, you
look absolutely breathtaking."

Tracey smiled angelically. Astoria handed Ginny a small bouquet and

leered, "Cutting it close, aren't we?"

Ginny smirked and took the delicate bundle of flowers, "Bite me,
Greengrass."

Tracey cut them off and took a deep breath nervously, "Let's get started
then?"
Hermione glanced at her watch, "I think there’s another hour to go."

Tracey locked eyes with Hermione and asked anxiously, “How's Ron
holding up? This past week, I have been having nightmares of being stood
up at the altar.”

Hermione laughed, "Ron is an immature idiot at times but an honourable

man."

Astoria brushed past Hermione brazenly. The woman was still seething
about Malfoy and her.

Hermione entered the large canopy and looked around in awe. Each visible
inch was tastefully covered in delicate, sweet-smelling flowers. The many
rows of white chairs were already filled with people they knew, but a few
unfamiliar faces chatted amongst themselves animatedly. She waved at the
Minister and a few old Hogwarts friends before sitting beside Andromeda.

Andromeda was dressed in her finest. She wore dark green high-collar
robes with little or no makeup, but she aged well and hardly needed it.

Teddy sat next to her and fussed, "Gran, this collar is itchy." The budding
wizard looked darling in a dark grey suit and bowtie to match. He pulled at
it uncomfortably.

Hermione adjusted his collar and beamed, "My, aren't you a handsome
young man?"

Andromeda smiled affectionately and patted Teddy's head with bright

purple hair.

Teddy tugged at the suit and complained, "This suit is very prickly."

Hermione winked, took out her wand and waved it over the grumbling boy.
Once she was done, Teddy grinned and waved his arms about, "Thank you.
It feels much better."
Narcissa glanced at the large grandfather clock in the foyer. It was a
centuries-old masterpiece that she had inherited after her parents’ demise.
She clicked her tongue impatiently, "We have to leave shortly."

Draco kept aside the book he was reading and sighed exasperatedly,
"Everyone we know will be present, I suppose."

Narcissa nodded solemnly. The wedding was the talk of the community.
Anybody who was anybody was invited to the extravagant event. She
cleared her throat, "Yes, umm, Draco…."

Draco raised a brow and gave his mother undivided attention, "Yes,
mother?"

Narcissa began uncomfortably, "Astoria will be there. She has not given up
on the idea of becoming your wife."

Draco sighed and mused, "Can we deal with one marriage proposal at a
time."

Narcissa stifled a laugh, but her voice turned deadly serious after that: "I'm
sure your friends would have told you about her deteriorating health."

Draco felt a sadness grip his heart. While he did not harbour strong feelings
for his betrothed, so to speak, he cared for her dearly as a friend. His
features contorted unpleasantly, "It greatly saddens me."

Narcissa implored, "Please deal with her carefully."

Draco forced a smile and reassured, "Don't worry. I will be gentle." He

vividly remembered the time at Hogwarts when he tried to end it.

They retired to their rooms to get ready for the evening festivities. Draco
ran his fingers along the new suits and settled on a black suit, new black
shirt and tie. He slipped into the shirt, buttoned it up and threw the dark
mark on his arm, one last look of loathing before rolling down the sleeves
and securing them with solid silver cufflinks with emerald snake eyes. The
Windsor tie knot he tied was perfect. He brought it to the centre, ran his
fingers through his hair, carefully folded his jacket over his arm and made
his way to the main living area.

Narcissa wore elegant cobalt blue dress robes, and diamonds glistened
tastefully at her throat and ears. She rose when her son approached, took his
hands in hers and beamed, "So handsome."

Draco smiled warmly, "And you are timeless." He graciously offered his
arm, "Shall we?"

Narcissa took his arm and grinned, "Are you ready, Draco?"

Draco laughed, "To face the wizarding word? Indubitably."

They appeared near the function's boundary and slowly ascended the stairs
to the entrance. The wizards in the main foyer stared at the approaching
duo, their mouths hanging open in disbelief.

Narcissa smiled in greeting and handed the invitation to the woman

gawking at Draco, "My dear, I am Narcissa Malfoy, and this is my guest,
Draco Malfoy." The woman kept her eyes fixed firmly on the tall, good-
looking man and pushed the card into Narcissa's hand without bothering to
look at it.

Narcissa linked her arm through Draco’s, and they stepped purposely
towards the function. The wedding guests had gathered inside the large
canopy, eagerly awaiting the procession to begin. Draco held his mother’s
hand firmly, stepped inside, and slid into the back row, hoping to avoid any
unwanted attention or questions, but it was pointless. Many heads turned
their way and refused to look away.

They heard many whispers.

"Is that Malfoy?"

"I thought he was dead."

"Is Narcissa being courted by a younger man?

"Who is that man?"

"He looks remarkably like Lucius."

Narcissa held onto Draco’s hand and squeezed it tightly. Theo towered over
the gathered group of witches and wizards. He turned their way and waved
cheerfully at his best friend. Luna followed his action and broke out in a
bright smile as if it were the explanation she needed for Theo's strange
behaviour of late. Blaise glanced over his shoulder, caught sight of Draco,
turned around completely, and threw him a welcome salute. Daphne stared
from their place at the front and then pinched Blaise's arm.

He rubbed the area and hissed, "Ow, what the hell, woman?"

Daphne scolded, "How could you not tell me that Draco returned?"

Blaise grinned, "Because, my dear wife, you would have blabbed to

everyone, and Draco insisted on keeping things under wraps."

Daphne huffed, "Ridiculous. I would have kept my mouth shut."

Blaise pulled her close, "Not a chance. Now, let it be and enjoy the
evening."

Daphne kissed her husband gently and gushed, "Did you see how sweet
Carrie looks in her dress?"

Blaise patted his son’s head and replied lovingly, "Just like her mother."

Pansy pulled Neville by the arm of his jacket and murmured hurriedly, "Oh
my goodness, Draco is here."

Neville raised a curious brow, "Malfoy? He's back?"

Pansy nodded and discreetly pointed towards the ice-blonde man.

Neville widened his eyes in shock, "No bloody way."

Pansy smoothed her green figure-hugging gown and decided not to tell her
husband that Draco had been back for over a week.

The scandalous whispers continued.

“That can't be Draco Malfoy.”

“Wasn’t he last seen in Russia?”

“He looks bloody good for a dead man.”

Andromeda heard and caught bits and pieces of the gossip. Curiously, she
glanced over her shoulder and first caught sight of her younger sister. Her
breathing hitched as she devoured her sister’s presence. Afterwards, her
gaze shifted to the empowering young man standing firm and tall by her
side.

Hermione was busy keeping Teddy entertained, but she sensed the tension
and softly asked a transfixed Andromeda Tonks, "What's the fuss?"
Andromeda stared unwaveringly, as did most of the other guests. Hermione
raised a curious brow, followed the stern woman’s gaze, and froze. She held
onto the chair in front to steady herself.

Oh, Merlin, what was he doing here? She saw Skeeter discreetly slide in
next to Narcissa. The woman wasted no time. She knew a front-page story
when it presented itself.

Skeeter smirked, displaying a row of crooked lipstick-smeared teeth,

"Thank heavens. This wedding has been as dull as dishwater.”

Narcissa frowned and made her displeasure evident. This intrusion was
unwelcome. She held her head high and snapped, "Mind your tongue, and
stay away from us."

Skeeter studied her polished fingers, threw Draco a look of approval and
smirked, "It’s not every day the Malfoy Heir returns from the dead." She
edged past Narcissa and came to stand by Draco. He eyed her in contempt
but held his tongue.
Skeeter bit her lip and asked sweetly, "Where have you been?"

Draco narrowed his eyes and stared at the hated woman at his side. Then, he
bared his teeth and hissed, “You want the exclusive, Skeeter?" He wondered
why she had been invited. The woman was repulsive and hated by most.

Rita threw her head back, and a seductive laugh escaped her plump lips,
"Of course, I do, darling."

Draco gave a curt nod and sneered, "Then piss off and leave us alone for the
duration of this event."

Rita let her eyes rove disgracefully over the fit platinum blonde. Finally, she
bit her lip and rasped, "The time away has done you good." She boldly
stroked Draco’s face; her inch-long black talons dug slightly into his skin.
He flinched uncomfortably, and before Narcissa could step in, Draco
stepped back and warned darkly, “Don’t touch me.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the reporter's brazen behaviour. His eyes
caught hers, and she hurriedly looked away. Random thoughts began
swirling around her head. How would she face him after running away the
other day? Why did he look so enticing in black? Irrelevant, Granger. His
colour preferences are not your concern.

Skeeter got to her feet, offered a sickening smile, and snuck a business card
into Draco's jacket pocket. She patted it, leaned closer and whispered, "Call
me about the interview. I'll give you the front page."

Draco moved away and shot her departing figure a look of pure disgust.

Narcissa frowned but remained quiet on the matter. She saw Hermione and
Andromeda. Seeing her sister after all these years made her heart clench in
wanting.

The bride was expected to turn up at any moment. Ron twitched nervously.
Harry came to his side from his place as best man and muttered
reassuringly, "Almost over."
Harry looked over the sea of people and exclaimed in shock, "Fuck. Is that
Malfoy?"

Ron hissed, "What? When did that slimy bastard return?" They caught sight
of their ex-Slytherin rival and shared looks of astonishment.

Hermione watched her two dearest friends' faces twist in displeasure, and
the smile disappeared off their faces. She felt a pair of eyes bore into the
back of her head. Don't turn around, Granger. Let it go. Fuck, self-control.
She surreptitiously glanced over her shoulder and found Malfoy eyeing her
with interest. The bloody wanker didn't even have the good manners to look
away. Instead, he grinned and looked her over like she was a prize cut of
beef.

Narcissa nudged her son gently, "It is not polite to stare." She glanced at
Hermione and nodded approvingly, "But I must admit, Hermione does look
fabulous tonight."

Draco snapped out of his daze and weakly defended, "Oh, I wasn't staring at
Granger."

He really was staring rather creepily. There was a softness to her face that
truly enthralled him. The material of the dress she wore hugged her in the
right places and cascaded to the floor in generous layers. A faint outline of
her cleavage teased him from where he stood. He noticed the slit went all
the way up to her thigh, and he wondered what her skin would feel like
under his touch.

He asked in growing interest, "Who is that charming boy next to her?"

Narcissa stiffened and offered quietly, "That would be your cousin by

blood. He is Andromeda's grandson."

Draco closed his eyes as he digested this new bit of information, "Tonks
had a son before she passed?"

Narcissa nodded gravely, "Yes." So much death had torn families apart.
Draco continued to look at the small boy, jumping up and down to get
Granger’s attention. A harmonious, timeless classic serenaded the space,
and everyone rose. Tracey stood at the entrance with two bridesmaids at the
helm and little Carrie holding onto a small blue and white roses basket. The
happy toddler smiled proudly at everyone. The bride held onto her father’s
protective arm and glided down the aisle in perfect time to the music.

Ginny winked as she passed, and Hermione saw Ron beam as Tracey
approached him. His nerves vanished the second he stepped down to claim
his bride.

Hermione glanced over her bare shoulder without much thought and caught
a pair of clear grey eyes watching her intently. He grabbed her gaze and
grinned. Why did he keep looking at her? She wished he would stop. His
intensity was making her squirm and exceedingly uncomfortable. She
turned away at once and stubbornly stared ahead.

Merlin, help her.

The ceremony was beautiful. Tracey and Ron came together under a
stunning arch made of white wood and an intricately carved design of blue
roses. Arthur comforted Molly as she wept tears of joy when the priest
declared the couple as one and sealed the bond with entwining gold ribbons
that burned bright when they shared their first kiss as husband and wife.

Butterflies fluttered relentlessly inside Hermione, and she felt a sudden rush
of sadness. Ron was indeed married, which left her and the formidable man
she was paired with to sort out the mess that had been forced upon them.
Once the ceremony ended, Narcissa walked out with Draco and ran into the
Minister of Magic.

Kingsley’s low but loud voice boomed. He asked in genuine concern, "How
are you, Narcissa?"

Narcissa smiled politely, "I'm well, Minister. Thank you for asking."

Kingsley eyed Draco and probed, "I trust you are coping fine."
Narcissa patted her son’s arm, and her face lit up, "Better since Draco's
been back." She looked past Kingsley and saw Andromeda speaking
lovingly to the sweet child. She longed to approach her sister, but this
wasn't the time for their reunion. On cue, Andromeda caught Narcissa
observing her, but instead of disregarding her, the older sister smiled
warmly and led Teddy away to get some cake.

Kingsley turned to Draco and grinned, "Ah, young mister Malfoy. It is good
of you to return to England."

Shacklebolt mused, "The timing couldn't be more perfect."

The tall blonde took the Minister's hand in a firm handshake, "Thank you,
Minister."

Draco glanced over to where Hermione was eating cake and goofing around
with the boy of no more than eight and felt his heart clench uncomfortably.
Kingsley followed his gaze and smirked. Draco snapped out of his daze and
asked anxiously, "Minister, would it be possible to meet with you on
Monday? There is a matter that I must discuss with you."

Kingsley laughed, "Indeed, my boy." He pointed to Hermione, "She's been

trying to get out of it for months." The Minister left Draco standing by
himself. Narcissa was busy speaking with past acquaintances. Most
welcomed her kindly, but others kept their distance but spoke politely
enough.

Draco searched the crowd and walked towards his gathered bunch of
friends. Witches and wizards muttered as he passed. Most were not
concerned about being heard. Instead, he saw the judgment flash across
most faces. They narrowed their eyes at him in suspicion. He knew they
were all wondering where he had been.

“I thought he was dead.”

“Filthy Death Eater.”

“So handsome.”
“Look at those fine features.”

“I wouldn't mind getting to know him better.”

“He is the spitting image of Lucius.”

That last comment made his skin crawl.

Blaise laughed as he came close, "You never did do things the normal way."

Draco looked around and frowned, "Yeah, well, now everyone knows I'm
back."

Theo downed his drink and sighed in relief, "Thank fuck, I can finally tell
Luna." A few witches passed by and shot Draco appreciative glances. One
licked her lip, "Welcome back, Malfoy."

Draco took a champagne flute from a server passing by and nodded curtly
in the woman's direction. The newlyweds stood by a four-tier wedding
cake. Ron took Tracey's hand in his, and together, they cut it and lovingly
fed each other small pieces of red velvet cake. They hardly got a moment's
peace. The band leader called upon them to share their first dance as
husband and wife. Ron held Tracey protectively and gazed into her face
adoringly.

Ron had been practising for weeks. He cleared his throat, "I will try to be
the man you deserve."

Tracey smiled, "I think you're just fine the way you are." Others joined the
happy couple who looked positively smitten with each other on the
dancefloor, and soon, everyone was having a jolly time.

Pansy came over with Neville and Daphne. The older Greengrass sister held
onto an active toddler in a pure white gown with a large blue bow around
the middle who wanted nothing more than to run about and play.

Neville offered his hand reluctantly, "Blimey, Malfoy, er...good to have you
back." He didn't mean it one bit.
Daphne poked Draco in the chest and hugged him tightly, "You are real."

Draco returned the hug and replied jovially, "Very much so."

He fondly looked at Adam and Carrie, "Are these your little ones?"

Blaise picked up Carrie and told her animatedly, "This is the dragon I told
you about."

Carrie scrunched up her nose and squirmed to be let down. Blaise obliged.
Carrie looked at Draco and pouted, "He doesn't have green scales, daddy."

Draco bent to the level of the naughty toddler and grinned, "I'll work on it,
sweetheart." A soft voice cut through the moment, and everyone visibly
stiffened.

The voice was barely audible. It was uttered in heartbreaking reverence,

"Draco."

Draco straightened and fixed his jacket before staring into Astoria
Greengrass's teary-eyed face. He mustered the most genuine smile he could,
ran his fingers through his hair and said, "Hi, Tori." She stepped into his
space. Her light blue dress trailed after her, and she touched him gently at
first. Then, her trembling fingers tenderly caressed his face.

Astoria choked back a sob, "Oh, Salazar, it is you." She rested her head on
his chest and broke down in tears. Draco held her to him but was unsure of
what to do. He looked desperately at his friends for help. He had not
planned on confronting a hysterically sobbing woman. They shared
collective looks of concern over Astoria's behaviour.

Draco stroked Astoria's hair and reassured, "Tori, we have plenty of time to
catch up and speak of things." She broke away, stared into his face, took his
hand and led him away from the wedding party. Despite his unwillingness
to leave the company of his friends, he let himself be led. They arrived at a
deserted area surrounded by trees and hidden by thick branches. Astoria sat
down and patted the spot next to her. Draco undid the button of his jacket,
took the seat and stared into the distance.
Astoria held his hand and whispered, "I have missed you every single day."

Draco sighed and opened his mouth to retort, "Tori..." She touched his lips
and shushed him, "Please don't say anything. Let us celebrate your return."

Draco nodded reluctantly, "If that is what you wish." She moved closer to
his side, rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes in contentment.
Draco took the opportunity to look over the woman at his side. Instead, she
grasped onto his arm until he felt her fingernails dig into the sleeve of his
jacket. Astoria had always been a pretty girl, but now she was a beautiful
woman. Regal features and high cheekbones were the trademarks of her
pureblood status. However, her touch radiated warmth and the love she
undeniably felt for him.

They sat in silence, and minutes ticked by. The noise from the wedding
party drifted to where they were, and Draco pointedly cleared his throat,
"We should head back." Astoria felt too much resentment at being left
behind. Before she could control herself, the words left her, "I wish you
wrote to me or told me where you went."

Draco braced himself and kept his cool, "I didn't tell anyone except my
mother." She shot him a look of pain, "Didn’t I mean enough to you?"

He massaged the bridge of his nose, "Tori, I was going through a lot. You
knew that." She lashed out, "So was I, but you left me to die." His voice
turned stern, "This isn't the time to speak of this."

Astoria took Draco's hands in hers and nodded. Her eyes sparkled with
unshed tears, "I know, I'm sorry. Please forgive me." She mustered a happy
smile, "Now that you're back, we put the past aside and focus on us."

Fuck. Everyone was right. He had to find a way to break it to her gently and
without further delay. She leaned in, and before he could move away, she
placed a loving kiss on his lips. It was tender, and he barely felt her soft lips
under his.

Draco let himself be kissed. It was over in a second, and he hurriedly shot
to his feet before she expected more. Astoria linked her arm through his,
and they rejoined the festivities.

Daphne eyed her sister in concern.

Blaise dragged Draco forward, "Let's go pay our respects to the couple and
have a drink."

Draco sighed in gratitude, "Thanks, mate."

Blaise nodded in understanding, "You needed to be rescued." The second

they approached the couple, Ron spat, "Malfoy, what hole did you crawl out
of?"

Draco stiffened but kept his patience intact. Everyone at this sodding
wedding was determined to push him to the limits and test his newfound
resolve.

Ron added in anger, "Thank you for upstaging my wedding."

Tracey placed her hand on her husband’s sleeve and chided, "Ron!
Please…." But Ron was not done, "I don’t recall sending you an invite."

Draco kept his composure, smiled and was about to retort when Tracey
answered on his behalf, "I invited Narcissa, and Draco has obviously come
with her."

She flashed a happy smile at her ex-housemate, "Had I known you were
back, I would have hand-delivered the invitation to you myself."

Ron flinched, and anger radiated off him in unmistakable waves.

Draco ignored the fuming redhead and bent to kiss Tracey on the cheek.

He regarded the couple and wished them, "Congratulations to you both." He

added fondly, "You look lovely, Trace."

Tracy blushed, "Thank you. You don't look too shabby yourself."
Ron was beside himself. He bit back a nasty retort and glowered at the
reunion between long-lost friends. An hour went by, and Draco was
exhausted by the stream of questions that came his way. He understood
everyone's curiosity and eagerness to find out where he had been, but it was
gruelling to keep smiling and offer but a smidge of the truth. He quickly
grabbed a tumbler of scotch and drained the fiery liquid in one gulp.

Theo smirked, "No fruit juice today?"

Draco rolled his eyes, "I need something stronger if I'm going to survive the
night."

Theo nursed his drink and quickly looked around, "There are some fine-
looking ladies here today."

Blaise frowned, "And you’re very married."

Theo nodded at once, "Of course I am, but I do have eyes, Zabini. I must
say that most of these women are wetting their knickers for Malfoy."

Blaise sighed, "You have no fucking inner voice, do you, Nott?"

Draco decided Theo was right. So many ladies were throwing him
appreciative glances and batting their mascaraed lashes at him suggestively.

Sex! Once so unimportant and forgotten, it clawed its way into his mind
when least expected. His eyes settled on a familiar sight, and his heart
slammed against his ribcage.

Blaise took a sip from his drink and followed his friend’s intense gaze,
"Malfoy, why are you staring at the Gryffindors?"

Draco grabbed another drink, drained it, and replied cautiously, "I need to
speak with Granger."

Theo grinned, "She’s looking rather sexy."

Blaise clinked his glass with Theo and laughed, "For once, I agree with
you."
Draco heard none of that. He was halfway to the Gryffindor table. Pin-drop
silence followed. Harry dropped the fork in his grasp and reached for a
glass of water. Ginny patted her husband on the back and offered a small
smile. Luna beamed, and Hermione broke off a piece of cake and looked
away before stuffing her face with it.

She internally raged, kill me now.

Draco straightened, kept his hand at his back and greeted graciously, "Good
evening."

Harry regained his composure, rose to his feet, and offered his hand,
"Malfoy, when did you get back?"

Draco took the hand in a firm shake and replied, "A week ago." He greeted
Ginny with a slight bow, "Ginevra."

Ginny burst out laughing, “Please call me Ginny. My mother is the only
person who uses my given name, and most often, when I have pissed her
off." Without introduction, Luna threw her arms around Draco and gushed,
"Thank goodness." She added in her mystical undertone, "Theo was
keeping your return a secret. I was convinced he was cheating on me."

Draco laughed and broke out of the embrace, "He would never. The witless
sod is head over heels in love with you."

Luna blushed and skipped toward her husband. Her bright yellow dress
flounced with each step. She all but jumped into his willing arms. People
around them glanced curiously and disapprovingly, but the couple could not
care less.

Draco looked at Hermione Granger's uncomfortable squirming form. He

gathered his inner strength and held out his hand, "Granger, will you do me
the honour?" Hermione swallowed the mouthful of cake and stared at the
hand in front of her face in disbelief. Ginny kicked her foot under the table,
and Hermione came crashing back. She muttered a weak, "Oh..."
Ginny rolled her eyes and replied in her stead, "She would be delighted to
dance with you."

Hermione turned to her friend in outrage, "What? Ginny!"

Ginny grinned, "Hurry up, Hermione. The man hasn't got all bloody day."

Hermione took the hand Draco offered grudgingly and shot Ginny a look of
pure loathing. Her hand seemed minuscule in his. His long fingers closed
around her tiny hand, and he led her to the middle of the dancefloor. The
other couples stared at the unlikely duo in both shock and fascination.

Draco placed his hand on Hermione's waist, and she gulped at the sudden
contact with a more sensitive part of her body. With the other hand, he
entwined his fingers through hers and held her at a respectable distance. He
stared at the floor and their feet and joked, "I haven't done this in a while, so
I apologise in advance if I step on your pretty toes."

The moment they started dancing, something shifted. There was an

unspoken understanding between them, a connection that transcended the
years of animosity and misunderstandings.

They swayed in perfect time to the music. Clearly, he had not forgotten, but
she was most likely to tread on his feet and fall on her arse
unceremoniously. Being held by him was certainly evoking some rather
distressing feelings. She gathered her courage to ask, "What are you doing,
Malfoy?"

Draco smirked in satisfaction, "It's called dancing, Granger."

She frowned at this smug reply and fired back, "Yeah, but why are you
dancing with me." The arrogant arsehole.

She discreetly glanced at Astoria, staring at them and grasping her bouquet
tightly as if it did her some great offence.

Multiple petals fall to the ground. Hermione stared into the pale face of her
unlikely dance partner and added mockingly, "Especially when Astoria
Greengrass wants to curse me into oblivion and take my place."

Draco ignored the apparent jab and replied, "I hear you're my mother’s new
best friend. I don't quite know what to make of it."

Hermione tightened her grip on his fingers and hissed, "I don't particularly
care what you make of it." She added salt to the wound, saying, "She was
quite lonely without you."

Draco sighed and peered into Hermione's face, "Thank you for being there
for her. I know she holds you in high regard."

Hermione looked over to Narcissa, who was engaged in a lively

conversation with Mrs Parkinson. She replied fondly, "I adore her," and
added sourly, “I don't trust you."

Draco chuckled, "No surprises there." He turned her around abruptly,

causing Hermione to lose her balance.

He leaned in and muttered, "Relax, Granger. I won't let you fall. Not now,
not ever." She held on tight and fought the urge to curse his precious nuts.

His tone turned serious, "Why did you run away the other day?"

Hermione looked away in embarrassment, "I, umm, panicked. I was not

expecting to see you." He looked over her head into the distance and stated
firmly, "My mother told me about the law."

Merlin, here we go.

Hermione retorted with dripping sarcasm, "Oh, did she? Isn't it wonderful?
I mean, utterly amazing to be paired off with that one person you think is
worse than a pile of dog shite."

Draco could not help but laugh, "So much hostility." A smirk tugged at his
lips, "But even you have to admit that it is rather intriguing."

Hermione glared sternly, "Nothing is intriguing about it. I want out."

Draco stifled a laugh, "Clearly."

Hermione did not like his calm, happy-go-lucky attitude. She bared her
teeth and spat, "Fuck you, Malfoy."

Draco pulled her close. A gasp escaped Hermione’s lips, and the fine hairs
on her neck came alive.

He drawled, "Tempting." Was the smug prat attempting to flirt with her? It
was a mind-disorienting thought, to say the least.

Hermione took a step back in shock, "What did you say?"

Draco replied firmly, "You have my word that I will do everything in my

power to get you out of this."

She thought bitterly. Of course, he would. Why would he ever consider

marrying someone he considered beneath him?

Hermione could not help the resentment that rose. Sure, she wanted nothing
to do with the incorrigible Slytherin arsehole, but she wanted to be the one
to refuse him. She muttered, "Typical."

Draco raised a questioning brow, "Excuse me?"

Hermione smiled slightly too sweetly and replied hotly, "I mean, yeah,
thanks."

Draco smiled halfheartedly and declared sternly, "You don't deserve this. I'll
speak with the Minister on Monday and sort this mess out."

Hermione continued to stare unblinkingly, but she managed, "I don't know
what to say."

Draco smiled. His eyes lit up pleasantly, "There is nothing for you to say.
For what it's worth, I deeply apologise for you being matched with a man
you loathe." She couldn't even be a bitch to him when he was so
sickeningly nice.
Hermione bit her lip in thought, "I guess I'm glad you’re not being
difficult."

Draco took in her look of bewilderment and mused, "I have no reason to be
difficult, Granger."

His hand dropped to the small of her back, his thumb moved in soothing
circles over the exposed skin, and her heated flesh came alive under his
touch.

The intimate gesture sent tiny shockwaves throughout her already trembling
body, and another small whimper escaped her lips. She unconsciously
stepped closer until the material of his jacket brushed against the front of
her dress. He freed his hand from hers and tucked a loose tendril of hair
behind her ear, "You look nice." His voice was a seductive low that caressed
the inner shell of her ear as it made its way into the depths of her mind.

Unsure of what to do, Hermione placed her freed hand palm down on his
chest and even through his shirt, she could feel his firm defined chest. She
toyed with the idea of throwing both arms around his neck.

She stared into his eyes boldly, "So do you, I mean smart. Yes, you look
smart." Get a bloody hold of yourself, woman.

Draco watched her intently; her eyelashes were lowered, and they moved in
rhythm to the music in each other's arms.

Ginny nudged Harry for the fifth time, "Will you look at the two of them?"

Harry rolled his eyes, "Ginny, stop your meddling."

Ginny frowned, "I'm not meddling. Malfoy seems reformed."

Harry bared his teeth, "I don't trust that git."

Ginny nodded and smirked mischievously, "Neither do I, but you have to

admit they make a striking couple."
Draco gently took hold of Hermione's hand and placed it on his shoulder,
but she boldly moved it around his neck. He tensed at her touch on the back
of his neck. Her fingers lightly touched his hair and caressed it gently.

Two can play this game, Mr Malfoy. If you pull, you can be sure that I will
push. It’s as if he read her mind. He placed his hands on either side of her
waist and brought her, if possible, closer, and they moved effortlessly in
time to the music. Her breasts pushed up flat against his chest, and she felt
arousal wet her thong.

Hermione struggled to control the raging hormones her body conjured. It

was betraying her mercilessly.

Draco fought his inner demons. Bringing her closer to his body was a
dreadful mistake. She smelled intoxicating. Her womanly scent travelled up
his nostrils and took permanent residence.

Hermione had always been curious. Arrogantly, she demanded, "Where

have you been all this time?"

Draco winked, "Wouldn't you love to know."

Hermione studied the face. He was good-looking. She fought the urge to
cup his face and run her fingers through what looked like incredibly soft
hair. After a moment’s thought, she retorted, "You look and, umm, seem
different."

Draco snickered and replied with a bit of smugness, "Glad you noticed."

He inhaled deeply, "I love that smell."

Hermione licked her suddenly dry lips, "Well, you can thank Christian Dior
for that." She cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes sceptically,
"A compliment sounds utterly weird coming out of you."

Draco took another whiff, loomed over her and smirked, "I'm at an age
where I can appreciate a beautiful woman."
Hermione's mind went blank. Never in her life had she ever been at a loss
for words. The song ended. He let go abruptly, stepped back and bowed
respectfully, "Thank you for indulging me. I hope it wasn’t too repulsive."

Hermione stood frozen on the spot, tingling pleasantly from his touch. She
watched him hurriedly walk away, drain a glass of champagne, and rejoin
his group of friends.

The moment lingered between them, leaving them both breathless and
wondering what could come next.

Blaise waved at her and handed Draco another drink. Astoria stood on the
sidelines, seething and stewing with frustration. She was beside herself in
anger.

Hermione saw Narcissa by the massive buffet table that boasted an

impressive assortment of food. She crept up behind the aristocratic lady and
hissed, "You have a lot of explaining to do, Narcissa Black Malfoy."

Narcissa held herself with poise and turned to face Hermione with an
impish smile, "I do apologise."

Hermione waved her hand casually and reached to take a white China plate,
"Don't worry about it, but I wish you had given me some warning."

Narcissa served herself some chicken salad and replied, "I didn't quite know
how to approach it."

Hermione spooned a portion of mashed potatoes and smiled warmly, "I am

thrilled for you, though. I know how much you missed him."

Narcissa asked seriously, "What do you make of him? I saw you two
dancing earlier."

Hermione fidgeted and busied herself, piling more than the average amount
of food onto her plate. She showed indifference, "Oh, umm, he does seem
different."

She nudged the older woman and teased, "Are you sure it's your son?"
Narcissa laughed, "Quite sure," and added affectionately, "But I'm
incredibly pleased by his change. He seems happier than I've ever seen
him."

Hermione nodded because she wasn't sure what to make of the seemingly
new Malfoy. He was so vastly different and put together from his earlier
years that it completely threw her off.

Theo interrupted Draco's sinful thoughts of roaring fireplaces, melted

chocolate and bushy brown hair.

The lanky Slytherin chuckled, "Did my eyes deceive me, or were you
chatting up Granger?"

Draco threw him a dangerous look, "Shut it, Theo."

Blaise struggled to hold onto Adam but laughed, "I don't know, mate. Nott
does have a point."

Draco looked at Hermione, deep in conversation with his mother, and took
in how they seemed at ease around each other.

He looked at his friends and grinned, "Granger and I have some unfinished
business."

Theo snorted into his drink, "In the bedroom?"

Draco fired back, "For fuck’s sake, not everything is about sex."

Blaise cradled his sleepy son and whispered, "Narcissa finally told you
about your upcoming nuptials.

Draco accused in irritation, "You knew."

Blaise nodded sadly, "Yeah, Astoria found out, and she did not take well to
the news."

Draco frowned, "You could've told me."

Blaise grinned, "I saw you after years. I hardly think it was appropriate for
my opening line to be, welcome back, and by the way, you are supposed to
marry a woman you tormented in school."

Draco laughed and nodded in agreement, "Fair point." He added

despairingly, "I hope I can get us out of this predicament."

Blaise mirrored his weaning confidence, "Ah, that might be harder than you
think."

The day after his mother finally confessed about his match to Granger,
Draco called Pansy and asked her for the document and whatever
information she had on the law.

Unfortunately, she had coughed it up only after she grilled him about why
he suddenly wanted it. Her shocked gasp was apparent, "Shut the fuck up.
You got Granger?"

Draco sighed, "Yes, unbelievable, isn't it?"

Pansy shrieked, "That's bloody mental." With the promise to owl the
documents at once, she had hung up and contemplated the impossible
matchup. He had read through the clauses thrice but came to no satisfactory
conclusion. It was ironclad and tied up neatly. However, he would speak to
the Minister and make him see reason.

As the night progressed, Hermione danced with Charlie after he rescued her
from the wandering hands of Lee Jordon. It had been a harmless bit of
flirting until Jordon decided to take things too far. The man had a few
drinks in him and would not be discouraged easily. Charlie swooped in and
whisked her away. He was always good fun, and Hermione always
imagined if she had a brother, he would be exactly like Charlie Weasley.
They had a merry time laughing at his jokes and poking fun at others.

Narcissa took her leave. Before that, she cupped Hermione’s face lovingly
and asked, " Will you come by next week?”
Hermione smiled warmly, “Of course.” She noticed Malfoy laughing with
his friends and a woman in a low-cut red dress flirting with him mercilessly.
Obviously, he wasn’t leaving with his mother. Surprisingly, Astoria was
nowhere in sight. After Draco danced with Hermione, Astoria made it her
mission to make her intentions obvious by hanging around the Slytherin
men.

Ginny shoved Hermione drunkenly and slurred, “You had fun dancing with
Malfoy. Admit it!”

Hermione grinned, “Fuck no.”

Ginny laughed and held onto Harry to steady herself, “You lying bitch.”

Harry rolled his eyes, handed them crushed, sweet-smelling petals, and
instructed firmly, “Throw these at the couple.”

Ginny threw a handful in his face, and some got inside Harry's gaping
mouth. He spat them out and frowned in disgust. Hermione and Ginny held
onto each other and collapsed in a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

Ron appeared with Tracey close behind him. He took her hand in his and
radiated happiness. Everyone threw the petals at them, and the couple
hurried through it and got into the waiting carriage.

They waved happily at the crowd gathered to watch them off.

Hermione felt a presence next to her. She definitely felt the effects of the
many glasses of champagne she consumed because when she turned to see
who it was, her heel caught in the hem of her gown, and she fell.

Strong arms caught her around the waist and held her firmly to a sculptured
chest.

A voice whispered confidently, “I promise, I won’t let you fall.” Before she
could register who it was, her head spun dangerously, and everything turned
black.
 Chapter 10
Chapter Notes

A chapter dedicated to our duo and the bubbling sexual tension that
they can't seem to escape from.

Enjoy Chapter Ten!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Hermione's Flat

Hermione stirred. Her head was pounding, and her mouth felt like
something had died. It was the most disgusting taste imaginable. Her
fingers brushed over something soft and cotton.

She struggled to open her eyes but managed to pop open a swollen eyelid.
The sheet entwined around her was her bedding, but she had no recollection
of making it home. Blurry snippets flashed across her mind—Ron's
wedding, what a night that had been.

Ginny and she had drunk possibly three bottles of imported champagne
between them. She vaguely recalled falling. Did she hit her head? Was that
the reason for temporary amnesia? Bollocks, had she been so plastered that
she could not remember how she made it home? If only her parents could
see her now.

Hermione heard movement coming from the bathroom. She sat straight up
and regretted it at once. The bile rose dangerously and threatened to spill
over, but the distinct sound of a toilet being flushed made her heart pound
rapidly.

Evidently, she was not alone. Fuck.

She looked around for her wand and shockingly found it neatly tucked
under the pillow. Without hesitation, she pointed it at the partially open
door with a trembling hand and waited for whoever it was to come out.

The door opened slowly, and the man who walked out in the same clothes
as the night before caused her mind to go blank. Her heart started to beat
rapidly, and she stared transfixed.

Fuck. Her inner monologue fired off a stream of colourful curses.

Hermione's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as memories of the

previous evening flooded back. She remembered laughing too loudly,
dancing with abandon, and perhaps indulging in one drink too many.

He wore his tailored black trousers from the previous night and an
unbuttoned black shirt displaying a defined chest and scarred body.
Hermione had the sudden urge to trace the healed rose-pink scar that
disappeared into the waistband of his trousers with her index finger.

She saw the angry red marks on his neck and flinched. Did she do that? Oh
lord, please don't let it be her. She would never live it down.

The man ran his fingers through his fine locks of hair and grinned smugly,
"Good morning, Granger. Rough night?"

Hermione held back her surprise and croaked, "What are you doing here?"
She felt naked and completely vulnerable. As her eyes met his, she couldn't
help but marvel at the irony of the situation. Here she was, nursing a
hangover in her flat, with Draco Malfoy, of all people, standing before her
like an unexpected guest at a party she couldn't quite remember attending,
except it was Ron's wedding.

He narrowed his eyes and instructed firmly, “Put that wand away before
you hurt someone.” The cautious Gryffindor was not having that. She kept
it pointed directly at his chest. Make one move to my disliking, and I will
hex your pretentious arse, she thought.
When she didn't budge, he flicked his hand almost lazily, and the wand flew
out of her hand. It landed elegantly on the other side.

The hammering in her head increased. Stunned into silence, she mouthed,
“What?”

Hermione hurled accusingly, “How did you do that?”

The imposing man replied calmly, “I don't know what you're on about.”

Hermione sneered, “Don't insult my intelligence.”

He laughed heartily, “I wouldn't dare. I do, however, think you're

delusional.”

She almost lunged forward with the intent of causing bodily harm but found
herself looking down and discovered she was in a baggy white t-shirt and
unflattering grandma knickers.

Hermione clutched the bedding tightly to her chest and groaned.

Merlin. Had they fucked?

His voice was laced with mocking sweetness, “Figured you wouldn't be a
morning person.”

He fetched a vial from the small table in the corner, held it out for her to
take and instructed confidently, "Drink it."

Hermione stared at it suspiciously, pressed her lips together and hissed,

“Not until you explain what the hell you’re doing in my flat, Malfoy?”

Draco rolled his eyes and retorted, “There’s plenty of time for that. Right
now, you need to drink this.”

He smirked, “It's not poisoned. I swear, it will make you feel better.”
Looking towards the kitchen, he added reassuringly, “There was a cupboard
in the kitchen labelled potions. I took it out of that.”
While she slept it off, he had first tried to get some sleep on the sofa in his
boredom, but the many fluffy cushions kept tickling his nostrils.

Then the twisted armchair in the corner of her room was definitely meant to
look pretty because the witless sod who designed it was a certifiable idiot. It
was probably the most uncomfortable chair he ever had the misfortune of
sitting upon.

He had also peered into her face and tenderly brushed away the strands of
hair that fell over her face. Conceding defeat that sleep was a luxury he
would be deprived of for the night, he walked around the flat and took in
the small trinkets that decorated her space.

The framed pictures of her family and happy framed photographs of her
hugging Teddy Lupin appealed to him. He picked it up and held it under the
light to get a better look.

She had an extensive collection of books and leather-bound manuscripts; no

surprises there. Towards dawn, he had pulled out a book on the French
Revolution and settled down on the sofa to read it—nothing like the
beheading of royals to set the mood.

The woman staring daggers at him was disturbing. He would’ve gladly

opted for the Guillotine at that moment. Hermione eyed him sceptically,
grabbed the small glass bottle out of his grasp, pulled the plug out with her
mouth, dramatically spat it out, and the wooden cork landed near his feet.

She paused for effect and tossed the purple contents of the vessel back. The
potion took immediate effect. It seeped into her blood and spread to every
corner of her body.

Draco pointed to a large cup with a hand-painted cat and grinned, “I hope
you don't mind, but I helped myself to coffee.” He sat down with the
steaming mug on the painful armchair and cursed internally. After crossing
his legs, he leaned back to get comfortable and regarded the fuming witch
before him curiously.
Hermione wished she were more trained in the art of Occlumency. She
would have given anything to know what was happening behind those
mysterious orbs of grey.

An awkward silence engulfed them, and Hermione decided to address the

elephant in the room. She cleared her throat and summoned the courage to
ask, “Did we?”

Draco lazily took a sip of coffee, sighed in contentment, and replied

innocently, “Did we what, Granger?”

Hermione kept her temper at bay and decided to humour the infuriating
wizard in her room, “You know exactly what I mean.”

Draco shrugged nonchalantly, “Do I?” So, he would make her say it. Fine,
if they did, she would forget about it and move on with her life.

She cocked her head to the side and frowned, “Please don't act stupid.”
Looking him in the eyes was not an option.

She averted her gaze, played with the corner of a pillow and muttered, “Did
we, umm, have sex?” She joined her hands together and entwined the
fingers to emphasise her point.

Draco leaned forward pointedly, and his long fingers tightened around the
hot coffee cup. He stifled a laugh and settled for his trademark smirk,
“What if we did?”

Fuck.

A satisfactory grin tugged at the corner of his lip, “I assure you, you would
know if we made love.”

Hermione laughed cynically, “Made love? What are you, a fucking girl?”

Draco frowned to make his displeasure evident, “I didn't touch you, well,
besides helping your drunken arse in.”

Hermione stopped laughing and thanked Merlin, “That's a bloody relief.”

With a wry smile, she couldn't resist a quip, "Well, this is a surprise. Did
you bring coffee, or are you just here to witness my spectacular post-party
disarray?"

Draco's lips curled into a playful smirk as he replied, "I'm afraid I left my
barista skills at home, Granger. But I must say, your ability to turn a
hangover into a work of art is truly impressive."

She felt the t-shirt, tugged at it and raised a questioning brow, “My
clothes?”

Draco grinned and offered a plausible explanation, “A simple

transfiguration charm can work wonders.” The potion did its job, and
Hermione felt more like herself.

She bundled the sheet around to cover her exposed bits and threw him a
wary look, “Umm, care to explain why you’re sitting in my flat? She tried
desperately to remember the events that led them to where they were, but
regrettably, no memory rose to the surface.

Draco brushed her question aside, got to his feet and said in exhaustion, “I
don’t know about you, but I'm starving.”

He ran his hand over his tired face and asked offhandedly, “Do you have
cheese, bread, anything?”

Hermione responded reluctantly, “Er, yes, but….”

Malfoy ignored her, turned on his heel and headed to what he presumed to
be the kitchen. She took the moment of privacy to fetch a pair of discarded
shorts and wriggled into them.

She dashed madly into the bathroom, stared at her reflection and gasped.
Lord, her hair stuck to her head in messy oily strands, and uncleaned
makeup from the night before left ugly streaks on her cheeks and under her
eyes.
Hermione groaned. Is this what Malfoy had seen? Why did it even matter
what he thought? She attacked the tube of toothpaste, squeezed a generous
amount onto her toothbrush, and stuck it into her mouth. It felt beyond
heavenly to erase the taste of the dead cat off her tongue.

Next, she washed her face with the cool water and sighed when the icy
beads connected with her skin. The exhausted woman in her rubbed at the
unsightly blotches of makeup that decorated her face and ran wet fingers
through her hair to tame it momentarily.

Once she looked somewhat presentable, she tiptoed out and heard the
unmistakable sound of open cupboards and cutlery moving about.

Hermione found him shuffling through her cupboards. She opened her
mouth to hurl an insult, but she held her tongue and watched the uninvited
intruder go through her stuff.

An unopened box of sanitary napkins fell to the floor, and Draco picked it,
turned slightly red, pushed it into the cramped cupboard, and hurriedly
closed the small door.

He threw open the door to the fridge and exclaimed excitedly, "Finally,
something edible."

Pulling out an almost empty tray of eggs, he frowned, “Well, it's not much.
Two eggs, a few slices of cheese and three slices of bread.”

Hermione sat at the small wooden table and scowled, “Look, I eat out
mostly because I’m hardly home.”

She pointedly stared at the eggs and asked irritably, “Are you going to
cook?”

Draco grinned, “Yes, I am. Is that so surprising?”

Hermione responded sarcastically, “It is. Doesn’t a pampered prat like you
have people falling over themselves to cater to your needs?”
He found her childish retorts amusing. He quipped, “Once upon a time ago.
I have changed my selfish ways.”

Hermione countered mockingly, “Clearly.” She watched him trying to find a

frying pan in glee. When he failed to find one, she got up lazily, went to
stand by him, bent over and retrieved a nonstick pan from under the stove.

Her rounded bottom was high in the air, making the delectable flesh wobble
in the nonexistent shorts. The material pulled tight and wedged itself
between her smooth arse cheeks.

Draco swallowed hard, eyed the rippling skin in interest and fought the
carnal urge to grab a handful and leave his handprint on her creamy
buttocks. He glanced at his large hand and then her arse and decided it was
indeed a perfect fit.

Before his thoughts ran away with him completely, he quickly grabbed the
pan she handed and busied himself with cracking the eggs into a bowl and
whisking them.

Hermione returned to her seat and watched the striking man walk about her
kitchen like a daily occurrence. In next to no time, the enticing smell of a
cheese omelette surrounded the small kitchen, and Hermione felt her
stomach rumble with a sudden pang of hunger.

Draco placed a mug of steaming coffee in front of Hermione and pushed the
plate of food toward her. Indeed, this was an out-of-body experience or
some parallel universe because that was the only logical explanation for
Malfoy cooking her fucking breakfast.

She took the mug with both hands and drank the hot liquid. It felt
immensely gratifying, but her curiosity was yet to be sated.

Hermione cleared her throat of the tingling sensation and demanded,

“Malfoy, why the fuck are you in my flat?

He pulled out a chair, sat down and smirked, “That is quite an interesting
story.”
Hermione took another sip and impatiently probed, “Well, get to it.”

Draco rested his elbows on the table, brought his hands together and asked
curiously, “What's the last thing you remember?”

Hermione tossed her head back in exasperation and tried to recall. It came
to her in bits. She sat up straight and swore.

She hissed, narrowing her eyes, “Lee Jordan tried to grab my arse on the
dancefloor, but Charlie shooed him off.”

Draco bit into a piece of toast and nodded. He had seen Jordan's failed
attempts at intimacy, Granger's blatant refusal of his advances and one of
the Weasley boys stepping in to defuse the situation.

He couldn’t help the rising contempt, “Yeah, Lee’s a class act. I should have
let him bring you home.”

Hermione fawned mockingly and asked in false eagerness, “Aww, did you
save me, Malfoy? Should I be grateful?”

Draco stifled a laugh and replied truthfully, “A thank you would be nice,
actually.”

Then it dawned on her, and she cried in realisation, “My heel got caught in
the hem of my stupid dress, and I fell….”

She clicked her tongue and added, “Oh, Merlin, you caught me.”

Draco stretched his legs, and his foot brushed up against Hermione’s ankle.
He flashed a flawless smile and joked, “If I knew you were going to treat
me so poorly, I would've let you fall on your shapely arse.”

He stretched and mused, “You blacked out after that, and here I was,
carrying you about, trying to figure out what I was going to do. It caused
quite a stir. I bet most thought I had hexed you to have my wicked way with
you.”

Hermione licked her bottom lip and inquired, “And did you?”
Draco narrowed his eyes and growled. A low rumble left his lips in anger, “I
am no rapist, Granger. I prefer a conscious, willing woman who can leave
marks on my back.” That statement piqued Hermione’s interest. Malfoy did
not seem to mind a bit of rough play in the bedroom area. Interesting.

She shamelessly wondered how far he would go. He got to his feet, washed
his coffee cup, and kept it on the counter meticulously.

Hermione swallowed hard. Her eyes followed him around. He was

ultimately at ease using Muggle devices. Who the bloody hell was this
man?

His eyes crinkled with laughter, “There was this one old witch who thought
you fainted from the shock of seeing your beloved riding off into the
sunset.”

He let out a laugh, “She made her thoughts quite vocal. Even told me to be
cautious.”

Hermione bared her teeth and spat, “Well, point her out, and I'll give her a
piece of my bloody mind.” People never minded their own business.

Draco leaned against the clean kitchen counter and asked curiously, “What
happened? I would've bet my weight in gold that you and he would get
married and have a bunch of ginger-haired kids running about by now.”

Hermione grimaced, “What? No.” She massaged the bridge of her nose and
replied in frustration, “Well, not that it's any of your fucking business, but
Ron and I grew apart.”

Draco chuckled, “Long story short. You grew up; he couldn't keep up, so
you dumped him.”

Hermione shifted in her seat uncomfortably and defended weakly, “No,

umm...”

Draco noticed her awkward body language and grinned, “I’m impressed,
Granger. That's something a Slytherin would do.”
He added without a shred of remorse, “You must have broken his poor heart
to bits.”

Hermione decided he had reprimanded her enough and fired back, “No
more than you broke Astoria’s.”

Draco stiffened and wondered how she knew about his tumultuous
relationship with Astoria Greengrass. He cautioned, “Careful, Granger. It is
hardly the same thing.”

She recited her first encounter with Astoria at the Burrow with a hint of
loathing, “She gave me an insulting tongue lashing about how I was
beneath you and that you belonged to her.” Ah, so that’s how she knew. He
felt the need to apologise. She watched his face contort unpleasantly. It was
a painful issue, but she was curious about his reaction.

He replied thoughtfully, leaving no room for doubt, “You are beneath no

one.”

Hermione reeled from the shock of hearing the words seamlessly flew out
of his luscious mouth. Not knowing how to respond, she sighed and stated
what she believed to be obvious, “She loves you.”

Draco pressed his lips together and seemed far away. He muttered, “I doubt
it's true love. Since we were children, she’s been brainwashed to love me.”

He added gravely, “I never loved her, nor did I pretend to. We had a
physical relationship because I was a dumb teenager with a hard-on, but I
never gave her false hope.”

Hermione shrugged, “Well, evidently, she missed the owl.”

Draco injected, “Memo.”

Hermione raised a questioning brow, “What?”

He retorted complacently, “The Muggle term is the memo.” It was utterly

barmy to hear pureblood fanatic Draco Malfoy correct her on Muggle
phrases.
Hermione chewed on her bottom lip and muttered unsurely, “Are you going
to speak with Kingsley?”

Draco nodded at once, “Of course, I am.”

He pointed at them and quipped, “This is a disaster waiting to happen. We

are as different as night and day.” Yet, a complex algorithm deemed them
compatible, ruling out hundreds if not thousands of other possible
candidates.

Hermione locked eyes with him and grinned, “I gave it some thought. If all
else fails, you can tell Kingsley you’re gay.”

The platinum blonde widened his eyes in surprise, “Excuse me?” Was she
fucking nuts? Not that he had anything against homosexuality, but it just
wasn't for him. While in school, some of the others had experimented, but
he had never given it a second thought.

He fumed, “Have you read the bloody document? That is not even a clause,
and I will do no such thing.”

Hermione threw her hands up in defeat, “Fine! Don’t get your knickers in a
bunch.”

Draco stared. Of all the stubborn women in the wizarding world, he had to
get stuck with the worst one of the lot.

She shrugged and said casually, “I would be glad to put the word out that I
fancied women if everyone didn't already know about Ron and other men
I've dated, but you, they know practically nothing about.

Hermione winked suggestively, “Pretty boy like you should have no

problem in getting himself a handsome boyfriend.”

Draco took a threatening step forward. He roughly turned her chair around,
loomed over her and glared sternly, “Granger, I'm not fucking gay and nor
will I pretend to be to get out of a ridiculous law.”
She mumbled weakly and moved to the edge of the seat, “It was worth a
try.”

She remembered the woman in the ridiculously low-cut dress and mustered
a halfhearted apology, “I'm sorry I ruined your plans of getting laid.” First,
she wanted him to act as if he were gay, and then she apologised for
upstaging a probable night of shagging. No wonder Weasley couldn’t keep
up.

Draco leaned forward so his face was inches from hers. He placed a long
finger under her chin, lifted her face, and forced her to look at him. Her lips
were so close to his that he could smell the fresh peppermint toothpaste.

He half expected her to shove him back, but she sat still and gripped the
corner of the chair rigidly until her knuckles turned visibly white.

His tone turned alluring, sending shivers down her spine, "Why are you
sorry? I got to bring home the prettiest woman at the wedding."

He nuzzled into her hair, snapped her head to the side and took charge,
“Look at me, Hermione.” She was drowning. Surely, it wasn’t her
imagination playing cruel tricks on her, but her given name rolled off his
tongue sinfully. Gathering her bravado, she looked at him through hooded
eyelids.

The amber in her eyes burned with a passion that longed to be satisfied. The
intensity that radiated off her set his core ablaze.

His own eyes clouded over with lust, and his teeth grazed her sensitive
earlobe, “Cat got your tongue, Granger?” The deep, sensual low of his
voice made Hermione lean into it. It sent rippling sensations through her
body.

She wanted more. Her lips parted in want, and she closed her eyes and
almost surrendered to the ministrations he bestowed upon her. Just like that,
his presence left her circle of warmth, and it was over. When she opened her
eyes, Malfoy backed away and gazed at her through conflicted eyes.
Neither were in control of the raging attraction that seemingly pulled them
into its disgraceful embrace. Her chest heaved, leaving her bosom bare. He
closed his eyes and channelled his inner strength, his teachings, in a futile
attempt to regain control.

Eager to stir the situation away from dampening knickers and what looked
like a semi-hard erection, Hermione asked anxiously, “Where were my
friends?”

Draco stared in silence before the scrapping of Granger’s chair prompted

him to reply, “Potter had his hands full with a sleepy toddler and drunk
wife. The others were busy, I guess.”

He added triumphantly, “It was his idea that I bring you home.” The Chosen
One had grilled him and promised bodily harm if he deviated from his
instructions.

Hermione’s mouth fell open in disbelief, “He wouldn't.” The traitor.

Draco smirked, “Oh, he would. He gave me the address, and I apparated us

right outside your door.”

He continued to paint a vivid picture, “I propped your lifeless form up

against the door and went through your purse to locate your keys when you
suddenly came to and grunted. Scared the fuck out of me.”

Hermione glared, “I do not fucking grunt.”

He chuckled, “It's a good thing you did because this woman came out of the
flat next door in nothing but an overcoat and bombarded me with many
questions. She threatened to call the coppers, but you told her it was alright
because you were with your fiancé.”

Hermione gasped. She was mortified, “I did not!”

Draco enjoyed her reactions immensely, "Hmm, but you did." He purposely
neglected to mention how, once they entered the flat, she had peppered his
neck with lingering kisses, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, and
touched herself enticingly.

He was tipsy but in control, but it took every ounce of self-control not to rip
her dress off her body and fuck her right there on the floor. When she hiked
up her dress to retrieve her wand, his cock had hardened instantly and
pressed painfully against the material of his new trousers.

She then plopped herself down on the sofa and beckoned him forward, and
in a weak moment, he had stridden towards her intent on pleasure, but her
eyes rolled back in her head, and she passed out again.

Draco laughed aloud, “After you passed out yet again, I threw you over my
shoulder and put you to bed.”

Hermione cried indignantly, “What are you, a caveman?” Somehow, being

overpowered by Malfoy sounded titillating.

She widened her eyes and asked urgently, “Oh Merlin, did I vomit?”

Draco frowned with mild repulsion, “A few times, actually. That was fun.”

Hermione could barely look him in the eyes. Even Ron never came in when
she was feeling sick.

She questioned meekly, “Did you see?”

Draco nodded reluctantly and replied at once, “Oh, I saw and cleaned up
after. Yes, did all that. I also held your hair back as you painted the inside of
the toilet with your vomit.”

He raised a questioning brow and inquired, “I must ask why you have
coloured bars of soap.”

Hermione smiled sheepishly, “Oh, umm, I like having a variety.”

He threw her a look of utter confusion, “Like for the bloody days of the
week?”
She frowned, “No, you arsehole.” Why was she even entertaining him and
his ridiculous questions?

Draco was thoroughly amused. He shook his head and replied, “You have
issues, Granger,” and added, “I used the green one without skipping a beat.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Of course you did.”

Draco straightened and looked at the time pointedly, “Well, now that I know
you won't die of alcohol poisoning, I'll take my leave.” She grasped his arm
and stopped him from leaving. He came to an abrupt halt and stared at
where her lilac-painted nails dug into his pale flesh.

Hermione averted her gaze and asked, “Why did you bring me home? You
didn't have to.”

Draco sighed, “I didn't, but I am a decent human being now, and I wanted to
make sure you were okay.”

Hermione was not convinced. She probed impatiently, “But why?”

He answered patiently, “I just told you why.” It made no sense.

He pushed the cold plate of food towards her and instructed firmly, “Get
some rest and eat. You need your strength.”

He left her sitting in the kitchen, strolled towards the door, and said, “See
you around, Granger.”

Hermione pushed back the chair, strolled over to his retreating figure, and
whispered, “Malfoy?” He towered over her easily without her heels,
making her uncomfortable.

He stood his ground and regarded her curiously, “Yeah?”

Hermione went on tiptoes, placed a gentle kiss on his cheek and mumbled a
quick “Thank you.”
With his hand on the doorknob, Draco glanced over his shoulder and
inquired earnestly, “Are you and Charlie Weasley an item?”

Hermione grimaced. The repulsion she felt was apparent. She almost
screamed, “Have you lost your bloody mind?”

In her haste to spit out the words, she stumbled over them, “He is like a
brother to me…,” and added in utter disgust, “And Ron's brother. The
whole idea is revolting.”

Draco felt an unexpected sense of relief wash over him. It was

unprecedented, catching him completely off guard, so much so that he went
still for a moment.

Hermione smiled fondly, “He’s also very gay and currently dating some
dragon wrangler back in Romania.”

She closed the gap between them, cocked her head to the side and bit her
lip, “What does it matter to you?” The closeness of their bodies was
wreaking havoc, and he felt his defences beginning to crumble. It was
purely a physical attraction to an enticing woman he considered forbidden
fruit.

His grasp on the handle tightened, and he replied coolly, “I was just
curious.”

Hermione didn’t buy it, but why put him on the spot? Instead, she showed
indifference, “Yeah, whatever.”

Draco hurriedly opened the door and walked out. The air in the corridor was
cold, and he felt the tiny hairs on his body react to the sudden coolness.

He closed the door behind him, leaned against the painted wood and
breathed a sigh of relief. His resolve hung by a thread. A mere second
longer in her presence, he would have done the unthinkable.

Hermione stared at the closed door, rubbed her sweaty hands and willed the
rapid beating of her heart to still. She walked towards the kitchen, put the
plate of food in the microwave and went back to bed with disturbing
thoughts swirling around in the depths of her conscience.
 Chapter 11
Chapter Summary

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Draco walked down the carpeted, narrow corridor away from Granger’s
door. He avoided the lift and took the stairs purely because he wanted to
occupy himself with thoughts other than the former Gryffindor Princess.

The late morning air was warmer than he expected, but aimlessly, Draco
strolled down the streets amongst the busy people going about their daily
work.

Sundays usually brought out the working crowd for a spot of breakfast and
shopping. He saw many families gathered in the nearby cafes enjoying a
cold or hot treat while children jumped about excitedly as they licked their
melting ice cream cones. They seemed so content with their lives, and he
had every intention of living a peaceful existence, but that was until a
certain woman threw a monkey wrench into his plans.

A small smile made it to his face, and he remembered something his mentor
Chun had repeated more than once, “Ah, Draco, you can’t stop the
inevitable. Everything happens for a reason.”
A permanent hard-on for Granger could not possibly count as a reason. It
was a phrase his Master Chun was pretty fond of using right before he
knocked Draco off his feet. The surprised blonde would lie on his back,
wince in pain and frown as his Master chuckled and made him repeat the
routine until he reached perfection.

Hands in his pockets, Draco walked along the cobbled streets and thought
of his situation. He had little choice in the matter, and he dreaded the
meeting with Kingsley. Despite finding Granger sexually appealing, he
could not fathom being forced to marry her. Their mannerisms would
literally drive each other mad.

Deciding that he had looked around enough, he ducked into a relatively

deserted alley behind a department store. A creepy-looking, disfigured
mannequin stared at him accusingly. Closing his eyes, he thought vividly of
where he wanted to go.

The tall black stone walls, the beautiful gardens and the century’s old
ancestral structure came into view. Draco waved his hand casually and
disappeared, leaving behind the sudden rush of wind and rustling of papers.
His feet touched the ground near the fountain, and he took a few moments
to stare into the saintly face of the marble angel that spewed water in a
perfect arc. He slowly descended the stone stairs, hoping his mother would
not cross his path. How could he explain where he had been?

Random thoughts played in his mind. He was so caught up in his thoughts

he didn’t hear his mother speak to him from the ladies parlour. She had
been somewhat concerned when he hadn’t turned up, but she figured he was
having a merry time with his friends. That didn’t stop her from letting out a
sigh of immense relief at the sight of her only child.

Narcissa sat up straight and smiled, “Good morning, Draco.” The

aristocratic woman wasted no time. She took in his crushed clothes and
unkempt hair and regarded him with mild scepticism, “Should I ask where
you have been?”

Bollocks. Draco slicked his hair back with his long fingers and grinned
sheepishly, “Mother, good morning.” Different scenarios ran rampant in his
mind, but he saw little point in lying. He purposely averted his gaze, stared
at the ugly painting of a hog and hound, and mumbled incoherently, “I,
umm, I spent the night at Granger’s flat.”

Narcissa could hardly believe the words that flew out of her son’s mouth.
Ineligible as they were, she heard each word loud and clear. The surprise
she felt was evident in the widening of her eyes, “What?”

Draco stepped closer and explained rather sheepishly, “She had too much to
drink, and I saw her back to hers.” He knew his mother’s fondness for
Granger. Putting his hands up in defeat, he added reassuringly, “I swear
nothing happened.” Even though plenty could have happened.

Narcissa reached out, took his hand in hers and flashed a happy smile, “I
trust your word.” Her eyes clouded over in concern, “Is she alright?”

Draco nodded at once, “Yes, she is now. I made her breakfast and left.”

Narcissa raised a brow and quipped, “You made her breakfast?” He

internally berated himself: idiot, no one needed to know the finer details.
Hopefully, the marks on his neck would remain hidden from wandering
eyes. He consciously pulled up his collar and buttoned it. Max chose this
moment to come crashing into the room and ran in circles around his
beloved Master.

The shiny-haired dog kept his giant paws on Draco’s trousers, hoisted itself
up, and demanded attention.

Narcissa eyed the affectionate exchange fondly, and a diabolical smile

pulled the side of her lip upwards, “If I didn’t know any better, and I always
do. I would say you have feelings for Hermione.”

Draco went on one knee to Max’s level and scratched him under his neck.
The happy dog slobbered and whimpered in comfort. He rolled his eyes so
his mother couldn’t see and retorted firmly, “Don’t be silly, mother. I helped
a woman in distress. Please do not read too much into this.”
Narcissa beckoned Max forward and showed her son indifference to
appease him, “Of course, as you wish.”

Draco yawned and quickly covered his gaping mouth with the back of his
hand.

Narcissa took in his dishevelled appearance and suggested, “You look tired.
Why don’t you get some rest?” She offered kindly, “Shall I ask Dotty to
send up a pot of hot tea and some breakfast.” A proper cup of milky tea
would hit the spot and tend to the foul taste in his mouth.

Draco perked up at once, “Thank you, that would be great.” He thought

back to Granger’s lack of groceries. The bloody woman had no food at her
flat.

No 12 Grimmauld Place

James hollered from down the hall, “Mummy!” He ran into his parents’
room unannounced in his snitch-patterned pyjamas and jumped onto the
bed.

Just as he was about to wake his mother, Harry picked up the naughty
toddler and tickled him. The happy child collapsed in giggles and screamed,
“No, Daddy, stop!”

Ginny buried her head under the stack of pillows and grumbled, “Oh, my
head. Not so loud, munchkin.” She scowled, “Someone turn off the bloody
sun.”

Harry replied merrily, “Ah, my loving wife has awoken.”

Ginny struggled to sit up, and once, she croaked, “Are we home? Or did I
drink that too?”

Harry smiled fondly and gave her a quick peck on the forehead, “We are
home, my love.”
He reached over, grabbed something off the nightstand, and asked, “Do you
want the hangover potion now?”

Ginny groaned and nodded slowly, “Oh Merlin, yes.” She took the opened
bottle, threw her husband a look of gratitude and tossed the contents back.
The potion started to take effect when it disappeared down her parched
throat.

Harry plopped beside his pretty wife, peered into her face and inquired,
“Feeling better?”

Ginny breathed a large breath of fresh air and grinned, “Much better.” They
shared a soft kiss. James frowned at his parents’ display of affection,
jumped off the bed and ran out of the room. They heard the sound of his
train set come to life.

Ginny smacked her forehead and regretted it at once, “Fuck. Where’s

Hermione? Is she downstairs?”

Harry averted his gaze guiltily and fell over his words, “Er, well, no.”

Ginny raised a questioning brow and probed sternly, “Harry?”

Harry groaned, closed his eyes, and the words flew out of his mouth
rapidly, “I’m sorry, but I had no choice. Malfoy took her back to her flat.”
He exhaled like a huge burden had been lifted off his shoulders.

Ginny’s mouth fell open, and she cried in shock, “What?”

Harry massaged the bridge of his nose and explained further, “She passed
out, and he caught her. You were throwing up; James was grumpy, and
Charlie had blacked out in the corner.” He slumped his shoulders in defeat,
“I had no choice.”

Ginny grinned devilishly, “Calm yourself. You did the right thing.”

She pondered why Malfoy had been so close to Hermione to catch her in
the first place. Sure, she had seen him glancing their way when he thought
no one was looking. She especially enjoyed the ex-Slytherin’s hardened
expression when Lee Jordon was getting handsy with Hermione. Perhaps,
Malfoy felt obligated since learning of the Algorithm.

Harry threw his head back and groaned, “She’s going to kill me.”

Ginny patted his hand but offered no reassuring words, “Well, yes,
definitely. You know how much she hates him.”

Harry frowned and replied sarcastically, “Thank you, I feel loads better.”

Ginny grinned and tapped her chin in thought, “I wonder how that went.”

Harry shrugged and laid back on a fluffy white pillow, “She probably hexed
his balls off and flung him out of her flat.”

Ginny looked uncertain, “I don’t know about that. He looks like he could go
a round or two with the great Miss Hermione Granger.”

Harry pulled her to his side, and Ginny cuddled into the warmth her
husband always offered. She danced her fingers across his chest and
muttered, “It was a good wedding.”

Harry stroked his wife’s flaming red hair and replied, “The best. Everyone
had a blast, and I have the marks to prove it.”

Ginny giggled, “I’m so sorry.”

Harry laughed and winked, “Why? I mildly enjoyed it.” He asked meekly,
“Should we call Hermione?”

Ginny smirked, “Maybe later. We don’t want to interrupt anything.”

Harry frowned, his face contorted in mild disgust, “What do you mean?”

Ginny rolled her eyes and shook her head exasperatedly, “You are so slow
at times.” She pulled him to her and placed a heated kiss on his lips.

Hermione’s Flat
Hunger eventually won over, and Hermione enthusiastically ate the meal
prepared, washed the dishes, flopped down on the bed, and stared at the
ceiling. Never would she have pegged Malfoy as kind and nurturing. She
figured he would eat his young as soon as they were born—a rather harsh
assessment but one that suited him.

She hugged herself and took in the masculine scent he left behind. It was a
blatant lie to pretend that his presence did nothing to her. It did, and she
hated herself for it. It was an uphill battle to remind herself what a hateful
person he had been.

Malfoy Manor

Draco stepped into the glass cubicle, and the overhead shower came to life.
He leaned into it and enjoyed the luxurious, cool spray of water that ran
through his hair and down his back. He had never seen Granger in a more
comprising situation. She had the softest skin.

The way her fingers had brushed over her skin when she was trying to
seduce him in her drunken state caused a powerful stirring within. It was
sensually beautiful how her fingertips danced across her smooth skin. Then
she bit down on her lip and looked at him through hooded lashes. He felt
his cock show signs of life. It grew hard and inched upwards. He palmed it
and moved his fingers up and down his shaft, encouraging it to reach its full
potential.

It had been a while since he had a good wank, but this was beyond his
control. He wanted to think of her. He wanted to have her under him, and
by Salazar, he wanted to slide his cock into her presumably tight cunt and
fill her up. His fingers grasped his fully erected dick and worked it to
perfection. Beads of pre-cum oozed out of his throbbing head, mixed with
the steady stream of water and slid to the floor.

Incoherent words left his mouth.

“Granger, touch yourself.”

“Yes, there. Slowly, move down.”

“Show me those beautiful tits.”

He hadn’t seen them, but a glimpse of her delectable mounds was enough
for his imagination to run wild. His fingers tightened, and his movements
grew urgent. It didn’t take much afterwards for him to reach a satisfying
orgasm. A groan rippled through his chest, and his release spurted forth and
coated his long fingers in thick strands of semen.

Draco pounded the wall beside him, closed his eyes in pure exhilaration and
whispered, “Hermione….” The water felt extra soothing after the tense
muscles in his body relaxed.

He stepped into his room naked, towelled himself and walked over to the
table laden with cold cuts of meat, several options of bread and a jar of his
favourite jam. He generously applied a thick coat of strawberry jam on a
piece of crunchy toast, bit into it and sighed.

After he had his fill, he slid between the cotton sheets and closed his eyes.
Sleep took him away into a dreamless yet content slumber. He had been
celibate for nearly ten long years, and when it came to the actual deed, he
was concerned whether his performance would lack his past vigour.

A bird tapping on the window made Hermione groggily open her eyes.

She hissed, “Bloody pigeon. You’re lucky I don’t casserole you.” Dragging
her feet to the bathroom, she pulled her unruly curls into a messy bun.

It was Sunday, and nothing needed her immediate attention. Deciding to

pamper herself, she ran the bath full of water and fetched the new bath salt
she bought the other day. The area filled with a pleasant earthy aroma, and
Hermione drank it in. She pulled the t-shirt over her head and noticed the
faint outline of a bruise and the distinct mark of fingers pressed into her
side.

Strange, she had no recollection of them, but then again, the past fifteen
hours were dodgy as fuck. In reality, the marks had been made by Draco
when he grabbed her. His long, strong fingers had pressed into her skin to
steady her before she fell to the floor and split her skull on the paved floor
of Greengrass Manor.

Hermione dipped a leg into the warm water and shuddered as the water
seeped into her pores. It came in contact with the bruise, and she winced
before a state of complete relaxation descended upon her. She closed her
eyes, rested her head on the edge of the smooth tub, brought her legs up and
sighed in satisfaction.

Malfoy.

Clear grey eyes.

Pale, unblemished skin.

Strong arms.

Fit, hardened chest.

Hermione wondered what he looked like underneath the tailored trousers.

Unquestionably, God had not blessed him with everything. There had to be
something lacking. She had suppressed the memory, but flashes of her lips
caressing pale skin came to mind, and even though he said nothing about
the marks on his neck, they bared an uncanny resemblance to her shade of
lip gloss.

Malfoy Manor

Theo strode into Malfoy Manor at half-past five p.m. Narcissa looked up
from her embroidery, and Dotty moved closer to her Mistress’s chair. He
bowed respectfully and greeted cheerfully, “Good evening, Narcissa.”

Max reared his head and growled at the outsider. The puppy grew rapidly
and resembled a miniature version of a snowy white wolf with bloodshot
eyes.
Narcissa ruffled the fur on the dog’s head and cooed, “Easy boy, Theodore
is a friend.”

Theo eyed the dog in caution and slowly moved into the luxurious space of
the newly refurbished foyer.

Max lay at Narcissa’s feet protectively but kept his eyes firmly on the
nervously approaching tall man.

Theo came to stand by Narcissa’s side and bent to give the regal lady a peck
on the cheek. Max made his displeasure evident and let out a low growl of
warning.

Narcissa stroked the irked dog’s head again and disciplined, “Hush now,
Max.” Without much thought, Theo reached into his robes for his wand. If
the dog attacked, he would be ready. He mumbled, “Bloody menace,” and
watched Narcissa fondly gaze at the mutt at her feet.

Narcissa looked into Theo’s face and smiled warmly, “How good to see
you.”

Theo looked to the floors above and inquired curiously, “Is Malfoy
around?”

Narcissa turned to give Max a treat and replied, “Hmm, he should still be
asleep.”

Theo scratched his chin in thought and made a mental note to shave. There
was a significant amount of stubble. He frowned, “That’s unlike him.”

Narcissa gave the young wizard her undivided attention. A satisfactory grin
tugged at her perfectly formed lips, “Yes, but he did have a rather long
night.”

Theo looked away in thought. They had indulged heavily and were all
drunk when Weasley and Davis rode off in that gaudy, bloody carriage. It
hit him like a ton of bricks, and a roguish glint flashed across his startling
blue eyes, “I last saw him with Granger in his arms.”
Narcissa opened her mouth to reply and hopefully offer a decent
explanation, “Quite right and .....,” but Theo cut her off and let out a hearty
laugh, “That dog.”

Max tilted his head and regarded the visitor suspiciously.

Theo took the stairs two at a time, threw open the doors to Draco’s suite and
held his tongue. It was a rare occurrence for the lanky man who was known
to make his thoughts vocal. He instead plopped himself down on the black
leather sofa in the corner and patiently waited for her best friend to wake
up.

Draco was dead to the world. Light snores emerged, and Theo sat tolerantly
for about fifteen minutes. When it became apparent that his best mate
would not wake, Theo did the most logical thing. He reached Draco’s
sleeping form and poked him hard in the arm.

Big mistake. The sleeping man jumped to his feet, knocked Theo off his
feet with one smooth kick to the chest and put him in a headlock.

Theo tapped rapidly on Draco’s forearm and croaked, “Let me go, you
maniac.”

He was kneeling and, without hesitation, added in disgust, “You better be

wearing boxers.”

Draco let go and narrowed his eyes suspiciously, “Theo, what the hell are
you doing?”

Theo gingerly rubbed his shoulder and neck and got to his feet. He roared in
disbelief, “You could’ve fucking killed me.”

Draco smirked, “I could’ve, but clearly, I did not,” and then raised a brow,
“Why are you in my room?”

Theo coughed and hissed, “Blaise and I are heading out to watch a
Quidditch match. We thought you might like to come.”
He touched the purpling bruise on his neck and fumed, “How fucking
wrong was I.”

Draco laughed, “That’ll teach you to come in unannounced.”

Theo pointed to his watch and asked in mock curiosity, “It’s pretty late.
Why are you still in bed?

Draco shrugged, tried to fight the sleepiness, and offered a plausible

explanation, “I umm...”

Theo crossed his arms over his chest and radiated smugness, “Did you fuck
her?”

Draco scratched the back of his neck and pretended to think, “Who?”

Theo leaned forward and smirked, “Granger, you idiot.”

Fuck.

Draco indignantly replied, “Of course not. I helped her back to her flat and
left in the morning.”

Theo hollered incredulously, “In the morning??”

Draco rolled his eyes and explained further, “Yes, she was completely
plastered. I feared for her health.”

Theo doubled over in laughter, “Bollocks. You like the Gryffindor swot.”

Draco frowned at his friend laughing and defended weakly, “Bullshit, I was
merely a gentleman.”

Theo straightened, wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and replied
sarcastically, “Right. You keep telling yourself that.”

He added confidently, “If you think I’m going to believe nothing happened,
you have another thing coming.”
Draco sighed and swapped a weary look with his best mate.

Theo shook his head exasperatedly and asked, “So, do you want to come?
It’s Kestrels vs Cannons.” He added desperately, “We need this fucking
win.”

Draco ran his fingers through his hair and pointed to the door, “Yeah, get
out and let me change in peace.”

Theo put his hands up in defeat and backed out of the room. He called over
his shoulder, “Fine, I’ll go keep Narcissa company until you make yourself
presentable.”

Draco shook his head and headed into the deluxe ensuite.

Narcissa laughed at something Theo said when Draco joined them in a pair
of ripped blue jeans and a black t-shirt.

Theo got to his feet, looked Draco over and frowned, “Don’t walk next to
me.” The jeans hugged his tight waist, and the t-shirt skimmed over his
impressive physique.

Draco smirked and questioned, “And why is that?”

Theo sneered, “Your blonde arse is giving me an inferiority complex.”

Draco chuckled and bent to kiss his mother, “I’ll see you later, mother.”

Narcissa cupped her son’s cheek and replied warmly, “Have fun, my
darling.”

Draco shoved Theo, and the lean man almost toppled over.

He grabbed hold of Draco’s hand, laced his fingers through his, held on
firmly and blew him a kiss, “Hang on tight, sweetheart.”

They arrived at the stadium boundary, and Draco immediately dropped

Theo’s hand, “Was that bloody necessary?”
Theo laughed heartily, and Blaise happily waved them over. The place was
packed to the brim with supporters. Stalls were erected, and enthusiastic
fans were sold a mix of Muggle and wizarding food. The smell was
mouthwatering, and the atmosphere was exhilarating.

Many fans waved flags of their preferred team and sang chants aloud. Theo
jogged over to a pizza stand and ordered a whole sausage and bacon pizza
smothered in cheese. The Kestrels owned the stadium, and since the boys
were old enough to mount a broom, the Kenmare Kestrels had been their
club. In their youth, they hardly missed a match.

Draco spoke over the noise, “When did the Kestrels get their stadium?”

Blaise handed them a VIP pass and grinned, “After I made it big. I helped
with funding, and I’m on the board.” He led them up a carpeted staircase
and into a glass-encased private box. Surrounded by solid transparent glass
panels, it was lavishly carpeted with a fully stocked bar, and an eager
bartender pouring drinks stood to the right. The space held every bit of
luxury one would need when watching an hours-long Quidditch match.

Draco walked over to the large pane of glass that overlooked the stadium,
and the brightest smile split his face in half. From where he stood, he could
easily see the hundreds of fans eagerly awaiting the start of the match. It
was a never-ending sea of orange and green. He missed Quidditch but
mostly the touch of a broom. To feel the polished wood was beyond
satisfying.

Blaise came up from behind and exclaimed, “Spectacular, isn’t it?”

Draco nodded in agreement but kept his eyes on a few Canon players doing
practice drills. He replied without hesitation, “I’ve missed this.”

Blaise handed him a drink. They clinked the crystal tumblers and raised
them high, “Cheers.”

Theo adjusted his Kenmare Kestrels jersey and pressed his face to the glass
for a better look. They sat on the black leather sofa and waited for the match
to begin. Blaise and Theo filled Draco in on the essential bits of Quidditch
he had missed over the years. It was a completely new team and the best
one yet.

Theo pounded the air, “The Seeker is fucking insane.”

Blaise smiled at Theo’s enthusiasm, glanced over his shoulder, and clicked
his fingers. His assistant snapped to attention, disappeared for a spell, and
entered the area with a neatly wrapped package. The smartly dressed man
handed the package to his boss.

Blaise leaned forward and held it out for Draco to take. He raised a curious
brow and took the package. It was apparent by the shape what it was, but
that did not stop the excitement that fluttered in the pit of his stomach. He
tore at the wrapping and gently placed the gleaming solid oak broom on the
glass table.

The handle was painted black, and the words Malfoy 07 gleamed on the top
in embossed silver lettering. Draco took it with trembling hands and moved
his fingers reverently along the shiny surface.

Blaise explained, “I wanted to get to you something. I figured this would be

the best bet.”

Draco swallowed hard and tightened his grip around the handle. His long
fingers fit perfectly around it, and he whispered, “Blaise, I don’t know what
to say.”

Blaise waved it off and replied happily, “Consider it a welcome home

present.”

Theo peered over Blaise’s shoulder and whistled, “That’s the newest model
in the Firebolt series. The fastest broom made to date.”

Draco touched it again worshipfully, “It’s beautiful.”

Hermione dozed off in the clawfoot tub. Her body was catching up, but the
loud beep of her mobile forced her to crack an eye open. She sleepily
grabbed the phone and struggled to focus. Her fingers and toes resembled
wrinkly bald men, and her body was a lethargic pool of mush. The name
that popped up made her grin. She clicked on it and read it aloud.

Fancy a spot of dinner? You can fill me in on the wedding.

She had mentioned it to him in passing and almost asked him to be her
guest. Terry was such a sweetheart. She figured it would be nice to get out
for a bit. Her fingers moved across the keys with practice.

Sure, meet you at the Cauldron at 6 pm.

She pressed send and awkwardly got to her feet, sending water splashing
over the edge and onto the floor. Walking naked around the bathroom, she
tied a towel around her, reached for her wand and waved it over the mess.
The floor returned to its former pristine condition. Hermione sighed and
went in search of something casual to wear.

Draco pointed outside and roared, “That fucker is as blind as a bat. I saw
the damn snitch three times already.”

“Steady on, mate,” Theo mused, trying to calm down his best friend. A loud
cheer broke out and drowned the chants of the Kestrel supporters.

Blaise cursed aloud, “What the bloody shit?”

Draco ground his teeth, “These buggers are pissing this away.” The
Cannons scored another goal.

Kestrel supporters were on their feet again, chanting songs and cheering
their players on, but some openly showed frustration. Gritted teeth, obscene
hand gestures and spit blew in the wind as a slew of curses left their
mouths.

Theo pressed his nose up against the glass of the premium box and watched
the players whiz past. His scarf came undone, and he adjusted it while
glaring at the Kestrel Seeker. Chudley Cannon supporters were sure of a
win, and a wave erupted on their side.

Magically enhanced, it looked like a tsunami of orange moving fluidly

through the crowd. Sparks of the same colour erupted from their wands and
filled the night sky. Confident and jubilant that they would win and secure
their place in the league finals, they sang praise.

Draco frowned—bloody, gaudy orange. Angry Kestrel supporters fired back

with their chants.

“Blimey,” Blaise exclaimed, looking at the angry crowd pounding the air
with their fists.

Draco nervously paced with his fingers clasped around a cool glass of
orange juice, muttering desperately, “Come on, come on.” Apparently, the
Kestrels hadn’t won the League in over four years. Hopes were high among
Kenmare’s supporters.

This was their year. The current team came into the League Cup undefeated
and with a perfect record. Cheers erupted from below, and Draco jumped
over a chair, eager to join Theo by the glass.

Blaise whistled anxiously, “Here we go.” They saw the white and green
billowing robes of the Kestrel Seeker Aiden tear through the skies with
bright orange robes speeding after him. The Cannon Seeker was gaining
fast, his goggled eyes hungry as he came up behind Aiden. You could see
the smug expression spread across the Irish Seeker’s tanned face.

The chase lasted less than twenty seconds, but it seemed longer. They
watched, horrified, as Aiden balanced himself on the broom. Without a care
in the world, the tall man dove forward, seemingly into nothingness.

“Catch it, mate,” Blaise muttered helplessly.

Theo shut his eyes and said a silent prayer. Draco watched relentlessly. The
seasoned Seeker somersaulted and landed back on his broom with ease.
Triumphantly, he punched the air and held up his gloved hand. Thunderous
cheers erupted as the small, winged golden ball resting on his palm
appeared. Its wings fluttered weakly and moved no more.

Blaise jumped up and down. All dignity was forgotten. Draco picked Theo
and shook him in delight. Theo squealed like a girl and shed happy tears.
Quidditch was a way of life, and Draco could unashamedly admit he had
sorely missed this bit of his former life.

If The Kenmare Kestrels won the League Cup, it would be most satisfying.
Sparks of white and green erupted out of wands across the enormous
stadium. The air was thick with the rich hue of a blend of the two colours.
Ecstatic fans could not hold back their happiness.

They saw the other players reach Aiden and cover him with their bodies
through the glass. Cannon supporters took the defeat to heart, leaving the
surrounding areas with disheartened faces and angry scowls. Random
scuffles broke out, and wizarding guards rushed in to maintain the peace.

Draco watched intently. Joy radiated out of him, and his fingers twitched
with longing to try out his new broom. Nothing beat the exhilarated feeling
of soaring through the clouds. That pure rush of adrenaline was beyond
compare.

Theo clamped him on the shoulder and asked, “Shall we grab a pint before
heading home?”

Draco rolled his eyes, “I had enough to drink last night.”

Theo replied jokingly, “Fine, you can watch us then,” and hurried after
Blaise.

The Leaky Cauldron

The Leaky Cauldron was packed to the brim with supporters from either
side, and despite the mix of colours, things remained peaceful. Theo, being
the tallest, scanned the immediate area for an empty table. He couldn't spot
one but pointed to a few empty chairs at the corner, "Come on, that's the
best we can get. It's bloody mental in here tonight.”

Terry reached over and brushed away a smidge of mayonnaise from

Hermione's mouth. She smiled and used her napkin to clean the rest.

Blaise caught sight of the duo first. He nudged Draco in the ribs and
muttered, "Umm, Isn't that Granger?"

Draco slowly turned towards the area Blaise pointed at in time to catch
some man licking mayonnaise off his thumb and Granger batting her
eyelashes suggestively. Their body language and secret glances made it
clear that something was there, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Draco looked away, uninterested and showed indifference, ”Yeah, so it is.“

Theo quipped, “Should we go say hi?” A woman in tight jeans and a red
blouse passed by. She bit her lip and eyed Draco in interest.

Keeping his eyes on the pretty woman, Draco mused, “Knock yourself out."
He had better things to do.

Theo took Draco’s arm and reluctantly dragged him forward. He smirked,
"We must not be rude.”

Blaise followed closely and inquired curiously, “Who is that bloke she’s
with?”

Theo narrowed his eyes and replied, “He looks familiar.” They approached
the corner table, and Theo grinned devilishly, “Granger, I fancy meeting
you here.”

Hermione almost spat out her drink and raised her head to survey the three
men standing by the small table. They, indeed, were an imposing bunch.

She spied Malfoy, hovering in the background uncomfortably. He had a

curious expression, and it was hard to gather what was going through his
mind.
She wanted to disappear, but instead, she composed herself and greeted
with faux enthusiasm, “Nott, Blaise, umm, Malfoy, what brings you by?”

Blaise cheerfully pointed to where drinks were poured and animatedly

stated, “The obvious, Granger.”

Theo winked and mused, “We heard you had an adventurous night.” That
bit piqued Terry’s interest. Hermione had failed to mention whatever
happened when she talked about what a bloody fun wedding it had been.

Hermione shifted in her seat uncomfortably, pointedly avoiding eye contact

and muttered, “Well, you heard wrong.” Her eye caught the dangerously
handsome man looming in the background, regarding her curiously. Ripped
jeans never looked better.

Draco strode forward, intent on making his presence known. He enjoyed

watching Granger squirm.

He threw the glass of scotch in her grasp, a disapproving look and asked
genuinely, “How are you feeling?”

Terry narrowed his eyes suspiciously, and they darted from Malfoy to
Hermione. Something had happened between the two, and he dreaded
whatever it was.

Hermione stared at Malfoy head-on and smirked, “Fine, as you can see.”

Draco pushed the drink out of her reach and warned, "Didn’t you have
enough to drink last night?" Lazily, he picked up the cheap glass tumbler,
held it to the light, and twirled it while she struggled to find a suitable
answer.

Her mind went blank; it was doing that a lot around him, and she hated not
having the upper hand.

The words left her mouth before filtering them, “What are you, my father?”
It was such a pathetic response.
Draco laughed. His laugh tickled her senses pleasantly, but his response did
not, “How mature of you, Granger, but go easy on the scotch.”

He drained the rest of her drink, slammed it on the table and grinned, "I
would hate to have to look after you two nights in a row."

Terry roughly pushed back his chair and slowly got to his feet; he was an
inch shy of Draco's imposing six-foot-two-inch stature.

His face contorted, and he hissed threateningly, “You have no right to tell
her what to do, Malfoy.”

Draco sized up the frothing man and came to an immediate conclusion. The
idiot was well on his way to falling in love with Granger.

He massaged his chin and inquired in boredom, “I don't think we've been
introduced.”

Hermione sprang to her feet and introduced, “This is Terry Boot. We work
together at the Ministry, and he was at Hogwarts. He’s an Auror.” She was
babbling. It was irrelevant, and Draco couldn't care less. He nodded lazily
and looked away.

Terry crossed his arms over his broad chest and smugly added, “I'm
Hermione's boyfriend.”” Take that, you bastard."

Hermione whipped around and cried in outrage, “What?” Oh, Merlin! Terry
had gone and done it now.

Theo, who had been watching the situation unravel, spat out his drink and
yelled, “What?”

Blaise pondered momentarily and clicked his fingers with realisation, “Ah,
Ravenclaw. I remember you now.”

Draco smiled and raised a curious brow. “Interesting. It's good to meet you,
mate. It's a pity she's never mentioned you.”

He patted Terry on the shoulder, “Take her home safe.”

Terry shook the hand away and glared, “Of course, I will.”

The pretty woman passed by again and batted her eyelashes at Draco.

Momentarily distracted by the attention he received, he kept his eyes on the

woman and retorted, “Enjoy your date, Granger.”

Hermione threw the woman a seething look. The words “Bloody tart” lit up
the insides of her mind, and she reeled back in horror at the sudden thought
that invaded her thinking.

She bared her teeth, shot Terry a deep look of loathing and hissed, “It is not
a date.”

Draco snapped to attention and gave Hermione his undivided attention. He

didn’t mean to sound like a git, but the words flew out anyways, “This poor
schmuck thinks otherwise. Besides, you owe me no explanation."

With a small smile, he added, “Your dating life is hardly my concern.”

Hermione fired back, “I wasn't offering any explanation, simply stating the
truth.” The arrogant fucking wanker.

Draco grinned. He did enjoy riling Granger up, “Duly noted.” Some things
never change.

Terry poked Draco hard in the chest and bellowed, “Who the fuck are you
calling a schmuck?”

Theo rolled his eyes and snorted, “Took you long enough, mate.” What an
absolute moron!

Draco stepped back and smiled, “I apologise. Please enjoy the rest of the
night.”

Terry glared and hoped to inflict pain, and he spat spitefully, “Death Eater
scum. You deserve to rot in Azkaban."
Draco stiffened and flexed his left arm, making the faded macabre snake
move. Hermione could hardly believe her ears; she was beyond furious.
Things had officially gone too far. The air around them tensed. Some
stopped what they were doing to stare at the heated exchange openly.

Theo had his wand out first, pointed it directly at Terry's face and warned,
"Walk away. While you still can." He was under no false assumption that
the man before him was skillful.

Blaise played mediator, "Look, calm down and think about this. We are not
in fucking school. Let's act like adults."

Hermione nodded, "Blaise is absolutely right. Put away your wands, boys."
Well, things had escalated.

Blaise smiled weakly at Hermione, “Granger, our apologies for interrupting

your dinner.”

Hermione mustered a smile, "It's quite alright." The smile disappeared as

soon as it came. She was fuming at Terry's words in his ignorance. It was
unforgivable to hurl such a damaging insult, but clearly, the man was not
done.

Terry smirked and asked Blaise arrogantly, “Does Malfoy need you to fight
his battles? Has he left his balIs back at wherever he was?” He would take
great pleasure in putting the arrogant bastard in his rightful place.

Blaise narrowed his eyes and fought to keep his cool. He leered, “Not at all.
He’s not the one I'm worried about, mate."

Boot closed the between them and jabbed Blaise in the chest, “I'm not your
fucking mate.”

Terry turned to Draco and goaded, “What's the matter, Malfoy? Don't you
have the guts to face me?”

He got close to his face and looked around mockingly, “Your father isn't
here to protect you. He's not here, is he?” Lucius Malfoy was dead and
buried, it was common knowledge.

Draco stood his ground and willed himself to remain calm. He knew he
would have to endure the taunting that came his way eventually.

Hermione stepped between the tall men, placed a small hand on each chest
and said calmly, “Let it go.”

Draco felt the snake in him stir, “See, I apologised for my words, but you
had to be a fucking dick about it.”

Terry swung first, but Draco dodged it almost lazily.

Terry tried again to land a blow, but the ice blonde sidestepped the clumsy
attempts gracefully.

Draco placed his palm on Terry's chest, roughly pushed him back and
warned, "Enough!"

He turned on his heel and walked away, but Boot was having none of that.
The thwarted man grabbed the back of Draco's black t-shirt and
aggressively pulled him back.

Blaise and Theo reached for their wands, and Hermione tried to grab hold
of Terry's arm to pull him away.

Still, he unintentionally bumped into her, causing her to lose balance and
fall unceremoniously to the floor. She had been falling a lot lately,
especially since Malfoy came back.

Draco grabbed her around the waist and stopped the nasty fall. He pulled
her to her feet and frowned, "Can you please stop collapsing whenever we
meet."

She mumbled, “It's not my bloody fault. You seem to be disastrous to my

health.”

He fired back unapologetically, “And you’re a clumsy twit.”

She grabbed his arm, her fingers dug into his faded Dark Mark and pleaded,
"Stop this, please."

Draco glared, "Tell your boyfriend that.”

Hermione spat defensively, "Terry’s not my boyfriend.”

Draco pulled her to his side and mouthed, “I don't care.”

Theo cried from the sidelines, “Look out!”

Terry's awkward punch brushed past Draco's ear.

Draco deflected the attack using his arm and landed a challenging punch
square on Terry's face.

There was a sickening crunch, blood gushed, and Terry Boot fell to the
floor clutching his bloodied nose.

Draco clenched and unclenched his fist to release the tightness. He bent to
Boot's fallen form and hissed darkly in his ear, "Next time you pick a fight
or say something unkind. Think twice."

The silence was eerie. Every person stared at Draco in disbelief. Hermione
stood frozen, unsure what to make of the situation or the man walking away
from her.

When and where did he learn Kung Fu? By the looks of it, he was a force to
be reckoned with. Would he continue to knock the socks off her at every
turn?

Hermione reached for his hand unconsciously, and Draco watched her
actions intently. Still, Terry's pained whimper brought her back to reality,
and she hurriedly knelt by his side and peered into his face to assess the
damage.

Draco warned, “Take your boyfriend home, Granger.”

He added with little remorse, “I hope I didn’t put too much of a wrench into
your evening plans.” Once more, Hermione was at a complete loss for
words.

Hermione helped Terry to his feet. Her eyes went to the reddening knuckles
on Draco's hand. The very hand she almost touched.

Terry wiped the blood off his face and sneered, "You got lucky, Malfoy."

Draco did not bother answering. He strode towards the bar. Wizards moved
out of the way and let him pass without fuss. Everyone had watched the
encounter, but none dared to step in.

The bartender eyed him curiously, but Draco smiled and asked, “Can I
please get an order of Firewhiskey?”

The seasoned bartender grinned, “Of course, Mr Malfoy, sir.” Draco caught
Granger staring at him oddly before she led Boot out of the crowded pub.

Fuck.

Theo whistled, “I had no idea you were that good.” He did a few awkward
punches.

He was impressed and voiced his opinion, "The way you moved. It was a
blur.”

Blaise nodded, "You have certainly picked up some important skills.”

Draco swallowed hard, closed his eyes and muttered, “I shouldn't have hit
him. That's not the way.”

Theo downed his shot, licked his lips, and stated, "Well, he fucking
deserved it.”

Draco shook his head and sighed in disappointment, “I've been back less
than two weeks, and I've already got into my first fight.”
Blaise patted him on the back and advised reassuringly, “Let it go, Draco.
He had it coming.”

Theo concurred, adding, “Granger is an idiot to be hanging out with a

mediocre wizard like that.”

Draco tossed back his drink and savoured the rich amber liquid that burnt
his throat. He wondered what relationship she had with Boot. It didn’t seem
important, but it still left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he couldn’t quite
explain why.
 Chapter 12
Chapter Notes

Things are certainly not looking good for our favourite duo.

A hidden desire of Draco's is revealed, and that bit will play a vital part
in the chapters to come.

Please follow and continue reading the story when updated. It's pretty
cool! :)

Enjoy Chapter Twelve!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Terry growled, “That bastard.”

Hermione swung the door to her flat wide, tossed her bag aside angrily and
marched straight to the kitchen. Each step was forceful to mirror the anger
she felt. Her blood boiled with the seething rage that rapidly flowed through
her veins.

She threw open the door to the fridge roughly. It flew open, the hinges
protested, and it almost closed on her hand. Reaching into the ice-covered
freezer, she pulled out an ice pack she kept handy for an emergency.

Terry held a handkerchief to his nose and laid back on the sofa. The soft
material soaked up the excess blood and dampened in no time. He cleansed
it with his wand and repeated the action.

Hermione sat down next to him with her wand out. She took his hand off
the damaged area, pointed her wand at it and almost whispered the spell.
She fought the sudden urge to hex him into oblivion—the loud-mouthed
immature git. The bones shifted with the slightest crunch.

They moved back to their original place, the bleeding stopped, and Terry
groaned in discomfort. Hermione ignored his bellyaching and kept the ice
pack on his busted lip with a bit more force than necessary.

Terry grimaced as the coolness of the ice seeped into his skin. He
complained outwardly, “Ow, woman, be careful.”

Hermione moved away from his heavy frame and glared sternly, “Boot,
why did you say you were my boyfriend?”

Terry tried to wiggle his now-mended nose and used his wand to clear the
congealed blood around his face. Malfoy busted him up good, and he would
return the favour in kind.

Clearly, he thought she could benefit from his ill-timed lie, “I figured I was
doing you a favour.”

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes in
annoyance, “By lying?”

Terry ignored the evident anger in her icy tone and countered firmly, “We
are like a couple.”

Hermione sighed in exhaustion. Why was it so difficult to understand? They

were friends, nothing more. If anything, they were friends with certain
benefits.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose exasperatedly and said, “We are not a
couple.”

The smile on Terry’s face faltered; he had no intention of riling up the

already irked woman, but he shot back truthfully, “You certainly weren’t
complaining when I had my tongue down your throat.”

Hermione tried to keep her anger at bay, “I enjoy spending time with you
and occasionally locking lips, but that’s as far as this will go.”
She added in frustration, “I was clear about wanting space.”

Terry frowned and questioned suspiciously, “Are you attracted to him?”

Hermione purposely ignored the question, got to her feet, and walked to the
kitchen. An uncomfortable silence engulfed them. She expertly uncorked a
bottle of wine and poured herself a glass.

She stared at rich red liquid swirling within in deep thought, kept it to her
lips and muttered unconvincingly, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Terry narrowed his eyes and took in the finer details of her body language.
She drummed the fingers of her free hand on the countertop nervously and
avoided any form of eye contact. He felt an uncomfortable stab at his heart.

Failing miserably to keep his composure, he hurled, “Yet you don’t deny
it.” The hurt in his voice was apparent, and Hermione flinched. She had not
bargained on Terry feeling anything more than a sexual attraction.

His voice cracked unpleasantly, “I saw the way you look at him.”

Hermione stiffened and responded with open hostility, “What the fuck is
that supposed to mean?”

Terry watched her movements intently. As an Auror, he was trained to

detect when a person felt out of place or if a particular line of questioning
made said person uncomfortable.

He didn’t bother keeping the blatant contempt out of his deep voice, “You
want him.”

Hermione brushed it aside. The entire notion was borderline unbelievable.

She felt perhaps a mellow sexual stirring when faced with the imposing
presence that was Draco Malfoy, but want him? Nothing could be further
from the truth.

She laughed cynically, hoping to throw Terry off her obvious discomfort
with his prying, “That’s neither here nor there. I have no such feelings for
that pale-faced snake.”

Terry homed in for the kill. Her little gesture back at the Cauldron did not
go unnoticed. It wounded him deeply. He hissed through clenched teeth,
“Still, you reached for his hand while I bled on the floor.”

Fuck.

Hermione rubbed her shoulders to generate heat and averted her gaze, “I,
er...it was a reflex. It didn’t mean anything.”

Terry laughed manically, “Like hell, it didn’t. How could you possibly feel
anything for that fucking cockroach?”

Hermione denied weakly, “I don’t.” Terry closed the gap between them and
reached for her hand, but she moved further away and looked upon him in
abhorrence.

He sighed and tried his best to offer some explanation, “Look, I shouldn’t
have called him that. I couldn’t be arsed to give it some thought, but I like
you, a lot.” He wasn’t sorry in the slightest, but it was best to make it seem
that way. He had probably damaged any possibility of a relationship with
Hermione by displaying his ignorant behaviour.

She stared at her trembling hands and kept her voice low, “You should
leave. I want to be alone.”

Terry sighed but decided against pushing her further. He backed away and
threw her a pitiful look, “I’m sorry, Hermione. I’m as dumb as a troll at
times.”

Hermione looked up and scowled. If that wasn’t the bloody understatement

of the century. She cocked her head to the side and retorted sarcastically,
“At times?”

Terry grinned. His smile was enduring. He did have genuine feelings for
Hermione. The slightest notion that she may have shared Malfoy’s bed
caused a possessive streak in him that caused him to be woefully dramatic
and handle the situation abysmally.

He tried to be cute and replied sheepishly, “Okay, most of the time.”

Walking to the door, he opened it, stood at the threshold and asked in
desperation to make amends for his horrendous mistake, “I’ll see you at
work tomorrow?”

Hermione shrugged, “Yeah, I guess.” She pointed to his busted face and
said in genuine concern, “Get some rest, Terry.”

Terry tried to smile, but his bruised face was not cooperating. He managed
an awkward lift of his lips, “See, you do care.”

Hermione could not help but smile, but she was quick to show indifference,
“Yeah, whatever.” The door closed noisily. She looked around the empty,
quiet flat and felt a sudden sadness envelop her.

Loneliness long forgotten made its presence known. She sat on the sofa
with her head in her hands, and before she knew it, her emotions got the
better of her, and angry tears streamed down her face. Terry was dead
wrong.

Yes, she thought Malfoy was good-looking. Any idiot with eyes could see
that, but that was it. She wanted nothing more to do with a vile human
being who, at one point, thought she deserved to be raped and violated.

The tears turned to sobs. She fell sideways on the sofa, dragged a cushion to
her, and hugged it in an effort to fill the empty void inside her.

Back at the Manor. Draco strode into his room, ripped off his clothes and
pulled on his Kungfu robes. Max came running into the room and sensed
his master’s aggravation.

The curious dog followed Draco about and watched his erratic movements.
His body tensed with the infuriating rage he felt at himself. This was not
what he intended to return to, and it certainly wasn’t the person he wanted
to be. He closed his eyes in bitter disappointment and groaned.

He had let something petty get under his skin and lashed out most viciously.
His skills were supposed to be used only when necessary. Terry was not a
threat in the least. He was a pompous arsehole who wanted to impress the
woman he was with.

Ah, the woman he was with. The underlying cause of it all. He sat cross-
legged in the middle of his room and closed his eyes.

Draco took a deep breath and willed the scorching blood flowing rapidly
through his veins to still. It did nothing to soothe the raging thoughts that
ran rampant.

Granger...

Granger...

Hermione...

Blaise sat by the fireplace and lit a cigar. He puffed on it and let out
translucent rings of smoke. The rings disappeared into nothingness, and the
olive-skinned man lowered his head deep in thought.

Daphne leaned against the doorway and smiled, “Rough night?”

Blaise frowned, “Draco’s getting one hell of a welcome back.”

Daphne swayed her hips, walked up to her husband, curled on his lap and
sighed, “Well, that was expected. He has made a few enemies over the
years.”

Blaise bared his teeth and replied determinedly, “True, but he’s different
now. I hope everyone gives him a chance to prove himself.” A loud
“Daddy” cut through the moment.

Daphne sighed, “Your daughter demands your presence.”

Hermione’s Flat

Hermione woke up screaming. Her throat ached by the time she stopped.
She fell in a heap to the floor and clawed at the hated word cut into her
flesh. Her sharp nails broke through the layer of skin and dug deep enough
to draw blood.

She hissed darkly to a seemingly empty room, but her demons resonated
deep in her mind, “Get out of my head, you fucking bitch.” The magic in
her blood hummed within. It prickled unsteadily and mirrored its owner’s
disturbed mindset.

She bared her teeth and whispered to a ghost, “If you were alive, I would
take every pleasure in watching you squirm in pain.”

The voice crackled in glee, “Stupid little Mudblood, do you think I’m dead?
I am alive and thriving. I live on in your head, and it suckles me at its warm
bosom.”

The cackling was replaced with uproarious and hysterical laughter. It

mocked and humiliated her, “You want to fuck my nephew, don’t you?”

Hermione felt her heartbeat hasten, but she managed a few strangled words,
“I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole.”

Bellatrix’s voice echoed and bounced off the walls, “You are many things,
Mudblood, but a liar isn’t one of them.”

Hermione grabbed hold of her head, her fingers fisted her hair, and she
warned, “Get the fuck out of my head.” The voice disappeared with the
mocking parting words, “Until we speak again, darling.”

She made it to the toilet in time, bent over the commode, and threw up
whatever dinner she managed to get down before Draco Malfoy turned up
and upstaged a quiet night with Terry.
Theo punched a cushion awkwardly and kicked the air clumsily. He lost his
footing and fell onto the grey sofa in the living room. He declared proudly,
“You should have seen him, Luna. It was awesome.”

Luna asked curiously in her dreamy undertone, “Draco knows Muggle self-
defence?”

Theo grinned, “Yeah, and he’s bloody brilliant.”

Luna covered her mouth and asked in concern, “Goodness, is he okay?”

Theo beamed, “Of course, Boot couldn’t lay a finger on him.”

Luna smiled warmly, “That’s nice, dear.” She adjusted her new bright pink
robe and sat at a more provocative angle. She had plans for her dear
husband, and the last thing she wanted was to discuss Draco’s newfound
skills.

Theo’s face lit up in anticipation, “I want to learn. It looks so fucking cool.”

Luna pointedly cleared her throat, “Ahem, Theo...”

Theo turned to his wife, “Yeah?” and his eyes widened at the sight of his
wife’s crotch staring at him, “Oh, you look different.”

Luna parted the gown to reveal further a pair of yellow silk knickers and
nothing else. Her upper body was bare and rosy. Pink nipples stood erect
and begging against the paleness of her skin.

Theo swallowed hard and hurriedly pulled the white turtleneck over his
head and kicked his shoes off. He strolled over and tried to touch his wife,
but she stopped him and whispered, “I want to have a baby.”

Luna smiled shyly. Theo picked her up bridal style and grinned, “Why only
one? We can have a dozen.” Her eyes widened. That was more than she
bargained for.
Theo kicked the door close, dropped Luna on the bed and climbed on top of
her. He kissed her passionately, “I’m going to love you good.” He quipped,
“See what I did there?”

Luna pulled his head down and whispered, “Oh, Theodore, kiss me.”

Theo cupped a supple breast and bent to take a nipple in his mouth. He
smirked against the hardened bud, “I aim to please, my darling.”

Malfoy Manor

Draco was up at dawn. It could be a long day, and he wanted to get a head
start. From his room, he had a scenic view of the beautiful Malfoy Gardens.
Majestic white peacocks paraded around the property. The sun was barely
up, and the fluttering feathers of the beautiful birds shone in the dying
darkness.

The birds were Lucius Malfoy’s prized possession. Since Draco had
returned, he avoided his mother’s room, knowing full well of the tastefully
painted oil portrait hanging on the wall. He wanted to disassociate himself
from his father’s memory, but he was also aware that it was the most
pressing monster he had to face.

He wore a black skinny and loose bottoms and strode barefoot into the
training room and started his warmup exercises. It felt good to let off steam.
He spent the next hour working with the wooden dummy he had made to
his specifications.

Draco had a golden bell attached to a rope hanging from the ceiling. To ring
it, it required him to reach beyond his body’s limitations.

He pulled up his bottoms, took his stance and used an accurate high kick.
The tips of his toes grazed the bell, and it let out a soft ring.

The sound never failed to remind him of the monastery, his master, and
occasionally, he thought of Jun and how she was fairing. Draco landed on
both feet, straightened and bowed respectfully to an invisible entity.
The sun made its presence known. The hot beams fell steadily on the foam
mattresses in the training room, indicating that it was time to change and
start the day’s demanding activities.

Hermione hardly got any sleep. She had stayed awake for most of the night
and thought about what her future held. Once, it had been so abundantly
clear, but now a fog descended on her future plans, and uncertainty held it
by its vicious claws.

She had always wanted to travel, take a year off and see the world,
especially the more exotic lands like Thailand, Sri Lanka and India. With
those morbid thoughts swirling around her head, she washed her bits and
settled on a red pencil skirt, white long-sleeve blouse and matching heels
from her ever-growing collection. Since learning of her match with the
Slytherin asshat, her collection of imported shoes had grown—retail
therapy at its best.

Happy with her outfit, Hermione did one turn and mumbled in a weak
attempt to motivate herself, “Today is a new day,” she grabbed her bag and
disappeared.

No 12 Grimmauld Place

Harry buttoned up his freshly laundered Auror robes and took the hot mug
of coffee Ginny handed. He was about to take a sip when she showed him
the front page of the Daily Prophet. Her pretty face was pinched in worry,
and she made a mental note to call Hermione immediately.

Harry quickly read the lengthy article and exclaimed in sheer disbelief,
“What the fuck?”

Ginny sighed, “Yeah, she’s had an exciting night.”

She opened the paper and recited word for word a passage from the well-
written yet trashy article, “I quote, two men who schooled with Miss
Granger were seen battling for her affections.
One was none other than the missing Malfoy heir, Draco Malfoy, who was
long thought to be deceased. Sources at the scene report that Miss Granger
left with Terry Boot, who happens to be an Auror.”

Harry gritted his teeth, “Dear Merlin, what has she gotten herself into
now?”

Ginny looked sympathetic and shook her head in confusion.

Harry sighed, “I guess I’ll have to face her.”

His decision to send her home with Malfoy would bite him in the arse; of
that, he was sure.

Ginny raised a questioning brow and joked, “You are the head of the
DMLE, and you’re afraid of little old Hermione?” The women in his life
were feisty and headstrong. Harry shuddered and replied quietly, “Have you
seen her when she’s pissed? Trust me; it is not pretty.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and offered sensible advice, “Tell you what, stop by
the bakers and pick up chocolate croissants. You know she devours them by
the dozen.”

Harry put his arm around his wife’s waist, pulled her into a loving embrace
and mumbled into her mouth, “I knew marrying you was the right thing to
do.”

Ginny put her arms around Harry’s neck and muffled her words into his
mouth, “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

Harry felt his pocket burn. He was being summoned. He sighed, “I’m sorry,
love. I’ve got to go.”

Malfoy Manor

Draco adjusted the new white shirt and pulled at the cuff on the dark grey
suit. His heels clicked against the marble, and Narcissa looked up from the
Daily Prophet as he entered the dining room and bent to kiss his mother’s
cheek in greeting, “Good morning.” He took his seat and reached for the
strips of bacon glistening with fatty bits.

Max made his presence known by rubbing his head against Draco’s leg. The
blonde ruffled the fur affectionately and slid the dog a hefty piece of bacon.

Narcissa studied her son’s casual behaviour and raised a curious brow,
“Eventful night?” She tossed the Prophet at him and frowned. Draco
glanced at the wizarding paper, and the headline jumped out at him.

“Missing heir returns a Kung Fu Master.”

Fuck.

There must have been a reporter, or some fucker had taken the picture and
sold it to the Prophet. It had a glorious blown-up view of his fist colliding
with Boot’s arrogant face.

A satisfied grin unconsciously crept onto his face, but Narcissa scolded,
“We are not encouraging this behaviour.”

Draco covered his mother’s hand with his and gently squeezed it, “Mother,
I promise it won’t happen again. It was a horrible misunderstanding.”

Narcissa pointed to the picture and asked suspiciously, “Is that Hermione?”
True enough, Granger loomed in the background, staring at her ponytailed
boyfriend with her mouth hanging open.

Bollocks.

Draco took his hand back and busied himself with cutting a sausage into
bite-sized pieces.

Narcissa demanded rather impatiently, “Draco?” He avoided his mother’s

intense gaze and replied in a low, calculated voice, “Yes, it’s her, but we ran
into her after the match, that was all.”
Narcissa wasn’t buying it. Her face contorted in displeasure as she read out
bits of the passage, “The article says it was a love triangle gone wrong.”

Draco choked on his orange juice and spluttered.

Love triangle? Indeed.

He coughed and replied indignantly, “The Prophet will print anything.

There was no such thing. It was a disagreement between two men who
didn’t see eye to eye.”

Narcissa’s face fell in sadness, “Son, I worry about you.”

Draco smiled and reassured without hesitation, “I know, Mother, but I can
fend for myself. I promise it won’t happen again.”

Narcissa nodded, reached for a piece of toast, and buttered it. Offhandedly,
she said, “Bernard owled. He is expecting you to come by the office today.”
She always blushed when Bernard was mentioned, and her observant son
did not miss the crimson of her cheeks.

Draco forked a piece of sausage and replied between mouthfuls, “Yes, I

know. After I visit the Minister, I will go by the head office and meet with
him. I am quite anxious to get to work.”

Narcissa expressed her discontent, “So, you’ve decided to go ahead with

trying to overturn the marriage law.”

Draco nodded with absolute certainty, “Yes, of course.” He softened his

tone, “We spoke about this.”

Narcissa attacked the boiled egg resting in the hand-painted egg cup with
more force than necessary, “Even you can admit that there is some
chemistry between the both of you.” Chemistry was putting it lightly.

Draco brushed it off, “Granger will put me in an early grave. She’s high
maintenance.”
Narcissa frowned at the word high maintenance and defended fiercely, “She
is most certainly not. I refuse to entertain the thought, and even if she was,
I’m sure you can handle it.”

Draco cleared his throat and wished he used a different way to describe his
mother’s new best friend, “There’s nothing wrong with that, but it’s
certainly not for me.”

Liar.

Oh, he would love to maintain her, especially pinned under him and
screaming his name. You arsehole, these thoughts are not appropriate,
mainly when your mother is staring at you, trying to figure out what you’re
thinking.

Narcissa was an accomplished Legilimens. Draco willed his mind to clear

in case his mother saw fit to probe into his mind and discover his rather
dirty thoughts of bending Granger over the table in his room.

He confidently added, “I will meet with Kingsley and get us out of this by
any means necessary.”

That last bit did not sit well with Narcissa. How far would he go? It caused
her to shudder anxiously.

Ministry Of Magic

Hermione walked down the long corridor to reach her office. She passed
many witches and wizards. Most greeted her enthusiastically, but some
glanced at her oddly.

She didn’t quite know what to make of it. Thinking it was bizarre, she
quickened her step and found Brenda nose-deep in a Muggle erotic novel.
Hermione looked around and asked intriguingly, “Er, is something going
on?”
Brenda had obviously not seen the morning paper because she was caught
up in a steamy situation where Luke, the main character in the raunchy
novel, confessed his feelings to Polly, his forbidden love interest, and they
were trapped alone in the barn for the night during a thunderstorm. A night
of passion was sure to follow. It was a cliche in the most vulgar way
possible.

She pushed her bright pink glasses further up her nose and smiled, “Not that
I’m aware, Hermione.”

Hermione took in the cover of a semi-naked man and woman fawning over
him. Typical. She raised a curious brow, “Good book?”

Brenda blushed crimson, “So good.”

Hermione saw Stacy from Logistics staring at them weirdly. The woman
usually threw her looks of contempt and dislike, but today she looked
agitated.

She smiled sweetly and showed the meddlesome blonde the finger, causing
the woman to flee as fast as her heeled feet could take her.

Strange, Hermione thought as she closed the door to her office, sat down in
her newly bought comfortable leather chair, pulled a cramped brown file
towards her and flipped it open.

Soon, she was engrossed in the case and forgot about the worrying glances
that came her way.

Draco entered the Ministry through the visitor’s entrance, stood on the
marble floor and stared in awe. Gone were the horrible statues depicting
wizard dominance. In their place were beautiful white and blue fountains
that sang a soothing tune.

The area was busy with wizards, witches, goblins and other magical
creatures hurrying about their business. It was utterly jam-packed, and a
few people bumped into Draco, but he quickly sidestepped the mob and
found himself inside an ages-old lift that looked like it would collapse at the
slightest jiggle.

Bold as brass, the top number on the lift carried the name Minister of Magic
and Madame Undersecretary.

Fuck. He hoped he would not run into Granger. Yes, you do. You want to
fucking see her, you lying sod.

Draco shook his head to eliminate any unwanted distractions and went
through the points he wished to discuss with Kingsley. He was confident the
Minister would agree wholeheartedly and overturn this ridiculous pairing.

The lift shot up to the top floor without interruption. Draco stepped out and
stared once again. In his youth, he had visited the Minister’s office multiple
times with his father, but what greeted him now surpassed his imagination.

Spotlessly clean and strikingly white tiles adorned the floors. Priceless
works of art and oil paintings of important past wizarding legends hung in
ornate frames on the wall. One with a long silver beard caught his curious
and fearful eye.

Even in death, Albus Dumbledore was still intimidating. The figure in the
painting blinked a few times and smiled, bringing to life the brilliant blue
orbs drawn into the canvas.

The calm yet imposing voice of Dumbledore spoke, “Ah, Mr Malfoy, I

presume.”

Draco wanted nothing more than to crawl under the table and disappear. He
was sixteen years old again and doing all he could to murder the legendary
wizard. The memory of this time in his young life truly chilled him to the
bone. He straightened, fixed his tie, and bowed respectfully, “Professor
Dumbledore.”

Dumbledore scrutinised the tall wizard before him and nodded approvingly,
“It is good to see you, my boy. I always worried for your safety.”
Now or never. Draco gathered his inner strength and said slowly, “Forgive
me, sir.” Dumbledore set aside the book on his lap and peered into the
young wizard's pained face.

He waved his jewelled hand casually and reassured, “Ah, it’s all water
under the bridge now, son.”

Draco stared at his old Headmaster and declared what he had spent years
pondering, “I should have come to you when Voldemort forced the mission
on me.”

Dumbledore smiled in sadness but advised firmly, “Let the past go. Live
your life.”

Draco saw the smartly dressed woman watch him suspiciously out of the
corner of his eye. He must have looked like a complete nutter talking to a
painting.

He bowed again respectfully, “It was good to see you, Professor.”

Dumbledore smiled fondly, “Same here, dear boy.”

Draco turned away and walked the short distance to the reception flanked
by large potted plants.

The woman sitting behind the desk rose gracefully to her feet and politely
asked, “Good morning. How may I help you?”

Before he could help it, he asked, “Is Miss Hermione Granger in?”

From where he stood, he could see a large wooden door with the words
‘HERMIONE GRANGER—UNDERSECRETARY’ sprawled across in
solid gold lettering. Just outside was a flamboyantly dressed girl of possibly
twenty-one sitting at what appeared to be a secretary’s desk, personalised
with cute cacti plants and colourful framed photographs, giggling loudly. At
the same time, her eyes scanned across the pages of a novel.
The receptionist cleared her throat, forcing Draco to look her way. She
smiled sweetly, “She is. Do you have an appointment?”

Fuck no.

Draco grinned, displaying flawlessly white teeth, “No, I’m here to meet
with the Minister.” The woman pointed to a large, luxurious white sofa, “Of
course. Please have a seat.” He hurriedly rattled off his name, and she took
it down.

His eye caught many pamphlets, and he eagerly took the one with Mad-
Eye-Moody on the front.

He flinched. The crazy codger had turned him into a snowy white ferret in
front of the student populace earning him the nickname ferret. Not remotely
original, but he had endured the hushed tones behind his back for the
remaining of his school days. The bold words on the front jumped out at
him. Of course, it hadn't been the real Mad-Eye. Still, the experience had
been horrible.

Right out of Hogwarts? Or a seasoned witch or wizard?

Serve your community and join the Department of Magical Law

Enforcement.

Be part of something worthwhile. Help uphold justice and make the

world a better place for our children and citizens.

It was the one thing he kept to himself. Not a soul knew what he truly
intended.

Draco had long since decided to join the DMLE. It would be his way of
giving back to a community he took much from. He was skilled enough to
adorn the black robes and bear the seal of an Auror. Once he put this
marriage law matter behind him, he knew he would have to reunite with his
school rival about the job. It would be interesting to meet Potter and discuss
the possibility of working together.
The woman’s eyes roved over the retreating handsome man, and she sighed.
She picked up what looked like a modified version of a land phone and
spoke into it, “Minister, there’s a gorgeo...I mean a Mr Draco Malfoy here
to see you.”

Kingsley’s loud voice boomed. She held the receiver away from her ear and
winced, “Send him in, Nora.”

Draco pocketed the piece of paper, got to his feet, and followed the woman
the short way to the Minister’s office.

Hermione emerged as he passed. She saw a hint of blonde hair out of the
corner of her eye but didn’t pay much attention.

She asked impatiently, “Brenda, can you fetch the file on the Livingston
case.”

Brenda tossed the book aside and gave a military salute, “Sure, boss.”

Nora held the door open, and Draco bowed politely and walked in.
Kingsley saw his receptionist glance eagerly at the bottom of the tall man
coming towards him and stifled a laugh.

Draco got close, held out his hand and greeted enthusiastically, “Good
morning.”

Kingsley got to his feet; his intricately embroidered ruby robes glistened in
the bright light. He took the offered hand in a firm shake and pointed to a
lavish velvet chair.

Draco sat down and looked around the impressive office. Shelves upon
shelves held artfully arranged magical objects. A few liquid-filled jars
sported sinister-looking bits and pieces. The row upon row of ancient
manuscripts grabbed the young wizard’s fancy. He longed to pour hours
over the ancient text and learn its hidden mysteries.

Shacklebolt politely injected and stopped Draco’s wandering eyes, “So,

what can I do for you?
Hermione heard a knock on the door and saw Terry Boot smiling at her.

She fired off at once, “What do you want?”

He strode in without an invitation, threw a newspaper down in front of her

and scolded, “Have you seen this?”

Fuck.

Hermione picked up the paper, her eyes widened to twice their standard
size, and she physically shook in anger.

Seething with fury, she hissed, “What the hell is this?” Her eyes quickly
scanned the printed words, and she cried in outrage, “LOVE TRIANGLE!
Is this some sick joke?”

She sprang to her feet, went around her desk, and rounded on Terry, who
had the good sense to back away. Reaching for her wand, she jabbed him
squarely and yelled, “You absolute wanker. This is all you're doing.”

Terry held up his hands in defeat and swallowed. The bob of his Adam’s
apple indicated how nervous he seemed. He muttered weakly, “Calm
down.”

Hermione threw her hands in the air and sneered, “I will kill Skeeter.”

Terry took the opportunity to ease his way into her good graces. He pulled
at his small ponytail and smiled awkwardly, “So, am I off the hook?”

Hermione looked at him with pure loathing. “Definitely not. I’m livid.” She
closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths to compose herself. “How
could this happen?”

Her thoughts went to Malfoy. Had the incorrigible Kung fu practising sod
seen it?
Terry closed the gap between them, pinned her bum to the table and
mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

His manly scent invaded her space, and she took a quick sniff of the
pleasing scent but shook her head, pushed him back and rolled her eyes,
“You seem to be apologising a lot.”

Terry Boot was not easily discouraged. He boldly asked, “Can I make it up
to you?”

He raised her chin with a long finger and winked playfully, “You know you
want me too.”

Hermione leered, “Piss off, Boot.”

Terry cupped Hermione’s face lovingly and stole a quick kiss, leaving her
completely stunned. He walked to the door, glanced over his shoulder, and
said thoughtfully, “I’m not giving up on us, Granger.”

The firmness in his voice caused Hermione to stare at his retreating figure
with slight panic. The man was usually pleasant, but the seriousness that
laced his words was concerning. She went around her desk, plopped down
unceremoniously on the chair and dragged the Prophet close. She turned it
at every angle possible and viewed it through critical eyes.

Kingsley leaned back and asked, “Now that we've got the pleasantries out
of the way, shall we get down to why you're here?”

Draco nodded firmly and stated the obvious, “Kingsley, I don’t need to tell
you how absurd this pairing is. What was the Ministry thinking passing this
law?”

The Minister shrugged. He would be repeating himself, a rare occurrence.

His face turned stern, “This isn’t a matter to be trifled with. Most
importantly, the names and a sample of blood were fed into the system. We
had to make sure the blood was compatible enough to pave the way for the
next generation of wizards.”
Great.

Draco could see the reason behind it, and he was sure it worked fine for
most witches and wizards, but this was Granger and him. There was nothing
ordinary about them. He voiced his opinion bluntly, “I understand, but....”

Kingsley cut him off and, importantly, added, “You are an intelligent man,
Malfoy. More so now than before, you seem well put together.”

Draco looked away and grumbled, “You haven’t seen the Prophet then.”

Kingsley laughed. His deep voice echoed through the large space, “Never
read the garbage. There’s nothing but baseless gossip printed on those
pages.” Of course, he had seen it and had a good laugh over it. Gossip could
be helpful in moderation when running a community.

Draco tried again, hopefully. His plan to convince the Minister was failing
miserably, “Kingsley, but this is Granger and me. It will never work. She
hates me.”

The Minister quipped, “Rightly so.”

Draco sighed, “You think I don’t know that? I know it’s well deserved.”

Kingsley shook his head despairingly, “Unfortunately, I can’t help you.”

Draco could not believe his ears. He contemplated whether the Minister
was purposely uncooperative. He demanded, “You’re the Minister of
Magic. Of course, you can.”

Kingsley massaged the bridge of his nose exasperatedly. This was the only
pairing since the law passed, which caused him immense grief and
nightmares. He leaned forward and said firmly, “Do you think Granger
hasn’t tried? Do you think I would do this for you rather than her?
Unfortunately, my hands are tied, and there is nothing I can do to overturn
this pairing.”
Draco clenched his teeth but kept his displeasure well hidden. He got to his
feet and adjusted his suit. He mustered a polite smile, “I see. Thank you for
your time.” He stood behind the chair, straightened and said in
determination, “My way forward is clear. It wasn’t my first choice, but I
must do what is right.”

Kingsley smiled in relief and agreed, “I’m glad to hear it. I trust you will
carry forward with the marriage?”

Draco stared at the Minister, his stormy grey eyes clouded over, and he
responded firmly, “No.” The smile vanished from Kingsley’s face. He
repeated in panic, “No?”

Draco averted his gaze and offered an explanation, “I have read the
extensive documentation on the law, and I am well aware of the exit
clauses.”

The Malfoy brat wouldn’t.

Shacklebolt spoke slowly, “Malfoy...”

Draco held up his hand to silence the Minister of Magic.

Diplomatic words flew out of his mouth effortlessly, “I will hand over my
wand and report to have my memory wiped clean.” He added with a small
smile, “I, do, however, make one request. I would appreciate it if the
memories of the last five years of my life could remain intact. I will live the
rest of my days at the Shaolin Temple in China.”

Kingsley shot to his feet and asked in utter disbelief, “What?”

Draco smiled. His features relaxed, and peace descended upon him, “I’ve
lived as a Muggle for years. It will have little consequence for me to resort
back to that lifestyle.”

Kingsley lost his patience, “No, think this through. I will not accept this.”

Draco shrugged and asked pointedly, “What is there to think about?”

The Minister implored, “You are the last remaining heir of the Malfoy
name. You are part of the sacred twenty-eight. Your blood is of most
importance to the magical community.”

They needed his bloodline to continue. It was a must. There was no

compromising that. The young wizard laughed at first, but his smile waned,
and a seriousness crept into his voice that had Kingsley reeling back, “You
can bleed me dry, and it won’t measure up to a single drop of hers.”

His eyes hardened with purpose, “You need Granger far more than you will
ever need me.”

Kingsley couldn’t believe the appalling turn of events, “Please, I implore

you to think this through.”

Draco smiled genuinely, “I have, Minister. I owe her this, Kingsley.”

He straightened and retorted vehemently, “My decision is final.”

Kingsley watched in alarm as the last heir of the Malfoy house strode out of
his office without a backward glance.
 Chapter 13
Chapter Notes

A bit of reciprocated hotness in the office. :)

Keep your friends close :)

A disturbing murder baffles the Aurors, and they must catch the culprit
before another victim falls.

Draco comes to terms with the decision he's made with a little help
from Hermione.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE COMMENTS! :) It means the

world. :)

Enjoy Chapter Thirteen!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

The Ministry Of Magic

The phone rang steadily, disrupting the sanctum of peace that Hermione
somehow managed to attain even after the article in the Prophet.

She complained, adjusted her black-rimmed spectacles, and reached for the
device hidden under the mountain of papers. The name made her smile. It
always did.

Ginny's name flashed across the screen. Without hesitation, she connected
the call, held the phone to her ear and leaned back. Ginny was never one to
mince words. Her irritated scowl was evident, and Hermione could picture
her face scrunched up in annoyance.
The redhead wasted no time, "What the bloody hell happened last night?"

Hermione smirked, "Why, good morning, Mrs Potter, how lovely to hear
your dulcet tones this fine morning."

Ginny came straight to the point. It was one of the perks of being best
friends for over ten years. Besides, her curiosity was through the roof, and
she felt she would combust from not knowing. Her life was dogged with
mundane activities, and she relied on her best friend to share the juicy bits
of her single life.

She cleared her throat, studied her painted nails, and asked casually, "First,
tell me how it went with Malfoy."

Hermione did not bother hiding her displeasure, "That reminds me, is your
dear husband around? I will personally strangle him."

Ginny chuckled, "Go easy on the man. He did what was best."

Hermione cried indignantly, "I highly doubt that. How is sending me home
with the snake for the best?" It had been the catalyst for the events that
followed.

Ginny asked questionably. Hermione's voice and tone were guarded, and
there was a definite edge to it, "Granger, did something happen?"

Merlin, yes.

Hermione scoffed, “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous." But this was
Ginny. She couldn’t lie to her. It felt horribly wrong to keep the actual
events to herself.

Ginny grinned knowingly and probed impatiently, "Granger..."

Hermione stuttered. She bit on her bottom lip and struggled to find the right
words, "Well, he, umm...flirted.”

Ginny squealed excitedly, “What?”

Hermione sighed. She had enjoyed every bit of his ministrations towards
her, but she didn’t want even Ginny to know that. Keeping her tone casual,
she clarified further, “At least, I think that’s what he was trying to do.”

Ginny was beside herself. She patted her knee and shrieked, “No bloody
way! Head over after work, I'll pop open a bottle of wine, and you can fill
me in on the details.” A mildly deep voice interrupted their lively
conversation, “Good morning.”

Hermione looked up to find Harry smiling sheepishly and holding up what

appeared to be a sizable brown paper bag. The smell of freshly baked goods
tickled her nose pleasantly.

She looked Harry in the eye with mock contempt and said, “Your stupid
husband just walked in with a bribe.”

Ginny stifled a laugh and mused, “Take it easy. He’s a father, and we need
him.” She hoped her beloved would tread carefully with his peeved-off best
friend.

Hermione smiled sweetly, kept her eyes fixed on Harry and retorted, “Not a
fucking chance.”

She hung up and looked at her best mate in interest: "Well, well, if it isn't
Harry Traitor Potter."

Reaching for her wand, she pointed it at him and sneered, “You have some
nerve.”

Harry raised his hands in defence and cautiously warned, “Please, put that
wand away and let me explain.”

Hermione did not bother lowering the wand. Instead, she tossed it from one
hand to another in contemplation, and red sparks flew off the end.

She pointed to the chair and said warily, "Go on then, I'm listening."

Harry eyed the sparks guardedly, but still, he walked in, closed the door
behind him and gingerly placed the bag of chocolate croissants on the table
and slid it across to the woman staring at him through the slits in her eyes.

The smell of buttery pastry was heavenly. It reached the corners of the
room, and Hermione inhaled the scent in satisfaction.

Harry plopped himself down easily and grinned, displaying his complete set
of pearly whites.

She grabbed the bag, carefully peered into it and licked her lips. Reaching
in, she pulled out a flaky croissant. Bits of pastry stuck to her fingers, and
she quickly lapped them up.

Harry felt his stomach rumble with hunger. He went to grab one for himself,
but Hermione swatted his hand away and pushed the bag out of his reach.

He grumbled, but Hermione was having none of it. She raised an amused
brow and scolded, “Oh no, you get none after forsaking me and letting a
bloody stranger take me home.”

Harry had the good grace to look mildly ashamed, “Well, he’s not a
complete stranger, and he, umm…seemed decent.”

His demeanour changed, and he hissed darkly, “Why? Did he try

something?”

Hermione bit into the flaky goodness but shook her head, “No, surprisingly,
he was a perfect gentleman.”

If anything, she had hit on him and necked him without shame and, with
surprisingly, no remorse.

Disgraceful harlot.

She munched on happily, and Harry felt his mouth water. With her mouth
full, she managed to get out.

A few crumbs landed on her white shirt, and she hurriedly brushed them off
before replying, “Although, it was a complete shock to wake up and find
Draco Malfoy in my flat, I must admit, he is a rather gifted cook.”
Harry’s eyes bugged out at the declaration, “Did the pale-faced tosser cook
you breakfast?

He looked at her in shock, “As in Draco fucking Malfoy? Slytherin

fucktard?”

Hermione swallowed the last bit of gooey chocolate and nodded

exasperatedly, “Shocking, isn't it?”

Harry leaned back and shook his head in disbelief, “I'm at a complete loss
for words.” A silence followed, and Hermione reached for the bag once
again.

She was about to take out another plump treat when Harry interrupted her,
“Hermione, I'm sorry. I honestly had my hands full, and the ferret was my
absolute last resort.”

Hermione licked her fingers and replied truthfully, “Hmm, I know. Besides,
it wasn't all bad. He was, umm, fairly tolerable.”

Harry grimaced, his face twisted in displeasure, “Your eyes are doing that
weird sparkly thing.”

He narrowed his eyes accusingly and fought the urge to vomit, “Argh, do
you like Malfoy?” What was with everyone assuming the fucking worst?
She did not like him.

Tired of repeating herself, Hermione said for possibly the hundredth time,
“No, I most definitely do not like the snake.”

Harry eyed her doubtfully but didn’t pursue, “If you say so, Hermione.” He
gestured towards the Prophet hidden under a file and raised a brow, “Care
to explain."

Hermione threw the paper a deep look of loathing and massaged the bridge
of her nose in annoyance, “Boot didn't take kindly to learning Malfoy spent
the night with me. He called him a bloody Death Eater for the whole pub to
hear, and things went downhill from there.”
Harry ignored the first bit. His mouth dropped open, “Malfoy spent the
night? What?”

Hermione regarded him in irritation. She furrowed her brows and said, “Er,
I just told you he made breakfast. When did you think that happened?”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes, “You’re getting senile in your old
age, and I thought Ron was slow.”

Harry closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, “Merlin, please tell me you
didn’t sleep with the snake.”

Hermione pressed her lips down hard and murmured, “Will you calm
yourself; I did not fuck Malfoy.”

Harry sighed in relief, opened his eyes and wagged a warning finger, “Also,
you need to stop leading Boot on. I think he has strong feelings for you.”

Hermione busied herself, arranging the clutter on her desk and replied
firmly, “Hmm, well, I got pretty shirty with him and put him in his place.”

Harry said thoughtfully, “I was under the impression Malfoy took you
home, settled you in and left.”

Hermione averted her gaze, “Well, you were dead wrong. He, um, wanted
to make sure I was okay.”

Harry was far from impressed. “How bloody sweet of him!” He found all
she said quite hard to believe.

He watched his best friend fidget nervously, “Did something happen? Are
you hiding something?”

Hermione pulled a file jammed with papers towards her and continued to
avoid eye contact, “No, nothing happened.” It was partially the truth.

Harry frowned, “Then why are you acting dodgy.”

Her patience snapped, and she hurled, “Come off it. What would possibly
happen after a man sees a woman throwing up for half the night?”

Harry slapped his knee and burst out laughing, “Holy fuck. That must have
been embarrassing.”

Hermione gritted her teeth and pointed to the door, “Now get out, Potter,
before I shove you out.” He got to his feet, grabbed the bag with the last
croissant and sprinted out of the room.

Glancing over his shoulder, he animatedly said, "I knew you would forgive
me."

Hermione could not help but smile. She shook her head and gave her
undivided attention to the papers in front.

Brenda poked her head in soon after, "Nora and I are grabbing an early
lunch. Can I get you anything?

Hermione glanced at the large timepiece. The short and long wands that
served as the hands of the clock were fixed at eleven AM. Black coffee
would hit that sweet spot, especially after the croissants.

She smiled in reply and requested humbly, “A cup of coffee would be

divine.”

Brenda grinned and winked deliberately, “No worries. See you in a bit.”

DMLE

Harry sat on top of a desk, stuffed his face with the last chocolate-filled
croissant and spoke gravely to his team. His face was drawn and disturbed,
“You all got the pictures. They are not a pretty sight. Four women have
been abducted, and we are at a complete loss as to where they are.”

He swallowed the bitter truth of the statement. It left a disgusting taste of

bile. There were a few angry scowls and gritting of teeth. The nature of the
crimes was barbaric, and whoever was committing them was a cruel,
unhinged, but intelligent man. He had covered his tracks well.

They concluded the culprit was a man due to the vicious blows on the
victim and sexual assault. Whoever it was had left no fingerprints, DNA or
a shred of evidence.

The only thing left behind besides the blood was a silver chain with the
pendant of a detailed owl clutching a wand, found neatly placed in the
clutched hand of the dead young woman.

Though distraught and in disbelief that their beloved daughter had been
murdered, her family assured the Aurors who questioned them that she was
well-liked, had a close set of friends and that the chain was not hers.

Nothing was as it seemed. People hid dark secrets from those they loved for
fear of disappointing the ones closest to them. Harry brought his hand down
hard on the table.

The deceased woman bore a solid resemblance to Ginny, and it sent shivers
down his spine. The red hair sprawled across the floor, and the freckled face
hit too close to home. He stared at the black-clad individuals, seething with
rage at the injustice caused.

He held nothing back as he bared his teeth and spat, “We know of one who
has already succumbed to her fate and an earlier abduction and murder with
similar traits, but the others are still out there. I am adding more Aurors to
the case, and we need to double our efforts to figure this out and catch this
fucking bastard.”

Hanging his head, Harry sighed, “The families are depending on us. This
has been kept from prying eyes for the time being, and that’s exactly how I
intend to keep it.”

Harry looked at the team assembled before him in pride, but loose tongues
would not be tolerated. He demanded intimidatingly, “Do I make myself
clear?”
A collective but decisive murmur of “Yes, Harry” rang through the space.
The crowd dispersed in high spirits, intent on catching the perpetrator
before another victim suffered at his deranged hands.

Terry glanced at the horrific picture and pulled a face of disgust. The witch
was lying face down, naked in a pool of her blood. It was clear she had
been strangled, and what was most baffling was that there were no traces of
magic.

Harry suspected the killer was a Muggle, which made their job nearly
impossible. Without possible clues or witnesses, they were searching for a
needle in a haystack.

An uneventful quarter of an hour passed. Hermione rested her head on her

hands and read the pages-long boring document. She dozed off and
clumsily knocked over the holder filled with quills and Muggle stationery.

She yawned and mumbled, “Bugger.” Another slew of curses left her lips
when she looked down and found the contents had spread far and wide.

Reluctantly getting to her feet, she went around the solid oak desk and bent
to retrieve the fallen items.

The small paper clips and staple pins had gotten everywhere and into the
cracks of the carpet, and some were well out of her reach. Hermione cursed
her stupidity, got on all fours and crawled under the desk to retrieve them.

Draco walked out of the Minister's office with intent and purpose. He knew
his declaration had the desired effect on Kingsley, but it was no lie.

He was deadly serious about it and had every intention of keeping his
promise. It had been most satisfying to catch the Minister off-guard. The
man was always in control.

The look on Kingsley’s face had been priceless. It wasn’t the easiest
decision, but he meant what he said. He owed it to Granger, and hopefully,
his mother would understand why he did what he did, but somehow, he
doubted that very much.

Anyway, it hardly mattered anymore. The deed was done, and he needed to
meet up with Bernard to discuss the family business's future and make
doubly sure his mother would want nothing in the years to come.

He strode past Nora’s abandoned desk, braved a look towards Granger’s

office, and instantly regretted it.

The door was open wide, and he could clearly make out the ex-Gryffindor
crawling about on her hands and knees. He raised a curious brow to hide the
amused grin that rose. What in Salazar's name was she doing?

Draco squinted his eyes in an effort to see better. Before he could stop
himself, his feet worked of their own accord, and he walked towards the
room, taking care to be as silent as possible.

She was grumbling and wiggling her arse in a tight red skirt. Granger did
have the most gorgeously shaped bottom. It was better covered than the last
time he’d seen it, and the urge to smack it invaded his thoughts.

Draco cleared his throat. His deep, naturally sensual voice filled the
seemingly empty space, "Granger, can I be of some assistance?"

Fuck.

Hermione’s hand tugged at her skirt at once. Please let her cover her bits. In
her haste to get to work on time, she had opted for plain cotton knickers that
were not flattering in the least.

Stop it, Granger. We do not want Malfoy to see your knickers. Yes, we want
him to see them, rip them apart and have his way. She internally raged,
“STOP IT!” The loud words bounced off the walls of her mind and pulsated
within—that voice.

The shock of hearing his seductive drawl caused her to forget what she was
doing, and she hurriedly tried to get to her feet. The pain shot through her
the instant her forehead collided with solid wood.

Fuck.

Her glasses fell to the floor, and she cried out in unimaginable pain. Her
skull vibrated, and she was sure it had split in half. On thoroughly unsteady
legs, she rose and touched the rising bump. Her eyes stung with unshed
tears of agony and embarrassment.

Even through the veil of tears, she could make out the white shirt outlining
his body and the grey suit tailored to fit his physique. She swallowed and
begged her cunt to give her a break.

Draco hurried to her side, caught her by the elbow, and peered into her face
with concern. "Bloody hell, you really are a menace."

Hermione felt tears streak her cheeks, but anger slowly took over. She bared
her teeth, fought the excruciating pain and hissed, "Why the fuck did you
sneak up on me? Do you make it a habit of entering rooms unannounced?"

She mumbled, "Stupid idiot."

Draco cupped her face with his long fingers and surveyed the nasty cut.
Hermione whimpered and tried to move away, but he pressed flush against
her and overpowered her with his sound structure.

He rasped sternly, "Shut it and stand still, Granger."

She sniffled and tried to put on a brave face but failed miserably, “It hurts
so much.”

Tears stained her face and covered the splattered freckles across her cute
button nose. Draco brushed away the tears and gently touched the gash on
her head, where blood rose to the surface through the prominent cut and
filled the gaping hole.

He got blood on his finger, and he stared at its richness for a fleeting
second.
Hermione barely felt his touch. She squinted to see him better. Despite the
pain, she questioned suspiciously, "What are you doing?"

Draco frowned and demanded in a deadly serious undertone, "Shut up, or

I’ll make you."

Hermione scoffed, "I would love to see you try."

Bah, the insufferable woman.

Draco closed his eyes slowly and took a deep breath. Hermione watched his
movements in stunned silence. A piece of ice-blonde hair fell across his
forehead.

It wasn't messy, and it suited him. A minor imperfection to his otherwise

perfect face was satisfying. His lips were slightly apart and pinkish around
the edges. She wondered what they would feel like beneath hers.

“Stop it,” she screamed within. Please.

Merlin, these thoughts would be her death. He was strong. She couldn't
move a muscle but appreciated the firmness of his moulded body. He
moved his index finger down the open cut.

The skin effortlessly stitched itself up, and Hermione winced in discomfort,
but a healed scar that looked days old was left in its wake.

Towering over her easily, Draco scanned the damaged area on her head.
Satisfied with his work, he smirked at the woman gawking at him intently
with her mouth open.

He asked in genuine concern, "Feel better?"

Hermione nodded unsurely. The pain resided and disappeared completely,

but a slight throbbing lingered. She couldn’t look away. Something about
him kept her captive, “How did you do that?"

Draco touched the reddened scar and grinned, "I think you have a
concussion, Granger." He quipped, "Might I suggest a trip to St Mungo’s?"
Hermione frowned, “Fine, keep whatever you’re doing a secret, but I will
find out sooner or later.”

Draco nodded curtly, “Oh, I have no doubt you will.” He stepped back, and
she momentarily missed the warmth of his body pressed against hers.

She wanted to melt into his strong arms, but that was a hidden fantasy in the
far reaches of her mind. Hermione hurried around the desk, sat down to
fetch a small mirror from her bag and looked at her reflection. She eyed the
cut critically and tried to comprehend what he had done.

It was so bizarre; there was barely a mark.

She turned on him and demanded again. Not knowing was eating away at
her, and she simply had to know, "How did you do that?"

He shook his head exasperatedly and mumbled a quick, “A thank you will
suffice, Granger.”

Draco ignored her scowling face entirely and looked around the tastefully
decorated office. He grabbed a sizeable snow globe off her desk and stared
into it.

The fake snow fell around a small village of sorts. It was a beautiful work
of art. The tiny figures ice-skated in the middle of the town square without a
care in the world.

He gravitated towards the large cabinet with artfully arranged books.

Pulling one out, he read the title and mumbled, “Nice office."

Hermione eyed him sceptically and asked rudely, “What are you doing
here?” She wasn’t about to waste her good manners on the arrogant former
Slytherin Prince.

Draco read a few passages from the book, closed it shut, kept it back and
replied politely, “It’s Monday, I ha….”

It dawned on Hermione, and she interrupted, “Ah, you have a meeting with
the Minister to discuss their horrible lack of judgement.”
She leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms over her chest and inquired,
“So, how did it go?” Draco watched the headstrong woman for a few
seconds and decided against telling her the actual outcome of the meeting.

He thought of stringing her along for the time being and asking a few direct
questions. There was a rather insatiable itch in the form of a slightly built,
tawny-eyed woman he needed to soothe.

He shrugged nonchalantly, “I haven't met with him yet,” and added

pointedly, “I wanted to see you first.”

Hermione quipped sarcastically, “I’m flattered. Why would you possibly

want to see me, Malfoy?”

Draco went around the desk and leaned against it. His arse pressed into the
edge of the desk, and Hermione swallowed at the closeness.

She wheeled back, looked up from her position and squirmed in her seat.
She truly wished he would go away. His smell tickled her senses in a way
she would never dare to admit out loud.

Draco regarded her in interest and asked smugly, “Why does my presence
make you uncomfortable?”

Subtlety was clearly wasted on him.

Hermione sprang to her feet and backed away. Her back touched the tall
shelf of books, and she groaned. She had cornered herself, and the white
wolf stalking towards her was going to pounce.

She gathered her composure, tugged at her blouse, and replied haughtily, “I
don't know what you’re on about.”

Draco closed the gap between them with two long strides and pulled her
close. It was a blur; she hardly saw it coming. His insistent fingers dug into
her skin through the blouse. It hurt but in the most pleasurable erotic way,
and a sultry moan escaped her mortified lips.
Moving close, he placed a soft kiss on the sensitive back of her ear and
rasped, "Isn't it exhausting to keep lying to yourself?" His breath ghosted
over her flustered skin; it was undeniably heavy with longing.

Hermione struggled in his strong arms and weakly protested, "Let me go."
The door was open. Anybody could walk in on them and catch them in this
compromising position.

She felt lightheaded. “Please....” He had nothing left to lose. She could
reject him mostly harshly, and it would not matter. The decision to leave
everything behind had already been made.

Boldly, Draco cupped the back of Hermione’s head, and her unruly hair
entangled itself around his long fingers. His lips were almost touching hers;
she could smell the fresh mint of his toothpaste.

He nuzzled his nose into her soft skin and asked in husky tones of pure lust,
“If I kissed you, would you turn me away?”

When she leaned into his touch but remained quiet, he grabbed hold of her
hair, yanked her head back, and demanded, “Answer me, Granger. I'm not
used to repeating myself.” Keeping one arm firmly around her petite waist
with the other hand, he brushed a rogue piece of hair that had dislodged
itself from her perfect hairdo.

Draco took in the closed eyes, the heavy breathing and the possible wetness
that lined her knickers. Goosebumps rose where his fingers lingered on her
skin, and if she wasn’t the most enticing creature he had the privilege to
look upon.

She brazenly let him caress, fondle and touch her to his heart's content. It
was more a treat for her than him, but when he stared deep into her eyes and
groaned almost in anguish, “Are you sure you don't want to marry me?”
Her knees turned to jelly at the sight of his smoky swirls penetrating her
soul and the smouldering intensity they held.

What was he doing? Did he want to marry her? Had he entertained the
thought? She almost answered, but words deserted her. It was as if her
ability to speak had been sucked right out of her.

Her emotions bordered on insanity. If he could make her feel this much
with a mere touch, she shuddered to think how it would be if they did the
deed.

That thought disappeared as soon as it came. Images of their younger years

in Hogwarts played back, and she choked back a sob.

The first time he called her a Mudblood, the animosity and pure malice in
his voice rang through her head as if it were yesterday. His blatant lies
about Buckbeak and, the worst one of all, his mocking laughter as he
wished death upon her because of her heritage. It never mattered to him to
be cruel or think about how much his taunting words would be carved into
her mind.

The air in the room shifted, Hermione stiffened in the arms of the man she
loathed, and Draco felt the warmth she ardently offered a moment ago turn
ice cold. Her body radiated hatred.

She narrowed her eyes and hissed in disgust, “Don’t fucking touch me.”
Mustering all her physical strength, she pushed him away. Her eyes shone
bright with the fire burning in the depths of her amber orbs.

She spat without remorse, "I would rather die than be bound to you in
matrimony." It made him yearn for her even more.

He struggled to understand his newfound fascination with Granger. Her

chest heaved with each breath, but her tone was hesitant.

Draco reeled back and cringed at the harshness of the words. He knew it
was well deserved. She stared at him accusingly, though visibly angry; pain
clouded her pretty eyes. The tension in them was evident.

They were both fighting a losing battle. He gave her the space she
demanded and moved further away from the enraged woman. Her words
and her actions were the validation he needed.
He hadn't meant to push her, but he required some proof to soothe his soul
that his decision to leave was justified.

Draco took a deep breath and straightened. He said in a strained yet sincere
manner, "I apologise for the pain I've caused you, Granger.”

He genuinely wanted her to understand, “I know it doesn't mean a bloody

thing now, but please know that I am sorry, and I wish things turned out
differently.” Vastly different. He would’ve courted her like a proper
gentleman if he had good sense.

Hermione wiped the tears that fell out of humiliation and conflict at
responding to her former tormentor’s gentle caresses. What was wrong with
her? What kind of a woman almost succumbs to the sexual advances of a
man who considered her beneath him?

She could never trust him. What was that famous Muggle saying? Ah, yes, a
leopard never changes its spots. Regaining her composure, she pointed to
the open door and said coldly, “Please leave.”

Draco wanted to hold her, brush away the salty tears and tell her he had
changed, but he knew his honest declaration would fall on deaf ears. He
declared the truth he always knew but never openly admitted, not even to
himself, “You have always been a remarkable woman.”

Hermione stared at the striking man, whose presence was unprecedented.

She felt the room grow small. She stared unashamedly because words
deserted her. She was left utterly speechless.

What do you say to a man who had made it his mission to be horrid to you?
The damage he had done in his youth was irreparable, and in a twisted fate
of circumstances, he would leave the magical world behind and live as a
Muggle. It was ironic.

The thought made him chuckle and caused the woman in the room to widen
her eyes and stare at him alarmingly. Obviously, he was not doing himself
any favours, and she looked upon him in confusion. Deciding to throw
caution to the wind, he went towards her again, but with a hunger ignited in
the pit of his being.

Come what may, if she refused him, his ego would take a beating, but by
Salazar, he wanted to feel her. If this were the last time he saw Granger, he
would take the memory of a gentle kiss until the Ministry wiped his
memories.

He thought she would hex him, curse him and send him to St Mungo’s in a
bodybag or even flee, but no, she stood her ground and waited almost in
anticipation. They both felt the tug at their navels and blood pumping
through their veins.

Draco took hold of her wrists and pinned Hermione against the cramped
shelf; the items placed on it rattled, and a book or two fell to the ground.
Using the soft pad of his thumb, he ran it over her swollen lips. A gasp
escaped from those very same lips, and she closed her eyes and gave in to
what might follow.

She mewled in want and threw her head back in anticipation. His touch was
sending delirious sensations shooting through her sex-deprived body, but
somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to touch him. She kept her arms pinned
to her side stubbornly.

Draco whispered huskily, “I can make your fantasies a reality, Granger.

Stop fighting the inevitable.”

His fingers brushed over her skin ever so gently, but when he reached the
pulse of her neck, his hold tightened, and she moaned her delight. He put
aside his ego and let the desire she evoked speak to him. His lips laid a path
of feathery kisses on her neck.

His breath came out in jagged puffs, “I want you.”

Hermione felt her body quiver with the rush of feelings his three words
aroused. She felt her defences weaken, but it was with smug satisfaction
that she realised Malfoy wanted her body.
The man who refused to touch her in their younger days wanted to bed her.
The look of desire he bestowed upon her was not lost on her.

It felt grossly erotic to know she had a certain degree of control over the
arrogant prick. Maybe she would lure him to bed and discard him before the
act? But would she have the willpower to stop? Judging by how her body
was betraying her at this very moment, she highly doubted she would be
able to stop.

Draco bent his head to claim Hermione’s lips. Her lips parted, and she
waited for the moment his luscious lips touched hers, but it never happened.
Instead, a slight cough interrupted them.

They both turned to find a thoroughly flabbergasted Brenda standing at the

threshold with a coffee in one hand, a packed sandwich dangling from the
other, and her mouth hanging open.

The young woman returned to her senses and took control of her actions,
"I'm so sorry for interrupting." Yet, she remained frozen to the spot and
refused to budge an inch.

Draco unwillingly let the woman in his arms go, and Hermione moved
away from his empowering presence and offered a small smile and
explanation, “Not at all. Mr Malfoy was just leaving.” He took the obvious
hint, but disappointment washed over him.

Reluctantly, he walked past Brenda, glanced over his shoulder near the
door, and flashed Hermione the smile he was famous for.

He said easily, “I will no longer be a hindrance in your life. Be happy,

Granger." He added pointedly, "If you need anything in the future, my
mother will always see to it."

His mother? Typical. His lordship couldn't possibly come down from his
pedestal to mingle with the commoners.

His face softened, and a sense of sadness clouded his handsome features,
“Look after her.” Those departing words caught Hermione off-guard. They
obviously had some hidden meaning in them.

Draco nodded curtly, turned on his heel and walked out. Hermione
collapsed into her chair. Brenda kicked the door shut, placed the coffee in
front of her flustered boss and grinned, "Nora said he was good-looking, but
Merlin, he is a sight for sore eyes."

Hermione wasn't listening. She was miles away. Her lips throbbed. She
touched them while disturbing thoughts plagued her already fragile mind.

Draco sat on a bench in a nearby park. He was utterly out of place in his
new suit and imported leather shoes. He was more convinced than ever that
he had made the right decision.

It was the least he could do to soothe his guilty conscience for treating
Granger so poorly back at Hogwarts, but she crept under his weaknesses
and caused a powerful stirring within. Goading her and forcing their clear
physical attraction to the surface served its purpose. His mind was clear,
and the way forward was the right one.

A school of pigeons landed a few feet from where he was sitting. The birds
pecked at microscopic bits on the ground.

Draco turned to his side and saw a family of four having a picnic. The small
boy laughed and jumped into his mother's awaiting arms. Her arms went
around her son protectively, and a smile of pure love lit up her face. His
thoughts went instantly to his mother. She would not take his decision
lightly.

Sorrow engulfed him, but somehow, together, they would hatch a plan to
stay in touch and ensure her memory of him could not be taken. It had been
nearly two weeks since he returned after years of being away, and now, she
was about to lose him for good.

He truly feared for his mother's health; she was strong, but would she
understand his determination to do the right thing for a change?
Kingsley paced around his room in deep thought. He could not do much.
Nobody could. The matches were bound and forged through complex math
and ancient magic.

He contemplated asking the council their thoughts. He was reasonably sure

they would share his mortification of the Malfoy line coming to an abrupt
end. But it would have to wait. He had more pressing matters to deal with.
Potter had shown him the shocking pictures of the raped and murdered
witch.

In all his years as an Auror, he had never encountered a case so horrifying.

Over a bottle of scotch, they had discussed the topic in great detail, and for
the first time since Potter took up the post of Department Head, the chosen
one had asked for his help.

His mind whizzed with possible suspects. The Auror in him took over. He
hung aside his Minister title and again flipped through the pictures, pouring
over the details and hoping to find a single piece of evidence.
 Chapter 14
Chapter Notes

Slow burn :)

We get a clearer picture of Astoria's mental instability and whether it

could spell disaster in the long run.

Draco faces a few personal demons in the form of his father.

Hermione finds out about Draco's decision, but she is trusted with
changing his mind.

Personal conflicts and inner struggles.

I've also taken a few liberties ;)

Thank you so much for taking the time to leave such AMAZING
comments :) It is truly appreciated. :)

Enjoy Chapter Fourteen!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Astoria came down the stairs in a long floral print summer dress. She
radiated happiness and seemed much like her old self. She walked into the
foyer in her small heels and looked around eagerly. The newspaper was
always in its designated place on the ornately carved small glass table by
the fireplace.

In her sweet voice, she inquired courteously, "Mother, have you seen the
Prophet?"
Victoria Greengrass looked up from the book she was reading and smiled
fondly at her younger daughter. She looked angelic with her long hair
brushed back, falling in soft waves down her slender back.

She replied kindly, "No, I haven't seen it, dear."

Astoria continued to search through the pile of papers and a few files that
were on the table.

Victoria glanced at the clock; it was past noon. She studied her daughter’s
movements and asked enthusiastically, "Darling, would you like a spot of
brunch?"

Astoria stopped mid-task and made eye contact with her loving mother. A
happy smile spread across her pretty face; she did feel peckish, "Thank you,
mother. That would be lovely."

Victoria summoned a smartly dressed tiny house elf to her side. The elf was
dressed in a miniature tuxedo with a matching green bow and shoes that
would fit a toddler.

The older woman clicked her fingers and requested politely, "Georgie,
please see to brunch for Miss Tori."

The elf gave a respectful bow and fondly gazed upon Astoria, "I will make
ready Miss Astoria's favourite treats."

Astoria beamed, bent to the elf’s level and adjusted his bow, "Why, thank
you, Georgie. By the way, have you seen the Daily Prophet?"

Georgie nodded vigorously, "The master had it in the morning. I saw him
reading it and using very bad words." Mr Greengrass was a good but silent
man who loved his daughters fiercely.

Victoria stifled a laugh and returned to reading her book. Armed with that
information, Astoria went straight to her father's bundle of papers, which he
carelessly kept on the ancient study table he maintained in the foyer.
Astoria held up the paper triumphantly, "Ah, here it is. Father has mixed it
up with his silly work documents." She was in a good mood. Her life felt
like it had regained its purpose, which had long since been denied.

She had wished for Draco’s return for years, and when she had all but given
up hope, he had returned. She looked most forward to rekindling their past
affair. He was the only man she had ever truly loved.

She picked up the paper, saw the front page, and froze. Her eyes scanned
over the printed words, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears. The hold on
the paper tightened, and polished nails ripped through the flimsy pages.

No, it couldn't be. She took in the finer details of the article and picture, and
a strangled sob broke free as she fell into the nearest chair with the gut-
wrenching pain of losing the one she loved fervently. The words, love
triangle, the hint of affection and King fu master swirled dangerously
around her mind.

Astoria held onto her head, her nails dug into her scalp, and she let out a
blood-curdling shriek. Victoria heard her daughter's cries of distress. Her
book fell to the ground, and she asked at once, "What's the matter, darling?"

Getting to her feet, she hurriedly ran to her daughter’s side. Astoria gripped
the paper until it crumpled and fell to the floor. Hot tears streamed down her
face, "I won't let her have him."

She held onto her head, rocked back and forth, and repeated, "Draco is
mine."

Her problematic behaviour sent chills down Victoria's spine. She picked up
the nearly shredded newspaper and read the headline on the front page.

She knew of her daughter’s unhealthy obsession with Draco Malfoy. Since
she learnt of his return, he was all she spoke about. Initially, the family had
tried to sway her feelings and divert her interests elsewhere, but it was a lost
cause.
Victoria was well aware of the extreme measures that needed to be taken, or
her daughter would resort to self-harm to cope with her anxieties.

The youngest Greengrass girl was prone to taking matters into her own
hands, yielding devastating results. She watched her loving child tremble
with glazed-over eyes, muttering incoherently.

Astoria was once a remarkable woman. She was beautiful, intelligent, and
funny, and all who knew her were pretty fond of her. It was by a cruel
circumstance that a blood curse that had nothing to do with her skipped
over a generation and found it fit to embrace her.

Since learning of her intended fate, she had withdrawn from daily life and
obsessed over ancient manuscripts in an effort to alter her condition.

Victoria had wept for days and lashed out at her husband for burdening their
child with his family's past misdeeds. The man had broken down in sobs
and vowed to find a way to save their daughter, but to no avail. There was
no escaping the blood malediction.

Astoria’s once intelligent mind turned on itself as time went by, and she fell
into a deep depression that affected her sanity. Her sweet disposition
vanished, and she displayed suicidal and violent tendencies at the most
minor infraction.

Victoria had become accustomed to predicting such outbursts after their

fourth visit to St Mungo’s when Astoria slashed her arm in numerous
places, trying to extract the curse from her now frail body.

The memory of her child lying in a pool of blood would haunt her till her
last day. The older woman kept sedatives and calming draughts nearby for
emergencies, and judging by her daughter's unsettling behaviour, they were
needed at this very instant.

She quickly fetched the vial, uncorked it, rushed to her daughter's side and
instructed as calmly as possible, "Please drink this, darling. It will make
you feel better."
Astoria narrowed her eyes and regarded her mother suspiciously, "Get that
away from me. I know you're trying to drug me."

Victoria soothingly reassured, "Of course not. I'm trying to help you."

Astoria seemed to believe her mother because she parted her lips and
accepted the foul-tasting potion.

She grabbed her mother's wrist and yelled, "Why doesn't he love me?"

Victoria stroked her daughter’s hair in a desperate attempt to calm her

down. She said softly, "Darling, I'm sure he feels nothing for Miss Granger.
It's probably a horrible misunderstanding."

Astoria fetched the tattered paper, touched Draco’s now torn image with
trembling fingers and wept, “He's supposed to marry me.”

Victoria tried to offer soothing words, “Draco just returned, darling. Let's
give him some space to adjust.”

Astoria pulled at her mother’s dress and cried desperately, “She's trying to
take him away from me.” She lost her composure, her hair flew about
wildly, and she snarled, “I won't let her, mother. She can't have him.”

Victoria cradled her daughter to her chest and reassured, “Shh...calm

yourself.” She closed her eyes and wished her husband were home.

They would have to deal with this grave situation and come out unscathed.
This new development was going to be the worst one yet.

Malfoy Industries

After staring at the Muggle families engaging in their activities at the park,
Draco yearned for the temple. He remembered playing the occasional
football game with village children when time allowed and flying colourful
kites with Jun’s younger sister.
The sound of their happy laughter and Jun's pretty face bubbled to the
surface. His eyes went to the glistening, sleek black beaded bracelet on his
wrist, and a sense of sadness engulfed him.

Before his thoughts got away from him, he got to his feet and made the
short walk to a seemingly empty alley. Leaning against the dirty wall, he
thought of the place he often visited with his father when he was being
groomed to take over the vast family business.

Draco stood outside the four-story building. He woefully looked at the

building his family built over centuries, and despite Lucius's many faults, he
was an accomplished businessman, and the company flourished under his
care.

The Malfoy Group was known in the wizarding world for undertaking
unique yet challenging projects and building them to perfection. His feet
stood planted firmly on the ground, stubbornly refusing to budge an inch.

He remembered in avid detail his trips to the office with his father. Lucius
would frog march him through the marbled corridors, barking instructions
at the staff while instructing his only child about the many workings of the
company that supported their livelihood.

Draco recalled one unpleasant incident. Lucius banged his cane down on
the floor and said, in a meaningful tone, “This is our legacy, son. It is the
main source of our vast wealth.”

He pointed to a glistening makeshift map and added with immense pride,

“We work with many countries, and we have a reputation to uphold.” The
young boy ignored his father and stared at the passing glass-covered
cubicles where terrified employees scurried to finish work.

Lucius grabbed Draco by the collar, turned him around, and demanded, “Do
you understand, boy?”

Draco whimpered and answered at once in fear, “Yes, father.”

Lucius let go of his petrified son and retorted proudly, “It isn't an easy task
being a Malfoy.” Indeed. His father was buried six feet under and would
never be able to hurt or influence anyone ever again.

Draco took a deep breath, pushed open the large glass double doors and
stepped inside. The area was pristine. Bernard had made some welcome
changes.

The floors were white marble instead of the dark grey his father opted for.
Many lavish furnishings decorated the lobby, and a large translucent glass
reception desk was situated in the middle.

Three lovely witches were busy talking to visitors and contractors and
speaking into a cordless device.

Portraits of past Malfoy heads of the house, dating back to his great-great-
grandfather, hung artfully on the wall. At eight years old, Draco
remembered how impressed he had been when Lucius introduced each
character.

His feet took him down the familiar path, and he stood before the large
paintings of sleeping men. Due to his father's disgraceful demise in
Azkaban, he had been spared the honour of having his portrait hung next to
his father's. It was somewhat ironic, Draco thought.

Every man on the wall represented darkness and pureblood arrogance.

Nobody paid him much attention except the vigilant security wizard, who
eyed him sceptically. So caught up in his thoughts, Draco ignored the man
standing to his right.

The burly security wizard cautiously approached him and asked, "Hello,
can I help you, sir?"

Draco turned to face the man and smiled politely, "I am Draco Malfoy. I
have an appointment with Mr Bernard." The wizard's face turned ashen as
he took in the similarities between the man standing before him and the
sleeping men in the portraits.
He returned and bowed in respect, "My apologies, sir."

Draco clamped the man on the shoulder and laughed, "Nothing to be sorry
for. Now be a good man and show me to Bernard's office." He chatted with
the security wizard and found out his name was Paul and that he had been
working at the company for three years.

The man spoke almost reverently about Bernard. It was clear Bernard was
doing a stellar job of running the company, and with Draco’s abrupt change
in plans, it worked out nicely.

They arrived at tall doors with solid brass handles. Draco knocked on the
door, stood back and adjusted his jacket.

Bernard's commanding voice came from within, "Come in."

Paul nodded, "It was good to meet you, sir."

Draco glanced over his shoulder and said, “Please call me Draco." He
opened the door and confidently strode inside. Bernard was deep in
concentration; his eyes meticulously took in the papers he was going
through. He looked up as Draco came close, and a bright smile appeared on
his tired face.

Bernard got his feet and spread his arms wide in greeting, “My boy.” Once
he got close, he clamped Draco on the shoulder and said firmly, “Why
didn't you tell me you were on the way? I would've sent a car for you.”

Draco smiled and replied, “That's quite all right. I finished my meeting with
the Minister and came by.”

Bernard nodded in understanding and lifted a bushy brow curiously, “Ah,

your mother did tell me about that. How did it go?”

The ice-blonde man sighed. His eyes lost their softness, and a hardness
soon took its place, “It went as expected.”
Bernard laughed, nudged the man standing by his side and teased,
“Wedding bells in the future then, eh?”

Draco thought of the early morning bells that chimed within the Shaolin
temple. He looked forlorn, “Definitely some form of bells.”

Looking around the large, carpeted, lavish room, Draco voiced his approval,
“From a first look, everything seems to be running smoothly.”

The older man grinned, his eyes lit up pleasantly, but he replied in
seriousness, “It is time for you to take up the reigns.”

Draco smiled warmly and tried to keep the edge out of his voice. Bernard
was no fool, and it would not be easy to keep his plans hidden for long.

He cleared his throat, “I would like you to continue running the company.”
He saw the wise man’s blue eyes flicker with uncertainty.

Bernard eyed the young man suspiciously but held his tongue for the time
being. He let the comment slide and perked up, “Come, let me show you to
your office. It was your father's, of course, but it is only right that you
occupy it going forth.”

They walked the short distance, and Draco saw the curious faces of the
employees openly gawk at him and hurriedly whisper among themselves.
They would instantly know who he was. He was, after all, the spitting
image of his father.

A tall black door greeted them, and sprawled across it in solid gold letters
was the name of the patriarch of the Malfoy family – Lucius Malfoy.
Bernard sensed Draco’s shift in mood and demeanour. He patted him on the
back encouragingly and threw the door open.

Draco hesitated at the entrance and looked around the lavishly furnished
office. It was left untouched. Everything was in its former place, even the
quills his father used, placed at the right angle.
He gathered his courage, stepped onto the black and white carpet, and
walked to the large desk. Once there, he picked up the framed photograph
of his mother his father had placed in an ornate silver frame. This was when
Lucious adored Narcissa and valued her above all else. She was younger
and strikingly beautiful. She smiled happily, full of hope for the future.

Next, his feet carried him to the black, bound books and manuscript
shelves. His father was precise about penning his memoirs. He kept vials
filled with strands of silver memories to be referred back to if needed.

Bernard stood by an exquisite black wood mini bar that reeked of finery and
money. He pointed to the bottles on display and inquired, “Would you like a
drink?” It was early, but a drink sounded splendid, especially considering
how the day was spanning out.

Draco touched the oversized black leather chair, and Lucius's image sitting
at the desk with quill in hand came to mind. He couldn't possibly sit where
his father sat. It felt oddly out of place, disrespectful and strange. Draco
took the glass Bernard offered and joined the older man on the sofa.

Bernard took a gratifying sip and asked, concerned, “Are you okay?”

Draco himself took a longer sip and savoured the rich scotch that made its
way down his parched throat, “I'm fine. What makes you ask?”

Bernard pointed his drink at Draco’s face and explained earnestly, “You
seem rather far away.”

Draco leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and stared into the
amber liquid in his handmade crystal glass.

He hung his head and sighed, “Being back here is pleasing, but being
surrounded by my father’s presence is unnerving.”

Bernard nodded in understanding. He knew all about the tumultuous

relationship between father and son. He advised firmly, “I know there was
no love lost between you two, but let your anger fade. The man is dead and
no longer accountable for the horrible deeds he committed.”
He took in the body language of the young wizard beside him and asked
calmly, “Hmm, is there more to this marriage law than what you’re letting
on?”

Draco stiffened. His fingers tightened around the tumbler, and bringing it to
his suddenly dry lips, he drained it dry.

Bernard probed curiously, “Is Miss Granger on board with this

arrangement?”

Draco laughed and retorted sarcastically, “I might have to drag her lifeless
body down the aisle.”

Bernard raised an amused brow and snorted into his drink.

Draco took in the older man's perplexed expression and explained further,
“We have a rather unpleasant history. To say she hates my guts is putting it
mildly.”

Bernard could agree. The boy in his youth had been an intolerable little
cunt. He bit back a laugh at the thought and offered, “I see, perhaps, if she
got to know you now?”

Draco walked to the bar and refilled his glass. He took another sip and
stared into nothingness.

Granger responded to his gentle touches and tormenting slow kisses on her
neck. The mere thought of her scent and small gasps had him well on his
way to an impressive hard-on.

He cleared his mind of thoughts of her. A task he managed with some level
of difficulty and replied thoughtfully, “Perhaps, but I don't see that
happening soon.”

Returning to the sofa, Draco sat down and turned to face the jovial but regal
man. He smiled and said, “Bernard...”

Bernard returned the warmness and questioned, “Yes?”

Draco came straight to the point. Since his unpredicted decision to leave
behind the world, he knew he wanted to ensure his mother would be well
cared for. It gutted him to abandon the one person he could always count
on. He asked sincerely, “Do you care about my mother?”

Bernard adopted the look of a teenage boy when asked about a crush. He
grinned sheepishly, “I do. Am I that obvious?”

Draco chuckled and nodded. He was as obvious as Narcissa was. She

blushed madly when Bernard’s name came up.

Bernard added affectionately, “I have loved her from afar for as long as I
can remember. That’s why I never married.”

His voice dropped low, his tone laced with grief and perhaps regret, “Lucius
was my friend even though we grew apart after his involvement with the
Dark Lord. At Hogwarts, we were thick as thieves, and I suppose he saw me
as someone he could trust. Narcissa and I kept in touch throughout the
years, and she suggested that I run the company in your absence.”

Narcissa was an intelligent woman. She had made the right choice.

Draco smiled warmly and patted Bernard firmly on the back. It was his way
of giving his approval, “I'm glad to hear it. She deserves happiness after all
she has been through.”

He swallowed hard and included in anguish. His voice broke on the last
word, “Keep her happy.”

Bernard’s face contorted in concern. He inquired firmly, “What’s going on,

Draco? Are you planning on leaving once again?”

The older man shook his head and warned sternly, “It will crush Narcissa.”
It was the one time Bernard put his foot down and sounded like he meant
business.

Draco closed his eyes and sighed, “She will need you more than ever.”
Bernard looked closely at the man sitting by his side with his features
pinched in deep thought. His distress radiated off him, but it was clear that
his mind was made up from his tone.

Ministry Of Magic

Hermione spent most of the day thinking and letting her mind wander to the
captivating yet despicable man who had graced her presence earlier. His
caresses, the subtle stroke of his fingers moving over her heated skin, and
the demanding words he uttered were causing her to have vivid fantasies of
being overpowered by the hateful man.

She looked forward to kicking back and pouring out the past two days'
events to Ginny. It became increasingly apparent that keeping these
thoughts bottled up would do her some severe damage.

Deciding to leave work early, Hermione arranged the papers on the table,
slid her petite feet into her heels and got to her feet. She reached for her
heavy bag, and it delicately hung from her tiny fingers. She stepped out of
the room and almost collided with Brenda.

The younger witch put on the brakes, and she stopped an inch from
Hermione’s body.

Brenda gasped, held onto her side, and took in huge gulps of air.

Hermione took the opportunity to raise her hand and stop her assistant from
saying anything, “Do not say a word. I’m leaving. Ginny is expecting me.”

Brenda straightened and smiled apologetically, “I'm so sorry, but the

Minister wants to see you at once.”

Hermione threw her head back and groaned in frustration, “Argh, what does
he want?”

Brenda adjusted her luminous spectacles and shrugged. She looked around
inconspicuously, dropped her voice and muttered, “He sounded rather
desperate.”

Hermione smirked and tapped her chin in thought, “Oh? That is

interesting.” Dropping her bag in its original place, she adjusted her blouse,
tamed her hair with her fingers and strode purposely towards the Minister's
office.

Hermione knocked twice. It seemed that she could hear the deep voice of
Shacklebolt mumbling incoherently to himself. Without waiting for
permission, she opened the door, poked her head in and asked, “Kingsley,
you wanted to see me?”

The Minister paced around the room slowly. His eyelids fluttered rapidly as
if he was trying to come to some conclusion. He caught sight of his
Undersecretary and waved her in at once.

Hermione entered cautiously and eyed Kingsley questionably. She asked

carefully, “Can this wait? I have plans.”

Kingsley snapped clear out of his current daze and narrowed his eyes
instantly, “No, it bloody well can't. Shut the door and sit down.” The
Minister was going to be difficult.

Hermione closed the gap between them and pulled back the chair roughly. It
scrapped against the floor, and Kingsley ground his teeth and made his
displeasure evident.

She sat down in the most ladylike manner and said with enough annoyance
for the Minister to notice, “Fine, I'm sitting.” She scrunched up her nose
and grilled, “What's the matter? You’re acting rather odd.”

Kingsley massaged his temples and replied exhaustedly, “My mind is not at
rest.” That bit piqued her interest. She leaned forward in her seat and
probed impatiently, “What is going on?”

Kingsley dropped into his oversized chair unceremoniously and tossed the
relatively thin file towards Hermione. Indeed, something this light could not
be the cause of his disturbing behaviour.
The second she flipped open the file, she understood why. The graphic
pictures made the bile rise to the surface. She covered her mouth with her
hand in shock and felt her body shudder unpleasantly. The poor woman.
Oh, Merlin, who would be this vicious to butcher a living being in this
brutal way?

Kingsley struggled to control his rapidly rising temper. He hissed darkly,

“We have a serial killer on the loose. It's doing my head in. I haven't wanted
to catch a man so much since Voldemort.”

In defeat, he hung his head and growled, “It's a challenging case. We have
no leads, no witnesses, nothing. He seems to be targeting pretty, red-haired,
fair-skinned women.”

Hermione closed the file shut, gingerly kept it back on the table with
trembling hands and stared at it for a few seconds.

The torment the woman must have suffered in the last few minutes of her
life must have been excruciating. She closed her eyes and tried to erase the
mental image that had formed.

Finding her voice, she declared firmly, “We should notify the public and
caution people to take care.” Pounding the table in irritation, she demanded,
“Why was I not informed about this?”

Kingsley held up his to silence the irked woman, “Calm yourself. We will
make an official announcement in a few days.”

Hermione widened her eyes in disbelief. Was he losing his mind? “A few
days? That is not acceptable. The public needs to be alerted to this threat
immediately.”

She asked with an edge to her voice, “Is that why you wanted to see me?”

Kingsley slowly shook his head and replied, “No, it's about Malfoy.”

Fuck. She couldn’t take a piss without the blonde fucktards name popping
up.
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and inquired in mock curiosity,
“What about him?”

Kingsley cleared his throat, got to his feet, and crossed the room to fix
himself a drink. He poured himself a hefty shot of the finest scotch.

Bringing the glass to his nose, he inhaled deeply before taking a sip. Then
he glanced over his shoulder and said, “He came by first thing in the
morning to see me.”

The Minister offered Hermione a drink, but she politely declined. Her mind
was buzzing with bits of information. The timeline made no sense.

She was genuinely puzzled, “First thing?”

Kingsley nodded and pointedly looked at the clock on the wall, “Yes, at
9.30 am sharp, if I'm not mistaken.”

Hermione went rigid. She silently fumed. The fucking deceitful piece of
worthless shite. He had met her after speaking with Kingsley. What kind of
sick game was he playing? Of course, she had no clue what had transpired
since the twat had kept it to himself and then tried to seduce her.
Successfully, she was shamefully forced to admit.

She hid her inner feelings well and asked curiously, “And what happened?”
The answer kept her on the edge of her seat.

Kingsley stubbornly replied, “I told him exactly what I told you. None of
you seems to comprehend that I am as helpless in this situation as the two
of you.”

Hermione was in no mood to beat around the bush. She clenched her teeth
and hissed, “What happened, Kingsley?”

Kingsley leaned back, finished his drink, and replied slowly, “He didn't
react in the way I intended.”

Hermione was genuinely losing her patience. She wanted to scream, but
instead, she regained her composure and asked directly, “And how did he
react?”

Kingsley’s olive-skinned face contorted in pure disgust, “He's giving up his

fucking wand and willing to live as a Muggle.”

Many things happened at once. Hermione shot to her feet and stared at the
Minister, who was alertly looking at her. Her suddenly dry throat needed to
be appeased, so she hurriedly went to the minibar, poured herself a splash of
whiskey and drained it in one go.

A dull throbbing pulsated within, which she couldn’t shake. One shot
became two. She tossed it back; it burnt her throat, but it was nothing
compared to the mix of raging emotions consuming her. She held onto the
table to steady herself and her rapidly beating heart.

When she regained a smidge of control, she turned on the Minister and
shouted, “WHAT?”

Kingsley nodded in agreement, “Yeah, that was my reaction exactly.”

Hermione retook her seat, and new humiliating feelings arose and clouded
her mind and thinking. She sneered, “So, the prick is willing to give up
magic? Leave everything behind rather than marry me?” She scoffed and
thought good riddance. He hadn't changed. But it stung and involuntarily
and unnecessarily plagued her thoughts. Did the sodding wanker find her to
be that undesirable?

Kingsley responded crossly, “You’re a daft bint at times, Hermione.” The

sincerity in Malfoy’s actions was genuine.

The Minister explained further, “He doesn't want to force you into marriage
with a man you loathe. He sees it as a great injustice and is willing to give
up his inheritance, life, and beloved mother to save you from it.”

Hermione stiffened; she heard the words Kingsley uttered, but it was still a
bitter pill to swallow.

Shacklebolt softened his tone, “He's doing it for you.”

Hermione felt hot around the collar. She struggled to string words together,
"I, umm....”

Kingsley couldn’t be arsed to wait for her to gather her thoughts. He said
with ardent purpose, “We can't allow him to do that.”

Hermione stared into the Minister's serious face, “Excuse me?”

Kingsley simply stated, “It is your duty to the magical community and this
Ministry to convince him otherwise.”

Hermione let out a sarcastic laugh. She narrowed her eyes and fired, “I will
do no such thing. If that is his decision, what right do I have to change his
mind?”

Kingsley pointed to a sizeable leatherbound book encased in glass and said

calmly, “You took an oath to uphold Ministry law.”

Hermione argued, “I did, but this was never part of the deal. I refuse to
convince him when he has generously given me a clear out from this
miserable pairing.”

The Minister retorted thoughtfully and hoped for the best, “Malfoy is a
changed man. Give him a chance.” Big mistake. The demeanour of the
woman before him changed from angry to murderous.

She leered, “Has anyone dared call you horrid names?”

Leaning forward, she inquired with false sweetness, “Do you have an
inkling of what it is like to be taunted by a vile word such as Mudblood for
having no fucking control over the magic in your blood?”

She held the tears at bay and hissed through clenched teeth, “That vile
bastard wanted me to die because I didn't belong in his perfect little world.”

She made use of air quotes to emphasise her point. When Kingsley opened
his mouth to offer a feeble apology, Hermione cut him off fiercely, “Don't
tell me to give him a bloody chance because hell will fucking freeze over
before I do.”
Kingsley looked truly uncomfortable, “I understand, Hermione.”

Hermione shook her head and replied openly, “No, Minister. You sadly do
not.”

Kingsley knew without a doubt that Granger would never agree, but he had
to try, “Please try to see reason. The Malfoys are an ancient family. Their
bloodline is a pillar of the Magical community.”

Hermione laughed aloud, but her thoughts went to Narcissa and how she
would take the news of her son’s departure. That would not go over well, of
that, she was sure. It pained her to think of the suffering the older woman
would endure.

Pushing her feelings aside, she fired back, “Am I supposed to care? The
Malfoys, with the exception of Narcissa, were a superficial bunch of
bastards who valued pure blood above everything else and couldn't be
fucked if they hurt or stepped on anyone to get their way.”

Kingsley tried to make her see reason, “There are things beyond our
comprehension. We have a sacred twenty-eight for a reason. We need his
bloodline to continue.”

Hermione answered with sarcasm dripping off each word, “That's rich. So,
I'm supposed to bear his children to please the community?”

She quipped in satisfaction, “I'm a Muggleborn witch. Won't slumming it

with me knock him out of the twenty-eight?”

Kingsley visibly cringed at her choice of words. The woman had developed
quite a potty mouth over the years. He added hesitantly but with resolve, “If
you refuse, you can join him in the Muggle world and fend for yourselves.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open. A dull thud sounded in her ears. She
could not believe the words she heard. Surely, it was a mistake.

A life without magic? It was hard to imagine an existence without her

extended family. It was her breaking point, but she showed indifference and
ignored the statement completely. Her body shuddered with desire or
displeasure.

She wasn’t quite sure about sharing Malfoy’s bed, but she added
deliberately, “Our children will be half-bloods.”

Hermione mused wide-eyed, “Imagine that? The bloody horror.”

Kingsley warned, “This is no laughing matter, Granger.”

Hermione was evident in her way forward. She offered, “He might meet
some stupid Muggle woman, fall in love and have children, thus continuing
the Malfoy name.”

Kingsley sighed exasperatedly, “You think we only swipe the memories and
snap the wand in half? There are powerful charms to suppress a person’s
magic from rising to the surface or being passed along.” She was a Ministry
employee; how did she not know this?

Hermione looked repulsed, “That's barbaric.”

Kingsley decided he had played along long enough. He rose to his feet,
placed his large hands on the desk and leaned forward.

He loomed over her petite figure and said harshly, “I'm no longer asking.
You were bound by an oath when you took this job to uphold the traditions
of our laws.”

Hermione shot to her feet and challenged, “Hang the job then. I'll hand over
my resignation this instance.” Of all the stubborn women.

Kingsley rolled his eyes, “Don't be ridiculous and stop acting like an
impudent child.”

Hermione felt the sudden sting of tears at the corner of her eyes, “I don't
want to do this.”

The Minister went around the desk, pulled up a chair and sat down next to
her, “But you must, for the good of the Magical community. If his line ends,
the consequences might be dire.”

Hermione choked back a sob, “I will do as you ask, but I will never share
Malfoy’s bed.” These were her Famous last words. She had to get out of the
suffocating office, and her mind was in absolute turmoil.

Before Kingsley could reply or reach for her, Hermione stormed out. She
flew out of the door, wiping the tears that fell.

The life she had planned for herself was coming to a devasting standstill.
She desperately wished she had married Ron when he offered. Anyone was
better than the snake.

She pushed open the door to her office, closed it and fell in a crumpled heap
on the floor. Hugging herself, she wept fresh tears and tried to fight the
despair that engulfed her. It wasn’t fair of anyone to ask this of her, and
what was most disturbing was Malfoy's seemingly unselfish decision.

Did he genuinely intend to carry forth with his decision? It was an

enormous sacrifice on his part. He, like her, would have to leave everyone
he grew up with behind, but unlike her, this was the life he was born to
lead.

How had he come to such a decision without a single shred of thought

about the pain he would cause his loved ones? Did righting wrongs mean
that much to him?

Hermione cried until there were possibly no tears left. She said a silent
prayer, “Merlin, please give me the strength to do what’s right.”
 Chapter 15
Chapter Notes

Main focus on friendship :) Keep your friends close. :)

I know most think of Hermione as being whiny and dramatic but put
yourself in her shoes. Would you be so quick to forgive your childhood
bully? Even Draco isn't betting on her forgiving him because he knows
what an unforgivable git he was.

To all the comments:- WOW! I'm blown away! I love the mix. All I
ask is that you bear with me! :) :)

Enjoy Chapter Fifteen!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

No 12 Grimmauld Place

Ginny poked her head out of the kitchen at the sound of the front doorbell.
The loud sound echoed through the house.

James came running in and said excitedly, "The door, mummy."

She handed him a bowl of cut fruit, the colourful bowl comprised of bite-
sized pieces of red apple, orange wedges, and plump strawberries cut in
half, "Your favourite cartoon is on, darling. Go into the living room and
watch it."

He took the bowl in his tiny hands and ran the whole way, with Ginny
screaming after, "Don't run. Be careful, James."
The bell sounded again. Ginny wiped her hands, walked the short distance
to the door, and threw it open. Hermione stood outside, looking distraught.
Gone was the prim and proper exterior. She appeared dishevelled and
thoroughly unkempt. Messy strands of hair stuck to her forehead, and it was
clear from her swollen, reddened eyes that she had been crying. The
auburn-haired, spirited woman held the door open, and Hermione walked in
and slammed the door shut, making Ginny wince.

She glanced over her shoulder and said deliberately, "Someone's in a vile
mood."

Hermione kicked off her shoes inelegantly and asked urgently, "Where's the
wine?"

Ginny coolly pointed to the kitchen and continued to walk in the same
direction, "Where it always is." They entered the homely space, and at once,
Hermione spied the bottle of red wine on the counter. Without a moment’s
hesitation, she moved towards it, grabbed it by the neck, and pulled out a
clear-cut wine glass from the top cupboard with her free hand.

Ginny watched her best friend anxiously and asked in concern, "Is
everything alright?"

Hermione held up her hand to stop Ginny from saying anything further. She
proceeded to pour herself a glass full of wine and took a large gulp, not a
sip, but a sizeable gulp. She held the glass with both hands and squeezed it
tight.

Ginny feared the glass would crack, but she hoped for the best and kept her
mouth shut. Without looking up, Hermione cried hopelessly, "Why did he
have to come back?" Fresh tears streaked her tired, drawn face.

She added furiously, "We were perfectly happy without his pretentious arse
clouding our senses."

Ginny raised a brow and questioned, "Excuse me?"

Hermione groaned exasperatedly and spat most nastily, "He has ruined
everything." She hated the way he affected her. She wasn't some simpering
girl who would fall at his feet like he was something special.

Malfoy was good-looking, yes, true. There were plenty of men who were
better looking, but it wasn’t just the chiselled chin and crisp black shirts. It
had everything to do with the way his stormy grey swirls followed her and
the intensity he bestowed upon her. His movements were graceful yet
manly, he was a true enigma of man, and internally, she fought a raging
battle with her emotions.

Ginny took a deep breath and advised Hermione to follow suit, "Calm
down, Granger. Tell me, what happened?"

Hermione choked back a sob and struggled to utter the dreaded words, "The
snake has taken the exit clause."

Ginny was confused beyond reason, but she patiently asked, "Exit clause?"

Hermione emptied her glass of the red liquid sloshing around and refilled it
before answering, "From the marriage law. He is willing to give up magic
and live like a fucking Muggle."

She muttered angrily, "The self-righteous bastard."

Ginny could not believe it. It was impossible to fathom that Malfoy could
be that selfless. She widened her eyes in shock, "What the hell? Are you
serious?"

Hermione concurred and continued to gulp the wine like it offered her relief
from her horrendous situation. It did somewhat, she supposed. Things had
gone from bad to worse in a matter of hours.

Ginny joined Hermione at the spotless kitchen counter, poured herself a

glass of wine, and shook her head, "He can't do that. He's the last Malfoy."

Hermione’s face twisted in annoyance, "Why does everyone keep saying

that?"
Ginny snorted into her drink and quipped, "If Malfoy doesn't reproduce, the
world as we know it will come to an end!"

Hermione looked genuinely appalled by the importance placed on him to

spread his seed. She did not bother to keep the disgust from her tone, "What
are you on about?"

Ginny, being a pureblood witch, knew a thing or two about the sacred
twenty-eight, old laws, and blood ties. She chuckled, "I'm messing with
you, but yeah, he has to leave an heir."

Hermione argued, "Why? What makes the Malfoys so bloody important?"

Ginny could not find a suitable answer. For all she knew, it was a children's
story told around a roaring fire to encourage pureblood pairings and
discourage any intermingling of blood.

She recited what her grandmother told them once about heirs, "He is the last
remaining member of one of the founding families. His blood plays a vital
role." That was beyond ridiculous. Hermione did not believe any of the
hocus pocus regarding the pureblood families, and the most maddening fact
was that no one seemed to know exactly why his blood was of such
importance.

Ginny squeezed Hermione’s hand and comforted the distressed woman, "It
will be alright." She looked over at her best friend and heard the soft rumble
that came from within Hermione’s stomach. Ginny smiled kindly, "You
look hungry."

Hermione patted her growling tummy and realised just how hungry she
was. Lunch was comprised of a beef sandwich Brenda got her and a tall
grande coffee. She nodded in agreement, "I'm fucking starving."

James whizzed past on a toy broom and almost fell off. Ginny adopted her
motherly voice and yelled at him to be careful. Charlie was right. The once
hot-tempered Chaser was turning more into Molly with each passing day.
She turned to Hermione and wagged a warning finger, "Mind the language,"
and followed it with a mischievous grin, "I'm dying to know what’s
happened in the past two days."

Ginny smiled sheepishly and started to slice a juicy red tomato, “Indulge
me with your stories of heated passion.”

Hermione pulled apart chicken breast pieces with a fork to put inside the
sandwich. Once the meat was shredded to her liking, she showed Ginny the
bits and chortled, “My love life at the moment resembles this.”

Ginny shoved Hermione playfully, and both women shared a laugh while
buttering pieces of bread. They sat at the table with a new bottle of wine
and chicken sandwiches, and the tension Hermione felt earlier melted away.
She animatedly recited the hilarious yet surprising series of events that
followed since the wedding.

Ginny oohed and ahhed at the right places, showing the proper amount of
shock at the more intimate moments. When Hermione got to the bit about
the fight, Ginny laughed aloud, "Terry is such a bloody moron."

Hermione felt the sudden urge to defend him, "I know, but he is sweet in a
defective kind of way." She hadn’t seen him all day, and truth be told, until
Ginny mentioned him, she hadn’t given him a second thought. Poor bloke.

Ginny did not give a shite about boring Terry Boot; she was eager to hear
the bits about Malfoy and his newfound change in personality. It truly
intrigued her, and she was dying to know what could bring about such a
drastic change in the once arrogant boy. She cleared her throat and probed
excitedly, "Malfoy almost kissed you in your flat and again in your office?"

Hermione bit into her sandwich greedily and swallowed hard. She nodded
slowly and unhappily. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but she confided with
every ounce of honesty she could muster, "Yes, and I let him touch me
intimately. I wanted him, Ginny." As pleasurable as it was, she was still
mortified by how quickly Malfoy got under her defences and left her
wanting.
She cradled her head in his hands and cried in disappointment, “What the
hell is wrong with me?"

Ginny smirked devilishly, "There's nothing wrong with you. Going by just
looks, he is quite fuckable."

Hermione frowned and stuffed her face with chips. Her mouth full, she
replied hotly, "You are not helping, woman.”

Ginny winked playfully, delicately bit into her sandwich, and inquired
casually, "When was the last time you had sex?" Never one to beat around
the bush.

Hermione stared miserably at her half-eaten sandwich and mumbled in

frustration, "I can honestly say I don't remember."

Ginny opened her mouth to retort, but Harry walked into the kitchen with a
thick file under his arm and dark circles around his bespectacled eyes. He
had heard bits of their conversation when he stopped right outside the
kitchen to hug his son.

He dropped his heavy bag clumsily on the floor, grabbed a few chips off
Ginny's plate, and popped them into his mouth before asking nosily, "Who's
quite fuckable?"

Ginny didn't skip a beat. She said offhandedly, "Malfoy."

Harry dusted the last bits of Floo powder off his black Auror robes and
frowned in disgust, “Ah, what's happened now?"

He further voiced his irritation, "I keep hearing his name, and I can't say I'm
pleased."

Hermione replied, hoping to clear up any misunderstanding, "Nothing

happened, Harry."

Ginny looked away purposely, hid the giggle that bubbled to the surface,
and continued to munch on her sandwich. Hermione followed suit and
grinned at Harry with her mouth full of chicken.
Harry narrowed his eyes in doubt and looked at the women suspiciously.
"Yeah, right, keep your little secrets, but for Merlin’s sake, be careful."

He pulled out a chair, sat next to Hermione at the small table, and asked
seriously, "Did Malfoy really kick Terry's arse?"

Hermione’s eyes sparkled involuntarily as she recalled the smooth, agile

movements of the ice-blonde man.

She bobbed her head excitedly and replied with a bit more enthusiasm than
she hoped, "He did. Actually, it was quite bizarre to see Malfoy move with
such ease." She sliced the air with her hand and accompanied it with a high-
pitched Kung-fu hi-yah.

Harry said thoughtfully, "Interesting..."

Hermione thought of the file sitting on top of Kingsleg’s desk. The

gruesome pictures made her heart palpitate in anticipation. She wiped her
hands on the serviette and questioned gravely, "Any leads on the killer?"

Harry’s face contorted unpleasantly. It was plain to see the toll it was taking
on the head of the DMLE. He hissed menacingly and did nothing to hide
the contempt he felt, "None. I have been obsessing about it the whole day.
One man can't be this detailed and elude capture." His fist connected with
the table's wooden surface, causing utensils to scatter and Ginny to shudder
in panic.

Harry glared and said in disappointment, "I'm sure we're missing

something, but I can't put my finger on it." The desperation in his voice was
evident. He wanted nothing more than to catch the raping bastard.

Ginny rubbed his back and encouraged, “You always get them, Harry.” His
confidence hung by an invisible thread. He wasn’t sure they could catch the
deranged lunatic before he killed again.

Muggle Club
Draco pushed open the dark wood door and stepped into a Muggle club.
The interior was tastefully decorated in tones of black and dark grey. Music
blared from the DJ booth. The place was somewhat packed, and Draco
looked around to locate his friends. Partying at a club was not his definition
of fun, but Pansy and Theo would not take no for an answer.

He heard his unique name being called over the thumping music, "Draco,
over here."

It was easy to spot Theo from a mile away. His lanky frame and wavy
brown hair made him stand out like a sore thumb. Draco made his way
through the crowd and thought back to the uncomfortable conversation he
had had with his mother before he departed for the night.

Narcissa kept aside her almost completed embroidery of an intricate bunch

of red roses and inquired curiously. However, she willed her rapidly beating
heart to remain still: "How did it go with Kingsley?"

Max ran in circles around Draco and demanded his attention. He patted the
eager dog's head and scratched it under the neck. When the dog tried to
jump on him, Narcissa called the dog to heel, "Come here, Max."

Draco avoided eye contact with his mother and replied with no enthusiasm,
"Not well. He insists on the marriage."

Narcissa’s face fell with sadness, but she probed impatiently, "I see. How
did you respond?"

He could not bring himself to tell her. Especially when he had just returned,
it would be a devastating blow. Draco decided to resort to a little white lie
until he plucked up the courage to tell his beloved mother his decision, "I,
umm...told him I would think about it."

Narcissa knew at once something was wrong. A mother always knows. She
studied her son's nervous body language and grilled, "What are you going
to do, Draco?"
Draco cleared his throat and replied without hesitation, "All I know is that I
won't force Granger to marry me and bear children. To say that aloud fills
me with disgust."

Narcissa voiced her concern, which had been unpleasantly gnawing at her
insides, "I don't want to lose you, son."

It was a double-edged dagger straight to his heart. He bent to kiss his

mother's cheek and replied with weaning confidence, "You won't.”

Liar.

Narcissa eyed his smart casual attire, including his signature black shirt
and pressed trousers, and raised a brow, "Are you going somewhere?"

Draco ran his fingers through his fine, silky hair, grinned, and nodded
lazily, "Yes, Theo and Blaise wanted to grab a pint at a new Muggle club of
sorts."

Narcissa smiled warmly and encouraged, "Have fun, darling." She returned
to her embroidery soon after, troubled thoughts clouding her mind. She
could sense the unease radiate off him. He was getting ready to make a
drastic move. She felt it in her bones, and an involuntary shudder shook her
small frame.

Blaise clamped Draco on the shoulder when he sat down, "How's it going,
brother?"

Draco scowled and blinked rapidly as a ray of luminous light hit him square
in the face, "Could be better."

Pansy gave him a quick peck on the cheek and frowned, "What's the
matter?" She adjusted her fashionable red dress, drummed her nails on the
table, and waited impatiently for an answer.

Draco called over a server and murmured in annoyance, "This marriage law
is a sodding pain in the arse."
Pansy sipped her drink delicately through a straw and grinned, "Oh, it's not
so bad."

Draco rolled his eyes and shot back defensively, "For you."

Pansy shrugged and nodded in agreement, "Yeah, you and Granger are a
disaster waiting to happen."

Blaise didn’t look entirely convinced. Instead, he looked sceptical but kept
his thoughts to himself.

Draco sighed because there was no correct answer. For a good part of the
day, he had thought of nothing else but her.

He had never given Granger any thought in the past, and now his mind was
riddled with uncomfortable thoughts about her, and it was baffling, yet he
enjoyed them enormously. After his lengthy meeting with Bernard ended,
Draco fled to the comforts of the Manor and his room. He had sat cross-
legged in his suit and fought to find the inner peace within. It evaded him
with perverse purpose. His decision weighed heavily on his heart. To leave
his mother filled him with a complete state of unrest.

Blaise's serious voice cut into his thoughts, "Did you meet with Kingsley?"

Draco responded grimly, "I did, and it did not end well. We are stuck in this
predicament without a bloody saving grace."

Blaise looked utterly uncomfortable, "Ah, that doesn't sound good." His
face fell, and he added cautiously, "Also, I hate to be the bearer of bad
news." That bit piqued Draco's interest.

He sat up straight and inquired in concern, "What's happened now?"

Blaise sighed and solemnly recited the events Daphne told him, "Tori saw
the Prophet and had one of her episodes."

Draco widened his eyes, lost his composure, and asked hurriedly, "Is she
alright?"
Pansy seemed disturbed by the alarming event that occurred, "I hope she's
okay."

Blaise nodded and stared into his drink in deep thought, "For the moment,
but I think it's about to get a lot worse."

Draco grabbed hold of his tumbler and drained the amber liquid within. He
slammed the glass down and hissed, "Fuck. I should have never returned."
The music changed, and more people flocked to the floor. Couples and
groups of friends moved enthusiastically in time to the music. Some threw
their hands up in the air and thoroughly enjoyed themselves.

Pansy squeezed Draco's hand and scolded, "Don't you ever say that."

He shook his head exasperatedly, sipped his drink, and retorted in self-
disgust, "I have disrupted two women's lives. One wants to marry me, and
the other wants nothing to do with me, but we are pushed together because
of some fucking ludicrous law."

Blaise chuckled and pointed to the bar, "And by the looks of it, the woman
at the bar wants to take you home." A pretty woman wearing a tight black
bodycon dress batted her long, made-up eyelashes at him and brazenly bit
her lip suggestively.

Draco gave her the one over, ran his fingers through his hair, and smirked.
Theo, who had been uncharacteristically quiet until that moment, tossed
back his drink and blurted out, "Luna wants to have kids."

Blaise burst out laughing, "Shouldn't you grow up first?"

Theo cooked his head to the side and quipped, "Funny arsehole. You did it.
How hard can it be?"

Blaise put Theo in a headlock and ruffled his hair affectionately, “Daddy
Nott. Bless that child.”

Pansy beamed, "Don’t listen to them, Theo. I think it’s wonderful."

Theo asked nervously, "Are you and Neville trying?"

Even though he was all for having many screaming, snotty monsters, a part
held him back. His father had been a horrible excuse for a human being,
and Theo vowed to shower his children with the affection and love he was
denied.

Pansy choked on her drink and coughed. She shuddered and answered
swiftly, "God no, well, not at this very moment. It is still the honeymoon
phase for us. I'm getting to know him. Unlike you guys, we didn't have a
conventional start, and I want to enjoy a few years with him before we start
a family." His problems were momentarily forgotten.

Draco eyed Pansy, pinched her cheek, and mused, "You sound so....mature."

Pansy laughed, crossed her arms over her bosom, and grinned, "Shut it.
You've been back what? Two weeks, and you've already made the front
page."

Draco’s luscious mouth twisted unpleasantly, and he bit back a nasty retort,
"Hilarious."

Theo chimed in, "Boot is a fucking prick. He deserved that beat down."

Draco said wisely with resolve, "Violence doesn't solve problems."

Theo closed his eyes, brought his hands together in a worshipping gesture,
and said in a respectful tone, "Yes, master, you speak words of wisdom."

Draco pushed Theo, and the tall man lost his balance and toppled off the
high stool. He adjusted his crisp dress shirt and hissed in annoyance, "Will
you nutters stop manhandling me?"

A scowl and a look of deep loathing twisted Draco's appealing features. He

shook his head in disbelief and said to the group, "I can't imagine why
Granger is with a tosser like him, though."

Blaise openly teased, "Are you jealous?”

Draco brushed it off and retorted confidently, "Don't be fucking ridiculous."

Pansy tapped her chin in thought and grinned knowingly, "I don't know.
You do sound a bit green with envy."

Theo signalled for another round of drinks and voiced his opinion, "Granger
is a sexy witch. I'd fucking judge you if you didn't have a hard-on for her."

He admitted blushingly, “I had the biggest crush on her back at Hogwarts.”

Three pairs of eyes stared at him unblinkingly. They stopped what they
were doing and let Theo’s bold reveal sink in.

After seeing the utter shock on his closest friends' faces, Theo defended
himself fiercely, “What? It was nothing romantic. I just wanted to shag her.”
He added with a slight smirk, “My attentions were not well received. She
almost hexed my balls off.”

Pansy glanced at the partially fuming man next to her and literally felt the
shift in his sweet disposition. She grimaced, “For Salazar’s sake, stop
talking.”

Eager to stir the conversation well away from Theo’s remarkable

confession, Blaise leaned forward inconspicuously and asked Draco
curiously, "When was the last time you had a good roll in the hay?"

Draco stared at Theo with mixed feelings. He felt the sudden, confusing
urge to thump his best friend into the ground.

Completely taken aback by Blaise’s inappropriate probing, he snapped to

attention, glared sternly, and refused outright to give a helpful answer, "I'm
not telling you buggers that."

Theo whistled. The loud music drowned it out. He grabbed a bunch of stale
peanuts, tossed them into his mouth, and mused, "That long, huh?" He
snickered and sneaked a peek at Draco's covered cock, "Well, you better
check to see if your bits are functioning."

Draco moved further away from Theo and warned, "My bits are functioning
just fine, you git."
In a secluded part of London, a kidnapped twenty-one-year-old pleaded
frantically for her life, "Please don't hurt me. I've done all you asked." The
demented man had held her captive for days and used her in every way
possible.

The thought of his disgusting actions made the bile rise to the surface, and
she threw up whatever little food she managed to keep in. His disfigured
face twisted in disgust. He didn’t show any form of empathy or a smidge of
compassion. His mind was utterly shrouded in darkness. That same
darkness descended over his once nice features, but the horrible scar that
adorned half his face made the people he passed on the street cringe and
move away. He hid it under the strands of dirty, long hair that fell over his
face.

He stared at the woman cowering at his feet and sneered, "You remind me
of her. That filthy bitch. I was never good enough for her."

He stroked the petrified woman’s hair and let the long strands slip through
his thin fingers, "She had long red hair, you know? Just like yours."

The woman sobbed uncontrollably and begged, "Please....."

The maniac leered, showing a complete set of sparkly white teeth, and
shuddered in ecstasy, "Beg me, I love the fear in your voice." She knew
death was near, and if it was so, she gathered her strength, got to her feet,
and hissed, “Damn you to hell, you sick fuck.” A blood-curdling scream
filled the space as the first blow from the hammer connected with the back
of her head.

Blood splattered across the white walls, and the woman fell dead to the
floor, but it did not stop the vicious attacks that followed. He continued to
strike the lifeless body until his arm gave out, and he fell to the floor and
sobbed, “I'm sorry, Mother. Please forgive me.”

Once done, he cleaned her body of any trace of blood, and she looked
almost asleep. He returned to her house on the city's outskirts and lay her
naked on the floor. He pulled out one of three remaining silver chains with
an owl and wand pendant from his pocket and placed it near the now
angelic face. The silvery beams of the moon fell over her body. With a
gloved hand, he tenderly caressed her porcelain white cheek.

She was beautiful, they all were, but none compared to the beauty of his
abusive witch mother. No matter how much he tried to replicate her murder,
it was never quite the same. It lacked the satisfaction and exhilaration he
felt as he struck her from behind and strangled her to death. His bitch of a
mother had stared with haunted eyes as he repeatedly struck her. She
taunted him with the look of utter disappointment that she bestowed upon
him for twenty-eight long years of his life while he snuffed the life out of
the woman who birthed him.

The man surveyed the scene, and a satisfied smile curved his lips. The
young woman had been adequate and an easy target. She was too trusting
for her own good. Sexually she fulfilled his dark yearnings and completed
the tasks set to her with tears in her eyes. He did thirst to see them suffer as
he had. He realised he would miss her, but the thought left him as it came.
There were others to play with. Bound, gagged, and patiently waiting for
him.

Two down, two to go. He felt a sexual stirring as he thought of the women
waiting for him and the many games he would play until he lost interest and
they fell victim to the ultimate aphrodisiac of death.

Draco drunkenly swayed and walked up the stairs, careful not to awaken his
mother. He plopped down on his comfortable bed and stared at the ceiling.

He had a pleasant conversation with the Muggle woman who eyed him
from the bar, but after a few drinks together, when she suggested they head
back to her place, he bowed out graciously.

The disappointment on her face was evident, but she scribbled her number
and shoved it into his hand, kissed the shell of his ear, and drawled
seductively, "If you change your mind, give me a call." He had no interest
in contacting her.
Yes, it was nice to know that he was still desirable, but a tawny mane of
untidy hair kept invading his thoughts. Perhaps, one night with her would
erase this intense longing his loins suffered. Fully clothed, with his arm
resting behind his head, he stared at the crystal chandelier that hung from
the high ceiling in his room until the comforting embrace of sleep whisked
him away.

Harry side along apparated with Hermione. She opened the door, tossed her
bag aside clumsily, and fell onto the couch. He looked over his friend
sympathetically, "Do you want me to stay over? We can chat for hours like
the good old days."

Hermione cradled her head in her hands and asked in frustration, "Why is
this happening to me, Harry?" Never had she felt this defeated.

Harry walked over, sat down next to his best friend, put a comforting arm
around her shoulder, and gave it a tight squeeze, "I don't really have an
answer." They sat next to each other in companionable silence.

Hermione looked at her watch and sighed, "You best get back. Ginny will
be worried."

Harry nodded in agreement and reluctantly got to his feet, "Yeah." He

pulled out his wand, slapped his forehead, and smirked, "Oh, by the way,
Ron says hi."

He fought the need to break down in laughter but instead added cheerfully,
"He's having a jolly time in America. He mailed some pictures to Ginny. He
looks like a rather ripe tomato. Clearly, the weather does not agree with
him."

Hermione stifled a laugh and retorted to, smiling warmly instead, "I’m glad
he's happy." She truly was happy for her ex-boyfriend, but a smidge of
resentment lingered around the corners of her heart.

Harry returned the smile and offered reassuringly, "What I'm trying to say
is, Hermione. Life doesn't always deal you the deck you want, but somehow
it works out."

Hermione purposely looked away and fought the tears that clawed to the
surface. She replied miserably, "This is Malfoy, Harry. I cannot look past all
he has done to me. I have cried endless nights because of his taunting." She
stared at her trembling hands and said desperately, "I am not being
unreasonable or dramatic. Even you didn't know how much his cruel words
affected me. I always put on a brave face, but inside, I was battling a lot of
insecurities, and I think, on some level, I still am."

Malfoy brought to life everything she doubted about herself.

Harry did understand what she felt, but never to the fullest extent. He felt a
deep sense of loathing towards Malfoy, but he swallowed the anger and
comforted his best friend, "You are a remarkable woman, and you shouldn't
let the childish ramblings of a pampered prat affect you."

He closed the gap between them, bent to her level, took Hermione’s hands
in his, and said firmly, "I wish you told me. Anyway, try to drink some
coffee and get to bed. Do not answer the door unless you are absolutely sure
of the person on the other side."

Her sour mood resumed, and she felt anger at someone other than Malfoy,
"I hope you catch him soon. He seems like a real sick bastard."

Harry spat through clenched teeth with purpose, "I hope so too. I won't get a
good night's sleep until I do."

Hermione offered a half-hearted smile and said gratefully, "Thank you for
bringing me home."

Harry returned the warmth wholeheartedly. It truly gutted him to see her
suffer when he and Ron were doing well. He mustered a bright smile and
said truthfully, "You're the sister I never had. I love you, Granger."

Hermione mustered a happy smile, "I love you too, Potter." She watched
him pull out his wand and disappear with the flick of his wrist.
 Chapter 16
Chapter Notes

Building up their story! Sexual tension and important decisions.

To all the comments:- Thank you so much for the delightful feedback!
:)

I know the slow burn is gutting, but I do have to bring in that tension.
Please do bear with me :)

Enjoy Chapter Sixteen!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Hermione's Flat

The next morning, Hermione was up at dawn. She managed a few hours of
sleep despite her frazzled nerves. In deep thought, she stared at the ceiling
and considered how best to approach the situation at hand. Her head
throbbed mildly due to her vanishing inside a bottle of red wine the
previous night, but it wasn't too bad and nothing a quick potion couldn't fix.

She needed but did not want to see Malfoy. They had to speak about their
situation and his drastic, mind-altering pronouncement. It was a
conversation she dreaded, but someone had to do the dirty work. After a
quick hot cleansing shower, she stepped into the coolness of her bedroom,
smelling of lavender and roses. While still wrapped in a towel, she dried her
hair and let the semi-wet tussles fall wildly around her shoulders. She threw
open the doors to her white-painted cupboard, stood with her legs apart,
hands on her hip, and contemplated what the most appropriate attire would
be.
A pretty new light blue shirt caught her eye. She fetched it along with a
matching black pencil skirt and unconsciously wore a matching set of
flattering black undergarments. The choice was maddening. Either spread
her legs for her childhood tormentor or have her magic taken away. She felt
any respect for Kingsley slip away with every abhorrent thought.

Satisfied by her appearance, she took a deep breath, waved her wand and
disapparated to Malfoy Manor. She appeared a little way from the entrance.
The surrounding gardens were truly exquisite, and minuscule dewdrops
clung to the petals of roses that led the way to the ancestral home. The fresh
morning air was so breathtaking that Hermione found herself bending over
to inhale the rich fragrance of the flowers she passed.

Standing at the bottom of the marble stairs, she stared at the imposing
Manor and gathered the courage she would need. “You can do this,”
Hermione said to herself and quickly jogged up the stairs. Her heels clicked
stridently against the polished floor. Once at the top, she fixed herself up,
took a deep breath and used the ancient knocker with a snake entwined
around it to make her presence known. She could hear metal colliding with
a thick wood echo through the empty halls of the Manor.

Hermione did not have to wait long. The door opened at once, and a very
taken-back house-elf stared at her wide-eyed and unblinking. She smiled
warmly, "Good morning, Dotty."

The tiny elf shifted her feet nervously, "Miss is here early. The mistress is
still asleep." She unsurely looked at the top floors, "Shall I wake her?"

Hermione interrupted and reluctantly mentioned the person she was eager
to meet, "No, I'm not here to meet Narcissa. Is Mal... Master Draco awake?"
She hoped he wasn't. It would give her immense pleasure to wake him up.

Dotty beamed and nodded enthusiastically, "Yes, Miss. Master gets up at

five am to do his exercises and meditate under the big oak tree."

Hermione could not help the surprise that twisted her face. Seriously, who
was this man?
She regained her former composure and requested politely, "Can you take
me to him?"

Dotty grinned, displaying a few missing teeth, "It would be my pleasure."

Hermione followed the bouncing elf up the stairs along white-marbled

corridors until they came to a halt in front of a translucent glass door. She
could see a figure moving within the space and hear the muffled grunts and
odd groans that came out of the same person. The distressing noises
alarmed her, but she said nothing to alert the elf to her thoughts.

Dotty knocked to make her presence known and timidly stepped inside
what appeared to be an exercise and training room. Hermione stood out of
sight and peered into the room to get a better look. It was entirely covered
with black-coloured padded mats and empty for the most part. She saw him
engaging with an odd-looking device made of wood. There was a neat
shrine of sorts to the far left, and a sizeable bell hung from the ceiling.
Every inch of the space baffled her, and she made a mental note to read up
on Muggle self-defence.

Dotty cleared her throat and bowed, "Master Draco.”

Draco glanced at the elf but continued with his intense workout. The elf
never interrupted him, and her intrusion piqued his interest, "Dotty? What
can I do for you? He added with a bright smile, "Might I add what a lovely
dress you have on."

Hermione stiffened. The blonde arsehole was being nice to a being he had
once considered beneath him and treated poorly.

Dotty beamed, blushed, and hugged herself tightly, "Thank you, sir." Due to
her master’s flattering comment, the tiny elf almost forgot why she was
there until Hermione cleared her throat pointedly and made a stern face.

Dotty looked at her tiny feet embarrassedly. She wasted no time and quickly
announced, "You have a visitor."
Draco was taken aback. His friends slept in until the sun bounced off their
arse and more so after a night of heavy drinking, "At this ungodly hour?
Who is it?" They had indulged far more than usual.

Hermione thought it best to step forward and make her presence known,
"The sun is shining brightly. It can hardly be considered ungodly, Malfoy."

Draco grinned. She had come to him. That was most interesting. Well, it
was an unprecedented turn of events. It might turn out to be a good day
indeed, but he kept that thought to himself, and instead, he greeted her
warmly, "Ah, Granger. This is a pleasant surprise."

He threw her an amused expression and mocked, "Didn't know you were a
morning person." Without so much as a second glance, he sped up his
movements, and strong arms collided with wood noisily.

Hermione looked closer at the space and replied coolly, "I'm not normally
up this early." Good manners kicked in, even if it was Malfoy she was
speaking with. Still, it was hard not to add a bit of sarcasm to her tone, but
she straightened and said much too sweetly, "Good morning."

Draco inhaled deeply, and the insistent rays of the sun coated his face in a
golden hue. He responded happily, "It is, isn't it?" She could not take her
eyes off the sweat dripping down his toned body and the black gloves that
fit snugly around his hand and long fingers. Her eyes moved over him and
came to rest on the shiny beaded black bracelet he wore in keen interest.
Each bead of sweat chased the other down his sculptured abdominal
muscles, and was absorbed by the black pants he wore.

Scars from the past wove intricate patterns across his pale chest. The rose-
tinged healed marks made him appear flawed and normal but added to his
appeal, if anything.

Draco looked her over and taunted mockingly, "Are you here to continue
from where we left off yesterday?" He was clearly referring to their heated
moment of passion in her office—a moment she wanted to forget about.
Hermione blushed but hid it well enough to gather her scattered wits and
fire back, "You wish. Do not flatter yourself. It was a complete
misjudgment on my part and will never happen again."

Draco smirked, refused to break eye contact, and called her out without a
shred of remorse, “You would sound more convincing if you stopped
staring at me.” He flexed his prominent muscles and pulled at the
drawstring of his loose bottoms.

Hermione squirmed uncomfortably and tried to avert her gaze, but Draco
stared deep into her eyes from where he stood and quipped, “Am I turning
you on?” She gathered some self-control and scoffed, “Not in the least. You
repulse me.” Her body disagreed. She unconsciously bit the inside of her
cheek so she didn’t say something utterly inappropriate.

Draco smirked in reply, "Do I? Pity." He dropped his voice so only she
would have the gratification of his words.

His tone turned husky with desire, "I can take you right here and now, and I
promise you will be a willing participant." She pictured his tongue at her
core and shuddered before swallowing hard. He did seem like the type who
would be good at that sort of thing. She would sit on his face with ardent
pleasure, which was a fact.

Hermione groaned internally at the appalling thoughts that bounced around

her mind. With some degree of control, she pushed aside her sinful thoughts
and walked into the padded room without invitation. The tip of her heel dug
into the spongey mattress, and she wobbled unsteadily.

Draco raised a gloved hand, narrowed his eyes, and stopped her from taking
a step further. He sounded far from pleased. On the contrary, he seemed
rather peeved, “This is my place of solitude and peace. I will not have you
walking about in those ridiculous shoes. I must insist you show some
respect.” He then pointed to his bare feet to further solidify his point.

A seemingly deadly smile curved his lips, and he said with more
satisfaction than necessary, “Get rid of them.”
Hermione was not about to give in so easily. She asked in outrage, “What?”

Draco cocked his head to the side and let his eyes rove over her slender
legs. His misty grey orbs settled on her stylish Italian black high heels. He
watched her struggle to hold onto her bearings and mused, “You look like a
baby taking his or her first steps.”

Hermione placed her hands on her hips, regarded the ice-blonde man with
some newfound hostility, and scowled, “You are such a git.”

Draco ignored her ramblings, pointed to where she continued to falter, and
advised sternly, “If you want to come in here, then do as you are told.”

Hermione stood with her legs apart to balance herself evenly without
toppling uncourteously to the ground. She scrunched up her nose and spat,
“I don't take orders from the likes of you, Malfoy.”

He pointed to the exit, returned to his routine, and countered coolly, “Then
leave. We can pick this up some other time.” She stood staring at him with
her mouth hanging open from being dismissed so quickly and unable to find
a suitable retort.

Draco took the upper hand and demanded, "Now, Granger!" He pointed to
an area in the corner which occupied a single pair of odd-looking cloth
shoes.

She reluctantly conceded defeat, "Fine!"

Hermione wobbled over to the area, slipped out of the four-inch heels, kept
them neatly in the designated area for shoes, and placed a pedicured, dainty
foot onto the soft but sturdy surface.

Without her heels, she was over a foot shorter than him, and he threw her a
thoroughly appeased look and teased boldly, “You like being controlled,
don't you?” Of all the bloody, brazen, inappropriate comments to make.

Her blood boiled, "Piss off." He wasn’t wrong, though.

Draco laughed aloud and continued to practice his defensive moves on the
wooden dummy. His arms and hands moved with practised ease. Over and
over, he repeated the action and finished with a hard kick to the side of the
device, making it tremble and almost come apart.

She watched his movements in fascination. When he bent down to touch his
toes without bending his knees and went into a full split, Hermione widened
her eyes and said before she could help herself, “That looks painful.” His
family jewels were undoubtedly taking a severe beating.

Draco supposed he was showing off a tab bit and replied sarcastically, “You
have no idea. He got to his feet, did a few stretches, and punched the air.

Hermione watched him intently and asked intriguingly, “Is it fun?”

Draco raised a brow and asked in interest, “Do you want to give it a go?”
He could not recall her involvement in anything other than study. She was
always the one with her nose buried in books.

Hermione pointed to her black skirt and light blue blouse and stated the
obvious, “No, thank you. I rather not cover myself in sweat and muck
before work.”

Draco shrugged, “Suit yourself.” He moved towards the giant punching bag
that hung in the corner. He tightened his gloves and did a few roundhouse
kicks. Hermione could not help but notice the specks of dust that flew off
the bag whenever his well-timed kick connected with the heavy bag.

The sleek black leather of the gloves covered his fingers like a second skin.
At first glance, it looked like an extension of himself. He really was all firm
muscles and taut lines.

She was staring again, something she seemed to be doing a lot of when he
was around. Then again, hatred aside, he was an impressive specimen. His
kick connected hard with the bag, and it swayed dangerously. Draco
steadied it with his hands and inquired with perverse satisfaction, “How's
your boyfriend’s nose? I didn't get a chance to ask yesterday since you were
on your knees and everything.”
Hermione frowned at the double innuendo but replied stubbornly, “Terry is
doing very well, and he's not my boyfriend.”

Draco kept his eyes on the bag, took his stance, and laughed, “Someone
ought to tell the bloke that. He's completely smitten with you.”

Hermione dreaded the direction their conversation was headed, “Well, that's
not my concern.” He abandoned his assault on the bag and turned to face
her slowly. He knew her to be the type of person to care about every
insignificant thing.

It surprised him that she sounded oddly cold and indifferent towards a man
she had been intimate with. He voiced his opinion without holding back,
"Never had you pegged for a heartless bitch."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the unfair remark. Terry wasn't a child; they
were adults, and while he wanted more, she simply wasn't in the same
mindset to accommodate, so why must she be insulted for that?

She hissed warningly, "You know nothing about me, Malfoy."

Draco locked eyes with the fuming woman. God's, she was an enticing sight
when enraged. He wanted to fuck her with abandon. He licked his bottom
lip and replied firmly, "I know my presence makes you uncomfortable." She
shamelessly watched the faint outline of his soft cock, or did her eyes
deceive her because a definite hardness pressed against the cotton material,
and she didn't care to be blatantly obvious.

His steely toned voice cut into her thoughts. He wanted her to know that he
did not lose her wandering eyes, "My face is up here, Granger." The
mocking tone vanished from his sultry drawl, and seriousness took its place,
"Would you like a closer look?"

Hermione disengaged herself from the dangerous thoughts running rampant

and muttered almost incoherently, "Hmm, what did you say?"

Draco pointed to a large fluffy towel on a makeshift bench next to a tall

water bottle and requested civilly, "Hand me that towel."
Hermione threw the Egyptian cotton a look of contempt and retorted
childishly, "Get it yourself." He slicked his hair back and grinned, "Come
on, I did ask nicely. Be a good girl."

Hermione rolled her eyes, picked up the white towel, closed the distance
between them, and held it out for him to take. She tutted to show her
evident annoyance.

A fraction of a second was all it took. Draco grabbed her by the wrist,
pulled her close, and trapped her to his body. The towel fell clumsily to the
floor, but neither paid much attention to it. He put both arms around her and
held on tight. Hermione squirmed and struggled in his hold.

She demanded in panic, "What are you doing?"

Draco buried his head in her messy tangle of hair and inhaled deeply,
"Mm... that smell. I could drown in it. It's bewitched me, and I think of it
often." His hand dropped to her rounded bottom to pull her close. It was a
bold move, and he was fully prepared for her rebuttal that never came.

A gasp escaped her lips as his long fingers dug into her covered arse, and
she pressed flush against his sweat-soaked chest. Her hands were palm
down and pressed up against his glistening defined pecks. His manly smell
invaded her space, and she took a deep breath of him in his rawness. She
dug her nails into his flesh in a futile attempt to cause him some discomfort.

A low guttural groan escaped his mouth, and his eyes fluttered shut for a
second. When he opened them, they were clouded by the obvious longing
for her.

He saw the outline of the black lacy bra peeking out through the unbuttoned
top part of her blouse. The smooth skin of her mounds was blemish-free,
and he fought the urge to pull down a silky bra cup, take a tit in his mouth
and twirl his tongue around what he assumed was a pert rosy nipple.

Draco placed a gloved finger under her chin and lifted her face to meet his.
Hermione looked at him through hooded lids. Her fingers were sleek with
his sweat, but she made no real effort to move away. Her hands stayed
perfectly still. She feared moving them would exacerbate the situation, but
by Merlin, she wanted to slide a hand inside his jogging bottoms and palm
his cock.

She was mere seconds away from crushing his lips with hers and
succumbing to his advances. In that moment of heated weakness, she
almost forgot who she was toying with.

His lips almost touched hers, and he whispered, "You’re sweating." She
tilted her head back, wiped her brow clean, and appeared puzzled, "No, I'm
not."

A knowingly smug smirk curved his lips, "Not up here." His hypnotic eyes
travelled down her body, and he expectedly glanced at her crotch.

Hermione balled her hands into fists and pushed against his chest, but to no
avail. He seemed to enjoy her mild resistance. She brought her head up and
hurled, "You’re incorrigible."

His grip loosened, but she stayed firmly in his arms. He took in the wetness
where his sweat had rubbed off on her and apologised half-heartedly, "I'm
afraid my mucks rubbed off on you."

Hermione stared, mesmerised by the moisture that coated her fingers and
nodded indecisively. Draco tucked a curly tendril of hair behind her ear and
asked seriously, "Do you want to shower together?" She thought he was
making a pass, but it was apparent from how he looked at her that he was
serious. Hermione swallowed hard and inquired slowly but firmly, "Why
are you doing this?" He was acting so far out of character that it was
downright unnerving, and it threw her completely.

Draco moved his hand to the back of her neck and fisted the wild fibres of
hair, "What am I doing, Granger?" Hermione felt the urgent tug of his
fingers as they entwined themselves around strands of her thick hair.

A jolt of pleasure tore through her, but she refused to show any signs of
weakness, "Flirting with me. You despise me."
He pulled her head back and ran hungry eyes over her glowing face. When
she challenged him with the flame that burnt in the depths of her orbs, he
placed a soft kiss on her cheek, then to the side of her mouth, and rasped,
"Do I?"

Merlin, she was losing herself. A hole opened and threatened to swallow her
whole and propel her into an area of pleasure unknown. Her breathing
elevated, but she still managed to fire back in a sultry undertone, "Yes, you
do. You think I'm disgusting."

He cupped her face with his free hand. The rough texture of the leather felt
deliriously good against her skin. He used his thumb to caress her flushed
cheek, "There's nothing remotely disgusting about you."

Hermione closed her eyes, leaned into his touch, and muttered, "You don't
mean that." Salazar, she was so receptive to the attention he bestowed. A
sudden possessiveness burst forth, and he bared his teeth in a futile attempt
to control himself. These feelings went against his teachings, and they did
not sit well with him.

Still, he owed her an honest answer. Brushing away the strands that fell on
her face, he said truthfully, "All I see is an accomplished, stunning woman
in my arms."

She was glad he was holding her up because had she been standing on her
own, the words, he uttered made her knees buckle. He laid a trail of light
but precise kisses down her neck and groaned against her skin, "I must say
you look rather enticing surrounded by my morning filth. It's a sight one
could get used to."

Hermione felt the slightest touch and probe of his tongue press into her
heated skin. She threw her head back, "Malfoy...."

He said frankly, "I feel strangely drawn to you." His hold on her tightened,
and he demanded, "Give in."

Hermione opened her eyes and replied in contempt. The conflict in her
crackled, but she kept it at bay. She stared into his face and warned, "Don't
say things like that to me."

Draco stared back, willed his rapidly beating heart to still, and insisted,
"Why? It's the truth."

Conflict won over, and Hermione retaliated, "It fucks with my head, and
you have done enough of that to last a lifetime."

Draco reluctantly relaxed his hold and offered the most genuine apology of
his life, "I'm sorry, Granger."

Hermione was disturbed and troubled by her body's reaction to her former
bully. She hissed, "I don't want your fucking apology." Without a shadow of
a doubt, he offered, "Tell me what you want. Ask me for anything, and I'd
gladly give it up."

Hermione stiffened, pressed her lips down for a quick moment, and replied
with weaning confidence, "I want you to let me go." She should've asked
for her weight in gold and donated it to her favourite charities.

Draco bent to her ear, kissed the earlobe, gently grazed it with his teeth, and
said hoarsely, "As you wish." He let go, spread his arms wide, and offered
himself whole, "I want to make amends for how I've treated you."

Hermione missed the warmth. It was the third time she would deny him
because of their unsettling past. She accused, "And flirting with me and a
possible night of sex is the way to do that?"

Draco chuckled, "No, but it is a rather pleasurable start, don't you agree?"

Hermione stomped her foot down and argued, "I most certainly disagree.
You made me feel shite about myself. You have no right to make me feel
this way, so please stop it. He softened his tone; regret laced his heavy
words, "I know. Let me fix this, Hermione." Her name rolled off his tongue
like it was meant to be, and she would not stand for it. She closed her eyes
and let the overwhelming rush of emotions wash over her, "No, you don't
know, and don't you dare use my name."
Draco put up his hands in defeat, "Okay, I'm sorry." Hermione felt her
patience snap, and she scolded severely, "And another thing, stop
apologising."

She added viciously, "it sounds stupid coming out of your mouth, and it
means nothing to me." He had his work cut out for him. Did he expect
anything less? Not in a heartbeat. It was a minor miracle she tolerated being
in the same room as him, but he couldn't help the fire she ignited every time
they were alone.

Draco pointed to the area just above her shaped eyebrow and said with a
smile, "It's healed nicely." She touched the barely visible mark. At home,
she had scrutinised it and pondered over the ability he possessed when it
dawned on her what it was.

Hermione fixed her now crumpled shirt and raised a curious brow, "How
long have you been able to do wandless magic?"

Draco grinned and retorted sarcastically, "Ah, the smartest witch of our age
has finally figured it out." He added mockingly, "Took you long enough."

Hermione reasoned, "It's not something you see every day." She was
beyond impressed that he had mastered such a unique talent. Most tried but
failed miserably in their attempt. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she
inquired, "Where did you learn how to do that?"

Draco quipped playfully, "Careful you’re salivating, Granger." He trusted

her and saw no misgivings about letting let her in on his secret, "It's not
where but how. Once I perfected meditation and made peace with my past, I
could perform wandless magic."

Hermione grew thoughtful, "I read about that somewhere."

Draco rolled his eyes, "Of course you did." She wandered over to the
wooden dummy, ran her fingers along the smooth surface, and probed
further, "Where have you been all these years?"
He ignored her question and came straight to the point, "Why are you here,
Granger? It's obviously not to see how I am, and my mother's asleep."
Despite the sexual tension, there were more pressing issues to address.

She only got the first word out before being rudely interrupted,
"Kingsley..."

Draco snickered and offered smugly, "Ah, you’re playing messenger."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and glared, "The Minister wants
me to help overturn your decision."

Draco raised a curious brow and knowingly quipped, "But you have no
intention of doing that." He couldn't help the laughter that rippled off him:
"I had no idea my decision would merit a home visit."

Hermione rubbed her arms in an attempt to warm herself. She took a deep
breath and told him sternly, "Well, Kingsley is quite displeased by your
supercilious attitude, and as he eloquently put it, if I don't play along, I am
to join you in the Muggle world."

Draco balled his hands into fists, and a bluish glow encased them. He
glared, and anger radiated off him in waves, “What? He can't fucking do
that. This is my choice. He can hardly penalise you for it."

Hermione was clearly taken aback by his outburst, but she shrugged and
replied unsurely, "I doubt he meant it. It's just an empty threat from a
desperate man." While she genuinely believed that to be the truth, there was
a smidge of doubt that niggled at her.

Draco asked in keen interest, "Desperate? How so?" He found the

Minister's behaviour rather bizarre.

Hermione couldn't be arsed to go into the details of pureblood nonsense, but

she offered a summarised explanation, "Sacred twenty-eight and all that
pureblood bullshite."
Draco was beside himself, "That's preposterous. There is no hard and fast
rule that my line has to continue." If there was, his mother nor his father
had informed him. It seemed like a thing Lucius Malfoy would proudly
declare to the world.

Hermione shook her head exasperatedly, "Apparently, it's important that it

does."

Draco looked worried. He stared into the distance in deep thought.

After a few minutes, Hermione gave him some space and gathered her
courage to ask, "Umm, did you mean it?" He replied with a crisp, "What?"
She exaggeratedly pointed to the finery that surrounded them within the
room but mostly outside and asked in sincere interest, "Would you give all
this up to keep from marrying me?"

Draco replied without a single second’s hesitation, "Of course. I won't force
you into a marriage you don't want." Every word he said was the absolute
truth. He emphasised the word you.

That baffled her, and she probed, "And you do? Do you even want to marry
me?" It sounded like he would entertain the thought. Physically, she was
appealing and intellectual, but when it came down to the bitter facts of
building a life together, he knew they couldn't possibly live in joyful
matrimony.

He threaded carefully. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he
didn't want her and needlessly crush her feelings or ego.

With a small, understanding smile, Draco replied cautiously and hoped his
choice of words was for the best, "I never said that, but it is worse for you
than it will ever be for me. Besides, I owe you for the horrid way I treated
you in the past."

Hermione felt his sincerity, even though it was a bitter pill to swallow that
the imposing man before her could be a changed man. But old habits die
hard, and she demanded sarcastically, "Do you honestly feel remorse for
your actions, or is all this a cleverly devised plan to throw people off?"

Draco felt his temper slip. He understood her anger, but he had been
nothing but a complete gentleman towards her. Narrowing his eyes to mere
slits, he hissed, "If you're here to convince me, you’re doing a piss poor job
of it."

He added in obvious annoyance, "Let us drop the pretences, shall we?"

Hermione concurred. This was the Malfoy she could relate to. A smirk
curved her red lips, and she fawned mockingly, "I have no bloody intention
of convincing you of anything. If you intend to leave all this behind, I'm not
going to stop you." She stared directly at him and hurled without a single
thread of guilt, "I can honestly say, I don't give a rat's arse if the Malfoy line
dies with you."

Draco retaliated and shot back fiercely, "I doubt you can even if you tried. I
have already made up my mind." His face twisted in sadness, and he said in
remorse, "My only regret is leaving my mother.” He studied her sudden
change in body language at the mere mention of Narcissa and asked
expectantly, "Will you continue to be there for her as you have in the past?"
There was no doubt his mother and Granger were close. They had come
together and bonded in an unparalleled way.

Hermione watched him intently, and for a fraction of a second, her heart
broke at his honest declaration. She nodded without hesitation, "You have
my word. It might be hard for you to comprehend, but I am very fond of
your mother." She added for good measure, "It’s shocking that you came
out of her."

Draco couldn't help but smile at the childish banter. He nodded decisively,
"It's settled then."

Hermione nodded in reply and smirked, "But it'll be our little secret. No
telling on me to Kingsley." He was impressed by her innate Slytheriness.
Draco gave a gentlemanly nod and grinned, "I will be sure to tell the
Minister that you tried your utmost to convince me."

He took off his gloves, moved his fingers about to generate better blood
circulation, and asked haughtily, "Besides, do I look like a rat to you?"

She poked fun at his expense, "Hmm, a rat, no. Definitely a ferret."

He had walked right into that one, but it allowed him to add a snide remark,
"Even as a ferret, I'm still better looking than most, including your rather
plain boyfriend."

Hermione was getting thoroughly annoyed, "He is not my boyfriend." Was

he deaf that she had to keep repeating the same thing? It was a thought that
constantly plagued his mind. He decided to put caution to the wind and ask
the spirited woman, "Have you slept with him?"

Hermione was appalled by the question. She gritted her teeth but managed
to hiss an eligible, "That's none of your business, Malfoy."

Draco grinned triumphantly, "So, that's a firm no." He enjoyed her

discomfort immensely. If she had slept with the mediocre wizard, it would
make breaking his nose worthwhile, but that wasn't the case.

A satisfied smirk tugged at his lips, and he said, "Shocking since ponytail
boy wants nothing more than to get into your pretty little knickers."

Hermione frowned and made her displeasure evident, "That is a vulgar way
of pointing it out."

She lied unconvincingly, "Well, for your information, we have."

Draco looked thoughtful, "Hmm, I'm quite gifted at knowing when people
lie."

Hermione defended weakly, "I am not lying."

Draco laughed aloud and pointed to an area on her face, "Yes, you are. The
twitch on the side of your right eye increases when you fib.” Her fingers
went to the spot. What bloody twitch was he on about?

He might have sounded hopeful, maybe even a bit desperate, but he warned,
"Don't sleep with him, Granger. You can do better than Belt."

Hermione stifled the giggle that rose, "Boot, his name is Boot."

Draco rolled his eyes, "Whatever."

Hermione snorted and cynically pointed out, "I suppose you think you're
better?"

Draco puffed his chest out importantly. He hardly needed reassurance that
he was indeed better than Boot.

He ran his fingers through his knotted hair strands and replied smugly,
"There's a distinct difference between thinking and knowing."

His confidence was staggering. Hermione shook her head and frowned,
"You are unbelievable."

Draco fiddled with the drawstring on his bottoms. He looked up, stared into
Hermione’s dark chocolate spheres, and requested politely, "Join us for
breakfast. Mother will enjoy your company. "

He looked out of the window and concluded that it was late enough for the
rest of the Manor to be awake. Draco added fondly, "She should be up by
now."

Hermione was surprised by the invitation. She hadn't expected it, which
threw her off. She fumbled with her words, "What? I er.."

Draco sensed her unease and added a joke into the mix to lighten the mood,
"I promise, I won't bite. Well, not hard, at least, and not unless you ask me
to."
Hermione regarded the tall, pale-skinned man. She flashed a devilish grin,
cocked her head to the side, and replied kindly, "I think we can share a meal
and be civil to each other."

Draco smirked and said good-naturedly, "That's the spirit. I'll meet you
downstairs." She stood rooted to the spot, entranced by his movements and
how his fingers pulled at the drawstring.

His amused voice bore into her thoughts. She was shamelessly staring
again. Close up. His body was even more impressive, "Granger, are you
going to stand there staring at me while I undress?" She snapped clear out
of her daze, stepped back, and almost fell, "What? No."

Draco let out a laugh and said confidently, "I have no qualms about it, but
there are more comfortable places in the Manor where you can rip the
clothes off me."

Hermione’s mouth fell open in shock. She couldn't help but stare at the
bare-bodied ex-Slytherin smirking at her. He closed the gap between them
and drawled, "Morning sex has a rather desirable quality, don't you agree?"

Hermione took a further step back, away from his prying hands, and
retorted sarcastically, "I know you’re probably used to bloody brainless
women falling at your feet but let me assure you, I am not one of them."
Sure you aren't, Granger. Then, stop staring at the man's body.

Draco bowed in respect but teased, "Oh, of course not, Madam

Undersecretary."

Hermione frowned when she realized he was trying to rile her up, "You're
making fun of me, aren't you?"

Draco looked offended, "I wouldn't dare." He strode towards an open door.
She could make out white bathroom tiles and a sizeable glass-encased
cubicle from where she stood. He glanced over his shoulder and brazenly
said, "The offer to join me in the shower is still open."
Hermione turned on her heel, gathered her shoes and quite literally fled the
room with Draco's laughter bellowing in her wake. She was sorely tempted
to call his bluff and take him up on the offer, but somehow, she knew it was
no trick.

The way his eyes ran over her body was enough to tell her that. He had this
intensity about him that made her shudder in anticipation. It was pretty hard
to put into words, only to feel his smouldering gaze devour her whole. No,
Hermione, this is Malfoy. Comments from their past tormented her –

"Granger, they're after Muggles. Do you want to be showing off your

knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around.…they're moving this
way, and it would give us all a laugh."

She remembered how angry Ron and Harry had been at the cruel words
spewing out of Malfoy's mouth. Caught up in her thoughts and struggling
with the task of putting her shoes back on, she overlooked a door closing
and an aristocratic voice calling out her name in surprise, "Hermione?"

It took Narcissa two attempts to get the attention of the distracted witch
who was in her own world. The regal woman dressed in shimmering grey
robes tried again, more loudly this time, "Hermione?" Finally, she managed
to get through.

Oh, hell.

Hermione smiled warmly and greeted, "Good morning, Narcissa." A surge

of guilt swept over her, and she couldn’t bring herself to look at the older
woman.

Narcissa waved aside the greeting and got straight to the point, "When did
you arrive?"

Hermione cleared her throat and replied sheepishly, "A little after seven."

Narcissa raised a perfectly shaped brow and questioned suspiciously,

"Should I ask why you're here this early and coming out of my son's
training room?"

She grinned uncharacteristically and quipped, "I'm assuming you didn't

spend the night."

Hermione blushed crimson at the meaning, "Oh, Merlin, no." She hurriedly
explained, "I had some things to discuss with Malfoy."

Narcissa eyed the young witch sceptically, "No doubt you did. Am I
allowed to know what these things are?"

Hermione averted her gaze nervously, tried to gather her wits, and said
diplomatically, "I think he should tell you when the time is right." Narcissa
narrowed her eyes and probed impatiently, "What are you two planning?
Whatever it is, I doubt I will like it." Both were headstrong individuals and
stubborn as mules.

Hermione spotted a glass cabinet she had not seen before. Eager to stir the
conversation towards more positive things, she asked in interest, "That's
gorgeous. Is it new?"

Narcissa followed her gaze, nodded, and replied sternly, "Yes, it is. Stop
trying to change the topic."

Hermione shifted her feet and responded, "I'm not. There's really nothing to
tell."

Narcissa looked at the young witch with apprehension. Her long robes
trailed behind her, and Hermione sidestepped the material that got under her
foot. The regal woman glanced over her shoulder and saw Hermione
following her. She asked in surprise, "Are you joining us for breakfast?"

Hermione nodded meekly and explained in a hurry, "Your son invited me,
and I graciously accepted because I wanted to see you." They entered the
lavish area and sat down at the long table.
Narcissa looked perplexed and anything but convinced by Hermione’s lie.
Instead, she offered a motherly smile, "Indeed, but I am pleased to see you.
I miss our chats." A voice from the entrance injected, "Well, there's no
reason why they can't continue." He ran his long fingers through his slightly
wet, wild hair and grinned, "Don't let my return stop your weekly
meetings."

They turned towards the voice, and Hermione’s breathing hitched. She
brought her thighs together, clamped them shut, and willed the moisture
lining her silk knickers to drift away. He was wearing a white turtleneck
and blue jeans. She wanted nothing more than to run her fingers through his
incredibly soft hair.

Draco gave his mother a quick peck on the cheek, "Morning, Mother."

Narcissa smiled fondly, "Good morning, my son."Hermione thought he

would bend to kiss her cheek too, but Draco took his place at the head of
the table, reached for the white napkin, and placed it on his lap.

He turned to face her and flashed her his flawless smile, "Thank you for
accepting my invitation, Granger." The pungent smell of his cologne filled
the space. It was such an intoxicating fragrance that she felt herself lean
towards it involuntarily.

So caught up in her thoughts, Hermione mumbled incoherently,

"Hmpugh..."

Narcissa looked at her in concern, but Draco mused, "What? I didn't quite
catch that."

Hermione covered her mouth, coughed politely, and straightened, "I'm

sorry, you’re welcome." Idiot. Get a bloody hold of yourself, woman.
Malfoy is an evil sodding git. She was completely aware of his presence
and how he kept undressing her with his clear grey eyes.

Narcissa was oblivious to sexual tension steaming up the room, or she was,
but chose to ignore it. She clicked her fingers, and Dotty appeared out of
thin air. Narcissa smiled affectionately at the tiny elf and requested politely,
"Dotty, be a dear and serve breakfast." Within seconds, the table was laden
with cut fruit, platters of cold cut meats, fresh bread, plump juicy sausages,
buttery scrambled eggs, sizzling bacon, and a variety of jams and
marmalade. The area filled with a mouthwatering aroma, and Hermione felt
her stomach churn in hunger.

She waited for everyone else to serve themselves before she helped herself,
but Draco shot her an amused look and offered, "After you, Granger." She
helped herself to a spoonful of scrambled eggs, a few strips of bacon, and
two slices of toast smothered in butter. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw
the man at the table eat a few pieces of fruit.

The unkind words left her mouth before she could heed them, "How frugal
of you."

Narcissa nodded in agreement and cut up a fat sausage, "I always tell him to
eat more."

Draco shrugged and bit into a ripe peach. A tiny trickle of juice dripped
down his chin, and he lapped at the sweet nectar with his tongue.

He smiled at the ladies and argued fondly, "I'm just getting started. Besides,
I can't afford to pack my body with calories. It makes my body lethargic
and interferes with meditation." Suddenly conscious of her eating habits,
Hermione stared at her plate packed with greasy food.

Fuck it. It was delicious, and she hardly ever got home-cooked breakfast.
Her meals usually came in plastic containers. They stole meaningful
glances as they continued with the hearty meal. He bit into fruit
suggestively and glimpsed her way to catch her reaction. She purposely
ignored him and ate with gusto. An uncomfortable silence followed, pierced
only by the sounds of knives and forks scraping against China plates.

Hermione felt the rough sole of a shoe rub up against her exposed calf. She
stiffened and dropped her knife clumsily. Narcissa raised a brow and
inquired, "Are you alright, Hermione?"
Words deserted her, Hermione nodded to appease Narcissa, and when the
older woman turned away, she threw the grinning platinum blonde a look of
deep loathing, but she didn't attempt to thwart his advances or move her
chair away. Her thoughts from the previous day crept into her mind.

She did perversely enjoy Malfoy lusting after her. It was the bitter truth. It
gave her immense satisfaction that a man who considered her beneath him
was willing to be touched by her most intimately, and that little fact was
sending her hormones all the wrong signals.

Draco withdrew his leg and bit into a piece of marmalade and toast as if
nothing transpired. He dabbed the corners of his mouth to get rid of excess
crumbs and asked sincerely, "Granger, would you do us the honour of
joining us for dinner? I have some news to share that involves you."

Narcissa sat up straight. Her son's invitation to have Hermione over for
dinner piqued her interest and sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.
She asked him impatiently, "What news might that be?"

Draco reached over, covered his mother's hand with his, and replied
tactfully, "Patience, mother."

Narcissa did not care for their carefree attitude or for being handled with
kids' gloves. It was unnerving, and she felt a deep sense of unease in her
gut.

Never one to hold back, she voiced her thoughts harshly, "The both of you
are acting rather strange, and I can't say that I care for it."

Hermione interrupted. She mustered a smile and hoped to neutralise the

situation, “Oh...yes, that would be lovely, Malfoy."

Draco perked up and smiled gratefully, "Splendid."

Narcissa looked at them suspiciously but kept mum for the time being.
Dotty served cups of steaming tea. Everyone held a cup and sipped the hot,
soothing liquid.
Hermione spied the latest edition of the Daily Prophet and asked Draco
curiously, "Did you see the article in the Prophet?"

Draco chuckled, "I did. I am quite fond of that picture. They captured my
good side."

Hermione stomped on his foot under the table and clenched her teeth,
"Malfoy, you arrogant pri..."

Narcissa reprimanded sternly, "Draco!" The blonde continued to laugh. He

found it quite hilarious, in fact, "Relax, mother. I'm only teasing Granger."

He winked at Hermione and joked, "Her boyfriend is in one piece."

Narcissa said in realisation, "Oh, he's the gentleman you were with at the
Leaky Cauldron." After a moment’s thought, she added, "It never dawned
on me."

Draco frowned and wondered what circumstances led to his mother meeting
with Granger’s plaything. He inquired at once, "You've met him?"

Narcissa sipped her tea and offered offhandedly, "Not really. I ran into
Hermione as they were...Well, you know." She trailed off, leaving the rest to
their avid imaginations.

Hermione blushed, hurriedly gulped the scalding liquid, and burnt her
tongue in the process.

Narcissa advised firmly, "You two must be careful. The vultures at the
Daily Prophet are always looking to stir up trouble. Be mindful of your
actions.”

Draco’s face fell, but yet, Hermione caught him staring at her intently. Both
shared a grave look of uncertainty, but none dared to utter a word.

Their next story would knock everyone's bloody socks off.

 Chapter 17
Chapter Notes

Slow burn! :)

Please bear with Hermione and me! :) :)

Carrie, once again, THANK YOU FOR THE AMAZEBALLS

SUPPORT :)

Please read and review. I love reading reviews because it helps

motivate my writing, while other reviews help me become a better
writer.

To all the comments, THANK YOU SO MUCH! :)

Enjoy Chapter Seventeen!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

The Burrow

"Would you like one lump or two, dear?" Molly asked from the kitchen.

Andromeda sat at the table and smiled pleasantly, "Two, please."

Molly added the sugar cubes to the mug and stirred the contents well until
they dissolved into the milky goodness. She brought the hot mugs over and
joined Andromeda at the table. An energetic Teddy Lupin sat cross-legged
on the hand-woven carpet and stroked the tabby cat, who purred in
satisfaction.
Molly threw the small boy a look of pure adoration and said brightly, "It is
lovely to see you both."

Andromeda took a chocolate biscuit out of the tin and bit into it gingerly
before replying cheerfully, "I thought of popping in since we haven't been
by since the wedding." She continued to munch on the biscuit and added in
admiration, "Such a lovely affair, by the way. It was very well planned."

Molly managed a smile and sipped her tea. Her reply was controlled yet
happy, "Tracey does seem to have things well under control."

Andromeda asked curiously, "Speaking of such things. How is Ron?"

Molly laughed good-heartedly, "He's having a ball in America. They seem

to have bonded quite nicely in their short time together."

Andromeda smiled politely, "That Is pleasing to hear."

Molly added cheerfully, "Although I wish he would stop sending me

pictures." She fetched a few photographs, and the latest one included a
happy picture of the couple at Disneyland with Ron sporting massive
Mickey Mouse ears.

Teddy rushed over. He looked at the pictures, and his infectious laughter
filled the space, "Uncle Ron looks like a giant mouse."

His young face looked thoughtful, "Disneyland sure looks like fun." He
asked his grandmother excitedly, "Can we go someday, Gran?"

Andromeda patted his full head of blue hair lovingly, "We can try, my
darling."

Molly pulled Teddy close and hugged him, "You're growing like a weed."

Teddy grinned, "I've seen pictures of Dad, and Uncle Harry told me he was
really tall. I hope I grow to be as tall as him."

Molly choked back a sob, and her lips quivered, "I'm sure you will."
Andromeda stared into her coffee, lost in deep thought.

Molly asked in interest, "Did you speak to Narcissa at the wedding?"

Andromeda sipped her tea and shook her head, "No, but we did
acknowledge each other's presence."

Molly looked hopeful, "It might be time to mend broken bridges," she said
thoughtfully, "Draco seems to be a changed man. I saw him dancing with
our Hermione."

Andromeda pressed her lips down to form a thin, stern line and muttered,
"Hmm, well, whether he's changed or not remains to be seen." The boy
looked too much like Lucius. She hoped the uncanny resemblance would be
the only quality he inherited from his ignorant father.

They chatted about the other Weasley children, and Molly excitedly told
Andromeda about Charlie, Percy, and young James. Teddy stared as he
often did at the happy family photographs of Molly and Arthur hugging
their children. He wished for warmth like that, and he did have great uncles
and aunties and a loving grandmother, but it simply wasn't the same thing.
He concentrated so hard on the pictures that one of the frames cracked and
fell to the floor in pieces.

Teddy backed away and apologised profusely, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean
it."

Molly was at his side in an instant to cradle him. He buried his head in the
warmth she offered and sobbed, "I didn't mean it."

She hugged him and cooed, "Of course you didn't, darling. It's quite all
right." The picture of Molly hugging Ginny lay face up.

Andromeda picked it up, brushed away the broken bits of glass and waved
her wand over it. Once the glass was replaced, she put it back in its original
place and hugged her beloved grandson tightly.
Andromeda patted his back and reassured him, "I know you didn't...calm
yourself. Accidents happen."

She and Molly exchanged a grave look of concern over the tuft of bright
green hair and shaking child.

No 12 Grimmauld Place

Harry's snowy white owl landed on its perch inside their bedroom and
ruffled its wings noisily to get her master's attention. She bore a strong
resemblance to Hedwig and Harry bought her on impulse when shopping in
Diagon Alley. Like Hermione and Ginny, he had overindulged to ease the
tension of the new case. He had solved many crimes, but this particular one
evaded him with purpose, and it riled him up to the point of near insanity.
He cracked open an eye, and the impatient owl took it as a sign to approach
him. She landed on the bedside cupboard and hooted with importance.

Ginny rolled away from her husband, covered her head with a fluffy pillow,
and groaned. She glanced at the clock from underneath the pillow and
frowned. It was half past eight, and James would be up soon.

Harry flung his legs off the bed, scratched his head, and yawned. He said
groggily, "I'm up." He affectionately stroked the bird's pure white feathers
and smiled sleepily. The owl, in turn, closed its eyes and gave a low hoot of
content.

Even without his glasses, his eyes went straight to the bright red envelope
clutched in the owl's talons. A red envelope spelt disaster. He quickly
fetched his glasses, slipped them on, grabbed the letter, tore it open and read
the contents. His eyes scanned over the details urgently. Once done, he
crumpled the paper and flung it across the room in anger. Not another one.
Head in his hands, he apologised to the woman whose life he couldn't save,
"I'm sorry. Forgive me."

Ginny stood up and hugged her distraught husband from behind. "Calm
down, Harry. You will catch the bastard."
Harry let himself be held as disappointment embodied him. He dreaded
facing the woman's family. That was the most challenging part. Sharing the
gruesome details of a loved one's demise was what he hated about the job.

James came running in on cue, jumped on the bed, and tried to climb on
Harry's back, but Ginny caught their son midair, smothered him with kisses,
and said gently, "Daddy needs to go to work, love. How about you help
mummy make breakfast?" The happy toddler bounced off the bed and
waited patiently for his mother to join him by the door.

Ginny placed a comforting kiss on Harry's bareback, got to her feet, tied her
hair up in a messy bun and grinned at her son jumping up and down
impatiently. She mumbled affectionately, "Little rascal." Taking his small
hand in hers, she threw her hunched-over husband a look of concern and led
the boy out.

Harry grabbed the edge of the bed in frustration, his fingers dug deep into
the bedding, and he fought to control his temper. He hoisted himself up and
headed straight for the bathroom. Harry buttoned his sleek black Auror
robes when Ginny returned with a steaming mug of coffee in his signature
Gryffindor cup. He took the cup with a small, forced smile and took a
gratifying sip.

Ginny looked sympathetic, "I know how important it is for you to catch
him, but you can't let the case consume you."

Harry frowned. It was unlike Ginny to lecture him this way, "It's my job."

Ginny stared into her husband's green eyes and said firmly, "I understand,
but you're hardly around except for the odd day you turn up at a decent time
like yesterday ."

Harry felt his annoyance grow. He opened his mouth to reply, "Ginny...."
She interrupted him and answered truthfully, "Your son misses you."

After a second, her gaze softened, and she stroked his cheek lovingly, "I
miss you."
Harry kept his temper at bay and responded, "I know, but I have a
community depending on me. I owe them a safe world to raise their
families."

"Always thinking of others," Ginny said with a sigh and turned to leave, but
Harry pulled her back and hugged her around the waist, "I love you and
James more than my life."

She turned in his arms, kissed the tip of his nose, and smiled, "Go save the
world, Potter."

Malfoy Manor

After Granger took her leave, Draco had a hankering to take a stroll under
the warm sun. He looked around, realised something was amiss, and voiced
his concern, "Where's Max?" A fond smile lit up Narcissa's face.

She was getting quite attached to their canine companion, "Ah, he should be
in the shed. I had him sent to a Muggle vet for grooming and trimming of
nails."

She hid an amused expression and confided, "I have three dresses riddled
with various claw marks and holes."

Draco laughed aloud and made his way over to the large kennel that housed
the white German Shepherd. He thought of his lips ghosting over Granger's
skin and decided he hadn't wanted a woman in a long time. The fact that she
was such a forbidden fruit made her all the more desirable, and he craved to
gorge on her hidden sweetness.

Max's unmistakable whimper could be heard loud and clear. The growing
dog longed to leave the confinement of his cage and run through the open
space of the gardens. Draco sensed the puppy's distress as he got closer.

He flicked his wrist, and the lock came undone. Max ran towards him at
breakneck speed, jumping into his waiting arms. He buckled under the dog's
weight, fell to his knees, and ruffled Max's head and underbelly. A
melodiously sweet voice made it to Draco's ears, "He's beautiful." He petted
Max, rose to his feet, dusted the stubborn, long white fur that clung to his
clothes, and smiled, "Tori, I wasn't expecting you."

The surprise he felt was evident in the tone of his voice. He silently thanked
Merlin she had arrived when she did and not when Granger was around.
Astoria returned the smile he bestowed upon her tenfold and said happily, "I
wanted to see you. I hope it's alright that I came by unannounced."

Max sniffed Astoria's hem and familiarised himself with her scent. She
affectionately followed the dog's movements and asked eagerly, "Can I pet
him?"

Draco responded, "Of course," and firmly instructed the dog, "Max, stay."
Max obeyed his master's command, cocked his head to the side, and keenly
awaited instructions. His long tongue fell out, and thick strands of drool fell
at its paws. The dog took kindly to Astoria's soft fingers running through its
long strands of fur.

She said fondly, "He's so precious. I've always wanted one, but mother
never allowed it."

Astoria was beautiful. Her cheeks were rosy and sun-kissed, and her long
black hair blew lightly in the wind.

Draco cleared his throat and addressed a more pressing issue, "What can I
do for you?"

She looked around the surrounding area, and a warmness spread across her
face, "Can we take a stroll around the gardens?"

Draco hesitated, but there was no real cause for him to decline an innocent
walk around the estate. "Of course," he said with a rather toothy grin and
offered his arm, which she enthusiastically accepted. Astoria leaned in and
took a deep breath of his cologne. They passed a row of blossoming white
and yellow roses in perfect rows.
Astoria gushed, "Your mother's roses are flourishing."

Draco gazed at the flowers lazily and nodded in reply, "Yes, they are. She
tends to them as if they were her children." Max chased after a butterfly and
disappeared from sight.

Draco grew impatient and called after him, "Max, come here, boy." He
wanted the dog by his side. It served as an invisible barrier between him
and the woman holding onto him possessively.

Astoria swallowed to clear the lump that formed in her throat, asking
bluntly, "Are you and Granger an item?" Straight to the point then, he
would be forced to humour her.

Draco stiffened but stared straight ahead and queried, "What gave you the
idea we were?"

Astoria brushed her fingers on the petals of a large flower and hesitated,
"The article in the Prophet, of course."

Draco chuckled, "Ah, and has the Prophet ever been known to print the
truth?"

Astoria stopped dead in her tracks, forcing Draco to follow her lead. She
turned him, forcing him to look directly at her, and probed impatiently, "Are
you saying it's not true?"

He didn't particularly enjoy the line of questioning, but he grudgingly

answered, "I did break the man's nose, that part was true, but the mention of
a love triangle is bollocks. Granger and I are involved in no such way."

Contentment radiated off Astoria's small frame, "You don't know how
happy it makes me to hear you say that."

She lowered her head as another harsh realisation sunk in, "What about the
law?"
His voice hardened, "I have dealt with it." Bringing his head up from
staring at his shoes, he tried to keep his following words straightforward yet
practical enough for her to see reason, "Tori, please listen…." He needed
her to understand.

Astoria closed the gap between them, placed a finger on his lips to stop him
from saying anything else, and shook her head slowly, "Please don't deny
me, Draco." He didn't deny her per se, but a relationship between them was
just not on the cards. He felt no stirring of any sort towards her except in
appreciation of her beauty.

Draco mumbled unconvincingly, "I'm not, but...."

Astoria felt her breathing hasten and her heart fill with joy. She said boldly,
"Then kiss me." She moved closer to his body, went on tiptoes, and placed a
gentle but enduring kiss on his lips. He stood unmoving. Blaise's words
from the night before rang steadily in his head about her having another
episode. It was harmless enough, so he let himself be kissed for the second
time. He should have known better than to fuel the infatuation of a
disturbed woman, even though he offered no enthusiasm or enjoyment and
just let her do as she wished.

A seemingly irritated cough interrupted them. Astoria saw no cause for

alarm and stood firmly by Draco's side. On the other hand, the sound made
him tense, and beads of sweat gathered above his top lip. He turned around
in time to catch Granger shooting metaphorical daggers at him.

She said sweetly, "I'm sorry, but I left my ledger in the foyer." Her haste to
confront him and the events that followed caused her to leave her bulky
journal behind. She would've let it rot rather than return to claim it, but
unfortunately, the book held important dates, documents, notes, and doodles
depicting her feelings towards wizards who wove in and out of her life.
Namely, Ron, Terry, Viktor, and a detailed sketch of Malfoy drowning. It
was the equivalent of a diary.

Draco cleared his throat and took a step closer, "Granger..."

Hermione stood her ground and cut him off mid-sentence, "I'll pop in, grab
it, and be out of your hair in a jiffy."

He said firmly, "Stop." It fell on deaf ears.

Hermione hurriedly said, "I'm sorry for the intrusion," and turned to walk
away when Astoria laughed and replied with false politeness, "That's quite
all right, Granger."

She looked Hermione over and mocked, "Hurry along now. You mustn't be
tardy. Good jobs are hard to find."

Draco stiffened at the rude remark and frowned at the petite brunette, who
was holding onto his arm jealously as if to stake her claim.

He heard the screech of protesting heels as Granger came to an abrupt halt,

turned around, and fixed Astoria with a look of complete disgust. She
cocked her head to the side and quipped sarcastically, "Have you ever
worked a day in your life, Greengrass?"

Astoria avoided eye contact, studied her perfectly manicured nails, and
replied snobbishly, "Can't say that I have. I have always been well provided
for." It was the answer Hermione was hoping for.

She didn't skip a beat with her razor-sharp but witty reply, "Not all of us are
born with a silver spoon up our arse."

Astoria grinned and mused, "How ladylike of you."

Draco wondered whether he should step in before Granger pulverised

Astoria where she stood. He decided it was for the best and got but a word
out, "Ladies..."

Hermione turned to him and said, with such false sweetness—it would've
made your teeth rot instantly—"She's the best match for a pampered prat
like you, Malfoy." He reeled back from the insult. So much for being the
nice guy. Granger shot him down at every opportunity.
Astoria did not take kindly to her beloved being insulted by a little know-it-
all nobody. She narrowed her eyes angrily, "How dare you insult us!"

Hermione scoffed, "Quite easily, apparently." She turned her back on the
pair, glanced over her shoulder, and shot Draco a frosty glare, "Good day to
you both." He made to follow her, but Astoria held him back.

Once Hermione disappeared from their sight, Astoria made her disapproval
clear, "She's so rude."

Draco stepped away from her grasp and scolded, "You started it, Tori. You
had no justifiable reason to be unkind to her."

Astoria brushed his berating aside and asked curiously, "Why was she here
in the first place?"

Draco gave his answer a bit of thought and retorted, "Granger and my
mother have grown close."

Astoria disapproved of their newfound friendship. What business did

Granger have with Narcissa? Her startling eyes bore into his and said in
stunned realisation, "That's impossible."

Draco felt disappointment stab his heart. He raised a brow and questioned,
"And why is that?" Astoria struggled to find a suitable answer without
sounding like a prejudged, pure-blood bitch.

Finally, it dawned on her, and she said with utmost importance, "She's
Potter's best friend."

Draco was hardly convinced. He asked again sternly, "And?" With every
word she uttered, he was losing the small amount of patience he managed to
retain.

Astoria rattled off, "Your father..." She crossed a line, and she knew it at
once. The blonde man's demeanour changed to icy cold, and he withdrew
further away from her.
His voice was barely audible; he hissed, "Is dead."

Astoria cried in shock, "Draco!" Her emotions were getting the best of her,
and she choked back a sob, "Why are you so cruel? I love you." And I don't.
He wanted to holler, but Astoria needed to be treated gently.

Draco wanted to sprint after Granger and explain. He knew they were
nothing, but he felt the need to set the record straight.

Astoria wiped tiny drops of tears that fell and muttered in unmistakable
pain, "I think I should leave."

Fuck.

Draco swallowed his feelings and smiled half-heartedly, "Tori, I'm not
trying to hurt you." Well, at least that was the truth. He let her touch him
and kiss him because he had seen firsthand the mental trauma his earlier
rejection had caused.

He would not be responsible for putting her in harm's way again. It was a
subtle game he needed to play to keep her safe. She hugged him across the
waist and laid her tear-stained cheek on his chest, "I have missed you so
much." Draco looked to the heavens and begged for a solution.

Hermione fumed as she made her way up the stairs and called out to Dotty.
She didn't want to step a toe inside the Manor for fear of running into more
unpleasantness. While she waited, Max came bouncing up next to her and
licked her hand. Her face twisted with pure love and warmth. She grinned
and bent to touch the dog.

He was so lovable she put her arms around him and hugged him close, "I
could do this forever."

Malfoy had been all over her a few minutes ago, and now the fickle prat
was snogging another.
Dotty appeared and interrupted her rather disturbing thoughts. Hermione
requested more firmly than she meant, "I've left my ledger."

The tiny elf looked thoroughly perplexed, but her memory for detail was a
gift. She recalled precisely where it was, and without bothering with a reply,
she vanished with the click of her fingers and returned with the black book
jammed with papers. She beamed with pride at accomplishing the task and
held the large book out for Hermione to take.

Hermione politely thanked Dotty, tucked it under her arm, and disappeared
without a second thought.

DMLE

Michael and Terry entered the smoking area and found John smoking a
cigarette from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, looking dazed and
downhearted.

Terry kept a thin cigarette to his lips, lit it, and took a deep drag. He
dropped his voice and asked seriously, "Did you hear?"

Michael nodded sadly, "Yeah, another one bites the dust. Potter is going to
be in a foul fucking mood." John dusted bits of ash off his shirt and went to
exit the area, but Terry put his leg out, and John tripped but held his ground.

The arrogant wizard leered, "Sorry, buddy. I didn't see you there."

John glared, turned on his heel, and muttered under his breath, "Fucking
Aurors."

Michael blew smoke towards the ceiling and asked in interest, "What the
fuck happened with Malfoy?"

Terry narrowed his eyes and spat, "That motherfucking Death Eater better
watch his back. I'm going to repay him in kind."
Michael seemed impressed, "Kung fu? Seriously?"

Terry frowned, "It was fucking humiliating. Granger saw the whole thing."

Michael snorted and inquired, "How's it going with her?"

Terry hung his head and shook it unhappily, "Not great. I like her, man. I
fucking like her a lot, but she won't give me the time of day."

Michael took in his friend's desperate tone of voice, "Is she looking for a
good shag?"

Terry shrugged, "I don't have a fucking clue what she wants." He poked
Michael in the chest and added urgently, "But I do know, I want her bad."

Michael shoved Terry and quipped, "Aww, are you in love?"

Boot threw his closest friend a look of loathing and punched him in the arm,
"Fuck off."

Terry stubbed his cigarette in the nearby ashtray and grinned sheepishly, "I
will pay her a little visit. You carry on."

Michael shook his head and let out an amused laugh. They fist-bumped and
parted ways.

Hermione stewed in her frustration. She was in a foul mood and the reason
why evaded her. So what if she caught Malfoy tongue wrestling with
Greengrass? Good, great, they were much better suited. Besides, he was on
his way out, but why in the name of Merlin was their lip lock causing anger
to flow through her veins?

Jealousy? Fuck off, she screamed at her internal thoughts. She discarded her
shoes and paced up and down irritably. The knock on the door barely
registered with her, but the sound of its opening did.
Terry poked his head in and smirked, "Er, sorry...you didn't answer, and I've
been standing outside for five minutes."

Hermione closed the gap between him, grabbed him by the collar, and
pulled him into her room. She crushed her lips with his fiercely, and though
shocked at first, Terry closed his eyes and responded fervently, "I've missed
you too."

"Shut up, Boot," she muttered between kisses and recalled how Malfoy had
referred to him as belt earlier and hated that she thought of him at that
moment. He backed up and settled her on top of her desk while his hands
explored the softness of her skin under the blouse.

His fingers dug in, and she squirmed in pain. Hermione opened her eyes
wide and watched Terry with his eyes closed, attempting to kiss her
passionately. She felt a deep sense of self-loathing. Since when did she
stoop so low to use Boot's affections towards her to soothe the roaring
feelings pulsating around her? It felt all sorts of wrong, but she soldiered
on.

He moved between her legs, and his hardness pressed into her thigh through
his trousers. Lost in the moment, he rasped, "You feel amazing."

She managed a fake moan, "Mmhmm." They shared ill-timed kisses. The
silence was pierced with the sound of Terry's low grunts and her feeble,
forced mewls of want.

The clock chimed, signalling another hour had passed, and it might as well
have been a sledgehammer to the side of her head. This was her office, and
anybody could walk in without notice. With that thought, what little arousal
Terry managed to evoke in her disappeared into nothingness.

She pushed him back and reprimanded him severely, "What are you doing?
People surround us."

Terry looked utterly bewildered and cried in outrage, "Then why the fuck
did you jump me?"
Just then, his Auror pin glowed. It could only mean one thing. He frowned,
"Fuck, Potter's called a meeting. I have to go."

Hermione adjusted her top, went around her desk, and said pointedly, "Well,
there's the door,"

Terry cupped his precious bits over the crotch of his trousers and adjusted
himself. He blushed, "Oh, umm...I need a minute to…."

Hermione saw the tent in his trousers and stifled a laugh, "Sure. Take all the
time you need." She sat down and tried her best to ignore the wizard In the
corner muttering to himself.

Minutes passed, and Terry's deep voice cut into her thoughts, "I'll see you
later, love."

Hermione kept her eyes on the parchment and dismissed him with a wave
of her hand. Terry didn't take kindly to her blatantly dismissive attitude
towards him, but he was needed elsewhere, leaving no time to argue. He
would have the elusive Miss Granger on her back one way or another. He
abandoned the lift and ran down the flight of stairs. Once he reached the
department, he could see a sea of black robes listening intently to Potter's
explanation.

Hoping not to be noticed, Terry snuck in the back and stood next to ex-
Hufflepuff Hannah Abbot. He leaned in and asked in a low voice, "What
did I miss?"

Hannah grinned, "You have lipstick smeared all over your fucking face.
Wipe that shite off."

Terry smirked and rubbed his lips with more force than necessary to remove
the colour imprinted on them, "Thanks. So, what did I miss?"

Hannah became serious. Her pleasant features contorted unattractively,

"The second one has been found in her fucking home. We had Aurors
patrolling the area. How did the slimy git slip through our fingers?"
Terry nodded in agreement and asked curiously, "Who was on watch?"

Hannah snorted, "Ferguson and Smith."

Terry rolled his eyes, "Figures. Those muttonheads couldn't find their
arsehole from a hole in the ground."

Hannah giggled and regretted it at once. She stiffened and swore under her
breath as Harry's green eyes turned slowly toward her.

He narrowed them menacingly and hissed, "Find something amusing, do

you?" The air around them changed as the anger he kept suppressed rose to
the surface and emitted off him in waves.

He threw the pictures down and fumed, "What fucking bit of this do you
find hilarious? Please, share with the group or shut the fuck up and show
some professionalism."

Hannah cowered as many faces graced her with disapproving glances.

Harry's stern voice bellowed over the chatter and rustling of robes,
"Hannah, Corner, Boot with me. Be ready to leave in ten minutes."

They replied with a quick and firm, "Yes, boss."

Hannah waited for Harry to turn away before she punched Terry in the arm,
"Arse."

Terry rubbed the area and winked, "Sorry, love."

Hermione couldn't concentrate. Her thoughts were a chaotic mess. She

didn't know what came over her to attack Terry the way she had.

Harry was right, she was mistreating him, and a smidge of regret bubbled to
the surface. She would treat him to dinner and let him down easily. But
there was plenty to deal with before that: Malfoy, the dreaded dinner.
Narcissa would hate her forever, and that made her heart clench
uncomfortably.
She was genuinely fond of the older witch and wanted nothing more to
remain in her good graces, but it was her son's words that tormented her
mind. "Give in," he growled, and she almost did.

God's, his fingers alone sent incredible sensations spreading through her
body.

Argh, stop this. She would see him tonight, but for the moment, she pushed
all thoughts of him aside and focused on what she did best, her job.

Crime Scene

Harry, Terry, Hannah, and Michael arrived at the crime scene. The place
was enchanted to appear normal from the outside, and Muggles were none
the wiser, but within, it was packed with a team of Aurors and Forensic
personnel going over every inch for possible clues.

They walked up the narrow way, and their black robes billowed with each
purposeful step. Senior Aurors on the case nodded in acknowledgement as
they walked in and out of the small house. One seasoned, scarred Auror
with a severe limp stopped to give Harry a summary of the grave situation,
"It is identical to the one before.

However, he left the chain in plain sight instead of her hand. There is
nothing, not a single strand of DNA under her fingernails, which have been
chopped off, and the cause of death is blunt force trauma. There's nothing
else we could find."

Harry refused to believe it; he was far from convinced. He shook his head,
eyed the scene critically, and voiced his thoughts, "There's always
something, Zack. I know there is. It's probably staring at us in the face, and
we wouldn't know it."

Zack looked offended, "Potter, I've been doing this for a long fucking time.
She's been wiped clean."
He glanced over his shoulder inconspicuously at a crying couple seated on
the ground, "Her parents. They were the ones who found her. I can't
imagine what it must be like to find your daughter naked and bled dry."
Who they assumed to be the mother was an emotional wreck.

She clawed at her hair and cried aloud in despair. A Mediwitch hurried to
the distraught woman's side and offered a calming potion, which she
knocked out of her hand and screamed, "My beautiful daughter is dead.
Give me poison instead." They approached the body, and Harry went on
one knee to raise the tarp that covered the woman. It wasn't a pretty sight,
and Terry fought the bile that rose from his stomach. But in contrast,
Hannah pulled out her notebook, moved closer to the corpse, and eagerly
took notes.

Harry stared at the dead body for a few minutes, let out a frustrated groan,
and rose to his feet. A forensic witch walked away with a plastic bag that
held the pendant and chain. That grabbed his attention, and he stopped her
from walking away to look at it. It was identical to the earlier one.

The detail was staggering and even more impressive since it was hand-
carved using rather primitive methods. Teams of Aurors had combed every
jeweller known to the wizarding world and come up empty. It was believed
the man was making them in the comfort of his home. He saw the
traumatised parents huddled together, weeping for their lost daughter.
Taking a deep breath, he walked over to them to offer an explanation and
some comfort.

Ministry Of Magic

Kingsley and Hermione avoided each other. They hurriedly avoided eye
contact when they passed each other in the hallway. The duo was still
recovering from their last conversation, and Hermione thanked Merlin, their
individual work meant they did not cross paths. She decided to shove off
early when she heard the faintest knock on the door.

In a voice loud enough to be heard, she said, "Come in."

John walked in, clutching a bunch of files to his chest and looking
somewhat troubled.

Hermione smiled at the nervous man, hoping to put him at ease. She asked
politely, "Ah, are these the files I requested?"

John nodded timidly, "Yes, Miss Granger."

Hermione smiled again, this time with more warmth, "How many times
have I told you to call me Hermione?" The man bobbed his head awkwardly
but avoided eye contact. He looked around the office and took in the more
minor details.

Hermione questioned in interest. His behaviour struck her as odd, "Are you
alright?"

John smiled weakly, "Oh yes, I'm just tired, I guess."

Hermione asked pointedly, "Out on raids with Arthur Weasley?"

John yawned and covered his gaping mouth with the back of his hand, and
muttered, "A few. He's a good man."

Hermione beamed, "One of the best." She pulled a file towards her and
inquired politely, "Do you like your job?"

John shifted his feet uncomfortably, rubbed the back of his neck, and
answered somewhat reluctantly, "Yes, I umm, originally, I planned on
applying at the DLME, but I'm a squib, so they stuck me in the Misuse of
Muggle Artefacts Office."

Hermione looked up from the scattered papers on her desk and smiled
sympathetically, "Oh, it's not bad..."

John smiled again. His go-to reaction was, "No, working at the Ministry has
its perks." He threw Brenda an appreciative look. The sun bounced off her
auburn hair as she turned, and the rich redness gleamed in the shimmering
light.
Hermione followed his gaze and raised a brow but kept her thoughts to
herself. She pointed to the files and said gratefully, "Thank you for these,
John. I needed them to finish the report."

John nodded curtly and took his leave, but not before glancing at Brenda,
who was copying notes.

Hermione dedicated another hour to putting things in place, lazily glanced

at the clock, and smacked her forehead, "Fuck." It was almost six. Where
had the bloody time gone?

Surprisingly, Brenda was still at her seat reading a new novel with a fully
dressed man in a suit and an alluring blonde draped around his body on the
front. Hermione frowned to show her disappointment in her assistant's
choice of reading matter.

She raised her voice enough to snap Brenda out of her world of fiction, "I'm
off then."

Brenda pushed her glasses further up her nose and grinned, "See you
tomorrow, Hermione."

Hermione pointedly looked at her watch and asked, much like an older
sister, "Staying late?"

Brenda blushed madly, "Oh, my boyfriend's picking me up."

It dawned on Hermione that she had never met her so-called boyfriend. All
she knew was the mysterious bloke worked alongside them at the Ministry.

Malfoy Manor

Draco threw a tennis ball and watched Max run after it energetically. He sat
on a nearby bench and took in the sun's last dying rays. The closer he got to
revealing his choice, the more it gutted him. His mother had sought him out
randomly throughout the day, and he had made up various excuses to get
out of any conversation. There was no denying his decision would not be
taken lightly by their friends.

Draco ruffled Max's head and sighed miserably, "I'll miss you, boy." He got
to his feet and walked inside, jogged up the stairs, and discarded his clothes
on his way to the ensuite.

Hermione landed on her carpet, kicked aside her shoes, and stripped on the
way to her place of sanctuary. The water felt luxurious as it fell over her
body in a rain of minuscule droplets. Once done, she looked around and
found she had forgotten to bring a towel or her wand. Cursing her stupidity,
she stepped out of the tub and made a mad dash into the bedroom. She
shivered as the cool air hit her more sensitive bits but quickly bundled
herself up in a thick, red, fluffy towel.

Hermione chose her outfit with care. It was a simple dinner, but she was
determined to look her best. She conveniently forgot why.

Yes, you are trying to impress a man you supposedly loathe.

She settled on an exquisite black short boatneck dress with long sleeves that
hugged her body, leaving little to the imagination. Fetching a pair of blood-
red heels, she stepped into them before fastening a pair of diamond studs
that belonged to her mother to her ears. She finished the look with a
shimmering coat of red lipstick.

Hermione stared at her reflection and took a deep breath. She truly wished
Narcissa would not take the news too harshly.

Who was she kidding? Her son, her blood, was about to leave for good. The
regal woman would probably Avada them both for entertaining such a
distressing thought.

Malfoy Manor
Draco slipped into the black dinner jacket and ran his fingers through his
hair. The strands of platinum blonde fell over his forehead cheekily. His
fingers ran over the jade pendant he had brought back from China. He
pocketed it with the thought that it was high time for it to be given to its
intended rightful owner.

He sighed, took a deep breath, and nodded at his reflection, "Showtime."

The wards were altered to accommodate her for the night, and she was able
to apparate right outside the imposing door of the Manor. Hermione
hesitated for a minute and made her presence known the same way she had
in the morning.

Dotty, in an adorable light blue dress, opened the door and curtsied, "Good
evening, Miss. Please follow me."

Hermione hadn't been inside the Manor at night, except for when she had
been tortured on their floor in the East Wing of the large house. Still, she
rubbed her arms to generate heat as she followed Dotty through the
illuminated, beautiful hallways.

Draco raised his head from the book he was reading and stared, enchanted
by the woman who entered the living space. He snapped the book shut
loudly. A satisfied grin raised his perfectly shaped lips, and he said fondly,
"Mother, if you're wondering what that intoxicating aroma is, Granger just
walked in."
 Chapter 18
Chapter Notes

A HUGE THANK YOU to everyone who posted a review and for

everyone following! It means so much! :)

Well, this is an intense chapter and the turning point of many things.

I originally planned on 20 chapters, but, umm, it's going to go way

over and please do bear with me :)

I love everyone's reaction to the mystery. It might not seem important

at this point, but trust me, there is a reason, and it might not be the one
you think.

Please read and review. I absolutely love reading reviews because it

helps motivate my writing, while other reviews help me become a
better writer.

Enjoy Chapter Eighteen!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Brenda's Flat

"Why did you dye your hair red?" Asked a stern voice in annoyance.
Brenda shrugged and ate the spaghetti and meatballs her boyfriend had
prepared with enthusiasm. The man was a talented chef, and it was a pity
his job did not require any culinary expertise.

She managed between large mouthfuls, "I wanted to try something new."
Her fork dropped. She fixed him with a panicked look and asked in slight
alarm, "Why? Does it look awful?"
Michael's gaze softened. He reached over and let a few delicate strands of
auburn slip through his long fingers, "Not at all." His voice became severe
and agitated, "But there’s a fucking lunatic on the loose kidnapping and
murdering red-haired women."

Brenda frowned and fired back, "Well, how the hell was I supposed to know
that?"

Michael's annoyance grew, "Do you not listen to a word I say? I told you
about the case."

Brenda forked a hefty portion of spaghetti and shoved it into her mouth to
hide her embarrassment. She vaguely recalled him mentioning it. Having an
Auror as a boyfriend had both its perks and severe downfalls. The
downfalls included paranoia every time they were apart. He worried for her
safety constantly and scolded her as if she were a child when she tried to do
anything mildly adventurous.

Michael swallowed the lump that formed, took Brenda's hand, and kissed it,
"I don't know what I would do if something happened to you, my darling."

Brenda, in turn, swallowed the pasta and grinned confidently, "Nothing is

going to happen to me."

Michael got up and crossed the small distance to the kitchen and expertly
uncorked a bottle of wine. He poured two glasses and brought them over.

He sat down to resume the meal he cooked and asked in interest, "Have you
told Granger about us?"

Brenda took a sip of wine, shook her head vigorously, and questioned, "I
thought we were keeping this a secret for a while longer." She and
Hermione were close despite the age difference, and she wanted nothing
more than to spill the beans on her affair with Michael Corner.

They hit it off at a Ministry get-together, and after a few drinks, Michael
asked her out. Brenda had accepted without hesitation. It started casual,
which escalated to something serious that neither expected. By a bizarre
circumstance, the Algorithm saw fit to pair them up and further solidify the
union. That was six months ago, and despite their mutual agreement to keep
their blossoming love away from prying eyes, their relationship flourished
behind closed doors.

Michael nodded in agreement, "Yes, we are. Just for a bit longer." He threw
his head back and groaned, "Terry will kill me when I tell him. He's my best
mate."

Brenda abandoned her plate of remaining pasta, plopped herself on

Michael's lap, and cupped his face lovingly, "He will understand why
darling. We just aren't ready to come out."

Michael brushed the red hair strands off her face and placed a tender kiss on
her lips. She tasted of marinara sauce and wine, but he closed his eyes and
enjoyed the tiny, soft fingers in his hair.

No 12 Grimmauld Place

Ginny looked up from the bubbling pot of hot soup, and her mouth fell open
in surprise at the happy tall figure coming toward her, "My goodness." She
playfully wagged a strict finger, "You better not have turned up without
presents."

Ron closed the gap between them, picked his little sister off the ground as if
she weighed nothing, and twirled her once before he set her back down.

Ginny hugged her brother tight, giggled, and asked at once, "When did you
get back?"

Ron chuckled, "Two hours ago. I popped in to see Mum first, then George,
before hurrying over to see my baby sister."

Ginny looked him over and doubled over with laughter, "Look at you. So
tan, you look positively rouge."
Ron playfully shoved her, "Bugger off." He looked around eagerly,
"Where's my nephew and best friend?"

Ginny smiled and took the pot off the cooker, "James is in bed, and umm,
well, Harry...don't ask."

Ron's cheerful face contorted in concern, "What's the matter? Have you two
had a row?"

Ginny realised how what she said might have sounded odd to an outside
party, "Merlin, no. We are fine. He's on a high-profile case."

That piqued Ron's curiosity. He raised a brow and tapped his nose, "Top
secret? Need to know basis?"

Ginny pointed a wooden spoon at him and nodded rather exhaustedly,

"Exactly."

Ron inhaled the smell of fresh herbs and felt his mouth salivate, "I have
missed Mum's cooking. America is all well and good, but the food is piss
poor and soaked in grease."

Ginny snorted, "Let's not be dramatic. You were away for a grand total of
what? A week."

Ron defended fiercely, “Hey! Having a bloody delicious meal is an absolute

necessity.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, “With you, it’s everything.” She cut pieces of crispy
bread, poured bowls of thick tomato and basil soup, balanced them on the
tip of her wand, and walked over to the wooden table. Ron plopped himself
down eagerly, reached for the butter, and applied a generous layer across
the home-baked bread.

He took a bite and sighed in exhilaration, "Not bad, Gin. It's not mums, but
it's damn near close enough."

Ginny smiled proudly. It was indeed a compliment to have her cooking

compared to her mother's gourmet brilliance. She asked in interest, "So,
how was the honeymoon and where's Tracey?"

Ron blushed at the mention of his wife. He was still getting used to the
word. He had a wife and a good one. She was kind, pretty, and a fiery
goddess in bed. They had done nothing but shag each other’s brains out for
the first two days.

He ate a spoonful of soup and muttered, "She's at Daphne’s. The

honeymoon was wicked. We had a bloody awesome time."

A familiar voice interrupted them, "Weasley, if you aren't a sight for sore
eyes, son."

Ron pushed his chair back and rose to greet Harry. The two men hugged
tightly while Ginny fetched another bowl full of soup.

They sat back down, chatted animatedly, and discussed Ron’s trip to
America in great detail. Harry and Ginny covered their ears childishly and
refused to listen when he got to the finer details about his romantic
honeymoon. Ron’s deep laugh echoed through the kitchen, “Fine, you
bloody idiots.” He looked thoughtful for a second and said wisely, “I was
never one to agree with this mental marriage law, but there’s some truth and
justification behind the math.”

Harry and Ginny shared an amused look and stared at the redheaded man
sitting at their kitchen table. They had to agree that Ron seemed content and
happy.

Andromeda gently pushed open the door to Teddy's room and caught him
reading a Batman comic book. His room was typical for a child his age, and
despite their struggle with finances, she always met his necessary
requirements.

The money her husband Ted left behind was in a snug fixed deposit at
Gringotts and provided a reasonable monthly income. Her daughter had
barely been of age to have any substantial savings, and Remus was
unemployed and struggled with poverty for most of his life due to his
condition.

Andromeda had inherited nothing from her exceptionally wealthy family. It

was the price she had paid for love and a choice she would make time and
time again. Yes, times were tough, but they got by just fine with the
occasional help from Harry and Hermione.

She smiled fondly at her handsome grandson, "I bought you a warm glass
of milk."

Teddy kept aside the graphic novel and sat up straight, "Thank you, Gran."
Andromeda sat down on the comfortable soft bedding printed with golden
Snitches and handed him the tall glass. She watched him eagerly drink it all
up. He barely touched his food at dinner, and he was clearly hungry.

She asked quietly, "Feeling better?" Teddy gulped down the milk, wiped his
mouth with the back of his hand, and nodded meekly, "Yes. It's just that I
miss them."

Andromeda smiled and nodded in understanding, "It's perfectly alright to

miss them. They loved you very much. One day you will understand the
reason behind their biggest sacrifice."

Teddy slid between the covers and smiled brightly. Andromeda placed a
loving kiss on his forehead, “Goodnight.” Once his grandmother switched
off the light in his room on her way out, he waited for a few minutes, pulled
a framed photograph from under the pillow, and gazed at it longingly.

It was the only picture he had of his parents. Tonks sported bright pink
locks and cradled her newborn son lovingly. She gazed upon his face in
absolute joy. Remus towered over them and protectively surrounded them
with his long arms. If you looked closer, you could see the unmistakable
shimmer of unshed tears glistening in his eyes.

Teddy touched the moving images affectionately, as he did every night

since he turned five, and whispered, "Goodnight, Mum, and Dad. I love you
so much." He replaced the picture under his pillow, pulled a battered old
Teddy bear that belonged to his mother to his side, and hugged it before
sleep consumed him, and he drifted off into a dreamless slumber.

In another part of London.

A woman sobbed in the corner of the bleak house. Her anguished cries
irritated the man zipping up his trousers.

He rubbed his temples and hissed, “Ssh, I have a headache.”

She pleaded for the hundredth time that day. “Please, let me go.”

The man laughed manically, “You know? Not all of you are bad.”

She brought her head up and shouted in desperation, “I've never done
anything to you. I don't even know who you are.”

He wiped his face on a towel and sneered, “Think you’re so important, do

you? Running that stupid little bookshop. I watched you for weeks before I
made my move.” Despite all that happened to her after she was abducted, to
find out that he had perversely previously stalked her made her want to
vomit all over the hard floor.

Instead, she croaked, “No, I've done all you ask. Why do you keep doing
this to me?” Her thighs were caked with dried muck, not his but hers. He
always wore two condoms to keep his fluid off her body and barely touched
her, opting to take her from behind to minimalise contact but now and then,
he took great satisfaction in staring at her face contort in disgust and horror
as he repeatedly took her in ways others had not.

After the third day, she stopped fighting and lay still. She zoned out as he
grunted and groaned on top of her but spared her the merciless beatings.
She dislodged herself from her body and thought of happier times in her life
as her parents, the smell of pages on a new book, and a chocolate ice cream
treat on a sweltering day. He did not take kindly to her dazed and detached
look. He slapped her hard across the face and repeatedly forced her to look
at him as he violated her body.
His tone turned dangerously sinister, “Because...I need to teach her a
lesson.”

She brought her head up and questioned cautiously, “What? Who?”

His face twisted in anger, and he spat, “My mother. She wasn't one of the
nice ones.”

He pointed to his mutilated, scarred face, "See this? After she beat me raw
with a belt, the woman who gave me life did this.”

Unable to control the bubbling hot rage that shook him, he screamed, “Do
you know why? Because I asked for an extra helping of soup. In her eyes, I
didn't deserve more than the fucking scraps she gave me.”

The woman tried another tactic and sympathised, “I'm sorry you had to
suffer. That must have been horrible.” He seemed to value kindness,
probably since he was denied it for so long.

He hung his head and muttered, “It was, it truly was...but, you know what
really hurt?” It wasn't the beatings. It was the day she told me that she
wished I had never been born.”

Confessing his past horrors to his prisoner felt oddly soothing. He confided,
“Her own flesh and blood, and my bastard father cast her out for birthing
me. I’m a squib, you see?” It was all starting to make sense. With some
level of discomfort, the woman managed to sit up and hug her legs to his
chest while she listened intently to his story.

He added in anguish, “I meant nothing, and for years, my mother made

fucking sure I was nothing.” He picked up the lethal-looking belt with those
final words and strode towards the chained, naked, petrified woman
cowering on the floor. She shielded parts of her body, but it served no
purpose. The deranged lunatic yanked her by the hair and pulled her head
back. She whimpered in pain and begged, “Please, don’t…” while hot tears
ran down her pretty face.
He licked a stripe down her neck and whispered darkly, "Scream, my pet, as
my mother made me."

The young witch trembled and urinated in fear. Why was this happening to
her? She should have never stopped to help a stranger. He had faked a limp
and requested her help carrying some heavy packages.

At the time, he seemed so genuine and even extremely polite that she
thought nothing of it. Without a shred of doubt clouding her mind, she
helped him, but he overpowered her once they were alone. She regained
consciousness in a dark room on a makeshift bed with a bucket to do her
business. The sounds of ear-piercing screams from another woman filled
the space as she struggled to gather her bearings, and now she was going to
suffer a similar fate and die surrounded by her filth.

He read her mind and leered, "Don't worry, my sweet. I'm not done with
you yet."

Somehow, this was of little comfort, and she wished for death.

Hermione smoothed her dress and felt uncharacteristically self-conscious as

she stepped into the middle of the lavishly furnished living space of Malfoy
Manor. She first kissed a seated Narcissa on the cheek, and Max reared his
head in eagerness to be petted. Without holding back, she ruffled the fur and
affectionately stroked his head. The puppy whined in delight.

Narcissa smiled pleasantly enough, but her mind was not at ease, "Good to
see you, darling."

Bernard rose to his feet with a drink in hand and bowed with an air of
politeness, "It is an honour to meet you finally."

Hermione beamed, “The pleasure is all mine. I am well aware of your

tireless efforts to educate less fortunate witches and wizards.”

Bernard radiated happiness and kept his hand gently on Narcissa’s shoulder.
He smiled down at her and said goodheartedly, "I have this wonderful
woman helping me every step of the way."

Hermione could not help the grin that split her face in half at the blush that
crept up Narcissa’s high cheekbones. She was glad the older lady had found
a man who adored her.

Draco coughed to make his presence known. Hermione slowly, almost

lazily, glanced his way to show her absolute lack of interest in him.

She held out her hand politely for him to shake but instead, he took it in his
hand, clicked his heels together, and bowed to kiss it. His lips gently
brushed over her knuckles sending an involuntary shudder through her
body.

Draco straightened but did not let her hand go. Instead, he requested
courteously, “Can I have a few moments of your time in private?'

Hermione barely had a chance to say a word in edgeways. He did not bother
waiting for her response, but his urgent tug told her she had little choice in
the matter. He led her out to the expansive marbled terrace with her hand
firmly in his, purposely ignoring the curious looks the elders bestowed upon
them.

She stared at the blinking sparkling dots and the clear night sky. It was a
truly breathtaking sight. The sky was lit by a million stars scattered across
the heavens, and a shooting star appeared and disappeared in the blink of an
eye, briefly seeing fit to grace them with its unique presence.

Hermione widened her eyes and exclaimed in excitement, “Ooh, a shooting

star. How rare....” They were on borrowed time. Draco interrupted without
hesitation, "You look beautiful." It wasn't an empty compliment. Every
word was accurate. Her cheeks turned strawberry red, but the darkness hid
her blush well, "Thank you." She looked him over in appreciation and
stated the obvious, "You don't look too shabby yourself."

Draco chuckled and replied modestly, "The dark helps."

She leaned against the white railing, raised a brow, and mused, "What’s the
matter? Having a change of heart?"

He retorted with sadness and frustration, “I'm not overly fond of leaving my
mother, Granger, but no, I wanted to explain."

She wondered what he was on about, "What did you want to explain?"

Draco stared into the grounds before him, bathed in the soft beams of
moonlight, cleared his throat, and started to speak, "When you saw me with
Astoria earlier today, I...."

Oblivious to the scrutiny Hermione bestowed upon his physique, he was

rudely cut off from finishing the sentence.

Hermione leered most unpleasantly. She saw no cause for an explanation,

and she told him so harshly, "Who you share your bed with is none of my
business."

Draco sighed. He was trying to do the right thing, but she was not making it
easy for him by Salazar. He nodded in agreement with her words but kept
his eyes on the swaying branches of the oak tree, "I'm well aware it’s not,
but I wanted you to know that I'm not the type of man to seduce one and
then kiss another in the same day."

Hermione raised a brow, snorted, and couldn’t help the sarcastic retort that
left her lips, “Aren't you? Because I recall you had a bit of a scoundrel
reputation back at Hogwarts. Didn't every bint in Slytherin wet their
knickers for you?"

She made air quotes, "The self-proclaimed Slytherin Prince."

Draco laughed at the recollection of the ridiculous nickname he carried

during his earlier years at Hogwarts. However, he turned slowly and fixed
her with a look of exhaustion, “Granger, what is it going to take for you to
realise that I'm not that same slick-haired prat you knew?
He added reluctantly but truthfully and hoped she didn’t take it the wrong
way, “It's taken me years to find my true self, and while I was doing that, I
umm,… thought of you often.”

What the fuck? She was certainly taken back by that declaration. She
swallowed hard at that revelation but adopted a mocking tone, “Should I be
flattered?”

Draco smirked at her absolute stubbornness, but he resorted to some

practical advice, “No, but I would appreciate a little open-mindedness. Are
you that set in your ways and incapable of entertaining the notion that a
teenager is capable of change?”

Hermione shifted her feet uncomfortably. Yes, the answer was evident when
he put it like that. She repeatedly replayed the question in her mind, “Why
did you think of me?”

Draco smiled, but with a certain degree of sadness, he replied, “Because I

was always the most horrid to you. Even Potter and Weasley were spared
the distasteful remarks I kept especially for you.”

He sighed, "I could say it was because I envied you but that wouldn't be the
truth. I found you to be an easy target and preyed on your weaknesses." He
had been horrid to her because he could be, nothing more or less.

Hermione looked forlorn and heard the distinct sound of thunder, “Oh yes, I
recall quite vividly.”

He pressed on undiscouraged, “When I returned, I had a few things

planned, but I should've known better.” He added bitterly, “Things hardly
ever go to bloody plan.”

Draco put his hand inside the deep pocket of his tailored suit and said, “If
tonight is the last night I am to see you, then I want you to have this.” He
pulled out a tasteful silver chain with a jade pendant hanging from it and
held it up for her to see better. The jewel glistened in the darkness and
illuminated both their faces.
In shock, Hermione stared at the beautiful pendant, “What is this?”

A genuineness so fine crossed his fine features, “It's supposed to bring the
wearer good luck, peace, and prosperity.”

She stepped back and shook her head rapidly, “I cannot accept this.”

Draco stepped forward and insisted without any hesitation, “It's yours. I
bought it with the money I earned, not inherited.” He recalled the
painstaking hours of polishing pots and dying embers over hot metal as he
slaved to earn a minimum wage.

Hermione stood her ground, took a deep breath to calm herself, and
reminded sternly, “Stop it. I told you not to mess with my head.”

He leaned forward and quipped, “After tonight, you will never see me
again, so what does it matter what I do to your pretty little head?”

The realisation that she might not see him again stung. She could not quite
fathom why.

Draco took her hesitation and lack of reply as a sign of consent. He closed
the gap between them, undid the chain's clasp, and requested civilly,
“Please, allow me.”

Hermione stared for a few minutes at the chain dangling from his hand and
reluctantly nodded in agreement. She moved her hair out of the way and
turned her back to him.

Draco stepped closer without delay. Her body was acutely aware of his
presence. He placed the chain around her neck slowly and purposely let the
tips of his fingers skim over her skin. A trail of tiny goosebumps appeared
where he awakened her to his touch. He fastened the clasp, and the jade
pendant lay snugly nestled between the valley of her breasts. She touched it
gently and marvelled at the artisanship.

The handiwork on the dragon was unique to one country only, and she
knew enough about the world to spot it once. His newfound skills, the
pendant, it all made perfect sense.

Hermione asked confidently, “You've been living in China, haven't you?”

He grinned, and his breath ghosted over the shell of her sensitive ear. He
whispered, "You are quite bright, Granger." It was a statement she had
heard countless times but never from him.

They both stood still, breathing heavily and taking in their intoxicating
smell.

Draco boldly placed a lingering kiss on the exposed back of her neck. His
parted lips gently sucked on her sensitive skin, making her nerve endings
come alive.

What was this erotic hold he possessed over her?

Hermione’s eyes fluttered shut, and a low moan escaped her lips. She
shivered and unconsciously moved her head to the side to create more room
for him to cover with his delectable mouth.

Merlin, she wanted more, so much more.

Each word he uttered between kisses was punctured with desire, "I don't
know what to make of this, but I want you, Granger." His words, tone, and
everything about him ignited a blazing fire in the pits of her being. It was so
bizarre how her body betrayed her when with him, but it seemed to want to
wither away with Terry.

Draco did not comprehend the words that seemingly spilled out of his
mouth or whether he was even ready to have sex. Lack of practice made
him conscious of his performance, and it was of the utmost importance that
he lived up to his former reputation.

His voice was thick with the yearning to claim her. He rasped, “You hate
me. I know, but you want this. I can feel it. Tell me you want me to touch
you intimately.” He had wondered ever since he returned and ran into her
what it would be like to kiss her. He imagined it to be intense, her tongue
pushing against his, her moans muffled by his insistent lips.

Her brain and hidden inner desires were not in sync. In fact, they were
worlds apart, but she managed a halfhearted and utterly weak response,
“No, I don't, Please....”

Draco knew he sounded desperate, even mildly intoxicated, but he replied

firmly, "No? Then why did you wear this dress? Or do you enjoy driving
me to the brink of insanity?" What was he saying? It was all too much.

Think of Terry, she silently commanded her body, but that was a futile
attempt as any. She saw no one but the brooding ice blonde who muttered
words of passion.

He was not done with telling her exactly how he felt. It felt like a weight
being lifted off his shoulders among the many things that weighed him
down, “I held it at bay for as long as I am able, but I'm a hot-blooded man
who knows exactly what he wants.”

Hermione protested with her eyes closed. Her voice was barely audible,
“Malfoy, we can't. This is wrong on so many levels.”

Draco kept up his ministrations and bit down her collarbone, "What's wrong
is denying ourselves."

Her lips parted, and a sultry moan spilled forth, earning a gratifying growl
from deep within him, “I want to hear more of that.” His arm went around
her slender waist and held her tight against his body, almost possessively.
Her back to his front while he peppered a trail of kisses down her neck.

God.

Draco held nothing back. He said forcefully, “Spend the night with me
away from the Manor.” It was meant to be a question but sounded more like
a command coming out of his mouth. Yet, he felt nervous about the
situation.
Yes, she wanted to mutter, but... He could feel her hesitation, but he pressed
undeterred, "No one needs to know. We will take it to the grave." The
mental image of black silk sheets wrapped around their writhing-infused
bodies came to mind, and it was more than she could bear.

Sex. A Mindless, thoughtless coming together of two individuals. No

attachments. Not a fusing of love but pure lust.

Her resolve crumbled around her.

Hermione hated herself for wanting him and had from the first moment he
touched her intimately, but there was no denying the heat that pooled at her
core.

“One night...,” she breathed in defeat. Draco grinned triumphantly, turned

her around roughly, held her by the waist, and stared into her flushed face
but conflicted eyes. There was no going back now.

She opened her eyes and challenged him. He brought his head down to hers
and paused for effect before hungrily devouring those cherry-red lips,
"Good girl." The glass doors flew open, and Narcissa strode out impatiently.

She was done playing this charade, "Are you quite finished with your
secrets?" They jumped apart but not before Narcissa caught them in the act.

Hermione stumbled at the suddenness, but Draco grabbed her wrist and
steadied her, preventing her from a nasty fall. He shook his head as if to say,
every fucking time.

Narcissa abruptly halted and stared at the slightly embarrassed duo, “Oh,
umm...forgive my intrusion.” A slither of hope ignited in her heart. Perhaps,
she was overreacting. Maybe they had decided to forgo past differences and
tolerate each other.

Bernard silently sipped his expensive scotch and grinned knowingly.

Draco answered as if nothing transpired, "There is nothing to forgive,

Mother. Let us go inside. It's quite chilly."
Hermione stood alone on the terrace and touched the smooth stone. It was a
brilliant work of art. The silver casing of the dragon that surrounded the
polished stone intrigued her, and she wondered what work went into it.

A dragon. Figures. He was a dragon, alright, and he was breathing fire all
over her.

Draco glanced over his shoulder and shot Hermione a look of

disappointment quickly followed by concern. He followed his mother in,
but his mind was everywhere but where it needed to be. He had perfected
the technique of pushing feelings away and detaching himself from any
physical stirrings, but he could not grasp the pull Granger evoked.

Dotty served a round of drinks before dinner was prepared.

Hermione opted for a glass of whiskey, Draco did the same, Bernard nursed
a scotch and looked at them suspiciously, and Narcissa elegantly but
nervously sipped her wine.

Hermione brought her drink to her mouth with unsteady fingers to quench
her thirst and moisten her suddenly dry lips. She tried to look at Malfoy
inconspicuously, but she needn't bother. He was staring at her without
shame. They locked eyes, and much was said between them in that one
look.

Narcissa cleared her throat and asked impatiently, “Draco, what is this
about?” There was little point in prolonging the inevitable.

He replied firmly, "This is about the law, Mother."

That much was obvious, but she probed nervously, “What about it?”

Draco took a deep breath and looked around him at the faces staring at him
unblinkingly except Granger, who kept her eyes on the glass of scotch in
her hands.

He said as calmly as possible, “Mother, you must understand what I'm

about to do." He glanced at Hermione and said, "I do for the best of
everyone in this room.”

Narcissa felt an instant sense of dread, “What have you done?”

Draco gathered his courage and said slowly, “I took the exit clause.”

A sudden gust of chilly air swept through the room, followed by pin-drop
silence.

Bernard widened his eyes, and his grip tightened around the hundred-year-
old crystal tumbler.

Narcissa shook her head and cried in despair, "No, I forbid it. I won't allow
you."

"Son, this is unacceptable, " Bernard scolded angrily. He wiped the sweat
off his brow and looked disturbed.

Narcissa shot to her feet, grabbed hold of her son by his arms, and shook
him, "Tell me this is a joke. I can't bear to lose you." The older woman’s
anguished sobs pierced Hermione’s heart, and the melancholy pulled her
under and left her struggling to grasp the severity of his decision's impact
on his beloved mother.

Bernard turned his attention to Hermione. He intently watched her face fall
in sorrow and her fingernails dig deep into the plush velvet of her chair.

Hermione sat to the side with her legs crossed at the ankle and frozen in
time, watching the distressing situation before her unravel.

Oh, Merlin, Narcissa’s pain cut through her, but she kept quiet and watched
mother and son argue in her arrogant selfishness. It was a futile attempt to
make her only child see reason on Narcissa's part.

Draco gathered his mother in his arms and cradled her. Narcissa dug her
fingers into the front of her son's shirt and sobbed and repeated the same
thing, "I won't allow it."
Bernard tried his best to soothe his beloved, "Darling, please, let us take a
deep breath. It is not good for your health to exert yourself. Let us discuss
this calmly."

Narcissa shook him off and held onto her son in desperation. Hermione
continued to sit extremely still and felt the pounding of her heart in her ears.
She had prepared herself to withstand Narcissa’s reaction but not this. It
broke her heart into a million unseen pieces.

Draco choked back a sob. His voice cracked, and he fought the tears that
threatened to spill over, “Mother, Bernard is right. Please calm yourself.”

Dignity forgotten, Narcissa shook her head in disbelief. Her elegant bun
came undone, and her long hair framed her distraught face, "How can you
expect me to stand by and watch them erase your memories."

She cried aloud in despair, balled her dainty hands into small fists, and beat
her son's chest in hopelessness, "You cannot ask this of me."

Draco closed his eyes and battled to keep his emotions in control. He was in
dire straits, and the feeling of overwhelming misery washed over him.

He struggled but somehow managed to offer reassuring words, "We will

find a way to stay in touch. I swear it. No one needs to know. Granger will
help us." It was a promise with so many obstacles, but to appease his
mother, he would jump through the fiery pits of hell but not marry Granger.

Draco looked over Narcissa’s bowed head at Hermione in desolation and

pleaded, "You will help us, won't you?"

Hermione held the tears at bay and nodded without a single thread of
hesitation. She would break every Ministry protocol to spare Narcissa from
this pain and gut-wrenching agony. The more she watched the grief-stricken
noble lady hanging onto her only child for dear life, the more she felt her
pigheadedness drift away into nothingness.

For the first time since she received the Ministry-sealed parchment
announcing her match, she reconsidered and thought, would marrying
Malfoy be so horrible?

Draco cooed as if to a child. He lovingly soothed, "I love you, Mother, and
it greatly pains me to leave you, but I cannot force Granger into this union."

Tears streaming down her face, Narcissa weakly protested, "But, this cannot
be the alternative. I will speak to Shacklebolt. Make him overturn this
union." The tall blonde man sighed, and despite his hatred for the law, he
knew the Minister was as helpless as they were.

The Algorithm was no random matching of individuals. It was the syncing

of souls based on blood compatibility to produce strong offspring and
further calculating birth times to align horoscopes to yield the best match
for each person.

Unlikely as it seemed, Granger and he were a formidable pairing.

According to what Kingsley let slip, one of the strongest. He was forced to
remind his mother about their conversation when he first found out about
the match, "We spoke about this. You know what I'm doing is right."

Bernard stepped in and gently pulled Narcissa to his side. He gazed into her
tear-filled eyes and brushed away the strands of hair that fell over her pretty
face. Narcissa responded weakly to the calmness Bernard radiated and
nodded reluctantly.

She knew Draco was doing Hermione a kindness because of the guilt of his
past actions towards her. This was extreme. Still, she knew if he didn't, the
deed would needle away at him, and all his years of trying to better himself
would be a waste.

She sobbed against Bernard’s shoulder, “I understand, but that doesn't make
any of this easier. You are my son. The only reason I have for living.”

Draco closed the gap between them and cupped her face tenderly, “And I
will always be your son. Nothing can change or take that away.”

Narcissa was far from convinced. She stared into his clear grey eyes and
implored, “I cannot let you go like this.”
He kissed his mother’s perspiring forehead and promised, “You have my
word. We will find a way.”

Draco turned his back to the room and announced unexpectedly, “Excuse
me, but I need a breath of fresh air.” What he needed was to leave before his
mother saw the tears swimming in his eyes.

Bernard nodded in understanding and helped Narcissa to a seat. He crossed

the room and fixed himself a much-needed drink. He knew Draco was
going to make a hasty decision. Their meeting had warned him of that
much, but never would he have guessed this harsh outcome.

Hermione watched Draco exit and struggled against the urge to follow him.
She could not move. Her legs refused to work. The situation left her
paralysed and affected her more than she could have imagined.

Narcissa kept her trembling hands on her lap. She had never before felt at a
loss for words. Her fingers pulled at the material, and her bottom lip
constantly quivered. Hermione felt unworthy and ashamed to look at
Narcissa, but it was a good thing she did.

Narcissa smiled at her. Despite everything, she bore no grudge. Pained and
drawn, her pinched face reflected the unbearable pain that she suffered. She
had aged considerably in ten minutes. Their eyes locked, and Hermione felt
a shiver go down her spine at the vacant expression in the older woman’s
eyes accusing blue eyes.

Narcissa struggled to comprehend what happened. To give up her child hurt

her far greater than anything else ever could. Her lips trembled with the
overwhelming emotions taking over, and her shaking fingers picked at the
material of her dress. She felt a mild pain stab her heart uncomfortably. It
was soon accompanied by difficulty breathing.

She took large gulps of air to fill the void, but nothing helped. When the
pain did not recede, her jewelled hand clutched the rich material over her
heart, and her mouth parted in surprise before she tumbled to the ground,
unmoving.
Hermione saw the woman she had come to love and respect fall in slow
motion. She sprang out of her seat and caught Narcissa before her head hit
the ground. Her black dress ripped, but her blood-curdling scream drowned
out the sound.

Bernard turned to face them. In alarm, his tumbler dropped to the ground
and smashed to smithereens, sending its contents all over the Persian rug.
He sprinted the short distance and fell at Narcissa’s fallen, unresponsive
form.

Hermione pulled Narcissa’s lifeless body onto her lap and wept, "No... no...
Lord...no."

Max whimpered and used his snout to nudge his mistress. Bernard searched
for a pulse desperately; when he could not find one, he took out his wand
with terrified hands and waved it over the still body. He muttered an ancient
language that Hermione vaguely thought might have originated in Ireland.
Once done, he conjured a brilliant Patronus of a giant polar bear and sent an
urgent message.

Quickly, she brushed the strands of fine blonde hair off Narcissa's face,
stared panic-stricken into the pale face of the unresponsive regal woman,
and yelled without abandon, "DRACO, HELP!"

It would be the first time she referred to him by his given name in years.
 Chapter 19
Chapter Notes

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Enjoy Chapter Nineteen!

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Ginny tore the dark purple chocolate bar wrapper with her teeth and bit into
the slightly melted Cadbury slab. She closed her eyes and sighed in pure
exhilaration, "Oh my god. That's better than sex."

Ron stared at her gaping mouth and grimaced, "That's gross, and can you
please slow down. You've nearly eaten the lot. Save some for your son."

Ginny stuck out her tongue and defiantly popped a chocolate square into
her already full mouth.

Harry frowned and shoved another chocolate ball into his mouth, "Thanks,
Gin. I'll remember that the next time we...."
Ron covered his ears, "Lalala....what the fuck, guys? Shut the bloody hell
up."

Ginny chuckled, "Oh, do grow up, Ronald."

Harry took in the empty wrappers scattered around the wooden kitchen
table and inquired sarcastically, "Did you only bring us chocolates?"

Ron defended at once, "I was on my honeymoon, not on some bloody

shopping trip. We hardly left the room."

It was Ginny's turn to look mildly revolted, "Argh, way too much
information."

Ron nudged Harry and winked, "I certainly did my part to repopulate the
wizarding world."

Harry purposely moved his chair away from his best mate and his touch and
doubled over with laughter.

Ron munched on a Toblerone and mumbled fretfully, "Er, how's

Hermione?" Ginny licked melted chocolate off her finger and caught Harry
giving her the one over. She grinned and answered, "Battling a whole lot of
shite."

A bottle of wine and an hour later, Ron had caught up with the drama that
dogged his ex-girlfriend and best friend’s life. He whistled and shook his
head in exasperation, "That poor woman. First, she gets matched with the
snake and all this with the Law. It's enough to drive anyone mental."

Ginny looked away in thought, "Hmm, Malfoy has changed, Ron. He's
apparently become or attempting to be a decent human being."

Harry pressed his lips down hard and kept his opinion to himself, but Ron
was never the one to practise the fine art of subtly, "I do not believe his act
for a second. He's fucking up to something. He always is."

Ginny questioned curiously, "So, are you finally over Hermione?"

Ron blushed, "Well, I guess I'll always have a soft spot for her, but, yeah, I
think I am." He looked at the time, smacked his forehead and got to his feet,
"Bollocks. I am so bloody late. Tracey is waiting for me."

He quickly and noisily pushed back the chair, dropped a quick kiss on
Ginny's cheek, fist-bumped with Harry and rushed to the Floo network.
When Ginny got up to clean the mess, Harry grabbed her around the waist,
pulled her onto his lap, and whispered huskily, "Is there any chocolate left?
I bet your tits covered in melted chocolate would be a treat."

Ginny bit her lip seductively, "I have a better idea." She slid down to her
knees, slowly unzipped his trousers, and pulled out his hardening cock. She
gave it a few sensual strokes and surrounded it with the warmness of her
mouth.

Harry stiffened as all feelings headed south, and his dick grew to its full
length inside his wife's talented mouth. His fingers twisted in her hair,
holding her place as she expertly bobbed up and down on his manhood. He
groaned, throwing his head back, "That feels so bloody good."

Draco fled to the one place he knew he wouldn't be bothered, and that was
his newly fitted training room. He needed the solitude to gather his
thoughts, but no sooner did he grasp the silver door handle to let himself in
than the distressed sound of Granger’s shriek made it to his ears.

The sound pierced his ear canal and thundered right down to his eardrum.
He knew instinctively something had happened to his mother. He turned on
his heel at once and ran down the marbled hallway he knew so well back to
where he left them. His heels clicked against the floor with every one of his
purposeful steps and loudly filled the area.

Draco sprinted back to the foyer, where a horrific sight awaited him. While
running through the house, he prayed to all invisible entities to spare his
mother from whatever wrath they saw fit. He pleaded for them to punish
him instead.
His mother lay unmoving on the floor on Granger’s lap while tears
streamed down her face. Bernard was hunched over and muttering a
complex incantation over her body.

Draco froze at the entrance and felt like his heart might explode. Searing
hot pain replaced the blood in his veins. He charged in, and the powerful
generations-old magic in him burst forth and encased him whole in
gleaming bluish light.

Hermione looked up from Narcissa’s frail body and gasped. Malfoy was
glowing. A bluish hue surrounded his tall, generously built body, and he
looked hypnotically beautiful. She had read somewhere about how extreme
emotions triggered dormant magic, and it was more potent than the
everyday magic one used.

The closer he got to them, the more they were forced to move away from
Narcissa. His unleashed magic pushed them away, somewhat burned them,
and held them at bay.

Draco fell at his mother's side, took hold of her hand, and whispered in
anguish, "Mother. Please forgive me." He lost his composure and collapsed.
Unable to hold back, an anguished, grief-stricken howl left his lips.

Bernard helped Hermione to her feet, and both stood at a close distance and
took in the heartbreaking scene with a mixture of awe and gut-wrenching
despair. Draco cradled his mother to his chest and wept hot tears of
incredible pain, no longer able to hold back the flood of tears.

Hermione rubbed her arms to generate some heat and cried. This was
partially her fault. Oh, Merlin, how could she have done this? She wished
she could take it back, even if it meant marrying Malfoy for his mother's
sake.

Draco closed his eyes, desperately willing himself to calm down and
concentrated hard. It took all his teachings, and momentarily he was
transported back to the tranquil gardens of The Shaolin Temple. His magic
returned to its rightful place, and he kept his trembling fingers on a pulse
point and felt the light flutter of his mother's life force. He closed his eyes
and breathed a sigh of immense relief.

Salazar was kind. Narcissa was still among the living. He got to his feet
with his mother firmly in his arms. She didn't move, but her head rested
snugly in the crook of his arm against the front of his dinner jacket.

After the initial shock of witnessing possibly the strongest display of magic
he had ever seen in his long life, Bernard found himself able to approach
Draco. He gingerly touched his shoulder and said firmly, "Senior Healer
George is on his way."

Draco knew the name, the kindly but strict Healer had been their family
physician since before his birth. He recalled the portly man making random
visits to the Manor and a nasty incident when he fell off his father's broom
and broke his arm at seven. Lucius had been livid, but Healer Spencer
hushed him and proceeded to joke with a small, scared boy while he
mended his arm.

On cue, the balding man rushed in, followed shortly by a distraught and
utterly dishevelled Dotty. He exchanged a grave look with the men and
peered into Narcissa’s sweat-soaked face, "Goodness, what brought this
on?"

Healer George patted Bernard on the back, "You did the right thing by
calling me." Urgently, he instructed Draco, "Hurry, now. Let us get her to
her room. I need a more comfortable space to run diagnostics and
administer potions."

Draco didn't need telling twice. With his mother firmly in his strong young
arms, he sprinted up the stairs with Max running alongside him. Once he
reached his parents' old room, without hesitation, he roughly kicked the
centuries-old door open and strode in purposefully.

The portrait of Lucius Malfoy sprang to life. His cold condescending voice
filled the space, "Draco, is that you?" Draco closed his eyes and took a deep
breath. In his panic, he completely forgot about his father's painting.
This was hardly the ideal situation for an awkward reunion. He bared his
teeth and refused outright to acknowledge his father's portrait.

Instead, he kept his eyes on the task at hand and hissed darkly, "Not now,
father." He laid his mother down gently on the large comfortable four-poster
bed with expensive cotton bedding while the others rushed into the room.

Max reared his head. The fur on the back of his neck stood up aggressively.
The usually friendly dog growled and snarled at the portrait.

Lucius came as close as he could to the edge, his eyes darted from one
figure to the others in alarm, and he demanded impatiently, "My darling
wife. What has happened to Cissy?" There was a certain degree of care in
the older Malfoy’s voice. He had always loved Narcissa dearly in his own
way. His cynical eyes fell on the woman trailing behind the men in a
partially torn dress and unkempt hair.

Lucius spat in anger, "You! What are you doing in my house?"

Hermione wiped the tears off her face and turned to face the large,
intimidating portrait. It was a stunning work of art, surrounded by a solid
gold frame studded with precious gems, and it was so lifelike that it forced
her to take a step back but stand her ground.

Draco heard the callous words and remembered Granger was among them.
In the heat of the moment, he had completely forgotten her presence in the
Manor. He rounded on his father, moved protectively in front of the woman
wracked with sobs, and warned, "Still your tongue, father. We have no time
to entertain the likes of you."

Lucius scowled, "You disgrace the name wizard." He looked sadly upon his
unmoving wife and the Healer working tirelessly over her. He spat
contemptuously, "What have you done to your mother? Did you cause this?
I have no doubt that you did."

Bernard made his presence known. He narrowed his eyes to mere slits and
advised sternly, "This bickering is not helping the situation, Lucius. Cissy
needs to rest."

Lucious widened his painted eyes in disbelief. He was having none of it,
and he made his displeasure apparent. His voice thundered, "Only I have
the right to call my wife Cissy!"

He threw Bernard a deep look of loathing and accused, "I placed my trust in
you, and this is how you repay me? By cavorting with my wife??"

Draco had heard and tolerated enough. He loudly summoned the head
house elf who had retired to the kitchen, "Dotty!" A loud crack followed,
and Dotty appeared at once and bowed dutifully, "Yes, sir." The ashen-faced
elf straightened and awaited instruction.

Draco spoke impatiently, "Move my father’s painting down to his former

study until further notice."

Lucius protested raucously, but no one paid heed to his constant

complaining, "I forbid you. I want to be with my wife. We need each other."

Draco turned slowly, and father and son locked identical eyes. It was as if
he were staring into a mirror. Only the age difference separated them. One
an artistically painted likeness and the other a living, breathing, imposing
man who felt his patience slip through his fingers.

He stepped close enough to touch the large painting and stated harshly,
"You are dead, Father. You have tormented Mother enough. I will not let
your memories harm her any further."

Lucius leered, “You left her to rot on her own, and now you’ve killed her.”

He hissed through clenched teeth, "You are no son of ours."

Draco took the cruel taunting and swallowed the bitter truth. He raised his
head, stared his father down, and sneered, "I haven't been the boy you
raised for years." Ignoring his son, Lucius focused on the being he
considered beneath him and took every opportunity to treat him horridly.
He ordered with an air of superiority, "Dotty, I command you...." The tiny
elf squeaked at being addressed directly but stepped forward. Dotty crossed
her arms over her chest and grinned in satisfaction, "Dotty listens to Master
Draco. I am bound to serve the living master of Malfoy Manor."

She gingerly touched the oil painting frame and closed her eyes in
concentration. Lucius's last words were broken but heard by all, "Get your
filthy hands off my painting."

A loud crack of disappararion echoed through the room, and a large, empty
space was all that remained in the painting's place.

Draco silently thanked Merlin that there was no permanent sticking charm
in place. Healer Spencer hurriedly pulled ingredients out of his bag, along
with a plethora of potions. He shook his head in disappointment, "Your
father was always difficult. Even in death, some things never change."

Bernard seemed disturbed by his former friend’s hurtful words. He looked

over Narcissa woefully but lovingly. Once he was doubly sure she was in
good hands, he exited the room without another word.

The Healer caught sight of Hermione looming anxiously in the background,

"My dear, if all this family business is making you uncomfortable, then I
suggest you step out."

Draco glanced at Granger huddled in the corner, quiet as a mouse and

hoping not to draw too much attention to herself. Her eyes were fixed on his
mother's form. He stared at her and answered in her stead, "That's not
necessary. She's as good as family to my mother."

Hermione came crashing back to reality. She backed away slowly and
attempted to slick her tangled hair back with her fingers, "No, it's okay. I
think it's best. We need to give her space to breathe."

Draco took a step in her direction, "Granger...."

Hermione brought up a firm hand and held him at bay. Draco came to an
immediate halt and looked at her questioningly. Her lips quivered with her
reply, "It really is okay. I'll be outside." A breath of fresh air sounded quite
delightful at that point. She closed the door behind her, leaned against the
wall, and grabbed tufts of her hair in her hands like she was about to yank
them from her scalp. Her sobs of frustration and misery echoed through the
empty halls. Only sheer will prevented her from sliding down the wall to
the floor in hopelessness.

Over and over, she repeated like a mantra, "I'm sorry, Narcissa. Please,
forgive me. I am so fucking sorry."

A calming voice interrupted her unleashing of pain, "You are hardly to

blame, Miss Granger."

Bernard stepped out of the shadows and came towards her with a warm,
reassuring smile. Her emotions got the better of her, and she cried in
outrage, "What do you mean? Of course, I am. My refusal to be a party to
the Law is what's making him leave."

Bernard, however, kept his wits about him and attempted to appease the
troubled woman before him. He queried curiously, "Is it? Has Draco at any
point expressed a desire to wed?"

Hermione hadn't given it much thought, but she was now. She had been so
adamant about her own feelings about the marriage that she hadn't given a
second thought to what he wanted. She reacted meekly, "Well, no...but..."

Bernard silenced her with a raise of his hand and retorted, "But nothing.
This was his choice alone, and I understand the reason behind it as I
understand the reason behind your outrage of being matched with him."

Hermione nodded but argued, "Yet I did not lift a finger to stop him. I
should have. I could have convinced him to stay and prevented all of this
from happening, but instead, I encouraged him to leave."

Bernard looked thoughtful, "Narcissa told me Draco was rather horrid to

you and your friends at Hogwarts."
Despite the severity of the situation they were in, Hermione snorted, "That's
an understatement," she explained bitterly, "There was always tension
between Harry and him, but Malfoy hated me far worse than the others. He
went out of his way to remind me how unworthy I was to wield magic."

Tears filled her tired eyes once more, and she said resentfully, "In his eyes, I
was dirty and tainted."

Bernard could somewhat sympathise, but he stated an important

contributing fact to Draco's uncouth behaviour, "You do know the
circumstances of his upbringing. Our little encounter with Lucius's portrait
is a reminder of just that."

Hermione glanced at what she was sure was a rare painting by Vincent Van
Gogh and recalled angrily, "He was the first person, but certainly not the
last to call me Mudblood."

Bernard’s eyes widened in shock, and he voiced his thought, "He did not
dare use that forbidden word."

Hermione acquiesced and closed her eyes. Tears ran down her face
uncontrollably. Her voice cracked, "How am I expected to start a life with
him?" She looked at the Manor walls and felt them close in on her. An
involuntary shudder rocked her body. Even though years had passed, the
night of her torture was fresh in her mind, and Bellatrix's evil screech
entered her mind.

In plain sight of Bernard, Hermione grabbed hold of her head and hissed,
"Leave me alone."

Bernard stared intently at the woman before him, battling an invisible

being. He caught her by the elbow, peered into her face, and asked in
concern, "Are you alright, my dear?"

Hermione stayed still and battled the inner demons that roamed freely
around her troubled psyche. Once the evil laughter stopped, she answered
softly, "Yes, I'm fine."
The older kind man glanced at the closed door and said resolutely, "This
unfortunate incident is nobody's fault. You both did what you thought was
best."

Hermione shook her head vigorously, "I never intended to separate a mother
from her son."

Bernard offered soothing words, "Of course not, Miss Granger. That is clear
to everyone here."

Hermione mustered a polite smile, "Please call me Hermione." Just then,

Draco strode out with the Healer. He completely ignored the figures in the
shadows and spoke hurriedly with Healer George. The experienced Healer
told the truth, "She will be fine, son."

He instructed firmly, "Make sure she gets plenty of bed rest."

A hearty chuckle left his lips, "That will be a most difficult task. Your
mother is as stubborn as a mule."

Draco mustered a somewhat fond smile, "I won't argue with that, sir."

The Healer's tone turned quite serious, "She is not a young girl anymore and
must try not to get worked up by every little thing." Losing one's son could
hardly count as a little thing.

Draco nodded in agreement, "Yes, I'll make sure she gets the rest she
needs."

Healer George sighed and added importantly, "She was lucky it was a mild
stroke and not a full-fledged heart attack. I shudder to think what would
have happened if it was."

Draco’s face fell and contorted in unmistakable agony. He replied with

renewed sadness, "You and me both."

Healer George said reassuringly, "Chin up, boy. Your mother needs you to
be strong."
Draco nodded once again and replied determinedly, "Yes, sir."

The astute man clamped him on the shoulder and smiled, "Take care of
yourself, Draco. It is good to have you back. Your mother missed you
terribly."

They reached an apparition point, and he said supportively, "I will pop by
tomorrow to see how she is fairing." They shook hands, and Draco thanked
the Healer profusely, "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

The skilled Healer smiled warmly, "It was my pleasure, dear boy." After
Bernard excused himself, Hermione entered Narcissa Malfoy's suite for the
second time that night, but this time she was quite alone with the
unconscious lady. It was a lavish but tastefully decorated room with every
bit of luxury befitting a noblewoman. She hesitated at first but carefully sat
on the edge of the bed and stared into the sleeping face. Narcissa’s chest
rose and fell with content breathing, and Hermione sighed in relief. It was a
narrow escape, but, most importantly, a massive wake-up call.

Strands of long blonde hair fell across Narcissa’s pale face. Hermione
brushed them aside, took her clammy hand in hers, and cupped her tear-
stained face with it. She kissed the palm of the motherly figure and pledged,
"He's not going anywhere. I promise."

Hermione knew firsthand how devasting obliviating someone's memories

could be. She had endured the painful experience and the heartbreaking
results that followed. She knew Narcissa could not hear the heartfelt words
she uttered, but it didn’t matter. Hermione made up her mind to accept the
Law and her improbable pairing. Narcissa needed her son, and if three
lousy years of marriage was the only way to accomplish that, then so be it.
She would much rather have Narcissa around than visit her grave.

Again, she held on tight and swore by all the Gods, "You have my word. He
will not leave your side."

Before the war, there was a time before the Malfoys fell from grace, where
Narcissa herself had been a party to pureblood dominance and, on occasion,
treated Muggleborns poorly. Still, she had made it abundantly clear that she
was playing the part expected of her. To protect her son, she dined with the
devil. Hermione did not know how long she sat there, but the sound of a
loud crack made her jump. Dotty appeared with a basin filled with
lukewarm water and a cloth.

She tried to smile, but her giant orbs filled with tears, "Healer George said
to keep Mistress cool so she won't get a fever."

Hermione took the bowl, dipped the cloth, and let it soak up the water. She
squeezed the excess water and kept it gently on Narcissa’s head, then wiped
her hands and feet. She repeated the action until she was satisfied it was
enough.

Draco opened the large door to his mother's room and froze, caught in his
thoughts. He caught sight of Dotty holding on to a glass bowl of sorts and
Granger standing over his mother with a damp cloth in her hand and talking
to her as if she were awake, "Once you’re better, I'm taking you out for
dinner and we are going to go shopping at that little French store you love
so much."

Despite her seemingly cheery chatter, Draco could make out the
unmistakable ache in Granger’s voice, and on cue, she dropped to his
mother's side and wept, "I'm sorry, Narcissa. Please let me make this right."

Draco wanted to interject and assure her that it wasn't her fault, but that
would bring to light that he had been spying on her. If anyone was to blame,
it was him. He had decided to take the exit clause, and Granger had
absolutely nothing to do with it. Max whimpered and refused to leave his
mistress’s side. Not only did he refuse to go, but despite Dotty’s best efforts,
he would not eat a single scrap of food.

Draco backed out of the room slowly and returned to the foyer where
Bernard was fixing himself a drink. The older wizard glanced over his
shoulder and saw the thoroughly defeated young man enter. He fixed
another glass of scotch, added two ice cubes, and handed it to the disturbed
ice blonde staring at the roaring, rising flames in the fireplace.

Bernard inquired in concern, "Are you quite alright?"

Draco took a sip of the rich liquid and sneered, "My mother almost died
because of me. No, I am most certainly not okay."

Bernard started to say something, but Draco cut him off, "Why do I bring
misery to those around me?"

Bernard brushed aside the statement and replied carefully, "That is hardly
the truth. You love your mother, but this situation with the Law isn't the
easiest."

Draco sipped the rich amber liquid; it burnt his throat, and he welcomed the
unpleasantness.

Bernard studied the tall, brooding man drowning his sorrows and inquired,
"Can I ask you something?"

Draco’s curiosity piqued, and he replied almost at once, "Yes, of course."

Bernard leaned forward and asked curiously, "Do you want to marry Miss
Granger?"

He added with a devilish smirk, "I see the way you look at her."

Draco looked mildly ashamed. He did well to hide the blush that crept up
his cheeks, but he replied truthfully, "Do I desire her? Yes, very much, but
do I want to marry her or anyone else?" He shook his head and emphasized
his point, "No, I do not. Granger and I are too different. Our upbringing was
so vastly diverse."

Bernard was anything but convinced, and he gave voice to his thoughts, "I
never believed you would change your arrogant ways, but here you are, a
changed, remarkable man ready to grasp the world by the balls."

Draco let out a deep laugh, “I’ll drink to that.”

Bernard tossed back his drink, clamped Draco on the shoulder, and advised,
"You might be pleasantly surprised. If I've learned one thing, it's that there
are plenty of surprises life tosses your way."
Draco felt obliged to apologise, "I'm sorry about my father’s cruel words."

Bernard smiled but with exhaustion rather than happiness, "Ah, think
nothing of it." He shrugged, "It is the jealous ramblings of a dead man."

He perked up and said with purpose, "Now, if you excuse me, my beloved
needs me."

Draco smiled gratefully, "Thank you, Bernard. My mother is lucky to have

you."

Bernard said fondly, "My dear boy, it is I who is lucky to have her."

An hour passed uneventfully. Hermione left Narcissa in the care of Bernard

and searched the Manor for Malfoy. There were certain things she needed to
get off her chest, so to speak. The fire in the fireplace burned out, leaving
dying embers glowing in the darkness. Hermione could make out his tall
frame, despite the dimness, pacing anxiously.

He firmly held a half-full tumbler of scotch with the tips of his fingers and
occasionally sipped it. Once he drained the glass, he threw it into the
fireplace in frustration and anger. It collided with charred and blistered logs
and smashed to smithereens. Draco held onto the mantlepiece with both
hands, bowed his head, and swore loudly.

Hermione shuddered, gathered her strength and Gryffindor bravado, and

stepped out of the shadow into the flickering candlelight. The outline of the
shirt where it moulded to the delicate muscles of his back was plain to see.

She cleared her throat and said in a firm voice loud enough for him to hear,
"Let's get married." The words left her lips effortlessly despite her
unwillingness to marry her former school bully.

Draco heard the voice as though he was in a dream. He turned around

quickly and saw Granger standing but a few feet away from him, staring at
him intently and waiting for some reaction. Surely, he had heard her wrong.
There had to be some mistake. He could see the rip in the side of her dress.
She was barefoot, and her hair was a messy, unkempt tangle of curls. It was
endearing to see her this way. She looked like her former Hogwarts self.

She tutted impatiently, but he was not intimidated and replied adamantly,
"No, that isn't the answer."

Hermione held her ground and hissed through clenched teeth, "Yes, it is,
and you know it."

Draco stared deep into her eyes and shot back defiantly, "I said no,
Granger!"

He saw her face contort with anger, or perhaps it was frustration. It didn't
matter because she looked furious. Thinking she misunderstood, he added
quickly, "I find you quite desirable as I bluntly told you earlier, but
marriage...." Their attraction was sexual. It was nothing beyond the sensual
act.

Hermione glared sternly, "If I can do this for your mother, then you bloody
well can too." She further emphasized impatiently, "I will not play party to
Narcissa’s declining health and death. I care for her too much."

Draco refused to accept the truth she uttered. He said calmly, “Let us not
make any hasty decisions. We have been through a great deal tonight. "

Hermione rolled her eyes, and her reply dripped heavily with sarcasm,
"Yeah, because the one you made worked so well." That bold statement hurt
him. It pierced through his tough exterior and stabbed his heart.

She crossed her arms over her chest, stood her ground, and stated brazenly,
"I've made up my mind." There was an edge to her voice and finality to the
tone that he dared not question. Draco racked his brain to find another
solution to their problem. One that kept his mother healthy and alive whilst
saving them from a disastrous marriage. If a solution existed, it evaded him
with purpose.

He conceded defeat and inquired firmly, "Are you sure about this?"
Hermione laughed manically, and Draco took a step back in alarm. She
looked pretty deranged. He impulsively covered his precious parts, thinking
she would hex him or Avada his arse. She growled, literally growled as a
caged animal would, "No, I'm not fucking sure but let's get one thing
straight, I'm doing this for her and only her."

Without a single thread of remorse, Hermione hurled angrily, "I don't give a
shite about you or what happens to you, but for the woman fighting for her
life, I will do the unthinkable and wed the man who wished me dead time
and time again."

Draco closed the gap between them and covered her mouth with his large
hand. Fresh tears trickled out of the corner of her eyes and over his fingers.
He stared, mesmerized by the tiny drops moving over his knuckles.

He wanted to comfort her and brush away the salty tears, but instead, he
rested his forehead against hers and pleaded desperately, "Granger, stop..."

Her fingers grabbed hold of the side of his dress shirt, and she held on hard
to control some of the raging emotions flowing through her body.

Why was he so bloody tall? She barely reached his shoulder. She took a
step back, wiped the tears, and said with an air of importance, “If you
excuse me, your mother needs us, and I fully intend on being by her side
when she awakes."

Hermione turned on her heel, but long fingers encircled her wrist and turned
her around roughly.

Once again, she was pressed flush against his broad chest, and she
wholeheartedly welcomed the heat he generated.

His earlier promise of one night came to mind, and she dug her fingers into
the soft material, letting tears flow until they dampened the cotton of his
probably expensive shirt. His arms went around her, and he hugged her
tight and buried his head in her unruly tussle of curls. Her hair smelt faintly
of coconuts with a hint of rose, and he eagerly inhaled it.
She whispered between sobs, "I hate you..."

He closed his eyes and replied sadly, "I know..."

She repeated less convincingly, "I hate you so much...."

Draco almost smiled, "I know...."

He promised without hesitation, "I will do all I can to make this easier for
you."

Draco held her till she was emotionally spent.

Surrounded by darkness, they held onto each other and let the day’s events
wash over them. Only after she stilled and pushed herself off him did he let
go.

He boldly cupped her face and brushed away the tears that were smeared
across her reddened cheeks, "I'm forever in your debt for doing this."

Hermione stepped back and fired, "Need I remind you of how much
Narcissa means to me? I want nothing from you." She walked away,
glanced over her shoulder, and asked sternly, "Well, aren't you coming?"

Draco smirked, "Lead the way, Granger." He was being bossed around by
Hermione Granger, and he immensely enjoyed the feeling. When they
walked into the beautifully decorated room, Bernard held Narcissa’s hand,
and she smiled weakly at him. After a few moments, her eyes fluttered shut,
her head rolled to the side, and she fell asleep once again.

Draco and Hermione stood by the edge of the bed and watched Narcissa’s
peaceful slumber. The older woman’s features were relaxed, and a small
smile curved the corner of her thin lips.

Bernard got to his feet, kept his eyes on the woman he loved, and said with
a satisfied grin, "She's recovering well. I'll be in the guestroom if anyone
needs me."
Draco nodded and heard the faintest sound of a stomach rumbling. He
looked for the source and saw Granger blush and embarrassedly try to cover
her abdomen as if to silence it.

He found her behaviour oddly amusing and asked bluntly, "Are you
hungry?"

Hermione grinned sheepishly, "Oh, no, not really." The noise again, he
heard it distinctively.

Draco raised a brow and questioned, "Granger?"

Hermione sighed in defeat, "Fine. I'm starving." She wasn't the only one, he
had pushed aside the growing ache in his gut and focused all his attention
on his mother, but with Granger’s all too vocal stomach, his hunger pangs
rose violently to the surface.

He offered eagerly, "Why don't we raid the kitchen? I'm sure Dotty can
make us some sandwiches."

Hermione glanced at Narcissa unsurely, but Draco reassured, "Mother needs

to rest, and we need to keep our strength up."

Narcissa was out of danger and well on her way to fully recovering. He
offered his hand, which she brushed aside and suggested he lead the way.
Draco led her past famous paintings, she stopped to admire the beautiful
works of art, and he explained calmly, "My grandfather had many vices, but
he valued Muggle artists, and he was a true connoisseur of wine."

Hermione couldn't keep the surprise off her face, and they passed many
unique pieces before arriving at tall black mahogany double doors. He
pushed them open and stepped into the brightly lit kitchen. It was surgically
clean, and every surface was polished. Three house elves, including Dotty,
jumped to attention.

Dotty came up to them hurriedly and bowed, "Mister Malfoy, sir. What are
you doing here?"
Draco grinned, "Miss Granger and I are quite hungry. Would you be so kind
as to rustle up some food?"

Dotty beamed, and a happy smile split her face in half, "Of course, sir," she
snapped her fingers, and the other two elves sprang to attention and fell
over themselves in their haste to get the stove started.

Appearing mildly offended, the tiny elf asked, "Why didn't you ask Dotty,
sir? I would have brought dinner to your room."

Draco smiled warmly and glanced at Hermione, attempting to make small

talk with the other elves, "I wanted to show Miss Granger our spotless
kitchen."

Dotty glowed proudly. She always kept the place sparkling clean, and that
much was obvious. Pots hung in neat rows, and cupboards and drawers
were artfully and methodically organised.

Hermione tugged at her dress, the rip was widening, and her dress would
come apart at any moment. Like a buffoon, she had left her wand inside her
beaded expandable purse in Narcissa’s room. Draco sensed her distress, and
he moved closer, instructing her strictly to stay still. She barely got a word
out before he touched her and sent all these mixed feelings through her tired
body,

"What are you...." His fingers touched the bare skin of her thigh over the
noticeable rip. An involuntary shudder went down her spine at his fingertips
relatively close to her core.

She croaked, "Are you quite done?" He kept moving his hand along the
damaged area, up and up and then inward. She felt the magic that emitted
from his fingers warm her skin.

It was clear he was enjoying her discomfort and took longer than necessary
to patch up what was otherwise an easy fix, "Hmm, not quite yet. Almost
though, if you would stop squirming, I could do it faster."
Hermione cried indignantly and enunciated each word in frustration, "I.
Am. Not. Squirming."

Draco stifled a laugh, straightened, and assessed the area, "There, all done.
Good as new."

Hermione caught her reflection on a polished cupboard door and nodded

her approval, "Yes, well. It will have to do."

Dotty cleared his throat and pointed to nearly the other side of the room,
where a white kitchen island stood surrounded by six high chairs. They
crossed the space and took their seats. The smell of roast beef and cold
turkey cuts made it to their nostrils, further exacerbating their hunger pangs.
The double-decker sandwiches were packed with layers of roast beef, slices
of juicy tomato, fresh salad leaves, and a dash of mustard.

Draco took a deep sniff and said in appreciation, "Thank you, Dotty. This
smells delicious."

Hermione followed suit, "Yes, thank you, Dotty, JoJo and Daisy." The other
smartly dressed elves beamed at being acknowledged.

Draco picked up his sandwich and bit into it, forgetting his usual
impeccable table manners. Hermione watched him greedily devour his meal
and did the same. She did not care to be graceful or ladylike, and she
munched happily on the delicious, toasted goodness. She absolutely hated
awkward silence during a meal. Hermione delicately dabbed the corners of
her mouth with the white serviette and asked in slight concern, "Er, how are
you holding up?

Draco leaned against the chair and replied unhappily, "Well, I could be
better. And you?"

Hermione stared at her unfinished sandwich, and the recollection of

Narcissa falling played over in her mind. She choked back a sob, "I wish it
never happened."
Draco reached across and covered her hand with his and slightly squeezed,
"What happened to mother is not your fault."

She took her hand from under his, averted her gaze, and muttered, "It
doesn't feel that way. I feel every bit as responsible as you do." A strained
silence followed. Hermione broke the silence and said in an impressed tone,
“That was, umm, a powerful display even for a wizard who can do
wandless magic."

Draco looked anything but proud, “I can’t explain what happened. It felt
like my blood was on fire and seared the flesh from within.”

She looked horrified but fascinated, though quickly stirred the conversation
towards other things, "Tell me about China."

A fond smile flashed across Draco's face. He wiped his mouth clean and
answered, "That's a long story." She rested her head on her hands and gave
him her undivided attention, "Humour me."

Draco cleared his throat, glanced pointedly at his timeless Patek Philippe
watch, and inquired, "Shouldn't you be getting back?"

Hermione smirked at his blatant refusal to answer the question and asked
rudely, "Eager to get rid of me?

Draco countered at once, "Not in the least. I can ask Dotty to fix up a
guestroom for you to rest in."

Hermione hesitated, picked at the serviette, and responded darkly, "That's

quite alright. I could never sleep within these walls."

Draco nodded curtly, “I understand.”

She picked up the sandwich, "This is so good."

He took a large bite of his and savoured the taste of the tangy mustard. A bit
of the yellow paste dribbled down the side of Hermione’s mouth. He
brushed it off with his thumb and grinned at her look of utter shock. They
ate their meal in companionable silence, only stopping to exchange
meaningful glances.

Once she had polished off every last morsel, Hermione hopped off the
highchair and announced, "Well, I'll be going then. I will come by first
thing in the morning. I fancy a day off work."

Draco got to his feet and answered, "As you wish. Come on, let me escort
you to the apparition point. It's quite late, and I will not allow you to wander
about the grounds alone."

He instructed the tiny elf hovering in the background, "Dotty, please fetch
Miss Granger's bag from my mother's room and take care not to disturb
her."

Hermione argued, "I can take care of myself."

Draco grinned, "I have no doubt you can, but it would ease my troubled
mind."

He heard her mutter, "What an idiot."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Fine, let's go then."

She took in the flowers in bloom, the magical surroundings and the
intoxicating smell, "I always admired the gardens. The moonlight makes
everything beautiful seem so sinister."

Draco nodded in agreement, "True. But some things remain as beautiful as

they were in the light."

He was staring at her, hungrily devouring her curves, the dips in her body
and even her imperfections, and she knew he meant her. Never had she been
considered beautiful. Attractive or even sexy perhaps, but never beautiful.
His comment made her blush, but she concealed it well. Her eyes moved
over his body.

The steady shimmering beams of the moon did him justice. He fit into the
dark, mysterious surroundings, his silvery blonde hair glistened, and his
eyes shone brightly.

They arrived at the fountain with carved centaurs gazing lovingly at the
heavens.

Hermione looked to the open sky and sighed, "It's been a distressing night."

Draco followed her gaze and replied, "Hmm...indeed. Granger, again, you
are most welcome to stay."

She looked away uncomfortably, "I, um....can't. The Manor isn't my

favourite place to be."

Draco knew precisely why. He shared her sentiment, "Of course, I couldn't
agree with you more." He included bitterly, "In fact, I feel the same. If I
could, I would sell it off or donate it and start new, but mother would never
entertain the idea."

Hermione stared into his face. He had faced far greater evil within the walls
than she had. She fleetingly wondered if nightmares tormented him as they
did her.

Draco said carefully, "We need to talk about our situation."

Hermione retorted in exhaustion, "Not tonight. For now, we have agreed to

marry, so let's leave it at that."

The words she said were a nasty pill to swallow, but she pressed on
undeterred, "It's barely sunk in yet, and I would rather focus on Narcissa’s
wellbeing at this moment."

Draco nodded and quipped, "Agreed. See? We might have more in common
than you think.

She gritted out, "We have nothing in common and never will."

Hermione shivered as cold air swept over her, and she reached for her
wand, "Goodnight then."
Draco stepped closer, invading her personal space. He placed an
affectionate kiss on her forehead and muttered, "We will figure this out, I
promise. I'm sorry to put you through this." She closed her eyes and felt
every bit of his lips ghosting ever so delicately over her skin. The softness,
the reality of their situation made it even more intense.

Hermione looked up and locked eyes with him. She unconsciously brushed
a strand of ice blonde hair off his face and, with a single magical word,
disapparated.

Draco sighed as she disappeared. His fingers twitched in wanting to touch

her again. He took the scenic route back to the Manor, where his father's
ghost-like peacocks preened around the gardens looking as majestic as ever.

When Hermione’s feet touched familiar ground, she tossed her bag aside
and fell onto the bed. In her weakened mental state, she missed the warmth
of her parents horribly and decided a visit was long overdue.

The severity of the events that followed hit her hard, and before she knew
it, she was crying. She hugged her legs to her chest, curled into a fetal
position, and wept for fear of Narcissa dying, for an unstable future but
most of all for having no choice but to marry the monster who tormented
her in school.

A faint evil cackling filled the flat and added to the torment, "Welcome to
the family, Mudblood."

Draco returned to his mother's room and flopped unceremoniously on the

chintz chair in the corner by the wide window.

Max came over and lay by his feet. He ruffled the dog's head and stroked its
back until he was satisfied and lulled to sleep. Head in his hands, Draco
thought about his father's goading words but primarily the sacrifice Granger
made to keep his mother from an early grave. It could not have been easy
for her to come to such a conclusion. Did his mother mean so much to her,
or was her innate goodness shining through to save his family again?
Of one thing, he was sure. He would do all within his power to keep her
happy and sane for the duration of their marriage of convenience. Besides,
three years could hardly be considered a lifetime. He was confident they
could co-exist in harmony, and all being well, the years would fly by faster
than they hoped.
 Chapter 20
Chapter Notes

THE COMMENTS ARE SO AWESOME! THANK YOU SO MUCH!

😍❤

Slow burn, I know, but it is rather important for the storyline.

Enjoy Chapter Twenty!

Stay safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

The sexually spent man rolled off the woman and stared at the ceiling with
a smug, satisfied grin, "Nothing like an early morning fuck to take the edge
off." He nuzzled into the crook of her neck and desperately wished for love.
Would he die without ever feeling its warmth?

The woman lay naked and spread-eagled. Deep cuts and bruises adorned
her used body. Her eyes were devoid of any emotion. They were hollow
shells of misery and acceptance. There was nothing left, and her tears had
dried up. She slowly turned her head to the side, watched the man peeling
the condom gingerly off his dick in disgust and murmured, "Kill me. I
rather die than have you in me again."

Her words hurt him. Hadn't he shown mercy by making sweet love to her?
Pulling up his trousers, he walked towards her. His stride was panther-like
and foreboding. He cupped her face letting his fingers dig into her gaunt
cheeks, leering, "Not yet, darling. But soon."

He placed a heated kiss on her puckered lips, "I haven't tired of your
screams yet."

After he let go, she spat blood at his feet and snarled with all the strength
she had left, "Coward."
It would be the final nail in her coffin. Cuffing her to the bed, he enjoyed
her obvious discomfort as the rusty metal bracelet cut into her wrist.

He showed no remorse as he loomed over her and threatened, "Mouthy,

aren't you, bitch? When I return, we can put that filthy mouth of yours to
good use."

The steady beams of sunlight entered the ancestral home through the glass
windows. They reached the corners of the room and illuminated it in a
warm glow. Narcissa blinked in a futile attempt to rid herself of the
drowsiness. She was not quite sure where she was. Her eyelids were heavy
with sleepiness, and her mind felt foggy, but she fought the urge and
struggled to open her eyes.

She felt a presence by her side, a whimper followed, and something wet
nudged her eagerly. Narcissa struggled to move and, with some difficulty,
turned over and found herself face-to-face with her beloved German
Shepherd. She swallowed hard; her mouth felt appalling. The faint taste of a
calming draught lingered on the receptive nodes of her tongue. She
desperately needed to quench her thirst.

Her voice was barely audible, but she croaked, "Water...." Max stared at his
Mistress in distress for a second and started to bark loudly.

Narcissa closed her eyes in pain; the sound felt like a battering ram to the
side of her head. She was too weak to cover her ears and shuddered at the
magnified noise inside her head.

Draco was asleep, slumped in a chair awkwardly. Exhausted and in the

clothes from the night before, he stirred at the loud sound of the dog’s bark.

It took him a second to gather his bearings and shoot to his feet. He saw
Max turn to him and then his mother and continue to bark in alarm. Draco
shot his mother a panicked look when he found her wide awake. Her face
was twisted in anguish, and she repeatedly mouthed, 'Water."
He quickly fetched the gold goblet that rested on the bedside table and
waved his hand over it without a moment's hesitation. Freshwater splashed
within, and he sat by his mother, helped her up with one hand and kept the
cool glass of water to her lips. Narcissa eagerly grabbed it with both hands
and attempted to gulp it down, but Draco held it carefully and cautioned,
"Slowly, mother. You will vomit otherwise."

Narcissa nodded, took another gratifying sip, and laid back down. A small,
content smile curved her once-dry lips. She regained enough strength to
speak clearly, "What happened?

Draco took her hand in his and kissed it, "You had a mild stroke." His voice
dropped low, and he revealed heartbreakingly, "I almost lost you. Please
forgive me."

Narcissa stroked her son's tired face lovingly. He seemed uneasy and visibly
distraught, "There is nothing to forgive. I acted childishly, but the thought
of losing you is more than I can bear." Her voice broke on the last word,
spurring Draco into action. He dropped to his knees and assured, "You
needn't worry about that. I'm not going anywhere."

Narcissa cupped her beloved son’s cheek and looked pleased but perplexed,
"Whatever do you mean?"

Before Draco could answer, the door opened quietly, and Bernard walked in
wearing a white linen shirt and dark grey trousers, clutching a handful of
Narcissa’s favourite yellow roses. He saw the woman he adored wide
awake and conversing.

He could hardly contain his happiness. Keeping the flowers by the vase, he
rushed over and said in relief, "My love. You gave us quite the scare."

Draco got to his feet and allowed Bernard to take his place, "I'll give you
two some privacy." He took a deep breath and grimaced, "Besides, I could
do with a long shower. I haven't changed my clothes since yesterday."

Narcissa muttered anxiously, "You were saying..."

Draco grinned encouragingly, "Please Rest. We have all the time in the
world to talk."

Max whined impatiently and kept his head on the bed. Narcissa ruffled the
head weakly and mustered a happy smile, "Good boy."

Bernard tousled the shaggy white mane of the Alsatian and said fondly, "He
has not left your side."

He placed an enduring kiss on Narcissa’s forehead as Draco exited the room

and made his way to the training room. A shower would have to wait. He
needed to gather his thoughts and arrange them accordingly. Still, most
desperately, he wanted to punch something, anything really, to let out the
frustration.

Hermione woke wearing only her knickers. Sometime during the night, she
had tossed her clothes aside and fallen asleep in her underwear. Groggily,
she reached for her mobile and scrolled through the contacts until she found
Brenda's number. Bringing the device as close to her face as possible, she
typed fast the intended message.

Family emergency. Please tell Kingsley that I'm taking a personal day
off.

She clicked send, tossed the phone aside, and buried her head under the
covers. It was well past ten am, but her body protested, and Hermione knew
she could afford a few more winks before heading to Malfoy Manor. What a
night it had been. A near-death experience and she was now verbally
promised to her former bully.

Indeed, a life-changing night. Did she say she would marry him in the heat
of the moment? No, she meant it, but the very thought of the deed made her
want to weep and wither away.

Perhaps, she should take the exit clause. It made far more sense for her than
it ever did for him. Who the hell was she kidding? She could never be
without magic. It was part of who she was, and up until the Marriage Law
and Malfoy's untimely return, she had loved every bit of her life minus the
soul-shattering nightmares that plagued her often.

She was wide awake now. Hermione cursed under her breath, kicked aside
the sheet, and dragged her feet into the bathroom.

Narcissa struggled to sit up, but Bernard put his arms around her waist,
helped her up and summoned Dotty.

Dotty hurried in and almost tripped over her long dress. She beamed, and
happy tears ran down her chubby cheeks, "Oh, Mistress. Dotty is most
pleased to see you awake. I have cried all night."

Narcissa managed a shaky smile, "My dear, you shouldn't have. I'm fine,
see?

Bernard patted Narcissa’s hand affectionately and said politely, "Dotty,

would you please serve breakfast in the suite."

He added after a quick think, "Nothing starchy. Fruit, toast and a boiled egg
would do nicely."

Narcissa swallowed hard and grimaced, "My mouth feels rancid."

Bernard offered gently, “Shall I help you to the shower?”

Her eyes fell on the space Lucius's portrait previously occupied

She stared at it intently and demanded firmly, “First, tell me what

happened.”

Bernard sighed and gave her a shortened version of the events that
occurred. He took great care not to further upset or alarm her. Once he was
done, Narcissa trembled and voiced her displeasure. She struggled to get
up, "Poor Hermione. I must see her at once."
Bernard towered over her and said determinedly, "You are in no state to go
anywhere." His gaze softened, "Hermione will probably come by in a
while."

Narcissa glared at the empty space on the wall above her private safe and
queried, "Might I ask what happened to Lucius's painting?"

Bernard averted his gaze and shifted his weight uneasily, "Lucius became
very vocal and unpleasant. Draco decided to move the painting to a more
suitable place."

Narcissa raised a brow and mused, "Like the garbage?" There was no love
lost between father and son, and she knew it.

Bernard gathered her in his arms tenderly and held on tight. He choked
back a sob, "You don't know how happy it makes me to hear you joke. I
was terrified that I was going to lose you."

Narcissa let herself be held. She returned his enthusiasm and closed her
eyes. A single tear slid down her face, "I'm fine. I should never have let
myself get so worked up."

Bernard stroked her fine long hair, "It was understandable."

She requested shyly, "Can you help me to the ensuite?"

He nodded and wordlessly helped her to her feet, she leaned on him heavily,
and he almost carried her the short way to the luxurious bathroom.
Conscious of being partially naked, Narcissa looked away as she let the
night robes drop to her feet, exposing her body to him. His astute eyes took
in her mature body. He smiled fondly and helped her into the large tub.

Draco changed into training bottoms and left his hardened upper body bare;
he didn't bother with warmup exercises or meditation. He slipped on the
black leather gloves, quickened his stride and as the large punching bag
came within reach, he made a solid fist and smashed it into the bag with all
his might. He kept striking the bag with his fists and long legs until the
sweat dripped down his back.

With each punch, he muttered in annoyance, "Stop thinking about Granger,

you idiot. Your mother almost died." His grunts and deep groans filled the
space. It felt immensely gratifying to release the pent-up frustration.

A precise and strong roundhouse kick connected with the side of the heavy
bag. It made a faint hissing sound. The seam split, causing the sawdust
filling to spill on the ground. His heavy breathing echoed through the area.
He swore and doubled over in a futile effort to calm himself. He grumbled
and set to the task of repairing the damaged bag.

Hermione stepped into her room after a relaxing bath with a fluffy white
towel wrapped firmly around her and shook her wild curls sending water
droplets in all directions. In deep thought, she threw the doors open and
stood with her legs apart in front of the white-painted cupboard.

What to wear? Hmm...

She ultimately settled on a tight black turtleneck and form-fitting jeans. Her
hair was too wet to do anything with it, so she let it cascade around her
shoulders, unbridled and free.

Hermione felt uncertainty and her heart thumped a rapid nervous beat. She
had seen a different side to Malfoy last night. It was unnerving yet
undeniably appealing. Under normal circumstances, and if he weren't who
he was, she wouldn't have given pursuing him a second thought, but
unfortunately, the situation wasn't that simple.

Her phone buzzed, and she snapped out of the disturbing thoughts prancing
around her head. She kept the phone to her ear and choked back a sob. Her
emotions were getting the better of her, “Mum.”

It was uncanny how parents could sense their child's distress.

Julia said cheerfully, “Hi, my darling. We missed you and thought we’d
give you a ring.”

Hermione tried to hide a sniffle.

Richard Granger’s deep concerned voice came through, "Sweetheart, is

everything alright?"

Hermione sighed. Her announcement was best done in person, "Yes, dad. I
just miss you too."

Julia knew something was amiss and suggested eagerly, "Well, why don't
you come and stay for the weekend?"

Hermione felt real happiness in days. She perked up, "That sounds brilliant.
I can't wait."

She included wearily, "I need a bloody break from the magical hocus
pocus."

Richard chuckled, "We will be sure to Muggle it up for you."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh at the reference.

They spoke for a bit and hung up. She was careful not to blurt out her
predicament. Oh, guess what? I got engaged to a man you’ve never met. We
hated each other in school and have no logical choice other than to get
married and live miserably for three years.

Three years, she would be in her late twenties and divorced. It was hardly
considered an old age to start a family but still an enormous waste of time.
Grabbing her sizeable Chanel bag, she flung it over her shoulder, slipped on
a pair of matching black sunglasses, clutched her wand tight and muttered
her destination.

Draco pushed down his bottoms and stepped into the bathroom. His
softened cock sat unmoving and unused between his muscular thighs.
He glanced at it momentarily and fought the urge to question its allegiance
to Granger. It was an amusing thought, and he chuckled to himself. He
didn't care for bathtubs, but his mother insisted each bathroom contained
one. He walked right past the jacuzzi and slid open the glass door to the
cubicle.

As the overhead shower came to life, he closed his eyes, threw his head
back and wholeheartedly welcomed the beads of water that fell over his
face. An involuntary sigh of contentment escaped his lips.

Hermione hesitated at the intimidating entrance to Malfoy Manor. She got

ready to knock, but the door flew open, forcing her to step back in
trepidation.

Dotty beamed, "I saw Miss walking up the steps from the second-story
window. I wanted to surprise you." More like giving her a bloody heart
attack.

It was clear from the elf's disposition that Narcissa was doing fine, and
Dotty must have sensed her apprehension because she offered gleefully,
"Mistress is awake. She is much better today." Relief swept over Hermione,
and she shared in the elf’s happy mood, "That's wonderful."

They reached Narcissa’s room, and Dotty stopped outside. Hermione raised
a brow in question, but the tiny elf fixed her dress and bowed, “You can go
inside, Miss. I will bring you a pot of tea and some breakfast.”

She was indeed smart; Hermione was feeling somewhat peckish. Dotty
disappeared with a loud crack.

Hermione took a deep breath, willed her rattled nerves to calm themselves
and knocked on the door. The unmistakable voice of Narcissa Malfoy came
from within, “Please come in.” She slowly pushed the door open and
walked in on wobbly legs. Narcissa was sitting up in fresh light blue robes
as Bernard munched happily on a piece of toast. They turned her way and
smiled kindly in greeting.
Narcissa was beside herself, “Hermione, I'm so glad to see you, darling.”

Bernard welcomed courteously, “Good morning, Miss Granger.”

Hermione hurriedly closed the gap between them, put her arms around the
older woman and hugged her close.

Narcissa didn't hold back. She held onto the younger witch and soothingly
rubbed her back, "I'm okay. It will take a lot more than a little stroke to kill
me." They broke apart, and Hermione wiped the tears off her face, "I was so
worried."

Narcissa took Hermione’s hand and comforted her, "I'm fine. Healthy as a
horse." Max came running up to Hermione and demanded her attention. She
went on one knee, hugged the dog around the middle and buried her face in
its soft fur. It tickled her nostrils, and she sneezed a few times.

A deep voice drawled, "Bless you, Granger." Just the tone of his naturally
husky voice sent multiple shivers down her spine. She slowly rose and
turned to find him but a few inches away from her body. She involuntarily
took a step back but held her head high, "Good morning, Malfoy." He
ignored her greeting, sidestepped her neatly, dropped a kiss on his mother's
forehead, and said, "Ah, good, you're eating. You need to keep up your
strength."

Hermione stared at her hands and mumbled miserably, "I'm sorry, Narcissa.
We should have never put you through this." Three pairs of curious eyes
turned to look at her intriguingly. Narcissa smiled and patted the area next
to her. Hermione sat down and continued to stare at the hands in her lap.
Fresh tears streaked her cheeks, and she struggled to keep her composure.

Draco almost reached out to touch her, maybe even comfort her, but he
stopped himself. His actions were not lost on Bernard, who grinned
knowingly and continued to devour his breakfast.

Hermione muttered weakly, "We have a solution."

Bernard didn't know what the two headstrong youngsters had cooked up,
but he wasn't going to take the chance of having Narcissa relapse. He
interrupted sternly, "I don't think this is an appropriate time."

Narcissa narrowed her clear blue eyes, "Hush, Bernard." She glanced at
Hermione, nervously picking at a loose tread on her jeans. "Go on, dear."
She encouraged.

Hermione brought her head up and stared directly at Draco. Their eyes bore
into each others intently. Neither dared to break eye contact.

He kept his eyes on the witch before him and announced confidently, "We
have amicably decided to get married."

Draco saw Granger flinch, but she hid it well. Her face clouded over with
uncertainty.

Narcissa pressed her lips together and frowned. Her eyes darted from her
son to her would-be daughter-in-law. She sat up straighter and questioned
strictly, "I see, and what brought this on? My untimely illness?"

Draco was ready with his reply, "It's the best possible way forward.” He
hesitated and added bleakly, “We haven't worked out the details yet."

Clearly, their declaration did not have the desired effect, though Narcissa
did a good job hiding her anger.

Narcissa rubbed her temples exasperatedly and spoke slowly, "I will not let
my feelings doom the two of you into a contract marriage." She said
tenderly and momentarily eyed her ring finger, "Marriage is a sacred bond
between two individuals."

She raised her voice forebodingly and directed her statement at her only
child, "And Malfoys do not get divorced."

Hermione stiffened and purposely looked away, but Draco kept his wits
about him and answered coolly, "Well, this Malfoy will." He persistently
stated the truth, "We did not come to this decision lightly, but we stand by
it."

Draco looked to Hermione for backing, and after a moment’s hesitation, she
concurred, "It's only for three years, and as Malfoy said, we haven't quite
worked out all the details."

That much was true. They hadn't spoken about it all, but she knew he
wanted it, but she wasn't ready. It was so much to take in.

Narcissa said directly, "Then I suggest you do. A loveless marriage isn't
what I want for either of you." A sadness laced her following words, "I will
handle myself and come to terms with it, but don't let my health be the
catalyst that propels you into making unwise decisions that ruin your
future."

Draco sighed, "Mother...."

Hermione spoke at the same time, "Narcissa..." The doors flew open, and a
cheerful man walked in carrying a briefcase. He took in the situation and
tried to lighten the mood, "Ah, I see the whole gang is here."

There was a collective murmur of good morning. Healer George grinned,

displaying perfect rows of sparkly white teeth, took Narcissa’s hands in his
and gushed, "My dear, Narcissa. You gave us quite the scare." He checked
her vitals and nodded approvingly, "Well, you seem to be doing well."

Turning to Draco and Bernard, he asked earnestly, "Is she taking the potions
without causing a fuss?"

Narcissa blushed at being referred to as an insolent child.

Bernard threw her an amused look and smirked, "Like a good girl."

Dotty appeared shortly with a tray laden with a steaming pot of tea and a
plate of freshly baked scones. She held it out to Hermione, “Miss Granger,
your tea. Would you like some breakfast? Dotty can make you some egg
muffins.”
Hermione inhaled the sweet smell of tea and felt her stomach growl, but she
politely declined, “Thank you, but...”

Draco asserted himself and requested, “Serve brunch on the terrace, Dotty.
Miss Granger and I will eat together.”

Hermione protested, “Oh, I’m really not that hungry.”

Draco stood his ground and countered willfully, “I wasn't asking, Granger.”

Healer George requested graciously, “I would love a cup of tea. If you

please, two lumps of sugar and a dash of milk.” Dotty froze at being
addressed directly and hurried off to do her duty.

Draco led Hermione onto the white marbled terrace which overlooked the
gardens. A sizeable round table was arranged with platters of food.

Hermione quipped, “That's a large spread for two people.”

Draco grinned, “Mealtimes are quite the fuss. We ate whatever was
prepared without question at the temple and didn't have dinner.”

She asked intriguingly, “Are you going to tell me about China?” He tipped
her chin and leaned closer, "All in good time." She smelt the fresh mint of
his toothpaste on his breath.

Hermione closed her eyes and let his manly aroma clog her senses. Through
a haze, she heard his voice, "Come on, the food is getting cold."

Unfazed, Hermione shot back, "A simple spell can fix that." Some wizard
he was.

Draco scowled and rationalised, “Everything time we use magic, something

is taken in return. I want my food fresh and naturally hot.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Fine.”

They ate in companionable silence, and Hermione sneaked sausage pieces
to Max, who had followed them.

Draco scolded, “Don't do that, Granger. He will get used to it and demand it
of everyone.”

Hermione argued, “He's a puppy still. I mean, look at his face.” Max kept
his head on Draco's lap and stared into his master's face with the most
adorable eyes.

Draco chuckled, "He's got you wrapped around his little finger."

She said absentmindedly, "Him, along with Teddy and James."

Draco swallowed hard and implored, "Teddy?"

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, busied herself with buttering a piece of

toast and mumbled, "Yeah...he’s your cous...."

Draco interrupted, "I know who he is," and added with a genuine smile, "I
would love to meet him one day. I saw him with my aunt at Tracey’s
wedding.” He had also seen Granger showering the boy with unmistakable
love.

She certainly wasn't expecting that. Hermione raised a questioning brow,

"Would you like to meet him? Do you mean that?"

Draco fixed her with a strange look, "Why do you sound surprised? He's
family, of course, I want to meet him." That shut her up temporarily, and
she couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same about Andromeda.

Hermione bit into a flaky croissant delicately, but bits of pastry still landed
on her top. She brushed them off and gazed into the immaculately kept
gardens, and quipped, "Can we expect more visits from your girlfriend?"

Draco choked on his pumpkin juice, surfaced spluttering, and Hermione

patted him on the back in panic, "Fuck. Are you okay?" He emerged with
tears in his eyes and a burning sensation in his throat but croaked out an
answer, "I'm fine. She was never truly my girlfriend." After a few sips of
water, he shrugged nonchalantly, "Well, she comes and goes as she pleases.
It's always been the way."

Hermione savagely pierced a thick sausage, and Draco winced. It physically

hurt his cock to see her brutalise the homemade sausage. He grabbed her
wrist midair and glared, "Stop playing around with your food."

She smiled sweetly, broke free from his grasp and pointedly cut the meat
into minuscule pieces, popped a few into her mouth slowly and stated rather
insensitively, "Greengrass is not going to take the news of our upcoming
nuptials well."

Draco visibly paled. He was already a shade lighter than most, but this new
shade put his original colour to shame. With all the drama that followed, he
had forgotten entirely about Astoria. That would be a difficult hurdle to
jump. She was likely to do something drastic, but he was still somewhat
glad Granger had been the first to bring up their impending union.

He cleared his throat and said cautiously, "We need to talk about the
marriage."

Hermione contemplated the many varieties of marmalade and shrugged,

"What is there to talk about?"

Undeterred, Draco pressed forward, "For starters, we need to speak about

living arrangements."

Oh Merlin, did the incorrigible sod expect to share a room? A devilish

thought floated by; he would be a pleasing sight to wake up to.

Horrified by her momentary distraction, she absentmindedly picked up a

black jar, generously spread the black contents within on a fresh piece of
bread and said adamantly, "I will never live here. We can just keep our
current living arrangement. Me in my flat, and you here."

She took a bite and gagged. What was that revolting taste? Hermione turned
the jar around, and in big, bold letters, the word MARMITE jumped out at
her. She pushed her plate away and hurriedly drank some orange juice to
erase the disgusting taste.

Draco chuckled, "You either love it or hate it. Besides, it’s very nutritional."
He picked up her discarded piece of marmite-smeared bread, took a sizable
bite and sighed exaggeratedly, "Delicious."

Hermione looked repulsed, "That's a vile jar of shite." She was more
surprised that he ate her leftovers.

Seriously, who the fuck was this man?

Draco laughed aloud, "I love it when you swear."

His eyes clouded over with desire, and he drawled, "Are you vocal in bed?"

Hermione bit her lip, leaned forward until their faces were inches apart and
quipped, "Only if you fuck me right."

Salazar, she had him by his balls. Figuratively, of course.

He pushed his chair back. She had succeeded in making him uncomfortable
and horny.

Draco ran his long fingers through his hair and inquired, "Erm, I presume
you read through the conditions of the Marriage Law."

It hit her like a metaphorical ton of bricks.

Article 03 - Living Arrangement.

Couples are to live under one roof for the duration of the Law. Failure
to do so will result in immediate contract termination and confiscation
of wands.

It was a no-win situation.

She looked around the Manor in hatred, "The occasional visit is one thing,
but I could never live in a place where my blood was spilt."
Draco stiffened. The realisation of her words hit him hard, and he started to
clarify, "Granger, I didn't mean for us to live here, I...."

The words us and live triggered something within, which made the whole
situation seem real, and she couldn't handle that.

Hermione closed her eyes and hissed, "Can we please not do this right now.
I'm not ready to speak of our, umm...union."

Draco went to take her hand in his but withdrew. The last thing she needed
was for him to touch her at that moment. He deliberately changed the topic,
"So, are you planning on spending the day?"

Hermione nodded unsurely, "Yes, if that's alright. I would like to keep

Narcissa company."

Draco smiled encouragingly, "It's perfectly alright." He added with poised

excitement, "If you are done eating, I would like to show you something."
That piqued her interest. She wiped her mouth with the embroidered napkin
and rose. Draco followed suit and offered his arm; he didn't expect her to
take it, but she did. He led them towards the Manor's West Wing and came
to a standstill outside massive doors.

Hermione touched the centuries-old carved door and raised a curious yet
suspicious brow. She was beyond perplexed. Draco grinned, pushed the
doors open and stepped into the large room. Her jaw dropped. Never had
she seen such an impressive collection of books. Even from where she
stood, she could see some were ancient. She longed to gorge on the
mysteries and lost secrets.

The Malfoy library was legendary, and despite her visits with Narcissa, she
had never plucked up the courage to ask to see it. She felt an urgent tug.
Draco laughed aloud at her reaction, grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her
inside. Not even Hogwarts boasted such a rare collection.

She muttered, awestruck, "It's....breathtaking." Hermione was reminded of

the scene in Beauty and The Beast, where the Beast gifts the castle library
to Belle, except this was no beast. This handsome man had caused her to
question a great many things.

Draco used her distraction to his advantage. He positioned himself behind

her and looked around himself. He had forgotten what an imposing sight the
library was. He said in a low voice, "My father had many faults, but this
library was his brainchild. He combed hours through bookshops in rather
unfavourable alleys to add some rare gems to the collection."

Hermione stood rooted to the spot, "I am utterly speechless."

Draco snickered, "Well, that's a first." He gently pressed into her back and
heard her gasp as their bodies brushed against each other. She leaned into
his sound structure and listened to the heavy words he uttered, "Every
single book in this library is yours to read or borrow." Those words were
more potent to her than his offer of a one-night stand, but clearly, he wasn't
done.

She felt his lips brush the top of her head. Draco muttered helplessly, "Why
do you always smell so enticing?” He lent a voice to the sinful thoughts
running rampant. It dripped with hunger and yearning to be close, “I can’t
stop thinking about you." Books were forgotten; Hermione felt her knees
weaken.

She said the first stupid thing that came to mind, "I use a Muggle shampoo,"
and regretted it at once. The art of seduction was clearly lost on her.

Draco ignored the remark and urged unalterably, "I could take you in here
surrounded by things you love. Although, I envisioned silk sheets and a
large bed."

Her voice was barely audible, but it was breathless with growing desire,
"Malfoy, stop..."

He unwaveringly reminded her of the night before, "You agreed..." She

pushed her feelings aside and let her brain dictate terms, "That was before
everything went to hell. Things have literally changed overnight."
Draco kissed the exposed shell of her ear, "My wanting to be with you
hasn't changed." Her skin came alive under his ministrations.

He ran his fingers down her arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake, "It hasn't
changed for you either." She turned around and found him staring at her
intently. His stormy grey eyes swirled in a frenzy. Hermione gathered her
strength and muttered weakly, "Things could get horribly complicated."

That much was true, especially if they were to wed. Before, it was one night
and goodbye, but now it would mean one night and then having to face him
for the next three years. She had no intention of going beyond one night of
mutual passion.

His face hardened, and Draco stepped back immediately. He straightened to

his full height and nodded curtly, "If that's your wish, I won't bother you in
future."

Hermione frowned. Her body reacted in disappointment, but it wouldn't do

to make it obvious. She looked him dead in the eyes and replied haughtily,
"Good, because we need to set some boundaries." His face was set in stone
and void of any readable emotion, "Consider them set." He pointed to the
library's interior and said, "Enjoy your time reading."

Draco turned on his heel, glanced over his shoulder and asked casually, "I
gather you can find your way back to Mother's suite?"

Hermione nodded, "Yes, thank you." He walked towards the exit and called
out before disappearing around the corner, "Good day, Granger." She
couldn’t help the resentment that bubbled. It was an uphill battle to assert
herself and align her thoughts, but her body was not cooperating.

Hermione waited till he left and ran around the space much like a small
child in wonderment. She could hardly decide where to start, but the
Malfoy family ancestry had always intrigued her, and she thought it fit to
start there.

A few hours passed, and Hermione momentarily forgot the reason she was
there. She glanced at her clock, and it was nearly five pm.
Where had the time gone?

She closed the bulky book shut, tucked it under her arm and made her way
down the long corridors to Narcissa’s suite. It took her a while to get there,
and she thanked Merlin when she did because the Manor felt sinister to her
at times.

Sometimes it felt as if the statues stalked her every move. She was sure her
mind was playing tricks on her, but the innate feeling of being unwelcome
dogged every step she took. Reading into their family history didn't help
matters much.

It gave her a profound insight into why Malfoy was such a bastard at
Hogwarts. His entire line was built on pureblood dominance, but she finally
understood why they were considered a pillar of the Magical community.

Their line went back centuries, and the magic that flowed through their
veins was powerful and not easily matched. Well, that much was clear
considering his display the previous night and the fact that he could wield
the magic in him without using a wand. He would also be the first of the
Malfoy bloodline to wed a witch of inferior birth.

Inferior, indeed. She could take each of them with one hand tied behind her
back.

Hermione pushed the thoughts aside and reentered the room. Narcissa sat
up as she walked in and put aside the book she was reading. She eyed the
book in Hermione's grasp and mused, "Ah, straight to the heavy stuff, I see.
It's not for the faint of heart," Narcissa smiled in relief, "I was afraid you
might have left."

Hermione grinned sheepishly, "Of course not, I came to spend time with
you, but I got carried away, I'm afraid."

She emphasised reverently, "The library is positively exquisite."

A fond smile curved Narcissa's pale lips, "Only a true scholar can
appreciate its beauty." She coughed, and Hermione hurriedly poured a glass
and handed her a tall glass of water to eradicate the dryness the potions left
behind.

Narcissa took the glass with both hands and took a gratifying sip. She laid
back down and patted the area next to her on the bed, "But come, we must
talk." Max had been sleeping by the fireplace and decided he had rested
enough. He came to Hermione’s side and demanded affection.

The Alsatian was quite fond of her, and she, in turn, lazily stroked his head
before inquiring casually, "Where's Bernard and umm, Draco?"

It felt weird to use his given name, but she gave it a good old try for
Narcissa. The older woman laughed at the way Hermione uttered her son's
name so reluctantly and with obvious distaste.

Narcissa answered fondly, "Bernard is educating Draco on company

matters," but her tone turned motherly and severe, "But enough about them.
I want to speak to you about this foolish decision."

Hermione sighed exasperatedly and argued, "It is not foolish, Narcissa. You
need him, and it's a small three-year sacrifice on our part."

She added meekly but with a certain degree of scepticism, "I have no doubt
we can remain civil to each other during this ordeal."

Narcissa had her doubts. She said bluntly, "But, Hermione, this isn't what
you want."

She covered Narcissa’s hand with her own and replied genuinely, "It's not
what I want, but it's worth it."

Narcissa cupped Hermione’s cheek affectionately and choked back a sob,

"You are a gem, my dear, and for what it's worth, and I've said this before, I
welcome you wholeheartedly as my daughter in law."

Hermione couldn't help the blush that coloured her cheeks. She pondered,
"I'm afraid it's not quite sunk in as yet. Malfoy keeps bringing it up, and he's
right to, I suppose. We need to discuss things, but I'm just not there yet."
Narcissa nodded in agreement. "True, but I suppose there's time."

Hermione shook aside the unpleasantness and perked up, "First, you need to
get better, and we need to go shopping."

Narcissa grinned, "Oh, the French store?"

Hermione adopted a French accent and bowed eloquently, "But of course,

ma Cherie." She thought and smiled dreamily. She tapped her chin in
thought, "I do recall a rather handsome clerk."

Soft peals of Narcissa’s happy laughter echoed through the space, "The one
with the ponytail? He is rather fetching."

Hermione’s face fell, and the tears she fought spilt over, "I thought we had
lost you yesterday." She couldn’t bring herself to contemplate the thought
of what could have happened.

Narcissa brushed away the tears and smiled tenderly, "Dear child, let's wipe
away the tears and have high tea."

Max sensed her distress, nudged her with his long snout and licked her
hand.

Hermione kissed the dog's head and replied in her most aristocratic voice,
"Sounds smashing."

The women shared a laugh, and it was a most pleasing sound indeed.

Draco looked over the papers, "What concerns you?"

Bernard frowned, "Funds are missing from the German construction site."

Draco frowned, "And you suspect foul play?"

Bernard nodded in frustration, "It has to be our partner in Germany."

Draco sat down, brought his large hands together and said firmly, "Do what
you must, Bernard. I trust your judgement. You have my approval and
consent."

He added bitterly, "I will not tolerate crooks."

Hermione sat in Narcissa’s room on the comfortable sofa with her feet up
and read a rare book while the older lady rested. She was positively
comatose after indulging in far too many pieces of chocolate cake, but by
Merlin, Dotty was a fantastic cook.

Draco and Bernard were still discussing company-related documents and

would probably surface sometime close to dinner. She was so engrossed in
the book Hermione didn't realise it was night until the words blurred, and
darkness consumed the room.

She yawned in exhaustion, the book slipped from her fingers to the floor,
and she fell into a deep slumber.

Michael stepped out of the lift and glowered at the sight before him. His
body shook with unmistakable anger. John leaned forward and chatted with
his witch.

Brenda was merely being polite, but she fidgeted nervously and wished
John would leave.

Michael pushed the glass door open and hissed, "What the fuck are you
doing here, John?"

John eyed the frothing madman cautiously, "Nothing, just having a friendly
chat."

Michael asserted himself and fired, "Are you fucking stupid? Can’t you see
you’re making her uncomfortable?"
John stepped away from Brenda's desk and looked upset. It hadn't been his
intention to make her anxious, but then again, he had that effect on people.

Brenda was quick to defend, "Corner, stop. That is not true. He was just
asking about my hair."

Michael turned to John and asked incredulously, “Were you? Why the
sudden interest?"

John looked confused, "What?"

Michael took a step forward, forcing John to step back until his back hit the
wall. Corner leaned forward and jeered, "You enjoy hurting others? Does it
get you off, you sick fuck?"

John's bottom lip quivered, and he snapped abruptly, "What? No. Shut up,
Corner."

Brenda grabbed hold of her boyfriend’s arm and pulled him back, "Michael,
that’s enough."

He shook her hand off and poked his wand into the helpless man’s chest,
"Keep your head down."

Brenda explained, "Michael, you should leave. John was here to meet
Hermione over a Muggle artefacts case."

John eyed the wand cautiously but replied crassly, "It’s okay. Aurors tend to
think they walk on water," he spat in contempt, "but you buggers are
nothing but an arrogant bunch of arseholes who suckled at their mother’s
bosom till they were eight."

Michael's temper spiralled out of control. He grabbed John by the collar

with the intent of smashing his face into the wall, "What did you say? Do
you have a bloody death wish?"

John cringed, "I'm sorry. Please let me go. I have work to do."

Michael let go and leered, "Like what? Unclogging a Muggle bathroom?"

Brenda warned, "Stop it."

She looked at John sympathetically and mouthed, "I’m so sorry."

He mumbled before parting, "The new colour suits you, Brenda. It’s a pity
that it isn’t your natural hair colour."

The second the man disappeared from their line of sight, she accused her
boyfriend, “How dare you treat him that way? You should be ashamed of
yourself."

Michael was livid, and he made it abundantly clear, "He was eyeballing
you." He narrowed his eyes and said suspiciously, "There's something not
quite right about him." The man's sudden interest in redheads struck him as
odd. Was it a bizarre coincidence?

John might be an oddball, but he worked for the Ministry. Michael pushed
the thought aside and focused on his fuming girlfriend.

Brenda retorted sarcastically, "And because of that, you bully him? Have
you gone mental?"

Michael was getting tired of what he believed to be childish behaviour.

Hands in his pocket, he asked shortly, "Are you ready to leave?"

Brenda grabbed her tote bag and replied angrily, "I’m not coming over. I
can’t look at you without wanting to throw up."

Michael tried to touch her, but she shook him off. He pleaded, "Babe, come
on."

Brenda was having none of it. She left him standing by himself and stormed
towards the lift, "I mean it, Michael. Fuck off."

John watched from the shadows. Fucking Aurors, thinking they are so
smart. The dumb bunch of cunts.
A high pitch cackle echoed in her subconscious, "Wakey, wakey little
Mudblood."

Hermione hissed, "Fuck off."

Bellatrix leered, "We haven't spoken in a while. I miss you."

Hermione spat in contempt, "I have nothing to say to you."

Bellatrix laughed manically, "Of course you do. You like him, don't you?"

Hermione’s face twisted in displeasure, "Not in this bloody lifetime."

Bellatrix's maddening squeal of laughter bounced off the walls of

Hermione’s mind, "Then why is he in here with me? You keep thinking
about him because you want him."

Hermione gritted out, "Get out of my head."

The laughter stopped, and Bellatrix grinned, "We get to be family. Isn't that
something to celebrate?"

Hermione felt the repulsive taste of bile in her mouth and hurled back,
"Fuck you."

Bellatrix licked her lips and pointed to the faint but still visible scar, "Does
that still hurt, my pet?"

Hermione froze, and her eyes widened in horror. Her voice cracked, "Stay
away from me."

Bellatrix took steady steps to close the gap between them and mocked,
"Come on. Let's see, shall we?"

Hermione forced her legs to work, and when they did, she took a step back,
stumbled and fell to the ground.

Bellatrix licked the tip of the small glistening dagger and sneered, "You
never did answer my question." She grabbed hold of Hermione's arm, and
she felt the smooth edge of the dagger dig into her flesh. She tried her best
to suppress her cries, but eventual pain won over, and she screamed,
"Please, stop! It hurts."

Bellatrix leaned closer to Hermione's ear and whispered, "It’s supposed to

hurt, you filthy bitch."

Draco entered the dark room. He was surprised to find that there was no
light. Not even a candle.

He snapped his fingers gently, and the tips of his fingers lit the way. He
heard the distinct but faint sound of a painful cry, but his mother was
soundly asleep. He looked around, and his eyes came to rest on Granger.
She was writing in agony and seemed to be fighting an invisible entity
causing her discomfort. The following words out of her mouth made his
blood run cold.

"I swear we haven't been inside your vault."

He remembered them well. That horrible night had given him nightmares
for years, and Granger was undoubtedly afflicted by them too. She suffered
terribly at the hands of his deranged aunt, and he had stood by like a
coward, helpless and unable to muster a shred of courage to step in and help
her.

Draco remembered his father's disappointed words, "Shield your thoughts,

boy. I see right through your pathetic heart."

Granger's cries for mercy and her repeated screams of agony that night
echoed through his mind as if it were yesterday.

She was bathed in sweat and thrashed about in her sleep, trying to fend off
whatever had a hold on her. Her suffering prompted him to action, he bent
to her level, grabbed her firmly by the arms to still her and gently shook her
awake, but she mistook his hands on her as a sign of hostility.

Eyes firmly shut, still caught in her nightmare, she broke free and fought
him. Her nails dug into his forearm, leaving a deep gash down the front and
blood dripping down his arm. Before he could stop her, she brought her
hand up and slapped him hard across the face.

His deep groan woke not only her but his mother as well.

The room filled with light, and Narcissa groggily asked in concern, "What
happened?"

Hermione's eyes flew open. She trembled in his hold.

They locked eyes, and she stared at the ice blonde, regarding her curiously
with a look of sorrow. She did not bother to explain her actions or apologise
for them.

She pushed him back roughly, grabbed her bag and ran out the door. In her
panicked state, without a backwards glance, Hermione wiped the tears that
fell as she ran through the dark corridors in utter desperation to find the
exit. The paintings came to life as she ran and mocked her, or so she
thought. She ran with abandon, and once the fountain with the centaur came
into view, she waved her wand and disapparated.

Narcissa shot up and attempted to stand, but Draco's firm hand on her
shoulder stopped her. He stared at the door in deep thought. Granger carried
some baggage. Her past tormented her as his did him, but he knew how to
help her rid herself of the nightmares.

Narcissa declared sadly, "I am very worried about Hermione."

Draco kissed his mother's hand, "Calm yourself, mother. I will make sure
she is okay."
 Chapter 21
Chapter Notes

Thank you so much to everyone who posted a review and for everyone
following! It means so much! I will most certainly get around to
replying to each comment soon. 😊

I apologise for the delay in updating, but the story needs some
thinking, plus work has been rather mental.

A lighthearted chapter with a few twists and turns.

I've taken a few liberties! 🙈

Enjoy Chapter Twenty-One!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! 😊

It was late, but young Teddy Lupin looked out of his window and stared at
the night sky. The sparkling stars smiled down on him, and he felt hopeful.
He would, on most days, wish upon a star for an older brother. Uncle Harry
did his best, but he was always so busy, and Aunty Hermione was a girl and
not the biggest fan of Quidditch.

As usual in his innocence, he brought his hands together and said a silent
prayer, "Please grant my wish, Merlin. I've been a good boy this year."
Satisfied, he dove under the covers of his bed, pulled the battered old teddy
bear close, and closed his eyes. A content smile spread across his face.

Hermione collapsed in a heap the second her feet touched the ground. She
hugged herself and wept. She needed help. She knew this, but it would
mean admitting her insecurities, and with Malfoy’s unfortunate return and
the Law looming over her had increased exceedingly.

“No,” she lashed out and gathered her strength to get up. She would not
succumb to Bellatrix’s taunting.

Hermione went straight into the kitchen and took out a calming draught she
always kept prepared. Without a moment’s hesitation, she uncorked the vial,
tossed the contents back, and felt the potion take immediate effect. A sigh of
relief left her lips.

Another thing that worked wonders was a relaxing bubble bath. She
discarded her clothes on the way to the bathroom. Filling the clawfoot tub
with lukewarm water, she fetched some sweet-smelling bath salts she had
bought weeks ago.

After adding a generous amount, Hermione swirled it using her hand until it
dispersed and became one with the water. She dipped a leg in first and
descended into the soothing tub of water. She sank into the bliss it offered
and felt her tense muscles begin to loosen. Minutes passed, and her body
turned into a lethargic pool of mush. Her eyes fell on the shiny silver chain
that hung around her neck.

Hermione delicately touched the pendant Malfoy gave her. She lifted it with
her fingertips to get a better look. It was stunning, and she couldn’t help but
stare at the intricately carved silver dragon.

His words rang through her head. Did he mean what he said? Had he
thought about her for years? It boggled the mind, and she was forced to
admit that he aroused rather extreme reactions from her body, but that was
before she agreed to marry the fiend.

There would be no sharing of bodily fluids or anything sexual between the

two. She let the pendant drop, and it once again rested snugly between the
valley of her sizeable bosom. Her breasts had undoubtedly filled out since
her Hogwarts days.
Hermione closed her eyes and rested the back of her head against the
smooth surface of the tub, but annoyingly the loud ringing of the bell
shattered her peace. She groaned and hoped the intruding wanker would
just move along and leave her be but to no avail. It just kept ringing
incessantly.

Cursing aloud, she unwillingly rose from the scented bath water and slipped
into the robe she had ready. With wet curls and the cottony robe barely
covering her bits, she hurriedly tiptoed the short distance to the lilac painted
front door of her flat.

Usually, she would peak through the peephole to see who was outside, but
she was puddling and dripping everywhere and wanted to get rid of
whoever it was fast. She threw the door open in frustration, ready to give
whoever it was a severe tongue lashing and froze. Standing with an amused
grin spread wide across his unfortunately handsome face was the last person
she expected to see. In blue jeans and a black t-shirt, his eyes roved over her
in appreciation.

The invader grinned, "Well, this is a pleasant surprise. "

He caught a rogue drop of water falling off her cheek with his thumb and
smirked most alluringly, "So wet." His eyes went to the parting in the robe
where the pendant was clearly visible. He touched it without invitation, and
his fingers brushed against the top skin of her exposed breasts sending
renewed sensations through her now relaxed body.

He bit his bottom lip and pondered, "I'm surprised you haven't chucked it
away yet."

She tightened the robe around her and leaned against the door casually,
"What are you doing here?"

His voice turned serious, and he offered clarification, "You ran out of my
home without explanation."

He bent to her level and mocked, "What kind of a man would I be if I didn’t
check up on my fiancé?"
Hoping to further appease the woman before him, he included sincerely,
"Besides, mother was worried about you."

Hermione jabbed him in the chest, warning, "Don't call me that."

She hugged herself, averted her gaze, and mumbled, "And you don't need to
feel obligated. I’m fine."

Stubborn witch. He sighed in exasperation, "Sure you are. Can I come in? I
bought dinner."

Hermione curled her bottom lip with her teeth and contemplated what to
do. Reluctantly, she decided the decent thing would be to let him in. She
opened the door wide enough for him to enter and replied feebly, "Sure,
come in."

Draco held up a few white plastic bags with a bright red lantern logo on the
front. He missed the soups and flavouring of the Asian cuisine that provided
him sustenance for years.

With a happy smile, he exclaimed, "I hope you like Chinese."

Hermione raised a brow and replied casually, “Actually, I love Chinese

food."

Draco chuckled, "Good because I am starving." A cool gust of wind blew

through the flat, and she felt an odd coldness creep up her legs.

Hermione suddenly felt entirely naked. She slowly backed away towards
her cosy room and declared, "Oh, umm...make yourself at home. I need to
change."

Draco abandoned his task of taking out the many boxes from the bags and
gave her his full attention. His eyes lingered on her voluptuous curves, and
he swallowed the formed lump.

He cleared his throat and replied coolly, "If you must, but what you have on
is perfectly acceptable."
She threw him a look of abhorrence and disappeared into the sanctuary of
the room. Leaning against the door, Hermione took a deep breath, gathered
her thoughts, and gave herself a much-needed pep talk, “You can do this,
Granger. He’s just a man.” A good-looking, imposing man but a man just
the same.

Hermione hurriedly dried her hair, pulled on a pair of beige shorts and a
white t-shirt, and quickly pulled it off again because she forgot to put on a
bra. Her dirty clothes were piling up, and the only clean bra she had left was
dark green. She figured that maybe the universe was giving her a sign to
spread her legs for the egotistical prat.

While getting dressed, she constantly muttered, "Fuck my life." She

adjusted the top, made her way to the kitchen, looked up, and gasped in
surprise.

He had laid the table immaculately, put the relevant items in bowls, and was
busy looking in her drawings for serviettes. Hermione sensed what he was
searching for.

She pointed to the upper cupboards and offered helpfully, "Umm, top left
corner." The tiny kitchen smelled wonderful. The rich aroma of soy sauce,
mixed vegetables, and meat made her stomach churn with hunger. She
looked around the neat space and teased, "Well, you certainly made yourself
at home."

Draco smirked, "I made myself useful."

She looked around the tidily arranged table and frowned in embarrassment
since she usually ate right out of the boxes without bothering with a plate.
Her mantra was that the fewer dishes to wash, the better.

Draco placed two handblown wine glasses on the counter, took the bottle,
and turned it over to read the label. He was impressed, "This is an excellent
year. You certainly have impeccable taste in wine." He expertly uncorked
the bottle, poured the rich liquid into both glasses and handed her a drink,
which she reluctantly took.
Hermione stood awkwardly around the table, observing his every move
before plopping himself down on a wooden chair and raising his eyebrow at
her. She pulled out a chair, moved it pointedly away from him, and sat
down, nibbling her nails anxiously.

Draco laughed internally at her behaviour. It was amusing that the

seemingly confident woman fell to pieces around him. His stomach
protested in hunger.

He pulled the largest of the boxes to him, piled his plate generously with a
helping of chicken fried noodles, and pushed it towards the woman
munching on a spring roll and trying not to stare at him. She pried apart the
chopsticks and stared at them in dread. Hermione tried her best to master
the use of the wooden sticks without appearing clumsy, but evidently, that
was impossible. Meanwhile, the smug bastard trying hard not to laugh was
a pro.

Well, obviously, he had lived in China, which gave him an unfair

advantage.

Draco could not bear it any longer. He rolled his eyes and moved closer,
"For fucks sake, like this." He took her delicate fingers and attempted to
wrap them around the chopsticks. His fingers touching hers made her drop
the sticks at once, and she quickly resorted to plan B, a sturdy fork.

Draco laughed, "Coward."

Hermione frowned and said unpleasantly, "I have a weakness. Whisk me off
to Azkaban."

She added rather miserably, "It’s hard, okay?"

In defeat, Draco put his hands up and mocked, "You always did lack
coordination."

Hermione gritted out, "Sod off, Malfoy," and savagely attacked her noodles.
His chuckles echoed through the small kitchen.
They ate in companionable silence, only stopping to drink wine or reach for
a chunky spring roll.

Draco watched Granger play with her food and hunt through the noodles for
bits of chicken and mushroom but overall, she only ate a few mouthfuls. He
decided it was high time to address the elephant in the room. Draco took a
sip of wine and asked firmly, "How long, Granger?"

Hermione felt her palms bead sweat and breathing hasten. She looked up
from her plate, raised a brow, and acted causal, "I don't know what you’re
on about."

Draco pushed back the chair, stretched his legs, and reacted seriously, "You
don't have to pretend with me. I won't judge you for being flawed and
human."

Hermione flinched at his words. They hit a sensitive spot she kept hidden
from the world, including her best friends. Her eyes went to his fading Dark
Mark.

The snake was still prominent enough to be noticed. Perhaps, Malfoy could
sympathise, having gone through similar scarring events himself. He saw
her eyeing the gruesome mark, but he didn't shield it or criticise her for
staring at it.

Instead, he gestured to the area around them and smiled reassuringly, "This
is a safe space. Be yourself, not what you expect the world to see."

Hermione tried to argue, but it was futile, "I'm not pretending."

Draco scowled, "If you continue to portray this picture-perfect person, you
will collapse sooner than you know." He cocked his head to the side and
demanded seriously, "So cut the shite and tell me."

Hermione avoided his penetrating gaze and kept her eyes resolutely on the
half-eaten food before her. She lazily twirled her fork around the thin
strands of noodles and sighed in defeat, "Since the day it happened." He
seemed genuine enough for her to confide in him. It felt immensely
gratifying to share the load.

Draco closed his eyes and digested the words she uttered. He hung his head
and retorted, "Me too. I kept reliving the torture he inflicted upon me and
the killing of others for years but not anymore."

That piqued Hermione’s interest, and she asked almost at once, "How did
you get rid of them?" There was innate desperation to her voice, and it
physically pained him.

Draco remained silent. He seemed to be concentrating or gathering his

thoughts. After a bit of time passed, he answered calmly, "I meditate. I
learned a few handy tools in China. It goes hand in hand with my Kung-fu
training."

Hermione nodded in agreement, "That makes sense. What was it like?"

A smile curved his lips, "It was Intense but worth every second. It's not an
easy life." She pictured a pampered boy struggling to keep up with the
mundane activities of an average Muggle person.

Draco exclaimed abruptly, "Let me help you."

Hermione suddenly felt angered by his words. A blazing fire ignited and
roared to the surface.

She spat in contempt, "You want to help me? That's rich. Your aunt did this
to me."

He bared his teeth and hissed unpleasantly, "My aunt was a raving lunatic. I
had nothing to do with it." She accused mercilessly, "You stood by and did
nothing." Hermione didn't realise she was shouting. Her lips quivered with
pent-up frustration.

Draco softened his tone and pleaded, "Granger, I was a scared, witless boy.
There was nothing I could do."
He added desperately, "I had the same dreams you suffer though. The
screaming, the faceless cries for help, so much blood and....” he paused,
“your face."

Hermione brushed aside his words and choked back a sob, "Did you hate
me so much at the time to think I deserved it?"

Draco's head snapped up at once. He stared into her face and replied
frantically, "No, of course not. Nobody deserved that."

The tears she fought split over, and she cried in frustration, "And now I
have to fucking marry you and act like everything is fine and dandy."

Hermione threw her napkin down, roughly pushed the seat back, and
retreated to the stand by the sink. Her fingers gripped the counter's edge as
she tried to ease the pain she felt.

Draco shot to his feet and followed her without hesitation. His steps were
purposeful.

He turned her around roughly, and she cried in outrage, "What are you
do...?"

His fingers found their way into her wild tussle of curls, and they wound
themselves around his long fingers, and he held on possessively.

He leaned his forehead against hers and implored, "I beg your forgiveness.
If I could have traded places with you, I would have."

They stared at each other unblinkingly. He was standing so close, and she
was breathing hard and fast. Draco felt the rapid nervous flutter of her heart.

He saw the rise and fall of her bosom through the t-shirt she wore. They
needed to soothe the agony that drove them time and time into each other’s
arms. His fingers moved without thought to cup her face and tenderly brush
her skin with his thumb.

Hermione closed her eyes, parted her lips ever so slightly, and leaned into
his touch. She looked ready for plucking, and her womanly smell washed
over him, causing his resolve to crumble.

Draco threw caution to the wind. If she hated him, then so be it, but with
every fibre of his being, he knew she wouldn't lift a finger to stop him. He
brought his head down urgently and crushed her lips with his.

It was an insistent, punishing kiss, and Hermione blinked from the total
shock of being kissed by Draco Malfoy.

The man was everywhere, prying her lips apart with the tip of his tongue,
eagerly trying to gain entry into her mouth and drowning her in his
masculine smell.

His teeth grazed the skin of her bottom lip, and it took her a little over two
seconds to put her arms around his neck, move her fingers into his fine silky
hair, and open her mouth to his probing.

It was clumsy at first as both sought out their rhythm, but once they did, it
was a feeling like no other.

She felt right.

He felt perfect.

The softness of her lips, the way her strawberry-flavored gloss tasted, the
flickering of her eyelids, and her throaty moans fed the hunger he craved
since first seeing her. It was as if her consent threw him off the edge.

He groaned into her mouth as their lips moulded together perfectly while
they hung onto each other and kissed fervently. Soft mewls escaped
Hermione’s lips, and she pressed flush against his hardened body.

She felt his rough hands trail down her back and rest on her arse cheeks. He
kneaded the flesh, dug his fingers in, lifted her, and settled her on top of the
counter like she weighed nothing.

It was pure bliss to have him surround her with his relentless kisses.
This indeed wasn't meant to feel this way, so pure and unimaginably
tantalising. Even through his Oxford shirt, she felt the dips and curves of his
sculptured body. She knew he came alive under her touch, and his heart
raced in tandem with hers. It was purely sinful to feel this good in another’s
arms.

His tongue pushed against hers in a battle for dominance, but he would
have his way.

Draco moved between her thighs, and she urged him closer by locking her
smooth legs around him, bringing him closer. His erect cock pressed into
her material-covered heated flesh, and she gasped at how hard he was for
her. He tore his lips from hers and placed a trail of blazing kisses down her
neck.

Hermione arched her neck and allowed him to gently suck on the
tenderness of her neck. A seductive low moan left her swollen lips.

God, his hands alone were driving her insane with desire. She wanted his
digits to caress her most intimate area. In a moment of weakness, she
almost guided his large hand to rest between her legs. Her knickers were
dampening with the arousal he evoked.

His hands covered parts of her body eagerly. She felt them move under her
t-shirt.

He cupped a breast, let his thumb graze the hardened nipple, and rasped,
"Granger..."

It was as if she came crashing back to earth. His voice reminded her of who
she was playing with. He would always be the boy who called her
Mudblood repeatedly and the same boy who wished her dead.

Had she lost all sanity to allow him to touch her this way? Have you no
shame, Hermione? Her inner voice raged.

Draco felt her change. She went rigid in his arms. Not again, he thought
desperately.
Breathless, she muttered in conflicted pain, "I can't do this."

Draco brushed her hair back, held onto her face, and insisted, "Forget about
the past." She tried to break out of his hold, bit her lip, and slowly shook
her head when she couldn't.

He buried his face in her sweet-smelling hair and whispered, "You will be
my death, Granger."

Her seductive reply ghosted the inner canal of his ear, "We shouldn't. It's
not right."

He argued unwaveringly, "Depends on what you deem right."

Again, he offered most ardently, "Let me help you."

Hermione gritted out, "I don't want anything from you." She was hot and
cold, but Draco understood her hesitation.

He gently kissed the corner of her mouth and murmured, "Yes, you do."

God, her scent. It drove him feverish with longing, but he eagerly drank it
up.

She gently pushed him back, hopped off the counter, and looked keenly at
the table, "The food is getting cold. You like things naturally hot,
remember?”

Hermione sat back down, and Draco trailed after her. Both took their place
at the table and resumed the meal. It was not easy to go on as if nothing
transpired, especially when all he wanted to do was clear the table and fuck
her right there in the middle of the living room.

His hardened shaft pressed uncomfortably against the material of his

boxers, and he quickly placed a sizeable napkin across his lap to hide his
situation. Somehow, they accomplished the impossible.

He apologised but not unequivocally between mouthfuls, "I'm sorry if I

stepped out of place. I have made my feelings towards you clear.
She sighed and struggled to swallow the noodles, "And so have I. I cannot
sleep with you and then act as if it didn't happen.”

She included deliberately, “We have too much history, Malfoy. The
unpleasant sort."

Draco bit into a crunchy spring roll and advised harshly, "You need to let
the past go. Live in the moment, Granger."

Hermione ignored him and tried her best to finish her meal. Why were these
blasted but tasty noodles never-ending?

A few minutes passed in utter silence until Draco inquired anxiously, "So,
do you want to tell Kingsley or should I?"

She threw her fork down and sulked, "Actually, I thought we could do it
together. I don't think I can handle his smug face alone."

The loud ringing of the doorbell cut into their conversation.

Draco glanced at the door in interest and raised a brow, "Are you expecting
anyone?" He teased further, "A lover, perhaps? Maybe a boyfriend?"

Hermione locked eyes with the curious ice blonde and retorted suggestively,
"Terry pops by for a quickie when the need arises."

Draco felt his heart clench. It was a feeling he was not quite used to. He
hissed ominously, "I would rather not break his nose twice."

Hermione pushed the chair back, got to her feet, and looked repulsed, "You
must think so low of me."

Draco ran his fingers through his hair and responded, "On the contrary. I
believe sex is a vital need for a living being. Even though your choice of
partner is appalling."

Living being? If that's dirty talk, he was doing a bang-up job.

Hermione sprang to Terry's defence, "Well, Boot is a..."

Draco smirked triumphantly and finished the sentence for her, "A moron..."

She certainly walked right into that one. Hermione stifled the laughter that
rose and disagreed, "He's really not that bad."

Draco rolled his eyes, "Not my concern."

Hermione scolded, "Shut it. Anyway, I have no idea who it is."

The doorbell blared again, and the annoying sound filled the small flat.

Draco frowned, his fine features pinched together, "Well, whoever it is, is
an inpatient prat." She threw him a look that said, make yourself scarce
because no matter who was on the other side, she would have a tough time
explaining his presence. Of course, he ignored her entirely and calmly ate
his noodles.

Muttering to herself, she walked over to the door, threw it open, and
shrieked, "Oh my god, Ron! It's so good to see you."

Ron gathered her in his arms and gushed, "My darling. You look fabulous."

A low, deeply calculated voice interrupted the reunion, "You look rather
tanned. How was the honeymoon?"

Ron let Hermione go and narrowed his eyes at the imposing man.

He regarded them with an amused expression and spat, "What the bloody
hell are you doing here?"

He turned to his ex-girlfriend and demanded an answer, "What is he doing

here inside your flat, Hermione?"

Draco smiled smugly, "I'm visiting an old friend."

Ron was having none of it, and he made his displeasure apparent, "Like hell
you are. Bugger off, Malfoy."

Draco drawled warningly, "Hmm, temper, temper. Calm your tits, Weasley."
Hermione sprang to action, pulled Ron inside, and closed the door behind
him. She tried to diffuse the tense situation, "Come in, and yes, do calm
yourself."

Ron glared sternly. His eyes darted from Draco to Hermione suspiciously, "I
will once you tell me what he's doing here."

He crossed his arms over his built chest and insisted on answers, "Are you
sleeping with him?"

Hermione rubbed her temples, glanced unsurely at Malfoy, and replied

quickly, "God no."

Draco could feel his composure slip. Weasley’s line of inappropriate

questioning was not welcome. He answered haughtily, "Not that it's any of
your business, but no,” and added for ample effect, “Not yet at least."

Hermione looked appalled, "Shut up, Malfoy."

Ron's ears turned cherry tomato red. A clear sign that he was beyond
furious. He yelled, "What the fuck is going on?"

Draco saw an opportune moment, and he used it to his full advantage,

"Granger and I are getting married. You might as well be the first to
congratulate us."

Ron’s temper spiralled out of control, and he bellowed, "WHAT?"

Hermione pressed her lips down hard for a second, glared sternly at Draco,
and mouthed, "I'm going to fucking kill you." This was hardly how she
intended her friends to find out.

Draco leaned against the wall and said calmly, as if nothing had happened,
"You’re interrupting our dinner, Weasley. Would you care for a spring roll?"

Ron took a threatening step forward, but Hermione held him back. He fired
insultingly, "Take that roll and stick it up to your ar..."

Hermione scolded, "Ron!"

He pointed a trembling finger at Draco and said harshly, "I'm not leaving
you alone with him."

Draco stated arrogantly, "It might come as a surprise, but she's been alone
with me plenty, and I'm the one with the bruises." True to his word, a deep
gash and scratches adorned his right forearm, and Hermione and Ron stared
at the entwined reddish marks in dumbstruck disbelief.

Oh, Merlin. Hermione wished she could wither away.

Draco lazily walked over to the sink, washed his hands thoroughly, and
turned to face the irked Gryffindors. He said casually, "I'll tell you what.
Since I have good manners, I'll leave you two alone."

Hermione’s eyes widened in panic. She preferred the snake over the
frothing mad redhead at that particular moment. He approached them with a
flawless smile, "I'll see you soon, Hermione" She gagged, almost. The
audacity to use her name just to rile Ron up.

Draco stopped next to her, pulled her to him, dropped a quick kiss on her
forehead before she could blink, and walked out of the door without looking
back.

If one thing was abundantly clear, it was that meditation and soul-searching
could not erase the petty rivalry among men. The door slammed shut with a
loud bang causing Hermione to jump and Ron to narrow his eyes at her and
reprimand, "You have a lot of explaining to do."

Hermione walked over to the table still laden with plenty of food and
sighed, "Well, it's a long story."

She grabbed a spring roll, bit into it, and offered sheepishly, "Wonton?"

Draco braved the cold weather and wandered along the cobbled Muggle
street full of people with his hands in his pockets. His mind was riddled
with disturbing random thoughts, but they all came down to one thing.
Granger.

Kissing her had been a grave mistake. It was a horrible misjudgment since
it made him want her even more, and clearly, he wasn't about to have her
anytime soon. The simple act awakened some rather distressing feelings he
thought he could control but sadly, they overpowered him.

He brought his hands out, blew hot air on them to warm himself, and
accidentally glanced at his watch. It was late, but it was never too late to
call Theo or Blaise. He fancied an impromptu meet-up with his friends.

Bernard was keeping his mother company, and quite frankly, he felt like a
sodding third wheel in their presence. Mealtimes were quite literally the
worst.

The older couple would share meaningful glances over their plates while he
ate his food with a sour and lonely disposition. He fished out his mobile and
called Theo first. The bugger answered after the first ring and mused, "You
interrupted my beauty sleep."

Draco laughed, "No number of treatments will make you look like anything
other than a wanker."

He asked seriously, "Fancy a pint?"

Theo yelled, "LUNA! I'm heading out to meet Draco."

Draco heard an audible sigh of immense relief and exhaustion in his friend's
voice as he shouted back in reply, "Yes, I'll be back in time to shag."

Draco took the phone off his ear, stared at it, and frowned, "What the fuck?"

Theo grumbled, "Oh, sorry mate, she's ovulating, and well, we're trying to
get preggers."

Draco rolled his eyes and grimaced, "That was way too much information."

Theo laughed aloud and chirped, "See you in a bit."

Next, Draco scrolled through the numbers and dialled Blaise.

A sweet, utterly cute voice answered, "Hello, this is Mister Daddy's phone."

Draco couldn't help but smile fondly, "Oh, hello sweetheart, this is Uncle
Draco. Is your daddy close by?"

Carrie replied with importance, "He's yelling at the cat for making a poopy
in the room."

Draco heard the familiar sound of Daphne's voice. She asked curiously,
"Carrie darling, who is that on the phone?"

Carrie shrugged and held the phone for her mother to take, "It's daddy's
dragon friend."

Draco smiled widely. The child was undoubtedly intelligent.

Perplexed, Daphne took the phone and spoke into it, "What? Who...?
Hello?"

Draco spoke clearly, "Hi Daph, is Blaise about?"

Daphne greeted happily, "Draco, it's so nice to hear from you." She added
with a grin, "Hang on. He was just tossing the cat out."

After covering the mouthpiece, Daphne walked with the phone to where her
husband dealt with their stubborn daughter.

She handed the phone over to Blaise and whispered, "Darling, it's Draco."

Carrie yelled tenaciously, "Daddy, but I want Mr Buttons to sleep in my

room."

Blaise stated firmly, "No, Carrie, and that is final."

An ear-piercing scream rang through the home, "Mummmmmmy......."

Blaise covered his ears and cursed, "Bollocks."

Daphne gathered a distraught Carrie in her arms and scolded, "Blaise!!!"

Draco heard every word and wondered whether he needed to cut the call.
Blaise's exhausted voice came through just as he was about to hang up,
"Mate?"

Blaise's voice was drowned out by the loud tantrum his firstborn was
throwing.

Draco apologised profusely more for the situation than calling, "I'm sorry to
catch you at an inconvenient time."

Blaise desperately replied in hushed tones, "I'm going mental."

Draco offered what he felt was a temporary solution. His best mate sounded
like he needed a drink, "Want to grab a drink?"

Blaise glanced over his shoulder in time to catch Daphne carrying a sleepy
Carrie into her room.

He said in a carrying voice, "Oh, what's that? An emergency? Of course, I

will leave right away."

Daphne came out of the toddler’s room and rolled her eyes, "Must you be
so dramatic."

She grabbed the phone out of his grasp before he could object and told
Draco, "Have him home at a decent hour. "

Draco laughed, "You have my word, Daph."

After Draco hung up, Blaise hugged his beloved wife around the waist and
kissed her passionately. Once they broke apart, he drawled, "Wear the red
crotchless knickers and wait up for me."

Daphne peppered his face with kisses and giggled, "As you wish, Papa
Bear."
Ron stormed out of the Floo network and pulled a chair back forcefully
before sitting at the small wooden table in the kitchen at No. 12 Grimmauld
Place.

Hermione trailed after him miserably. After Malfoy left, Hermione

explained best she could the events that led her to accept the marriage, but
the red-headed fuming madman refused to listen to reason. After fifteen
minutes of yelling followed by angry pacing, they decided to head to
Harry’s.

Ginny looked up from the soup she was eating and grinned, "I thought once
you got hitched, we would see less of you."

Harry put the paper away and asked in growing interest, "What's got your
wand in a knot, mate?"

Ron glared at Hermione and spoke sarcastically, "Go on, tell them your
exciting news."

Hermione shot back angrily, "Will you stop being so childish, Ronald." His
bloody idiotic behaviour was starting to get on her last nerve.

Ron looked at his best friend and sister, staring at him intently, and yelled
out in frustration, "Hermione is marrying the ferret."

Harry spat out his tea, and Ginny automatically reached for the bottle of
wine. Both struggled to keep their composure.

Harry widened his eyes in utter shock and yelled, "What? No way. That’s
ridiculous."

Ron gritted out furiously, "Oh, but it's not. He was at her flat."

In disgust, he asked them, "Do you think they've slept together?"

Hermione cried in outrage, "I am standing right here, you arsehole."

Ginny, however, kept her wits about her, raised a brow, and asked her
brother directly, "Er, does it matter if she has?"
Ron was beside himself. He could not believe the harsh words coming out
of his sister’s mouth. He argued, "Of course it fucking matters. I do not
want him touching her."

Ginny crossed her arms over her chest and mused, "Well, aren't you the pot
calling the kettle black." She leaned forward and asked sweetly, “How’s the
wife, Ron?”

He countered defiantly, "Not like that but as a friend. He's going to destroy
her."

Hermione stomped her foot irritably to make her presence known, "I'm
standing right here."

She faced Ron and asked rather anxiously, "What makes you think he will
destroy me?"

Ron spat stubbornly, "It's Malfoy. That's reason enough."

Before she could help herself, Hermione defended, "Well, that's hardly fair."

Ron narrowed his eyes, "See, look at how she's protecting the prat."

He poked Hermione’s arm cautiously, "He's done something to her."

Hermione hissed menacingly, "Poke me again, and I'll sever that finger and
stuff it up your arse."

Harry chuckled, "She sounds the same to me."

Ginny asked aloud and directed the question at the group, "Wine?"

Hermione answered first, "Yes, please. Leave the bottle."

Ron mumbled in frustration, "They were having Chinese."

Ginny shrugged, "It's a popular cuisine."

He added strangely, "It's our thing."

Ginny rolled her eyes, "Aren't you bloody overreacting?"

Ron pouted and made a childish face when Ginny's back was turned.

Harry injected seriously, "Hermione, what's going on?"

Hermione sighed. She was getting quite tired of repeating the same thing

For the last time, she collected herself and answered, "Ginny, remember
how I told you Malfoy took the exit clause?"

Ginny poured glasses of wine, replying curiously, "Yeah, and?"

Hermione hung her head and stared into the dish of cheese and salty
peanuts. She replied woefully, "And Narcissa had a stroke after he told her."

Harry stiffened, and Ginny gasped, "Oh Merlin, she is alright?"

Ron mumbled, "What has that got to do with anything?"

Ginny scolded, "You heartless troll."

Hermione turned to face Ron slowly and sneered, "It has everything to do
with her. She means so much to me."

Ron grudgingly conceded defeat, "Fine. Do whatever the hell you want."

Hermione ignored his pointless complaining and answered Ginny's previous

query, "Yes, thank Merlin, she is fine now, but…." She closed her eyes and
said almost incoherently, "I couldn't let Malfoy do it. She needs him."

Ginny placed her hand on Hermione’s and smiled comfortingly, "Of course,
she does.

She reassured, "I think you did the right thing."

Harry, who had been relatively quiet up until that moment, voiced his
thoughts, "As much as it disgusts me, I agree with Ginny. It wouldn't be
right to separate a mother from her only child." They knew his statement
went beyond the situation. He reminded wisely, "Besides, isn't it just for
three years? I'm sure it will be fine."

Ron tapped his temple impatiently and bellowed, "Have you lot lost your
minds? This is Draco sodding Malfoy."

Ginny frowned, "Yes, we know, but it's obvious he's not the same Malfoy
we knew."

Ron got to his feet abruptly and declared, "You know what? I'm leaving."
He rounded on Hermione and said nastily, "Don't bother sending an
invitation because I won't be coming."

Ginny's tolerance of her brother’s behaviour hung by a thin thread. She

snapped, "God, you’re so insufferable."

Hermione looked away pointedly and muttered, "There won't be any

wedding. We will probably get the certificate of Marriage from the
Ministry. I think we need two witnesses, and it's a done deal."

Ginny exchanged a meaningful look with Harry. She said thoughtfully,

"Hmm, maybe it would be wise to have a small affair. Won't it be
expected?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes, bared her teeth, and spat, "I don't give a fuck
what is expected. I'm marrying him, aren't I? That's enough."

Ginny listened intently but leaned over and whispered inconspicuously in

Hermione’s ear, "Ahem, you have a hickey behind your ear.”

Hermione gasped, tried to pull up the collar, and realised her stupid t-shirt
was collarless.

Fuck.

Ginny giggled, "Cover it up before the boys see."

Hermione whipped out her wand and pleaded sheepishly, "Ginny..."

Ginny lowered her voice and winked devilishly, "You've been a naughty
girl, Granger. And I expect a full report on the events that led to that."

Hermione rested her head on the table and groaned, "Shite."

Malfoy's powerful presence and probing kisses were imprinted onto her
skin.

She still felt his lips moving over hers and the rough pad of his thumb
caressing her skin. It was wrong, of that she was sure, but despite gathering
her strength to stop them before things escalated, it did nothing to dampen
her wanting for him.

Bernard kept aside the report he was reading on the German site and asked
his beloved, "Interesting book?" There was a beautiful woman on the cover
with flowing red hair that cascaded down her back.

Narcissa adjusted her gold-rimmed spectacles and smiled, "It is quite an

invigorating story."

Max whimpered and demanded attention, Narcissa absentmindedly stroked

his head, and the grateful dog licked her hand.

Bernard chuckled and confided, "I had a fondness for redheads before you
walked into my life."

Narcissa raised a brow and quipped, "Really? How interesting."

Bernard nodded and explained further, "Yes. My mother called them the
devils in disguise. You know, because of all the red."

Narcissa frowned, "That's a rather strange assumption."

Bernard looked away and replied sadly, "Well, my mother was an odd
woman. In her old age, she was afflicted by dementia and constantly tried to
harm herself and us."

Narcissa felt his sorrow, "That's awful."

Bernard sighed, "It was a long time ago. I hardly ever speak of her."

His disposition changed to a happier one, and he offered his hand, "Fancy a
nightcap?

Narcissa nodded in agreement eagerly, "A spot of brandy sounds

smashing."

Theo smoked a cigarette outside the Cauldron, and Draco saw Blaise walk
toward them. Five minutes later, they piled into the Leaky Cauldron.

Draco looked Theo over and mused, "You look tired."

Theo yawned pointedly and explained in exhaustion, "I am tired. My dick

hurts."

Blaise laughed, "What?"

Theo found nothing amusing. They settled into one of the VIP
compartments, and Draco and Blaise watched Theo delicately lower himself
into a seat and wince as he sat down properly.

The lanky blonde took in their looks of astonishment and clarified meekly,
"It's Luna. She's not let me have a moment's peace." He tenderly cupped his
package under the table and groaned, "My bits are bruised."

Blaise pointed to Draco's neck and smirked, "Speaking of bruises, what's

that on your neck, Draco?"

Theo stared at the visible reddened mark and mused, "You seeing
someone?"

Draco pulled up his collar and cleverly hid the bruise that stood out like a
sore thumb against his ashen skin and snapped, "Don't be daft. Just, erm,
um…a passing fling." When had she branded him? The memory evaded
him with purpose. Pity, as he wanted to relive it.

He could still taste and feel her. Granger tasted like no other woman. Her
sultry moans echoed in the depths of his consciousness. Salazar, she
sounded so erotic when his fingers ghosted over her skin.

An involuntary guttural groan escaped his lips, and thankfully his friends
were none the wiser.

Theo mustered a witty comeback, "Right and Blaise has balls of steel."

Blaise shot back, "At least I can keep up with my woman."

Theo laughed good-naturedly, "I'm not even insulted. I can barely sit
down."

They burst out laughing.

Blaise ordered a round of drinks. They're usual. The most expensive scotch
the Cauldron carried with two ice cubes each and a dash of lime for Theo.
He always enjoyed the tangy aftertaste.

Until the drinks arrived, Draco cheerfully asked his best mates, "So what's
new, lads?"

Blaise raised a questioning brow, "You asked us here. What is going on?" A
smartly dressed waiter arrived and served them their drinks along with a
complimentary round of shots from Tom, the innkeeper.

Draco shrugged and took a gratifying sip from his crystal tumbler,
"Nothing. My previous engagement ended earlier than I thought."

Theo snorted and joked, "How early?"

Blaise was not fooled. He probed anxiously, "Draco, what's going on? Did
you sort out the Marriage Law issue with Granger?"

Draco answered carefully, "I took the exit clause."

Theo stiffened; whatever the clause was, it didn't sound good.

He asked quickly, "What do you mean?"

Blaise interrupted, "Before you get to that, hang on, did anyone tell Pans
about our little gathering?"

Draco replied guilty, "Erm, no. I figured she'd be asleep."

Theo gingerly covered his aching nuts over the material, "Fuck no. My balls
can't take more beating."

Blaise fished out his phone and called Pansy. She answered after the third
ring, and Blaise asked eagerly, "Pans, you want to join us for an impromptu
drink?"They could hear Neville being severally reprimanded by a stern
older woman.

Pansy massaged her temples with manicured fingers, "Oh Lord, yes. I am
on my way."

Ten minutes later, she stormed in wearing designer clothes and scary high
heels. She dropped her Givenchy bag into the plush velvet chair, grabbed a
passing server by the arm, and demanded, "Scotch on the rocks. Make it a
double."

The petrified young server nodded at once and took off to do her bidding.
The men at the table stared at her unblinkingly and waited for some logical
explanation for her behaviour. She tapped her nails on the solid oak table
and cringed, "Neville’s grandmother is driving me up the wall."

Pansy gritted out through red-painted lips, "The woman is an annoying

bitch. She simply will not die."

Theo cried in horror, "PANS! That's awful."

Pansy grinned and shrugged, "What? I'm joking."

Again, the men cocked their heads to the side and raised their eyebrows as
if to say, really?
Pansy laughed, "Okay, partially, but honestly, she keeps on hinting it's time
to have kids." She downed her drink without remorse and stated, "I don't
want a bunch of snotty fuckers running about." Pansy looked at Blaise for
good measure, "No offence."

Blaise waved aside the comment, brought his drink up, and replied, "None
taken."

Pansy turned to Draco and advised comically, "Your lucky you don't have
these issues."

Well, that was the opening he needed.

Draco took a sip of the rich amber liquid, wet his lips, and drawled, "I'm
getting married."

Theo dropped his tumbler in surprise, and it fell to the floor. He wiped his
mouth with the back of his hand and hollered, "WHAT?"

Blaise, puffing on a Cuban cigar, inhaled the rich smoke the wrong way and
sputtered with teary red eyes. He croaked, "What?"

Pansy widened her eyes incredulously, "What the fuck are you on about?"

Draco eyed Blaise in concern, patted his back repeatedly, and answered
Pansy, "Granger and I are tying the knot."

Theo's mouth fell open in disbelief, "No fucking way. She agreed to marry
you on her own?"

Draco lost his patience, and he questioned angrily, "What the hell is that
supposed to mean? Do you think I would slip her a potion or charm her into
agreeing?"

Theo realised the mistake of his untimely words, and he struggled to fix
them, "No, of course not. It's just...."

Blaise regained his composure, shot Theo a look of disapproval, and

interrupted the skinny man from digging himself into an early grave, "I feel
there's more to this than your letting on."

Pansy ordered another round of drinks and concurred, "True. What

happened, Draco?"

Draco recited an abridged version of the fateful events that led to Granger
and his current predicament.

He said solemnly, "I took the exit clause."

Pansy paled. The others looked utterly confused. Having been matched
through the Law herself, she knew a thing or two about the clauses.

She demanded, "Which one??"

Draco reluctantly replied, "Er, the obliviate one." He took another sip from
his drink and added the most distressing part, "My mother didn't take the
news well. She umm, had a stroke."

Pansy punched him hard, "You arse. You would've left us to get out of it,
and how could you do this to your mother."

Blaise nodded in agreement, “Narcissa needs you, mate.”

Pansy punched him again in frustration, much harder this time.

Draco rubbed the area and groaned, "Enough, woman."

Blaise asked curiously, "So, Granger is okay with this?

Draco laughed sarcastically, "No, of course not. She's only doing it for
Mother’s sake."

He ran his fingers through his hair, and a few strands fell across his
forehead. The situation was grave, but he quipped, "She still fucking hates
me. I might have to drag her lifeless corpse down the aisle."

Theo bobbed his head, "You can't blame her, mate. You were a horrid git to
her."
Blaise eyed the barely visible purplish love bite in interest but said nothing.

Draco responded with a smidge of hope, "I'm trying to atone for past
mistakes."

Pansy snorted into her drink, "You like Granger."

Draco scowled, "Come off it. I do not." His cock fancied her, but that was
about it. It was sexual, as simple, and complicated as that.

Theo said thoughtfully, "Well, you could do worse. She's sexy, intelligent
and accomplished."

Blaise rolled his eyes and frowned, "Yes, we are acutely aware of your
feelings about Granger, Theo." He further warned, "Put a bloody sock in it."

Theo opened his mouth to argue, "I'm just saying..."

Pansy silenced him and asked impatiently, "When’s the big day?"

Draco sighed. They had hardly spoken about anything regarding the
marriage, and quite frankly, it was doing his head in.

However, his so-called fiancé refused to entertain the idea, and his mother
still needed plenty of rest. He drained his drink, smacked his lips, and
replied seriously, "We haven't quite worked out the details yet, but it is
happening."

Theo let out a low whistle.

Draco looked at his friends staring at him intently with uncertainty etched
into their delicate features.

He mustered a half-hearted smile, "It’s already decided. Hermione Granger

will be the next Lady Malfoy."
 Chapter 22
Chapter Notes

I loved everyone's input on the previous chapter! The different

viewpoints were fascinating.

THANK YOU FOR ALL THE AWESOME COMMENTS! 😊

More decisions, a murder and further insight into a disturbed mind.

Enjoy Chapter Twenty-Two!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads! 😊

Stay safe, beautiful people! ❤

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Tracey pushed back the covers and tried to reach for her husband’s rather
sizable hand. She cooed, "Come to bed, darling."

The lights were dim in their plush new flat on the upper East side of
London. Tracey was born into splendour, and Ron was doing quite well for
himself business-wise, but her family bought the modest four-bedroom flat
fitted with every bit of luxury.

Ron stepped out of her reach and responded without much thought, "I need
a drink." He paced the carpeted area anxiously; his features pulled tight in
concentration. He was genuinely concerned for Hermione’s safety.

Tracey sensed his agitation. She got to her feet, slipped on the dainty
slippers, came to his side and implored, "What's the matter, Ron? You've
been off ever since you returned."

Ron massaged his temples. He felt an intense headache coming on, but he
brushed it aside and said, "Nothing. I just heard some disturbing news."
Tracey appeared shocked at the declaration and quickly asked, "Oh no, I
hope everyone's well."

Ron scowled, "Everyone's fine. Hermione and Malfoy are getting married."

Tracey clapped her hands together in delight, and her eyes sparkled, "That's
wonderful." Her husband thought otherwise as his face distorted like he was
swallowing a bitter pill.

He said with displeasure, "Er, no, it's not. She deserves better than the
fucking snake who tormented her throughout school."

Tracey obstinately came to Draco's defence. She offered hopefully, "Maybe

he's changed."

Ron rolled his eyes exasperatedly and hissed, "I'm sick to bloody death of
everyone saying that."

Tracey felt her heart clench. Jealously shrouded her usually calm
demeanour. She crossed her arms over her chest and questioned sceptically,
"Why are you so concerned about who Hermione ends up with?"

Ron thought that much was clear. He faced his wife and countered
truthfully, "She's my best mate. I care a great deal about her."

Tracey huffed and spat sarcastically, "Of course you do, and I doubt you
will ever stop."

Ron pulled his t-shirt over his head, stood bare-bodied, and watched the
fuming woman before him, perplexed. He asked in confusion, "What are
you on about, Tracey?"

Tracey jabbed Ron in the chest and said firmly, "I will not live in the
shadow of your ex-girlfriend."

Ron stared into her face like she was barking mad, "What? Are you bloody
mental?" He wasn't about to lie; it was best she knew the truth. Ron added
sincerely, "I will always care for her as a friend."
Tracey pouted, "Fine have it your way."

He hoped she would see reason, but it was like banging his head against a
brick wall, "You’re acting like a blooming child."

She rounded on him in anger, the strap of her black nightdress slipped off
her shoulder, but she hurriedly pulled it up before yelling, "Whatever,
Ronald. Draco has changed, there was always so much good in him, and if
the Algorithm sees them as an appropriate match, then you should have no
reservations about it."

Good in him? Right. If the bastard possessed any good, it was well hidden.

Ron suddenly felt exhausted. It dawned on him, what did Tracey Davis
know about their issues with Malfoy and his cronies? He shook his head
slowly and beseeched, "You wouldn't understand."

Tracey hurled in outrage, "What I don't understand is this stupid infatuation

you harbour for a woman who cared for you once upon a time ago."

Ron groaned. He was beginning to lose his patience, "Trace, she's my

friend, nothing more." He fumed internally but advised himself to remain
calm and not upset his wife.

She got back into bed, let her hair down and spat, "Why don't you go have
that drink? I would like some time alone."

Ron turned on his heel and fled. He stood behind the minibar in the dimly
lit living room and fixed his favourite drink, a small cognac. He tossed back
his drink and fought the urge to curse.

What was Hermione thinking? Narcissa was certainly not worth sacrificing
her life over. It was ludicrous. He poured himself another drink and walked
onto the balcony. It was a rather chilly night, and the cold air blew around
his naked torso.
After staring into the distance for what seemed like hours, he tried his best
to come to terms with Malfoy marrying the woman he had wanted for so
long.

They were high up but not so high that he couldn't see busy Londoners
bustling about trying to get home.

Ron sighed, shook his head, and wanted nothing more than to appease his
wife. When he entered the bedroom of their new flat, the lights were off,
and Tracey was on the far edge of the bed.

He heard sniffles and his heart ached with the need to comfort her.

He slid between the covers, scooted close and gathered her in his arms. She
showed indifference, but Ron kissed her head and pleaded, "Please don't
cry, Tracey. You mean so much to me." She did not reply but closed her
eyes and pretended to be asleep. She couldn’t help but feel immensely
relieved that Hermione was getting married.

A Secluded Part of London

They shared a delicious meal of steak, mashed potatoes, and buttered

vegetables. Even prisoners on death row got a last meal. It was difficult for
her to cross her legs and use the utensils in the ladylike manner he expected.
He looked at her over the candlelight and smiled as if at a lover. She was
completely naked; of course, he never let any of the girls wear clothes.

Fabric and fibres could be found under fingernails or in other microscopic

openings over time and led to incriminating evidence.

So far, he was proud of keeping everything meticulously clean and the

authorities in the dark. Besides, it was exciting to see their warm centres
spread for him and pink-nipped breasts tremble whenever he looked their
way. He, of course, was well dressed in a suit, with leather gloves and fancy
shoes.
This one had outlived her purpose. The minute they began to resemble his
mother, he knew it was time to get rid of them.

It was a shame, really. He had grown fond of the woman trying to eat the
meal he prepared with love, or so he thought.

He delicately dabbed the corners of his mouth with the white napkin, threw
it down and rose. Haunted eyes stared at him, watched his every movement
with horror.

She urinated in fear. It travelled down her legs and pooled at her feet. There
was no fight left in her. He had succeeded in breaking her completely. The
scarred man ran an ancient-looking Hogwarts silk scarf through his fingers.
The green serpent was prominent, and the word Slytherin was embroidered
richly into the fabric.

His fingers trembled, but he pushed it aside and chirped, "Come on, love.
Get up and move closer."

She sat still, frozen with fear but a terrified whimper escaped her dry lips,
"Please."

He smiled reassuringly, "Hurry up now. I do not have all day.”

When she further paused, he battled with his inner beast to keep his temper
under control. Her defiance was causing anger to bubble to the surface, but
he added in mock encouragement, “It's a surprise to die for."

On shaking legs, she slowly got to her feet and tried to steady her nerves,
but it was a futile attempt. He pointed at her and twirled his thin finger in
midair, "Turn around and close your eyes."

She did as she was told, closed her eyes tightly shut and held onto her
jiggling bare breasts.

The loss of sight aided her other senses. She heard the heavy footsteps
coming closer and closer until they came to a halt within an inch of her
body. The fine hairs on her back rose in anticipation of the evil deed he had
planned.

The tears came before she could stop them, "Please, be merciful." She heard
a distinct loud sob.

It threw her off. Was the sick bastard crying? Her eyes flew open as he
moved the silky scarf around her neck. She wanted to run, fight, and do
anything but her body wouldn't do as commanded.

The voice at her ear drained the very blood from her body, "I'm sorry,
mother."

He tightened the scarf without hesitation, and her mouth fell open as he
constricted her windpipe. She struggled and tried valiantly to claw at him,
even reach back to attack him, but he was too strong and overpowered her
effortlessly.

Her eyes rolled back in her head as she gasped for air and took her final
breath; a blackness fell over her eyes like a silk veil. All the while, his
inhumane cries pierced her efforts. He begged forgiveness, not from her but
from someone she knew was dead. Her frail body went limp as her
breathing ceased, and death took her into its warm embrace.

Finally, her suffering was over. He had shown mercy by strangling her
instead of bludgeoning her to death. It left an awful mess to clean up
afterward.

Only once he was sure she was dead did he let go, and she fell face-first to
the floor with a thud. The scarf dropped to the ground. He backed away
until his back hit a wall; he slid down it and fell to the floor in a crumpled
pitiful mess.

He wept and yelled in torment, "I loved you. Why did you do this to me?"

For fifteen minutes, he screamed his frustration, and when all tears were
spent, he slowly opened his eyes and stared deadpan at the body. A
calmness washed over him, and he got to his feet with intent and reason.
It was as if nothing had transpired, his eyes held no remorse, and he rubbed
his gloved hands together and smirked without regret, "Time to get to
work."

Ever so slowly, he approached the body, knelt carefully by her side and
smiled serenely, "You are in a better place now, mother."

He set to work. He returned the body to the bookshop she owned as per his
ritual. He knew it was deserted.

It was swarmed with Aurors, her idiotic friends, and seemingly loving
family the first few days. He watched from afar as they cried in grief and
frustration, but it had since been abandoned for days on end.

To be extra cautious, he combed the area he kidnapped her from for a week
leading up to her death to make doubly sure.

There was not an Auror in sight, and he marvelled at their stupidity. In

reality, Michael, Terry, and Hannah kept close watch over the victim’s cosy
cottage since the killer had returned the last corpse to her house as a final
resting place.

Since the bookshop was a substitute home for the murdered woman, the
disturbed man saw it fit to take her there instead. He laid her down carefully
among the many shelves of books.

With her face looking up, she almost looked angelic. For the finishing
touch, he took the detailed pendant of the owl and wand and laid it carefully
between her exposed breasts.

A sexual urge swept over him, and he shivered with ecstasy, but he fought
its relentless pull and drove it away. To do the act would mean he would
ruin all his hard work of making sure she was spotlessly clean.

A black hoody covered his head and grotesquely scarred face. He threw her
one last adoring look and stole out of the shop using the key she had on her
person when he abducted her. The streets were empty, and it was
understandable considering the ungodly hour.
He hummed a popular Muggle tune and walked inconspicuously down the
street.

Three down. One more to go.

A brand new morning brought hope for some. Warm rays of sunshine
flooded Malfoy Manor and bathed it in a yellowish hue. The sweet voice
rang through the Manor, "Good morning, Narcissa."

Narcissa looked up from her embroidery in time to see Astoria approach.

The younger witch wore a long-sleeved white blouse and crisp black
trousers.

She looked lovely as always, and Narcissa smiled warmly in greeting, "My
dear, I wasn't expecting you." That wasn’t new. Astoria came by without
warning frequently. Narcissa brushed it aside and pointed to the chair in
front.

Astoria sat down gracefully and tucked her legs neatly under the plush
velvet chair. Narcissa regarded the pretty woman before her intently.

During her house arrest, the youngest of the Greengrass girls would pester
her constantly with unannounced visits with the hope of finding out where
Draco was. It became so annoying that Narcissa faked illness to get away
from it.

Astoria answered, making her intention obvious, "I thought of popping by

to see Draco."

She looked around pointedly, "Is he around?"

Narcissa smiled, "I'm afraid not, darling. He's gone off to work."

Astoria’s face fell in disappointment, it was plain to see, but she insisted
politely, "Do you mind if I keep you company? I'm quite tired of the
mundane activities of Greengrass Manor."
Narcissa nodded and invited politely, "Not at all, dear. Would you like a
spot of tea?"

Astoria replied gratefully, "Thank you. That would be lovely." Dotty

wobbled over in a bright baby blue dress, carrying a small tray with vials of
potions, a goblet of water, and pieces of chocolate on a silver tray. She said
anxiously, "Mistress, it is time for your potions."

Narcissa grimaced. The potions tasted atrocious. She frowned at Dotty, who
held the tray firmly until her mistress took the medicine. The regal woman
devoured the revolting concoctions in the blink of an eye and quickly
popped a sizeable milk chocolate square into her mouth.

Astoria watched the scene before her and implored in concern, "Have you
been ill?"

Narcissa swallowed the chocolatey goodness and smiled sheepishly, "Well,

you know how it is. Getting old has its downfalls."

Astoria laughed in the most ladylike manner and argued, "You are hardly
old, Narcissa. Look how stunning you are."

Narcissa joined the poised laughter, "You are too kind, darling." She
requested Dotty to serve tea and cakes.

Her tone turned serious, and she inquired most genuinely, "How are you?"

Dotty returned with a large pot of tea, hand-painted teacups, and a cake
stand stacked with delicious goodies.

Astoria graciously took the cup of tea Dotty offered. She took a sip of the
hot beverage and replied solemnly, "I could be better."

After a moment’s hesitation, she asked tensely, "Umm, Has Draco spoken
about the Law?"

Narcissa internally groaned. This was not a conversation she wished to

have.
She sipped the tea and attempted to divert the conversation, "Oh,
umm...Astoria, who did you get paired off with?"

Astoria was plainly troubled. She mumbled in contempt, "They didn't waste
their precious time pairing a witch that could pass on a deadly curse to her
offspring. Besides, I'm not in the best health and will not marry anyone
other than Draco."

"Bugger," Narcissa thought internally and regretted her choice of words at

once. She advised patiently, "Sweet girl, you have time. Do not speak so
loosely about your death."

Astoria set the patterned gold cup down with a trembling hand and
demanded with an edge to her voice, "Please, has he made a decision? I feel
as if you're avoiding answering me."

"Fuck," Narcissa raged within. Oh, much worse that time around. Her
language was certainly getting harsher.

She gathered herself, straightened, and spoke calmly, "Astoria, you must
understand that Draco would sacrifice his soul to keep me safe. Something
he did when Voldemort openly threatened the wellbeing of our family."

It was a dark period where so much responsibility had been piled on his
teenage shoulders. Astoria stiffened. Her expression was sour, "I see. So, he
has decided to marry Hermione Granger and sully a bloodline that has been
pure for generations."

Narcissa clicked her tongue to show her obvious displeasure. She

reprimanded most severely, "I have known you since birth, Tori, but your
crude remarks will not be tolerated inside these walls."

Astoria's head fell into her hands. Her manicured fingers grabbed tufts of
hair, and she cried, "I love him."

Narcissa leaned forward, pried Astoria’s hands away from ripping out
chunks of thick black hair, and said silently, "I am well aware of your
feelings towards my son, but Miss Granger is not to blame for the match. "
She added desperately, "She is as helpless in this matter as he is."

Astoria wept inconsolably, "I cannot bear to see him married to another."

Narcissa soothingly rubbed the troubled young woman’s hand and

suggested carefully, "Let us cross that bridge when we reach it."

She leaned back and tried to stir the conversation well away from Draco.
Happily, she inquired, "Come now, tell me about your paintings. Do you
still draw?"

Astoria wiped away the tears, pulled out her wand, and waved it over
herself. She struggled to retain her composure, "Yes, I do. It is the one thing
that keeps me sane."

Narcissa felt her heart ache for the girl. "I weep for your situation. It is not
your burden to carry but let us hope for the best."

Unable to shield her inner thoughts, Astoria blurted out, "Will they live
under one roof, and share the same bed?"

Narcissa reapproached, "Astoria..."

The disturbed witch shot to her feet and declared unexpectedly, "I'm sorry
but, I must leave. It was nice seeing you, Narcissa. Please look after
yourself."

The older woman saw little point in trying to stop her, Astoria was already
walking away, but Narcissa muttered honestly, "You too, child."

Dotty sighed aloud, and Narcissa nodded in agreement, "Oh, Dotty, it

breaks my heart, but what are we to do?"

She instructed firmly, "Owl, Mrs Greengrass at once and inform her of her
daughter's visit. We must keep a careful watch over Astoria. She is a danger
to herself and others."

Narcissa shuddered to think in a fit of jealous rage what Astoria was

capable of, and she genuinely worried for Hermione’s safety.
Hermione breezed into the office to find Brenda already there, and Michael
Corner bent over, stroking her face and smiling fondly.

The click of her heels alarmed the couple, and Michael stepped back and
greeted happily, "Morning, Granger."

Hermione raised a brow and mused, "What do we have here then?"

Brenda blushed and stuttered, "O..oh..nothing, boss."

Hermione threw Michael a suspicious look and quipped, "Leave that poor
girl alone. I hear her boyfriend is the jealous type."

Corner crossed his arms over his chest and grinned, "Is he now?"

Hermione watched Brenda's cheeks redden. She tapped her heel and
retorted, "So I've been told."

Brenda opened her mouth to answer, but no coherent words came out.

Hermione rolled her eyes, shooed Michael away, and gestured for Brenda to
follow her. The nervous young witch hurriedly grabbed her notepad and
pink quill and hurried after her boss.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder and inquired impatiently, "Come on,
Brenda. Fill me in on what I missed yesterday."

Draco wouldn't be caught dead in his father's old office. It remained

untouched, and the only items he had moved were past ledgers, priceless
books and the odd knick-knack.

His own office was decorated modestly. Modern and bright to set the mood.
His liking for the colour black dominated the space. A large comfortable
black sofa rested in the middle. His large desk was made of the finest oak,
accompanied by an oversized leather chair for him to sit on.
The surrounding area held many bookshelves, and tall French windows
overlooked the streets below. Since his youth, he had a fondness for fish.
They were the one luxury he allowed himself. A fully-equipped aquarium
with brightly coloured exotic fish stood artfully in the corner.

Despite the new office, Draco knew he would spend very little time in it. He
had other dreams, things he felt compelled to do.

Bernard pushed a thick file forward and grinned, "The issue on the German
site has been resolved. The Head was caught embezzling, and he has been
sacked. A portion of the money has been returned."

Draco clapped slowly, "Impressive, Bernard. This calls for a celebration

tonight."

Bernard laughed hard, "I was told the man nearly pissed his pants when the
authorities walked in."

Draco shook his head, "Crime doesn't reward you well. It has a way of
coming back to you."

He leaned back in his chair and recited a story from his time at the Shaolin
Temple, "The temple held a great many treasures. Certain pieces went
missing from time to time, and it baffled us all. That was until a monk
meditating in the dark caught the thief red-handed in the great hall.”

A serene calmness spread across his face, “After the Abbot spoke to him
kindly, the police took him away, but what was most shocking was the man
returned after his jail sentence and is now one of the most revered monks
there."

Bernard listened in interest, "It sounds fascinating."

Draco nodded and smiled warmly, "I wish you could meet Master Chun one
day. I have a feeling the two of you would get on smashingly. He was like a
surrogate father to me. I learnt so much from him."
Bernard rested his arm on the table. Draco glanced at it and raised a brow,
"Those cuts on your arm look deep. You should attend to them."

The older man quickly took his arm off the table, covered the area with the
sleeve of his shirt, and brushed it aside, "Oh, It's nothing. Max jumped on
me this morning when I visited your mother."

Draco grinned. A fondness crept into his voice, "The dog is a bloody
menace, but I love him to bits." They spoke about Max and his many antics
that had both men laughing.

Once they reached a natural pause, Draco grew serious and voiced his
thoughts, "There's a matter we must discuss."

Bernard sighed in exhaustion and raised a questioning brow, "I don't think I
can stomach any more surprises."

Draco laughed good-naturedly; Bernard joined the jovial laughter. He had

been back a few days shy of two weeks, and so much had already
happened.

His only wish was for a peaceful life, a feat he very much doubted would
happen with Granger as his wife. His growing lust for her was unsettling,
and it only aided the ache in the pits of his being.

Bernard interrupted his thoughts of wild hair, sultry moans and creamy
smooth skin, "What did you want to discuss, Draco?"

The blonde wizard took a deep breath, leaned forward and said confidently,
"This isn't the life for me, Bernard. It is what I was groomed for, but this is
my father’s dream, not mine."

Bernard furrowed his brow, "Son, you are the last Malfoy. You need to heed
your mother's advice and take your rightful place as the head of the
company."

Draco exhaled. He ran his fingers through his hair and argued, "I will learn,
someday I will, but right now I would like to fulfil a greater calling."
Bernard leaned back, crossed his legs, and curiously regarded the wizard
before him, "And what might that be?"

Draco clicked his fingers, making flames appear and flicker ever so slightly.
He moved his fingers elegantly to make the conflagration dance on the
palm of his hand.

Bernard stared transfixed; he knew about the once arrogant wizard's

powerful magic. He saw it firsthand when Narcissa collapsed, but seeing it
in a controlled setting made it appear surreally beautiful.

Draco spoke softly, "I'm trained and able to brandish magic without a
wand." He included with purpose, "I want to serve a community that I
previously had no care for."

It became clear to Bernard the precarious career path he was speaking

about.

The older man smirked, "Ah, you want to become an Auror?" And added
sarcastically, "Your mother will love that."

Draco pressed on adamantly, "It's something I planned on doing for ages,

and I have every intention of seeing it through."

He offered a bit of insight into his time at Hogwarts when he was nothing
but an arrogant git, "When I was younger, all I ever wanted was to play
Quidditch professionally, and though I was above par in school, I wasn't
quite good enough for the League."

Next to Potter, he was considered the best, even though The Chosen One
outdid him at every bloody match.

Bernard pulled at his collar and loosened his tie, "Well, being an Auror isn't
exactly sunshine and daisies. It’s a real risk to your life."

Draco banged his fist down on the table, "Exactly. I will finally have a
chance to help people, reunite families and vanquish evil before it rears its
ugly fucking head."
There was a blazing purpose in his eyes that impressed Bernard. It spoke
volumes to him. His passionate speech broke through any reservations the
older man had. It was clear it meant a great deal to the once-troubled youth,
and Bernard assumed it was another thing he wanted to accomplish on his
path to complete redemption.

Bernard smiled encouragingly, "If it means this much to you, you have my
complete support."

He winked, "I'll help bring your mother around. Trust me. You will need all
the help you can get."

Draco grinned sheepishly. The loud beep of his phone diverted his attention.
He fished it out of his pocket and stared at the unknown number in thought.
He excused himself and clicked on the pulsating glowing small envelope
that flashed across the small screen.

Got your mobile number from your mum. I need to see you now. –
Hermione

A smile curved his luscious lips, and her low moans of pleasure invaded his
thoughts once more.

Bernard waited for an explanation. He coughed to remind Draco of his

presence.

Draco pocketed the device and smirked, "My lovely fiance has demanded
my presence for whatever reason."

Bernard chuckled knowingly, got to his feet, and adjusted his suit jacket,
"Carry on, son. We can finish this later."

His voice was low. There was no greeting, but it was mildly taunting and
powerful, "I cannot be summoned like some mongrel pup."

Hermione looked up, and her eyes roved over the tall, built man in a black
suit, leaning against the thick frame of the door with his hands in his
pockets.

Merlin, he was sexy. It was utterly unfair.

Brenda was conveniently away on an errand. She was probably canoodling

with her witless boyfriend in some deserted Ministry room. She cocked her
head to the side, bit her lip suggestively and mocked, "Apparently, you
can."

Draco strode into the office determinedly and decided to stretch the truth, "I
was at the office and in the middle of a board meeting."

Hermione looked embarrassed, "Oh, I'm so..."

She felt her inhibitions falter with each purposeful step he took toward her.
He closed the distance between them in three long strides, kept his hands on
her neat desk, leaned forward and invaded her space. His icy grey eyes were
complacent and destined to destroy every resolve she held dear.

He interrupted frostily, "What do you want, Granger?"

She took a whiff of his manly scent and cleared her throat to hide her
shameless reaction.

Once she regained a smidge of composure, Hermione said significantly,

"It’s been brought to my attention that Kingsley is leaving the country on a
Ministry matter and will return next week."

Draco straightened, picked up a large snow globe that rested on her table,
and answered without interest, "I fail to see how that is my concern."

She was losing her patience with his nonchalant behaviour towards their
situation and rightly told him so, "I thought we could tell him about our
way forward before he left."

That bit made his head snap up; she had his undivided attention. He nodded
curtly, "Ah, a wise decision. Lead the way, Granger."
Hermione pushed back the chair, slowly rose, came around the table, and
scolded, "Are you mocking me?"

His eyes devoured her whole. She looked quite appealing in a black pencil
skirt, a red blouse, and matching black heels. Her face was devoid of
makeup except for a smidgeon of eyeliner and mascara that adorned her
gorgeous almond-shaped eyes.

Draco tore his eyes off her and quipped, "And risk having my balls chopped
off? I think not."

He took a step closer, and she backed away, hitting her back on the front of
her desk.

He saw her swallow hard. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and
drawled, "You smell captivating."

Hermione watched the man with his eyes closed intently. She wanted to run
her fingers through his hair and bite down on his bottom lip, but instead,
she accused haughtily, "You're obsessed with my smell."

Draco inhaled and did not skip a beat with his sincere response, "I am."

He stared deep into her chestnut-brown eyes.

He loved the fire that burnt in them, "You look lovely. Is it for Boot's
benefit?" His icy grey eyes ran over her without shame, causing what little
control she maintained to crumble like stale biscuits.

She pushed him back and shot daggers, "It might surprise you, Malfoy, but I
like to dress nice for me and not some man."

Draco stepped away and smirked in satisfaction, "Good answer."

She grinned and gestured to all of him, “You are positively green with
jealousy. It's not a good look on you, Malfoy.”

Draco teased openly, “You love the attention, don’t you?”

Urgh! The incorrigible sod.

Hermione coughed in a rather pathetic attempt to hide her discomfort. She

felt a strong hand at the small of her back guiding her out, and she stiffened
from the contact.

He rasped temptingly, "You really are receptive to my touch." Her nipples

pebbled at the thought of his lips on hers. She didn't make an effort to move
away from his touch, and neither did he attempt to drop his hand.

He inquired abruptly, but there was laughter in his voice, "Did Weasley give
you a rough time?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, "What do you think?"

Draco stated with a serious look, "He might be married, but the pathetic sod
is smitten with you."

His hand snaked down her back and came to rest on her hip. She felt his
touch burn through the material, but she refuted weakly, "That's ridiculous.
He cares for me as a friend."

Draco pulled her close, dropped a kiss on her forehead in plain sight of
everyone passing by, and joked, "Obviously."

Hermione stared wide-eyed, mortified by his blatant display of public

affection.

Evidently, she was not the only one who thought so. An angry growl made
Hermione groan nervously, and Draco slowly turned towards the source.

She saw the unmistakable flash of frustration flicker in his smoky eyes. His
hold of her tightened, his long fingers dug into her skin, and she winced in
discomfort.

In unmistakable anger, the same deep voice demanded, "What the fuck is
going on?"
 Chapter 23
Chapter Notes

A mixed chapter, with some fun and memorable scenes. I hope

everyone enjoys reading it.❤

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Teddy jumped up and down excitedly, "Come on, gran. Hurry up."

Andromeda adjusted the pin of an elaborately jewelled owl on her dress

robes and picked up her sizeable handbag, "Patience, Teddy."

They were headed to the Burrow for an impromptu brunch. Ginny, James,
Bill, Fleur, and their children were joining them, and Teddy was beside
himself with excitement. He was the oldest of the lot and immensely
enjoyed playing the role of big brother.

He urgently pulled his grandmother into the homey kitchen.

Andromeda smiled fondly, took his small hand in hers and waved her wand.
They disappeared with a distinctive pop.
The Minister's office door was closed, and Harry and Michael stared,
stunned, while Terry trembled with unmistakable anger. His fists were
balled at his side, and he was clearly fighting a losing battle. On the other
hand, his eyes were pools of agony, and Hermione momentarily felt
remorse shroud her thinking. However, it was Harry who found his voice
first. It was barely audible, "Hermione?"

Hermione stepped away from the comfort Malfoy offered. She put a
substantial distance between them, hoping that it would appease the men
standing before her.

Terry seemed to have regained his faltering composure. He pointed to

Draco without any false politeness and demanded, "What are you doing
with him?"

Hermione glanced around the area hurriedly and beseeched, "Terry,

please..."

The last thing she wanted to do was cause a scandalous scene. Many
unfamiliar faces were watching them intently. It would not suit her
reputation to have a lovers spat in front of the Minister of Magic’s
distinguished office.

Draco made his presence avidly known. He drawled almost lazily, "It would
be wise not to run your mouth off. This is hardly the place for a jealous
outburst."

Terry was not about to be lectured by an ex-Death Eater scum. He closed

the gap, jabbed Draco hard in the chest and snarled, "Shut the fuck up,
Malfoy. Nobody here is speaking to you."

Draco did not flinch. He put his hands inside his pockets and smirked. This
time around, he would exercise control and not let the mediocre wizard get
under his skin.

Hermione stepped between the tall men and kept her hand palm down over
Terry's chest. His Auror badge felt rough under her fingertips.
She dropped her voice and warned, "Let's talk later. People are beginning to
stare," Sure enough, a few foreign dignitaries looked their way, frowned,
and chatted among themselves in what sounded unmistakably like French.

Terry grabbed her wrist and pleaded a touch more desperately than he
hoped, "No, don't do this, Hermione."

Hermione broke free from his grasp and murmured, "Stop it. Let's speak
later."

Michael stepped in, clamped his best friend on the shoulder while glaring at
Draco and then bestowed a look of disappointment on Hermione.

He spoke directly to Terry, "Come on, mate. Let's go for a smoke."

Terry stubbornly stood his ground, but eventually, he stared at Hermione

accusingly and followed Michael out.

Harry watched them go but stayed behind and eyed Draco suspiciously. She
touched his arm and implored in growing concern, "Is everything alright?"
Trying to steer the conversation away from the current situation, Hermione
questioned softly.

Harry looked disturbed and restless. He had visible bags under his eyes, and
his usually messy hair was further unkempt and knotted. He massaged the
bridge of his nose in exhaustion, and his mind was in sheer turmoil, "No.
Another one's been found."

Hermione gasped, "That's horrible. Oh, the poor woman."

Harry nodded in agreement and shuddered, "You should've seen her mother.
She kept fainting and had to be restrained. I hoped I’d never have to see
such anguish." That much was true, and this one case shattered his whole
purpose of becoming an Auror.

Draco listened keenly from his place by the door. Potter looked like hell. He
could see there was a grave matter at hand.
Harry looked past Hermione, and his eyes landed on the tall blonde sulking
by the large door. He inquired carefully, "What are you two up to?"

Hermione glanced over her shoulder and caught Draco staring at her as if to
say, he's your mate. You should answer. She bit her lip nervously and
averted her gaze, "Yes, umm, we need to inform Kingsley of our decision."

Harry ignored Malfoy’s presence, held Hermione by the shoulders and

forced her to look directly at him. She raised conflicted eyes, and Harry
questioned frankly, "Are you sure about this?"

Hermione took a deep breath and nodded meekly, "Yes." She felt anything
but confident, but they could probably make it work with a few ground
rules.

Harry sighed, let go and offered a half-hearted smile, "Will you stop by the
house later?"

Hermione smiled warmly, "Yeah, sure, I'll pop by."

Malfoy nodded curtly, "Good to see you, Potter."

Harry raised a quizzical brow at his former rival and retorted, "Yeah,
likewise, Malfoy." He didn’t mean it. Even with time, some things were
hard to let go.

Hermione watched Harry take the stairs. She adjusted her blouse, exhaled to
release the pent-up frustration, and knocked on the door.

A voice at her ear made the tiny hairs on her neck stand on end, “We will be
just fine, Granger.”

They heard the deep, loud voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt from within,
"Come in." Draco pushed the heavy door and held it open for Hermione to
walk through as any gentleman would.

Kingsley was clearly agitated. The closer they got to the Minister, the more
his conversation came to light. He was barking instructions and waving his
free hand about madly.
He yelled into the phone, "This has gone far enough. I want a bloody
solution."

Hermione knew better than to irritate him further and asked in a soft tone,
"Shall we come back later?"

Kingsley looked up from the phone at her and then Draco. He was baffled
as to why the unlikely pair was standing in his office.

There were many pictures of the deceased woman scattered around his
desk. The close-ups of the corpse were brutal, and Hermione only glanced
at them before moving swiftly away.

She felt rage boil in the pit of her being. Draco moved closer and
inconspicuously eyed the gruesome, disturbing photographs. His eyes went
directly to the pendant, but before getting a better look, Kingsley gathered
them all and shoved them into a drawer.

With a straight edge to his voice, the Minister informed, "We are at our wit's
end. I've requested help from private entities." Desperate times called for
utterly desperate measures.

Hermione stated prominently, "Make the statement, Kingsley. We must

warn the public of a potential serial killer."

Kingsley nodded and crossed the room to his fully stocked minibar. He
poured himself a glass of scotch and raised it in their direction in question,
"Would you like a drink?

Hermione frowned and pointed out critically, "It's barely one, Kingsley."

Draco, however, accepted the offer graciously, "Don't mind if I do,

Minister."

Kingsley poured a splash of expensive single malt scotch into a crystal

tumbler, added two clear-cut ice cubes, and handed a glass to Draco, who
took it gratefully. They clicked glasses before taking gratifying sips. The
witch in the room tutted her disapproval.
Shacklebolt scowled, "Don't look at me like that, Granger. If you’d had the
morning I’ve had, you would be drunk by now."

Draco snorted into his drink, and Hermione threw him a look of deep
loathing.

Kingsley instructed solemnly, "Will you arrange the press conference with
the Prophet?"

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and nodded resolutely, "Of
course. I'll attend to it after our little matter."

Kingsley tossed back his drink, and contemplated whether to have another
but eventually abandoned the idea and settled for a glass of water. He went
around his large desk, sat down, and gestured for the two individuals in the
room to follow suit.

Draco waited for Hermione to take a seat and then lowered himself down
into a plush leather seat. The Minister brought his large hands together and
regarded them oddly.

He leaned back and inquired, "What can I do for you two?" He added for
good measure since he was in no mood to listen to their constant
complaining, “I already made myself abundantly clear that I cannot get you
out of it."

Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered, "We've decided to do the deed and
adhere to the Ministry's dreadful marriage law."

Kingsley choked on the water. He surfaced, spluttering and gasping for

breath.

He croaked, thumping his chest, "Oh, right. Well, that's good news but
certainly surprising."

Shacklebolt eyed Hermione doubtfully, reaching into his dark plum robes to
pull out his long wand. He waved it over her in plain sight and muttered a
complex spell.
The blonde in the room did not take kindly to what the Minister was doing.
He finished his drink, licked his bottom lip, and flicked his wrist causally.
Kingsley’s acacia wood wand flew out of his hand and landed neatly in
front of him.

The Minister narrowed his eyes and demanded in astonishment, "How did
you do tha...?

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her chair and glanced at Draco. He was

not to be trifled with and frowned at the Minister with a look of contempt
on his face.

Draco thwarted without hesitation. His tone held a smidge of sarcasm, "I'm
gifted, and should I be insulted that you were checking to see if Granger is
enchanted."

Kingsley countered, "No, I was merely being thorough."

Hermione saw fit to instil her opinion, "There is no foul play here, Minister.
I agreed to this."

Draco’s luscious lips pulled upwards into a smug smirk, "As a matter of
fact, she asked me to marry her." His eyes danced with humour, and he
gazed fondly at the witch next to him squirm uncomfortably.

Hermione glared sternly and explained steadfastly, "That's not nearly as

messed up as it sounds." The bloody nerve of him.

The Minister was beyond relieved that they had come to their senses and
decided to embark on what could be called a somewhat perilous journey. He
wondered if Malfoy would survive the three years unscathed.

Kingsley made his feelings vocal and stated cheerfully, "Good, now to plan
the function. I hope you will wait for my return."

Hermione gasped wide-eyed and gobsmacked. She stuttered, "F-f-

function?” What blooming function?"
Draco moved his seat slightly away from the glowering woman, who
looked like she was about to explode. Her obvious displeasure would be
directed towards him, no doubt.

Kingsley noticed none of this. He waved his hand casually and supplied
further clarification, "Yes, Granger, you know, a party of sorts."

Hermione shot to her feet and cried in outrage, "Have you lost all sanity? I
agreed to marry for the sake of Narcissa, but I won't put on a bloody gown
and prance down the aisle like it’s the happiest day of my life."

Kingsley looked at the fuming woman in interest and chuckled, "There's

really no need to be rude."

Hermione banged her fist down on the table and stated firmly, "There will
be no wedding!"

She pointedly looked at her watch and said to the room, "I actually have an
hour free. We could get the certificate now."

Draco saw his cue to intervene. He got to his feet, adjusted his tie, and
fawned sarcastically, "How romantic."

He ran his fingers through his hair and smirked, "But my mother would
have our head if we went about this tactlessly without informing her, and
we must also consider your parents."

Hermione grilled incredulously, "My parents?"

Draco raised a questioning brow, "Yes, Granger, your parents. Unless you
are planning on lying to them for the next three years."

She shuddered, and memories of old came to mind. It was the single most
difficult thing she had ever done. Obliviating her parents’ memories and
then tracking them down with the Ministries to help restore them was an
experience she wouldn't ever repeat.
Her mum especially felt resentment towards her, but once they began to
understand why she did what she did, they managed to let go of the past
over time and rebuild their relationship.

Hermione had not given it much thought other than to spend the weekend
with them and spill the beans on her marital status. She argued, "Well,
obviously, I'll have to tell them."

Kingsley advised animatedly, "You could learn something from him,

Hermione."

Hermione sneered, "Oh, really? Like how to look down on Muggleborns?"

Draco shook his head and frowned. The Minister massaged his temples
slowly and said, "If you’re done sharing your news, please go make life
miserable for someone else."

Hermione giggled and replied, "Have a safe trip. Pass my regards to the
French Minister."

Kingsley grimaced, "That slimy old toad is not worth mentioning."

Draco saw Kingsley bestow a look of affection upon Granger. They

honestly had a love, hate relationship. They departed. Hermione walked
ahead and tittered, "Well, that went better than anticipated."

When she heard no reply, she glanced over her shoulder in annoyance and
found Malfoy standing in front of Professor Dumbledore’s portrait, engaged
in what looked like a lively conversation. Hermione walked back and
smiled at their old Headmaster.

Dumbledore grinned broadly, "My dear, Miss Granger, I think

congratulations are in order."

Hermione blushed, "Not really, Professor. We have been pressured into

this."

The wise old man chuckled, "Ah yes, but sometimes the unexpected can
happen."
Hermione mumbled, "Not this time."

Draco heard her stubborn reply and stifled a laugh. They bid the Professor a
fond farewell, and Draco trailed leisurely after the headstrong woman into
her office.

Brenda had returned, and she stared flabbergasted at the couple making
their way into Hermione’s office.

Hermione noticed her assistant gawking at Malfoy and asked pointedly,

"Any messages, Brenda?"

The pretty young witch tore her eyes away from the striking blonde,
swallowed hard and turned towards her boss, who frowned deliberately,
"Oh, nothing, Hermione."

Hermione recited quickly, "Good, schedule a meeting with the Prophet and
Quibbler in three hours," and walked away without further instruction.

Draco lingered and smiled warmly at the woman scribbling in her notepad.
Her quill moved over the paper effortlessly. He greeted, "It was nice to meet
you, Brenda."

Brenda blushed madly and mumbled incoherently. He followed Hermione

into her office and mused, "Is madam done with me? Can I take my leave?"

Draco closed the door and tallied, "Your assistant seems lovely."

Hermione regarded him like someone shoved a handful of shite under her
nose, repulsed.

She rounded on him in the privacy of her room. With her hands on her
shapely hips and feet slightly apart, she spat decisively, "I meant it, Malfoy.
No sodding wedding."

Draco rubbed his chin in thought, "Hmm, duly noted." He looked around
her immaculate office. It mirrored her personality and said animatedly,
"Well, if we are done here. I'll take my leave."
Hermione nodded feebly and held the door open for him to leave, "I
suppose we will meet soon."

He stopped abruptly at the door and turned to face her. The grey in his eyes
glistened with unease, but somehow it added to his appeal. Hermione grew
flustered and hurriedly stepped back.

Draco closed the space between them, cupped her cheek with one hand and
ran his thumb along her suddenly dry lips.

His husky voice sent shivers down her spine, "Yes, we will, Granger." He
let go and glanced over his shoulder as he walked away and flashed a
flawless smile at the young receptionist.

Hermione leaned against the wall to steady the rapid beating of her heart.
She walked over to her desk on wobbly legs and plopped down
unceremoniously in her chair.

Brenda poked her head in and swooned, "Oh my goodness. He is a treat."

Hermione rolled her eyes and frowned, "Shut it. He's far too old for the
likes of you, not that it matters and my soon to be husband."

The young woman gasped, “Married? You?”

Hermione looked insulted, “Yes, me! Why is that so hard to believe?”

Brenda shut the door behind her, and her mouth dropped open in shock. She
regained her composure enough to blurt out, "No bloody way."

She took a seat and sighed dreamily, "I bet he's marvellous in bed."

Hermione could not help but giggle, "You have a filthy mind."

Brenda was utterly convinced, "Come off it, look at that firm arse. He's
certainly got the build for it."

Hermione shrugged, started to jot down notes for the press release and
shrugged casually, "I hadn't noticed."
She would need Harry’s valuable input on what they should disclose and
what needed to be kept well out of prying eyes in case the killer followed
the story.

Brenda quipped, "Haven't noticed? You really are an appalling liar,

Hermione."

Hermione slipped on her glasses and scowled, “Speaking of liars. When

were you going to tell me about Michael?”

Brenda had the good grace to look ashamed, "Oh, um...yes, well..."

Hermione held up her hand and silenced the embarrassing woman. She
smiled warmly, "You look happy. He looks bloody ecstatic. So, it is going
well, I presume?"

Brenda exclaimed enthusiastically, "Oh yes! We also got matched through

the Algorithm."

Hermione asked in thought, "Does Terry know?"

Brenda bit her bottom lip nervously and looked away sheepishly.

Terry gripped the cigarette, the thin tube almost broke in half, and he shook
in anger, "How could she do this?

Michael took a long drag and advised coolly, "Calm down, mate. We don't
know what she's done."

Terry sneered, "I bet you hundred galleons she's accepted the match."

Michael blew smoke towards the ceiling and shook his head afterwards,
"No way. She fucking hates him."

Terry inhaled the rich smoke and hissed, "Not anymore. There is more to
this."

Michael offered carefully, "Maybe it’s the money?"

Terry threw his friend a look of deep disproval, "Fuck off. Granger isn't the
shallow type."

Corner shrugged and defended, "I was just saying…."

Terry punched the wall next to him aggressively, making others in the area
glance their way. He ignored the many eyes on him and thundered, "I'll fuck
him up, I swear."

Michael squeezed his mate’s shoulder and reapproached, "Maybe it’s time
to let Granger go?"

Terry couldn't believe his ears, "What? No!" Deep down, he knew his friend
spoke the truth. Hermione was not as invested in them as he was. Frankly,
he had no idea what she wanted from him, but he was willing to wait it out
patiently.

Michael sighed, "Look, I'm your best friend, and I don't want to see you get
hurt, but honestly, I don't think she's that into you."

Terry stubbed his cigarette and hurled, but his confidence waned, "Oh yeah?
Will see about that."

He stormed off, leaving a concerned Michael behind to gather his thoughts

and finish the last few drags of his roll-up.

Brenda narrowed her eyes at the raging bull that was Terry Boot. She
quickly stopped him and said harshly, "Terry, she's in a meeting."

Terry glared stubbornly, "Do I look like I give a fuck?" He brushed past
Brenda, entered Hermione’s office unannounced, and yelled, "What the
fuck is going on, Hermione? Are you marrying the bastard?"

Brenda rushed after him angrily, threw Terry a look of disgust and
apologised profusely, "I'm so sorry, Hermione. This imbecile wouldn't listen
to me."

Terry opened his mouth to fling an insult, but the hardened expression on
Granger’s face made him stop dead in his tracks.
Hermione smiled calmly at Brenda, "That's quite alright, darling. I'll take it
from here."

Brenda glowered at Terry and mumbled unkindly as she passed him, "She's
got someone better than you," and closed the door on her way out.

Hermione came around her desk, leaned against it, and appealed, "Calm
down."

Terry inquired anxiously, "Are you?" Oh well, she couldn’t hide it. The
sooner she accepted the truth of it, the better it would be for everyone. With
that troubling thought in mind, Hermione sighed, "Yes, I am."

Terry felt his heart clench, and his stomach ache. This was a woman he
cared for greatly. He cupped her face lovingly and pleaded, "Why? What
changed?"

Hermione broke free of his hold and pointed strictly to a chair, "Sit down
and listen or get out of my office."

Draco took the centuries-old lift down to the atrium. Now was as good a
time as any. Besides, it saved him a trip, and his mind was made up. He
approached the help desk. Three well-dressed witches were busy answering
calls, directing lost people, and explaining things to the many foreigners
aimlessly wandering about.

Draco cleared his throat, and a smartly attired older witch came up to him
and smiled politely, "What can I help you with?"

He smiled gratefully and requested courteously, "Would you kindly direct

me towards the Auror office."

She smiled as that was the practice and pointed delicately to the row of lifts,
"Certainly. Take the lift, floor number 08."

He thanked her and once again walked towards the now crowded lift
entrance. As he neared the area, he bumped into a slightly built man, and
the poor man's files fell to the floor, sending papers everywhere. Some
people stepped on them in their haste to reach their destination, and Draco
apologised, "Oh, sorry, mate. I didn't see you there."

John mumbled, "That happens often." He fell to his knees and tried to
gather the pieces of paper.

Meanwhile, Draco wondered why the man didn't use magic. When it
became clear that he had no intention of resorting to magic, Draco pulled
out his wand and neatly waved it over the scattered papers.

They landed in a neat pile on the flustered man’s hands. John looked utterly
surprised. Wizards, in particular, snubbed him arrogantly. He muttered a
quick thank you before disappearing into the crowd. Draco stared after him
for a bit and returned to his earlier task of meeting Potter.

The lift was crowded, but Draco squeezed himself in and pushed the button.
Merlin, it smelt like ball sweat, and the witch standing beside him pressed
herself into his side. He sighed in relief as the lift dinged on his desired
floor. He fought his way out, doubled over and gasped for fresh air.

Draco looked around, impressed. He was greeted first by a large logo of the
DMLE Badge and motto engraved into the wall. Black-clad individuals
eyed him warily before walking past. Aurors, in general, were a suspicious
lot. Considering their job, they had to be.

He fixed his jacket and stopped a neatly dressed woman in a high ponytail,
"Excuse me, can you direct me to Potter's office?"

The woman looked him over and raised a quizzical brow, "Malfoy?"

He looked closely at the attractive woman, and she did indeed appear
vaguely familiar, but he struggled to recall who it was.

She sensed his predicament and offered, "It's Hannah. We were in the same
year, except I was in Hufflepuff."
Ah, Longbottom’s Herbology partner. He hurriedly searched his memories
for any recollection of him being horrid to her and thankfully came up
empty.

Draco smiled warmly, "Of course, Hannah, how nice to see you. Sorry, I
didn’t recognise you. You’ve changed quite a bit.”

Hannah laughed, “Got rid of the braces and changed my hairstyle.”

Draco grinned, displaying his flawlessly white teeth, “You look good.”

Hannah tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear, blushed and asked
sceptically, "Didn't expect to find you here of all places."

Draco replied awkwardly, "I'm looking for Potter."

She motioned for him to follow her, and after a short distance, they stopped
at what looked like a modest office space with the name HARRY POTTER,
HEAD AUROR sprawled across it in bright, bold gold letters. They heard a
slew of curses from within as Harry slammed the phone down and
proceeded to shout profanity at an unknown source.

Hannah nudged him and teased, "Good luck." He rolled his eyes and
knocked on the door loudly. Harry’s agitated voice came from within,
"Come in."

Draco opened the door and entered without hesitation.

Harry stopped fiddling with the papers on his desk and stared at the ice
blonde standing in his rather untidy room.

Harry smirked, "Well, this is certainly unexpected."

Draco glanced at a bunch of photographs of dead women and said solemnly,

"I gather this is a difficult time."

Harry sighed in exhaustion, "You have no idea, but come in." He didn't
bother with unwanted pleasantries and assumed the blonde prick wanted to
speak about Hermione.
Harry narrowed his eyes and inquired, "So, what can I do for you?"

Draco stood his ground; he didn't sit nor move a muscle. He came straight
to the point and answered promptly, "I wish to join your department. I
gather you are the right person to meet."

Harry leaned back in his chair and stared at the rather tall man he disliked
intensely, "Indeed. Forgive my utter fucking shock, but why in Merlin’s
name do you want to become an Auror?"

Draco sighed and simply asked, "Why do you do it, Potter?"

Harry answered at once fiercely, "To help people. Keep them safe."

Draco nodded in agreement, "There you go." It was complex yet

straightforward reasoning.

Harry laughed mockingly. He spat in contempt, "You haven't helped anyone

but yourself. Why is this time any different?"

Draco knew he would have his work cut out for him. It was the price he had
to pay for being a gigantic knob back at Hogwarts. He formed his words
carefully, "I want to give back what I've taken. You might find it a bitter pill
to swallow, but I'm not the same selfish git I was back then."

Harry leered, "Right. Forgive me for not believing a word you say."

Draco argued, "Don't make the mistake of thinking only you and your lot
suffered.” He punctured his last words with disgust, “You have no real idea
what true hell is. I lived with the monster for months."

Harry nodded slowly, "Fair point." Malfoy had a valid argument; it couldn’t
have been easy being forced to do such malevolent deeds with his family's
safety looming over his head.

He shrugged and questioned seriously, "Okay then, what qualifications do

you have to become an Auror?"
Draco smirked, "For one...." The goblin-made gemmed iron sword flew
across the room and landed on his outstretched hand. His fingers closed
around the handle, and his eyes roved over the impressive craftsmanship.

Harry straightened and stared in disbelief, "How did you do...." The smug
prat had not used a wand. No, it was impossible.

Draco wielded the sword expertly. The sharp blade sliced through the air
effortlessly, and he fondly remembered the swords that he practised with at
the temple, the only difference being the weight. The sword currently in his
hands was practically weightless and aided his fluid, quick movements.

Once satisfied, he placed it gingerly on the table before answering, "That’s

a brilliant sword.” He saw Potter gawking at him in surprise. So caught up
in his excitement, he forgot about his audience.

Draco cleared his throat, “I can do wandless magic. My spells pack quite a
punch."

Harry still stared at a complete loss for words. Draco ignored the
flabbergasted man and raised two long svelte fingers, “Second...."

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and concentrated hard. A satisfied
smirk curved his lips, "Yes, Potter. I have every intention of treating
Granger with the utmost respect."

Harry felt an unwanted presence. His Occlumency had improved by leaps

and bounds since entering adulthood. He pushed back, put up solid walls to
keep the intruder out of his thoughts and memories and hissed darkly, "Get
out of my head, you arsehole."

Draco grinned triumphantly, "I'm an accomplished Legilimens. I don't need

to resort to potions and whatnot to know what's in a criminal's mind."

He emphasised, "And lastly," the words barely left his lips as he did an
effortless roundhouse kick that reached over Harry's desk and landed short
of his neck causing his Adam’s apple to bob nervously.
Harry stiffened and eyed the shoe's heel out of the corner of his eye. It was
so close to his face, but Malfoy brought his leg down, straightened and
explained plainly, "I'm trained in martial arts. Kungfu, to be precise."

Harry hid his shock. He would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he
was beyond impressed. Instead, he nodded and retorted professionally,
"Impressive. I won't lie, you will be a valuable asset, but there is quite a bit
to consider."

Internally, he thought, the fact that Malfoy was a cleared but still branded
Death Eater would be disturbing to several members. Most importantly,
their unpleasant history and how the rest of the team would react to working
with him when some, if not most, outwardly showed contempt for the
Malfoy family.

Draco pressed with adamant purpose, "All I want is a chance."

Harry leaned forward and queried curiously, "But do you play nice with
others?"

Draco laughed low. It was good-natured and filled the room, "Besides, the
moron Granger has the hots for, I'm confident the others and I will get on
smashingly."

Harry joined the hearty laughter, "Oh, I very much doubt that."

Draco brushed it aside and inquired sincerely, "What do you say, Potter?"

Harry conceded, "Don't make me fucking regret this." He included

offhandedly, "You will need to go through the training program for about a
month to undergo a stringent series of character and aptitude tests. These
tests are done in order to show us how well you will react under pressure,
and it's all uphill from there."

His lips curved upwards in a sarcastic smirk, "The pay is shite, the perks are
somewhat okay, and job satisfaction varies."
A sadness laced his following words. Harry sighed exasperatedly, thought
of Ginny’s tired face and hung his head, "This life isn't for everyone."

Draco nodded in slow agreement, "I'm aware of what the job details." He
attempted to lighten the mood, "It's not like I have a loving wife to return
home to."

Harry could not help but laugh, he pulled out a piece of parchment, and on
cue, the door opened unannounced, and Hermione walked in, muttering,
"Can you believe what an incredible prat Malfoy is..."

Draco ran his fingers through his blonde locks and mused, "Quite a large
one, I presume, but might I ask what merited this barrage of abuse?"

Hermione froze in her tracks. He was the last person she expected to see in
Harry’s office. Her encounter with Boot had left her irritated and immensely
frustrated since he was adamant that she not marry Malfoy and instead run
off with him.

To further stress his point that she was better off with him, he had
proceeded to snog her as if his life depended on it. The feeling of his hands
on her, his lips moving over hers, did nothing whatsoever to excite her.

Sure, it was pleasurable but nowhere near as sensual as when Malfoy

touched her, which infuriated her, but she conveniently blamed her body for
its betrayal.

When she refused to budge from her decision, he seemed pained and tried
to blame Narcissa for forcing such responsibility on her. That was the last
straw, and she told him so frankly. He looked utterly defeated as he exited
without a further word.

Hermione folded her arms across her chest and demanded, "What are you
still doing here?" She openly leered, hoping to humiliate, "Have you
stooped so low as to stalk me?"

Draco retorted smugly, "That, my beloved, would require me to be close to

you and clearly, I am not."
Hermione blushed but pushed it aside and insisted sternly, "Whatever. What
are you doing here?"

Draco pointed to Harry and shrugged, "Isn't that obvious?” He cocked his
head to the side and quipped, “Aren't you the brightest witch of our age or
have you been knocked off the pedestal?"

Hermione’s face twisted unpleasantly. She opened her mouth to hurl an

insult, but he promptly interrupted to clear her confusion, "I'm applying to
be an Auror."

She openly mocked, "What? That is ridiculous."

Draco narrowed his eyes. Her comment got under his thick skin, and he
questioned irritably, "How so?" Did she believe he was incapable and
lacked the skills to be an Auror?

Hermione tilted her head to the side and remarked, "You're filthy rich. You
hardly need to work. Just sit pretty on your arse and watch the galleons pour
in."

She laughed aloud, "What do you know about a commoner’s life?"

Draco mustered a smile and advised, "You should not be so quick to judge,
Granger. Especially when you loathe the same done to you."

Hermione knew she crossed the invisible line of mockery, and she half
wished it was acceptable to flee with her shame intact. He wasn't about to
sit idly by.

At the same time, she insulted him without reason Draco insisted, "The
Malfoy fortune is hardly my doing. That's generations-old gold I've
inherited."

He included confidently, hoping she would see that he meant his words, "I
wish to make a difference."

Before she could stop herself, Hermione spat out sarcastically, "Oh, you've
done plenty."
Fed up with their childish banter, Harry injected sternly, "Hermione! This is
a private meeting." They were best friends, but this was work, and both
took their job quite seriously. Her untimely intrusion was not welcome.

Hermione argued, "You can't be serious, Harry! You cannot possibly

consider him."

Harry took off his glasses, cleaned them and said, "Who I hire is my
concern. Last I checked, I am the Head of the department, and my word is
the law." He would never walk into her office and tell her how to do her
job.

Hermione grilled, "What skills does he have?"

Draco purposely closed the door with a simple wave of his hand and joked,
"I assure you, my pet, I am qualified for the job."

Hermione plunged her hand into her pocket, pulled out her wand, dug it into
the base of his throat and snarled, "Call me your pet one more time." How
dare he refer to her with such a derogatory term.

Draco was hardly intimated. He pressed himself further into the wand until
it dug unpleasantly into his jugular. He lifted her chin with a finger and
drawled, "You are quite a sight when pissed off."

She could smell the fresh mint of his toothpaste ghost over her face as he
lewdly uttered, "It's mildly arousing."

Harry heard bits and frowned. Merlin, he had a killer to catch and tons of
work to do and not witness this pathetic display of a cat chasing a mouse.
Who was what was yet to be determined?

Hermione stomped hard on Draco's foot, let her heel dig in for good
measure, and ordered, "What are your credentials?" She knew he had no
prior work experience unless you count a reclusive escape from the world
he knew.
Harry was beginning to lose his patience. He prided himself on keeping his
wits about him, but her line of questioning made him feel inadequate and
incompetent in his trusted position.

He countered on Draco's behalf, "Malfoy has provided them, and I am

answerable only to the Minister of Magic, Madam Undersecretary."

Hermione cried in outrage, "This is preposterous."

Harry got to his feet and reprimanded most severely, "It has already been
decided, and I will not have my decisions questioned by the likes of you."

Harry offered his hand, and Draco was reminded of a time years ago when
he was nothing but an ignorant child trying to befriend The Boy Who
Lived. He beamed and took the hand in a firm shake.

Potter returned the gesture and enthused, "Welcome onboard, Auror Malfoy.
Report for duty first thing Monday morning."

Meanwhile, Hermione stood in the background, seething with her lips

pressed down hard, trying hard to retain her composure. She watched the
unsavoury scene unravel, turned on her heel and stormed out of the room.

Harry sighed, "I'm never going to hear the end of it. Brace yourself,
Malfoy."

He added in annoyance and repeated his earlier warning, “Don’t make me

regret this.”

Draco grinned confidently, "Oh, I think I can handle the elusive Miss
Granger."
 Chapter 24
Chapter Notes

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Enjoy Chapter Twenty Four!

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HAPPY READING! 🙌

Teddy pushed back his plate and sighed in contentment. It was his third
helping of apple pie, and he could not possibly eat another bite. It was the
kind of pie that was flaky and crispy on top but incredibly moist and sweet
in the centre. The weather mirrored his mood, bright, sunny, and warm to
suit his disposition. Ron came from behind and attempted to pick the child
up as he would often do.

Teddy squealed and begged to be let down, "Let me go, Uncle Ron."

Ron groaned and settled the growing boy down before he hurt his back.
Teddy was growing like a weed, "Uff, you're getting heavy, mate."

Tracey linked her arm through her husbands and leaned against him,
smiling warmly. She took an instant liking to the well-mannered boy, and
her heart broke when she learned the sad fate of his parents. She had
decided to let her insecurities about Granger lie low for the time being and
focus on building trust within her marriage.

Besides, Hermione was marrying Draco and that in itself was a somewhat
comforting thought. She gently nudged Ron and told him excitedly, "Why
don't you give him our gift?"
Teddy perked up, a happy smile split his cute face in half, "You got me
presents?"

Ron winked, "Of course, we got all the kids gifts." The ones within earshot
gathered around him eagerly.

Ginny snorted and said animatedly, "Good because all we adults got were
some lousy chocolates."

Ron frowned to show his displeasure and gritted out, "You weren't
complaining when you gobbled the lot."

Ginny laughed aloud, and Bill silenced her with a stern look. Tracey
ignored her sister in law’s unkind comment, took out a few brightly
wrapped gifts and handed them out to the eager children bouncing around
her.

Molly ignored the squabbling of her two youngest children, sipped her tea
and fondly said to Andromeda, "It would have been nice if Hermione and
Harry could've joined us."

Andromeda bit into a biscuit delicately and nodded in agreement, "I haven't
seen them since the wedding."

Ron drifted towards them and frowned, "Well, we won't be seeing much of
Hermione going forth."

Molly looked visibly upset, "Whatever do you mean, son?"

Ron didn't bother to speak in hushed tones. He wasn't well versed in subtly.
In a carrying voice that held the contempt he felt, he stated, "Hermione is
marrying the bloody snake."

Molly gasped in shock, "Well, that's certainly unexpected."

Ron forgot about the guests and thundered, "Yeah, Malfoy took the exit
clause, which would have had him scraping a living as Muggle, but
Narcissa didn't take the news too well and had a heart attack."

He further included harshly, "Conveniently forcing Hermione to accept the

match."

A loud crash followed. It shattered the peace, and everyone turned to stare
at Andromeda, who had gone pale. Her teacup lay in pieces before her. With
unsteady, trembling fingers, she attempted to pick up the broken bits of fine
porcelain.

Ron cursed his stupidity, and Ginny glared at her brother's callous
behaviour. She took Andromeda's hands in her, soothingly rubbed them in
an effort to comfort the distraught older woman and calmly explained
further, "She's fine, Meda. On her way to a full recovery."

Tears glistened in Andromeda's eyes, the tiny wrinkles that adorned the
corners of her eyes relaxed when she closed them, and tears streaked down
her ashen cheeks.

Teddy ran to his grandmother's side, took her hand in his and implored
fearfully, "What's the matter?" He was terrified of losing her too.

Molly pulled Teddy to the comfort of her lap and reassured him that all was
well. She threw Ron a look of disapproval and handed Andromeda a white
handkerchief.

She took the embroidered cloth and wiped the tears before mustering a
smile, "I'm fine, Teddy. I heard some upsetting news about my sister."

Teddy looked confused, "I didn't know you had a sister."

Draco chuckled as he left Potter's office. He thought of the feisty witch that
was Granger and ran straight into Hannah. The smartly dressed woman
regarded him with amusement, "You still here?"
She crossed her arms over her chest, looked him over sceptically and
snorted, "And in one piece too. I'm shocked Harry didn't rip you apart."

Draco laughed good-heartedly. The sound carried down the same corridor
he had been marched along when he’d been arrested all those years ago. It
hadn't changed much except for the intimidating insignia that greeted you
on arrival and a new coat of paint. He recalled whitewashed walls, now
replaced by a rich mustard colour.

He leaned forward and uttered rather mysteriously, "Hmm, I'll see you on
Monday," with those words, he deliberately walked off, leaving a slightly
shell-shocked Hannah behind.

Hannah muttered to herself, "I wonder what that was all about."

Hermione looked up from her notes as the door handle rattled loudly. She
pushed her glasses further up her nose and waited patiently for it to open. It
opened a crack, and she saw a tuft of mussed hair.

Harry poked his head in and smiled guiltily, "I bring a peace offering." She
recognised the bag from one of her favourite pastry shops dangling from his
hand.

Hermione leaned back and questioned smugly, "Are you trying to bribe a
Ministry official? That is punishable by the law."

Harry rolled his eyes but awkwardly awaited further instruction. Hermione
giggled and waved him forward, "Come in, you sod."

He strode in, dropped the bag on her neat table and fell unceremoniously
into the comfortable leather chair and mused, "Come on, Hermione." She
was feeling rather hungry, and the untimely arrival of food was welcome.
Plunging her hand in, she pulled out a sausage roll without invitation and
ravenously bit into it.

Harry regarded her with an amused expression but didn't dare say anything
for fear of further annoying her.
Hermione chewed on the delicious roll in silence. She thoroughly enjoyed
the smokiness of the meat and the hint of cheese. Once done and satisfied
that her hunger pangs had died down, she gave

Harry her undivided attention. Unable to keep quiet any longer, he blurted
out in concern, "You need to eat more. You've lost quite a bit of weight."

Hermione brushed his comment aside and mumbled, "Must be stress."

Harry cleared his throat and spoke first, "Look, you might think me taking
Malfoy on is troubling, but the man does have some unique skills."

Hermione reluctantly nodded. She purposely let her eyes wander towards
her leather-bound books and argued, "Okay, I acted childishly but can you
blame me, Harry?"

Harry quipped, "No, I can't, but did you have to stomp on his foot?"

Hermione smiled sheepishly, "Yeah, that was going too far. His shoes
probably cost more than my flat." Truth be told, she regretted nothing. They
started to laugh. It was pleasant and easy, as their years of friendship had
always been.

Harry took a thick file out from his coat pocket, and his usually warm
features twisted unpleasantly. He pushed it across the desk and said grimly,
"Brenda told me to bring these along."

Hermione pulled it towards her with a sad nod, "With a lot of persuasion
from me, Kingsley decided to inform the public of a potential serial killer
on the loose."

Harry gritted out, "What's baffling is he hasn't abducted anyone new. The
bastard’s taken four girls that we know of, and three are dead. There’s
potentially one left for us to save."
He spat angrily. His eyes mirrored the confusion he suffered, "Why only
four? I can’t fathom the bloody significance." His head in his hands, he
grabbed tufts of hair and pulled hard, "This case is driving me insane."

Hermione reached over and squeezed his hand reassuringly. She said with
determination, "You will catch him, Harry."

Letting go, she flipped open the file, finding an enlarged picture of the first
victim greeting her. She stared at the photography in despair and wondered
what kind of monster committed such inhumane acts. The woman was
beautiful with long flowing red hair and a voluptuous figure.

She died nearly a year ago, and her death was ruled out as an unsolved
murder due to a lack of evidence by Harry’s predecessor. Still, the
consistency was strikingly familiar to the new cases, and Harry was
convinced it was the same killer.

Hermione took down notes and stressed, "Will you take the meetings with
me?"

Harry sank into the chair's comfort, replied enthusiastically and offered
some vital points, "Of course, love. The public mustn't know our strategies,
but we must emphasise the need for collective help. If they notice someone
acting suspiciously, they should report it at once."

He bolted up as a new idea came to mind, "Maybe we could offer a reward?

Most would sell their mother for galleons. We should reveal the bastards
calling card too, the intricately carved silver owl and wand.”

Maybe, they would get lucky. They certainly needed some miraculous
breakthrough. Engrossed in her notes, Hermione kept her eyes on the
parchment, bit her lip and nodded solemnly in reply.

A loud knock interrupted the companionable silence. When Hermione kept

scribbling on the parchment, Harry took it upon himself to grant permission
for entry. In a loud voice, he said, "Come in." The door opened ever so
slowly, and John nervously stepped into the carpeted room and stiffened
when Harry smiled kindly at him, "How's it going, mate? Arthur keeping
you busy?"

John kept his head down, avoided any form of eye contact and mumbled
meekly, "Yes, Mr Potter."

Hermione looked up and smiled herself, "Ah, John. Please, come in."

Harry raised a curious yet amused brow, "Mr Potter?" He grinned good-
naturedly, "We are all friends here, John. Please call me Harry."

John reluctantly stepped closer to Hermione. The photographs of the

deceased woman were sprawled across her desk, giving him ample view of
the pictures. He stared at them, mesmerised, momentarily forgetting where
he was before Hermione’s voice cut through his thoughts, "Thank you again
for bringing these up. I needed them for the Buxton case."

He quickly looked away and attempted a genuine smile, "It was my

pleasure, Hermione."

Harry threw the rather eccentric man an odd look. His fascination with the
pictures was not lost on him, but he didn't read much into it since John
hurriedly left the room without another word.

Brenda stopped the flustered man the second he stepped out of her boss's
room, "Hi, John." His eyes went to her beautifully dyed red hair. How he
wished her locks were natural. Oh, what he would’ve sacrificed to run his
gnarly fingers through the long strands.

His bottom lip quivered with uncontrollable lust, but he swallowed hard and
replied offhandedly, "Brenda. How are you?" She had meant to speak to
him after the altercation the other day, but he had seemed elusive.

Brenda touched his arm, but John shook her hand off and moved away at
once. Though slightly offended, she apologised sincerely, "Listen, I hope
you aren't mad at me. Michael can be an arse at times."
John's face twisted uncharacteristically, and an unsettling glint of anger
flashed across his eyes, making Brenda step back in fear.

His voice was barely audible as he hissed darkly, "Yes, well, it's best we
don't speak. I don't want any trouble."

Desperate to put some distance between them, Brenda went around her desk
and nodded unsurely, “Yes, of course. Take care." She watched, perplexed,
as he left the area in anger with his oversized pitch-black robes trailing
behind him.

Draco finished the workout he missed in the morning. Max stayed firmly by
his side as he sat cross-legged in the centre of the room and became one
with his surroundings. He cleared his mind of all thought and felt the inner
peace he fought so long to sustain consume him. It was the state of utter
bliss he craved.

Once he was satisfied that his daily goal had been accomplished, Draco
opened his eyes, and they shone brightly with the calmness that radiated
from him.

Max whimpered and came close. Draco smiled fondly at the dog and spent
a few minutes ruffling the dog's thick coat of pure white fur. The Alsatian
was growing fast and turning into a majestic beast. It baffled him how
someone could be heartless enough to abandon such a loving creature.

A shower was an absolute must, and the prospect of cool water washing
over him enticed him. Draco discarded his grey jogging bottoms and
underwear and stood naked in the middle of the black-tiled bathroom. He
caught a glimpse of his reflection, ran his fingers through his hair and used
his fingers to outline the prominent scars on his torso.

Stepping under the shower, he let the overhead shower wash away the sweat
clinging to his sculpted frame from his workout. Like a possessive lover,
the spray of water surrounded him whole, and he surrendered to its heaty
embrace. Draco dressed in crisp white Kung Fu robes and strode into the
foyer where his mother was busy reading a book.
He made his presence known, "Mother..."

Narcissa looked up from her book and smiled broadly, "Ah, just in time. I
was about to have lunch. You look fresh and quite calm."

Draco ran his fingers down the robe and grinned, "Thank you, mother." He
followed his mother to the dining room, and both took their respective seats
at the long Venetian red table.

Dotty appeared, bowed low as was the custom and clicked her long thin
fingers. Plates of scrumptious food appeared before them. Alongside
stuffing, Yorkshire pudding and roasted potatoes covered with gravy, a
choice of meat adorned the table.

Draco patiently waited for his mother to serve herself first, but instead, she
piled his plate high with roast beef and potatoes until he protested, "Mother,
that's quite enough."

Narcissa helped herself to a Yorkshire pudding, cut it in half and asked

casually, "How has your day been so far?"

Draco forked a piece of potato, eyed the oil dripping off it critically and
answered, "Hmm, it was somewhat productive." He popped the piece whole
into his mouth and mumbled, "I, err, have some news."

Narcissa froze with her fork midway to her mouth. She set it down
delicately and inquired, "Is it the pleasant kind?" Her heart rate hastened,
and she struggled to remain calm.

Draco offered sheepishly, "I truly hope so." He added with what he hoped
was enough conviction, "It's something I gave a great deal of thought to
when I was away."

Narcissa internally groaned. What was her headstrong offspring up to now?

She kept her insecurities well-hidden and probed anxiously, "Yes? Do go
on, son."
Draco looked directly at his mother and didn't dare to break eye contact. He
spoke with purpose and determination, "I talked with Potter today.” His
mother’s face was hard to read. He paused for effect, “I'm going to be an
Auror."

Narcissa breathed an immense sigh of relief. She reached over, covered his
rather large hand with her petite one, gave it a comforting squeeze and
gushed, "That's wonderful, darling. I couldn't be happier. It is the best
profession for your newly acquired skills."

Draco raised a quizzical brow. He bemused, "I wasn't quite sure how you
would respond, but this is great. It makes me incredibly happy that you are
supportive of my decision, even if others aren't."

Narcissa cut up a chunk of roast beef into bite-sized pieces. She kept her
eyes on the task at hand and inquired fairly curiously, "Oh, who isn't?"

Draco savagely pierced a piece of meat with his fork. It dangled off the
edge unsteadily. He tore it off with his teeth and grumbled, "Granger for
one."

Narcissa swallowed the laughter that bubbled to the surface. She fought to
keep a straight face and probed, "Oh, how so?"

Draco recounted their meeting in Potter's room and the words Granger
unfairly hurled in his direction. He concluded on a high in annoyance, "And
then she stomped on my foot like a boorish troll."

Narcissa couldn't possibly hold it in any longer. She burst out laughing,
"That girl is a delight. I would've loved to have been a fly on the wall
overlooking the whole thing."

Draco shook his head and chuckled, "She is special. I’ll give her that."

Narcissa resumed her meal and mused, "You will have your work cut out
for you."
Before he could stop them, the words slipped out, "I look forward to it."

Narcissa smiled knowingly, "You speak of her so fondly."

Draco frowned deliberately, "Mother, you are reading too much into my
reactions again." Eager to divert the conversation away from his careless
reply, he included pointedly, "Also, she wants no wedding."

Narcissa threw her napkin down in frustration. She was having none of it.
She narrowed her eyes and scolded, "Preposterous. You are a Malfoy and
my only child. A function is mandatory." Her blood boiled, and she added
importantly, "We must keep up appearances."

Draco tried to be the voice of reason. He reminded cautiously, "Mother, this

is not a marriage under normal circumstances, far from it. I see why
Granger is reluctant to have a big bash."

Narcissa stubbornly pursed her lips and proceeded to cut the beef with more
force than necessary, making her knife scrape against the expensive plate,
making his hair stand on end. "Well, the two of you will just have to make
do.” She stated wilfully.

Draco rubbed his temples exasperatedly. He was truly a slave to the women
in his life. After much thought, he implored, "Please don't make a huge
fuss." It was his balls on the line. Granger would take great satisfaction in
ripping them right off.

Narcissa straightened, continued to eat her meal, and said resolutely, "I will
speak with Hermione." They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes
until Narcissa remembered something unsettling. She dabbed the corners of
her mouth and said, "I should warn you that Astoria came by. She is still
smitten with you, and I daresay a storm is brewing."

His appetite faded into nothingness. He set his cutlery down carefully and
questioned anxiously, "Did you tell her?"

Narcissa nodded and replied unsurely, "Well, not in so many words, but I
did hint at it, and she did not take it well."

Draco leaned back and sighed, "I honestly don't know what else to do."
Maybe stop snogging her. That would be a solid start, you idiot.

Narcissa instructed decisively, "Let's see what happens and deal with it
when the need arises." She truly hoped it would never come to that, and
Astoria accepted the natural order of things on her own, however unlikely it
seemed.

The hours coasted by, and when Brenda stepped into Hermione’s room with
a tray burdened with a large pot of tea, biscuits and cake to announce the
arrival of Rita Skeeter from The Daily Prophet and Xenophilius Lovegood
from The Quibbler, Harry and Hermione were slumped over their chairs in
exhaustion. They snapped to attention as the door closed behind Brenda.

The young witch exclaimed, "The reporters are here, Hermione. That
Skeeter bitch, forgive my language, looks like a hungry shark with those
dreadfully pointy teeth."

Hermione smirked with satisfaction, got to her feet and adjusted her shirt
and skirt, "Well, she will have to wait because we will see Mr Lovegood
first." She glanced at Harry for his approval, and he gave his consent almost
at once.

Brenda nodded in agreement, set the tray down and walked out to inform
the waiting individuals. She walked right past the witch dressed in a flashy
purple three-piece suit seated with her legs crossed and smiled respectfully
at the older man in vibrant golden robes. Brenda pointed to the door and
instructed politely, "Please go in, Mr Lovegood. Miss Granger and Mr
Potter are expecting you."

Xenophilius threw Skeeter a smug look, rose from his seat and followed
Brenda the short way to the office.
As they passed, Rita hissed in hushed tones, "Disgraceful." Brenda opened
the door for Luna's father, and once he walked in, she sat at her desk and
concentrated on other matters that required her immediate attention. She
purposely ignored the muttering, fuming witch glaring at her.

Hermione was already on her feet, and Harry rose to welcome the quirky
father of one of their best friends. Xenophilius greeted them
enthusiastically, "How lovely to see you both. It’s been far too long."

Harry offered his hand and said grimly, "We wish it were under better
circumstances."

Hermione smiled weakly, "Please, have a seat, Mr Lovegood." She pointed

to the silver tray and offered graciously, "Tea, biscuits?"

Xenophilius beamed, "Yes, please. A piece of that chocolate cake would be

smashing." They exchanged a few pleasantries before getting to the
pressing matter at hand.

Once their guest finished his second cup of warm tea and third piece of
cake, Harry cleared his throat, "We are faced with a grave issue that we
must make the public aware of for their own safety."

The kindly older man's usually relaxed features turned worrisome, "What is
all this about?"

Hermione nervously pushed the file she had compiled for the briefing
towards him, "Everything you need for the article is in this docket."

Xenophilus looked at it curiously, took it, got somewhat comfortable and

flipped it open. He gasped, and his head fell in sadness, "Oh my goodness.
We have a potential killer on the loose."

Harry nodded furiously, "Yes, we do."

Xenophilus went through the documents carefully and turned a blind eye
when faced with more gruesome pictures of dead naked women. The
Editor-in-Chief of the Quibbler, once known as a mockery of a newspaper,
got to his feet with purpose.

He clutched the ledger tight until his knuckles whitened, "I'll run it first
thing tomorrow and dedicate the front page to his appalling matter."

Once Xenophilius walked out, Hermione turned to Harry and grimaced,

"Shall we get this over with?"

She buzzed her assistant. Brenda pushed the pulsating button on the
telephone and asked, "Yes, Hermione?"

Hermione's sombre voice came through, "Send the shark in."

Skeeter heard word for word and scowled, "Bloody know it all." She got to
her feet, wiggled her bottom, fixed her jacket, and walked purposely
towards the door. When Brenda rose to open the door, Rita stopped her by
raising a hand with painted talons and declared haughtily, "There's no need.
I can announce myself, dear."

Brenda glared and waited till the snarky reporter's back was turned before
showing her the finger.

Skeeter didn't bother with pleasantries. She marched into the room with an
air of false importance, sat down and elegantly crossed her legs. Her quick
quotes quill hovered by her ear, eagerly awaiting instruction.

She smiled sweetly and said sarcastically, "What boring drivel have you got
for me today?"

Hermione roughly pushed the file forward with bared teeth behind her
angrily pursed lips. The docket clearly piqued the veteran reporter's interest.

Skeeter eagerly took it, opened the immaculately put-together booklet and
ran hungry eyes over the images and content.
She went through it fast, threw it down and gasped, "A serial killer? Are
you serious?" Her overly made-up face twisted unpleasantly. She slowly
turned towards Harry and mocked, "Clearly, your leadership isn't all it’s
cracked up to be."

Harry stiffened and opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione stepped in
without further ado and reprimanded severely, "I hate to remind you, Rita,
what consequences lie in store if you run that absurd mouth of yours too
much."

Skeeter rolled her eyes, "A high ranking Ministry official retorting to
childish threats isn't very becoming, Miss Granger. That would be a much
more favourable headline rather than a deranged maniac with a weird
fetishism for redheads."

Harry hissed in contempt, "Do your fucking job, Skeeter."

Rita sprang to her feet and smirked, "I always do, Mr Potter." She had
obviously outstayed her welcome. When she reached the door and barely
grasped the brass handle, Hermione’s contemptuous voice made it to her
ear, "Oh, and Skeeter, make it a good one."

Rita turned to face the accomplished woman in her early twenties glaring at
her. The older woman felt intimidated by her penetrating stare.

She curtsied, "But of course, Madam Undersecretary."

The door closed with a loud thud, and Harry breathed a sigh of immense
relief, "Thank fuck that's over." He straightened and requested
enthusiastically, "Why don't we leave together?" He took in the many files
strewn across her large table and further added, "If you're done, that is."

Hermione yawned and quickly covered her mouth, "No, no, let's. I will
meet you in your office. We can use the Floo."

Harry waved, "Alright, see you in a bit."

Once Harry also left, Hermione was left alone, and she basked in the
comfort of solitude. She leaned back and let her thoughts wander to Malfoy.
Random thoughts of what he was doing and what their future held ran in
circles within her mind.

Terry's saddened face wove in and out of her thoughts, and she truly wished
he got her hot under the collar as her supposed fiancé did. She sighed,
fetched her coat, slipped into it and grabbed her handbag on the way out.
The sun had long since set, and steady silvery beams of moonlight
illuminated Harry’s office. It fell and bounced off the many objects he held
dear.

Harry was clearing his desk when Hermione walked in. She looked him
over, took in the clutter and grimaced, "You really need to be more
organised."

He smirked, "Shall we?"

Hermione went first and disappeared in a puff of green smoke. She

hurriedly stepped out of the fireplace at Grimmauld Place, coughed and
dusted the particles off her coat. Harry emerged seconds later and almost
bumped into her.

He dusted himself off as well and said solemnly, "Head on to the kitchen.
I'll pop in the shower and join shortly."

She walked towards the Kitchen when James came running around the
corner and jumped right into her arms. Hermione cradled the toddler and
smothered him with kisses. Ginny trailed after the naughty scamp in a faded
Holyhead Harpies jumper and white shorts. She looked lovely as always.

Ginny grinned broadly, "This is a pleasant surprise."

Hermione carried James and followed Ginny to the kitchen. She set the
small boy down and sat at the table. Ginny placed a mug of hot chocolate in
front of her and took a seat herself. She asked sarcastically, "Did my darling
husband come with you?" There was a certain amount of tiredness and
irritation in her tone.
Hermione took a sip of the liquid and felt it warm her from within. Ginny
always used the best Honeydukes chocolate in her concoction. She nodded
in exhaustion and replied, "Yeah, he's upstairs."

With his hand behind his head, Draco lay back on his sizeable bed and
stared at the ceiling, and with his free hand, he stroked Max's head.

The German Shepherd was curled on the free side of the bed and drifting
off to sleep. His thoughts were riddled with images of Granger. He hadn't
noticed it before, but there was an innate determination about her approach
to life that appealed to him, except on this one occasion.

They needed to make some rather important decisions, and if she was
adamantly going to refuse to speak of it, then it was up to him to address
them and set them, hopefully, on the right path. He searched for his phone
and when he failed to locate it.

Draco lazily resorted to Magic and summoned, "Accio phone." It shot out
from under Max's furry underbelly and straight into his hand. He scrolled
through the numbers and stared at the number he recently saved.

After careful consideration, he typed the message he intended and sent it

off. A satisfied smirk curved his lips.

Hermione had just bitten into a fluffy marshmallow and handed a

strawberry-flavoured one to James when she heard the loud ding of her
mobile.

She wanted to ignore it, but the compulsive need in her took over. She
pulled open her bag and rummaged through it to locate the device.

Once she had it in her hand, she stared at the screen and the name that
popped up like a beacon, "Oh Merlin, it's him. I forgot he now has my
number." In her haste, she fumbled with the phone, and it slipped through
her fingers and hit the hardwood floor.
Ginny glanced at the fallen phone and asked impatiently, "What does he
want?" She teased openly, "A secret rendezvous perhaps?"

James came skipping up to them and asked for a banana-flavoured

marshmallow. Ginny lovingly handed him one and grinned, "You still
haven't told me about the love bite."

Hermione appeared from under the table, with the phone clutched tightly in
her hand and silenced, "Ssshhh..."

The last thing she wanted was for Harry to find out about her mind-altering
snogging session with Malfoy.

She played with the already folded napkin and unconsciously folded it into
a perfect swan and mumbled, "Well, umm, he bought over dinner the other
night, and you know how I love Chinese food...."

Ginny interrupted harshly, "Get to the bloody point, Granger."

Hermione abandoned the swan and absentmindedly bit on a hangnail,

"Things got a little out of hand, and we, erm, kissed."

She included miserably, "I'm an awful fucking bitch."

Ginny giggled, "So, you're attracted to him?"

Hermione frowned and threw a homemade, fluffy, soft marshmallow at

Ginny's face, "I thought we already established that." She pouted childishly,
"I'm a horrible hypocrite, and yes, I am very sexually aroused by him."

Ginny tittered, "Can't say I blame you. The man is fucking fit." She pointed
to the now silent phone, "Well, what does he want?"

Oh, the message. Right.

Hermione groaned, "Probably to discuss our future plans. I've been

avoiding the discussion like the bubonic plague."

Ginny advised firmly, "You’re going to have to talk soon, Hermione." She
devilishly added for good measure, "Have some sort of plan before you end
up on all fours for him."

Hermione grimaced, "Charming, Ginny." She clicked on the tiny, closed

envelope, read the short text twice and threw her head back in frustration. A
primaeval growl escaped her lips.

Ginny grabbed the phone, uninvited to read it herself.

Please do me the honour of joining us for dinner tomorrow night.

She stifled a laugh, "He does have impeccable manners."

Hermione brought her hands together and pleaded desperately, "Come with
me."

Ginny winked with diabolical intent, "Wear something sensational and easy
to slip out of."

Hermione broke a breadstick in half and viciously attacked it with her teeth,
"Stop it, Gin. He is a foul, evil, good-looking cockroach."

She inquired rather anxiously, "Why aren't you as horrified by this as the
rest of us?"

Ginny gathered her composure and replied thoughtfully, "Because I

understand what it's like to be under Voldemort’s control. Malfoy is, or was,
many things but never a sadistic killer."

She added thoughtfully, "Perhaps if he were raised differently, he would

have turned out decent, but I think he's attempting to fix that on his own. He
genuinely seems to want to right his wrongs."

Hermione stared at the gathered crumbs on the table and struggled to string
coherent words together, "I, er..."

Ginny’s voice cracked with emotion, "All joshing around aside, I know how
much his taunting affected you, and in no way is this easy for you, but the
decision you made is so selfless. I am so proud of you."

Hermione felt her emotions get the better of her. She leaned over and pulled
Ginny into a tight hug. Both women held each other close until a chirpy
voice interrupted, "Something smells wonderful."

Harry took in the scene and stood behind the hugging women awkwardly.
He scratched his head and asked uncomfortably, "Oh, sorry. Did I miss
something?"

Hermione wiped away the tears, pulled her hair into a messy bun and
quipped, "Well, if it isn't the head of the DMLE."

Harry warned jokingly, "Enough. I apologised, but you did cross a line,
Granger."

Hermione mused and explained her rather unladylike behaviour, "I suppose
I did, and I'm sorry. It's just that this whole situation with Malfoy drives me
giddy with anger."

It nauseated her at times, quite frankly. She looked downcast and muttered,
"It's like he's infiltrating every part of my life."

Harry replied firmly, "Hmm, I doubt it’s got anything to do with you.
Besides, the wanker is quite talented even if I do loathe him and hate to
admit it."

Ginny bemused, "Interesting. What happened?"

Harry sat down, grabbed two marshmallows, stuffed them into his mouth
and mumbled, "Malfoy is my latest recruit." His mouth was so full they
barely understood the words he uttered.
Ginny gasped in complete surprise, "An Auror? What?"

Harry did an elaborate karate chop, "The man’s got unique skills, Gin."
Desperation punctured his following words, "Abilities I frantically need."

Hermione sat in silence as they spoke around her and gazed at the open
screen of her mobile. She gathered her courage, quickly typed in her reply
and pressed send before she changed her mind.
 Chapter 25
Chapter Summary

Thank you so much to everyone who posted a review and for everyone
following! It means so much! 😊

My heartfelt gratitude and much hugs to Carrie for being an absolutely

fantastic Beta.

**Warning - The first bits of this chapter include non-con rape and
dubious behaviour.**

Enjoy Chapter Twenty Five!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads! ❤

Stay safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! 🤗

It was the early hours of the morning. The seconds passed eerily, piercing
the silence with its relentless tick-tock. The morning edition of the Daily
Prophet lay crumpled on the ground, the headline visible through the tear
blots on the page.

‘THE DOLLHOUSE STRANGLER’

It screamed out to all who read it. Wizards and witches alike gasped in
horror as they took in the distressing news about a deranged man running
amock in their community. It wasn't the ideal news with which to begin
one's morning. Family members glanced nervously and frightfully over the
paper at their red-headed loved ones. The abductions were random, and
anybody could be next.

A man cowered in the corner of his inherited house. The house was
spotlessly clean, the surfaces were carefully polished, and not a speck of
dust was visible to the naked eye. Its out-of-date furnishings and drapes
hinted at the spectre of an older woman’s touch. His loud anguished cries
filled the vacuous space. He glanced at the tattered newspaper by his feet
and sobbed inconsolably.

On impulse, he grabbed the paper and stared once again at the mocking
headline and doll-like dead figures and shouted, "I AM NOT A SICK
RAPIST!" They were depicting him as some sick-in-the-head maniac.
Didn't they understand his mother needed him to do this? It was the only
way to keep her alive and save these women?.

The Dollhouse Strangler. Skeeter was exceptionally talented with the quill.
The name was adept, and with three little words, she had managed to sum
up his heinous crimes. The nature of his crimes and the pristine, porcelain
doll-like condition he left the dead women in their houses was what had
garnered the name.

He tore the paper to shreds, yelling obscenities and talking loudly to an

invisible entity.

The naked woman chained to the bed shuddered in fear. She stared at the
weeping man in absolute disgust. The repulsion she filled knotted inside her
stomach, and she fought the urge to vomit.

She knew she had been held captive for over a month. There was no notion
of time in her macabre prison.

Until a few days ago, the bastard had generally left her alone, only visiting
to provide her with a daily meal and a clean water bottle and accompany
her to the bathroom. He stared unashamedly as she did her business and
seemed to take pleasure in watching her squirm with embarrassment.

That seemed like a better life than what was being forced upon her now. In
the middle of the night, he strode in, pushed his dark brown trousers
straightaway to the floor, pulled out his cock before her and began to work
it to hardness. She knew it was night because, with great difficulty, she had
managed to peer out the window in the hope of catching a breath of fresh
air, a moment to relieve the stench she lived in.
It was then she knew what he intended, and a cold numbness descended
upon her, paralysing her with absolute terror. She was allowed to wear some
clothes; they were dirty, but at least they were hers.

He indicated wordlessly for her to stand with a lift of his hand. "Take off
your clothes.” He drawled in a manner that made her incapable of thinking.

She began to plead, "Please, don't do this."

Her begging annoyed him. They all did the same. Hadn’t he looked after the
ungrateful bitch? Without a shred of remorse, he closed the gap between
them and tore the clothes off her frail body, leaving her bare and shivering.

Her hands automatically covered her more private parts in a futile, feeble
attempt at shielding herself from the lunatic, but it was a valiant yet
pointless attempt. He turned her around roughly, pushed her down face-first
onto the bed, and she struggled, tried to fight him off, but could not
overpower him in her malnourished state.

She begged for mercy as he pressed her further into the mattress, "Stop!"

His hands massaged her shapely arse cheeks, spread them wide and,
without hesitation, brutally entered her without any preparation. She cried
aloud in pain, revulsion, and shock, but it fell on deaf ears. She felt his
disgusting member moving inside her most intimate place. The bile she held
back spewed forth and coated the bedspread. It would be the beginning of a
nightmare so absolute that she would wish for death.

That was two days ago.

The man balled up the remaining bits of the Prophet in his hand, got to his
feet and slowly approached the petrified but beautiful woman on the bed.
She lay spread out for him like an unwrapped gift. He had saved the best for
last. In her former life, she had been Sarah Duncan, a posh store assistant to
Madam Malkin.

Snatching her had initially proved to be a task. The woman was street-smart
and did not fall for his faux disabled routine. It made him want her even
more. So, he waited and followed patiently until a heavy night out drinking
with her friends supplied the perfect opportunity. Drunk and disoriented,
she succumbed quickly to his advances.

“Do you think I'm raping you?” He asked in pained anguish.

She quickly shook her head and moved away, but he pulled her towards him
with her hair and stared into her face with widened crazy eyes, jamming the
balled-up piece of paper into her gaping mouth.

Forcefully pushing her legs apart with his knee, he stared at her battered
and bruised private parts in perverse fascination and simpered, "You love it,
don't you, my darling? You love taking me in deep, don't you?"

The woman began to sob, silent cries muffled by the paper ball in her
mouth.

He demanded uneasily, "I asked you a question..."

She nodded, yielding with no other choice. Her obedience pleased him.

He leaned forward and whispered icily, "I must leave, but I'll be back later. I
have a surprise for you, darling."

He removed the paper from her mouth, and she gagged and gasped, trying
frantically to catch her breath. Walking away, he glanced over his shoulder
and leered, "Don't go anywhere."

The woman curled up into a ball and wept in desperation as the door closed
with a loud thud.

Malfoy Manor

Draco was up at dawn, as was his usual practice. He flung his long legs off
the bed, stood up and stretched to get the blood circulating. His impressive
morning wood pressed stubbornly against the silky blackness of his shorts,
but he paid it no mind.
Max stirred from his place in the corner and yawned, displaying razor-sharp
teeth and a lolling tongue.

Ruffling the dog's head on his way to the bathroom, Draco filled the sink
with lukewarm water and washed the sleepiness off his face. He walked
back into the warmth of his suite, grabbed the white towel and dried off his
face.

While pulling on his jogging bottoms, the small closed envelope on the top
corner of his phone screen caught his attention. He reached over Max,
grabbed the phone off the bedside cupboard, and clicked on the unopened
message.

An amused expression lit up his face as his eyes scanned over the articulate
words. He could practically hear her voice.

How formal of you, Malfoy. It would be my pleasure to accept the

invitation you have graciously extended. I will arrive promptly at 7.30
pm. Please be kind enough to roll out the red carpet.

Yours cordially,

Hermione Granger

His hearty laughter confused the Alsatian eagerly awaiting his breakfast.

Hermione stood in her tiny but well-equipped kitchen wearing an oversized,

baggy t-shirt she had slept in, while absently stirring a cup of milky tea. The
neatly rolled-up newspapers, still with their rubber bands intact, lay on the
table where she had placed them earlier.

The sun was making its presence and intent known. Harsh beams filled her
flat and illuminated the living area. Grasping her warm steaming concoction
with both hands, she sat at the table and warily glanced at the papers. She
took a gratifying sip and decided on reading the Quibbler first.
She pulled the printed pages free from the band and spread them across the
table. She scanned through a professionally written yet rather dull first half
of the article. However, somewhere down the line, the total lunacy of the
Quibbler took over, citing that a plague of Blibbering Humdingers had
possibly invaded the ears of the killer, prompting him to go on a killing
spree because they were whispering evil doings in his ear.

Hermione sighed tiredly and read the article in minutes before a rather
enticing article on a newly undiscovered tomb in Egypt caught her
attention. She always did find Egyptian history fascinating.

Once done, Hermione glanced at The Prophet in displeasure, "Here we go,"

she muttered to herself with a heavy heart and pushed the rubber band that
held it together upwards and off. It sprang out of control and fell to the
floor. Without bothering to pick it up, she stared at the front page and kept
staring in sheer disbelief for a good few minutes.

THE DOLLHOUSE STRANGLER - The headline jumped out and

smacked her right across the face. While Xenophilius had shown concern in
the beginning bits of his article and warned the public to take care in their
movements, Skeeter had chosen to attack the DMLE and Harry for his lack
of leadership.

"Fucking marvellous," Hermione fumed and finished her cup of tea,

wishing it was something much stronger.

She purposely got to her feet and tossed the paper into the bin as she walked
into her bedroom to get ready. It would be a long bloody day with this mess
to straighten out.

Harry walked into the kitchen, scratching his head and searching for his
glasses. Ginny busied herself with fixing mugs of coffee, toast, and eggs
and hurriedly attempting to hide the newspaper.

She lost her chance as a pair of strong arms snaked around her waist, and
the sleepy voice at her ear whispered, "Is James asleep?"
Ginny turned in her husband’s arms and put her own around his neck, "He
is. Shall we take this upstairs?"

Kissing his wife fervently, he drowned in the warmth that was Ginny. He
had never known love like this, he opened his eyes a crack to look at the
woman in his arms, but his blurred vision picked up a headline in bold. He
stiffened, felt curiosity get the best of him and let Ginny go.

She closed her eyes and sighed exasperatedly; it would be a long bloody
morning once he read the barrage of abuse Skeeter hurled his way.

Harry grabbed the Prophet with both hands, his fingers gripped the paper
hard, and the edges bent with the applied pressure. Still, he squinted in a
failed attempt to read the words without his glasses. Ginny fetched his
glasses and cleared her throat. Harry took them, slipping them on to read
the first few lines. He growled in unadulterated fury, his body shaking with
the anger surging through his veins.

Ginny placed a consoling hand on his shoulder and assured him, "It's Rita,
Harry. We all know what an enormous thundercunt she can be." Words like
too young, inexperienced, incompetent, lazy, and the most damning one of
all, selfish, hit him like a metaphorical ton of bricks.

He tossed the paper aside, sat at the table with his head in his hands and
muttered, "That bloody bitch."

Ginny placed a well-needed mug of coffee in front of him, took the seat
beside him and lovingly stroked his thick black hair, "She was always a
vindictive woman. It means nothing. Please, let it go."

Skeeter always found a way to have a go at Harry. Scandalous headlines

sold papers. If stretching the truth somewhat guaranteed sales, then so be it.
Even when he made it to the top, the unethical reporter found a way to poke
fun and slyly insinuate how favouritism played a key role.

Harry took Ginny’s words to heart and drank his coffee in deep thought.
The phone rang incessantly, and Brenda was thankful she kept a cordless
phone by the bed. It was early, and she hoped she could manage a few extra
winks before heading off to work, but that simply wasn't in the cards,
apparently. She turned over and answered the phone groggily, "Hello....."

Her eyes opened wide in surprise as the voice from the other end spoke. She
listened patiently and responded, "I didn't expect a call from you so early,
but it is a pleasant surprise." The person on the other end spoke in hushed
tones, but Brenda heard it clearly. She answered at once, "Yes, of course.
It's fine. I'll meet you there shortly."

The line went dead. Brenda stared at it for a couple of seconds, pushed the
covers off and made her way to the bathroom tugging at the underwear
wedged deep between her arse cheeks.

Narcissa bit into a buttered piece of toast and wished she hadn't. The front
page of the Prophet made her insides churn unpleasantly. Did they have to
feature such pictures alongside the unfavourable article? The somewhat
lewd images were cropped to hide the women's identity and respect the
deceased's family, but it left little to the imagination.

"What sort of lunatic can bring himself to do such wicked deeds?" Narcissa
said sadly. She was reminded of Voldemort and the evil he resorted to in the
name of pureblood dominance.

Bernard raised a curious brow, "What's the matter, darling?"

He had arrived earlier, and they were enjoying a light breakfast before
Narcissa’s sweet disposition became sour. She handed him the newspaper.

Bernard threw her a bemused look, glanced at the paper in his hands, and
froze. His palms beaded sweat, and he read every line twice. What caught
his immediate attention was the enlarged photography of the pendant. The
carved wand on it particularly grabbed his interest.

"Ah, good morning, mother, Bernard," Draco greeted as he walked in and

kissed his mother on the cheek.
Bernard moved the paper to the side and mustered a smile, "Good morning,
son."

Draco applied a thick layer of marmalade on a piece of partially burnt toast

and bit into the crunchy goodness. He enthused, "I have invited Granger for
dinner. Bernard, will you join us?"

Bernard took a sip of scalding coffee and quipped, "Wouldn't us old folk
cramp your style?"

Draco took another bite and mused, "I’m not courting Granger. I have asked
her over to finalise the way forward."

Narcissa gave her enthusiastic approval, "Marvellous idea, son. I'll see to
the preparations."

Bernard couldn't help but inconspicuously glance at the folded paper to his
left.

Narcissa’s butter knife dropped clumsily out of her grasp and collided
noisily with her plate, causing a loud clang. Bernard flinched, kept his
hands palm down on his thighs and took a deep breath to steady his nerves.

Draco kept his eyes trained on the odd behaviour of the man before him. He
couldn't fathom what would cause Bernard to act so on edge.

While cutting into a plump sausage, he inquired, "Did I miss much this
morning?" Hoping to shed some light on the peculiar behaviour.

His mother answered grimly, "Oh yes, there's a potential killer on the loose,
and the public has been warned to take extra precautions when travelling
alone. Especially, young women with red ha....."

Bernard abruptly pushed back his chair and rose. He bowed in Narcissa’s
direction and offered an unconvincing explanation, "I have an urgent matter
to attend to. It completely slipped my mind."
Draco interrupted intentionally, "If you're heading to the office, may I join
you?"

"NO!" Came the nervous yet forceful reply from the older man, eager to
flee. He took in the surprised faces staring at him oddly and attempted to
lighten the mood, "It's a personal matter, son. I'll meet you at the office
later." Without so much as a goodbye, Bernard fled the Manor. Draco
narrowed his eyes sceptically and stared after the man.

Narcissa was oblivious to her beloved's rather bizarre behaviour. Draco

reached over and pulled the Prophet close to read the gripping article on the
front page.

"Horrible, isn't it? Those poor women," Narcissa said with a burdened voice
and added with optimism, "Maybe you can help them catch him, Draco?"

Draco heard slivers of his mother's words as his sharp mind absorbed the
details.

He concentrated on what was written and what could be deduced by reading

between the lines. He scrutinised the pendant. It was a stunning work of art
and incredibly detailed. This pendant was personal. It had to hold some
significance, of that he was sure. Cracking the meaning behind the trinket
would lead them straight to the disturbed individual committing these
heinous acts.

Hermione used the visitor's entrance. She wore black trousers, a white silk
shirt tucked in and a classy black jacket. Professional, yet fashionably chic.
She took the lift, finding a few wizards were already inside. They looked
her over and smiled politely.

Engrossed in her notes, she almost missed her floor until a tall, rugged-
looking gentleman's voice bore into her thoughts, "Miss, is this your floor?"

Embarrassed, Hermione clutched the file to her chest, blushed profoundly

and muttered a quick, "Thank you," before brushing past the delectable
morsel of a man.
Her heels clicked with purpose against the white marble floors. She always
found the sound appealing. Once she rounded the corner and pushed open
the glass doors that led to her office, Hermione found an empty seat where
Brenda usually sat, and Michael anxiously paced up and down the narrow
space. His face was pulled tight with worry as he absentmindedly chewed
on his fingernails. He looked up eagerly at the sound of heels coming his
way, but his face fell once again in despair.

Hermione thought it odd that he was alone, and it struck her as weird that
Brenda wasn't in her usual place. The young witch prided herself on being
on time. Perhaps her lateness and Corner's behaviour were related.

She asked impatiently the second she was within earshot, "Is everything
alright, Michael?" He looked dreadful up close.

"Have you seen or spoken to Brenda in the last few hours?" Michael
urgently implored, grabbing Hermione roughly by the shoulders.

Panic set it. Hermione broke free from the grasp and replied with rapidly
growing concern, "What? No, why? What has happened?" Michael pulled
out his phone from his pocket and clarified frantically, "I've been calling her
for hours. She's not answering." He included in fear, "It's not like her,
Granger. She always answers or sends a text."

Hermione felt her heart slam against her ribcage, but she composed herself
and assured, "I'm sure she's fine. Maybe, she had a personal errand to run?"
Her reasoning failed to pacify the troubled man.

Michael choked back a sob, "I told her to get rid of that bloody red hair."
Hermione couldn't bear it. His words prompted her to act.

Pulling out her own rather battered out of date Nokia phone, she called her
assistant, but it rang without answer. She tried again with the same
heartbreaking results. With dread, she realised Corner was right; Brenda
always answered her phone.

Something was terribly wrong.

Turning to Michael's panic-ridden face, she instantly inquired, "Is Harry
in?"

Corner nodded miserably. Hermione dropped her handbag and files onto
Brenda's neat desk and sprinted out with Michael close behind her. They
abandoned the lift and took the stairs. The images of the dead women
whirled around her mind, and a similar one of Brenda promptly inserted
itself, and Hermione almost let out a cry. The two burst into Harry’s room
without knocking, and the head of the DLME regarded them incredulously.

Hermione doubled over, trying to catch her breath while Michael held the
stitch in his side and gasped for air. The door flew open once again, and
Terry and Hannah rushed in unannounced. Harry was beside himself in
anger, "Do you lot think this is Kingscross Station?"

He pointed to the door, "Knock and make your presence known before
entering, or I will curse the legs off you."

Terry ignored his boss’s grumbles and approached his childhood friend,
"What's the matter, mate?" His eyes fell on Hermione, they locked eyes, and
he raised a questioning brow.

Harry thundered, "What the fuck is going on?" He mumbled incoherently,

"This day is about to get a great deal worse."

Hermione regained her composure, adjusted her blouse and blurted out,
"Harry, Brenda hasn’t turned up for work, and she's not answering her
phone."

Harry visibly paled. Would the murderer be irresponsible enough to kidnap

a Ministry worker? No, it did not make sense. The man was meticulous
about clues and leads. There was no possible explanation for him abducting
the undersecretary’s assistant unless he did so on impulse after seeing the
article, recklessly lashing out to relay his outrage.

Harry exhaled to calm himself and questioned, "When did you see her
last?"
Michael answered at once, "Last night. We had dinner at my place, and she
went home afterwards. We texted till about one am." His voice cracked, "I
haven't heard from her since."

Hannah squeezed his shoulder sympathetically. Terry eyed his best friend
doubtfully because when he suggested they grab a pint, Michael had
brushed him off, saying he had to help his dad with some business matters.

"Any relatives? A mother? Does Brenda live alone?" Harry interrogated

further and referred the questions to Hermione. It was Michael who replied,
"Her mum is a Muggle, dad passed away when she was fifteen, and yes, she
lives alone for the most part."

Terry had heard enough. He gritted out suspiciously, "How the hell do you
know so much about Hermione’s irritating assistant?"

It happened so fast. No one had time to blink. Michael had Terry pinned to
the wall, his face shrouded in darkness.

He yelled for all to hear, "She is my girlfriend." Terry pushed Michael off
him and stared at him as if he were a stranger. Since they were kids, they
had shared everything. No secrets. It was the foundation of their friendship.
A betrayal of this magnitude was incomprehensible. Without a further word,
Terry marched out of the room.

Hermione swapped a look with Harry and followed the seething man. She
heard Harry express words of comfort to Michael, "Don't worry, mate. We
will find her." He mustered a half-hearted smile, "Let's hope for the best.
She might turn up at any time."

Michael fell into a chair and wept. Silent sobs ravaged his body, and
Hannah hugged him tightly.

Terry walked hurriedly. He pulled out a pack of smokes and took out a long
thin cigarette. Hermione struggled to keep up with his long strides. When
she caught up with him, he leaned against the wall sending smoke rings into
the air.
The smoking area was deserted, but Hermione looked around to make
doubly sure before she spat out, "How could you walk out on him at a time
like this?"

Terry's face twisted unpleasantly, "If you're here to lecture me, then piss off,
Granger."

She argued, "Stop acting like a bloody child, Terry." He rounded on her,
came close and asked accusingly, "How long have you known?"

Hermione countered with the absolute truth, "A Day or two at the most."

"If Potter or Weasley kept something important from you, how would you
feel?" Terry asked straightforwardly, took a deep drag, and waited for her to
answer. Betrayed. It was the first word that came to mind. She let her anger
go and stepped closer to his tall frame, "Look, you can get into it later, but
right now, he needs you more than ever."

Terry took a long pull from his cigarette, "How long has she been missing
for?"

Hermione shrugged, "Few hours, I suppose."

"He's my best mate, Granger. He could've told me," Terry muttered. His
tone demonstrated the obvious suffering he was going through. On impulse,
he stubbed his half-finished cigarette, pulled her close, buried his face in the
crook of her neck and hugged her closely. She could feel his need for
comfort.

Hermione put her arms around his waist and held him. The stench of
nicotine on him was pungent, but she pushed it aside and morphed into the
person he needed her to be—a friend at the very least. In reality, she wanted
to rush back and find Brenda. Her mind was in absolute turmoil. They
stayed that way for a while, rocking back and forth in each other’s arms
until they reached an unspoken level of understanding.

Terry brought his head up and stared into Hermione’s voice, and when he
tried to kiss her, she covered his mouth and hissed, "If you kiss me with that
smoky breath, I will kick you in the nuts."

He laughed goodheartedly; all things considered, he did have a pleasant

laugh. After a quick kiss on her forehead, he took her by the hand, and they
walked back to Harry’s room. Hermione remembered to knock, she smirked
and knocked loudly for anyone within to hear, and sure enough, Harry’s
hardened voice came from within, "Come in."

Terry pushed open the door and narrowed his eyes at the gathered crowd
with her hand firmly in his. It was the newest member to join the discussion
that made his blood boil. The man was bent over old photographs and
speaking to Harry in hushed tones.

Terry demanded in anger, "What the fuck is he doing here?"

Hermione took her hand out of Terry's grasp, unconsciously stepped away
from him and stared transfixed at the tall ice blonde in dark blue jeans and
black turtleneck, running his hypnotically disapproving eyes over her and
sizing her up.

Draco straightened to his full height. His astute eyes had already caught his
fiancé's petite hand in another man's, and whilst he felt a mild annoyance
towards the blatant act of affection, he brushed it aside and said slowly,
"Granger..."

Terry forgot his place. He rounded on his boss and insisted, "Potter, what is
this arsehole doing here?"

Draco stiffened at the harsh word, his hands unconsciously balled into fists,
but he took a deep breath and willed himself to remain calm. It was not
worth his time to have another altercation with Granger’s alleged fuck
buddy.

Harry rubbed his temples in exhaustion and spoke slowly. His tone made it
abundantly clear that he wasn't to be trifled with, "Mind your fucking
attitude. Malfoy is joining the department." A silence fell over the room, but
Terry was beside himself.
He could not believe his ears. Was Potter daft? He made the grave mistake
of making his displeasure vocal, "Like hell he is."

Harry had tolerated enough. He shot to his feet and warned darkly, "Go on
then. Tell me what I can and cannot do."

Hannah gasped, but it all made sense. She nodded at Draco in

understanding and said firmly, "Boys, do put away your cocks. We have a
much more serious matter at hand." Her gaze fell on Michael, who was
slumped across a chair with his head in his hands.

Boot ignored Malfoy and Harry, who were now glaring at him sternly and
purposely approached his best mate, clamped him on the shoulder and
reassured him, "We will get her back, mate."

Michael looked up, covered Terry's hand with his and smiled weakly,
"Thank you."

Hermione held it together for as long as she was able. She silently slipped
out while everyone was occupied and headed straight for her office. She
had a bottle of wine hidden in a secret cabinet in her desk drawer. She did
not care that it was barely noon.

All she wanted was to have Brenda back safe and sound. She tossed her
jacket aside and slipped out of her high heels the second she entered the
familiar space.

Going around her desk, Hermione felt around under her massive desk for
the button that slid open the door to the concealed compartment. When her
fingers found the elusive knob, she pressed it and fetched the bottle of wine
and glass she kept well hidden.

Hermione stared undecided at the bottle at first, then uncorked it using her
wand and poured a generous amount of the red liquid into a hand-blown
expensive glass. She swirled it around, inhaled the rich scent and took a
satisfying sip.
"You know, it's a bad habit to drink on the job," Draco drawled from his
place by the door. The pain that flickered in her eyes was not lost on him,
and when she slipped away, he excused himself and followed her without a
second thought.

Hermione took a large gulp, swallowed hard and hurled without bothering
to turn around, "Sod off, Malfoy. I wish to be alone."

She hadn't thought why he was here, but she assumed the article must have
prompted a visit with Harry. He was, after all, an Auror now. Well, until he
faced the trials at least.

The door closed with a loud thud, and Hermione thought she was rid of the
nuisance that was Draco Malfoy, but that was before the smell of his
masculine cologne drifted towards her and encased her with its captivating
fragrance. She felt his presence behind her. Hermione didn't dare turn
around. Instead, she focused on finishing her drink and controlling the tears
that were threatening to spill over.

The fine hairs on the back of her neck sprang to life as he moved closer still
until his body was mere centimetres from hers. He wrapped his long fingers
around her upper arms, his thumbs moving in soothing circles. Even
through the barrier of her shirt, his subtle touch branded her, and she felt an
awakening between her thighs.

He whispered, "Granger..." It was as if him uttering her name broke through

all the defences she placed.

She fell forward and broke down in sobs. Her wine glass fell to the ground,
but the plush carpet cushioned the fall, and the red contents disseminated
across the white carpet like a spreading bloodstain.

Draco firmly held her arms, turned her around and hugged her to his chest
in one swift movement. Hermione cried out her frustration, sadness, and
fear onto his cashmere turtleneck sweater. She felt him let go of her arms
and move one hand around her hip and the other to soothingly stroke her
wild tussles.
His words of comfort were muffled somewhat by her hair, "Shh, she's going
to be fine. Let's not jump to hasty conclusions, darling."

Hermione could hear the rapid fluttering of his heart, the sound of it beating
relaxed her, and she pressed into him further to listen to it. The flutter
increased with her intimate gesture, and his hand trailed down her back and
came to rest on her hip. He didn't attempt to let go, and neither did she step
away.

She broke down in his muscular arms and wept for what seemed like a
lifetime of suffering. Once she was thoroughly spent, she braved a look at
him, his eyes were lowered, and he gazed at her in genuine concern.

A small smile curved his perfectly formed pink lips, "Feeling better?" Her
hand moved on its own accord; her fingers edged upwards until her middle
finger brushed against his bottom lip. A look of confusion fell momentarily
over his face, but before he gathered his wits, she stood on tiptoes and
kissed him gently. Her lips tasted salty with shed tears and so incredibly
soft.

It took him but a second to register that Granger initiated the kiss, and he
moved his lips under hers and deepened the passionate embrace as she
sought the comfort he ardently offered. Her fingers slipped into the silky
fine strands of platinum blonde that grew abundant on his head.

"You taste unforgivable", He murmured into her mouth. Was that even a
legitimate feeling? He wasn't quite sure but being surrounded by her was
everything.

A sultry moan escaped her swollen lips, "I want you to take this pain away,
Malfoy." It somehow seemed fitting that he was the one to do so.

His heart clenched at the words that effortlessly left her mouth. A mouth
that moulded perfectly to his.

"Let me feel you," Hermione uttered lustfully. The material of his sweater
was soft but an obstacle. She ached to touch his bare body.
She snaked her hands down his neck and chest and pulled him closer to her
body by his hips. Close enough to feel his urgent need strain against the
inner material of his jeans. Her fingers brushed over the top of the
noticeable bulge, and Draco stiffened, she was all in this time around, and
he would wholeheartedly give her what she desired. A daunting worry
formulated in his psyche.

He hoped he still possessed his sexual prowess from his earlier life, the
ability to have women moaning his name when they came crashing around
this thick appendage. This wasn't some horny, inexperienced schoolgirl.
Granger was a woman, and he hadn't had sex since he was a teenager.

In a bizarre turn of events, he concluded that she was more sexually

experienced than him. This anxiety grew alarming, and random thoughts of
not satisfying the insatiable woman in his arms punctured his mind.

Draco forcefully pushed aside his insecurities and cupped a supple breast
through the white silk, and her soft gasp fed his growing desire. She was
undoubtedly responding to his gentle caresses and probing tongue.

He tore his lips away from hers to lay a path of kisses down her neck. She
managed to pop open the stubborn button of his jeans when a loud knock on
the door echoed off the walls.

They didn't care enough to stop; Hermione arched her head back and let
him continue the ministrations he diligently bestowed upon her body.

She moaned, "Yes..." His touch and tongue were causing slick desire to
pool in her knickers, and she hovered on the cusp of orgasm.

A loud knock once again cut into their moment of unbridled passion. When
Draco hesitated, "Ignore it...please," Hermione mewled, her voice heavy
with want.

He heeded her words, unbuttoned her blouse, and pushed it off her slender
shoulders, taking a few seconds to appreciate the chain he had gifted resting
against her creamy smooth skin and the delicate mounds covered in lace.
Hermione felt her cheeks redden. She bit her bottom lip and looked away
shyly.

Draco cupped Hermione's face and claimed her lips in a searing kiss. He
murmured between kisses, "You are beautiful, my witch."

His deep voice was enough to push her over the edge. She longed to touch
his sheathed cock, still covered by the hard material of his jeans.

Boldly, she tugged at the belt loops and, just as she succeeded in
manoeuvring his zip down, a voice from the other side of the door made her
blood freeze, stopping Draco from going any further. Together they stared
accusingly at the closed door and felt the rapid beating of their heart
fluctuate.
 Chapter 26
Chapter Notes

A big thank you to everyone who posted a review and for everyone
following! It means so much!

Trigger warning:- Hallucinations and suicide.

Enjoy Chapter Twenty Six!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads! 😊

Stay safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

The Ritz, France

Kingsley sat on the terrace of his suite at the Ritz Paris, poured himself a
cup of coffee and helped himself to a piece of buttered toast. The papers had
arrived earlier, and though the hotel was strictly a Muggle establishment,
there were ways to sneak in bits of magic. He took a sip, spread the Prophet
open, spat out the tea in a perfect arch, and hissed, "Rita fucking Skeeter."

He couldn't possibly begin to imagine the nightmare that was about to be

hurled their way, but in his absence, he was confident Granger could handle
it, or he desperately hoped she could.

Teddy flipped through one of his beloved comic books and spoke to his
parents as if they were sitting right beside him.

"This is Batman, mum," He said excitedly and pointed to the caped crusader
speaking with Robin. "Robin is so cool, dad."
He added further and then touched the boy's drawing in red, yellow, and
green and sighed, "He's like me. His parents died too." It was not as heroic,
but it was pointless when a mob boss saw fit to gun down the aspiring
acrobats in cold blood. It paved the way for one of the greatest fictional
sidekicks the world would ever know.

Andromeda wiped her hands on her apron and called from downstairs,
"Darling, come down for breakfast. I hope you washed."

Teddy stuffed the comic under his pillow. His strict grandmother wasn't too
fond of his reading matter at times and shouted his reply, "Coming, Gran."
He wore the cutest red t-shirt with a snitch on the front and a pair of shorts.
He ran down the stairs at double speed and entered the kitchen with a
cheery, "Good morning."

Andromeda smiled fondly from her place at the stove and stacked a plate
high with various shaped pancakes. Balancing the tray on the tip of her
wand, she grabbed a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice with her free
hand.

Teddy made himself useful by setting the table. He finished his task of
carefully placing the plates, napkins, and cutlery and sat down eagerly
awaiting the delicious pancakes.

Andromeda placed the plate in the middle, next to a syrup bottle, and sat
down herself. She reached over and affectionately stroked the bright green
locks on her beloved grandson.

With each passing day, he resembled Tonks increasingly. The young boy
smacked his lips and helped himself to the sun and heart-shaped pancakes.
He held his knife and fork awkwardly, and Andromeda reached over to help
him gain a better grip.

Teddy cut the fluffy pancakes into uneven pieces, poured a generous
helping of syrup all over them, coated the pieces richly with the gooey
liquid and stuffed them into his salivating mouth. He managed to say,
"Mmm, this is so yum. You make the best pancakes ever, Gran, even better
than Molly."

Andromeda delicately sliced her pancakes into bite-sized pieces and

beamed, "Thank you, darling. Eat up. We need to get started on your sums
and advanced reading soon."

Teddy poured them glasses of orange juice and grinned, "I finished my
homework." He became thoughtful and frowned, "Aunty Mione promised
to teach me a few advanced sums, but I haven't seen her in so long."

Andromeda remembered their visit to the Burrow, and Ron's declaration

and paled. She reassured, "She's been rather busy, Teddy. How about we
send her an owl?"

Teddy perked up, "That would be great. I like her so much."

Andromeda smiled fondly, "And she loves you very much."

Teddy blushed and ate the rest of his meal in silence.

Bernard sat behind his desk with a drink in hand. The desk was carved out
of the finest wood and handed down through the generations. The desk held
many secrets of its own, and he knew many life-changing and unfavourable
documents had been signed and sealed on its surface. Heavy drapes were
drawn, allowing little to no sunlight into the room. With perfectly
manicured nails, he drummed his fingers on top of the surface, lost in deep
thought.

The article was disturbing and deeply unsettled him. To the untrained eye,
the pendant of the owl and wand seemed trivial, but to him, it held some
significance. There was no doubt he had seen the wand before. Someone he
knew wielded it but who evaded him. He grasped at a memory of seeing it,
but the person's features were shrouded. Bernard racked his brain to find the
answer, as it would mean a great deal to the authorities.
Until he had some clear answers, he was hesitant to approach the DMLE
with such a modicum of information. Their inquiries would needlessly open
the floodgates. Aurors would probe into his affairs, and his family's more
unscrupulous past deeds would most certainly come to light.

He knew his behaviour was odd and downright suspicious. He was also
acutely aware of Draco eyeing him strangely, but the shock of seeing the
wand associated with someone in his family truly horrified him.

With determination, Bernard knew he had to find out who. It wasn't going
to be an easy task, but he would try to stop the maniac at large. He owed it
to the wizarding world.

John was barely visible behind the mountains of files he carried. There had
been a fluctuation in misuse of Muggle artefacts cases, resulting in some
painful injuries and rushed visits to St Mungo's. Arthur Weasley and his
team worked countless extra nights to contain the situation.

With Voldemort’s defeat, Wizards and witches were venturing more and
more into the strange but useful inventions Muggles used, not always with
the most favourable results.

Arthur slammed the Prophet down and said grimly, "As if we needed more
lunatics roaming free."

Perkins chimed in his usual rather squeaky voice, "It's awful, isn't it? All
these lovely girls being brutalised this way. It breaks my heart; it does."

A loud thud interrupted their dour conversation, and both turned to look at
their assistant, who was massaging his arms and looking at them tiredly.

"Ah, John, good lad. You got all of them?" Arthur asked in a friendly
manner.

John nodded unsurely but replied positively, "Yes, sir. It’s all here. Would
you like me to help you sort it out?" He truly hoped it was all there. Another
visit to the filing room filled him with dread.
Perkins quipped sarcastically, "No, you stupid sod. Just stare at us and
watch us do all the work."

Arthur frowned. John had been with them for years, and while he lacked
any leadership qualities, the man diligently did what was asked of him and
kept to himself. Even after all this time, Arthur realised he knew absolutely
nothing about the mysterious man's personal life apart from the fact that he
was a squib and hated the very mention of it.

John caught sight of the newspaper on his boss’s desk and grimaced. The
killer sure was making headlines, and he noted there was a hefty reward
being offered too. The amount was significant and spoke volumes about
how desperate the DMLE were to catch the individual responsible. His eyes
travelled leisurely over the bodies; the skin was perfectly preserved. His
tongue moistened his quivering bottom lip unconsciously.

Perkins leered with a mixture of disgust, "Getting a hard-on, are we?"

Arthur reprimanded, "That is enough. Shut your foul gob and get to work."
He warned, "I am well aware of you slacking off and pushing work on
John. See that it does not happen again."

Perkins scowled at the daydreaming man and pulled some files towards him
with more force than necessary.

John was oblivious to what was going on around him. He kept his eyes
fixed on the bodies. They were so beautiful that he wondered if this could
really be the work of a sick man. After all, there were two sides to every
story.

"John?" Arthur's voice bore into his thoughts. He mumbled, "Yes, sorry.
These women didn't suffer." The words left him before he could put the
brakes.

Perkins could not keep quiet, "Are you off your head? He raped and killed
them."
John swallowed hard. A familiar voice spoke to him. Yes, a sick fucking
rapist. But did anyone stop to think why? He turned on his heel and fled the
department searching the nearest bathroom.

Arthur was busy going through the files to notice the odd behaviour of his
assistant, but Perkins did and muttered, "Mental, that one," before shaking
his head and pulling another file towards him.

John splashed water over his face and blinked rapidly. White spots appeared
before him, and he gripped the edge of the sink hard to steady himself. The
article disturbed him to the brink of mental collapse. He couldn't hold his
feelings back any longer. Hurriedly pushing open the cubicle door, he
stumbled into the tiny stall, doubled over the commode and vomited.

Who was this killer of whom they spoke so harshly? To him, he seemed like
a loner harbouring hidden sadistic fantasies, but surely there was a more
disturbing underlying issue.

The voice sliced their passionate moment like a double-edged knife. Draco
reluctantly dropped his hands from Hermione’s flushed body, stepped away
from her and stared at the closed door in surprise, "Is that...?"

Hermione interrupted ecstatically, "Merlin, yes," she hurriedly pulled the

silk blouse back up her arms and buttoned it as she brushed past him in her
haste to get to the door. She threw the double doors open, and Brenda stood
outside with a sheepish grin, holding a large grande coffee and box of
assorted muffins. The young witch glanced past her boss's shoulder and
caught sight of the tall blonde lurking in the background with his back
turned towards them, pulling up what unmistakably looked like his zipper.

Draco stayed with his back to the two women and kept his eyes trained on
the book of shelves. He read the somewhat boring titles regarding
legislation and law and willed his erection to simmer down. It stubbornly
stayed at half-mast in protest of being denied the warmness offered.
Brenda threw Hermione an apologetic look and mumbled, "I'm so sorry. I
didn't mean to interrupt." Her apology was clearly missed by the woman
hugging her tightly.

Hermione had thrown her arms around her assistant and squeezed her with
the strength equivalent to a boa constrictor attempting to squeeze the life
out of her. Her arms awkwardly dangled, but she held on to the coffee and
muffins until Draco approached them and quickly took them out of her
hands.

"Thank you," Brenda mouthed at him and glanced at Hermione’s thick head
of hair and questioned wordlessly. What the hell was going on? She let
herself be held since it seemed trying to break free would be detrimental to
her health.

Draco placed a consoling hand on Hermione’s back and let the tips of his
fingers dig in gently to get her attention. She was so receptive to his touch
that she stiffened and let the perplexed woman in her arms go. Grasping
Brenda firmly by the upper part of her arms, Hermione yelled furiously,
"Where the fuck have you been? Do you have any idea how worried we've
been?"

Brenda leaned back as flecks of spit flew out of the deranged woman's
mouth and in her direction. Worried about what exactly?

Draco interjected a tad firmly, "Let her go, Granger. I'm sure Brenda has a
plausible explanation for being late."

Hermione glanced over her shoulder and locked eyes with a rather striking
blonde standing behind them and let go.

Brenda rubbed her arms, and steamrolled into an explanation, "I'm so sorry,
Hermione. My mother is sick and needed me to take her to the hospital."
She clarified with a hint of exhaustion, "You know she's a Muggle, so I had
to do every bloody thing the Muggle way."

Hermione questioned sternly, "Why the hell didn't you answer your phone?
Michael's doing his nut wondering where you are."

Brenda's mouth fell open in shock. Oh, Merlin, she had honestly forgotten
all about her possessive boyfriend with her mother’s urgent issue. She
replied embarrassedly, "I left the flat in a hurry and forgot my blooming
phone. It’s still plugged into the charger at my flat."

Hermione rubbed her temples exasperatedly, "There is a bloody killer on

the loose going after redheads. How can you be so careless?" She pointed
out of the door impatiently, "Go hug your boyfriend and tell him you're
alright. The poor bloke was going crazy."

Brenda turned on her heel and fled. Poor Michael. The man was paranoid
enough.

Hermione walked past Draco back into the office, picked up the fallen glass
off the floor and waved her wand over it, muttering a Scourgify. The glass
cleaned itself and stood sparkling in her hands. She grabbed the wine bottle,
poured herself a glass, and as she brought it to her lips, Draco cleared his
throat to make his presence known.

He closed the gap between them, tucked a tendril of curly hair behind her
ear and smiled, "I think I should go. I'll see you at dinner?"

Hermione bit her bottom lip and nodded. He didn't attempt to kiss her
goodbye, and it disappointed her a smidge. She watched as he walked out
through the glass doors and disappeared from her line of sight.

She sipped the wine, curled her lips, and sucked on the remnants of wine
that lingered. She couldn’t help but ponder lustfully over the powerful
presence Malfoy commanded. It was unfortunate they were interrupted, but
Hermione supposed it was for the best. Having sex in the office was
frowned upon for sure but undoubtedly tempting even if it was
uncomfortable.
Brenda waited patiently for the lift to take her to the desired floor, she
stepped out, and her legs turned to jelly with anticipation. She honestly
didn't know what to expect. If Hermione reacted in such a fearfully angry
way, then Michael would be a thousand times worse. Stopping outside the
glass doors that would take her right to the bowels of the DMLE, she
gathered her strength, pushed the doors open and scanned the crowd of busy
Aurors for her boyfriend.

It was the high-pitched loud sound of a woman she heard first, "BRENDA,
THANK FUCK YOU'RE SAFE!"

Hannah pushed her way through, took her by the hand and led her down a
dark corridor into a room where Terry, Michael and Harry were having a
heated discussion. Their heads snapped up as the women stepped into the
room.

Terry's eyes widened in shock. Harry smiled in relief, and Michael sprang
to his feet, cradled his beloved witch in his arms and cried, "I've been so
worried."

Brenda held onto his tall frame, pulled him close and cooed, "I'm fine, baby.
Mum was sick, and I had to rush her to the emergency room." Tears
gathered at the sight of her distraught boyfriend and spilt over.

She muttered while rubbing his back soothingly, "I'm such an idiot. I forgot
my phone. Michael, I'm so sorry. Ssh...I'm fine. Honestly, nothing happened
to me." She felt his fingers grab onto bits of her coat as he unleashed the
pure torment he suffered through.

Harry and Terry got to their feet and awkwardly joined Hannah by the door,
who had eyes in her tears from witnessing the emotional scene before her.

Terry patted his best friend happily on the back, "We’ll give you guys some
privacy."

Harry concurred, "Yeah, take the day off, Corner. You've had a rough start
and could do with some rest." So engrossed in each other, the couple heard
none of it. Once they were alone, Michael cupped Brenda's face lovingly
and peered at her in concern, "I have never been more terrified in my life."

He choked back a sob, "You're my everything."

Brenda wiped the tears that fell, "I love you so much."

Michael hugged her again and asked solemnly, "Is your mum okay?"

Brenda rested her head on his shoulder, hid the sniffles and nodded, "Yes,
just a touch of low blood sugar. I dropped her off and came by," and added
promptly as she remembered, "I have to stay the night with her."

Corner mustered a smile and requested timidly, "Can I come with you?"

Brenda kissed him gently, "That would be great. I need to head back to
work before Hermione blows a fuse."

"Of course, I'll pick you up after," Michael chuckled and said with radiating
happiness. She was the one for him, of that, he was sure. The thought of
losing her had driven him to insanity in a matter of hours.

Hours passed, and with the article's publishing came hysterical calls from
people, hoaxes, prank calls, and dozens of false leads hoping to collect on
the substantial ransom offered.

The minutes ticked by painfully as Hermione, Brenda, and Nora, the

Minister's Secretary, fielded the tons of calls that came their way. By
quarter past four, Hermione was thoroughly fed up and disgusted with the
English wizarding community. Conspiracy theories were already popping
up and formulating in the corners of cafes, along the street and most
probably in Skeeter's office.

Terry tossed a chocolate bar at Hannah. She caught it expertly and threw
him a quizzical look.
He grinned, "Hush money."

Hannah tore the wrapper open and bit into the almost melted chocolate and
smirked, "First of all, this isn't money, but I'll accept it."

She asked curiously, "What are you up to?"

Boot rubbed the subtle on his chin and winked, "I have a personal matter to
attend to."

He added in disgust, "Let me know if Malfoy comes by again."

"Won't it be easier if you attempted to get along with him? We do have to

work with him." Hannah chided.

Terry hissed dangerously, not bothering to keep his voice out of earshot,
"I'm not working alongside that filthy Death Eater."

Hannah frowned, "You're acting like an immature fuck biscuit. Bugger off,
Boot."

Terry narrowed his eyes and sneered, "Don't be a cunt, Abbott. Just cover
for me."

She rolled her eyes, pointedly walked away and called over her shoulder,
“Do your own dirty work.”

He didn't bother informing Harry or Michael. Besides, he wasn't too keen

on elaborating what his evening plans were. He exited the Ministry, took a
deep breath of the chilly air that blew around him, raised the collar of his
trench coat and apparated close to Knockturn Alley. He looked around
discreetly.

Once he was satisfied there was no one he knew in the vicinity, he went
down the dark corridor and smirked at the man coming towards him with
his hand out, "You did good, mate. Keep it up, and no one will ever know."
At half-past five, Hermione had honestly had enough. She slammed the
phone down crossly, shot to her feet and stormed out, "Come on, Brenda.
Let's grab a cup of coffee before these nutters drive us around the bend."

Brenda followed without hesitation, "Amen to that. I might actually hate

humans after today. Why are they so fucking daft? We have a serious issue
at hand, and this lot are trying to take the mickey."

They sat in the middle of an empty cafeteria nursing hot mugs of creamy,
sugary coffee. The witch who ran the cafeteria had an infamously sweet
tooth, but it was a welcome relief in this instance.

Hermione took a sip and sighed, "That feels bloody good."

Brenda slid down the chair and nodded in agreement, "Aye, it hits that
spot."

Hermione smiled knowingly, "Michael loves you."

Brenda blushed madly, "I know, I'm crazy about him too."

Hermione said thoughtfully, "He's a good guy. Even back at Hogwarts.

Decent sort of chap."

She included jovially, "Terry was always the wilder one of the duo."

Brenda shifted uncomfortably at the mention of Terry Boot. She cleared her
throat and said carefully, "Hermione, he likes you a lot. Michaels told me
bits and pieces. I shouldn't say anything, it's not my place, but Michael
thinks Terry is in love with you but won't admit it."

Love? Merlin, forbid.

Hermione choked on her coffee and croaked, "Well, I'm marrying Malfoy.
Terry will just have to accept it."

Brenda grinned devilishly, "Ahem, did I interrupt something earlier between

the two of you?" She sounded so much like Ginny that Hermione did a
double-take to make sure she was talking to her assistant and not her best
friend of over ten years.

Hermione felt a blush creep up her cheeks. She shrugged, "Well, I guess we
had a moment of weakness. He is an attractive man."

Brenda giggled. That was an understatement. She had seen some fetching
young men, but the Malfoy heir stood a foot above them all. He was built
for seduction.

Hermione looked around the deserted cafeteria and inquired, "Where is

everyone?"

Brenda glanced at her watch and offered an explanation, "It's almost six pm,
Hermione." She asked meekly, "Most have left. I was wondering if I could
leave too. My mother needs me and ......"

Hermione jumped to her feet and smacked her forehead. The time had
really gotten away from her, and she groaned, "Six pm? What? Fuck. Yes,
let's call it a day. I need to get going myself. We can pick up this madness
tomorrow."

Michael was waiting for them. Hermione waved at him and sprinted into
her office and when she emerged, the sickeningly sweet couple were
already gone.

She was so bloody late. By her calculation, she had an hour and a half to
make herself presentable before heading to dinner at Malfoy Manor.

After leaving the Ministry earlier in the day, Draco had headed to the office
and found Bernard nowhere in sight. The older man didn't turn up.

After Draco looked through the papers that needed his signature and
approval, he did what was needed, not wanting to hang around any longer
than was necessary. He would need to find the ideal balance between
running the family company and his job in the future.

Washed and in nothing but his faithful jogging bottoms, he sat by the
roaring fireplace in his room and pretended to read the book in his grasp. In
reality, his thoughts were riddled by an enticing brunette with thick
eyelashes and a sultry moan that made his knees quake with desire.

Would he have truthfully gone all the way in her office? Yes, without a
doubt. He would've taken great pleasure in sweeping the stuff off her table,
throwing her down and ravaging her body till she screamed in pure ecstasy.

Hermione entered her favourite place in the whole world. Her bathroom.
The tub looked so inviting, and figuring she could probably squeeze in a
few moments’ peace lathered by bubbles, she quickly filled the tub with
water, added some sweet-smelling bath salts and descended into its
luxurious warmth.

She rested her head on the smooth edge and thought back to Malfoy's long,
seemingly talented fingers ghosting over her skin. His touch was pleasant
yet electrifying. Every pleasure point awakened and begged for release.

Her fingers disappeared under the thick outer coat of bubbles and came to
rest on her parted thighs, and slowly they edged inwards towards her
pulsating clit. Closing her eyes, she painted a vivid picture of a certain
platinum blonde's tongue teasing the heated skin of her flesh. She imagined
him relentlessly kissing every inch of her body and devouring her whole.

Hermione spread her pussy lips and inserted her eager fingers within the
slick folds. Her fingers moved with practised ease and came to rest on her
clitoris. No one existed but her and Malfoy. She relived their steamy
afternoon session with a few imaginative additions of her own.

She moved the soft pad of her middle finger over the engorged bundle of
nerves, gasping and moaning in delight, and when she pushed herself off
the edge, causing her toes to curl in pleasure, there was but one name that
escaped her lips.
She threw her head back, came hard and moaned without shame,
"Draco....."

The man walked into the room where he held the woman captive. Still, in
his work robes, he greeted, "Good evening, love. Did you have a nice day?"

The woman nodded weakly, hugged her legs to her chest and averted her
gaze. The monster was home, and she would have to endure him fucking
her at least twice before he retired for bed.

He gritted out in anger, "We're famous. But I'll show them for printing a
bunch of lies."

A tenderness fell over his partially scarred face, and he confessed, "I loved
them. Each one meant a great deal to me."

Turning to her, he implored lovingly, "You know, I love you, right?" She
smiled sweetly and nodded.

From the tattered bits of the newspaper he had stuffed into her mouth, she
now knew they had made the front page. After he left, she had carefully
tried to place the pieces together like a puzzle with missing bits. She had
been able to clearly make out the lifeless, doll-like bodies of three girls and
one of her in freshly pressed robes, laughing and full of life.

He said happily. There was a ludicrous giddiness to his voice, "I told you I
had a surprise." Reaching inside his coat pocket, he excitedly pulled out
four silk scarves. The scarves were not new, but they were in immaculate
condition. Carefully, he placed them on the table one after the other,
touching them almost reverently. He offered sadly, "These belonged to the
other girls," but he held up a bright red one with a majestic lion
embroidered into the expensive silk. The word Gryffindor was clear as day.

Coming closer, he almost purred, "This is yours, my fiery lioness." She was
dumbstruck, and her surprise showed on her face, "How did you know?"
He replied with a raised eyebrow, "That you were in Gryffindor? I have my
ways, darling."

"You look quite appealing tonight," He said huskily while undoing the
buttons on his shirt.

She seductively drawled, "I'm so tired, baby. Can we skip tonight? I'll make
it up to you tomorrow." Her words caught him by surprise. It was a
welcome change. He loved the way the expressions of affection rolled off
her tongue, "Are you sure, love? Didn't you miss me?"

She gushed with enough conviction, "Oh, so much, but you tired me out last
night with your manly lovemaking, and I'm a little sore."

Puckering her lips, she pouted, "Please, can we skip tonight?" He was
hesitant at first, but how could he refuse the woman he loved?

Tilting her chin, he kissed her hard and clumsily, "Of course, I can wait till
morning. You rest up and be ready." He hardly ever kissed the other girls,
but he simply could not resist giving in to temptation with her.

Rapist? How dare they call him that. He loved them, but he loved her the
most. He couldn't wait for the sun to rise. The woman sighed in the
darkness that was her makeshift prison. She had won a small victory. She
derived a plan in his absence. From studying his behaviour, she knew he
was a nervous wreck with zero self-esteem.

He was a pitiful man demeaned by his mother his whole life for merely
existing. So, she played to her strengths and would, whilst enduring his
advances, compliment him and make him feel like a real man for once in
his life.

Survival was key. She would do anything to gain his trust. If it meant
stroking his ego and feeding him false affection, then that was precisely
what she was going to do.
A loud cackling filled the space, and the voice leered, "That was a good
one, wasn't it, Mudblood?"

Hermione spat, "Get out of my head, bitch. I have no time for you today."

Bellatrix laughed manically, "Eager to be my nephew’s whore? You'd like

that, wouldn't you, you filthy slut. To get on all fours and offer that
disgusting cunt to his pureblood cock."

Hermione hugged her legs to her chest, closed her eyes and rocked back
and forth vigorously, causing water to spill over the edge. She kept
muttering incoherently, "No, he disgusts me. Leave me alone."

The dead woman laughed, "Disgusts you? Is that why you’re getting off to
him? Filthy Mudblood, hypocrite."

Bellatrix's hallucination that Hermione projected turned violent, "Do you

think I’ll let him bed you? Touch you? Bear his children?" The dead old
witch leaned forward and whispered darkly in her ear, "I'm going to finally
kill you, Mudblood."

Hermione slipped into the tub full of water. Her own hands held her down,
such was the power of the hallucination she conjured. She surfaced, and
gasped for breath but was pulled under once again.

Over and over, it kept happening. Her own hand clasped around her throat
held her firmly in place under the water, but in her trapped psychosis, she
was battling Bellatrix Lestrange. Her rapid movements to break the hold
sent waves of water cascading over the edge of the tub to flood the usually
clean and tidy bathroom.

With panicked struggling, her knuckles turned a purplish-white from

gripping the edge of the tub and attempting to hoist herself up. Sinew and
muscles strained and her forearms, protested as she repeatedly tried to
capture the lip of the bath with pruned fingertips. Try as she might, her
desperate attempts were futile, and she couldn't surface to breathe life-
giving air.
Hermione twisted and flayed underwater. The veins in her neck blackened
and puckered her skin like angry water snakes seeking their prey. Deprived
of oxygen, her chest tightened. Sparks and spots appeared in her
waterlogged vision as her blood pressure rose.

Terror-filled thoughts punctured her mind. It couldn’t end this way, not after
everything she had been through, everything she had done. She had to fight,
but with each thought of saving herself, the laughter grew in its intensity,
drowning out every thought of desperation, engulfing her in its viscous,
dark malevolence. The last bubbles of air left her lungs in a scream, and her
chest felt like it was about to explode. Her heartbeat thrummed deafeningly
in her ears as she fought an inward battle with herself.

“Get away from my daughter, you bitch!” echoed in the recess of her mind.

Bellatrix cackled, “Let go, deary, we will have such fun in hell, join me…”

Her breathy voice beckoned. “Think of how Draco would be better off
without you. He would forget you instantly,” vitriol dripped from the dark
witch's lips like black molasses. “He doesn’t want you. He’s sickened by
your filth.”

They say a person's life flashes before their eyes before death, and she
almost gave in to weakness as moments of remembered misery ignited in
her mind.

“It’s no wonder no one can stand her. She’s a nightmare, honestly.”

“Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all.”

“No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood.”

"He called me a Mudblood ... a really foul name for someone who is
muggle-born, someone with non-magic parents … someone like me."

“Harry Potter is dead!”

Finally, her parents floated into her mind and with them, what little fight
she had left dissipated.
“Obliviate.”

The thought of dying appealed more than living through this miserable
existence, and she suddenly stilled. A final trapped bubble of air drifted
from her mouth as her eyes closed.

The heroine, Hermione Granger, sank to the bottom of the tub and lay
motionless.

Draco descended the carpeted stairs. He adjusted his black dinner jacket
and glanced at his watch. It was a little past 7.30 pm. He wandered into the
brightly lit foyer and found his mother and Bernard engaged in a lively
game of chess.

Bernard moved his queen forward and smirked triumphantly, "Checkmate,

love."

Narcissa hissed in irritation, "Blast this game." They watched as the black
queen pulled out a sword and ran it through the white king. The defeated
severed pieces fell sideways onto the board and moved no more.

Draco looked around and asked in interest, "Mother, has Hermione

arrived?"

Narcissa glimpsed at the large grandfather clock, and her features creased
with worry, "No, son, but it is past 7.30. It's unlike her to be late."

Draco frowned and nodded in agreement. Granger was a stickler for time.
The woman was nauseatingly punctual. He requested politely, "Would you
mind calling her to see what's the matter?"

Narcissa smiled warmly, “Of course,” and requested Dotty to fetch her
Muggle communication device.

Bernard felt embarrassed about his behaviour in the morning, and he sought
to make amends, "How was your day, Draco?"
Draco wasn't paying much attention. He was in deep thought about
Granger, but he replied half-heartedly, "It was all right. The Ministry has
their hands full with a killer at large."

Bernard stiffened and inquired, "Indeed. Have they no leads on the man
committing these monstrous acts?"

Draco shook his head slowly, "Not a shred of evidence. Whoever it is, is
exceptionally bright."

Narcissa interrupted their conversation, "Strange. She is not answering the

phone. Do you think she's alright?" First Brenda and now Granger. Why
weren't these women answering their bloody phones?

Draco said thoughtfully, "They were swamped today." He suggested

seriously and waited for his mother's consent, "Maybe I should stop by her
flat?"

Narcissa concurred, "That would be prudent. I always worry for her safety."
She added lovingly, "Hermione is much like the daughter I never had."

Bernard offered helpfully, "Shall I accompany you?"

Draco was already out the door, but he glanced over his shoulder and
replied, "That won't be necessary. Besides, mother is dying for a rematch."

Narcissa’s peals of laughter followed him as he stepped into the beautiful

Manor gardens and thought, Granger, where are you? It was a rather busy
evening, and the cobbled streets were packed with Muggles walking to and
fro going about their daily business. Most were trying to catch the last bus
or tube home. Using magic in such plain sight would prove to be
problematic.

Instead, Draco resorted to the Muggle way of things and walked through the
hustle and bustle to reach Granger’s modest flat complex overlooking the
busy streets. He tried calling her himself but was greeted by the same
unanswered rings as he jogged up the stairs taking two at a time. He stood
in front of the lilac-painted door for a few seconds and tried to determine if
there was any movement within.

When he couldn't hear anything, Draco rang the bell and waited. The
seconds dragged on, and he concluded that she wasn't home. He turned to
leave with his hands in his pockets when a door opened, and an older
woman in possibly her mid-fifties walked out carrying a bunch of old
newspapers.

She saw Draco and smirked, "Aren't you the young man from the other
night?"

Draco smiled warmly, "Yes, I am." He spoke politely and requested,

"Excuse me, but have you seen Hermione today?"

The woman gazed upon the closed door fondly, "She's such a lovely girl.
Always helps me with my crossword puzzle. She has a sharp mind."

Draco tried again and emphasised his point, "Yes, I know. So, I gather you
haven't seen her?"

She kept the papers on the ground and smiled, "Oh no, I did, not fifteen
minutes ago. She was in her bathrobe and stepped out barefoot to toss the
garbage into the chute. She seemed like she was in a hurry."

Draco tore his attention away from the woman, touched Granger's door,
concentrated and thought, Homenum Revelio. The spell spread from him
and throughout her flat. It yielded positive results. There was someone
inside, he couldn't be sure who, but it would be safe to assume that it was
her.

Perhaps, she had fallen asleep, but he made up his mind to make doubly
sure she was okay. He would deal with her sharp tongue about invading her
privacy after he was assured of her safety.

The nosy neighbour quizzed, "Are you her boyfriend? Haven't seen anyone
come by since that lanky ginger fellow." Terry's visits had miraculously
escaped her scrutiny.

Draco straightened and said confidently, "I am her fiancé, Madam."

She looked him over and gave a nod of approval, "That's good. A nice girl
like her deserves a handsome man."

Draco chuckled, "Goodnight." She returned the gesture swiftly, walked

back into the comfort of her flat and shut the door.

Once again, he gave his undivided attention to the light purple obstacle. If
Granger was home, why wasn't she answering?

Draco acted on a whim, and he whispered, "Alohomora." He was wary of

wards she might have placed, but nothing stopped him from stepping into
her flat. It was then he heard the distinctive loud sound of water running.
Her flat was small, and it didn't take long for sound to travel. He called out
her name but got no reply. A feeling of dread settled in the depths of his gut.

Pushing the ajar door open, he stumbled across a horrific sight. His eyes
bulged in utter shock. She was fully submerged in the bathtub full of water
and lying motionless, but the tap was open, relentlessly continuing to fill
the tub. It was apparent she was drowning to an outside eye.

Was this a suicide attempt? Dark thoughts clouded his mind.

Draco sprang into action. He wasn't about to wait for answers. Completely
clothed and not hesitating to remove his shoes, he hurriedly stepped into the
tub, sending more water surging onto the floor and shouted her name in
panic.

Hermione heard the muffled sound of her name being called, but she didn’t
dare open her eyes.

This is not you, Hermione. The bitch is not there! She’s dead. Dead, dead,
dead! Her mind frantically reminded her. Save yourself. It was the happy
memories that flashed before her eyes of her doting parents, beloved friends
and family that truly cared that prompted her to act.

She belonged in this beautiful world of magic.

Her eyes flew open, and her mouth opened wide as realization sunk in
slowly. From under the rippling or surging water, she could make out the
outline of a dark shadow looming over her menacingly. Was it Bellatrix? If
it was, then she would deny the bitch the satisfaction. She jerked and
recoiled, arching her back as she rolled violently in the water and fought
with every ounce of her being. But the voice calling out her name
repeatedly was vaguely familiar.

Grabbing the now hysterical woman fighting for her life around her middle,
Draco pulled her out of the warm, soapy water. She did not come quietly.
She fought him aggressively, pushing and beating his chest with her balled-
up fists while taking gulps of air to fill her deprived lungs.

There wasn't a shred of clothing on her body, and her soft skin was slippery
with soap. She slipped from his hold, and an effort to tighten his arms
around her resulted in him losing balance, slipping on the pooled water on
the floor, sending them both crashing onto the sodden tiles.

Hermione gasped when the dark figure morphed into Malfoy as they fell.
Draco took the brunt of the fall. He held Granger possessively to his chest,
shielding her from further harm. The trembling naked woman in his arms
grabbed hold of his soaked black shirt and sobbed inconsolably, "She's
trying to kill me."

He held on tight, moved wet strands of hair that were obscuring her face
and implored, "Who is, Granger?"

She cried aloud, "Your aunt keeps trying to kill me..."

Draco looked around in alarm for a ghost of sorts of his dead aunt, any sign
of another person, but an eerie silence filled the space, punctured by
Hermione’s anguished cries.
He swallowed hard and muttered, "Granger, there's no one here." The
bathroom was an absolute mess, and Draco thanked Salazar for acting on
his instincts, failure to do so would have resulted in Granger’s untimely
death. They sat on the floor as the minutes ticked by. One was fully clothed
but soaked to the bone and the other was exposed on his lap, shuddering,
convulsing, and leaning her head against his chest. She continued to breathe
heavily, gasping for air with soft sobs wracking through her body.

Draco willed his own breathing to steady and rapidly beating heart to slow
as he glanced at Hermione through a curtain of matted platinum blonde hair.
When he felt her calm down, he rose to his full height with her firmly in his
arms and carried her out of the bathroom, down the narrow hallway and
into her tidy room. He gently laid her down on the bed. She rolled away
from him, curling herself into a fetal position as she resumed crying.
Fetching a thick robe from a nearby cupboard, Draco covered her
nakedness. He looked over her in concern and excruciating despair.

What was happening to Granger? He would do everything in his power to

help her and take away the pain.

He strode out of the room and entered the bathroom once again. His
saturated clothes felt heavy on him. After shutting the door, he closed the
tap and it creaked in protest. Next, he got rid of the drenched garments and
stood momentarily naked as his eyes searched urgently for a clean towel
large enough to cover his private parts.

Thankfully, there were a few towels that had escaped the night's events.
Without hesitation, he took the largest one and tied it firmly around his taut
waist. His thoughts were fixed firmly on the woman in the room. Why
hadn't she sought help?

Were the nature of her nightmares and hallucinations so deadly and real, or
was Bellatrix somehow tormenting her from beyond the grave? Nothing
was impossible, he thought despondently.

He caught sight of the intertwining scars on his torso as he muttered a spell

over the bathroom, returning it to its formerly clean and pristine state.
Figuring a cup of warm tea would work miracles, he left the bathroom and
headed towards the tiny kitchen and put magic to further good use. In next
to no time, he succeeded in making hot mugs of milky tea.

Grabbing a mug with each hand, he strode purposely towards the only
bedroom in the flat. He entered to find Hermione seated cross-legged
wearing the fluffy bathrobe secured tightly across the middle. She was
absentmindedly playing with her fingers while strands of her thick hair
stuck to her face. Her eyes were vacant of expression, but at least she was
no longer crying.

Hermione looked at him in his semi-naked state, glanced at the scars

sprawled across his chest but said nothing. Even with the help of magic, she
knew his clothes needed time to dry.

Draco closed the gap between them and held out the mug for her to take.
The enticing smell of tea filled the small room, and vaporous spirals of
steam made their way upwards from the centre of the mugs. Hesitantly but
with a somewhat grateful nod, Hermione took the cup he offered and
encircled it with her numb fingers. She felt the warmth spread to all parts of
her body, and, bringing it closer, she inhaled the rich fragrance of the tea
before taking a satisfying sip of the hot liquid.

Draco took the uncomfortable seat in the corner and watched her every
movement intently. What he witnessed disturbed him on another level. It
went beyond the demons he had fought so hard against. This was far more
damaging and dangerous.

Hermione kept her eyes on the contents within the mug and inquired feebly,
"What are you doing inside my flat, Malfoy?" He took a sip and responded
slowly, "You were late for dinner. Mother was concerned, and I volunteered
to check up on you." He murmured under his breath, "Good thing I did."

She sneered harshly, "Do you make it a habit of entering a woman’s home
without invitation?"

Draco shot to his feet and towered over Hermione. She moved further away
in fear of retribution but now kept her eyes fixed on his unpleasantly
twisted features and reaction.

He snapped, "Are you expecting me to fucking apologise for saving you?"

She shuddered and choked back a sob, but undeterred, he pressed on, "You
would've been dead if I hadn't done what I did, and if your pretentious arse
is expecting an apology, I'm sorry, Granger, but I will not beg forgiveness
for something I would repeat in a heartbeat." He didn't need this verbal
abuse, especially after what happened. He moved past her to leave without
another word, but she grabbed onto his wrist with slender fingers and held
him back. He felt the pressure as her nails dug into his skin, forcing him to
look at her face and the unmistakable glisten of tears swimming in her
beautiful eyes.

"Please, don't leave," she managed to whisper desperately.

Draco felt his resolve crumble, but surely there was someone better suited
to comfort her. He voiced that opinion, "Shall I ask Potter or his wife to
come by?" Her fingers dug in once again, and Hermione slowly shook her
head, "They don't know. Harry has his suspicions, but I've always denied
them when he questioned me." She included resolutely, “He has plenty of
other things to worry about, and I won't burden him further with my
issues.”

Well, that was a shocker.

Draco sighed and asked curiously, "They're your best friends. Why would
you hide these nightmares from them, Granger? I'm damn sure Potter faces
his own demons."

Hermione nodded weakly and uttered truthfully, "He did, but it’s nothing
like what I'm plagued with. I don't like appearing weak even in front of my
friends."

Draco sat down beside her. She held onto his wrist, refusing to let go, "You
are not weak. You have horrors in your past that most do not. Why haven't
you sought professional help?"

She laughed sarcastically, but it appeared more disturbing than comical in

her current state, "I tried seeing a Muggle therapist, but it didn't work out. I
can't see a Mediwitch or wizard.

Hermione averted her gaze and added, "If it got out that the Undersecretary
was mentally unfit, the papers would have a field day, and my reputation,
along with Kingsley’s, would be ruined." It wasn’t a bargain she was
willing to take.

Draco understood her hesitation, but he assured her, "There are things such
as doctor-patient confidentiality and other laws to stop word from getting
out. Besides, it is not that you are mentally unfit, Granger. You have
PTSD."

She looked at him through hooded eyes, moved a piece of blonde hair that
fell across his forehead with the tips of her fingers and mused, "I cannot
believe I'm confiding in you."

Draco offered a small smile, took her hand in his and placed an enduring
kiss on the middle of her palm, "I'm a rather good listener, and I know
exactly where you're coming from."

Of course, he did. Hadn't Voldemort tortured him in the middle of his

family home while his mother sobbed and others stared? Some even leered
out of hatred for Lucius. The sick bastards.

He leaned forward until his lips lightly brushed against hers and pleaded,
"Please, let me help you."

Their eyes locked, and much was said between them. They stared at each
other until Hermione broke the intense moment by moving away. She bit
her bottom lip and struggled with the urge to straddle his firm hips and
surrender to his smouldering gaze. This wasn't the appropriate time. The
space she’d put between them indicated that. He wordlessly yet reluctantly
agreed.
Getting to his feet, Draco put a healthy distance between them, ran his
fingers through his hair and quipped, "I'll, umm, sleep on the sofa then."

Hermione's face fell in disappointment, "Yes, I guess that's appropriate."

Draco nodded curtly and turned to go fetch his dried boxers when her voice
cut through the crackling sexual tension, "I, um..thank you, Malfoy."

He glanced over his shoulder and smiled warmly, "It's my pleasure."

Hermione stared at the open doorway for quite some time before sliding
between the covers and hugging a pillow close. She was still in her
bathrobe and completely naked underneath, but exhaustion set in, and she
began to feel her muscles relax. Knowing Malfoy was sprawled across her
sofa uncomfortably in nothing more than a flimsy pair of boxers was
enough to keep her from falling asleep peacefully.

Was the sofa even long enough to accommodate his imposing form?

Draco eyed the sofa critically. At least it looked comfortable. He flopped

down, rested his head on the armrest and stared at the ceiling with mixed
emotions.

His thoughts and compassion went to the woman in the room, who was
alone and probably curled up into a ball. The need to comfort her was
overwhelming, but he had to tread lightly with Granger. His past treatment
of her still hung heavily over both their heads. She had confided in him, and
that was a rather important step in the right direction, he hoped.

Knowing the other was close by played heavily on their minds, and sleep
evaded them with purpose until the wee hours of the morning.
 Chapter 27
Chapter Notes

A big thank you to everyone who posted a review and for everyone
following! It means so much! :)

My heartfelt gratitude to my amazing beta Carrie! Thank you so much,

love.

Aunty Irma visits, and Narcissa has a go at Astoria for badmouthing

Hermione. A content chapter. Slightly slow burn. :)

Enjoy Chapter Twenty Seven!

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In the depths of despair

The woman hardly slept. The only way Sarah got any sleep was if she
passed out from exhaustion. How could she when she knew the monster
could walk in at any second and violate her body repeatedly? She leaned
against the wall and wondered hopelessly when this nightmare would end.
She stayed that way for hours.

The coolness of the walls left their imprint on her ashen, slightly hollowed
cheek, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she glanced over the blood-
red Gryffindor scarf he had left in the room. She couldn't be sure whether it
was a foreshadowing of what was to come or he’d carelessly left it behind.
All she did know was that having the scarf nearby filled her with
uncertainty. It felt like an omen. As if the grim reaper himself was looming
over her to snatch her at any given moment.
She unconsciously ran her index finger down her exposed slit. Her
nakedness meant nothing anymore.

He treated her like an object to use, pounding into her, grunting, and
groaning like a sex-crazed animal. The bastard, she truly hoped he would
get what he deserved, a slow, agonising death. Even the Dementor's kiss
would be too merciful. Her fingers flinched. They missed the feeling of her
wand, the magic that united them. Her throat was parched. She desperately
needed a drink of water to erase the scratchy sensation, but she was at the
mercy of the fiend.

The loud rumble of thunder shook the wooden frame of the small window
that was out of her reach. An uncontrolled tremor shook her body, and she
hugged her knees to her chest in an effort to keep warm and weather the
storm.

In the dark, Draco fretfully tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable. He
continued to stare at the ceiling in deep thought about Granger. It disturbed
him far more than he let on, and he silently cursed his dead aunt. They were
children, for fucks sake, doing an adult’s job.

The immense responsibility that had been placed on their shoulders at such
a young age was incomprehensible. He wanted to check up on her but
decided against it after concluding that it would be rather unfavourable if
she were to wake and find him looming over her like some sex-deprived
creep.

He felt a sense of exhaustion throughout his body. His back and legs were
sore, stiffness making their presence known after the fall earlier. The tiles
were hard, and cold and had collided with his bones painfully, not that he
wasn’t accustomed to pain, but the ache spread to all corners of his body.
Draco closed his eyes shut, turned to the side and willed sleep to consume
him.

As the sandman’s sprinkled magic pulled him towards a somewhat content

slumber, his phone vibrated consistently from under the pillow where he
had placed it earlier.
Groaning at the unwelcome intrusion and thinking who in their right mind
was calling him at such an unforgivable hour, he snuck his hand under the
pillow, pulled out the device and sleepily glanced at the screen. Beads of
sweat coated his upper lip despite the coolness of the living space. How
could he have forgotten to inform his mother of the drastic change in plans?

Draco ran his fingers through his hair, braced himself and answered the
phone with a sheepish, "Hello, mother."

Narcissa was beside herself with anger. Hours had gone without a word.
She wept for the callous attitude of the youth. When the first two hours
passed by, she had wanted to send a Patronus.

Still, Bernard advised her against it with the simple explanation that she
should not embarrass him in front of Hermione for being a mother’s boy.
What did Bernard know about a mother’s love? He had no children. She
should have gone with her gut feeling.

Without holding back and not bothering to keep her voice down, she yelled,
"Where are you, Draco Lucius Malfoy? I have been worried sick. Have you
no common sense?" It was then he noticed the twenty or so miscalls and
countless closed envelopes. How had he not heard them before? It was an
odd, unfortunate circumstance, but perhaps he was so caught up in his train
of thought he drowned out all other noises.

Draco sat up straight and spoke softly, "Mother, please calm yourself. I am
still at Granger’s flat. She was umm, ill, and I didn't think it prudent to
leave her alone." Again, he thought sadly. The seemingly put-together Miss
Granger wasn’t all she professed to be.

Narcissa listened intently and grated out, "You have a lot of explaining to
do in the morning, young man. Good night!"

She did not bother with waiting for a reply. The line went dead. Draco
stared at it for a few seconds and swallowed hard. It could have gone worse,
he supposed.
Good night? It was nearly four am. If he were at home, he would be up in
an hour or so to start his routine and meditation. A streak of lightning lit up
the sky ominously, illuminating the inside of Hermione’s small home,
followed by the distinct sound of thunder piercing the silence. It caused the
one window in the flat to rattle unsteadily. Draco lifted his head and
watched the drops of rain pelting the window despondently.

He was reminded of the raindrops falling onto the rooftops of the Shaolin
temple and how Jun, along with others, made the monk's hot cups of green
tea, sneaking him a sugar-covered treat her mother made. Chun, his master,
was renowned for telling the younger disciples exciting stories as they
waited for the rain to pass. It was such a peaceful existence compared to the
whirlwind he had returned to.

Draco fondly touched the black beaded bracelet Jun had gifted him and
sighed. There was a part of him that wished he had never returned. He
cleared his mind of such pointless thoughts, put the phone aside, and turned
away from it adamantly. Hugging one of the dozen cushions Granger kept
on the sofa, he slowly drifted off to sleep.

It was early by any standards. The sun was up but barely, and it stubbornly
hid its warm rays behind the abundant dark clouds that were heavy with
rain. Daphne woke with a start at the unmistakable sound of thunder.
Without bothering to turn over, she felt the area to her side for her
husband’s arm but came up wanting. Rubbing the sleepiness from her eyes,
she turned over to find an empty but warm space beside her. Blaise usually
slept in, and his absence from their marital bed struck her as odd.

Their bedroom suite was like one out of a Victorian novel. A large four-
poster bed with silk bedding and embroidered cushions took centre stage.
The exquisite bed fit for a king was surrounded by timeless, intricately
carved pieces of furniture from a nearly-forgotten time.

Daphne stared out of the long French windows that led to the balcony as the
first raindrops chased each other along the clear pane of glass. Her mind
pondered on where her husband might be. It was highly unlikely that he had
left for work. If he had, he always made it a point to tell her. Perhaps, he
was fixing himself a snack, she thought lovingly.

Blaise, like most Slytherins, had a notorious sweet tooth. Slipping into her
dark blue silk robe, Daphne left the warmth of her room and decided to
check on the children before searching the premises for her elusive
husband. Adam particularly wasn't too keen on the loud roar of thunder. On
the other hand, Carrie was often found comforting her younger brother in
such times.

Daphne opened the door slowly and peered into her darling son’s room. He
was oblivious to the brewing storm. Thumb firmly in his mouth, he was fast
asleep with a content smile spread wide across his face. Satisfied that he
was asleep, Daphne made the short walk down the corridor to her adorable
daughter’s room, but Carrie's high-pitched giggle greeted her first.

Raising her brow curiously, she approached slowly and discreetly poked her
head into the room to catch a glimpse of what could possibly be making her
naughty toddler laugh so early in the morning. She was pleasantly surprised
to find Blaise sitting cross-legged on the floor, wearing a frilly bonnet, and
holding a plastic teacup with his little finger sticking up in the air for that
extra touch of elegance.

Daphne leaned against the doorframe and stifled a laugh, "That hat looks
marvellous on you, darling." The two-spirited individuals seated on the
floor engaging in a lively tea party looked up at her and grinned. Side by
side, father and daughter had identical cheeky smirks.

Blaise raised the cup in her direction from his position on the ground and
smiled lovingly, "Why, thank you, Mrs Zabini. I do believe pink brings out
the colour in my eyes."

Carrie jumped to her feet, her nightdress of moons and stars falling to her
feet as she ran up to her mother, grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her
inside the room eagerly, "Come on, mummy. You can wear the blue
bonnet."
Daphne sat down next to Blaise with her legs neatly tucked under her. He
reached over to brush a few strands of hair out of her face, kissed her gently
and muttered, "Good morning, dear."

Carrie handed her mother a cup, but there appeared to be a handful of

colourful smarties inside instead of tea. In the most perfect ladylike
manner, she said politely, "Thank you so much for joining us for tea on such
short notice."

Daphne glanced at the smarties and threw Blaise a mild look of disapproval,
"Really? It's too early for sweets."

Blaise fetched a few pebbles, tossed them into his mouth and winked, "We
improvised. Enjoy your tea, my love."

Daphne rolled her eyes but followed suit, laughing while Carrie giggled and
munched on a few red pebbles herself.

Hermione's flat

A sharp pain stabbed her stomach, and Hermione awoke with a slight cry on
her lips. The pain was excruciating, but as it came unexpectedly, it left just
the same.

She was spared a few blissful moments until its untimely return, which had
her doubling over to control the bolts of pain that spread across her
abdomen. Her room lacked light, and the answer why came in the form of a
bolt of lightning and a loud growl of angry thunder. It was then Hermione
noticed it was raining heavily, and she was sorely tempted to crawl back
into bed and call in sick, but with the current situation at the Ministry, it was
a farfetched thought.

Throwing the covers off, she tossed her legs over the edge and attempted to
sit up. Once her legs parted, she saw the drops of blood that stained her
white robe and bedspread. Hermione groaned; it was but a moment of self-
pity as the previous night’s events came rushing back to her. She glanced at
her closed bedroom door and thought about what or who lay beyond.
Malfoy was asleep on her sofa unless he had seen fit to leave without
waking her. She supposed that was merely wishful thinking on her part. She
had a far more urgent situation to attend to before she soiled the rest of her
somewhat expensive bathrobe. Taking a deep breath, Hermione opened the
door soundlessly and tiptoed the short distance to the bathroom. She could
see an unmistakable tuft of platinum blonde and a muscular arm dangling
off the sofa from where she was.

"Fuck," Hermione cursed her idiocy at not getting the necessary help and
thought how ironic it was that Malfoy had now spent two nights in her flat
with the sole purpose of looking after her. She felt an uncomfortable sticky
wetness between her thighs, which prompted her to act. Dealing with
Malfoy would have to wait.

A shower, fresh clothes and breakfast in that order sounded delightful.

Silently Hermione thanked Merlin that she had stocked up her fridge with
the essentials needed to make a hearty breakfast. Well, it was the least she
could do for the incorrigible lout. He did save her life, she supposed.
Letting her stained robe drop to the ground, Hermione stared at the
porcelain tub and a good part of what transpired played back in her mind.
She took an involuntary step back from the smooth edge of her beloved
clawfoot tub. A paralysing fear spread through her as the horrific memories
of her struggles within the shallow water engulfed her.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and spoke rationally and sternly to
herself, "Bellatrix is dead. Only you bring her to life, Granger. Do not let
the haggard old cunt ruin your life."

With renewed determination, she placed a foot inside the tub and then
slowly the other until she was standing right under the shower. Her
trembling hands grasped the knob tightly, she turned it slowly, and the
overhead shower came to life. The cool water washed over her. Hermione
closed her eyes and let them surround her whole for a few blissful minutes.
Her behaviour of late was alarming.

She needed help, but how would she begin to approach it? Malfoy had
mentioned something about meditation. Maybe he could help her escape the
cage of terror she slipped into when least expected. When she opened her
eyes, a fire was burning in their depths.

Only she could come out of it, and she would. A thin trickle of blood mixed
with the water travelled down her leg and pooled near her pedicured feet.
The rich red colour fascinated her, made her feel human and strong, and she
watched, not blinking, as it disappeared down the drain. Closing her eyes
once again, she gave into the sublime feeling of the loofah running over her
smooth skin.

The bathroom smelled of fresh roses with a hint of lavender. It embodied

her, fusing with her hair and flesh.

The door flung open violently, and the woman feared it had come off its
hinges. Her mouth was devoid of spit as she tried to swallow and quench
her excruciating thirst. The man strode in, rubbing his crotch over his
pyjama bottoms.

She eyed his actions in disgust and croaked, "Water, please." Her voice was
hoarse due to the lack of liquids, and she pleaded with her eyes for him to
relieve the burning discomfort in her throat.

He looked her over, and his gaze lingered on her exposed hairless cunt. If
there was one thing he hated was a hairy pussy. He had always been
meticulous about hair and diligently shaved every follicle off his whitened
skin. He shaved the women in his care and took perverse pleasure in
moving the razor over their delicate mounds.

At times he allowed his fingers to caress their inner folds as he watched the
horror that spread across their faces when their bodies biological nature
betrayed them mercilessly.

Tearing his eyes away from the exposed woman, he crossed the room and
fetched a bottle of fresh aqua that rested on the small table in the corner. He
undid the cap slowly for effect in plain sight and took a deliberate long swig
from the bottle.
His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, a trickle of water ran down his
chin and fell onto the cement floor, and she watched from her place on the
bed greedily while devouring what he denied her. Glancing over his
shoulder, he caught sight of her staring at him with bloodshot eyes and
hunger that threw him off.

Once he gathered himself, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand
and asked tauntingly, "I'm sorry, darling. Would you like some water?"

She nodded vigorously with the naive hope of a small child. With the bottle
in hand, he sauntered over and held it out for her to take, but she was
chained to the bed, limiting her movements. He held it out, so the tips of her
fingers brushed the chilled condensation of the bottle's outer surface. Her
struggle to grasp the bottle amused him, and he let out a hearty laugh.

Unable to take it any longer, she screamed, "Give me some water, you
motherfucker." She regretted the words at once. His face darkened, and
features twisted macabrely.

Grabbing her by her long locks, he pulled hard until she cried out in pain,
pushed her down, opened her mouth forcefully and emptied the bottle's
contents into her mouth. She gasped and spluttered as the overflow of water
cut off her ability to breathe.

He stared down at her and hissed, "I've been too good to you." Thankfully,
he withdrew before she choked on the excess water invading her mouth.

She rolled over and coughed. Bits of phlegm and blood mixed with water
spewed out. The man looked her over in disgust, "Revolting. I had a lovely
morning planned for us, and now you've gone and ruined it."

Without a shred of remorse, he threatened, "You will make up for it later,

bitch. I will make sure you do." With her back to him, she cried in despair
and muttered in anguish, "Help me, anyone, please."

In nothing more than a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, Hermione stood over
Draco, watching him sleep. His chest rose and fell with content breathing,
and a slight hint of a smile lingered on his face.

Rogue strands of hair fell haphazardly over his face, and she bit her lip hard
to stop herself from brushing them off his face. Her eyes travelled down his
torso, where the faded pinkish outline of a vicious scar sprawled across his
chest. There could be no doubt that it had been caused by the Sectumsempra
curse Harry had foolishly used without knowing its full intent back at
Hogwarts.

Her sharp eyes took in a few new ones, some quite deep, and she wondered
if they had been caused by Lucius, Voldemort, or his Kung Fu training.

The Dark Mark was visible on his pale skin, the bluish nerves and veins
entwined around it rising to the surface in a hardened manner adding to his
appeal. She always did find a man with prominent forearms quite fetching.

Draco let out a light snore, and Hermione stiffened. Merlin, if he woke up
and found her scrutinising and breathing heavily over him, it would make
her look utterly desperate.

Fighting the urge to peek under the cushion covering his silk-sheathed cock,
she hurriedly walked over to the kitchen, tying her hair up into a messy bun
as she walked. She truly wanted to get breakfast going before he woke up.
Throwing open the door to the fridge, she assessed the contents within and
decided on something simple and easy to make in a quick fix. Sausages,
scrambled eggs and buttery toast, the breakfast of champions. They had
skipped dinner the night before, and if he were anything like her, he would
be ravenous too.

Trying to keep the noise low, she fetched a pan and got to cooking. It wasn't
easy to keep the sound of sizzling and toaster at a minimum, so she did the
most logical thing and cast a Silencio spell over the tiny kitchen. The smell
was mouthwatering, and Hermione bit into a piece of toast to satisfy her
hunger pangs while she threw in a few cut-up button mushrooms for good
measure.

Her effort to not wake her guest was valiant. Still, it proved futile since
Draco turned over and fell right off the sofa onto the fortunately carpeted
floor. He completely forgot where he had camped for the night and woke,
expecting to find his warm bed. He was sorely disappointed by the sofa that
greeted him but pleasantly surprised by the witch with her back turned to
him standing over the stove doing a little dance. She appeared to be in a
world of her own, and it was as if the episode from the night before had
never happened.

She looked pretty at ease and appeared to be having a jolly time by the way
her hips were leisurely swaying about. He watched in fascination and
amusement as her arse bounced in rhythm to whatever song she was
singing. The flat smelt of a mixture of cheese, butter, and sizzling goodness.
His stomach growled and knotted in protest.

Draco glanced at the time and frowned; it was nearly 8.45 am. It was unlike
him to sleep in. His body must have needed it. He yawned, stood up, looked
down and found a long thick obstacle obscuring the vision of his bare feet.

Bloody hell, his morning wood was impressive today. It stood pulsating,
throbbing, and beading precum. He was horrified by the realisation that he
was sporting a massive hard-on in the middle of Granger's living room.

An idea came to mind. Grabbing the cushion closest to him, he hastily

covered his crotch, and while keeping an eye on the dancing woman in the
kitchen, he made a mad dash to the bathroom. He hurriedly gargled using a
mouthwash of what appeared to be a minty Muggle brand and washed as
best he could. He cast a Scourgify over his only pair of boxers and slipped
back into them against his will. Luckily, his constant thoughts of Quidditch
managed to return his dick to its rightfully flaccid state.

Hermione plated the sautéed mushrooms, fried pork sausages, and fluffy
and cheesy scrambled eggs, one of her mum’s secret recipes. She finally
stacked an extra plate high with slightly but not thoroughly burnt toast.

The voice at her ear made her almost drop the plates she carefully balanced.
The tip of his nose brushed along the shell of her ear, causing an automatic
shiver to slither treacherously down her spine.

His husky rasp was pleasant, "Mm... smells good,"

Blimey, where did he emerge from? She had no clue he was awake and
wandering around her flat in those silk boxers that barely kept him decent.
She placed the plates back on the counter and turned to find herself staring
right at his bare chest. His defined pecks were impressive, but with great
regret, she came to one of two conclusions. Either Malfoy was inhumanly
tall, or she was relatively short for a witch. She decided to go with the
former.

Hermione swallowed the lump that formed and bravely looked into his
curious yet amused face with a sickeningly sweet smile of her own, "Well,
I'm glad you think so. Hopefully, it will taste as good."

Draco caught onto her subtle gesture of trying to hide her obvious
discomfort and mused, "I wasn't talking about breakfast, but this," He
pointed to the plates laden with food and finished with appreciation, "Looks
and smells fantastic." Turning her back on the arresting man, Hermione
went to take the plates, but he pressed purposely into her back and
questioned in genuine concern, "How are you feeling? Better?"

Hermione kept her eyes fixed on the plates and responded in barely a
whisper, "Yes, loads. Shall we eat?" Her voice lacked the strength it usually
possessed. He was standing way too close.

His fingers brushed over the skin of her exposed arms ever so gently. The
feathery touches were intimate caresses causing goosebumps to rally to the
surface. The beads of the black bracelet he wore felt cool against her hot
skin, leaving her flustered. She stood still and quiet, wanting him to
continue. He sensed her need to be comforted, and perhaps she needed a
distraction from the harrowing events that could have ended her life.

Undeterred and with renewed determination, Draco pressed on, confident

that a soul would not intervene and ruin their moment this time around. He
moved his hand under her flimsy cotton white t-shirt, around her waist and
came to rest on the flat of her stomach.

The tips of his fingers dug in slightly. It was a minor act of possessiveness,
and he further continued to trail enticing kisses and licks down her neck.
Hermione closed her eyes, and a satisfied sigh escaped her swollen lips.
Merlin, please forgive me for my sinful thoughts. With his body, he trapped
her between the counter and his chest, her back pressed to his front.

She felt the rough pads of his fingertips brush along her awakening body,
and lips and teeth tease the skin above her collarbone.

His words of lust made her knees buckle, "I'm sorry, Granger, but we need
this. I want you." He drawled effortlessly, his words slipping from his lips
like spun silk, "Even if it is just one time.".

She threw her back and rested it on his shoulder audaciously, allowing him
more space to ravage. When she felt his fingers breach the waistband of her
shorts and pull the elastic band on her knickers, Hermione stiffened at the
sudden realisation of what he intended. Her fingers closed around his wrist
and pulled his hand away.

Draco stopped his lips ghosting over her flushed skin and implored
impatiently, "We're alone. Not a damn fool will interrupt us this time. Why
did you stop me?"

Hermione sighed exasperatedly, turned in his arms and said coolly, "Aunty
Irma Is visiting."

Draco looked utterly baffled, "Is that a Muggle relative?"

Hermione stifled a laugh and chuckled instead, "I’ve got my period." The
look of confusion grew, and he visibly paled as it began to sink in. He
widened his eyes and retorted, "Oh...OH!" He couldn’t catch a bloody
break.

Pulling her close, he urged, "Are you in pain?" It was Hermione’s turn to
look surprised, "Why would you ask me that?"

Draco cupped her face to emphasise his point. She winced as his fingers
came in contact with her skin, "Because you keep flinching when I touch
you."
Hermione turned her attention to the plates of food and declared
embarrassedly, "Well, yeah, it hurts. I'm also er, overly sensitive." Resting
his chin on top of her tousled curls, he inhaled her sweet scent and groaned
in frustration, "You're going to drive me mad, woman."

Conceding defeat, Draco mumbled, "Let's eat. I'm starving." They both took
a plate each, and Hermione carried the extra plate of toast to the small table.
After taking their seats, she poured him a glass of cool pumpkin juice and
said without much conviction, "Besides, it’s for the best we don't sleep
together. It could get awfully complicated."

Draco quipped, "Do you really believe that?" He forked a piece of sausage,
tore it off with his teeth brutally, pointed the sharp end at her, and further
argued, "Sooner, or later it’s going to happen, but of course, you know
best."

Hermione could not help but laugh at his rather bold, not to mention
confident statement. They had plenty of close calls, but the timing was
always horridly off. They ate in companionable silence until Draco
interrupted the scrapping of knives and forks against porcelain, "Will you
come by tonight for dinner?"

Looking up from her half-eaten meal, Hermione shifted uncomfortably,

chewed on her bottom lip nervously and asked, "Did you tell your mother
about what happened last night?"

Draco reassured, "No, of course not, and I won't, but, Granger, we need to
talk about it." His shift in tone was noticeable, "I cannot have you putting
yourself in harm’s way. If you will not resort to requesting help from
professionals, then let me help you get through this."

Hermione choked back a sob and nodded in agreement wordlessly.

"Good," he enthused and helped himself to another piece of toast. He ate so

frugally at home; it was a delight to see him devour her home-cooked meal
with such enthusiasm. They ate in relative silence. Each caught up in their
whirlwind of thoughts.
Draco glimpsed at the woman munching delicately on a piece of toast and
wondered if mediation would help her as it did him. He dreaded leaving her
alone after what transpired. He felt an innate caring towards Granger that he
couldn't quite fathom. Maybe it was the sense of owing her that brought
such intense feelings forward.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione glanced at the man crouched over
the small table. It was not large enough to accommodate his imposing
frame, but not a complaint left his lips. Instead, he polished off the meal she
prepared as an act of gratitude. A smile touched her lips. Was she softening
towards the once Slytherin Prince?

Once done, Draco pushed the plate aside and got to his feet abruptly, "I
need to get going." He reached for his empty plate, but Hermione took his
plate along with hers to the sink, dumped it in and replied, "Alright. I'll see
you tonight." He smirked in satisfaction and went in search of his clothes.

When Draco resurfaced, he was fully dressed in black trousers and a shirt,
and she was drying off the last plate. Doing some chores the Muggle way
appealed to her, especially when her head was a soggy mess of unsettling
thoughts. Wiping her hands on the rag she kept handy, she joined him by
the door and held it open. Without much hesitation or thought,

Draco tipped her chin, placed a gentle kiss on her sweet lips and said with a
tenderness that would take some getting used to, "Be safe. Call me if you
need anything, and I will see you at 7.30 pm sharp.

A smirk curved the corner of his mouth, "A minute later, and I'll be
breaking down your door."

Hermione grinned and pushed him out of the door playfully just as her nosy
neighbour stepped out to collect the morning paper. The older woman
looked pleased, "Well, good morning, Hermione."

Draco ran his fingers through his hair and politely greeted, "Good
morning."
Hermione was mortified at being caught looking guilty. She offered a quick
explanation, "Good morning, Gladys. This is not what it looks like."

Gladys giggled, "Dearie, I was young once and need no explanation. You
kids have fun." She averted her gaze and muttered, "Goodness knows you
need it."

Hermione frowned at the unfair statement and more so when Draco laughed
aloud and answered, "We most certainly will." He waved goodbye without
waiting for Granger’s rebuttal and left the women to continue the
conversation.

Too tired and full to aimlessly wander around the streets in the heavy
downpour, he stood on the deserted stairway and disapparated with one
destination in mind. Eager to start getting ready for work, Hermione
politely excused herself from the ramblings of her eccentric neighbour,
went inside the comfort of her flat, closed the door and leaned against it to
help slow the tumultuous beating of her heart.

Malfoy Manor

Narcissa knew by Max’s behaviour that her son had arrived. The pure white
Alsatian ran out of the foyer and disappeared. She heard his eager barking
and affectionate whimpers.

Draco entered with Max practically bouncing at his side. Narcissa greeted
icily, "Good morning, son." He walked towards her, massaged the bridge of
his prominent nose and said in exhaustion, "Mother, don't start...."

Narcissa smoothed her long skirt and inquired sarcastically, "How many
times have you now spent at Hermione’s?"

Draco patted the eager dog's head and kept his voice low, "Two and...."

The older and perceptive woman interrupted, "And nothing happened?"

Draco sat down in the chair next to his mother's and replied firmly, "Of
course not. She hates me." A little white lie for the time being. He was
confident that he had managed to break the ice in his effort to make Granger
realise he had changed his past ways and wanted nothing more than to make
amends. Their shared moments of unadulterated passion were a welcome
but unforeseen addition.

Narcissa alleged knowingly, "I wouldn't be too sure."

Draco beseeched, "You are looking for something that isn't there. She
wasn't well. I was simply a gentleman."

Narcissa beckoned Max forward and ruffled his coat affectionately before
turning steely eyes on her son with a firm retort, "I see. Fine, I will let it go
for now, but mark my words that I will be proved right one day in the near
future. "

Draco sighed, "Mother, please don't do anything rash." He truly hoped she
wouldn't try to force the situation.

Her voice softened, and she asked in concern, "Is she alright? She's always
so closed off about her feelings."

Draco found it hard to sound casual. His voice mirrored his feelings, "Yes,
she's fine." For the moment, he thought in despair. There was a stash of
magazines his mother seemed to be reading. One caught his attention, and
he pulled it out from under the pile.

A beautiful witch in a stunning lace wedding gown adorned the front of

Witch Weekly magazine with the heading, WEDDING WOES. Draco
stared at it with a frown creasing his usually handsome features and said
brazenly, "And what is this? Granger was specific. No wedding, and I gave
her my word."

Narcissa had the good grace to look mildly ashamed, but she brushed it
aside almost at once and reacted in a pained manner, "Would you be so
cruel to deny me my only child's wedding? My one chance of happiness?"
Salazar, his mother, could be a drama queen, but her words held some truth
and emotion, and they went straight to his heart.
Draco tossed the magazine aside, rubbed his temples exasperatedly, and
pleaded, "Mother, please."

He felt the beginnings of a headache creep up on him and struggled in vain

to hold it at bay. He tried to appease her with an ill-timed joke, "I promise,
when I get married again, you can throw a lavish event to your liking."

They heard the sound of heels echo through the space and a sweet voice
followed, "Well, that's good to know. I do love a big wedding."

Draco straightened, swapped a look of bewilderment with Narcissa, and

welcomed cordially, "Good morning, Astoria." After the night he had, this
was the last possible thing he needed. The intensity of his headache
increased.

Max left their side, cautiously approaching the stunning woman in tight-
fitting light purple robes. She patted the dog's head and cooed, "It is a
lovely morning. You remember me, don't you, darling?" She lovingly
addressed the dog.

Astoria closed the gap and ran suspicious eyes over Draco, taking in attire
more fitting for a dinner event than a morning stroll around the Manor.
Raising a curious brow, she questioned, "Quite early to be dressed up, don't
you think?"

Draco cleared his throat to reply, "I just returned from...." He stopped mid-
sentence when he saw the right eye of the woman standing before him
twitch in anticipation. He finished with a firm, "Never mind."

Astoria cocked her head to the side and leered, "Please, don't keep secrets
from me, my love. If you were with your intended, do tell. I know you have
no such feelings for her."

Draco nodded curtly and inquired, "Right. What brings you by?"

Astoria smiled warmly and touched his arm, "I haven't seen you in days. I
thought we could have breakfast at the club and catch up. You might even
see Theo and Luna; they visit quite often."
She added the last bit, hoping it enticed him to accompany her, but instead,
Draco politely declined, "Perhaps some other time. I'm dead on my feet."

She ground her teeth to hide her displeasure and kept her true feelings on
the matter well hidden. He acted impulsively, "Why don't you join Mother
and me for breakfast?"

Narcissa sighed from her place by the timeless fireplace. Astoria was taken
aback but pleased, "How thoughtful. I would love to."

Draco reluctantly offered a forced crooked smile, "I'll change into

something more comfortable and be back soon."

His mother's irritated voice followed him up the stairs, "Dotty! Where are
you?" Why had he gone and invited her? He couldn't eat another bite. Being
the nice guy was becoming increasingly complex. Still, he played along as
he had all those years ago to alleviate Astoria's fragile mind.

Draco showered quickly. Thanks to Astoria's unsolicited visit, he would be

denied the luxury of letting the beads of cool water caress his skin.
Throwing the cupboard open, he fetched his white Kung Fu robes and
hurriedly pulled on the garment.

When he reentered the foyer, he was surprised to find it empty until a

smiling Dotty in a bright red floral dress turned up to explain that Mistress
and Miss Greengrass were having breakfast on the terrace. He followed
Dotty and found both women speaking of Astoria’s painting skills while
drinking steaming sweet tea.

The younger witch beamed as he approached, and a pang of guilt dented his
conscience. She was lovely in her own right, but the heart and body wanted
what it wanted, and he wanted Granger under him, preferably screaming his
name for all to hear. The lewd image brought a smug grin to his luscious
lips.

He sat down on the white chair kept available for him, and Dotty requested,
"Would sir like bacon and eggs? Draco shook his head. He could not
possibly eat another bite, "I already ate, but a hot cup of coffee is most
welcome."

Dotty bowed and left to fulfil his wishes and returned momentarily with a
mug of hot coffee and a plate of Danish pastries. She smiled shyly, "I baked
a new batch, and I know Master Draco's fondness for sweeties."

Draco thanked the tiny elf profusely and, in her view, bit into the flaky
goodness, sighing, "That's delicious, Dotty. Thank you." Dotty blushed and
left them to enjoy their meal in peace.

Astoria ate nothing but a croissant which she munched on delicately since
she didn't want to appear ungrateful of her beloved’s invitation to join him
for breakfast. Still, it wasn't with pleasure that she learnt he spent the night
with Hermione Granger or that she had made him breakfast. Oh, he hadn't
said so in so many words, but she was no idiot. It was plain to see.

Draco queried, "How are you, Tori?"

"Better now that I've seen you," came Astoria’s crisp reply right off the bat.

Narcissa shifted uncomfortably, and her gaze fell upon her son's face. She
was eager to see his reaction, and he did not disappoint. His demeanour
changed to one that was fighting an inward battle.

Astoria ignored the apparent tension and pressed, "How are the wedding
preparations coming along?"

Draco savoured the pastry's sweetness and replied offhandedly, "There

won't be a wedding. Just a small gathering of the ones closest to us."

Narcissa scowled but hid her reaction well. Astoria found the words she
heard pleasing. She laughed sarcastically, "No wedding? How scandalous,
but Granger is quite the modern woman, and I suppose with her blatant
refusal of this match, it makes perfect sense as to why she would want a
smaller gathering of sorts."
She found it prudent to enforce her way of thinking on her hosts, "Besides,
her kind are not accustomed to our way of doing things. We honour
tradition, and it is rather bothersome that she would brush it aside like a
stubborn child to get her way." Her words cut him through. She spoke a
half-truth, but it stung just to have it uttered from her cherry-red lips.

Narcissa could not hold her tongue any longer. She was acutely aware of
Astoria’s deteriorating health, but that was no excuse to act rudely, and she
was not about to sit quietly. At the same time, the youngest Greengrass girl
tried to throw mud on Hermione’s character.

She sat up straight and countered in a no-nonsense tone, "Hermione is quite

accomplished for a woman her age. If I'm not mistaken, there's not been a
younger, more talented Undersecretary than her in Britain's Wizarding
history."

Narcissa reached for the butter and added proudly, "She is a certainty for
Minister of Magic in a few years."

The words left her mouth seamlessly, "Hermione might have been against
this union in the start, but I daresay she is warming up to Draco, and you
will forgive my frankness, but I do sincerely believe that Miss Hermione
Granger is a perfect match for my son."

Draco coughed to hide the laughter that fought its way to the surface. His
mother was doing well, and he didn't dare interrupt, which was more than
he could say for the woman glaring at them.

Astoria kept her poised composure and refuted, "I don't believe we will ever
see eye to eye on this matter."

She leaned over and covered Draco's resting hand on the table with her own
and gushed, "Draco needs someone to look after his needs and love him."
She treasured him. It was evident in her tone, body language and gestures.

Narcissa scolded, "My son is a grown man, Astoria, not an impudent child
to mollycoddle."
The headstrong Greengrass woman wasn't easily deterred, "I'm sorry if my
remarks are offensive to you, but I am simply stating the obvious."

Narcissa mused, "Quite the contrary; I find your comments amusing. Please
excuse me. I must tend to Max." She pushed her almost full plate aside
before something unpleasant left her lips. Draco rose respectfully as his
mother got to her feet and only sat back down once she reentered the Manor
through the wide doors in a huff.

Astoria bit her bottom lip and looked distraught, "I've upset your mother,
haven't I?

Draco waved it aside and offered a plausible explanation, "She's quite fond
of Granger."

Astoria choked back a sob, "Clearly, but she hates me."

Draco took a sip of his coffee, attempted to swallow the hot concoction and
shook his head, "That's not true, Tori. Mother cares for you." It wasn’t a
complete lie. Perhaps, his mother had been too harsh on Astoria. Her
constant praising of Granger would be a difficult pill to swallow for a
woman who loved him for nearly half her life.

Astoria gritted out solemnly, "Just not as a wife for you. I can't say I blame
her. I'm a damaged witch with no possible future," She tried to retain her
composure and fidgeted with the napkin on her lap, fervently chewing on
her bottom lip.

Draco felt her honest declaration claw away at his heart. She looked so frail
and broken. He leaned forward and tried to take her hand in his, "Tori, you
mustn't upset yourself. My mother holds you in high regard."

She shot to her feet and replied, teary-eyed, "Please tell Narcissa I'm sorry."

"Stop! Astoria!" Draco called out, but it fell on deaf ears as she ran down
the marbled stairs wiping the tears that fell.
He could make out her figure cut across the grounds to reach the closest
apparition point. He did not try to follow her simply because he didn’t want
to, but her visit rested heavily on his mind. Was he destined to string Astoria
along until she succumbed to the blood curse?

With an exasperated sigh, he stuffed his face with another delectable pastry
and retired to his training room. He would speak with his mother later,
preferably after she had calmed down and could be approached with some
insightful thoughts.

Hermione breezed into the office in a stylish black dress and red heels. She
halted as Nora came into view. The smartly dressed woman looked close to
tears as she pushed aside mountains of unopened letters and juggled two
sets of endlessly ringing phones. Brenda was already at her desk, fielding
calls and scribbling continuously on her notepad.

Hermione threw Nora an apologetic look which the other woman returned
and made her way towards her assistant. The young witch looked up at her
boss, sighed in exhaustion and hissed, "It's going to be one of those days."

Hermione frowned, "So, the nightmare continues. Any reliable sources?"

Brenda followed Hermione into her room and replied in frustration, "Not a
single bloody one, but the Aurors are going through the thousands of tips to
weed out any potential suspects." After a moment’s thought, she added
darkly, "I bet the real killer is loving the attention and people acting barmy."

Hermione sat down, fetched her glasses from her cramped handbag, put
them on, and gave her assistant undivided attention.

She exhaled, and her eyes sparkled with purpose, "Take a deep breath,
Brenda. We can handle this. Now, tell me what we are up against."

Brenda smirked. Working with Hermione was an absolute thrill when she
slipped into her determined and practical work mode. She was a force to be
reckoned with, and it was pure joy to see her put idiots in their rightful
place.
 Chapter 28
Chapter Notes

A big thank you to everyone who posted a review and for everyone
following! It means so much! 😊

The slow burn continues. Please bear with me. :)

I do love writing about the side pairings. It really is important to me to

establish how they have changed after Hogwarts and offer a little
insight into their lives.

Enjoy Chapter Twenty Eight!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads!

Stay safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! 😊

Longbottom Residence

Pansy stood in front of the dressing table in her lavish bedroom and stared
at her reflection. She hardly recognised the refined woman staring back at
her. She had come a long way since her narrow-minded years at Hogwarts.

Breakfast had been strained as it had been since Neville’s grandmother

came to visit nearly a week ago. She was exhausted with trying to put on a
happy face while Augusta Longbottom belittled her for past mistakes and
hinted that she was barren.

She struggled with an earring, her fingers slipped, and the diamond drop
fell to the white carpeted floor. She went to pick it up, but a large yet caring
hand held it out for her to take.

Mustering a smile, Pansy took the earring Neville held and secured it on a
delicate earlobe. She fought the tears that skimmed the surface of her
eyelids. A pair of strong arms went around her waist and pulled her back
against his chest. He buried his head in her black hair and nuzzled further
into it.

Closing her eyes in contentment, Pansy reached back and ran her fingers
through her husband’s thick locks. How she loved him, he was such a kind
and brave soul you couldn't help but appreciate him for all he was.

Neville turned her around and sighed, "Grans been driving you around the
bend, hasn't she?"

Pansy kept her cool and said candidly, "She has been a tad bit pushy, I won't
lie."

Neville's face twisted in conflict. It was clear that a battle was raging
within, but he smiled fondly, "I know my grandmother is difficult, darling,
but she is all I've ever had. She raised me." He added proudly, "And you
have been brilliant. You really hold your own." A smirk curved his lips, and
he muttered, "You’ll have to teach me how to do that."

Pansy touched his cheek gently and gushed, "Oh sweetheart, I know she
raised you." She murmured under her breath, "That's the only reason I put
up with the old cow."

Neville felt a deep sense of obligation to explain. Even if Pansy already

knew the story and they had visited his ageing parents at St Mungo's,
witnessing Alice Longbottom showing an unusual amount of affection and
wiping a few teardrops that fell on her cheeks. He pressed undeterred, "I
was a baby when my parents were admitted, and grans been the only family
I've had before you came into my life."

Pansy felt her resolve crumble, and tears of sadness mixed with joy slid
down her pretty face, "I'm sorry, Neville. It's not that I don't want to have
children. I do, but right now, I'm enjoying our time together." They didn't
have a conventional pairing and were still in the stages of getting to know
each other and basking in their newfound love.
Neville silenced her by placing a long finger on her lips, "I completely
agree, my love. I'm not ready for kids either. I still want to be able to do
things with you spontaneously."

He reached into his coat pocket with his free hand, pulled out two long
pieces of stiff paper that looked remarkably like plane tickets, and beamed,
"One week. Just us lounging on a secluded beach and making sweet love.
Does that sound good?"

Pansy stood speechless at his well-timed surprise. She squinted her eyes to
read the small print and destination. Neville cleared the air with an
animated laugh, "I'm taking you to Hawaii, darling." She squealed in
delight, encircling his waist with her arms and hugging him close, "It
sounds brilliant. Thank you! I'll tell daddy I won't be coming in to work."

Neville stroked her hair, closed his eyes and took in her womanly smell, "I
love you, Parkinson." She kept her head on his chest and listened to the
beating of his heart. Placing a hand over it, Pansy whispered, "I love you so
much, Longbottom."

Terry blew perfect rings of smoke towards the low ceiling.

Michael pursed his lips together and waited for his friend to break the
tension. He knew Terry was deeply wounded by his decision to keep his
relationship with Brenda a secret.

Terry stared at the translucent rings of his making and struggled to find the
words. After much thought, he said in a strained voice, "I'm your best mate,
Michael. You've never kept the broads you date a secret. What made this so
different?"

A happy smile crept up on Michael’s face, and he answered truthfully,

"She's different. I'm going to marry her." There was no point denying the
reality. He wanted Brenda by his side. The Algorithm pairing them was a
freak and most welcome coincidence.
For the first time, Terry felt envious of his best friend’s happiness. He
wanted to be loved unconditionally and share intimate feelings with the one
he loved, and he thought he would find it with Granger until the Malfoy
bastard turned up. He conveniently forgot that Hermione wouldn't give him
the time of day.

Terry raised a curious brow. He failed miserably at trying to hide his

surprise, "Marriage? Aren't you rushing into things?" His eyes narrowed,
but he waited eagerly for his friend's answer.

Taking a deep drag, Michael replied thoughtfully, "Well, I haven't asked her
yet, but she is the one." Sooner rather than later.

Terry clamped him on the shoulder and urged intently, "Are you sure?"

Michael grinned like a Cheshire cat, "Brenda is kind, loving and a

firecracker." He added the last bit with a knowing smirk. Also, a cunt, Terry
thought involuntarily. He didn't have the best relationship with her, thanks
mainly to her attempts to thwart his visits with Granger.

Michael lightly punched Terry’s arm and Implored, "Look, I wanted to tell
you. It gutted me to keep it a secret from you, but I was afraid you would
disapprove."

Terry stared baffled, wondering what he was on about. Michael shifted

uncomfortably, "She's younger than the other women I've dated." A hearty
laugh escaped Boot’s lips, and he winked playfully, "Gives me plenty of
opportunities to poke fun at you, you cradle robber."

Michael rolled his eyes and frowned to make his displeasure clear,
"Arsehole." After stubbing out the cigarette, Terry felt the stubble on his
chin. He needed a shave, but who had the time with all these potential leads
to check and weed out?

He said abruptly, "I'm going to pay Granger a visit. All these bloody stupid
leads are getting fucking ridiculous, and I want to give her a piece of my
mind."
Michael took the last few drags and chuckled, "And see her as well, I
presume."

Terry bobbed his head eagerly, "I'll make any excuse I can think of." A
seriousness crept into Michael's voice. Terry was rough around the edges,
but the poor bugger wore his heart on his sleeve and genuinely cared for
Granger, but he advised harshly once again, "You need to let that go."

Boot enthused, "All in good time." They parted ways. Michael went back to
the Auror department, and Terry casually took the stairs with hands in his
pockets to the upper floors. He never did trust the rickety old lift. Brenda
was engaged in a heated conversation with whoever was on the other end of
the phone. Terry figured he should make an effort to have a good
relationship with her for Michael's sake.

He mustered his most winning smile and merrily requested, "Hello Brenda.
Is Hermione in?" She barely looked up from the untidy mess of papers that
cluttered her usually tidy table and grumbled, "She is but swamped."

Undiscouraged, Terry pressed assertively, "Oh, she'll see me." His confident
words prompted Brenda to look up. She pushed her glasses further up her
nose and glared, "Why don't I check with her?"

Terry felt anger creep upon him. If she was not going to be civil, he sure as
hell wouldn't extend an olive branch—stupid child.

He crossed his arms over his broad chest and said irritably, "Did you hear
me?"

Brenda pushed back her chair and got to her feet. It scraped against the
floor, the sound making the fine hairs on his neck stand up in discomfort.
He towered over her petite frame, but she held her own, leaned forward and
retorted, "Didn't you hear me? I said I will check with her whether she is
willing to spare a few moments to see you."

Terry let out a sarcastic laugh and countered cynically, "Listen, I do not care
if Michael is dating you. Merlin knows what he sees in a smart mouthpiece
like you, but Granger and I have an understanding."

Brenda wasn't in the least bit interested in his theatrics and made it
abundantly clear, "Sod off, Boot. You won't step a foot in that office until I
clear it with Hermione."

He saw little point to their back-and-forth bickering. It was truly beginning

to get on his very last nerve. Purposely ignoring the warnings the young
witch threw his way, Terry strode into Hermione’s room as he had done in
the past with an air of self-proclaimed importance. Granger’s bark was
worse than her bite, and quite frankly, he wanted her to devour him whole.

Hermione glanced his way as he walked in with Brenda close behind, a sour
expression on her pretty young face.

He gave a crooked smile, "Hi, sweetheart." Taking off her glasses,

Hermione massaged the bridge of her nose and demanded icily, "I'm busy,
Terry. What do you want?"

Terry acted wounded by her harsh words, "For starters, I missed you.
Second, I wanted to speak to you about these ludicrous leads. There must be
a way to filter them better. We don't have the staffing to interview scores of
people." His last few sentences grabbed her undivided attention. Why was
Terry addressing them rather than Harry if it was genuinely a concern? It
dawned on her that she hadn't spoken to Harry since the story broke and
made it a point to do so sometime later.

Hermione straightened and quizzed bluntly, "Are these concerns coming

directly from Harry or you?"

Terry rubbed the back of his neck and shifted his gaze to anywhere but the
fuming woman before him. He mumbled awkwardly, "Well, mine and a few
others." Leaning back into the comfort of her leather chair, Hermione
narrowed her eyes, "Right. Let me ask you something. Do you have any
leads?" Her tone meant business, she was in no mood to be trifled with, and
Terry profusely regretted his earlier words.
He swallowed hard, "No, we don't, but...."

She nodded, studied her red-painted nails and mused, "Do you have any
evidence?"

Terry tried to string words together, "I wouldn't say no, we have the
chain..." Oh, Merlin, she was about to rip him a new one.

Her eyes darkened, and Terry took a step back in fear of being hexed. She
hurled in outrage, "Do you have any idea if the killer is black, white or
fucking orange?"

Boot stood his ground and defended, "We have a strong feeling he is white."
It was possibly the one thing they were sure of in this case.

Hermione shot to her feet. Her anger radiated off her in waves at his callous
attitude to something so serious.

She fired without remorse, "Women are dying, you idiot. A strong feeling
doesn't mean shite.”

Pointing to the tall, heavy double doors of her office, Hermione spat in
anger, "Get the fuck out of my office and do your bloody job. I have no
time for your bellyaching." The absolute gall of him to question her
decisions. Her resentment towards the man in her office tainted the air
around them, and she wished Boot would simply take the hint and disappear
before it became truly unpleasant.

Brenda chuckled but disguised it with an ill-timed cough. Terry stood

rooted to the spot, shocked by her justified outburst of anger, unable to
move a muscle. At the same time, Hermione further included intensely, "I
have a community depending on me to hold it together in Kingsley’s
absence."

Terry found his voice at last. He bit back a nasty retort, nodded curtly and
said bitterly, “I'm sorry for taking your time, Madam Undersecretary. Trust
me; it will not happen again. We are through here."
His short statement did nothing to penetrate Hermione’s tough exterior. She
beckoned her assistant forward and instructed firmly, "Brenda, please see
Mr Boot out and make sure no more unwelcome intrusions come my way. I
have dinner plans that I simply cannot afford to miss."

Terry was halfway to the door and stopped as her words made it to his ear.
He whipped around, causing his midnight Auror robes to swish around him
dramatically, snarling, "Dinner plans? With Malfoy?"

Hermione regretted her choice of words. Despite her behaviour towards

him, she honestly didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Well, so much for that
train of thought. Work was work, but this was personal. She snapped,
"Terry, this conversation is over. Let's speak later."

Terry closed the gap between them and invaded her personal space, "No,
tell me. Is it with Malfoy?"

Hermione put a healthy distance between them, but that was after she saw
the unmistakable flash of pain that swept across Terry's eyes. She replied
half-heartedly, "That is none of your business." He leered but searched her
face for any reaction, "I guess I had you pegged wrong. I never thought
you'd go for a chap who thought you were beneath him.”

His face twisted unpleasantly, “Pity that you never showed me the type of
attention you seem to be giving him.”

Hermione pressed her lips down hard to refrain from using the colourful
words of profanity that bubbled to the surface. Glancing at Brenda, Terry
spat, "Don't bother. I can see myself out." The two women watched the tall
raven-haired man storm out, and after what felt like an eternity, Brenda
muttered on her way out, "He's a glutton for punishment, that one."

Hermione used the quiet to clear her scattered mind. Her willpower
crumbled around Malfoy, and it shamed her that she was possibly giving in
too quickly to a man who loathed her in the past and probably still did. Why
would he try to bed her at every given opportunity if that was the case? Was
he merely trying to score and tick it off some list he carried in his head? All
she knew was the strength she had to resist his intoxicating presence was
waning with every encounter.

Terry stormed out of the Ministry, shouting a slew of curses at anyone who
dared cross his path. His head felt ready to explode. How dare she pick that
fucking prick over him?

He ducked into an abandoned Alley and sent a secret Patronus. The silvery
wisps of his hawk disappeared into nothingness. He apparated to Diagon
Alley, did the familiar walk down the stairs, and smirked as a shady man
leaning against the dirty brick wall came into view.

Terry nodded curtly and smirked, "Good man. You work fast."

Malfoy Manor

After Astoria’s departure, Draco caught up with his training and meditation.
It momentarily helped take his mind off more pressing matters. His punches
and kicks had increased in strength, and he feared he would need a new
punching bag soon. He also partook in a few mundane activities, such as
walking around the grounds to shake thoughts constantly plagued by
Granger and the pained anguish and hurt in Astoria’s eyes. It wasn’t that he
didn’t care for her. He did, but just not in the way she expected.

He even toyed with the idea of meeting up with his friends for an
impromptu late lunch, but that fleeting thought disappeared into
nothingness, and instead, he took to reading and playing fetch with Max to
pass the time when a brilliant idea came to mind.

He hadn’t gotten a chance to try out the broom Blaise gifted. It was propped
up against the wall in his room until he found the time. Well, no time like
the present.

Rushing up the stairs with Max running next to him, Draco tore into his
room impatiently as if he were a ten-year-old boy about to receive a gift.
The sun's golden beams bounced off the surface as his long fingers closed
around the handle. Taking it to the deserted side of the estate away from
prying eyes, Draco looked around, mounted the sturdy broom, and kicked it
off the ground. It was a feeling beyond compare.

A state of exhilaration embodied him while the wind continued to beat

around him as he bobbed and weaved. Though slightly unsteady at first, it
was in his blood, and within seconds, he was soaring through the air
effortlessly. It was the one time he felt entirely free.

Flying through the clouds and letting the air caress his body was perhaps
what he had missed most in his time away. He did a few loops and practice
runs from memory. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he barely
noticed the setting sun in the distance.

The skies turned orange, and Draco returned to the ground and dismounted
with a heavy but joyful heart. He ran a hand through his hair, now slick
with sweat, sprinted up the stairs and headed straight for the shower.

While the hot water washed away the grime he accumulated from his little
side adventure, Draco thought about what the evening held. Whether
Granger approved or not, he would breach the topic of their pending
nuptials. It had been put on hold for long enough. He wished he had not
thought of her. His cock seemed to take great pleasure in bringing out his
burning desire for Granger and tormenting him, especially in the shower.

His fingers encircled his stiffening appendage. As they moved with purpose,
his dick grew in length and girth and before long, he was sporting a massive
hard-on.

Although he missed the warmth of a woman's pussy contracting around his

length, his fingers moved on their own will, increasing speed as he neared
that blissful release. His thoughts left little to the imagination, but the idea
of guiding his manhood into her sweet tight cunt while she was bent over
the desk in the library propelled him over the edge.

Fuck, she looked good with her back arched and his name on her lips as he
slammed into her repeatedly. There would be no slow lovemaking when he
took her, it would be hard and rough, and hopefully, he would be able to last
long enough to make her scream.

Draco felt the violent eruption his body evoked. He threw his head back and
groaned aloud as his seed coated the still pulsating head and dripped down
his fingers.

"Granger..." He growled cheeks flushed. A curtain of water surrounded him

whole and muffled the aftermath of his pleasured ramblings.

DMLE

Harry heard a knock. Without bothering to look up from the pile of notes
scattered across his desk, which included numerous pictures of the deceased
women, he instructed firmly, "Come in."

Hermione poked her head in and smiled, "Might I have a word?" He waved
her in with a raised brow, "Of course, and since when do you ask."

She reminded with a scowl, "Since you bit my head off for rushing in
unannounced."

Harry chuckled, "Well, what's got your wand in a knot?"

Hermione parked herself on the one comfortable seat in the room. She
always wondered why Harry opted for hard wooden furniture. Perhaps, he
was trying to discourage people from hanging about for too long. An
exhausted sigh escaped her lips, "The list is endless, but Terry brought up
something, and I wanted to run it by you."

Harry adjusted his glasses and narrowed his eyes in frustration, "What's that
insufferable git gone and done now?"

There was no point in trying to defend Boot's actions. She was fuming at
the uncaring words he uttered earlier, "I got rather shirty with him in the
afternoon for complaining about the number of leads we've received."
Harry gritted out, "He's a lazy wanker, but a good Auror. If he manages to
get his head out of his arse, there's potential there."

Hermione asked unsurely, "So, you're fine then?"

He assured, "Of course I am. We need something," and added desperately

without pause, "anything at this point." A twinkle sparkled in Hermione’s
eye. She brought her fist down on the untidy table, and Harry protested
weakly as a few papers floated to the ground. She smirked, "Good. Let's
catch this bastard soon."

Harry nodded and looked her over suspiciously. His eyes took in the finer
details of her outfit, "You're dressed up."

Hermione responded casually, trying hard to show indifference, "I have

dinner at the Manor."

Harry leaned back and said solemnly, "How are you holding up? I'm sure
Malfoy would understand if you refused to set foot in that hell hole."

Hermione nervously chewed on her bottom lip and looked away, "I can
stomach being inside for a few hours."

Harry snickered. It was low but held a hint of sarcasm, "Ron still can't
believe you accepted the match."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione questioned impatiently, "And you?" She tried to
arrange the papers that littered the surface of Harry’s desk into neat piles.

He took a deep breath and exhaled. He seemed to be struggling to find the

right words, but in a strained voice, he replied cautiously, "I think I
understand how hard it was for you to make this decision. Some things you
never forget, Hermione."

Truthfully, he had been livid that she would even consider a pairing with the
snake, but Ginny had weighed in and shown him a whole new perspective
on things.
"Don't worry about Ron. He'd be upset at the prospect of you marrying
anyone, let alone Malfoy." He assured her.

Hermione hung her head, "I know..."

Harry said thoughtfully, "Besides, there's something about Malfoy. He

seems reformed, I still don't trust him, but there is something I can't quite
put my finger on."

She refuted with what she believed to be the truth, "Maybe he suffered in
his own way."

Harry argued with good reason, "That's no excuse for the being the fucktard
he was to us back at Hogwarts."

Hermione conceded, "True..." Harry was right. Malfoy was a horrid child,
then a loathsome teenager. He seemed to sober in their last year together at
school, but having Voldemort breathing down your neck with impending
doom was bound to do that to anyone. She recalled plenty of times,
especially during Potions, where she would glance his way, and he would
seem forlorn, with heavy bags under his eyes, looking, if possible paler than
usual.

Harry pressed in concern, "How's everything else? Are you sleeping well?"
He always knew when something was amiss.

Hermione averted her gaze and asked innocently, "Why do you ask?" He
answered honestly, "Because I don't at times. Ginny says I scream in my
sleep and try to gauge out my scar. Scares her half to death." He truly hoped
his declaration would prompt her into sharing the traumatic experiences he
knew she was going through.

They locked eyes and his bore into hers. For a second, she wondered if he
was trying to gain entry into her mind. Tell him, Hermione, her inner
thoughts screamed. She couldn't possibly let anyone know she was so
flawed, not even the Chosen One. In a failed attempt to appear undisturbed,
Hermione replied, "I umm, sleep fine."

Harry knew she was lying, and it gutted him that she wouldn’t share her
burden. He pushed it aside and smiled warmly, "You always were a horrid
liar, but I'm here whenever you're ready to talk about it."

She smiled gratefully, "Thank you, Harry." She got to her feet and stretched
before saying, "I better get going."

Harry chuckled, "Yeah, you wouldn’t want to keep the in-laws waiting."

Hermione threw a balled-up piece of paper at his head and scoffed half-
heartedly, "Funny." She walked away and called over her shoulder, "Give
Ginny and James my love."

Malfoy Manor

Draco entered the brightly lit foyer. Narcissa took his hands in hers and
gushed, "You look so handsome." He flashed his flawless smile displaying a
row of perfect white teeth. "And you look beautiful as always," he replied.

Looking around, he noticed his mother's constant companion was missing.

He questioned warily, "Will Bernard be joining us?" The older man’s
conduct had changed of late, and Draco was determined to find out why.

Narcissa thought nothing of it. She patted Max's head and answered without
interest, "No, he has family business to attend to."

Rather odd, Draco thought to himself but didn't say anything that would
needlessly alarm his mother. She deserved to be happy after many years of
misery.

Narcissa beamed, "I wanted to speak with you before Hermione arrived."

Draco raised a curious brow, but his mother took his hand in hers and
apparated them to the top of the stairs. She hardly ever used them,
preferring to put her wand to beneficial use. He frowned and voiced his
disapproval, "Mother, we could have walked." She ignored him pointedly
and glided with an air of poise befitting a regal lady towards her room and
waited for him to catch up before going in.

"Don't dawdle, Draco," Narcissa scolded impatiently. They stepped into the
centuries-old room filled with hidden secrets and memories of happier
times. Taking out her wand Narcissa approached the bare wall Lucius's
portrait had previously occupied and waved it lucidly in a perfect figure-
eight motion. She repeated this action thrice until a simmering blue outline
surfaced and an ancient vault appeared. The heavy door creaked as it
opened slowly to permit its rightful owners to access the riches within.

A brightly lit room lay carpeted in dark green, and display cases of the
finest jewels were laid out for those lucky enough to see. Narcissa stepped
inside, followed closely by Draco.

He looked around, and a wave of nostalgia surrounded him. A young boy of

no more than seven held onto his mother's hand as she navigated them
through the corridors within. His eyes bugged out at the sight of a rare pink
diamond the size of a fist. The word "Mummy" left the child's lips, and he
disappeared back into the subconscious mind of the now young man as
quickly as he came.

Draco looked around in awe and grinned, "I used to love coming in here as
a child. The jewels and colours always fascinated me." Narcissa's peals of
soft laughter echoed through the space, "I remember Blaise, Theo, and you
nicking a priceless emerald and playing with it for hours until your father
screamed bloody murder and pelted your bottom for stealing."

Draco chuckled. He remembered the incident well. The jewel had belonged
to his paternal grandfather Abraxas Malfoy and was rumoured to have
special powers. Of course, it was probably baseless gossip created to appear
superior to others. They walked deeper into the vault until they came across
an intricately carved black cabinet with painted red roses and entwined
snakes. Once again, Narcissa took out her wand, tapped the lock and
muttered what Draco deduced as a complex spell in a foreign tongue.
His curiosity was piqued, and he wondered what his unpredictable mother
was up to. She tenderly took out an expensive-looking black velvet box that
he vaguely recognised.

Narcissa glanced at the closed box lovingly and opened it for Draco to see.
Nestled on a bed of black silk was the infamous Malfoy engagement ring. It
was a rare and exquisite piece of jewellery—one of a kind and worth its
weight in gold. A clear-cut four-carat diamond rested on a bed of finer-cut
smaller emeralds held together by a solid white gold band.

It was a stunningly beautiful ring. Draco hadn't noticed it before, but the
emeralds shifted colour as if they had their own mind. The serpentine green
it held earlier was now almost black, which intrigued him. Of all the years
his mother wore it, never had he seen them do that. Narcissa took Draco's
hand and placed the box in the middle of his palm.

She radiated happiness, "I want you to give this to Hermione." From her
tone, it was apparent that it meant a great deal, but would Granger accept it?

Highly doubtful. She would likely fight him all the way and probably opt
for no ring to signify their forced marriage vows. In all fairness, the
involvement of rings had slipped his mind completely. The ring was his
mother’s most prized possession. Despite the latter part of her marriage
being difficult and stressed, there was a time when she and Lucius had been
very much in love and treasured their relationship.

Draco eyed the ring sceptically, closed the box and replied seriously,
"Mother, I couldn't. This is your ring." She wasn't about to hear a word
against it. Narcissa touched her son's face in adoration and uttered, "It was,
but now, it's rightfully yours." The ring had been passed down for
generations. With every fibre of his being, he knew Granger wouldn't accept
it, and he tried his best to make his mother see reason, "I don't think the
situation is right for me to propose with this."

Narcissa pursed her lips, shook her head and argued, "That is
inconsequential. The marriage is binding. You must present it to your future
wife." Reluctantly, Draco took the ring and felt the smooth coolness of the
metal under his fingertips. The colour of the emeralds was changing once
again, and he wondered what sorcery was the cause. If his mother noticed,
she didn't mention anything. He returned the ring to its original place and
muttered halfheartedly, "If that is your wish." They heard the scurry of tiny
feet approaching.

Dotty came close and almost collapsed at their side. Breathlessly, she
croaked, "Mistress, Miss Granger arrived a while ago. She said she would
retire to the library and not to disturb you and master Malfoy."

Draco pocketed the black ring box without further thought, kissed his
mother on the cheek and took his leave, "I'll go fetch Granger and join you
downstairs."

Narcissa smiled knowingly, "Of course, I'll see you shortly." He made the
long walk towards the library, pushed open the heavy doors and found
Granger with her back to the door, bent over the table reading an ancient
text. His earlier escapade in the shower came to mind, and a smug grin
curved his lips. The knee-length black dress she wore was perfect. It
skimmed over her figure, hugging all the right curves. She tapped a lethal-
looking red heel on the floor, probably in tandem with her eyes moving
over the text.

Max came running after and pounced on Hermione and demanded attention.
It took her by surprise, and the eager puppy nearly pulled her down to his
level, but she obliged lovingly, ruffling the fur of his underbelly and neck.
Max licked her hand in appreciation and attempted to lick her face, but
Hermione moved away from the slobbery kisses, and Draco called the
naughty Alsatian to heel. "When did you arrive?" He queried, happy to see
her in one piece. He wore black trousers that embraced him at the just
places and a black button-down shirt that perfectly moulded his chiselled
chest. Uncharacteristically, he wore his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
Hermione’s eyes flicked down his muscled arms, drinking in his heavy
tendons and veins.

Tearing her eyes away from his form, she swallowed hard and managed to
get out, "About half an hour ago."
Draco closed the gap between them and bent to kiss her lips, but Hermione
stubbornly turned her face, and his lips grazed her cheek instead. She
shuddered as the warmth from the kiss sent a prickling sensation through
her tired body. Disappointment flickered in the depths of his mesmerising
grey swirls, but he hid it well, stepped away and questioned in amusement,
"I see. Are you enjoying yourself?"

Hermione clamped down on her bottom lip. Merlin knew what possessed
her to do it, but she wanted to entice Malfoy. A sultry retort left her lips,
"Immensely."

Draco's reaction was instantaneous. His eyes darkened with lust and moved
down to her lips.

A low growl erupted from his chest, and he snapped, "Stop that." He hadn't
meant to sound so dominating, but she brought out a rather extreme reaction
from him.

She knew it was perilous to her health to tease a man such as Malfoy, but
there wasn't much he could do due to her current situation downstairs.

Hermione let her eyes grow wide, portraying picture-perfect innocence.

Through hooded eyes, she looked at the man staring at her bemused.

Running her teeth across her lip, she pouted, "Stop what, Malfoy?"

He stood his ground, cocked his head to the side and replied easily, "Don't
tempt me, Granger. You might not like what follows." Hardly. She would
undoubtedly love what followed. The insides of her mind lit up with
devilish laughter.

Grinning innocently, Hermione ignored him pointedly, further adding to his

irritation and returned to the book she was reading. His jaw taut, Draco
glowered but kept his behaviour civil, "How was your day?"

Hermione sat at the table, crossed her legs, causing her dress to ride up a
smidge and sighed in exhaustion, "It was hectic." She remembered Terry
and included in anger, "Awful." Looking her over, Draco concluded that she
did indeed look tired and drawn. He questioned in genuine concern, "Are
you okay? You look flustered."

Hermione massaged her temples and exhaled, "Yes, I'm fine." She was no
Auror, but a killer running loose threatening women sat heavy in her mind.

Draco pulled out a chair, sat down, narrowed his eyes and asked, "Did you
think about my offer to help?"

She mused, "I haven't had time to relieve myself properly, let alone think of
anything else." There were bigger things than her nightmares to tend to. She
would get around to it when time allowed. It wasn't ignorant bliss; she knew
needing help was inevitable. Her last episode threatened her life, it was a
first, and it caused fear to overpower her. Not having control was the least
appealing feeling.

His voice was low with warning, "Granger...."

She gritted out defiantly, "Can we just talk about this later?" Thinking it
would be wise not to push her further, Draco nodded reluctantly in
agreement and inquired curiously, "What are you reading?"

Hermione picked up the book and showed off the title. It wasn't an ordinary
book, and her choice intrigued him, "Joan of Arc?" It surprised him that his
father had such a book in his vast collection. Still, if Draco had learned
anything, it was not to put anything past the eccentricities of Lucius Malfoy.

Catching the look of surprise that fell over his face, Hermione felt
compelled to explain, "She wasn't a witch, you know?"

Draco was pulled back to the present by her words, and a smirk adorned his
lips. While Granger was a true intellectual and could be intimidating to
most, he was on par with her intelligence and could offer her a healthy
debate should the need arise.

He said wisely, "Muggles distrust and persecute what they don't

understand."
Hermione nodded sadly and remembered her childhood before Hogwarts.
Thank heavens for her loving parents and a doting grandmother. When she
attempted to move past him, he grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled her
back, "I thought we could talk before joining Mother for dinner."

She kept her eyes fixed on the long fingers encircling her slender wrist and
muttered a barely audible, "About?”

Draco let go and grinned smugly, "You know exactly what about. I'm quite
happy to ignore our situation as you do, but sadly we cannot."

Hermione rubbed her wrist where his touch figuratively burned her. It sent a
jolt of pleasure through her body, but she blatantly pushed it aside and
retorted, "Fine, let's get it over with then."
 Chapter 29
Chapter Notes

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"Good evening, darling," The man was almost courteous as he slowly

pushed open the door and strode in with less arrogance than usual.

Still, her instincts reacted to the predator in the room, and she instantly
moved to the farthest corner of the bed. It was the most distance she could
put between them since he always kept her chained to the bed's metal frame
with a small leash linked to the handcuff. It was goblin made and damn near
unbreakable.

She knew this from the many times she tried to break free of it, tugging and
yanking till it cut into her flesh and screaming aloud in anguish. It did
absolutely nothing but add to her endless frustration. Why had no one found
her? Had they forsaken her to this fate?

After weeks in the same position, the tight handcuffs were now part of her,
and though her wrist was bruised and reddened, she felt no pain, only
numbness. It was a minor miracle she was spared the agony of bedsores. It
was unnerving how his personality shifted between pleasant and monstrous.
A true Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. He approached slowly with a friendly smile
that somehow made him appear more sinister if that were possible.

Carefully placing the small plate he held on the bed, he stepped back and
pointed, "I bought you a ham and cheese sandwich." With his hands, he
gesticulated for her to eat.

She crawled over to it cautiously, grabbed it without abandon and devoured

it like an animal. Ravenously. He watched in fascination as she stuffed her
cheeks and ate without leaving a single crumb behind.

Next, he handed her a bottle of water. It was clear that it was cool from the
beads of condensation that coated the exterior. Just watching the tiny
droplets made her stomach churn with desperation.

The man licked his lips and offered what seemed to be a genuine apology,
"I'm sorry about my behaviour earlier. Please, help yourself, darling."

Warily her fingers closed around the bottle, and she felt the coolness seep
into her skin. It felt deliriously good. Her lips quivered as she kept the
opening to her dry lips and gulped down the bottled water, slowly savouring
the taste and feel of it.

While she ate, he disappeared for a bit, and when he reappeared, a bowl of
fresh water and a sponge were in his firm grasp. He waited patiently for her
to finish eating before moving close, even though she flinched as his fingers
came in contact with her skin.

He dipped the sponge in, let it soak up its fill of water and squeezed, letting
some return to whence it came. Delicately he placed the soft material on her
hand and moved slowly upwards, cleaning the accumulated dirt of two
days. It was a practice he repeated every other day and something he took
great pleasure in doing.

Taking his time, he sensually moved the sponge over her bruised body, and
though she leaned away from his touch, he didn't notice. His eyes roved
over her in appreciation. The simple act of washing her became alluring in
his mind, and he felt a dangerous stirring between his thighs.
His thumb ran the length of her spine, and her breathing hastened. He
whispered darkly, "I kept you for last because you're so beautiful."

The hairs on the back of her neck came to life as his words ghosted over her
exposed skin. He moved the sponge over her breasts slowly, relishing the
feel of her fleshy mounds under his fingers.

Water droplets treacherously hung on the pebbled nipples, and he stared

transfixed as they fell onto the bedsheet and disappeared.

His want for her caressed the inner shell of her ear, "I want to make you feel
good, my love." Her lips quivered, but she ground her teeth in anger behind
them.

Abandoning the bowl and sponge, he got to his feet and demanded hoarsely,
"Turn around and lie on your front." She did as instructed. It wasn't new. He
had taken her that way multiple times, but this time felt sickeningly
different.

The unmistakable sounds of his belt buckle coming loose and zip being
pulled down filled the space, but what hammered into her skull was a
wrapper being torn and a condom being slipped on. He slapped her arse
cheek using one hand, and she knew to spread for him.

Crouching down low, she spread her legs further apart and felt a sticky
coldness run down her arsehole and then cunt. A disgust so fine ran through
her body that she wished for death.

The bastard had spat on her using his saliva to moisten her dry entrance. He
defied a rule of his own making. Never leave behind any incriminating
evidence on a victim, but with her, his senses were clouded with lust, and
one thing drove him forward. If she behaved, maybe he would keep her.

She bit the insides of her cheek and reminded herself of the plan. She had to
make him feel like a man. Mustering all her inner strength and picturing an
old lover, she let a small squeak of pleasure. It was clear it had the desired
effect.
He grinned in satisfaction and cooed, "You like that, darling?" She
mumbled a reluctant strained yes and waited for the inevitable. He held his
shaft and rubbed it along her spit-covered slit, and pushed in without
another word. A hiss of intense pleasure escaped his disgusting lips.

Sarah detached herself from the situation offering halfhearted moans while
he grunted like a horny pig, probing and invading her with his revolting
prick.

You must survive, she kept thinking while biting onto the corner of the
pillow in her grasp. The woman was thankful for one thing, he didn't last
long, he had no control, and within minutes she felt him stiffen and groan as
his despicable seed emptied into the rubber sheathing that covered his
penis.

A shudder ran through his spent body, and he groaned, "I love you." She fell
forwards and buried her head in the sheets to muffle the silent scream of
anguish that escaped her lips.

Malfoy Manor

Draco watched in interest as Hermione sashayed past him to sit at the round
table with fire-breathing dragons carved into the wood. He pointed to the
chair before him and offered graciously, "Have a seat." She threw him a
look of defiance and took the seat right next to the one he had pointed at.

Unwilling and disobedient to the hilt, but he assumed that added to her
appeal. Draco shook his head in exasperation and muttered, "Stubborn
woman."

Hermione struggled to pull out the heavy black chair, and Draco couldn't
help but laugh as she grunted and heaved in a fruitless attempt to drag it
out.

He watched for a few seconds and inconspicuously waved his hand, causing
the chair to fly out, almost knocking her over in the process. She was
unaware of his assistance. Throwing him a smug look, she sat down, neatly
crossed her legs at the ankles and tucked them under the chair.

Draco watched her fidget, trying hard to keep her eyes trained anywhere but
on him.

Her discomfort entertained him, and he suggested politely, "Would you like
a drink?" Alcohol had the uncanny ability to put everyone at ease and lower
inhibitions, but that wasn’t in the cards tonight.

Hermione nodded once and enthused, "It will help me get through the next
few minutes."

A smirk curved Draco's lips, and he called out loudly, "Dotty." There was a
loud crack, and the tiny elf in a brand-new blue polka-dotted dress appeared
before them, beaming and bowing.

She timidly approached the table and squeaked, "Yes, sir?"

Draco kept his eyes on Granger. The way the light bounced off her skin
emphasised the blush that crept up her cheeks and shimmered over her
neatly pulled-back curls.

He cleared his throat, "Please bring us a bottle of our finest red wine from
the cellar and two glasses."

Catching his would-be fiancé's eye, he raised a brow and quipped, "A bottle
will suffice, won't it, Granger?"

Hermione scowled, "Yes, you prat." How dare the pampered fuck have the
audacity to imply she was fond of drink?

Dotty bowed in acknowledgement of the task and disappeared with an ear-

piercing crack. So loud that Hermione covered her ears to drown out the
noise. She propped her elbow up on the table, used her hand to cradle her
face and sighed in exhaustion. They might as well get it over with.

Hermione brought out her pert tongue and ran it along her lips deliberately.
She knew Malfoy was watching her every move. She swallowed hard and
demanded impatiently, "Well, what should we discuss first?" The last bit of
her question was absorbed by Dotty’s arrival with a bottle of Chateau Lafite
1787, two beautiful hand-blown glasses balanced on a sterling silver tray.

She placed it on the table and reached for the bottle to uncork it, but Draco
stopped her, took it in his hands and expertly removed the wedged piece of
wood.

Drops of deep red landed on his hand, and he licked it up cheekily.

Hermione squirmed in her seat, clamped her thighs together and averted her
gaze. A pink tinge appeared on her cheeks, and she hoped it was well
hidden in the somewhat dim light, but she took the glass he offered with a
cheeky grin.

He noticed her glowing cheeks but said nothing. Instead, he raised his glass
in a toast, "To our health," it was appropriate considering their predicament.

Hermione leaned forward, clicked her glass against his, held it firmly by the
stem, and took a gratifying sip.

The richness of the liquid seeped into her bloodstream. It was like drinking
red velvet, and it packed a punch. She sucked on her bottom lip and stared
into the glass, liquid sloshing about as she unconsciously twirled it.

Draco interrupted her train of thought, "We can start with living
arrangements."

Hermione took another sip and fired, "I told you. I could never live in the
Manor."

Draco looked around the library and mused, "Even if I put a bed in here?"

They were surrounded entirely by books. Most were valuable ancient texts,
but some were new, and several privileged Muggle authors had surprisingly
made it into the collection. The smell of parchment and dried ink on scrolls
hung heavily in the air, enticing her more than anything could.
A twinkle lit her eyes, but the laughter never quite reached, "That is rather
tempting."

She ran her fingers along the rim of the glass and said tensely, "But,
seriously though, I could never get a peaceful night's sleep within these
walls." Her nightmares would be frequent, and she would succumb to the
macabre nature of the Manor, trying to thwart her unwanted presence.

Draco took a sip himself and let the rich taste linger. He cocked his head to
the side and scoffed, "You assume too much. Did I ask you to live here?"

"Well, no, but I gathered that to be obvious," Hermione replied hotly.

Draco grinned, "Well, you thought wrong." He casually pointed out of the
window and followed up with a quick explanation, "There is a modest
cottage on the property about a mile East. It's a charming abode with all the
necessary amenities." His mother had agreed that it would be the ideal
living quarters to ride out the next three years. It was big enough to live
separate lives instead of falling over each other.

Hermione frowned. How was this an improvement? They would still be on

Malfoy grounds. She suggested without much thought, "Or we could just
live at my flat."

Draco refilled their glasses and chuckled. His laughter was pleasing, and it
tickled the senses, Hermione thought. She could honestly say she had no
recollection of him genuinely laughing without someone else’s pain or
discomfort being the cause.

He snickered, "Lest you propose sharing the one room you have, I think it's
better to look for larger accommodation because I have no intention of
sleeping on a sofa for three years."

A blush coloured her cheeks. She felt hot from the inside. How could she
have been so foolhardy to suggest such a thing? She nodded quickly in
agreement and quite literally fell over her words, "Yes, no, I wasn't
thinking. We could not possibly share a room."
Draco smirked, "I can't trust you not to jump my bones in the middle of the
night."

Hermione gagged, "Get over yourself, Malfoy. I wouldn't touch you with a
ten-foot pole." That was a contradictory statement, and Draco agreed. He
raised a questioning brow in her direction, as if to say, oh really? You
seemed to enjoy every bit of my touch earlier today in your kitchen, but he
decided not to add to her growing discomfort.

He kept quiet, giving her the satisfaction of having the last word and
declared confidently, "That's settled then. I will give direct instructions for
renovations to start. I thought it prudent to have separate suites."

He proposed hoping to bend her to the idea, "You are free to meet with the
planners and decorators and design your living quarters to your liking."

Her eyes sparkled, and this time she radiated with happiness, "Even the
bathroom?" The holiest of places in a home. Her place of solitude, peace,
and relaxation. Had he unknowingly stumbled upon something?

Draco replied, bemused, "Er, yes, of course." He was sure she was a
massive tub person and quite welcomed the idea of making her moan in a
jacuzzi tub with water jets blaring. Taking her to newer heights was
certainly an alluring thought.

"There will be no wedding," her short yet abrupt statement pulled him clean
out of his sinful thoughts. Hermione pointedly stated, "We can get the
bloody marriage certificate at the Ministry. Harry can be my witness, and
you can have anyone you wish."

Draco sighed in defeat, "I agree wholeheartedly about not making a big
scene, but my mother might not." It was the one thing he knew his mother
and Granger would not see eye to eye on.

"Malfoy, I refuse to pretend to be the happy bride when I'm not," she shot
back frankly. She wasn't trying to be difficult or disrespectful, but how
could she fake a smile and act as if everything was okay when that was a
blatant lie? Yes, sure, he claimed to have changed, even treated her
differently and then there was the undeniable physical attraction, but still,
she had suffered so much hurt at his hands.

"Understood. I'll do what I can," Draco nodded unsurely. He knew in his

heart that she was in the right, but how do you explain that to a mother
looking forward to her only son's grand wedding since his birth?

A chilly gust of wind swept into the room, and Hermione rubbed her arms
to keep warm from the sudden cold. He caught the goosebumps that
appeared along her exposed arms and pointed his wand at the fireplace.
Even though he was adept at wandless magic, it wasn't nearly as satisfying
as feeling his 10" long hawthorn wand between his fingers. The fireplace
roared to life and filled the space with delightful warmth.

Hermione stared, enthralled by the burning logs, and Draco was

mesmerised by the reflection of dancing fire within the deep amber of her
eyes.

So beautiful...

His voice was clipped, but he coughed to hide any discomfort and almost
croaked, "There is the small matter of few other formalities."

Hermione tore her eyes from the fire and insisted mockingly, "Such as?"
What more could there possibly be?

Draco inhaled to calm himself before reciting his mother’s words, granted
some were his own, "Malfoys take marriage rather seriously, and whether
this is a contract marriage or dreadful pairing is irrelevant. It is marriage in
the eyes of the law and therefore binding." He hadn't run this bit by his
mother, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt she would agree.

Leaning forward, Draco pressed undiscouraged, "We will maintain a joint

account where you will have the freedom to make withdrawals by
presenting the family key. I carry an identical one at all times." He slammed
an ancient-looking black key with the unmistakable Malfoy insignia on the
table.

Hermione stared at the rather large key. It was not your average Gringotts
key; that much was clear.

She said in a low, lethal voice, "I don't want your money." Malfoy was
wealthy. Hadn't he rubbed it in Ron's face at every passing opportunity? Did
he honestly expect her to fawn all over him and thank him for his
generosity? The incorrigible sod.

Draco heard the words she uttered. He also caught sight of how her features
twisted unpleasantly, but without paying heed to the upcoming storm she
might unleash, he asserted, "You will be my first wife and the lady of the
house after my mother. In my absence, you will have every right I have to
see to important matters."

There, he had explained how important her position would be even though
it was just a blooming marriage of convenience. Salazar, please help her see
reason.

"First wife," she repeated and snorted. However, her resentment was
soaring to the surface.

She could not possibly let go of his bold statement without sarcasm.
Ignoring her, Draco barreled forth, "When we divorce, a sizeable settlement
will be credited to your Gringotts account. You are free to do whatever you
wish with it."

Hermione cried in outrage, "Did you not hear me? I do not want a single
Knut."

Her bitter words made him stop from completing his well-rehearsed speech.
He tried a different approach that spoke of their ancient ways, "It is the way,
Granger, and you might not like it, but there are certain traditions I will
uphold." Marrying a Muggleborn was undoubtedly not tradition. Ah, but he
was never one for tradition anyway, at least not since his rebirth at the
temple.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared sternly, "You made that up. I
am well aware that no divorces have ever been recorded under the Malfoy
name."

Draco momentarily forgot who he was dealing with. Of course, she knew he
was lying, and he couldn't help but admire her tenacity, "You've done some
snooping."

Hermione gave the wine glass in front of her undivided attention. She
looked somewhat ashamed, and the rim of the glass on her cherry-red lips
muffled her words. She had gone much further than your average sneaking
about.

Once she decided to go forward with the marriage, she dug up everything
she possibly could about the Malfoy family. Argus's favourite booze bottle
got her the necessary documents from the archives, plus quite a few
interesting bits of information she was sure even Malfoy was unaware of.

Mistresses, bribery and illegitimate offspring were just a few that came to
mind.

The Malfoys' were an infamous bunch that hushed up their dubious dealings
by pushing Galleons in the right direction. Draco Malfoy would also be the
only known Malfoy to take a non-pureblood wife.

Hermione scowled, "Fine. I'll return it then."

Draco said thoughtfully, "Hmm, why don't you contribute it to your

favourite charity?" That was certainly an offer she would not refuse. There
were many causes in the lesser privileged parts of the wizarding world that
could do with better funding.

He wanted to look into opening a few orphanages. It was something he

picked up at the temple after watching the monks feed, clean and offer
sanctuary to the needy. Stunned into silence, Hermione stared hard, trying
to fathom the man before him. Was she in some unimaginable alternate
universe where Draco Malfoy was a caring human being? Could his time
away in China have impacted his way of thinking this much?

An uncomfortable silence engulfed them as they both struggled to find the

next point to address, but of course, Hermione breached the topic that sat
heavily on her mind. She inquired fairly solemnly, "Must you become an
Auror?" Being around him at her workplace was sure to feel suffocating,
and she wanted to rectify that.

Draco poured himself another glass of wine and inhaled the rich aroma. He
cherished the smell of it. A frown creased his features, "I am already an
Auror, and I thought of all people, you would understand my need to do
some good." Just because she understood it didn't mean she had to like it
particularly. She voiced her thoughts, "I thought we could separate our work
lives, at least." Hermione hoped it didn’t sound harsh.

Draco argued, "You will hardly see me and if you’re worried about Boot..."
Her lover's name left a bitter taste on his tongue. A devilish hint of a smirk
adorned her face, and she interrupted regardless, "I am not in the least bit
worried about Terry." He hated the way the name rolled off her tongue so
effortlessly.

"This is a marriage on paper. You are free to keep your…lover and see
others if that is your wish," Draco informed rudely and watched her
reaction curiously. Would he be able to stomach her bringing back that oaf
to their home for relations? His heart slammed uncomfortably against his
ribcage, but it wouldn't do to let her know his true feelings on the matter.

His tone turned deadly serious, "Although, I must add that we keep our
promiscuous activities away from prying eyes and not have them adorn the
front page of The Prophet every other week." The following few words
were straight from the heart and a point he was pretty serious about
enforcing, "That would be extremely disrespectful to mother, and I won't
allow it."

Hermione, who remained quiet until then, locked eyes with him from across
the table and mused, "You said our promiscuous activities." She stressed the
word our. She inquired candidly, "Are you planning on taking a mistress?"
Inwardly she was seething with bubbling resentment.

Draco leaned back and shrugged, "Well, I have needs. Needs I've put aside
for years, if and when the need arises, I might resort to the company of a
lovely woman."

Hermione tutted to make her disapproval evident, "Well, that's

just...barbaric." She lacked subtlety when it came to masking her true
feelings. It wasn't jealousy per se but a mild prickly irritation that gnawed at
the corners of her heart.

Draco was quick to defend, "How so? I was open-minded about you
continuing your affair with that buffoon." He hadn't meant it, but still, he
would grudgingly entertain the notion if that was really what she wanted.

Looking disheartened, Hermione studied the engraved dragons on the table

and mumbled, "I am not having a bloody affair with Terry." Well, at least on
her part, but after their earlier confrontation in her office, she hoped Terry
would finally understand and accept his place.

Draco was anything but convinced, yet he gave her the benefit of the doubt,
"Right." He laughed low and bantered, hoping to lighten the mood,
"Besides, you've made it abundantly clear that I am not welcome in your
bed."

His silky tone caressed the shell of her sensitive ear in the most delightful
way, but what a magnificent lie. Clearly, he was trying to rouse a reaction
from her, and she would deny the arrogant lout the satisfaction of knowing
he got under her skin.

She reacted with dripping sarcasm, "You know what? Fine, have it your
way. Anything else?" His eyes darkened with longing. The grey was barely
visible, but it was there. He leaned towards her and teased, "Are you
jealous, Granger?" His fingers brushed against hers, and she quickly
withdrew her hand and rested it on her lap.

Hermione was having none of it. She rolled her eyes and scoffed, "Of you
and some random tart? Don't be fucking ridiculous."

"Your eyes always give you away," Draco retorted intensely. After taking
another sip of wine, he added smugly, "I think we've covered the basics."
Their little talk had gone far better than anticipated. Granger hadn’t tried to
hex him once.

Hermione finished the wine in her glass and nodded curtly, "Good." She
lost count of how many glasses she had after the second one, and since he
seemed like he was done with his discussion slash interrogation, she pushed
the chair back in an attempt to stand up and flee, but his sensual voice cut
through the act, "Oh, one more thing."

She cried exasperatedly, "Christ, what now?" He laughed aloud at the

expression of pure horror on her face and explained calmly, "Mother thinks
it’s prudent to officially announce the engagement in the Prophet before the
vultures get wind of it and run their lewd version."

Hermione grumbled, "Must we make it public?" He mocked, "Hmm, well,

yes. Unless you plan on wearing a paper bag over your head when we are
out and about together." A vivid image of Granger dressed in a long flowing
gown possessively holding onto his arm came to mind. They had not
discussed that.

She swallowed hard and stuttered almost, "Out? Together?"

Draco massaged the bridge of his nose in exhaustion, "Granger, you will
have to make compromises. It’s for your own good." He would need further
practice to control his temper if they were to last the coming three years
unscathed.

Getting to his feet, he adjusted the dress shirt he wore and offered, "Shall
we head down?"

Hermione got to her feet and presented a pained smile, "Yes, please. I'm
starving."

Draco picked up the bottle of wine, felt its weight in his hands and grinned,
"Well, that's empty."

Hermione pursed her lips together and said nothing. He kept his hand on
her back as he navigated her to the living area. She knew the way but did
not dare move away from his burning touch.

They walked past a few disparaging paintings that whispered and voiced
their disapproval, and though it made her immensely uncomfortable, the
man at her back didn't seem to give a toss. She couldn't see Draco's stern
glare over the top of her head at his ancestors. His piercing glare made them
cringe and fade once more into the rich colours of their aesthetically painted
portraits.

They heard Narcissa’s soft laughter and Max’s affectionate whimper as they
neared the foyer. Draco dropped his hand from her person and whispered
before they parted ways, "You look lovely."

Narcissa said in a carrying voice before she could get a word in, "Ah,
finally. I am absolutely famished." The foyer was warm, bright and
welcoming.

Without hesitation, Hermione closed the gap between herself and the lovely
aristocratic woman sitting by the fireplace and bent to kiss her cheek in
greeting.

Narcissa took Hermione’s hands in hers and gushed, "My dear, you look
stunning. I horribly miss our girly chats." Hermione nodded and felt an
overwhelming surge of emotion flood her senses, "Things have been rather
hectic, but I daresay it will return to normal soon, and we can gossip and
shop to our heart's content."

Max jumped on Hermione to make his presence known, and she almost
buckled under his weight, “Uff, he’s getting heavy.” She kissed the dog's
forehead and stroked his head lovingly.

Draco whistled, and Max reluctantly abandoned Hermione and ran off
towards his Master and sat patiently by his side.
Throwing her son a look of disapproval, Narcissa mused, "I thought I might
wither and die waiting for you two to arrive."

Draco offered her his arm and quipped, "Let's not be dramatic, mother."

Supper, as always, was a posh affair. The finest dishes were laid out, and
Hermione often wondered if that was the case every right or whether it was
for her benefit. Either way, the food looked scrumptious. Dotty had outdone
herself and served up a traditional roast dinner with all the trimmings. Even
though it was typically served on a Sunday, it consisted of the best cuts of
roasted meat and roast potatoes.

It was accompanied by stuffing, gravy, and condiments such as a tangy

apple sauce that tempted the taste buds. A wide range of vegetables such as
broccoli, carrots, cauliflower, parsnips, and peas glistening with melted
butter was placed in hand-painted bowls.

They each took their place at the table, and Dotty served red wine, which
Hermione politely refused. The many glasses she had consumed earlier
were beginning to creep up on her, and she didn't want to risk getting drunk.
Tipsy, however, was perfectly acceptable.

Her eyes caught the amused expression of the man sitting comfortably at
the head of the table. She ignored his roaming gaze and busied herself with
reaching for the vegetables.

Narcissa cut into the meat and put forward gravely, "It's terrible about that
killer, isn't it?" Not the best dinner conversation, but Hermione delicately
dabbed the corners of her mouth and replied solemnly, "Yes, it is awful, but
we will catch him soon."

Draco weighed in, "It's a case I would love to sink my teeth into." His tone
mirrored the determination he felt.

Knives and forks clinked against fine China plates, and Hermione answered
knowingly, "You will be put through a month of vigorous training before
any cases will be assigned. I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you."
"Hmm..." Draco responded thoughtfully, keeping his eyes on his plate while
forking bite-sized pieces of beef he had cut up.

Hermione deviated the conversation toward more positive things and

inquired fondly, "How is Bernard? I was hoping to see him today."

Narcissa flashed a happy smile, "He's away on business. Some family

emergency."

Draco shot her a wary look, and his interest in Bernard's behaviour
deepened. They ate the rest of the meal in companionable silence, with Max
occasionally disturbing the peace.

Harry walked through the streets of London. He enjoyed walking among

Muggles at times. It calmed him and helped clear the air. They were
working against the clock. There were less than two months to catch the
deranged lunatic before another body turned up.

He picked up a pattern; each murder had a gap of exactly two months

between them. Harry concluded that it was at this time that the killer lost
interest, which sealed the victim’s fate. He passed a flower store. It was late
for the man to be still selling his wear, but maybe he was trying to make a
few last-minute sales, which worked well for him.

The florist had an impressive display of flowers, settling on a bouquet of

roses in the usual colours of red and white, with a hint of Baby's breath.
Harry fished out a couple of quid he kept on his person at all times and paid
the grateful vendor.

In a thick Scottish accent, the older gentleman kindly offered, "Would you
like me to wrap them up?"

Harry nodded and smiled, "That would be great."

The man held out the neatly wrapped bundle of flowers and winked, "I'm
sure she'll forgive you." Holding the spray gently, Harry walked away with
an extra bounce to his step.
Ginny would love the flowers; it was a small token of his love and
appreciation, and Merlin knew she deserved much more. He knew she
wasn't thrilled with him working nights and hardly ever complained, but
from her withdrawn body language, he knew that his job got under her skin
at times.

Dinner ended on a high with chocolate mousse, strawberries, and dollops of

smooth whipped cream. Draco dug in enthusiastically and polished off the
mousse in three spoonfuls.

Hermione threw him a funny look before gingerly dipping a large

strawberry into the fluffy cream and pushing it into her slightly parted
mouth. The flavours exploded on her tongue, her eyes closed in satisfaction,
and a moan rumbled low in her throat. She was pretty oblivious to the erotic
nature in which she devoured the plump fruit.

Narcissa missed the seductive sound, but Draco's eyes raked over his
fiancée's face and settled on the smidge of cream that stubbornly stuck to
the corner of her very delectable mouth. He had the insane desire to throw
caution to the wind, lap it off with his tongue and feed her the rest of the
berries while she sat on his lap and whimpered in pleasure.

"Son, shall we retire to the foyer?" His mother's voice bore into his
thoughts.

Draco snapped out of his fantasy and tore his eyes away from Granger, who
had a knowing grin plastered on her face as she stood by his mother. He
followed the women back into the warmth of the living room.

Hermione politely excused herself, "I would like a breath of fresh air and
exercise to burn down some calories from that delicious meal."

Dotty beamed at the compliment and curtsied. Hermione wandered onto the
expansive terrace and didn't make it any further than that. Her legs felt like
lead, and her body was sluggish from overeating. She leaned into the crisp
gust of wind that circulated the grounds and inhaled the pleasant earthy
smell.
A deep, husky voice drifted over her ear, "It's a particularly beautiful night."
He was right. Thousands of stars lit up the heavens and shimmered like tiny
drops of glitter to the naked eye. The moon sat high in the sky and graced
them with silvery beams that coated the immaculate gardens.

Hermione felt his presence at her side. She turned her head slowly and
looked at him through hooded eyes. His eyes were closed, and bits of rogue
hair blew carelessly across his forehead in the wind.

She marvelled at how well he morphed into the darkness, he was flawlessly
handsome at any given point of day thanks to some stellar genes, but he
indeed became one with his surroundings with nightfall. It enticed her,
seduced her, and propelled her to him far more than she cared to admit.

Her eyes ran along his chiselled jawline and prominent nose and came to
rest on the sparkling silver of his eyes. Malfoy had the most staggeringly
gorgeous eyes, and they shone with purpose.

Not wanting to appear smitten, she responded meekly to his earlier

observation, "Indeed. It is a breathtaking view."

Keeping his eyes fixed on the swaying trees, he broke the silence, "I have
something for you." Hermione gave him a scrutinising look. The night was
full of surprises, and she was doubtful of handling anymore. Plunging his
hand into his trouser pocket, Draco pulled out the sturdy black box with
patterns woven into it. Her eyes caught the gesture and widened in surprise.
Surely, he wasn't about to propose? The whole idea was absurd.

Draco turned to face Hermione. Even with the lack of light, the shock on
her face was evident. He kept quiet, opened the box and presented the
priceless family heirloom. A gasp escaped her lips involuntarily. Nestled
between black silk was the most exquisite engagement ring she had ever
had the privilege to lay her eyes on. The diamond sparkled brilliantly, and
the bed of emeralds glistened ominously but darkly beautiful.

She felt a strange attraction to it. A soft murmur of voices filled her ears. It
was too low and gentle to make out any coherent words, and Hermione
momentarily thought Bellatrix was clawing her way to the surface.

Draco raised his voice to snap her out of the trance she seemed to have
slipped into. A frown was etched on his face, "Granger?"

Her eyes were vacant, but they were captivated by the ring in his grasp. Her
strange reaction to it didn't sit too well with him. It seemed to have some
degree of control over her.

Hermione snapped out of the daze, took a noticeable step back and said in a
cracked, low voice, "I cannot accept this."

Draco sighed wearily, "Must you be difficult about everything?"

Her eyes kept darting back to the ring, and she tried to argue, "But..."

He cut her off midsentence and elucidated, "My mother insists I give this to
you, and I agree."

Oh, so this was Narcissa’s doing and not his own. A stab of needless
disappointment wounded her fragile ego.

"It's been in the family for generations," Draco included for further insight
in mild admiration. The words slipped out before she could stop them.

"It's gorgeous," Hermione spoke reverently.

With his free hand, Draco took out the ring, closed the box and pocketed it.
He held the sizable ring between his fingers and mused, "May I? Or would
you rather do it yourself?" Her head was spinning.

She didn't want the ring, yet she craved it. It was like an unspoken
allegiance that pulled her towards it. Her breathing hastened, and Hermione
gave it but a moment’s thought and carefully held out her left hand for him
to slip the ring onto her trembling finger.

The simple gesture knocked him clean off his feet. He initially thought she
would grab it and wear it to establish her dislike and rebelliousness. He was
expecting her to fight tooth and nail, insult and curse him into oblivion, yet
she obliged without a harsh word.

Draco hesitated, not knowing what action was prudent. She honestly looked
so pretty with her eyes downcast, bits of hair blowing around her face and
chest rising and falling in tandem with his own beating heart. Taking her
slightly shaking hand in his left hand, he slid the ring onto the finger it was
intended for, using his right hand.

Draco didn't know what possessed him, but he did it slowly, feeling every
slight push as the metal band travelled over the contours of her finger.
Hermione visibly shuddered as the white gold band came in contact with
her heated skin.

Once done, he covered her whole hand with his own for a few mere
tantalising seconds, and she took her hand out of his grasp and stared at the
ring, which was possessively wrapped snugly around a finger that had not
previously entertained the notion of marriage.

His hands moved on their own, and he yanked her towards him, placed a
tender kiss on her forehead and said ardently, "It suits you, darling." It truly
did. There was no comparison.

Their eyes locked briefly for but a fleeting second.

Draco captured her soft lips that he couldn't seem to get enough of in a
searing kiss. Hermione did not hesitate. She responded fervently to his
intense ministrations.

The carnal desire they felt for each other encompassed them, and they
embraced the yearning to fulfil the undying need. Her fingers found
themselves in his hair, and she hung onto her former nemesis, wanting to
feel more of his insistent tongue probing her inner sweetness of whipped
cream that lingered.

He tasted faintly of chocolate, and he crushed her petite frame to him in a

desperate attempt to stake a claim. She went on tiptoes, but it was futile; he
was simply too tall.
Draco sensed her need and almost picked her clear off the ground. Instead,
he pinned her to the white metal railing of the balcony and ravaged her
inviting mouth. Sultry moans and deepened groans pierced the calm night
air, but none were bothered by any intrusion. He left her lips and suckled on
the sweet skin of her neck.

Pulling down the sleeve, he left his mark on her collarbone and bit into her
skin, gently sending jolts of pleasure pulsating through her body.

"I could take you right here on this floor, Granger," Draco growled low and
fierce. Aunt Irma’s visit was conveniently forgotten for the moment.

Hermione threw her head back. His fingers tangled themselves in her hair,
undoing the elegant bun she had painstakingly pinned in place. Her wild
tussles cascaded around her shoulders, and Draco cupped her face once
more and moulded his lips with hers.

His husky tones elevated her, wanting to be consumed by him, “This is how
I like you. Wild and free.”

Merlin, she felt heavenly. He was drowning in her essence.

They were so caught up in each other that none noticed the shift in the
colour of the bed of emeralds. The dark green morphed into the shade of
liquid luck, and steady beams of gold surrounded the embracing young
couple.

They unwillingly broke apart as the light encasing them became prominent.
Without a single wavering moment of hesitation, Draco pulled Hermione
close and shielded her with his arms in a valiant effort to protect her from
the unknown occurrence.

She buried her face in the material of his shirt but kept a watchful eye on
the glowing strands emitting from the ring.

The strands were warm but did not burn them. The wind howled
forebodingly and swept around them uneasily. When it became clear the
lights were no threat to them, he relaxed his hold.

They watched the shimmering light pulsate around them before

disappearing to where it came leaving them breathing hard and heavy in
darkness.

Hermione touched her temple and felt a wave of dizziness, she lost her
footing and almost collapsed, but strong arms caught her and implored,
"Granger, are you alright?" She felt as if she was floating but managed a
shaky reply, "What was that?"

He didn't quite have an explanation but tried to shed some light on the
incident, "I, er...the ring is enchanted and...."

Narcissa came barging through the doors and offered calmly, "Hermione,
would you like some coffee?"

Draco stared at the relaxed features on his mother's face suspiciously. There
was more to this than meets the eye.

Hermione nodded weakly, "Yes, I feel lightheaded."

Draco held her, and she leaned onto him heavily as they walked back into
the room where Dotty had arranged a large pot of coffee, assorted biscuits
and a few slices of raisin cake.

The atmosphere was strained. Each caught up in their thoughts. Draco

drummed his fingers on the armrest and pondered how to approach the
topic of what happened.

Hermione longed to touch her throbbing lips but instead kept her eyes fixed
on the ring where the emeralds had returned to his former dark green, and
Narcissa shifted her gaze between the two with a look of bewilderment and
surprise.

Even from her place by the fireplace, the prominent glow that shone
through the tall glass panels was hard to miss, and while she had seen it
happen before, this was much more intense.
Draco refused the coffee, though Narcissa helped herself to a steaming cup
and poured one for Hermione, holding it out for her to take. She said kindly,
"There's some chocolate added to the mix. It will make you feel better."

Narcissa lowered her voice so only Hermione could hear. She took her hand
and gushed, "The ring becomes you, my dear."

Gratefully, Hermione took the hot cup with both hands and sipped the
concoction within. It spread through her insides and warmed her from
within. She felt more like herself once again.

The second her empty cup hit the glass table for Dotty to clear, Draco
sprung to his feet, "I think it's best you get going, Granger."

Hermione was taken aback at being dismissed so callously after what they
had shared on the terrace but held her head high and got to her feet. It
surprised her further when he grabbed hold of her elbow and smiled
sincerely, "Let me escort you home."

She returned the smile grudgingly and bid Narcissa a fond farewell. Once
they reached the boundaries, she held his hand and felt his fingers tighten
around hers. Hermione waved her wand with one destination in mind. Her
comfortable sofa.

The second their feet touched the ground, she kicked off her shoes, ignored
her companion and purposefully strode into the bathroom to splash cool
water on her face. She stared at her reflection glumly, and then her eyes
moved down to her white-knuckled fingers, gripping the edge of the sink
hard before settling on the sparkling engagement ring on her finger.

Draco stood outside and heard the unmistakable sound of water running. He
decided to back off and give her some space, but his impatience got the
better of him.

After loud knock on the door and Draco's voice cut into Hermione’s
disturbing thoughts, "Are you feeling better, Granger?" She dried her face,
stepped out and almost crashed into him.
A small smile curved her lips, "Yes, just feeling rather outwardly. Like I
was drugged, you know?"

Draco frowned at the comparison, "I assure you, you haven't been
drugged."

Hermione sighed, "Maybe a good night's sleep is what I need." He stood his
ground, looked her over intently and suggested wholeheartedly, "I can stay
and sleep on the settee if you need me." Again.

She shook her head defiantly, "Don't be ridiculous. I'm fine." It wasn't a lie.
She did feel normal again.

Draco conceded, "Well, if you need me, just call me, and I'll be here in a
flash."

Hermione fell onto the bed fully clothed and huffed, "Yes, of course."

His eyes roved over her sexy black dress critically, “Urm, maybe you
should change first.”

Closing her eyes, she grumbled, “Maybe later.”

Draco swallowed the lump that formed as her dress rode up her thighs, and
the outline of her lacy knickers peaked out from under, further adding to his
torment. He cleared his throat, “Can I see you tomorrow?”

Pulling a pillow close, Hermione snuggled into the comfort and mumbled
groggily, “I cant. I'm spending the weekend with my parents.”

Well, that was news. He ran his fingers through his hair and enthused, “Ah,
that will be fun.”

Hermione mumbled incoherently and paid no heed to the man standing in

her room.

He hesitated and wondered if leaving her alone was wise, but when she
buried her head in the covers and closed her eyes, he felt a sense of relief
and reassurance that she would be fine.

Hermione could sense his presence hovering over her for a few minutes, she
could tell he was battling with his inner thoughts to stay or leave, but after a
while, she heard him stalking out of the room and the sound of the main
door closing behind him.

She opened her eyes and sat up straight.

Draco stormed into the Manor and went in search of his mother. She was
where they left her but in place of coffee was a hefty tumbler of scotch.

He approached at once, "Mother..."

She cut him off with a wave of her hand and went straight into explanation,
"The glow represents the strength of your marital bond. I'm sure your father
has mentioned it." He didn't have many fond memories of his father. Still,
he did recall a time his mother had been tending to her precious roses in the
garden when he was about twelve.

Lucius had gazed upon her lovingly and explained the significance of the
ring and the bursts of gold that emitted from it when least expected. Of
course, Draco hadn't seen it himself, and even though he pretended to listen
to his father's ramblings, the true gist of what he was saying hadn’t sunk in.

He was brought back to the present by Max's affectionate whimpering.

Draco argued, "But that's impossible. Granger and I are not married."

Narcissa smiled reassuringly and explained sensibly, "You presented her

with the ring. You placed it on her finger. She is yours."

What a load of tripe.

Draco stated cynically, "No, she's not and never will be. The ring is
malfunctioning."
A stern frown crossed Narcissa’s face, "You cannot be naive enough to
believe that?"

She pressed forcefully, "It is over 600 years old. Forged in the ways of old
magic by powerful wizards. The power of the ring is not to be taken
lightly."

Draco threw his hands up in defeat and spat, "This is ludicrous."

Narcissa grew thoughtful, "It didn't glow so bright even when Lucius gave
it to me." That piqued Draco's interest, and he questioned urgently, "What
are you trying to say?"

He gritted out sarcastically, "That we are destined to be together? That

Granger, out of all the bloody witches in the world, is my soul mate?"

Narcissa nodded almost at once and exclaimed, "I suppose that's one way of
looking at it."

Draco shook his head in utter disbelief, "I will not entertain the notion. It is
preposterous."

He said grimly, "We will divorce in three years, and this whole farce will be
behind us."

Narcissa tried to soothe her only child, "Draco...," but he stopped her from
going further, "No, mother, stop. I know you want to believe something
special is at work here, but trust me, there is nothing."

He marched up the stairs and into his room. In frustration, he tore the
clothes off his body, tossed them aside, fell onto his sizeable bed, and stared
at the ceiling. He desired Granger sexually, nothing more, nothing less.

Soul mate, fucking bollocks.

“Daddy!” Carrie ran through the corridor and straight into Blaise’s arms,
with Daphne following close behind. The naughty toddler hugged her father
tight, and Blaise raised a questioning brow at his wife.

Daphne was red in the face and visibly angry, “She refuses to sleep because
it’s her birthday tomorrow.”

Blaise hid the laughter that bubbled to the surface. He composed himself
and spoke gently to his little scamp, “Carrie, if you don’t go to sleep now,
how will you open your presents tomorrow? And I know there’s a lot of
neat stuff waiting for you.”

Carrie brought her head out, touched her father’s face lovingly and beamed,
“I’ll go to sleep now, daddy.” She jumped into Daphne’s waiting arms and
snuggled into her mother’s warmth.

Daphne rolled her eyes at Blaise, and he shrugged, pulled up his collar,
gave her a cocky grin and mouthed, “Hurry up.” He blew her a kiss, jogged
down the corridor and disappeared into their room.
 Chapter 30
Chapter Notes

A big thank you to everyone who posted a review and for everyone
following!

It means so much! ❤

A full chapter. Wonderful insight into Bernards upbringing, the

Slytherins get together for Carries birthday, and Hermione comes clean
about her pending nuptials to her parents.

My heartfelt gratitude and thanks to my amazing Beta Carrie. Thank

you so much, hun! :)

Enjoy Chapter Thirty! 🔥😉

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads! 😊

Stay safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! 🥰🤗

It was well past eight pm when Arthur entered his department after
attending to a few last-minute raids. Perkins had pushed off, promising to
do the paperwork on Monday. The lazy sod. He saw the dim light in the
room and one of his more dedicated staff members busily punching odd-
looking keys and vigorously writing down notes after every function.

Arthur raised his voice enough to be heard, "Still here, John?"

The eccentric man was hunched over a Muggle device known as a

computer. It was a bulky machine with hundreds of wires attached, and
besides John, no one else knew how to work it or bothered to learn. John
kept his eyes on the device and nodded timidly, "Yes, these fascinate me.
Being a Muggle can't be all that bad if they have the intelligence to come
with these complex systems." His last comment was said slowly enough to
emphasise his train of thought.

Arthur smiled sincerely, "Muggles are not bad at all, John. They survive
without using magic, and to me, that is quite the feat." It was something he
had believed since his youth. Even without magic to help them along,
Muggles had inventions and creations that put magic to shame in some
instances.

Their metal wands were an example of just that. They could shoot you in
the head twice before you even managed to get the enchantment out. They
were an innovative but brutal bunch.

John informed bitterly, "I've learnt how to operate most Muggle appliances
because of my illness." That was what his mother called it. It was his illness
that required him to be punished daily.

Arthur dropped his bag down on his desk and raised a curious brow,
"Illness? What do you mean?" John never ceased to surprise him, but the
tone in which it was said saddened him, and he was eager to find the
underlying cause of such depressing words.

John gritted out in self-loathing, "I hate being a Squib."

Closing the tiny gap between them in the cramped room, Arthur clamped
the man nearing his fifties on the shoulder and assured, "John, being a squib
isn't an illness and whoever told you that couldn't be more wrong." He
knew from the man's odd behaviour that he hadn't had the most leisurely
life over the years.

John kept his eyes on his trembling fingers and said in gratitude, "Only you
treat me with a shred of decency, Arthur."

An exhausted sigh escaped Arthur's lips, and he inquired sceptically, "Have

the boys at the DMLE been taking the piss again?" Pursing his lips, John
nodded curtly. Unfamiliar darkness fell over his face as he hissed, "Those
arrogant pricks think they are much better than the rest of us."
Arthur smiled halfheartedly and encouraged, "Ignore it, son. It's not worth
it." He hadn't missed the contempt in John's voice. The man had clearly
suffered. The newer recruits were high on power with their heads so far up
their arses that common decency was neglected.

He made a mental note to have a serious chat with Harry about his team.
Eager to get more insight into his reclusive employee's life, Arthur tried a
more personal question to get him to open up, "Have you got a girlfriend,
John?" He knew the man wasn't married.

John blushed and averted his gaze before muttering, "Oh, well, yes. I guess
I do. She's beautiful, intelligent, and with me all the time."

Arthur raised a questioning brow, hoping that would garner a further

explanation. What did he mean by all the time? When it became clear that
there was no clarification forthcoming, he noted, "Well, that's good. It is
nice to have someone to share your life with."

Slipping back into his heavy coat, the kindly man grinned, "Right. I'm
heading off then. Molly's made my favourite chocolate cake, and I can't
wait to sink my teeth into it.

He pointed to the rusty old door, "Lock up, will you?"

John bobbed his head in compliance, "Of course, Arthur. Have a good
weekend."

Arthur smiled warmly, "You too, lad. Oh, and John, I will speak to Kingsley
about a promotion for you." John could not believe the words he was
hearing.

He felt accomplished and worthy and did not hesitate to make his thoughts
vocal, "Thank you. I don't know what to say." His words of appreciation fell
over themselves in eagerness.

Arthur waved his hand casually, "Ah, think nothing of it. You deserve it.
Goodnight."
John was beside himself with happiness. He would celebrate the good news
with his beloved. She was the reason he was finally recognised for his hard
work, and for that, he would treat her to something special.

Hermione sat up straight with one leg propped up and stared in awe at the
stunning engagement ring wrapped around her finger. The room was bright
and brought every imperfection to harsh light. Malfoy had left the lights on
before he left. Malfoy? Draco. Attempting to say his given name made her
blush. In the dark recesses of her mind, she knew she wanted him to stay
and preferably not on the sofa but in her warm bed right beside her.

The sparkling of the diamond caught her attention. There was nothing out
of the ordinary. It looked like any other outrageously pricey ring, but
something else entirely was at work and not knowing what painfully ate
away at her brain. Everything had a simple explanation.

There had to be some reason the ring acted as if it had a mind of its own.
She plopped back down, brought her hand up and through the gaps of her
fingers, she could see the hideous cracks on the painted ceiling. Hermione
made a mental note to have a chat with the landlord.

Curling her bottom lip with her teeth, she bit down hard and pondered,
"Why did you glow?" The soft pad of her thumb grazed the white gold
band, and she breathed into the empty room, "What Is your secret?"

A cackling filled her head, "Wouldn't you like to know, Mudblood?"

Hermione shut her eyes and hissed, "Get the fuck out of my head, you old
hag." This wasn't the time for her mind to be playing tricks on her, but the
relentless malicious voice did not let up, "Are you as shocked as I am that
he gave a little nobody like you such an important piece of jewellery?"

The mocking laughter continued, "You're not worthy of it, whore. Give it
back..." Hermione heard her clearly, but the taunting seemed to be coming
from far away.
Bellatrix sounded faded and distant. Her presence lacked its usual
dominating nature. It was bizarre. She had never been able to hold the
psychotic bitch at bay before.

Then she noticed the emeralds turning turquoise, and a chill swept over her
skin, causing her to tremble intensely. The prickly sensation was too much
to bear. She held onto the sides of her head, closed her eyes, and rocked
back and forth in an attempt to rid the drowning voice of Bellatrix
tormenting her.

Teary-eyed and emotional, Hermione stared wide-eyed at the ring now

pulsating on her finger. It lasted but a second, and pin-drop silence
followed. The tears she struggled to hold back streamed down her cheeks,
and her maniacal laughter filled her small room.

What had just happened? Did the power of the ring thwart her subconscious
mind? She glanced at the now perfectly still band with a satisfied grin.
Hermione struggled out of her dress and carelessly tossed it aside. She slid
between the warm covers in her underwear and drifted off into a dreamless
but troubled sleep, filled with never-ending questions.

The sun made its presence known, but it meant nothing to a man who was
usually up at the crack of dawn and already halfway through his practice.
Draco's gloved fist collided noisily with the large, black punching bag,
followed by his muscled leg. He went through his morning routine
effortlessly and quickly since he had planned on dedicating time to
meditation.

After a quick shower, he sat cross-legged on the carpet and purposefully

closed his eyes. Flashes of what happened the previous night hurtled
through his mind. Her soft red painted lips, the light sparkling in her eyes
and beams of golden silk but mostly his mother's formidable words.

Soul mates. Those two words could spin their lives completely out of
control.

Slowly, each memory faded away until all that was left was the calmness
that embodied him and made him one with his surroundings. His breathing
evened, and an overwhelming feeling of peace encased him.

The Next Morning

Hermione heard the loud alarm blaring. She got up at once, shut it off by
slamming her palm down hard on the top knob and took a deep breath. The
large blue alarm clock made her smile. At that second, she realised how
much she missed her wonderful Muggle parents. It reminded her of her
dad's sarcastic wittiness, her mother's sweet and kindly disposition and how
close she came to losing it all.

Energetically kicking the sheet aside, she literally sprang out of bed in her
eagerness to get ready and hit the road. The weekend would be marvellous.
No work, no magic and most importantly, no Draco Malfoy and any
reminder of their pending nuptials.

Getting rid of the knickers that had become wedged between her creamy
buttocks in the night, she stepped into the tub and turned the knob. The
overhead shower came to life, but Hermione moved away from its mildly
cold spray and wiggled her toes in the water to feel it.

She shuddered and giggled like a schoolgirl before stepping under the
curtain of water cascading down. She relished the feeling of the spray
washing away her sleepiness. The skin on her collarbone tingled as the
patter of warm water came in contact with the tender area, and she moved
her fingers over a sensitive lump she found. Hermione realised that Malfoy
had slightly penetrated her skin with his teeth during their passionate
embrace.

An unexpected shiver travelled down her spine, and she grabbed hold of the
metal railing to steady herself, her legs quivering. There was no denying the
perfect chemistry and heat between them. Of all the men in the world, it
was an unsettling thought that the Malfoy heir was the one that got her
pistons pumping and engine purring.
Oh, how she wanted him. There was no doubt there. Ron had been more
than adequate in the bedroom, and few others got her hot under the collar.
Terry, well, they hadn't gotten to shagging, but Malfoy trumped them all
with his smouldering gaze and intense kisses that quite literally set her skin
ablaze with longing.

Bundling herself in a downy towel, Hermione stepped out of the tub and
shook her wild tussles of excess water. She stood by the sink and stared at
her reflection. Her skin looked normal, but the mark he had branded her
with was visible if you knew where to look.

It was a dark purplish bruise, fluttering and throbbing. An intense ache

between her thighs reminded her of how fast she had succumbed to his
advances. It was a sexual stirring, nothing else. Her eyes momentarily
moved down to the engagement ring, but the loud chime of the clock on her
bathroom wall stole her attention. She secured the towel around her, ran out
of the bathroom, threw open the cupboard, fetched an overnight bag, and
tossed it onto the bed.

Grabbing what she needed, she shoved them into a bag along with some
neatly folded clothes she had kept aside earlier. Hermione quickly fetched a
pair of jeans, sat on the bed, pulled them up her shapely legs and secured
them low on her waist with her belt before pulling a black t-shirt over her
head. She tied her hair into a messy bun, pocketed her wand, and flung the
bag's leather strap around her torso. It fit snugly around her.

Instead of resorting to magic, the young witch had plans to take the bus and
enjoy the lively chatter among Muggles. She missed how entertaining it
could be on the top deck and how easily she could view the city from up
high. She closed the door behind her and stuck the key in the keyhole to
lock the door when her neighbour walked out with a knowing grin, "Good
morning, dear. Going away for the weekend?"

Hermione heard the satisfying click indicating the door was secured. She
straightened and offered Gladys a happy smile, "I'm visiting my parents.
Would you mind keeping an eye on my flat?" Well into her seventies,
Hermione doubted there wasn't much she could do except phone the police
in the unlikely event the place was robbed.
Gladys picked up the newspaper and nodded in reply, "Of course, Dearie.
Run along and have fun with that handsome fellow." Hermione opened her
mouth to protest, but she soon realised she was pressed for time and getting
into a pointless argument with her nosy but sweet neighbour wasn't
appropriate.

Instead, she waved cheerfully, "Have a good weekend," The older woman
was hard of hearing and muttered to herself, picked up a large tabby cat that
wandered out of the flat, walked back in and shut the door.

Humming to herself, Hermione grabbed a chicken sandwich, a twirl and a

Yorkie from a nearby cafe and munched on the sarnie as she walked to the
closest bus stop. Her parents lived around an hour's drive from where she
lived in a modest neighbourhood with pleasant enough neighbours and a
glorious 1800s church at the end of the street.

She stood with the rest of the Muggles and wished she had brought a coat.
The air was chilly, and the others around her were bundled up in scarves
and hats of assorted colours. Hermione rubbed her hands and blew hot
breath over them to keep warm, but she needn't have bothered because the
bus came down the broad road and pulled up beside them. Paying the fare,
she settled on a seat near the misty window. Rubbing it clear with her fist,
she stared out of the window.

A small boy's voice of no more than ten interrupted her, and Hermione
glanced at the child fidgeting nervously. She was instantly reminded of
Teddy and made a mental note to drop Andromeda a call later.

"Hello, can I sit next to you?" The child asked innocently

Hermione moved her bag onto her lap and smiled sweetly, hoping to put the
boy at ease, "Of course." He beamed at being spoken to kindly, took off his
backpack and sat down hurriedly. He was careful not to invade her space
unintentionally.

Hermione pulled out the two bars of chocolate she had picked up earlier and
saw the boy's eyes rove eagerly over them.
She grinned and offered without hesitation, "Would you like one?"

He perked up and took the offered treat timidly, "Yes, please. Thank you."
She momentarily wondered where his parents were. London was a big city
filled with poverty, and it wasn't uncommon for young children to travel
alone. Still, it got her thinking. He took the bar in his hand, tore the wrapper
open, and took a small bite.

Hermione smiled and did the same. Malfoy and his love for chocolate
crossed her mind fondly.

Draco sat at the head of the table dressed in freshly washed pure white
robes, looking angelic. He ate light and opted for a bowl of fruit and two
pieces of toast.

Narcissa helped herself to some oats and ate the meal with a grimace etched
into her delicate features. She was not fond of meals being forced upon her,
but after her last episode, Healer George had been specific. She had to lay
off fatty foods. Begrudgingly she took the prescribed foul-smelling and
loathsome potions.

Narcissa took one more mouthful of the thick porridge, shuddered in

disgust and pushed aside her bowl.

Draco bit into a piece of buttered toast, caught the gesture and grinned,
"Mother, eating healthy will benefit you in the long run."

Narcissa paid no heed to his words, "I am not some invalid, and this so-
called food is for Abraxans."

Draco laughed, "Our Abraxans don't eat oats."

Narcissa huffed, "Bah, it tastes like wallpaper paste."

A hearty chuckle left his lips, and he gazed lovingly at his headstrong
mother. He cleared his throat and bit into a juicy green apple. The tangy
flavour erupted in his mouth, and the juice dribbled down his prominent
jawline until he wiped it off with a refined swipe of his serviette.

"Granger has agreed to live out her prison sentence in the cottage," Draco
informed his mother with amusement.

Narcissa glowered at his attempted humour, "Sentence? Must you joke? It's
a marriage, not an incarceration!" She made her distaste towards his ill-
timed joke abundantly clear.

Draco sighed. His mother was adamantly holding onto the notion of a
happy marriage between Granger and him, it seemed. He said solemnly,
"Mother, please don't fool yourself into believing it's real. I assure you it is
not."

She ignored him pointedly and buttered a piece of toast more harshly than it
deserved.

Draco informed unequivocally, "I would like to start renovations on the

property at once." This appeased Narcissa, and she raved, "Of course, I'll
see to it and arrange a meeting. I think Hermione would appreciate touches
of red in her room."

Draco nodded in agreement, "Whatever she wants, she can have. I want her
to be as comfortable as possible." He truly hoped Granger had taste and
would not resort to gaudy patterns and colours that would be a guaranteed
eyesore.

He concluded, "She wanted to design the bathroom personally."

Narcissa raised a brow and smiled curiously, "Interesting." She knew

women were fond of their bathroom space. Men understood nothing about
long leisurely relaxing bubble baths to escape their husbands.

Draco rolled his eyes but hid his reaction well and quipped, "Not in the
least." But the thought of her submerged in some decadent bath caused his
mind to wander.
Hermione bid her young companion a fond farewell. She learnt his name
was Jason and he was visiting his grandparents for the weekend. He was
mature for his age, spoke articulately and had the most pleasing manners.
Her encounter with him made her miss Teddy terribly.

She hopped off the bus and started to walk towards her parents' house,
taking the time to enjoy watching elderly couples chatter and link arms as
they strolled along the road. She had missed this, the bustle of working
people, and mums with small children headed to the large park during the
day—the park busy and as enticing as it had been when she was a child—
the surroundings and trees littered with shades of green and dappled in
sunlight as they swayed gently in the cool breeze.

From around the corner, Hermione could make out her mother's tall
sunflowers reaching for the sky, and it filled her heart with joy and sadness
that she didn't visit as often as she should.

Deciding to go around the back, she pushed the wooden door that led to
their backyard and overheard her parents' voices.

"Jules, I told you that cabbage patch needed more water. It's looking
parched."

"Richard, you know where the watering can is and hurry up. Hermione will
be here any minute."

Hermione could not hold back the chuckle that burst out of her. Both sets of
semi greying heads turned her way, but it was her father that yelled happily,
"Princess!" Her father was a tall, generously built man with cropped hair.

As the years rolled by, his thick chestnut brown locks were streaked with
strands of silvery grey. He embraced them and often fondly referred to them
as his strands of infinite wisdom. His deep brown eyes held a refined
kindness in them that couldn't be matched.

Her mother was petite. She always dressed well and had a kind,
understanding face that lit up a room. Her curly tresses were less wild than
her daughter's unruly mess, mainly because she always wore it tightly
pulled back into a neat bun. Her rich auburn coloured hair, like her
husband's, had lines of grey, which she diligently covered up at the salon
once a month.

Abandoning any form of grace, Hermione quickened her step and quite
literally jumped into her loving father's arms and gushed, "I've missed you
and mum so much." Maybe it was her period, but she was overcome with
emotion and struggled in vain to keep the tears away.

Her father's large soothing hands brushed her hair to comfort his only child.

Julia came close, stroked her small hand over her daughter's back, and
praised, "As we have, my darling. You look wonderful." She pointed to the
kitchen and encouraged, "I just brewed a fresh pot of coffee and baked a
batch of the madeleines you like." Madeleines after chocolate croissants
were Hermione favourite French delicacy. She loved how the small
traditional cakes were lighter than air and melted in her mouth like Malfoy's
lips.

Fuck. No, clear your mind of him. This weekend was about her and not her
magical match. She beamed and took her mum's dainty hand, "Lovely, I
would die for a good cup. It's been so long." They sat at the table while
Julia poured the coffee into mugs and filled a blue hand-painted bowl with
freshly baked Madeleines. The bowl was crafted and painted by her at a
"Find a hobby" class the church conducted.

Hermione leaned back in the chair and got comfortable. She looked around
and inhaled the rich scent of baked goods, and freshly dug earth alongside
muggle treats. It felt fabulous to be home.

Richard eyed his daughter warily. While she looked thinner than usual, her
face was flushed and happy, but it was the latest addition to her person that
genuinely got him thinking. He cleared his throat and queried, "So, how are
you? What's new?" It was a straightforward attempt to squeeze out the truth.

Hermione shrugged, "Work has been mental, but that's nothing new. What
about you? How's the clinic?"
Julia placed a mug in front of each of them and took a seat. Her eyes, like
her husband, were drawn to the prominent presence on her daughter's left
hand, her ring finger. Unable to contain himself any further, Richard
declared slowly, "That's quite a ring."

Hermione paled. She quickly snatched her hand off the table and kept it on
her lap. Bollocks. In her haste, she had forgotten entirely to slip it off, and
strangely enough, she had no desire to be parted from it. Well, her parents
deserved the truth, of course, and she had every intention of telling them,
but did it have to be this soon?

Julia brought her mug up to her lips and questioned softly, "Is that why you
decided to visit? Do you have news to share?"

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, offered a sheepish grin and answered,

"Well, partially. It's quite a funny story actually about an algorithm and
Ministry of Magic, but mostly I needed a break from my complicated life."

Richard did not bother to hold back his disappointment, "Yes, I'm dying to
know why my only child decided to get engaged without informing her
parents."

Julia slipped into a transfixed state of shock.

The older man looked his daughter over suspiciously and insisted harshly,
"Are you pregnant?"

He cracked his knuckles and demanded, "Is it that Weasley boy?" Oh,
Merlin. This was not going as planned. In fact, it was all going horribly
wrong, and she had absolutely no clue how to fix it.

Hermione choked on her coffee and croaked, "Lord, no. Ron and I have
been over for ages." Her father seemed anything but convinced, and her
mother stared deadpan into her mug and said nothing.

She cleared the air with a high-pitched nervous laugh, "Oh, dad, it's nothing
like that.
Julia broke out of the initial shock and snapped, "Best you start from the top
then."

Richard snorted, "I'll have you know that your grandmother will not be
pleased."Christ almighty, her father's mother, was the loveliest and the
scariest person in her life. She was also fiercely protective of her
granddaughter. It was admirable how well she balanced both sides.

Hermione flinched as if she had been struck and argued feebly, "Nobody
has to tell Nana."

Julia tittered, "She's worse than a bloodhound. Besides, anyone can spot
that engagement ring from a mile away."

Richard scowled, "He must be bloody well off to afford such a piece."

Hermione brought her hand up from its hiding place and looked at the
glistening ring fondly before explaining, "It's a family heirloom." Her father
was anything but pacified.

He crossed his arms over his broad chest and huffed, "I don't care if it's
Prince William. I want to meet the man."

He demanded impatiently, "Go on then, tell us about this so-called

Algorithm."

Hermione sighed, drained her coffee, and recited an abridged version of the
algorithm. She explained its importance, the exit clauses, and a further
shortened version of why she accepted. She was careful to leave out her
horrid past with Malfoy and his treatment of her back at Hogwarts. Those
excessive details would needlessly alarm and deeply concern her parents.

Richard was fuming by the time the explanation concluded. He pressed

undeterred, "It's settled. You can take the exit clause and come home to us.
Why would you want to be part of a sodding world that forces marriage on
you? Hermione, this is unacceptable, and I won't stand for it, do you hear
me!"
Julia took a deep breath to steady her nerves and rapidly beating heart, "It is
a rather extreme way of dealing with a decrease in population." She wished
her little girl wasn't a witch at times. Their lives had undoubtedly become
more complicated since learning Hermione wasn't meant to lead a lifestyle
similar to theirs.

Richard blurted out unexpectedly, "What kind of man proposes without

meeting his would-be father-in-law? People were shot for less degrading
behaviour."

Bugger, Hermione thought helplessly. Stupid, careless bitch, flaunting

around the ring. Are you happy now, idiot? Her internal voice raged.

Hermione nervously played with the edge of a napkin and defended, "He is
as helpless as I am in this situation." She requested meekly, "Can we not
make a big deal out of this, please?"

Richard urged urgently, "Have you set a date?"

Hermione shook her head, "No, but I suppose it will be soon."

Richard gritted out sarcastically, "Oh, she supposes. That is a great plan."
He brought his fist down hard on the table, making the women flinch and
spat, "This is a marriage, not some game you play."

Hermione choked back a sob and hung her head. Her father's words gutted
her. He spoke the truth because he loved her, but the words he uttered hurt
so much.

Julia locked eyes with her angry husband and pleaded, "Richard, please.
Calm yourself." She squeezed her daughter's shaking hand and implored,
"It's obvious you've made up your mind, Hermione, but have you truly
thought this through, darling?"

What was she going to say? No, she wasn't sure. That she had no clue what
the next three years would bring? She would have to live with him and deal
with whatever happened, but she was perfectly comfortable tongue-
wrestling with him at every given opportunity, and she couldn't tell a soul
about that.

Hermione smiled to hide her discomfort, "Yes, mum. I didn't come to this
decision lightly. Trust me." She gritted out, "I fought so hard to have the
law revoked." Hermione braved a look at her slightly fuming father. It was
vital that they understood that she didn't make a rash decision.

Richard shot to his feet, threw down the napkin at his disposal and hissed
through clenched teeth, "I want to meet him." Fuck. She was having a
nightmare. This could not be possibly happening. She pinched herself to
wake herself up, but this was no dream. Hermione would have gladly
embraced Bellatrix rather than looked her father in the eye at this moment.
Her palms turned clammy, and the room started to spin.

Hermione let her head drop, and her forehead collided noisily with the
smooth surface of the kitchen table. She groaned and grumbled, "Daddy,
please!"

Julia eyed her daughter's odd behaviour in concern and implored,

"Richard?" But the headstrong man was having none of it, he argued, "How
could you possibly be okay with her spending the rest of her life with some
man we've never met."

Hermione interrupted unknowingly, "Three years..." She regretted her

words instantly.

Both parents rounded on her. Their faces twisted with disapproval, and both
questioned at once.

Her father kept it simple, "WHAT?"

Her mother's reaction was more refined, "I beg your pardon, young lady?"

She prayed a hole would open up and swallow her whole, keeping her eyes
on her lap as she mumbled, "We are getting divorced when the mandatory
time has passed."
Richard let out a sarcastic laugh, "How wonderful. This Wizarding World is
full of crackpots. Not only has my daughter had to fight a megalomaniac,
but now they're forcing her to marry! They said you were a war hero,
Hermione, gave you a bloody medal. My daughter almost had to give her
life!"

He stormed away and turned on his heel. "Now they are trying to control
your love life. What does Harry say about this? I'll bet he's livid?"

Hermione mumbled, "He was, but accepts my decision." Harry was good at
reading between the lines, while Ron only saw things in black and white.
He wagged a warning finger, "Regardless, I'm having none of it. Invite this
man over for dinner tomorrow. I want to know who they think is good
enough for my only daughter!"

Hermione pleaded desperately, "What? Tomorrow? No." It was too soon.

She had to prepare Malfoy for the unsolicited barrage of questions that were
sure to be thrown his way.

Richard narrowed his eyes and recited in a no-nonsense tone, "Hermione

Jean Granger, do as you're told."

Turning to her mother, Hermione implored, "Mum.." Her eyes begged her
mother to see reason, but it was a futile attempt as any.

Julia shook her head firmly but smiled warmly, "I'm sorry, darling, but I'm
with your dad on this one." She said positively, "Plus, it'll be fun to meet
this Draco Malfoy."

Hermione buried her head in her hands and whimpered, "I highly doubt
that."

Richard concurred from his place at the sink, his hands gripping the
porcelain tightly, "I agree with you there."

Wales
Bernard reached his ancestral home. It had been abandoned, but the elves in
employment kept the place spotlessly clean and to a proper standard. He
would never live in the beautiful home.

There were acres of marshland and darkly foreboding moors to a Muggles

eye. Even though magic kept away unwanted guests, intruders, and people
unlucky enough to have wandered further than they should, the Manor had
many enchantments placed around it that were, to put mildly, not
welcoming.

He belonged to the illustrious and scared 28, a direct descendent of the Flint
family, a fact he was deeply ashamed of. Unfortunately, one never gets to
choose their family. He had rebelled from a younger age and went against
his parents' strict teachings and discriminatory ways.

Life was far too short to be consumed by hate. Following a heated argument
with his parents, he left home after graduation and built his own company.
Soon enough, he gained the community's respect and had a thriving
business.

After this, he visited his dying mother upon the insistence of the others in
the family. That came to an abrupt halt when she tried to stab him with a
poisoned dagger. His father had been brutally murdered by Death Eaters
under Voldemort's orders due to a few bits of false information during the
first war. Not his father's fault entirely and trivial, really, but Voldemort
dealt in absolutes.

When Voldemort surfaced, Bernard knew his family would support the
cause but be too cowardly to fight in the open and make their allegiance
officially known, much like Lucius. He remembered a conversation
between himself and his then-close friend. It would be the point of their
falling out.

Bernard refused outright to have anything to do with the slaughter of

innocents, while Lucius tried to convince him that it was his birthright to
uphold tradition and keep pureblood magic where it belonged. Bernard had
sternly refused and stormed out of Malfoy Manor without a second glance.
He had kept up a correspondence with Narcissa, and they kept their letters
and meetings secret. As the web Lucius wove closed in around them,
Bernard lost all contact with Narcissa, and it saddened him considerably not
to know how the woman he had fallen in love with was fairing.

She hadn't returned his affections until he visited her during her house
arrest, and they rekindled their friendship. It was only after her husband's
passing did they become romantically involved. Narcissa was a woman of
her word and would not dishonour her husband's name, despite his many
shortcomings as a husband.

Bernard walked up the ancient steps, and the large oak doors opened,
granting him entrance. An elderly elf with long strands of white curling
their way out of his enormous ears greeted him with a sour disposition. He
was more significant than your average elf and bowed low, "Master, it is
good to see you."

Bernard nodded soberly, "Likewise, Albert." Being inside his childhood

home made his insides twist unpleasantly and bile rise into his throat.

Albert straightened and inquired with faux politeness, "Will Master be

staying for long?" Not if his life depended on it. Bernard shook his head at
once, "No, I'll be leaving shortly. I need to access the archives."

The elf bowed curtly, "Of course, sir. Let me know if you require any
assistance." Most of his family were dead. Few were scattered. Some
members married important dignitaries from foreign lands to escape
persecution on British soil because of their unwavering support of a mad
man. Images and ghosts of old appeared before him as he took the flight of
stairs to the upper floors. The portraits came to life and whispered hoarsely
as he passed.

A young voice bore into his thoughts, "Ah, finally come home, I see."

Bernard stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned to face the sizeable
tasteful portrait of his mother. She had been a beautiful woman in her time,
but once her mind slipped, she became grossly paranoid, and her looks
faded into nothingness. He was glad the painting was from her youth.
His voice cracked, "Mother..."

She wasted no time with pleasantries, "What are you doing here, Bernard?"
His mother wasn't known for her hospitality.

Bernard answered bluntly, "I need to visit the library and go over the family
tree."

She raised a perfectly painted eyebrow suspiciously, "Is that all?"

Bernard fixed his tie, clicked his heels together and nodded curtly, "Yes,
mother. That is all." The manners instilled into him were hard to break. She
was the woman who gave birth to him, and presumable suckled him at her
breast.

Her porcelain-like features twisted with disapproval, and she spat harshly,
"Be gone with you. I don't wish to see you walking these pristine halls that
your father died to uphold."

He held his tongue and didn't bother trading insults with a dead woman. He
walked away as she moaned and complained behind him.

The library wasn't exclusive. The Flints were not known for their intellect.
Still, brute strength was their forte. His mother was meticulous about
keeping the family tree updated in a large leather-bound book, and it was
that book that would offer him insight into the Dollhouse Strangler.

Bernard ran his fingers along the rigid, dusty spines of the books until he
found what he desired hiding among other manuscripts. He lugged the
heavy book to the small table and flipped it open. It dated back to four or
five generations, but he was sure he had seen the wand carved by the lunatic
in his youth which would mean the wand's owner was a living or deceased
relative of his line.

They were a few blackened marks, and Bernard sighed. It was customary to
disown family members for going against the family's wishes, birthing
squibs, and doing anything deemed unacceptable by the family's patriarch.
One foreign name caught his interest. It wasn't British and sounded like it
could be Russian. The man mentioned was not one of the family. The name
linking him with the familial golden lines was burnt away, along with the
name that appeared below. It was a child's name.

This intrigued Bernard, and he wondered if either one was the owner of the
mysterious wand. It was also the only blackened mark within a century. He
was grudgingly served tea and spent a good portion of the afternoon
looking around the library for any leads or explanation into who the
Russian man was but came up empty. He wrote down the name on a piece
of parchment in looped writing and pocketed it for further investigation.

Slightly disappointed at not learning much, Bernard returned to his modest

home and fixed himself a much-needed drink. Caught up in his thoughts, he
sipped the fiery amber liquid and stared into the distance in deep thought.

Visiting his ancestral home awakened some disturbing feelings in him.

Theo's dulcet tones cut through Draco and Narcissa's pleasant conversation
about possible improvements that could be done to the cottage, "Good
afternoon, Narcissa, Karate kid."

Draco glared sternly, "Kung fu, you ignorant slob." Max reared his head
from under Narcissa's chair and growled. The hair on the back of his neck
stood up intimidatingly, and it was a clear sign to stay away.

Theo eyed the dog cautiously and muttered, "That dog hates me, I swear."

Draco reached over and ruffled the white Alsatians head to calm him and
reflected, "He's an impeccable judge of character."

Narcissa stifled a laugh and inquired politely, "What brings you by,
Theodore?" Theo placed a hand over his heart and acted wounded by her
words, falling dramatically into a chair and feigning a swoon, "I'm hurt that
you would ask me such a question. Can I not visit an old friend and his
lovely mother?"
Draco massaged the bridge of his nose and demanded impatiently, "Theo!"
The lanky man put his hands up in defence, "I have been tasked with
whisking you away to spend a day of leisure and relaxation at the Count
Baltimore Country club. Blaise and his zoo will be joining along with Pansy
and her oaf."

Narcissa shook her head exasperatedly and scolded, "Theo, mind your
manners."

Theo had the good grace to look mildly ashamed, "My Apologies, Narcissa.
Old habits die hard." He added with little to no interest, "It's also Carrie's
birthday."

Narcissa questioned, "Carrie?" She waited patiently for an answer.

Draco answered with a slight smirk, "Carrie is Blaise's adorable daughter,

mother." He was reminded of Jun's naughty younger sister. At the temple,
he had often rescued the mischievous scamp from her elder sister's sharp
tongue for nicking food out of the clay pots.

Narcissa smiled affectionately, "What a delightful name. How I wish I

could have named a Malfoy daughter," she said wistfully.

Taking a seat away from the irritated dog, Theo enthused, "We might even
find a woman for you at the club, Draco." He inquired callously, forgetting
Narcissa was among them, "How long has it been since you got some
action?"

Draco muttered, "I'm not interested." There was only one woman he wanted
to take to bed.

Narcissa coughed to make her presence known, but still, Theo went on
without a care. He seemed lost in his thoughts, "Some beautiful women
come by the club."

He mused, "The bathing suits are to die for. You got to love Muggle
clothing. Luna picked up this hot little number and..."
Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat and hissed warningly, "I'll kill you
and slowly this time."

Theo frowned and moved his eyes critically over his best friend's attire, "Go
change into something appropriate."

Draco ran his right hand over the soft material of his white robes and
argued, "What? This is perfectly acceptable."

Theo snorted, "You look like a bloody monk. The objective is to get you
laid, not offer spiritual advice." Unfortunately, the wanker had a valid point.

Narcissa almost choked on her tea. She covered her mouth and coughed to
relieve the discomfort.

Draco rolled his eyes exasperatedly, "Fine. I'll change." Turning on his heel,
he directly addressed Max, "If Mr Nott says anything vile, you have my
permission to attack."

Theo passed the time by entertaining Narcissa with his baseless gossip and
amusing jokes.

Draco reentered in black linen pants and a white shirt buttoned down
casually within a quarter of an hour. He ran his fingers through his wet hair
and insisted, "Good enough, Nott?"

Theo cocked his head to the side, pouted his thin lips and winked, "I'd shag
you." The words were barely out of his mouth; Draco put Theo in what
looked like a painful headlock while the man squealed like a girl and
begged to be released.

Narcissa widened her eyes and quickly shoved them off, "Goodness. Yes,
take him and leave but promise never to return, Theo."

Draco let go with a hearty chuckle, and Theo rubbed his neck, bent to kiss
Narcissa on the cheek and croaked, "I'll have him back at a reasonable
hour."
After trying for a further half an hour to change her parents' minds about
meeting Malfoy, Hermione conceded defeat. Instead, she focused on having
a pleasant weekend until the dreaded dinner. It dawned on her, what if
Malfoy refused to entertain the idea? That would work well, except her
parents would hate him, but she would've done her part to honour her
parents' request.

Did she feel right about throwing Malfoy's rather delectable form under the
bus?

A vivid image of her sitting on his beautiful face came to mind. Completely
unrelated.

Hermione blushed. What the fuck was wrong with her? She plopped down
on her childhood bed among her soft toys and numerous shelves jammed
with books and toyed with her wand, making sparks fly off the tip as she
thought hard about how she would go about inviting her would-be husband
to her parent's house for dinner.

A sense of dread filled her insides to the brim. This was a terrible idea and,
hopefully, one that didn't backfire on her.

Blaise sat by the pool in a dark blue t-shirt, khaki shorts and dark shades,
sipping a golden-brown blend. His lips curved into a smirk at the sight of
his best friends. He addressed Theo directly, "Ah, I see you managed to
complete the task I assigned you without a cock-up."

Theo threw Draco a dirty look and gingerly rubbed his neck. Draco looked
around the area and took in the finer details. The exclusive club sure had
changed over the years and for the better.

Everything down to the elegantly arranged furniture around the Olympic

size pool was modern and appealing, and for once, Theo was indubitably
right. There were some fine women in attendance, and by the looks, they
threw him, it was clear they were interested.

Theo leered, "I find your lack of confidence in me disturbing, son."

Blaise ignored the reply, got to his feet, and clamped Draco on the shoulder,
"It's good to see you, mate."

Theo frowned at the wrapped gift in Draco's grasp, "Forgive our tardiness,
but Malfoy here insisted on stopping to buy a gift."

Blaise took the artfully wrapped present and spoke, "You didn't have to. It
was last minute, I'm afraid. Just got the family together and decided on
making a day of it."

Draco shrugged it off nonchalantly and replied, "I hope Carrie likes it." He
wished he had called Granger and gotten her input. She knew a thing or two
about what a toddler would fancy.

Pansy wore a modest purple bikini that hugged her perfectly at the right
curves. She held a glass flute filled with what looked remarkably like
orange juice. Neville had his arm around her waist, and both smiled as
Draco came into view. Abandoning her husband, Pansy sauntered over and
kissed Draco on the cheek in greeting.

Neville trailed behind and offered his hand, which Draco took without
hesitation in a firm shake, "Longbottom. Well, the whole gangs here then?"

Blaise leaned in and muttered, "Fair warning, Tori is arriving shortly."

Draco sighed deeply, "Great." Well, it might not be so bad, but then he
remembered the last time he saw her. She ran away from the Manor in tears.
All she seemed to do around him was confess her undying love and cry. For
fucks sake.

He looked around and noticed the children were nowhere in sight, "Where's
the birthday girl?"

Blaise pointed to the pool, and a loving smile touched his face, "Swimming
with Daphne and Luna. Sit down, mate. What would you like to drink?"

Pansy took a sip of her concoction and moaned in delight. She suggested
heartily, "Have a mimosa, Draco. It is divine."
Draco waved it off, "Bit too early for me. I'll get something later." She
drained her drink, laid down on her front, and Neville squirted a generous
portion of sun cream onto her back and began to massage it into her skin. At
the same time, Pansy mewled seductively, utterly oblivious to the people
surrounding them.

Luna came bouncing up to them in a florescent pink, one-piece bathing suit

with frills and a mermaid sprawled across the front. She greeted in her usual
whimsical manner, "Draco, how lovely to see you. How are you?"

She stood close and shook her long blonde hair, resembling his, sending
water droplets flying in all directions. Draco tried to avoid the falling beads
unsuccessfully and replied kindly, "Fine, thanks and you?"

Luna grinned broadly and hugged herself, making her boson almost spill
out, "I'm wonderful, but that's expected. We are in the middle of Nargle
mating season. Pheromones are in the air, and it's a time of great joy."

Draco looked perplexed but didn't dare question, "Well, that's good to
know."

Luna walked as a child would towards the bar, and they saw her order a
pink strawberry drink with a large umbrella in it.

Theo glanced her way and his face relaxed into a sappy mess, "She's
amazingly unique. I've never loved another so much."

He nudged Draco and winked, "I have plans to whisk her away to some
exotic island and spoil her rotten."

Pansy picked up on what was said, sat up, crossed her perfectly tanned legs,
and stated with an elevated level of excitement, "Speaking of exotic
gateways, Neville is taking me to Hawaii next week. Isn't it marvellous?"

Daphne dried her hair and sighed, "Lucky you. I honestly cannot remember
the last time Blaise and I did anything alone."
Theo brightened as a brilliant idea came to mind, "Pans, can Luna and I join
you guys? We've never been to Hawaii."

Pansy beamed, "That would be wonderful." Neville seemed equally pleased

and somewhat relieved. She invited the others enthusiastically, "Blaise?
Draco? How about you guys? It'll be nice if the whole gang could go."

Blaise seemed eager and more than willing. Salazar knew they needed a
holiday, especially Daphne. He shrugged, "Sounds like fun, but up to the
Mrs though."

Daphne wanted to accept without a second thought. It would be smashing to

relax on the beach and take in some of the more breathtaking views, but her
kids were a handful, and she reluctantly voiced her thoughts, "We wouldn't
want to ruin the fun with our screaming children."

On cue, Adam let out an ear-piercing cry. His ice cream had fallen to the
ground and splattered all over his feet. Daphne hurried off to tend to her
youngest child and possibly buy another to calm him down. She kept a
watchful eye on Carrie splashing in the baby pool, but she needn't bother
since Luna was keeping the toddler company.

After Daphne left with Adam, Theo leaned forwards and asked Blaise,
"Can't you get someone to watch them for a week?"

Blaise chuckled, "That's not how parenting works, mate. I will see what we
can do. No promises, though." A week was a long time, and the only
available or willing grandparents to watch them would be the Greengrass's.
Though he loved her to bits, his mother was a reckless soul more concerned
with her latest conquest and squeezing him dry of Knut, Sickle and Galleon.

Pansy snapped her fingers, and a waiter appeared at once. She ordered
another mimosa and quizzed, "Draco, what about you?" He had been
listening intently to his friends' back-and-forth banter while admiring a
gorgeous raven-haired beauty doing laps in the pool. She cut through the
water effortlessly, wiggling what he could only assume was a perfect
bouncy arse.
Draco laughed aloud and pondered openly, "You buggers want me to
accompany you sodding couples on a romantic getaway?" He snorted,
"Yeah, that sounds bloody fantastic."

Pansy offered in an effort to be helpful, "You could hook up with someone

holidaying."

Theo urged, "Ask your fiancé to accompany you. I, for one, would love to
see Granger in a bathing suit."

Pansy punched his arm hard, and Theo winced and bellowed, "That's going
to fucking bruise. What did you do that for?"

Draco warned, "That's enough, Theo." His foreboding tone mirrored his
true feelings about the inappropriate comment. It pricked his heart and lit it
on fire. He didn't take kindly to men commenting on Granger's appearance.

Theo knew he crossed an imaginary line and swiftly apologised, "Sorry,

mate. I didn't mean anything by it."

"Luna will be going. That will offer Granger some comfort," Blaise
weighed in. It was a valid selling point.

Draco ordered a scotch on the rocks. The conversation had undoubtedly

taken a turn for the worst. He said exasperatedly, "I think you lot have lost
your minds or been out in the sun too long."

Pansy rolled her eyes, "Well, at least ask. What is the worst that could
happen?

Blaise shrugged, "She could say no, or she might surprise you and agree to
it." Neville kept mum on the matter and let the Slytherins argue it out. He
was almost one hundred per cent certain Hermione would kick Malfoy in
the nuts for suggesting such an atrocious thing.

Theo snickered, "Well, she could humiliate him by reminding him how
much of a loathsome cockroach he was to her and that he's barmy to invite
her on a romantic getaway."
Blaise groaned, "You know that little voice inside everyone's head, Theo?"

Theo raised a curious brow, "Yeah?"

Blaise mocked, "Yours is in your arse."

Pansy stifled a laugh and pressed, "Ask her, Draco. It might work out."

Draco shook his head and explained further, "I doubt it's a good idea.
Besides, I start work on Monday and will be on probation for a month. I'll
hardly make a good impression if I push off work to party with you lot for a
week.

Pansy grimaced, "Work? Like out of the family business? She looked
revolted and queasy at the prospect.

Blaise couldn't hold back his surprise, "What?"

Theo crudely said what they were all thinking, "You're the richest one here.
Why the hell do you need to work? It dawned on him that he hadn't shared
this development with his closest friends.

Draco defended his decision. It wasn't like their opinion would sway his
thinking, but they were his best friends and deserved a logical explanation,
"I didn't earn a single Knut in the Malfoy vault, now did I?" He balled his
hands into a fist, making the veins pop out on his hardened arms, "I want to
make a difference."

Blaise, as always, was quick to see reason being the most levelheaded one
of the group. He encouraged, "That's admirable, mate. Where did you
apply?"

Luna joined them with another fruity drink in hand. Daphne had taken her
place with the children, and they splashed and giggled in delight.

Draco replied, "I spoke to Potter and joined the DMLE."

Theo bellowed, "Are you fucking serious?" Witches and wizards passing by
with children threw them disapproving, irritated looks.

Pansy scolded, "Keep your voice down, Theo. We have an image to

uphold."

Blaise said thoughtfully, "That was unexpected, but now that you've told us,
I can't say I'm surprised. It seems fitting."

Luna sat on Theo's lap, adjusted her silver ankle bracelet and chimed in, "I
think it's fantastic. I'm sure you will be a good Auror."

Draco was grateful for the kind, supportive words, "Thank you, Luna."

Once she got over the initial shock, Pansy uttered, "Well, aren't you full of
surprises, but are you sure you're cut out for that sort of work?"

Draco regarded his best friend with an amused expression, "I'm quite used
to hardship, Pans. He did not miss the concern in his friends' eyes and
awkward body language, he knew they meant well, but his decision was
final. Theo's left eye twitched, and he almost stuttered, "An Auror?"

Draco mused, "Close your mouth, Theo. You're drooling."

Hermione miserably followed her father into the local supermarket. Julia
had given them an extensive list of items needed to prepare dinner for their
almost son-in-law.

She dragged her feet and grumbled, "Is this necessary?"

Richard frowned, "Yeah, it is. Now, where is the list your mother gave?"

Hermione waved a piece of paper in her father's face and hurried off
towards the meat section while her father picked the vegetables. She
stopped by the processed cheese aisle, took out a pack of mozzarella and
flipped it over to check out the expiration date.
A deep, confident voice made it to her sensitive ear, "Hello love, how are
you?"

Was she getting hit on in the bloody dairy section? How pathetic.

She faked a smile, "I'm alright, thanks. Sorry, umm, can I help you?" The
man wearing snug jeans looked like he worked out religiously. His bulging
biceps were a testimonial to that.

He rubbed the back of his head and grinned sheepishly, "Can I buy you a
coffee?"

Without much thought, Hermione clumsily flashed the engagement ring in

his face and blurted out, "I'm married, but thanks. I really am flattered."

She blushed crimson and tried to hide the colour that tainted her cheeks.
With an embarrassing lopsided grin, she left the humiliated man standing
alone before he could utter another word. Her father was still sorting out the
best vegetables to buy, and Hermione rolled her eyes. It was an absolute
nightmare shopping for groceries with her dad.

She frowned, "Hurry up, dad." He studied the difference between two ripe
tomatoes and chuckled, "Patience, sweetheart." To her, they both looked the
same.

Hermione stormed her foot down like a toddler throwing a tantrum, crossed
her arms over her chest and impatiently tapped her foot until her father was
done.

Richard inquired grudgingly, "So what does the moneyed prat like? Caviar
and chocolates flown in from Switzerland?"

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. Her dad's sense of sarcastic humour
cracked her up, but it never sat well with Ron and, in a way, that
contributed to their breakup as well. Mr Muscles, in barely fitting jeans,
walked by and purposely ignored her, and she busied herself with looking
for a few plump carrots. Plump, the exact word her father used.
It would be another hour before they got the stuff they needed and headed
home. Malfoy better enjoy dinner and polish off every morsel after the
effort she had gone through, or so help him. She would make him miserable
for the duration of their marriage if he didn't.

Draco sat back and watched the situations around him unravel. Pansy and
Neville exchanged secret glances, quick pecks and lounging leisurely on the
posh sun loungers. Theo and Luna horsed around in the swimming pool and
embraced hard, despite the looks of disapproval the other patrons threw
them.

Blaise, Daphne and their adorable children seemed so content that it filled
his heart with immense joy to see his friends leading such happy lives, but
he felt a deep void in his. He thought of Granger. She would undoubtedly
make a wonderful mother and wife to the man who truly held her heart.
Their kisses and touches were locked away in his head. He couldn't get
enough of breathing the sweet scent that was Granger.

His gaze wandered as he thought of her, a slight blush highlighting his

upper cheeks. His heart rate rose, and a feeling of emptiness rolled around
his belly.

Earlier, he had wanted to text her to see how she was fairing and if any
more unprecedented events had followed but thought against it. The last
thing he wanted was to suffocate her with his presence dogging her every
step.

A voice of jagged steel cut right into his thoughts, "Fancy seeing your ugly
mug here."
 Chapter 31
Chapter Notes

A big thank you to everyone who posted a review and for everyone
following!

It means so much! 😊

A bit of background on Hermione as a child. More details about her

wonderful Muggle parents and the importance of friendship.

Enjoy Chapter Thirty One!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads! 😊

Stay safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! 🥰

A remote part of London

He barely uttered a word in the morning, rushed in at first light, handed her
a cheese sandwich while she cowered in the corner and walked off without
so much as a how are you? His indifference alarmed her, and disturbing
questions ran rampant in her fragile mind.

Had she served her purpose? Was he getting ready to do the deed? She wept
silent tears of frustration.

The man seemed to be in a good mood. She had sat silently after relieving
the burden of her full bladder in the bucket by the bed, stewing in her
insecurities until the sun was high in the sky, and he walked in without
announcement. Not that he ever made his presence known before barging
through the door and forcing her to succumb to his needs.
The smile on his face was further proof of his cheery disposition, and he
chirped, "Good afternoon, darling. I thought you might like something
special for lunch."

He placed a sizeable tray on the table. She could scarcely make out fried
chicken, mashed potatoes and peas peeking out from under the covered
cloth. A mouthwatering aroma filled the room. She was reminded of her
mother's cooking and the happiness, she once knew.

Shortly after arranging the table, he left the room and reappeared with a
large bag of sorts. He took out what lay within with a broad grin before
bolting the door.

A navy blue, high-collared cotton dress an ageing witch might wear was in
his grasp. It was horribly outdated, and she wondered where he purchased
it. Having worked at the finest dress robes store in Wizarding Britain,
Madam Malkin's, she knew a thing or two about fashion and the latest
trends. She had appeared in Witch Weekly Magazine sporting new outfits
once or twice before her employment at the shop.

He held it out proudly, "Surprise," she almost laughed in his face but bit her
tongue and held back the urge to mock his horrid taste in clothes. Not like it
mattered, an empty potato sack would have been a welcome change after
months of lying around in her birthday suit, but the garment could not
possibly be for her. He had expressed how much he enjoyed watching her
bare body and cunt spread for his pleasure on more than one occasion.

Closing the gap between them, he held out the dress for her to see better
and gushed, "Shall we get you dressed and then we can have lunch?" He
looked over to the table suggestively.

Panic flooded her, and her legs turned numb with fear. Why was the maniac
presenting her with clothes? Her lips quivered, but she managed to ask
shakily, "Why are you doing this?" Her voice was hoarse with lack of use.
He did not skip a beat. His eyes clouded over, and his face relaxed before he
answered, "Because I love you."
His sudden proclamation stunned her into silence, but what really made her
skin crawl was the sincerity of the tone. He honestly believed he was in
love with her. The words seemed so terrible coming from his chapped lips.
The unhinged lunatic eagerly closed the space between them, but she
moved away unconsciously and anxiously watched him eye the chain that
held her in place and restricted her movements.

He cautioned ominously, "I'm going to unchain you. I trust you, but I'll kill
you where you stand if you make a run for it." There was no hesitation, no
remorse in his words or features. There was no doubt he would carry out his
threat.

He raised his voice and demanded, "Is that clear?" A shudder slid down her
spine, and she nodded vigorously. With a swift movement that infuriated
her, he used an ancient-looking key to unlock the bracelet around her wrist
that had kept her chained for months. Her eyes darted excitedly towards the
door; it was so close, but how far would she make it? She presumed from
the chilly breeze that swept through her makeshift prison at night that she
was being held somewhere on the city's outskirts.

Should she make a run for it? His harsh voice cut into her thoughts of
escape, and she flinched, "Put your hands up." Her body slumped with
defeat, and she obediently did as instructed.

Slowly, she lifted her arms over her head, causing her breasts to rise and her
nipples to stiffen. The man couldn't help but stare at the rosy pink buds that
pebbled involuntarily at his touch. He swallowed hard and concentrated on
the task at hand, but an aggressive tightening in his trousers distracted him.
He shook his head of vulgar thoughts, put the dress over her head and
carefully held it for her to slip her arms into the long sleeves, smoothing the
dress down her stomach until it fell to her ankles.

A sexual stirring once again awakened inside him. She looked so pure and
innocent in the old-fashioned garment that not taking her while she looked
so delectable seemed like a crime. The woman touched the fabric and
whimpered in mock gratitude, "Thank you. It's a lovely dress." It was the
most hideous thing she had the misfortune of laying her eyes on. A feeling
of pure joy spread through him. It was the first time he would ever hear
such kind words from a woman he cared about.

He raved, "You look breathtaking, much like my mother in her younger

days." She grimaced. Did he have some sort of sick infatuation with his
mother? She didn't think he could disgust her anymore. Clearly, that was an
incorrect assessment. Newfound feelings of repulsion settled in the pit of
her belly. He took her hands in his and noticed how her nails were long and
chipped. Some fingers, especially her forefingers, were chewed on until raw
and resembled bald men.

A feeling of momentary disgust erupted from the depths of his being, but he
pushed such feelings away, given her situation. He assumed she bit on them
when he was not there to satisfy her, and he felt the remaining nails dig into
his flesh but paid no heed to it. Instead, he led her over to the rickety
wooden table and helped her sit down. She still wore no underwear; he
hadn't presented her with any undergarments naturally. She stared deadpan
at the empty plate before her and continued to rub the bruised skin on her
wrist. It was raw, reddened and sore to touch, and thinner than the other.

A chair scraped loudly against the floor, causing her to jump, but she soon
released that her captor was taking a seat. He removed the bulky,
embroidered serviette covering the tray's contents and pushed it towards
her. Her expression turned solemn with despair. Was he presenting her with
a last meal? His face was devoid of any dubious intention. He encouraged
happily, "Please, help yourself to anything."

It wasn't an extravagant spread, but a simple meal. She had already deduced
he was more a pauper than a well-to-do gentleman from his attire. Despite
the feeling of nausea, her stomach churned with hunger, and she timidly
helped herself to a chicken breast, a spoonful of mashed potatoes and a few
green peas. They had never been her favourite.

She watched intently as he piled his plate high with food and beamed, "This
is a celebration." Keeping her eyes downcast and now firmly on the plate,
she wondered what he could possibly have to celebrate. Maybe her death?
She was only provided with a spoon; he would've thought a knife and fork
were dangerous, and he was right.
At the first opportunity, she would strike without regret, but she prayed for
rescue or fortune to smile her way until that time came. It wasn't easy to eat
the chicken without proper utensils, and she was forced to resort to more
primitive measures. She tore the meat off with her teeth and wolfed down
piece after piece ravenously. The mashed potatoes were much too salty for
her liking, but she managed to swallow the clumpy mess without uttering a
word.

His fingers kneaded her thigh under the dress, and she squirmed at his
disgusting touch. Putting on a brave face, she surrendered to all the
repugnant monstrosities he bestowed on her with his below-average dick
after the meal. She had come to realise that every kindness came with a
hefty price.

Hermione lay on her stomach, flipping through an almost forgotten baby

album of hers and wondered why parents were legally allowed to dress their
children in frills. Still, she did look rather cute compared to her awkward
years at Hogwarts with beaver teeth and bird nest-like hair. A particular
picture of her playing in the mud while her mother looked horrified in the
background brought a happy laugh to the surface. Another of her sitting on
her doting grandmother's lap in a purple smock dress while she read
Rapunzel made her feel nostalgic and emotional.

Things hadn't always been easy. Once her ability to use magic had
manifested, it resulted in a few unfavourable incidents at the Muggle school
she attended, and her parents had been summoned to come in for a
discussion about her supposed unruly behaviour. This was despite her
excellent grades making her top of the class. Muggle or wizard, she had
always excelled in her studies.

She touched a few photos of a ballet recital in school, preschool picnics and
a toothless younger version of herself and smiled fondly. The year before
she started at Hogwarts had been particularly rough. After strange episodes
of uncontrolled magical bursts knocking things over resulted in a general air
of unrest surrounding her, Hermione's peers resorted to bullying to cope
with what they did not understand. They mercilessly taunted her with cruel
names and dubbed her an absolute freak. Only her parents and
grandmother's unwavering support got her through the days, and she
regularly rushed home from school in tears.

A distinctive knock on the slightly ajar door distracted her. Hermione

looked up at the yellow door adorned with painted sunflowers and said
softly, "Come in."

Julia pushed the door open with her shoulder. In her hands were two large
mugs. Spirals of heated vapour filled the room with an irresistible aroma.
Hermione took a deep inhale of the familiar scent and sat cross-legged on
the bed. Julia handed her cup and smiled warmly, "Hot chocolate." She sat
down next to her headstrong daughter and crossed her legs at the ankles
before holding the mug with both hands and taking a gratifying sip.

She looked around her daughter's pretty room. Not much had changed since
Hermione was a child, and she quite preferred it that way. The only
additions were pictures of her friends from Hogwarts and a Gryffindor scarf
hanging on a hook next to the white-painted study table crammed with
books.

Hermione felt the warmth from the cup seep into her skin and spread across
her body pleasantly, "Mmm, that's yummy."

Julia smiled knowingly, "You know your father loves you."

Hermione sighed, "Of course, I know, mum. His bark is far worse than his
bite."

Julia recited what was in her heart, "I'm awfully worried about you." It was
all she felt since learning of her daughter's untimely and unexpected
engagement. She truly feared for her child's safety. What if this Malfoy was
a maniac?

Hermione, however, seemed disturbed, that was true, but she also appeared
at ease. Her daughter wasn't a blithering idiot. Apart from that one time, she
altered their memories to save them from certain death. As a family, they
were past that, and all was somewhat forgiven. On cue, Hermione
responded after taking another gratifying sip, "I'm fine, mum."
Julia glanced at her daughter and raised her eyebrows as if to say, I know
when you're lying. She urged, "The truth, honey."

Hermione kept her eyes fixed on the chocolatey concoction. Sloshing it

around in her mug, she answered truthfully, "I'm a little scared, I guess."
Scared would be an understatement. She was terrified of finally succumbing
to Malfoy and his insatiable dedication to making her knees quake.

Without fear of judgment or ridicule, she said, "Even though it's not a real
marriage, it's still binding, and I never thought I'd marry someone I didn't
love, let alone like."

At this point, she didn't quite know what to make of this so-called reformed
Malfoy. It was pleasing, but it also sent her suspicions about him
hoodwinking her into overdrive.

Julia listened intently. She could hear the worry that laced her daughter's
words, but she offered sensibly, "Life works in mysterious ways,
Hermione."

Hermione exhaled in frustration, "It's also unfair, mum."

She changed her tone, eager to speak of anything else than her enforced
fiancé, "Anyway, enough about me. Tell me about you and daddy."

A hearty chuckle escaped Julia's lips, and she quipped, "Growing old,
managing the clinic, and tending to our garden. Not much has changed."

Reaching over, Hermione felt a rogue curl of her mother's hair that touched
her shoulder and raved, "I love the new hairstyle."

Julia flipped her hair dramatically and laughed, "Thank you. I saw it in last
month's edition of Vogue. An article about how to style your hair when
you're fifty and over."

Hermione complimented, "You don't look a day over forty."

Her mother had aged well. She was fit and active with a sharp mind and
flawless skin.
Reaching over, Julia squeezed Hermione's hand and said woefully, "I miss
this."

Hermione was reminded of how similar Narcissa was to her mother. Both
were refined, well-brought-up women, and even though her mother lacked
the wealth and stature, Narcissa had inherited, both were formidable in their
own right. She held onto her mother's hand and applied pressure to
emphasise how much she loved her and gushed, "Me too. I'll try to come
home often."

Julia took her hand out of her daughter's grasp, used it to cup her heart-
shaped face and shone with newfound contentment, "I would love that." A
devilish smirk twisted her usually pleasant features, "So, what's this Malfoy
like?"

Hermione bit her lip and muttered, "Complicated. Everything about him is
problematic." She wondered if she should share how wonderful Narcissa
was but thought against it. One Malfoy at a time was about all her parents
could stomach at this point.

She grew angry and punched a pillow in frustration, "He's like a puzzle I
can't figure out." And if there was one thing she prided herself on, it was her
intelligence.

Julia grew thoughtful, "Hmm..." An old memory crossed her mind, and
Hermione queried, "Do you remember the Rubiks cube daddy got me?"

Julia chuckled, "Oh yeah, you drove us mad trying to figure it out." So
crazy, in fact, Richard had resorted to extreme measures and hidden the
cube under the sink. Of course, Hermione had found it only a few hours
later and proceeded to grumble and shed tears because the solution evaded
her.

Hermione emphasised bitterly, "Well, Malfoy is like that, but ten times
worse." Without another word, Julia got to her feet, approached the
cupboard, pulled open the drawer and took out a battered-looking, but
solved Rubik's cube with each side sporting a single colour.
She tossed it from one hand to another and grinned proudly, "You solved it
eventually. Give it time, and maybe you will understand him better too."
Hermione flopped down on the pillow she had earlier used as a punching
bag, stared at the ceiling in thought and conceded, "I guess you're right. As
always."

Julia closed the gap between them, took Hermione's hands in hers and
attempted to pull her up and onto her feet. She said fondly, "Come on. Dad's
watching a football game."

Hermione got to her feet and frowned, "Liverpool vs Manchester United?"

Julia laughed goodheartedly, "How did you know?"

Hermione chuckled, "I can hear him yelling at the top of his lungs."

Julia frowned, "Manchester is leading two goals to one." Football wasn't

just a sport. It was a way of life and since she could remember supporting
Liverpool was in their blood.

Hermione didn't pretend to know much about football, she knew nothing
about Quidditch either except for having a weak spot for dating players, but
she knew enough about her dad and what a sore loser he was.

She mused, "Merlin, I hope Gerrard works some magic and secures a
Liverpool win, or we're going to have to put up with dad's sour face all
through supper." They laughed as Richard cussed aloud and threatened to
toss the TV out the window. Closing the door behind them, they made the
walk down the stairs to join the irritated man.

A voice of jagged steel cut right into Draco's vivid thoughts of Granger,
"Fancy seeing your ugly mug here."

Tracey's stern voice made it to his ear, "Ron, can you not make a scene."

Draco turned around slowly and regarded the fuming redheaded man
standing next to his wife. A triumphant smirk curved his lips, "Looked in a
mirror lately, Weasley?"

Ron hurled sarcastically, "Ah, the Slytherin in you still exists despite your
portrayal of being a redeemed prick. Glad to see your balls are intact."
Draco ignored the apparent jab to arouse a violent reaction from him and
instead turned to Tracey and greeted, "Trace, good to see you."

She closed the gap between them, went on tiptoes and brushed his cheek
with a light kiss, "And you. You look well."

Draco returned the gesture keeping his eyes fixed on Weasley, looking
positively murderous, and responded with a genuine, "Thank you, so do
you. I daresay married life agrees with you." He muttered under his breath,
"Even if your husband is a fucking wanker."

Tracey took hold of Ron's hand and tried to pull him away, "Come on, Ron.
Let's say hello to the rest of the gang and wish Carrie a happy birthday." He
kissed her hand and dropped it before adding firmly, "You go on, love. I'll
catch up. I want to have a word with Malfoy here."

Draco rolled his eyes, "Lucky me." He reminded himself not to let
Weasley's pathetic insults goad him into doing something drastic.

Tracey eyed the two men nervously and pleaded, "Ron, please behave."

Draco grinned, "Don't worry, Tracey. I can look after myself."

She mumbled but loud enough for both men to hear, "It's not you I'm
worried about." Ron looked positively scandalised by her comment. Did she
honestly believe a wimp like Malfoy could beat him in a fair fight? With
great satisfaction, he recalled the times in Hogwarts he had physically put
the smug Slytherin prat in his place, but the man before him wasn't the boy
at school. He was a man and a man who had picked up some valuable and
lethal skills in his time away.

It was best to tread lightly and not humiliate himself, Ron wisely thought.
Tracey grudgingly left the men behind but continued to throw anxious
glances over the shoulder at them.
Ron waited until his wife was out of earshot before he spat out, "She's too
good for you."

Draco narrowed his eyes. The transparent grey clouded over, and he
retorted truthfully, "If you mean Granger, then yes, I wholeheartedly agree
with you." He looked over to where Tracey was hugging Carrie and
presented the excited toddler with a gift. He said without remorse, "I could
say the same about Tracey. She's always been a good person, and she
deserves much better than a man who is still hung up on his ex."

Ron's ears glowed. They resembled the shade of overripe tomatoes. He

gritted out, "Mind your tongue, Malfoy." His flushed face added to his
embarrassment.

Draco pressed forcefully, "Do you deny it?" How could the man deny what
was plain to see? He felt sorry for Tracey since she was doggedly trying to
make the marriage work.

Ron purposely ignored the allegation and demanded, "Why don't you leave
Hermione alone?" Weasley was making it far too easy, and Draco felt the
dormant snake stir in him. He countered outright, "Why would I let the best
thing that's happened to me slip out of my grasp?"

Ron was livid, "Cut the shite, Malfoy. If you hurt her, you will answer
directly to me."

Draco took a step closer and hissed, "I'm shaking in my boots, Weasley.
Unbelievably, I mean her no harm." That much was true. He genuinely
cared for her well-being.

Ron threw caution to the wind, jabbed Draco hard in the chest, and mocked,
"You might have this lot fooled but not me. Once a snake, always a fucking
snake."

Draco moved his eyes down to where Weasley's finger touched his person.
His hands balled aggressively into fists, but he kept his cool and warned,
"Run along before you hurt yourself, mate."
He rubbed salt on the gaping wound in Weasley's heart, "Besides, what
happens between Granger and me is none of your business."

Draco tried to move past, but Ron grabbed his arm. His fingers wrapped
themselves around hardened muscle in a futile attempt to stop Malfoy from
taking another foot forward and insisted brazenly, "Everything about
Hermione concerns me, ferret." His blood was boiling.

Draco effortlessly broke free from the ironclad hold. He saw streaks of red
cloud his vision, but yet again, he managed to compose himself enough to
retort, "Not anymore."

He touched his lips and faked a groan, "She tastes divine, doesn't she?
Faintly of strawberries." Granted, it was a cheap shot, but he wanted to
cause Weasley emotional pain in his enraged state. So much for letting past
prejudices die.

Ron's eyes bulged out of his head in disbelief. No, the snake had to be
lying, but how else would he know the taste of the ridiculous lip gloss she
swore by?

Hermione wouldn't. She just wouldn't. Oh, Merlin, would she? Had Malfoy
tricked her, or worse, hexed her?

Ron tried to grab Draco by the collar but anticipating a violent reaction,
Draco stepped neatly out of the way, and Ron snarled, "You bastard. How
dare you touch her?" His breathing was laboured as he struggled to keep his
rapidly rising temper at bay.

After taking a deep breath to calm himself further, Draco growled low, "My
patience is wearing thin, Weasley. Touch me again, and you'll regret it."

Ron's voice lacked its former arrogance, "Is that a fucking threat?"

Draco dropped his voice to an intimidating low, "No, it's a promise."

A calm yet motherly voice cut through the tension, "Draco, son! How
lovely to see you. My, you look as handsome as ever."
Victoria Greengrass came towards Draco and hugged him surrounding him
with her warmth and pleasant perfume. He returned the gesture while Ron
stared at the exchange with a sour expression. He hurried off to join Tracey,
who was engaged in a lively conversation with Neville and Luna. The
group was oblivious to the heated exchange that occurred between the men.

Draco willingly returned the hug, "Mrs Greengrass, thank you. It is lovely
to see you too. I've been meaning to stop by." This was a woman he'd
known since birth, and he meant his words, except there had been no time
simply because his life had gone to shite since he returned.

Victoria let go, held him square by the shoulders and gushed, "Think
nothing of it. Astoria informed me of your unfortunate predicament." Her
tone turned motherly, "Narcissa must be thrilled to have you back?"

Draco smiled kindly, "She is glad." That was an understatement. His mother
was thrilled to have him by her side once again. The Greengrass Matriarch
bestowed a look of fondness upon him, politely excused herself and went in
the direction of her beloved grandchildren, who squealed in delight and ran
towards her happily with open arms. They heard a loud chorus of grandma.

A melodious voice caressed the shell of his ear, "Hello, Draco."

Astoria made her presence known. Blaise had given him fair warning. She
was dressed for comfort in blue jeans and a simple black shirt. Dark shades
hid her startling green eyes.

Draco grinned, "Tori, you're looking well."

Using perfectly manicured fingers, she brushed away particles of dust that
clung stubbornly onto his shirt and requested boldly, "Would you care to
join me for a drink?"

Draco complied and offered his arm as a gentleman would, "Yes, of course.
Lead the way."

Ron kept his eyes on Astoria and Draco making their way to the bar and
snorted loudly. He lacked any form of subtlety, and Tracey asked in
annoyance, "Why do you act up, Ron? He brushed her question aside and
snapped, "We have history, Tracey. There's a great deal of animosity
between that lot and us."

Tracey pointed out harshly, "Well, I think it's time you grew up and come to
terms that not everyone is who they used to be."

She pointed to Luna, hugging Theo around the waist and giving him a
thoroughly smitten look, "Look at Luna? See how well she adjusted."

Ron chuckled, "Luna always had the uncanny ability to be kind to

everyone."

Tracey sighed exasperatedly, "We could all learn a thing or two from her."
This Slytherin Gryffindor rivalry had gone on for centuries, and she, for
one, was utterly fed up with it, especially since their paths were bound to
cross more often with their unconventional pairings.

Astoria slid onto a barstool and ordered a vodka cranberry while Draco
settled for a Firewhiskey.

She paused momentarily and said solemnly, "I'm sorry about the other day. I
shouldn't have left like that."

Draco turned sideways to look at her and answered, "My mother never
meant to hurt you, Tori. She has a soft spot for Granger. As I told you, they
have bonded in my absence."

Astoria struggled with her words, "It's difficult for me to watch you marry
someone else." Her declaration was heartfelt, and the words were proverbial
daggers at his heart. He offered in an attempt to lessen her pain, "You know
it's not a conventional marriage."

She choked back a sob, "That doesn't make it any easier." Reaching over, he
covered her petite hand with his and felt her fingers tremble under his
touch. Even in the slightest, their physical contact evoked such strong
feelings in her, but it didn't excite him in the slightest.
Draco declared truthfully, "I care about you. I've always cared deeply for
you." He stretched the truth to appease her troubled mind and wondered
where the bloody bartender was with their drinks.

Astoria sighed, "But you never loved me."

He took a deep breath, and weighed a multitude of answers in his head

before replying and settled on the less hurtful one, "Love isn't a word to use
lightly." He neatly dodged the true answer to her probing question.

She inquired abruptly, "If I wasn't dying, do you think we could've had a
future together?" Her vulgar words made him cringe. Was she that
accustomed to her condition that she could speak of her death without so
much as care?

He voiced his thoughts, "I wish you wouldn't speak so insensitively about
your wellbeing." She waved his answer aside and demanded impatiently,
"Please, answer the question." She needed to know, even though she knew
it was a firm no. Still, she wanted to hear him utter the words.

Thank Salazar, the bartender returned and served them their drinks. Draco
grabbed his and almost drained the fiery liquid without a second thought,
while Astoria waited unwaveringly for his response.

He swallowed hard to rid the blazing sensation now trickling down his
throat and retorted, "I haven't felt that way about anyone, to be honest." It
was the absolute truth. He had never loved another woman. Sure, he had
sex with many in his youth, but he didn't love them and was careful to make
it apparent to his sexual partners that it was a shared moment of coitus and
nothing remotely more than a good shag.

Astoria smiled. Her smile lit up her pretty face. It always had, "That
happens when you've been living in what I assume is a monastery."

Draco drained the rest of his drink and offered eagerly, "Tell you what? Let
us forget all this and have a pleasant day." He grinned broadly, displaying
his flawless white teeth, "We were always good friends, Astoria."
Astoria nodded in agreement, "Yes, we were. I mean, we are."

"Come on then, Malfoy," She gushed and hopped off the stool, pulled the t-
shirt over her head and wiggled out of the jeans. A black bikini on a well-
maintained body was underneath that quite literally knocked his socks off.

Astoria was a stunningly beautiful woman with voluptuous breasts that the
bikini cups could scarcely contain, slender hips, round, firm buttocks, and
long smooth legs. Nearly every man and most women turned to
unashamedly stare at her as she shook her head, prompting her long black
hair to cascade down her back. She was charming and easy on the eyes, but
Draco felt nothing more. He craved things beyond mere physical attraction.

Dainty hands on her hips, she cocked her head and mused, "You approve?"

His eyes roved over her body, and he swallowed hard, "Yes, umm, you
look....lovely." She tossed the remaining of her drink back and strode
towards the swimming pool. Astoria glanced over her shoulder and drawled
sensually, "Are you coming in?"

Draco tapped the rim of his glass and requested another. He stood up,
leaned against the bar counter with his back to it and quipped, "Not really. I
just got my hair done."

Astoria laughed. Her peals of soft laughter travelled, "Chicken," she joked
and dived gracefully into the pool.

Draco watched intently, as did others, while she smoothly cut through the
water and effortlessly swam. She seemed much like her older self and in
remarkable shape for a dying woman. Loving her would have been simple,
but like any hot-blooded male, he harboured a permanent hard-on for the
one woman who loathed him. Ah, the essence that was Granger was an
enticing aphrodisiac. It hit like the Hogwarts express that he missed her. He
pushed it aside as his libido acted up in the presence of gorgeous women.

Draco kept his eyes on the pool, but his senses clouded over, and an image
of Granger in an enticing red string bikini sprang to mind. Red, the ultimate
cliché. Her wild wet curls bounced on her head and teased the lightly
freckled skin of her bare shoulders. The red cups of her bikini moulded to
her perfect-sized breasts and nipples, which strained so hard against the
material he feared they would cut through. His eyes travelled further down
her covered mound, how he longed to gorge on her hidden sweetness, but as
his eyes took in her smooth tanned legs, she spoke his name, except it
wasn't her voice.

The voice was deep and that of a male. Again, he saw her luscious lips
move, "Draco!" He felt large hands grab him by the arms and shake him.
Draco snapped out of his intense daydream to find Theo peering at him with
an amused expression plastered on his face and Blaise looking concerned.

Theo quipped, "Having a pleasant dream, are we?"

Draco rolled his eyes, reached for his drink and took a sizeable gulp to hide
his discomfort. He truly hoped his hormonal-driven fantasy of Granger
spared him an embarrassing hard-on.

Blaise ordered an orange juice, and Theo requested a scotch neat. Their
drinks arrived, and the three ex-Slytherin men sipped their drinks in
companionable silence and took in the situation around them.

Astoria caressed her wet hair back over her head and made a show of
getting out of the pool. Many eyes fell on her. She was a rare beauty, even
more so when her bikini clung to her wet skin, leaving nothing to the
imagination.

Theo swallowed the formed lump and cleared his throat, "Well, she's a
looker."

Blaise looked disgusted and appalled, "Can we not? That's my bloody

sister-in-law."

Theo shrugged, "I'm just stating the obvious." He nudged Draco, "Malfoy
agrees with me, don't you, mate?"

Draco was still preoccupied with his earlier depiction of dream Granger but
mumbled, "Yeah, but she's not my type."
Blaise snorted, "A certain Gryffindor, who can go toe to toe with you, is
your type."

Draco rolled his eyes, "Shove off, Blaise."

Blaise put his hands up in surrender, "Alright, mate. Don't get cranky, but in
your dazed state, you whispered her name. Just thank your lucky fucking
stars that Theo didn't hear anything." A blush crept up Draco's cheeks. He
buried his head in his hands and groaned.

He was acting like a horny teenager with a major itch to scratch. For years
he had gone without, not sparing a thought to the physical activity and only
resorting to masturbation when the need arose, which wasn't often. Now, he
was being bombarded by scantily clad women. Still, he kept his urges under
control except when faced with Granger's formidable force. His resolve
crumbled to dust around her, and he shamelessly enjoyed every second of it.

"I've been thinking about her more since I gave her the ring," Draco
defended. It was a good excuse as any.

Blaise bemused, "Ring?" His eyes widened to the size of a Galleon, "You
gave her the famous Malfoy engagement ring?"

Draco nodded without hesitation, "Yes, of course, I did. I'm going to marry
the woman." He breathed, "The ring seems to adore her."

Blaise looked impressed, "That's interesting."

Draco's tone hardened, "Yes, it is. I don't quite know what to make of it."
Meanwhile, Astoria laid down on a sun lounger and slipped on her dark
shades even though they were unnecessary. The dying embers of the late
afternoon sun licked their skin before it took its leave.

In deep thought, Ginny sat in the kitchen alone, holding a cup of steaming
tea with both hands. When had her life become so mundane and
depressing? She was Ginny Weasley, star Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies.
Named Witch Weekly's woman of the year twice in a row, or she used to be.
Now, Ginny Weasley was a mother with bags under her eyes, patches of
jam on her t-shirt and wife to Head Auror Harry Potter, The Chosen One.
She felt horrid at the bitter thoughts that invaded her mind, but it was not
done consciously.

Harry had owled earlier with a note that he was running late. It was the
third weekend in a row that he would be working.

The resentment she held back bubbled to the surface, and she fought back
angry tears. She knew when she married Harry that things would not be
easy. It never was with him, but she loved him fiercely. When the tears she
held back lined her eyelids, James's frantic voice travelled down the
corridor and made it to her ear. With practised ease, Ginny placed her full
cup of tea on the sink and went to tend to her young son.

The flowers Harry got days prior were sitting on the kitchen counter, still
untouched and in their wrapping.

"All set, darling?" Andromeda asked after popping her head into her
precious grandson's room.

Teddy was at his desk, doodling on a piece of paper. Curious to see what he
was drawing, Andromeda crossed the space between them and peered over
his shoulder. Sprawled across the paper in rich watercolours was an
identical depiction of a Golden Snitch flying through the sky.

Andromeda praised, "That's lovely, Teddy."

Teddy put down the brush and yawned, "Thanks, Gran. I think I'll go to
sleep now."

Andromeda nodded and encouraged as Teddy pushed the wooden chair

back, scrambled onto his bed, and got in between the covers, "Good idea.
We need to leave early for Uncle Harry's, and a little owl told me that Ron
has a bag full of goodies for the children."
Teddy beamed. Not having parents was one thing, but he was surrounded by
many people who loved him and genuinely cared. Uncle Ron always had
sweets and toys from the shop, especially after expanding operations to
include confectionery items.

Andromeda tucked him in and kissed him lightly on the forehead. The
young wizard was growing more handsome by the day, and she suspected it
was Black genes flowing in his blood that contributed to that.

Ted, bless his soul, was an average-looking man with a heart of gold. Tonks
followed in her father's footsteps, and Remus was always sicklier looking
than healthy, but his tall, build and kind eyes added to his pleasantly
appealing appearance.

She watched as Teddy drifted off to sleep. Careful not to wake him,
Andromeda quietly stole out of the room.

The private club hosted a legendary nightclub, and the group, especially the
more adventurous of the lot, Pansy and Theo, were eager to stay back and
indulge. Daphne looked dead on her feet, and Adam was fast asleep in his
father's arms. Blaise kissed his sleeping son's forehead and whispered, "I'm
going to call it a day, mates. We need to get them tucked in, and I want to
draw a soothing bath for my amazing wife."

Daphne held onto a sleepy Carrie's hand, "I'll hold you to that, Blaise." The
toddler yawned and leaned heavily onto her mother.

Draco patted Carrie's head affectionately and chimed in, "Yeah, I think I'll
push off too." Theo was having none of that. He goaded, "Come on,
Grandpa. What's your excuse? More training?" His jab had little to no effect
on the blonde man, who wanted nothing more than to head home and get
some well-needed rest. Perhaps, even slip Granger an impromptu text
message asking about her wellbeing.

Astoria linked her arm through his and pleaded, "Yeah, Draco. Hang out for
a bit. One dance and you can leave, I swear.
Tori tried to drag him away, but Blaise muttered low enough for Draco to
hear, "Careful, mate."

Draco nodded in exhaustion, "I know. I won't push my luck."

Goodbyes were exchanged, and Blaise and Daphne left with their kids in
tow. Mrs Greengrass had left ages ago. Neville made it his mission to stick
by Ron and ease his transition into the group of Slytherins.

Still, unlike his humble self, Ron's temperament was utterly different, and
he showed blatant indifference to fitting in. Even for the sake of his wife.
Instead, he sulked in a corner with a glass of Firewhiskey while the others
danced and enjoyed themselves. Tracey ignored her husband's childish
complaining and refused to accept his selfish behaviour. Hadn't she
tolerated and even come to like being around his friends and family?

She even extended an olive branch toward Hermione for his sake. She
understood there was bad blood between the two groups, but wasn't it time
to put past issues aside and come together?

At least, thankfully, Ron kept away from Draco and both studiously ignored
each other's presence. There was little to no hope of bridging that gap.

Granger Residence

Liverpool had secured a narrow win by playing as a team possessed in the

second half. Richard was in a jolly mood, chanting with his wife and
drinking beer. Their off-key singing drifted up the stairs and into
Hermione's room, causing her to giggle at her parents' wonderfully
adolescent behaviour. She laid back on her bed and stared at the ring on her
finger. It grew more exquisite with each passing day. She dropped her hand,
and her fingers brushed against the pendant that hung snugly around her
neck.

Bringing it up to eye level, she studied the carved dragon and flashes of
Malfoy drowning her in his empowering kisses sprang to mind. Images of
his tender caresses and fingers ghosting over her skin caused her eyes to
flutter shut, throw her head back, and relive a percentage of the passion they
shared on the terrace.

Astoria was a talented dancer, and she moved in perfect beat to the music.
She invaded his personal space, placed her hands on his hip and pulled him
closer.

Her womanly fragrance invaded his senses, and though the light was dim
and colourful rays of laser sprinkled over them, her eyes sparkled with the
yearning to be kissed, touched and consumed. He was left with little choice
but to place his own hands on her slender waist, and he did so reluctantly,
hoping the song would end soon.

The music was loud, but the distinctive vibration of his phone burnt a hole
in his pocket. Glad of the untimely intrusion, he dropped his hand from
Astoria's person, plunged it into his pocket, and pulled out his trusty Nokia
mobile phone.
The name that flashed across the screen made his heart flutter and slam
against his ribcage. He feared he was having a panic attack, but it was just
his frazzled nerves.

He yelled over the blaring music, "Excuse me. I have to answer this."
Astoria wasn't too keen. She pursed her lips and looked perplexed as he left
her standing on the floor alone.

A moment later, a rugged man with an impressive physique came up from

behind and invited, "Would you like to dance?" She turned on her heel and
assessed the man before her grinning hopefully, but she wasn't interested
and made it abundantly clear to him, who took the hint and disappeared into
the crowd.

Draco held onto the phone for dear life and navigated through the crowded
dance floor, unceremoniously bumping into strangers and apologising for
his clumsiness. His feet carried him away from the club and towards the
serene calmness of the swimming pool, though the music was still loud
enough to be heard. He connected the call, kept it to his ear and drawled
huskily, "This is a pleasant surprise." Her crisp reply came right off the bat,
"Not really." There was a smidge of amusement to her tone.

Draco could hardly resist. He rasped, "Are you missing me, Granger?"

She rolled her eyes as if the arrogant prat was in the room with her and
scowled, "In your dreams, Malfoy."

His silky tones wrapped themselves around her ear, "Dreams? Hmm, I've
noticed that reality is much more appealing when it comes to you." Desire
tugged at her core, and his left mark on her shoulder throbbed.

Hermione could hear him, but there was a significant disturbance from the
pumping music of a popular Muggle song she recognised. She pressed her
battered phone into the shell of her ear and hollered, "What Is that noise?"

The sickly sweet sound of a woman's voice came through, "Draco darling,
come on. I love this song." The tone of whoever it was sounded desperate.

Hermione had half a mind to cut the call without warning, but instead, she
demanded a tad bit more forcefully than she intended, "Who is that?" It
could have been any floozy he was hooking up with for the night.

Draco pointedly moved away from Astoria. She had come out of nowhere
and purposely whispered into his ear, knowing that he was on a call.

He gnashed out in annoyance, "That was Astoria."

A strained silence encased them, but Draco cut through it with a concerned,
"Granger?" He double-checked to see if she was still connected. Not only
was she still online, but she was also breathing hard.

Her short reply was laced with malice, "Well, I'm sorry if I interrupted your
date." How could he after what they shared on the balcony? She
conveniently forgot that they weren't committed. God, men, were such
fucking pigs.

Draco chuckled, "I'm not on a date, darling. Just out with a bunch of
friends." His mocking tone caused her blood to boil.
He teased, "You're in a pissy mood."

Hermione scoffed, "I am not!" She fired back without a second thought,
"You owe me no explanation. Besides, we agreed that you could satisfy
your needs elsewhere." He was taken back by what she flung at him. They
were his words she repeated, but they prickled his insides spitefully.

Draco insisted harshly, "I'm guessing you haven't called to have a chat." The
woman always had a purpose.

Hermione struggled at that moment to string the right words together, "No,
listen, I..."

Draco interrupted impatiently, "What's the matter, Granger? You're

mumbling."

She blurted it out, "My parents want to meet you." Sometimes it was best to
rip off the band-aid and get the unpleasantness over with. Draco fumbled
with the phone, and the smooth device almost slipped out of his hands and
crashed to the wet floor near the pool.

He brought it to his mouth and muttered a barely audible "Oh..."

Hermione asserted, "You can say no." Please say no, she thought
desperately. After a moment of thought, Draco gathered his wits and
reacted, "Why would I refuse when I think it's a great idea?" Of course, he
would.

He asked eagerly, "When?"

Hermione was reeling from the shock of his enthusiasm for the situation.
She almost stuttered, "Er, tomorrow. Is six pm, okay?"

Draco enthused, "Brilliant. Text me the address." She pressed adamantly,

"Again, you really don't have to." He shot her suggestion down directly,
"Yeah, but I want to. I'll see you then."

Hermione muttered sarcastically, "Great."

Draco mused, "Oh and Granger?"

She asked in annoyance, "What?"

He dropped his voice to a seductive low, "Sweet dreams."

She made her displeasure clear, "Argh, you are such an incorrigible git."
The last thing Hermione heard before she cut the call was Malfoy's
infectious laughter. It curved her lips upwards in amusement.

Draco ran his fingers through his hair and looked to the heavens for an
answer. He was sailing in unchartered waters, and hopefully, he would not
sink and die. His phone vibrated, a small envelope appeared, and he opened
it without hesitation. Granger's address stared him square in the face. He
pressed his lips together and started formulating a plan to win over her
parents. He wandered towards the bar where everyone had gathered to
quench their thirst. Theo nursed a scotch, looking tipsy but in control.

Astoria followed his movements sceptically. Her gorgeously shaped eyes

roved over him despondently. From her rigid body language, it was clear
she was far from pleased by the turn of events.

Theo slid a drink towards Draco and raised a questioning brow, "What was
all that about? Is everything all right? You look spooked, mate."

Draco cleared his throat, "I, umm, have to meet Granger's parents
tomorrow." He downed his drink and looked thoughtful. The liquid burnt
his throat on its way down, but he paid no attention to it. His mind was an
unswerving mess of random thoughts and scenarios.

Theo clicked his fingers, "Oh, fuck."

Pansy shrugged, "I guess it's normal procedure." Astoria hovered in the
background with a glass of wine in her hands. Her fingers tightened around
the stem, and she sipped the rich liquid before a nasty retort left her mouth.

Ron put his arm around Tracey's waist, pulled her close and smirked
smugly, "Her dad's an intimidating bloke. Good luck, snake."
Tracey nudged him in the ribs, but Ron laughed aloud and kept quiet.
Malfoy was in for a rough time, and he couldn't be happier that the once
arrogant prick would get what was coming to him. Even though he
harboured resentment towards Hermione's outspoken father for taking the
piss out of him, he was glad of the tongue-lashing Malfoy would receive.

Neville encouraged, "I'm sure you will be fine." He didn't mean it, but it
always helped to offer soothing words, and despite his earlier hesitation, he
was forced to admit that the Malfoy before them was a creature he hadn't
encountered in the past. The man had not only changed but changed so
drastically that his former vile self was a fading memory.

Draco wiped the sweat off his upper lip, "I'm shitting metaphorical bricks."

Theo ordered a round of tequila shots, downed one, offered the rest to the
group, and enthused, "Yeah, get drunk. That will help."

Hermione came bouncing down the steps and announced to the gathered
group in the room, "Well, I asked him and..."

Richard scowled, "He said no, didn't he? I knew he was a dodgy bugger."

Hermione looked thoughtful, buried her shaking hands in the pockets of her
jeans and rocked on the balls of her feet, "Actually, he said yes, and he's
looking forward to it." She faked excitement, "Yay."

Richard scoffed, "Smug prat."

Julia stifled a laugh, got to her feet, and walked towards the kitchen with an
empty mug. She stopped as she passed Hermione and patted her on the head
as if she were a child, "Good girl."

Hermione sighed, "Malfoy is pretty decent by agreeing to come." She

defended her fiancé without thought.

Richard smirked, "Let's see about that." He raised his voice so his wife
could hear, "Jules, where's my shotgun?"
Hermione stomped her foot on the ground and cried indignantly, "Daddy!"

Julia's voice rang out from the kitchen, "In the shed by the rose bushes if
you need, darling." Her footsteps grew closer, and she re-entered the living
room with an entertained expression carrying a tray of biscuits and coffee.

Hermione frowned, "Mum, we are not encouraging this behaviour." She

wanted to get through dinner with minor infractions if possible.

Julia laughed pleasantly, "Relax, sweetheart. We will be perfectly civil

towards this boy."

She was anything but relaxed, so much for a peaceful weekend with her
parents.
 Chapter 32
Chapter Notes

A big thank you to everyone who posted a review.

It means so much! 😊

A longish, emotional chapter. I've gone a bit into Harry and Ginny's
relationship dilemma, and a surprise visit knocks Hermione's socks off.

Enjoy Chapter Thirty Two!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads! 😊

Stay safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! 🥰

Draco glanced at the time on his watch and decided it was the opportune
moment to call it a night. The stale taste of salt and lime lingered
unpleasantly on his tongue from the many tequila shots Theo had forced
upon him to lighten his mood in lieu of what lay ahead. His eyes lazily
moved over his drunken friends. They had indulged far worse than him and
looked it.

Neville held Pansy close and peppered her neck with clumsy kisses while
she giggled uncontrollably. Luna whispered in Theo's ear, and despite his
drunken state, his cheeks reddened, and his hold on his wife tightened.

Tracey had finally succumbed to Ron's pestering. In plain view of the

others, she had bid them all a fond farewell and proceeded to drag her
husband away, muttering obscenities under her breath and promising never
to bring him again.

The only person holding her own was Astoria. The woman seemed to have
hollow legs. She had draped herself around a tall, well-dressed man, who
gave her his undivided attention, but she kept glancing his way over the
poor man's shoulder in an effort to make him jealous, Draco assumed. Fed
up with her trying to rouse a reaction out of him, he raised his glass in her
direction and encouraged her to pursue the smitten man.

Theo slurred, "Leaving so soon?"

Draco pointed out the time. It was nearing midnight. He had spent the entire
day at the club, and now his body craved the comfort of his large bed.

He yawned deliberately, "Yeah, mate. I'm knackered." Waving to the others

who were far too sloshed to notice him leaving, Astoria seemed to have
disappeared with her mystery man. He put his hands in his pockets to keep
them warm from the sudden chilly gust of wind that swept around them and
strolled to a designated apparition point with one destination in mind.

He arrived near the angelic fountain that always seemed more sinister but
beautiful under the moon's silvery rays. Taking his time, Draco walked the
familiar curving path up to the Manor. He jogged up the marble steps,
pushed open the glass door that led from the terrace into the warm foyer
and heard animated laughter.

Narcissa's peals of laughter filled the space pleasantly. Her happiness filled
his heart with unfathomable joy.

Draco wondered what his mother was doing up so late. His answer came in
the form of Bernard bent over a chessboard, deep in thought as he
contemplated his next move.

He interrupted the happy couple, "Bernard! Good to see you. Mother said
you had an emergency."

They turned towards his voice and their faces relaxed. Bernard nodded
soberly, but from his tone, the disappointment he felt was obvious, "I did. It
was an utter waste of time, I'm afraid." He gazed upon Narcissa lovingly
and smiled warmly, "I thought I'd pop by and have dinner with this
wonderful lady."
Narcissa felt a blush creep up her defined cheekbones, "You are making me
blush in front of my son."

Draco placed a hand on her shoulder and told Bernard, "Make sure she
stays off the red meat and wine. Healer's orders."

Narcissa scowled while Bernard nodded in agreement and fought the urge
to poke fun at his beloved. Hoping to stir the conversation in a more
positive direction, she queried curiously, "How was the club, son?"

Draco sat on the chintz chair closest to the fireplace, kept his eyes fixed on
the burning embers that resembled Granger's molten lava-coloured pupils
and exhaled, "Quite fun until Granger called and destroyed it." That piqued
Bernard's interest. He momentarily abandoned the game of wizard chess
and raised a brow, "What's happened now?"

Draco took a deep breath to steady his frazzled nerves and alcohol floating
through his system. Once he calmed himself enough, he replied with worry
lacing his every word, "Her parents want to meet me." Narcissa brought her
hands together in a loud clap that caused the men to stare at her oddly. She
gave voice to her excitement, "How wonderful."

Draco was anything but convinced. He grimaced, "Is it? They probably hate
my guts."

Bernard regarded him kindly and offered soothing words, "They don't even
know you, son."

Narcissa said thoughtfully, "Well, normally, a wizard would visit his

girlfriend's or betrothed's home and ask the parents' permission to wed their
daughter."

Draco shrugged, "I'm pretty sure it's the same among muggles."

Bernard encouraged, "Go with it, Draco. There's not much you can do at
this point except be on your best behaviour." It wasn't like the boy decided
to elope. He had no choice in the matter.
Draco urged, "I feel like I should take something." The idea had been
formulating in his head, though what to take evaded him. He desperately
needed his mother's expert advice on the matter.

Narcissa gave it but a moment's thought waved her hand dismissively, and
suggested with an air of importance, "Take a bottle of our most expensive
wine. The Cheval Blanc St Emilio 1947 is perfect with half Cabernet Franc
and half Merlot composition. That should be good enough to impress.

Draco wasn't persuaded that flashing their wealth was the way to go about
impressing Granger's parents. He said in deep thought, "If Granger's parents
are anything like her, then wealth won't mean a thing. They might even
consider it insulting."

His head in his hands, he groaned helplessly, "This is hopeless."

Narcissa fought the primitive urge to roll her eyes and scolded instead,
"Let's not be melodramatic."

Bernard inquired from the sidelines, "What do her parents do?" Perhaps,
that would give an insight into where their interests would lie.

Draco's eyes widened at the realisation that he knew nothing about her
Muggle parents. He panicked, "I don't know much about her Muggle life."
That was an understatement. The truth was he knew absolutely nothing and
hadn't bothered in the least to find out. Bernard stifled a laugh and motioned
for the mortified ice-blonde youth before him to calm himself.

He concurred with a few insightful additions of his own, "Your mother has
a point. A bottle of wine is a good start but maybe not one that costs over a
thousand quid. Something reasonable will work just as well."

Draco felt the room spin precariously. The tequila running rampant in his
veins made its presence known. He cursed Theo and his stupidity and
slowly got to his feet. The last thing he needed was a throbbing headache to
dampen the mood.
He massaged his temples, made a mental note to ask Dotty to fetch him a
hangover potion and muttered, "I'm calling it a night."

Narcissa asked in growing concern, "Have you had dinner?"

The very mention of food made his insides twist nastily and bile to rise in
his throat. He managed to keep it down and mumbled, "Yes, but I'll
combust if I eat another bite." He had eaten various things as the day
progressed, from an assortment of Muggle pub food to oodles of caviar with
crème Fraiche to indulge his finer tastebuds.

Narcissa smiled affectionately, "Goodnight, darling." He touched his

mother's shoulder on the way out but left with amusing departing words,
"Goodnight. Bernard, please let mother win at least once. She is quite a sore
loser."

Bernard's hearty laugh echoed through the space as he moved his queen
closer to Narcissa's King.

Narcissa frowned to show her disapproval and shooed, "Hush now. I'll beat
him soon enough." Bernard took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles.
The gesture was missed by the young wizard hurriedly jogging up the stairs.
He thankfully ran into Dotty and quickly requested the potion that would
offer immense relief. She nodded at once and hastily disappeared to attend
to her task.

Draco burst into his room, fell on the bed and tried to control the blurry
images of his room, clouding his vision and closing in on him.

Dotty apparated directly into Draco's room without bothering with the usual
pleasantries and clumsily ran over to him with a vile clutched tightly in her
hand. It wasn't a matter of life and death, but to her, it was significant.

After seeing his fallen, seemingly lifeless form, she squeaked in horror and
poked him without hesitation, "Master! Wake up! Dotty has brought the
potion, sir. Please wake up." The panic in her voice prompted him to sit up
and take notice of the tiny elf shivering in fear.
He spoke kindly, "Dotty, I'm hungover. Not dying." The poor elf was beside
herself.

Dotty held out the vessel with purple liquid splashing within and
whimpered, "I know, sir. But Dotty was worried."

Draco tossed the contents of the glass bottle back and closed his eyes as the
potion ingredients rushed through his system, infused with his blood and
spread to all corners of his body.

It swiftly worked its healing magic, and he opened his eyes a new man and
sighed aloud, startling the elf in the room. His headache, discomfort and
most importantly, dizziness disappeared. He grinned broadly and began to
unbutton his shirt when he realised Dotty was still in his room and
nervously edged towards the entrance.

Draco smiled gratefully, "Thank you so much, Dotty. You may retire to your
quarters. I shan't bother you again."

"Dotty is happy to serve Master Draco," She bowed so low that her large
nose brushed the plush carpet that adorned the floor of his room.

He waited till the anxious creature left, tossed his shirt away, discarded his
trousers and the boxers and strode naked into the bathroom. If anything
sounded remotely enticing at that moment, it was a long-lasting, leisurely
shower. The overhead shower spluttered to life and fell over his weary
frame gloriously. He always did his best thinking in the shower.

Random thoughts of what would happen at dinner danced around his

consciousness. He didn't emerge favourably in any of them. His own bloody
mind was turning treacherous.

Hermione toyed with her wand. She always practised a few spells before
bed in her youth, and somehow the ritual had stuck with her.

She lay on her back in cotton pyjamas, green woolly socks and unruly
messy hair, thinking about the dinner the following night, but primarily and
to her utter dismay, she found herself thinking incessantly about Malfoy and
Astoria.

Despite his steadfast resolve that she meant nothing, Hermione wondered if
he was presented with the opportunity of sex with a beautiful woman,
would he have the willpower to refuse? Her answer came in the form of a
text message.

Curious about who would message her so late, she reached for the mobile
and opened the neatly closed envelope that appeared on the small screen.

The typed words stared at her square in the face. They were bold and to the
point.

I look forward to dinner.

She felt a sense of relief wash over her shamelessly. Clearly, he was home
and probably in bed wearing those black silk boxers that fit snugly around
his tight waist.

Hermione didn't bother replying. It wouldn't do well to appear desperate.

Let him wait, she thought shrewdly and regretted her earlier thoughts of
him in boxers.

The image caused desire to coat her knickers, and with great difficulty, she
brushed away such feelings and thought once more about the dreaded
dinner. She imagined so many different scenarios, and most were disturbing
at best.

Her mother wasn't the problem, but her dad couldn't be trusted to behave.
He was educated and knowledgeable about most topics and not in the least
bit afraid to hold his tongue. Why was she even nervous? It wasn't like it
was a real marriage. Her parents' opinion of Malfoy hardly mattered. They
could hate him for all she cared because, in three years, it would be over. If
that was the case, why was she caught in a nerve-racking indecisive state
between wanting them to like him and hate him?
She buried her head in a fluffy pillow and muffled her screams of
frustration.

Draco carefully kept the phone on the nightstand. It was late, and he wasn't
expecting a reply at this hour, but a part of him missed that sharp tongue of
hers, always looking to scold him at every possible opportunity. He pulled a
pillow close, rested his arm behind his head and stared at the ceiling until
exhaustion pulled him into her welcoming bosom, and he drifted off into a
dreamless sleep.

Ginny woke up early, a mussed head of thick black hair nuzzled into the
crook of her neck, and a hand slipped across her waist and pulled her
towards him.

She heard him whisper her name almost in pain, "Ginny..." His hardened
cock pressed into her backside, and she encouraged him by rubbing herself
on his stiffening appendage. There was no foreplay. He clambered on top of
her and pushed her nightdress up her body until it bunched around her
middle. He was already naked and throbbing, and he moved the soft
material covering her pussy to the side and entered without a further word.

A hiss of intense pleasure tore through Harry's lips, and Ginny wrapped her
fingers around his arms as he pounded into her like a man possessed and
denied intimacy. There was a time when sex was enduring and exciting
when Harry took his time to make her delirious with pleasure, but now it
was over before it began. She barely reached her climax, but after a few
grunts, groans, and so intent on his pleasure, he missed the unresponsive
woman under him staring at the wall with a blank expression.

Ginny managed a few fake moans to satiate his ego as he came thundering
around her and filled her with his seed. The sun's warm rays entered the
room through the parting in the blinds. Another day was upon them, and
with it came the mundane activities and growing uselessness she felt with
each passing day.
Exhausted, Harry fell forward and grazed his wife's neck with his teeth. A
sappy satisfied grin split his face in half before he rolled off her and got to
his feet. He reached for the closest towel and tied it around his waist. Ginny
turned away from him, hugged her legs to her chest and stared at the beams
of sunshine coating the wall. She felt his semen drip down her thighs, and it
momentarily filled her with despair that he was oblivious to her needs.

Harry glanced over his shoulder and recited in a dead tone, "I have to go to
work. I'll be back soon." Ginny felt anger consume her. Never had such
atrocious feelings plagued her in their marriage. She leapt out of bed and
hurled, "It's Sunday. Can't you get anyone else to fill in?"

Harry shook his head determinedly, "No, Gin. I need to be there. I don't
trust the others to cover the areas we need." She cried in absolute outrage,
"That's a load of tripe, Potter. Why do you need to be there?" Her bottled-up
feelings and resentment soared to the surface one by one. Harry kept his
temper in check and explained slowly, "Because I want to interrogate the
suspects myself."

Ginny massaged the bridge of her nose and gritted out, "I am so sick of
this."

Harry closed the gap between them and tried to touch her to reassure her,
but Ginny stubbornly stepped away. Her rejection of him hurt, but deep
down, he knew she was somewhat justified. He attempted a weak smile,
"I'm sorry, darling. I swear I'll make it up to you."

Without a smidge of compassion, she accused, "No, you won't," and added
helplessly, "In a couple of hours, everyone's coming over." Their Sunday
brunch brought everyone in the family together. It was an event to look
forward to and an excellent way to stay connected. Teddy, in particular,
loved the little get-together.

Harry sighed, "I'll be back in time for lunch. I promise."

Ginny pleaded desperately, "It's one day, Harry. Why can't you take one
fucking day off?"
His temper spiralled out of control, "BECAUSE SHE COULD BE DEAD
BY THE END OF IT!"

He grabbed tufts of his hair and pulled them hard in frustration. His loud
voice bounced off the walls, "I HAVE NOTHING. NO LEADS, NO SOLID
SUSPECTS. WHY CAN'T YOU UNDERSTAND MY DESPERATION TO
CATCH THIS MADMAN?" It fitted that he would use the word madman
since his pupils were dilated, flecks of spit flew out of his mouth, and he
looked utterly unhinged.

Ginny took an involuntary step back, but her temper matched his own, and
she yelled, "YOU'RE LOSING OUT ON JAMES'S LIFE. YOU KNOW
NOTHING ABOUT YOUR SON!"

Harry countered in sheer disbelief, "I AM TRYING TO MAKE A BETTER

WORLD FOR HIM." Her remark stunned him into momentary silence. She
had blatantly accused him of being a bad father.

Ginny locked her arms but kept screaming, "YOU'RE SO HUNG UP ON

SAVING THE BLOODY WORLD YOU'RE MISSING OUT ON
EVERYTHING ELSE!"

Before he managed to reach a reasonable retort, she pointed to the bed

where they'd laid and spat without much thought to the consequences, "DO
YOU THINK AN UNSATISFACTORY SHAG MAKES UP FOR ALL
THE TIME YOU'VE BEEN AWAY?"

Harry stood rooted to the spot, unable to move a muscle or comprehend

what was happening. He knew he was working more than usual, but he had
also made the grave mistake of thinking his loving wife understood his
immense sacrifice.

James ran into the room, hid behind his mother, and peered anxiously at his
father. His small face was pinched with fear as he held on tight to her soiled
nightdress. Ginny intentionally ignored her husband, picked up the
trembling child and soothingly cradled him, cooing words of comfort.
Harry's heart bled at the horrified expression on his son's face and the anger
that radiated off his wife of many years. The child looked terrified and shied
away from his father's touch. He kept his palm face down on James's back,
used his thumb to rub soothing circles and almost muttered in unimaginable
pain, "I'm sorry, James. Daddy loves you so much."

Ginny pursed her lips and refused to acknowledge his empty words and
unwanted presence at the moment. Taking a step back from his beloved
family, Harry hung his head but declared firmly, "I need to go. Let's talk
about this later."

In contempt, he spoke directly to his wife, "I'm sorry I can't be the husband
you want, Ginny."

Ginny scoffed, "Yeah, run to the office like you always do." With his hand
on the door to the bathroom, Harry turned on his heel and said in anguish,
"That's not fair. I'm not trying to flee; I'm doing my job."

Ginny brushed the hair out of her face and spat without remorse, "It's just a
job."

Harry exhaled, and a sad smile curved his lips, "Not to me. This is who I
am." He heard the bedroom bang shut loudly as soon as the bathroom door
closed behind him. He leaned against the door, looked around the small
tiled space, and fought back the tears.

Draco punched the air and did a few midair roundhouse kicks to loosen up.
A night of debauchery did not discourage him from his morning routine.

He was halfway through his workout when he spotted Dotty standing

nervously near the rim of the mat, contemplating whether she should step
onto it or not. She carried a silver tray, and on it was what looked
remarkably like a large ivory-coloured envelope with a red seal.

His curiosity got the better of him, and temporarily abandoning his regime;
Draco jogged over to the edge and took the envelope Dotty presented by
holding the tray above her head.
It bore the wax seal of the Ministry. He flipped it over and found that it was
indeed addressed to him. Eagerly but gently, he popped the seal open and
took out the parchment with perfect looped handwriting.

Auror Draco Lucius Malfoy - Please report to the Department of

Magical Law Enforcement at noon to be fitted with Auror robes.

It was signed by Stacy Jane Hopkins, Head of Logistics. The name sounded
oddly and vaguely familiar, but Draco paid no thought to it. He kept the
opened letter back on the tray, dismissed Dotty and returned to his vigorous
workout.

Ginny went through the motions. The light in her was extinguished, but her
child needed her, and so did the half-dozen guests expected in a few short
hours. She had half a mind to cancel the damn thing, but Teddy's loving
face floated by, and she couldn't bring herself to cause yet another child
grief in one day.

She put on a happy face, buttered a piece of toast and handed it to the now
cheerful toddler, who took it from her eagerly and bit into the crispy
goodness smearing butter all over his face. He giggled and laughed as he
licked up the oily substance stuck to his lips, and Ginny marvelled at the
uncanny ability of children to forget so quickly and forgive just as fast.

The angry words she threw at Harry prickled her insides, and a dull sense of
remorse engulfed her. He was right. It was his job, and whatever else was
there for the great Harry Potter other than saving the wizarding world from
unscrupulous characters. An apology would have to wait. It was a jam-
packed day with only so many hours to get everything done. The owl
needed food, and so did the turtle swimming in a glass bowl on the counter.
Ginny cleaned the breakfast dishes and tickled her adorable toddler, "Are
you ready to go out, darling?"

James squealed with laughter and nodded, "Yes, mummy." She bundled him
up in a scarf, slipped into her jacket, took his chubby hand in hers and
stepped into the Floo network connected to Diagon Alley. Mother and son
walked along the paved streets hand in hand. James jumped excitedly and
pointed at a wizard carrying what looked remarkably like a bright blue
dragon's egg.

She was instantly reminded of her brother Charlie. The stupid sod had
promised to visit, but he could not bear to leave behind his gorgeously
tanned Romanian boyfriend.

They neared their destination. It was still early, and the shop was almost
deserted, except for a few desperate people like herself. The Magical
Menagerie was a one-stop shop for all pet-related needs, and it was always
bursting at the seams with children peeping through the window to catch a
glimpse of some exotic creature or other.

James tugged on Ginny's sleeve urgently and forced her to look at a giant
lumbering down the way. He casually strolled by, and everyone stepped out
of his way for fear of being flattened like a pancake. She pulled her son out
of harm's way and bumped into a smartly dressed olive-skinned gentleman
holding onto the hand of a sweet little girl. Ginny straightened and
apologised for her clumsiness, but the voice she heard come out from him
caused her to freeze momentarily.

Blaise beamed. His hypnotic eyes sparkled, "Ginny, is that you?"

Unconsciously, she brushed her hair back, adjusted her white blouse and
hoped everything was in place. She returned the smile with one of her own,
"Oh, hello, fancy meeting you here. I'm sorry I bumped into you."

Blaise grinned, "Yeah, it's the last place I'd expect to run into you, and don't
worry about it."

He teased, "You stepped on my foot. I'll live."

Carrie made her presence known. She pulled on her father's black coat and
demanded, like the diva she was, "Daddy! Can we get the blue-collar? Mr
Buttons would love that."
Blaise patted her head affectionately, "Yes, darling. We can get anything
you like, but first, come meet one of daddy's, umm...friends."

Carrie looked Ginny over as a curious child would and gushed, "She's so
pretty, daddy."

Ginny blushed, "That's the best compliment I've received in a while."

Blaise averted his gaze, felt incredibly uncomfortable and muttered under
his breath, "She is." He was sure no one heard him, but when Ginny raised a
questioning brow, there was nothing more to do than grin sheepishly and
hope he would disappear.

Instead, he introduced, "Carrie, this is Miss Weasley."

Ginny timidly interrupted, "Umm, Potter. It's Mrs Potter now." A bitter pill
to swallow considering how hopelessly in love he had been with her before
she dumped him without so much as a valid explanation.

He gave a lopsided smirk, "Of course. How could I forget?"

Ginny smiled sweetly at Carrie, "Hello, darling. Don't you look lovely?"
She pushed her shy son forward and said, "This is James." James shifted his
tiny feet and looked at Carrie in awe. The headstrong toddler took centre
court and hugged him tightly, "Hello, James. I like your coat and black
hair."

Blaise injected, "He looks just like Potter."

Ginny couldn't help but roll her eyes, "So I've heard." If she had a Galleon
for every time someone mentioned how remarkably similar the two were,
she would be wealthier than Blaise. By the looks of things, he seemed to be
doing quite well for himself, and if she hadn't been desperately in love with
Harry, Blaise would've been that special one to whisk her away into the
sunset. He was still strikingly handsome. She wondered if all Slytherin men
were blessed with good looks, deep pockets, and the uncanny ability to
make a woman's knees quake in a matter of seconds.
Ginny realised she was gawking openly. She quickly snapped out of the
haze that consumed her and opened her mouth to say something witty and
true to her character, but the melodic sound of Carrie's voice beat her to it,
"Daddy, can James come with us for ice cream?" In the few minutes that
she had been staring at her ex-boyfriend, the children had bonded and were
now the best of friends.

Blaise smiled to appease his daughter but shifted his feet awkwardly,
"Umm, that's up to his mummy, darling."

He raised an eyebrow, "What do you say, Red? Want to join Carrie and me
for ice cream and a cup of coffee?" She wished he didn't refer to her by his
old nickname for her. It brought back some rather fond memories that she
had suppressed. Only he had ever called her Red, and because she liked him
so much, she let him get away with it.

Ginny sighed and conceded defeat after taking in the children's pouting
faces, "Sure, that sounds like fun." James was an only child, and she always
encouraged him to make friends and took the initiative to arrange playdates
so he wouldn't feel lonely.

They got what they needed from The Magical Menagerie, and laden with
bags hanging from their wrists, they made the short walk to Florean
Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour and coffee shop. The coffee bit was a new
addition by Fortescue's son.

Years after his father's disappearance, the young man took over the family
business, reopened and introduced a few Muggle delicacies to the menu. A
bubbly server in a bubblegum pink uniform led them to a table by the
window where they could keep a watchful eye over the children playing in
the newly fitted indoor playground. She took their plain order of coffee
black with no milk and sugar on the side and went off to fulfil the request
after failing to entice them into adding a piece of chocolate to their order.

Blaise leaned back, got comfortable and cleared his throat, "So, how are
you?" He kept an eye out for anyone he knew passing by. It wouldn't work
well for him to be seen out with a married woman even though he had much
history with Ginny.
She anxiously played with the fingers on her lap and answered, "I'm good,
Blaise. And you? How is Daphne?" A tenderness spread across his face that
wasn't missed by her. He recited adoringly, "She's good, a full-time mum
now since we had Adam."

Ginny attempted to smile. She was genuinely happy for him, but why was
resentment bubbling to the surface? Envy was a fickle thing designed to
ruin even the toughest of people.

She soldiered through, "That's nice. I saw you guys on the cover of Witch
Weekly magazine a few months back. She looks lovely." The waitress
arrived with their coffee, and Ginny stirred two spoonsful of sugar into hers
while Blaise drank his plain. She was sure it tasted bitter beyond words.

She couldn't help but tease, "You still don't add sugar." He laughed, mainly
because she recalled such a minute detail from their torrid romance, "Never
touch the horrid stuff. Do you have any idea what sugar will do to this
body?"

Her eyes moved down his broad chest audaciously, taking in the chiselled
chest that peaked through the open top buttons of his light blue shirt, but
she quickly tore her eyes away and coughed in a pathetic attempt to hide
what she had done.

Blaise took a sip of his coffee, leaned forward and asked in concern, "Erm,
are you okay?" He had been studying her odd behaviour. She was still
pretty, but subtle things like heavy bags under her eyes and slightly pale
skin made him question her well-being.

Ginny bemused, "Yes, I'm just having a tough morning. It's nothing
important."

Blaise reached over and covered Ginny's hand with his. It was a daring
move and one he did not regret in the slightest. He pleaded, "Talk to me. We
weren't a perfect couple back at Hogwarts, but you could always talk to
me."
Ginny took her hand from under his and choked back a sob, "I really
shouldn't." It felt sinfully good for someone to ask her about her happiness.

He reached over and fearlessly brushed away her tears and persuaded,
"Come on, love." A figure passing by with his collar pulled up and dark
shades adorning his bloodshot eyes immediately halted outside the cafe. He
watched the intimate exchange with a permanent scowl etched onto his face
and stormed away towards Knockturn Alley without a second glance.

Ginny repeated firmly, "I'm having a rough day."

Blaise mused, "We all have those."

Ginny held the mug with trembling fingers and continued to sip the
scalding liquid to pass the time, but Blaise interrupted the silence abruptly,
"You know, Potter is remarkable. I could never do what he does." He
guessed some altercation caused her distress with her Auror husband.

He pressed adamantly, "We have it bloody easy. He's got so much

responsibility riding on his shoulders."

Ginny couldn't believe the words Blaise uttered. It was surreal to hear him
speak of Harry in such a respectable way. She always figured he despised
Harry simply because she dumped him for the Chosen One.

He shook his head and mumbled, "It's not easy being him."

Ginny interrupted bitterly, "Well, being his wife isn't a walk in the park."
She regretted her words at once. It was one thing to live in Harry's
overbearing shadow, but when she was expected to put on a happy face and
be grateful for all he was all the time was a gruelling task. She had been her
own person with accomplishments that were hers, and with each passing
day, she yearned for the person she once was.

Blaise sighed, "I'm sorry."

Ginny avoided his gaze and mused, "You have nothing to be sorry for."
His fingers lightly brushed against hers, and Ginny felt a stirring she hadn't
in years, but the fleeting sensation was gone as soon as it came.

She shot to her feet unexpectedly and beckoned James. The toddler
protested as he abandoned the toys and obeyed his mother. He glanced at
Carrie unhappily and sulked that he was being torn away from his new
playmate.

Grabbing her purse, Ginny said shortly, "I think I should go."

Blaise offered with good intention, "We can meet again if you like. Bring
James over. He can play with Carrie and Adam. You know, make a day out
of it." Her suffering caused his heart to ache. You never forget your first
love, more so when faced with the insatiable witch that was Ginny Weasley.

She would always be Weasley to him.

Ginny thought twice, but Blaise was a temptation she could not afford. She
shook her head and declined politely, "I don't think that's a good idea." The
last thing she wanted or needed was for him to get the wrong idea.

He looked distraught, "Ginny, I'm sorry if I stepped out of place, but I love
my wife very much, and I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

She mustered a sincere smile, "You didn't. I'm sorry, thank you for the
coffee."

He got to his feet, adjusted his shirt, let his eyes rove over her and said
slowly, "It was good to see you, Ginny."

Ginny turned on her heel and fled, dragging a grumbling James behind her.
Of all the bloody days she had to run into Blaise on the one day she was an
emotional wreck.

Blaise stared after the flaming red hair disappearing down the cobbled street
and looked forlorn. His mind returned to the fateful night Ginny broke up
with him. They had plans to meet up in the abandoned Defence Against The
Dark Arts room on the second floor. They kept their relationship a secret for
the most part due to the raging war around them.

He recalled insulting her on the train when Draco brought up her name for
being in Professor Slughorn's illustrious Slug Club. Pansy had called him
out for thinking the Weasley girl was desirable. Any idiot with eyes could
see how beautiful and unique she was, and to throw his friends off his true
feelings, he told them that he wouldn't dare touch a blood traitor. Still, he
had touched her at every opportunity, kissed her senselessly and ran his
long fingers through her straight locks of hair on most nights.

They had served a week's detention together and connected in the

unlikeliest of ways. He went to the class early and eagerly waited for her to
turn up, and she did, but her eyes were puffy, and her whole demeanour was
stressed. When he tried to touch her, she brushed him off, cruelly told him it
was over, and ran out of the room before he could get a word in edgewise.

During and after the battle, he came to the shocking realisation that the girl
he had fallen for loved another, but it worked out well, he supposed. He
started dating Daphne, who had a crush on him since his fourth year, and it
was a match made in heaven, but he never honestly forgot the one that
stabbed him straight through the heart and left him for dead.

Sometimes, they was no escaping the past.

The constant rays of the sun were making its haughty presence known.
Hermione heard the unmistakable sounds of birds chirping and thought it
odd. At her flat, the traffic down below usually drowned out any sounds of
nature. She opened her eyes a crack and groggily took a while to register
that she was not at her flat but home with her parents.

Hermione sat up and brushed her untidy hair off from her face, yawned and
stretched to rid herself of the sleepiness that was pulling her once again into
its strong embrace. Sod it, she flopped back down, pulled a pillow near and
closed her eyes when the apprehension that Malfoy was gracing them with
his presence later that day bolted through her mind causing her to quite
literally flung herself off the bed.
She had a quick shower, changed into a simple pair of beige shorts, and a
white t-shirt and, tied her hair up in a messy bun and stuck her wand
through it for good measure. Standing in front of the mirror, Hermione took
a deep breath, "You can do this, Granger. You've helped defeat Dark
wizards; you can get through one measly dinner."

With an extra bounce to her step, she went down the stairs and froze on the
bottom step. The voices and laughter coming out of the kitchen were
familiar and pleasant, but one she established above all. Hermione hurried
into the kitchen as fast as her feet would take her and cried in shock,
"Nana!!" She threw her parents an accusatory glance. They quickly looked
away and busied themselves with a multitude of other things.

Phyllis Granger threw her arms wide open and announced, "Surprise."Nana
had always been a sophisticated woman. Her whole head of grey hair was
styled in a fashionable bob. Over her slightly stout frame, she wore a linen
blouse and fitting trousers to match. With age, her once slender figure had
slipped, but Grandma Granger was quite attractive in her day, and her
wedding picture was proof of that.

Hermione closed the gap between them and let her grandmother's warmth
surround her whole. She always loved the smell of lavender and the hint of
jasmine that followed her beloved nana around. The older woman held
Hermione by the hands and gushed, "My darling. Let's take a look at you."
She raved, "So beautiful!" Hermione was beside herself with happiness,
"When did you arrive?" Her voice and tone mirrored her feelings. It had
been months since she last saw her grandma, and a sense of guilt engulfed
her.

Phyllis laughed, "Hours ago, and you would've known that if you didn't
sleep in until the sun's rays bounced off your...."

Julia interrupted from her place by the stove, "Your bottom is what your
grandmother was trying to say." Richard shook his head and let out a hearty
chuckle.

Hermione hugged her grandmother again and shrieked, "I'm so happy to see
you."
Phyllis countered in a no-nonsense tone, "Well, you should visit more often.
At least come over to mine."

Her wise brown eyes moved critically over her granddaughter's slight
frame, "You need fattening up."

Hermione nodded in agreement, "I will visit, I swear." She added solemnly,
"Things have been...well, rough."

Phyllis pursed her lips, "I heard." Her grandmother was a tough woman and
not to be trifled with.

She was brought up in the old ways and raised two boys on her own after
her husband succumbed to cancer when she was still in her twenties.
Grandma Granger knew a thing or two about survival.

She took Hermione's hand in hers, gazed at the beautiful ring wrapped
around her finger, and said thoughtfully, "Whoever this man is, he and his
family have impeccable taste. This is an exquisite ring.

Hermione stared at the ring herself, not knowing what to say. The ring was
a masterpiece, an actual work of art by a jeweller who learned his craft. She
was determined to find out about the ring's illustrious lineage and made a
mental note to speak with Narcissa as soon as possible.

Clutching a hot mug of tea, Phyllis advised Hermione to follow suit, "Grab
a cup of tea. I fancy a breath of fresh air."

Hermione took the cup her mother held out for her and mouthed, "Help
me." Julia shrugged and returned to peeling the carrots.

Their garden was well maintained and landscaped to be aesthetically

pleasing to the eye. Vast patches of green grass covered the earth, and an
abundant variety of sweet-smelling flowers decorated the area. Her father
had installed a sizeable white-painted porch swing a few years back, and it
was a place where you could relax with a hot beverage, an interesting book
or delve into one's deep thoughts. They sat on the swing, and Hermione
moved it back and forth using her foot.
Phyllis sipped the milky tea and inquired sternly, "Now tell me. What is all
this about."

Hermione sighed and clarified miserably, "It's an arranged marriage with

little to no choice."

She didn't bother to hide the contempt in her voice, "Things are different in
the magical world."

The older woman didn't bother mincing her harsh words, "They seem rather
backward."

Hermione shrugged, "I guess you could say that." Her will to defend the
Magical community had long since evaporated since they passed the law.

Phyllis questioned curiously, "What does this Draco Malfoy look like?"

She offered comically, "Short, fat, unattractive?"

Hermione stifled a laugh; it was hard to imagine Malfoy being any of those
things.

She chewed on her bottom lip nervously and mused, "He's umm...quite easy
on the eyes, I suppose."

Her eyes clouded over with lust, and she rattled off without much thought to
how eager she sounded, "Tall, with pale smooth skin and the most
mesmerising eyes of clear grey you will ever see. He's muscular but
perfectly so, and his smile, Nana. He doesn't use it as often as he should, but
when he does, it sort of melts your heart, you know what I mean?"

Hermione was reminded of his most pleasing feature. At least to her, his
arms and, in extension, his hands with entwining ribbed veins and long
fingers that fisted her hair but were surprisingly gentle as they ghosted over
her skin.

A satisfied smirk curved Phyllis's rosy tainted lips. She raised a questioning
brow, "Do you have feelings for this man?"
Hermione shook her head and scoffed, "What? No, of course not. We were
matched through the Ministry. I loathe him."

Phyllis chided, "Have you been intimate with this Malfoy?"

Hermione swallowed hard and tried to keep the edge out of her voice,
"Umm, of course not. He's repulsive." She sounded annoyingly repetitive.

A knowing grin adorned Phyllis's ageing features, "Hmm...if I didn't know

any better, Hermione and I always do, I would say you're at least attracted
to him."

Hermione's hold on the cup tightened, "Well, I'd be blind not to be. Most
women would kill to be in my place, but it's complicated."

Phyllis pressed undeterred, "How so?"

Hermione struggled to keep her emotions at bay, "I haven't told mum and
dad, but I always could be more open with you than them."

Phyllis implored, "What Is it, my dear?"

She glanced at her grandmother, patiently waiting for an answer and replied
with the sadness that tainted her heart, "Malfoy and I have a dark past. He
was a horrid slimy git back in school and tormented me without mercy."

Phyllis tittered and stated wisely, "You know what they say. Boys who pick
on girls have a crush on them."

Hermione responded sarcastically, "Oh, trust me. It was nothing like that.
He hated me for using magic. He's the only son of one of the most
prestigious families in the Wizarding World and was raised to look down on
people like me, Muggleborns."

Phyllis squeezed her granddaughter's hand reassuringly and inquired

sceptically, "How did he react to this arranged marriage?" It was plain to
see the toll it took on Hermione, and she wished she could somehow
alleviate the pain.
Hermione considered her answer and acknowledged the truth, "Malfoy
wasn't as appalled as I was. He obviously wasn't thrilled, but he's been away
for years, and well... he's different, or at least I think he is. He claims to no
longer be that spoiled boy and wants to make up for being a portentous
toad."

She touched the pendant he gifted over the material of her t-shirt
unconsciously and thought it best to share with her grandmother. Bringing
the chain out into the open, she delicately held out the engraved pendant for
her nana to see.

Hermione smiled fondly, "He gave me this." She was rather attached to the
jewellery items Malfoy gave her.

He seemed to guess her choice without genuinely knowing the first thing
about her, but then again, the ring was an heirloom made by one of his
ancestors.

Still, she adored it, and her allegiance to it was unflattering—the ring, not
the person who gave it to her.

Phyllis leaned closer to get a better look, "That's beautiful."

She asked anxiously, "Do you think he's changed?"

Hermione shrugged, "I honestly don't know. He scares me, Gran. I'm
terrified of opening up to him." She wanted to believe Malfoy was reformed
desperately, but there was that small doubt that overshadowed everything.

Phyllis could see her granddaughter's internal struggle. She appealed, "Why
does opening up to him scare you, darling?"

Hermione recited what was in her heart against her better judgement, "What
if it's all an act to get in good with me?" The very thought alarmed her.

Phyllis said thoughtfully, "Hmm, and what if it's not? Let me measure up
the man tonight. I'll know if he's up to no good."
She cupped Hermione's face lovingly, "I won't let him hurt my precious
granddaughter."

Hermione leaned into her touch, closed her eyes and choked back a sob,
"Thank you. I can always count on you."

A gentle breeze blew around them, Phyllis looked around the garden, and
her astute eyes settled on the rose bushes. Her face scrunched up in
disapproval at once.

She looked towards the kitchen and yelled, "Richard!"

He came out at once and looked at his daughter, who inconspicuously

shrugged and raised a curious brow at his mother, "Yes, mum?"

She pointed to the flower beds and instructed firmly, "There are weeds that
need picking. Hermione, help your father."

Hermione grumbled, "Gran, do I have to? I'm on holiday."

Her grandmother was having none of it. She shook her head and offered an
incentive, "I just baked a batch of chocolate brownies. You can have one if
you help your father."

Hermione cried in mock outrage, "Only one?"

Phyllis rolled her eyes, "Fine. You can have two but no more."

She walked towards the kitchen, glanced over her shoulder and warned,
"No magic."

Richard and Hermione swapped a look and groaned before setting to the
task assigned to them by the stubborn old lady. They each took a patch and
got to work pulling up the unruly, unwelcome weeds that littered the lovely
garden. Her father would highly appreciate the immaculately landscaped
gardens of Malfoy Manor.

Hermione pulled up what she assumed was her one-thousandth weed, wiped
the sweat off her upper lip and timidly questioned, "Did she bribe you with
brownies? I got two."

Richard chuckled, "Sucker. I got four."

Hermione asked slowly, "Dad, are you upset with me?" She was close to
her father, and he, being disappointed in her, clawed at her insides
unpleasantly.

Richard sighed in exasperation, "I'm worried about you, Princess. Marriage

in any form should not be taken lightly."

She reassured, "I promise, I'll be fine."

He smiled proudly, "You were always so independent, off doing things on

your own, being strong. I know you will be fine, but that doesn't make me
stop worrying. I'm your father. It's my job."

Hermione gushed, "I love you, daddy."

Richard ruffled her hair affectionately with his dirt-covered hands, "I love
you more, darling."

Hermione dusted the soil off her hands, got to her feet and assessed the area
glumly, "Erm, there is an easier way to do it."

Richard dropped his voice low so only she could hear, "Then let's do it. No
number of brownies is worth this."

Hermione looked around to make sure her grandmother was nowhere in

sight before pulling out her wand and waving it hurriedly over the places
the weeds flourished.

Richard warned, "Not a word to your grandmother."

Hermione drew an imaginary line over her lips and winked, "My lips are
sealed."
It was quarter to twelve. He was punctual. It was one of his many appealing
attributes, along with high-cheek bones and dreamy eyes. Draco took the
shaky old lift to the desired floor.

The Ministry was deserted for the most part, with only a handful of wizards
and witches about. He stepped out of the lift, greeted by the large emblem
as per his last visit, but a smartly dressed witch was seated at a glass-
encased desk this time around. She flashed him a bright and welcoming
smile.

Draco slicked his hair back and approached the desk, "Good morning, I'm
here for...."

She cut him short with the raise of a hand, "Auror uniforms."

He grinned, "Yes. Would you be kind enough to show me the way?"

The woman got to her feet and gestured with her hands effortlessly as if she
had done it a dozen times before, "Down the corridor and turn to your left."

Draco quickly muttered, "Thank you," before turning away, but her voice
stopped him.

She batted her eyelashes suggestively, "Welcome to the team, Mr Malfoy."

He nodded briskly and followed her directions down the long narrow path
when someone loudly called out his name, "Malfoy? What brings you by?"

Draco turned on his heel to find Potter coming up behind him with a look of
suspicion imprinted on his face.

He took out the letter and explained simply, "Umm, I received a letter about
robes."

Harry nodded in understanding, "Ah, yes, I forgot about that." He looked

like a completely unprofessional fool.

The head Auror didn't look good. He had heavy bags under his eyes, and his
body radiated hostility.
Draco stated firmly, "Potter, if we're working together, you have to trust
me."

Harry glared sternly, "I don't trust you. At least, not yet, Malfoy. Were you
expecting anything less?"

He softened his tone, "Trust is going to take time. You have to earn it,
Malfoy."

Draco pressed his lips down hard and nodded curtly, "Right. I understand."

He asked in interest, "Working on the weekend?"

Harry nodded grimly, "We've got tons of suspects to weed through since the
article. You will soon learn that this is not a nine to five type of job."

Draco ignored the last remake and insisted, "Any leads?"

Harry shook his head and gritted out, "Nothing useful. At this point, I'm
praying for a miracle."

Draco inquired hopefully, "Mind if I take a crack at it?" Potter had brought
him in that one time, but that was it.

Harry sized up the tall man walking alongside him and declared, "Not
anytime soon. You're in training for a month, but yes, let's see." Malfoy's
input could prove to be valuable. It dawned on Harry that he would need to
assign a partner to the new Auror, but who would work with him without a
fuss was a mystery on its own.

Harry scratched the back of his neck and asked casually, "How is
Hermione? I meant to call her. We do a regular lunch at my place with the
Weasleys and Teddy, but I forgot to remind her, with all that's been going
on."

Draco smirked at the mention of Granger. He shed some light on her

whereabouts, "Ah, she's with her parents, or so I gather since I've been
invited to meet them over dinner." The word slipped out of Harry's mouth
before he could stop it, "Fuck." Draco threw him an amused look. Potter's
expression matched his sentiments exactly.

Harry tried to cover up his untimely mistake, "Things are getting serious
then?"

Draco showed indifference, "Well, her parents don't know me from Jack, so
it makes sense they want to meet the bloke marrying their only daughter."

Harry chuckled, "Ron and Richard had their differences." He recalled Ron
using a colourful slew of words to describe Hermione's father. None was
flattering in the least.

Draco raised a brow, "Richard?"

Harry explained, "Her dad..." It was another thing he didn't know. She knew
far more about him than he did her, and it was unsettling and a grave
oversight he intended to rectify.

Draco massaged the bridge of his nose in exasperation, "Interesting...." If

her father wasn't fond of Weasley, what chance did he have?

He braved, "Potter, what is her father's profession?" He assumed like his

mother Granger's mother was a housewife.

Harry was taken aback by the peculiar question, but he answered in a subtle
effort to be helpful, "They're dentists. Muggle Healers who tend to peoples'
teeth."

Draco rolled his eyes, "I know what a dentist is." They stopped outside a
door with a brass handle. It burst open unceremoniously. A fashionably
dressed older witch walked out, saw Harry, and began to plead, "Please,
Auror Potter, find Sarah before it is too late. Her family is in pieces praying
for her safe return." Madam Malkin begged Harry to find her missing
assistant.

Harry smiled wearily and followed the inconsolable lady inside the room.
He hadn't bargained on confronting a distraught woman.
Stacy gushed from the sidelines, "Hello, Draco."

He eyed the provocatively dressed woman for a few minutes before hazy
memories of snogging in the library came rushing back, "Ah, Stacy. I
remember now. It's been a while." She had been a year or so ahead of him
and a Ravenclaw prefect. They had an arrangement that worked, but she
wasn't memorable like the rest. He could only recall bits and pieces of their
trysts.

She looked momentarily insulted that he had forgotten who she was but
brushed it aside and sauntered up to him with intent and purpose.

Hannah chose that moment to come around the corner and almost barrelled
into them.

Stacy smoothened her coat and leered, "Why are you such a clumsy oaf,
Abbott?"

Hannah grinned, "And why are you such an epic cunt, Hopkins?"

Draco stifled the laughter that bubbled to the surface, and Hannah greeted
him with a happy smirk, "Malfoy, here to get your robes?"

She glanced at the smartly dressed woman in a crisp business suit and low-
cut blouse that gave her breasts an ample view and quipped, "What are you
doing here, Stacy? You haven't joined the DMLE, have you?"

Stacy looked positively livid at such a suggestion, "Don't be silly. I wouldn't

dream of running off after some evil character."

Hannah mumbled under her breath, "Thank, Merlin, you daft bint."

Draco heard her and snorted. Stacy questioned irritably, "What was that?"

Hannah tightened her ponytail, crossed her arms over her chest and retorted
smugly, "Oh, nothing. So are you here to gawk at Malfoy?"

Stacy was taken aback by the straightforward assessment and fell over her
words, "I, umm...how dare you?" Draco eyed the woman standing close to
him out of the corner of his eye and thought it prudent to put some distance
between them.

Hannah rolled her eyes, "Yeah, whatever. Have either of you seen Harry?"

Draco pointed to the closed door and offered, "He's inside talking to Madam
Malkin." They could hear Harry reassuring the old witch in hushed tones
that they were doing their utmost to catch the man responsible. Stacy
thought it was best to leave with her dignity intact or whatever was left of
it.

She drawled sensually, "I guess I'll see you around...Auror Malfoy."

Hannah snorted openly, earning a scathing look from Stacy.

Draco smiled halfheartedly, "Umm, yeah." Not if I can help it. He wondered
if she knew about his upcoming marriage to Granger.

Hannah shook her head and muttered, "Pathetic." She knocked to make her
presence known, went in and emerged minutes later with a grateful Harry.
Both were discussing what seemed to be a critical matter.

Harry ignored Draco, but Hannah looked up, smirked and mouthed, "See
you tomorrow."

Draco walked in, and Madam Malkin smiled warmly, though her face was
pinched and tear-stained.

She cooed, "Ah, Master Malfoy, it's been too long. Your dear mother has
always been one of my most prestigious customers. I do cater to the finest
clientele."

Draco clicked his heels together and nodded, "Indeed, Madam." She
snapped her fingers, and two assistants hovering behind her, shooting Draco
appreciative glances, scurried about while he stood in the middle with his
arms stretched outwards like a scarecrow. At the same time, an enchanted
measuring tape wound itself around the right parts and travelled over his
body, shouting measurements as it went.
Once completed, it curled on Madam Malkin's palm and moved no more.
She smiled, "All done, dear. If you wouldn't mind waiting for a few
minutes, I'll have one of my eager assistants bring out five sets of
completed black robes to you. Please let me know if you require additional
ones, but since you're just starting, I doubt that will be necessary."

Draco ran his fingers through his hair and replied kindly, "Thank you. I'll
just be outside."

A tall pompous looking man stood next in line. He threw Draco a haughty
look and followed the well-dressed old witch into the room.

Draco took the opportunity to look around. Not much adorned the walls,
except a few framed articles of the DMLE exploits.

The man returned and purposely took the chair furthest away from him.
Minutes passed uneventfully, and a girl dressed in a purple uniform came
out and handed him a neatly wrapped but lumpy package.

He thanked the girl who blushed madly, tucked it under his arm and made
his way down the long corridors to an apparition point.

Blaise sat in his den with a drink in his hand. It was early, but he needed
something substantial to calm his frazzled nerves. Seeing Ginny Weasley
had thrown him through a loop.

Daphne poked her head in and saw him looking thoughtful and gloomy. She
entered the room quietly and lovingly stroked her husband's cheek. His eyes
snapped open. He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her fervently.

She returned his enthusiasm, but his kiss wasn't gentle. It was demanding as
if he was trying to prove something.

Daphne curled on his lap and brushed his hair back enduringly, "You seem
rather preoccupied today."
She loved her husband and children, but things hadn't always been easy for
her. It had been fine until Astoria's illness clawed its way to the surface. Her
devoted parents were horrified by their beloved younger daughter's
condition. Their happy home fell apart, leaving her to pick up the pieces at
such a tender age.

As the older sister and daughter, she was forced to the side and overlooked
as their parents gave their undivided attention to Astoria's deteriorating
mental health. Daphne bore no grudge. She understood her parents'
daunting situation and did all she could to appease them by mostly fending
for herself, but that all changed when she started dating Blaise. He
showered her with the attention she craved and gave her the confidence and
love to pursue anything she desired.

The day he proposed was the happiest day of her life. For once, she felt
complete.

Blaise sighed, "Do I?"

She bemused, "I was just giving Carrie a bath, and she couldn't stop talking
about a pretty lady with long red hair and a child named James."

Blaise paled, but it wasn't like he had done anything wrong, and he confided
without hesitation, "I met Ginny at the pet shop. Her son is James."

Daphne got to her feet, crossed her arms over her chest and scowled, "And
you didn't think it was important to tell me that you ran into your ex-
girlfriend." Of course, she knew about them. Blaise wasn't exceptionally
talented at covering his tracks.

He drained his drink and bit his bottom lip, "It was a long time ago, Daph.
We were children. It hardly meant anything. I didn't mention it because it
didn't matter." Liar. Even though their time together was short, he had felt
something tangible for the spirited Gryffindor woman.

"Are you going to see her again?" Daphne questioned uneasily.

Blaise shook his head, "Why would I? I ran into her, and we exchanged a
few pleasantries over a cup of coffee while the children played. End of
story. I have no wish to see her again."

Daphne wasn't wholly convinced, but it seemed so trivial that she let it slide
and left him to his thoughts while disturbing ones formulated in her now
troubled mind.

She mocked, "Do you miss her?" Blaise bit out sarcastically, "A woman I
haven't spoken to in years? Yes, terribly."

He took her hand in his and sighed, "I love you. Have I ever given you a
reason to doubt that?"

Daphne smiled and slowly shook her head, "No, my love, you haven't."

Whether Blaise admitted it or not, she was acutely aware of her husband's
once strong feelings towards Ginny Weasley.

Harry sat on top of Hannah's desk and went over the papers she handed
him. He had made a wise decision in hiring her. She was meticulous with
her paperwork and had more guts than half the male members on his team.
He also noticed she had a sharp mind that picked up the finer details even
more seasoned Aurors missed.

Terry breezed in, looking utterly dishevelled with unkempt hair, trembling
and almost frothing at the mouth.

Harry regarded him suspiciously, "I didn't expect you in so early after last
night's late shift."

Hannah looked him over and bit back the nasty comment before it left her
lips. Terry seemed unbalanced and paranoid.

Harry hopped off the table, clamped him on the shoulder and advised in
concern, "Boot, you don't look so good. Take the day off, mate."
Boot widened his bloodshot eyes and grinned, "Ah, I wanted to finish up
questioning the bastard." His teeth were yellowish with nicotine stains, but
his wild eyes gave him away.

Hannah frowned, "The suspect has been cleared, Boot. I saw to it myself."
The people they questioned were merely suspects, but Terry treated them as
if they were already convicted of the heinous crimes, and his indifference
infuriated her.

Harry invaded Terry's personal space and peered into his face. Boot tried his
best to avert his gaze, but Harry grabbed him by the shoulders and
demanded, "Are you fucking high?"

Terry broke free from his boss's hold and vigorously shook his head, "No, I,
umm, took something to cope up with the sleepless nights." If he were
caught using drugs, it would mean his badge and a stint in Azkaban.

Harry spat harshly, "Get your arse home. You're delirious and of no use to
me in this state. Sober up and report to work in the morning."

Terry blurted out callously, "I saw Ginny at Fortescue's with that Slytherin
bloke." How was that for delirious?

Harry turned on his heel deliberately and faced Terry. His face darkened,
"Ginny? My wife?"

Boot laughed manically, "Yeah, Potter. She's the only Ginny I know."

Harry found nothing amusing about his proclamation. He gritted out, "What
Slytherin bloke?"

Terry struggled to put a name to the face, but he did remember the man
hanging around Malfoy.

He snapped, "He's good friends with Malfoy."

Fuck. Saying the bastard's name left a bitter taste in his mouth. He hated the
man who took Granger away from him.
Harry hissed, "Zabini?"

Terry snapped his fingers in realisation, "That's the one. He the one with the
Quidditch stores?"

Harry felt his heartbeat hasten, and he answered slowly, "Yeah, that's him."

He raised his voice and commanded, "Boot, in my office now."

Terry trailed after Harry sluggishly, and Hannah threw them anxious looks.

Harry asked cagily, "Umm, Boot, what were they doing?"

Terry backed away and put his hands up in submission, "Look, mate, it's not
my place. She seemed upset, and he umm...." He should've kept his big
mouth shut. It wouldn't do to jump to hasty conclusions.

Harry demanded impatiently, "What did he do?"

Terry looked uncomfortable, "Calm down, Potter. He touched her face. I

couldn't see much. I was passing by."

Harry gripped the edge of his desk so hard his knuckles whitened from the
sheer intensity of his hold.

His breathing slowed. He kept his eyes on the pictures of the murdered
women scattered across his desk and said in a deadly undertone, "Go home,
Terry. That is an order."

Boot gave a salute, backed out of the room, threw Hannah a look of
contempt and marched down the hallway, disappearing from sight.

Hermione and Richard washed their hands with the garden hose and entered
the kitchen in high spirits. Phyllis had ham and cheese sandwiches waiting
for them. She placed them on the table and looked at them suspiciously,
"You finished quite fast." Hermione threw open the door to the refrigerator
and pulled out a cool water bottle. She twisted the cap open and shrugged,
"Yeah, we make a good team."
Phyllis accused, "You used magic."

Richard said bluntly, "That too. Hermione made me do it, mum."

Hermione glared at her father, "Traitor."

Phyllis shook her head, "Come on, wash up and let's help your mum finish
dinner. I'm making my famous green apple pie."

Hermione rolled her eyes, plopped herself down unceremoniously on a

chair and grumbled, "We don't need to make a fuss."

Phyllis waved her head dismissively and retorted, "The man will be fed
properly. I'm sure he eats better than your steady diet of ramen noodles."

Julia placed the chickens on a baking tray and laughed at the animated
banter that filled the kitchen. She longed for happy days such as these.

Ron popped a chip into his mouth, "Where's Harry?" Ginny stirred a pot
looking tired and drawn. She replied solemnly, "He's at work. I doubt he
will make it."

After returning, she put James to bed and stood under the shower for what
seemed like a lifetime trying to erase the gut-wrenching guilt that racked
through her.

The tears came before she knew it, and she collapsed and sobbed hard for
the offensive words she had hurled at Harry, for letting herself relax in
Blaise's company, but most of all for the intense longing she felt when his
fingers touched hers.

Harry's icy voice pierced the air, "Well, you thought wrong. I told you I
would be here, and here I am."

A strained silence followed. After Boot's bold declaration, Harry had paced
around his office in nothing short of a jealous frenzy and blamed himself
for pushing his wife into the waiting arms of another man. So consumed by
rage, he overlooked the fact that it might have been a chance meetup
between two individuals who happened to run into each other after years.

Ron took a swig off his butterbeer and hollered, "Mate, you're a sight for
sore eyes."

Tracey smiled politely, "It's nice to see you, Harry."

Harry mustered a smile, "You too, Tracey."

Teddy walked in holding James's hand, saw Harry and exclaimed excitedly,
"Uncle Harry!!" He patted the boy's bright blue head and gave his Godson a
tight hug.

Ginny wiped her hands on her apron, tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear
and took a step forward with a sincere smile, "I didn't expect you to come
for lunch, but I'm so glad you did."

She whispered, "I'm sorry about what happened in the morning." Her
apology fell on deaf ears. His features twisted unpleasantly, "Yeah, of
course, you are, but you've had a fun morning, haven't you?"

Ginny took a step back and stared at her husband in utter disbelief.
Embarrassed by his behaviour, she stared into his face and wordlessly
demanded answers.

Harry hissed, "I don't want to talk about this right now." Ron and Tracey
were among them, and the last thing he wanted was to be portrayed as some
villainous husband.

Ginny encircled his wrist with her petite fingers and implored, "Harry,
what's wrong?" He broke free of her hold and snarled, "I said I don't want to
discuss it. Now drop it."

Tracey threw Ron a look of concern and ushered the children out of the
room before something truly unpleasant happened. Teddy looked over his
shoulder in confusion, and though James was reluctant to follow his new
aunt and leave his mother, he went without fuss. Ron glanced at Ginny in
time to see her face fall and her lips quiver. The big brother in him surged
forth and the wanting to protect his baby sister from any harm was a
primaeval instinct he couldn't shake. Not that Harry would ever hurt her, but
he seemed angry enough to do something drastic.

Ron grew thoughtful. Harry was his best mate, but Ginny was blood, which
made her far more valuable. His face creased with worry. He had never seen
them fight, and a feeling of unease swirled around his belly. They were
indeed in for an eventful Sunday afternoon.
 Chapter 33
Chapter Summary

Thank you so much to everyone who posted a review and for everyone
following! It means so much! ❤😊

My gratitude and love to my amazing Beta Carrie. Thank you so much

for everything 😊

A chapter dedicated to the importance of friendship.

I know its slow burn, but I wanted to give the much-awaited dinner a
chapter of its own, and as with all my other stories, friendship and
being there for someone is of the utmost importance and an essential
point for me to get across 😊 Positive thoughts 😊

Also, I hope everyone reading can picture the dishes being prepared by
Julia and Phyllis. They are mouthwatering, to say the least.

Enjoy Chapter Thirty Three!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads!

Stay safe, beautiful people! 😊

HAPPY READING! 🥰

Terry Boot's Flat

Terry stumbled as he climbed the stairs that led to his flat. The lift was out
of commission for over a week, but the scrooge-like wanker who served as
their landlord couldn't be arsed to get it fixed. In his current condition, he
felt like he was climbing Mount Everest, seeking the summit.

Sudden chills racked through his sleep-deprived body, and grim, oppressive
walls closed in on him. Terry came to an abrupt halt, he could see the door
to his flat, but it seemed so far away.

With renewed determination, he shook his head in a desperate attempt to

clear the dizziness. All it did was add to the foggy thickness that pounded
within, along with his racing heartbeat.

He plunged his hand into his pocket and brought out a bunch of keys, but
his surroundings were blurry, and he couldn't focus. He could barely make
out his trembling fingers in front of his face.

The keys slipped through sweat-soaked fingers and slid to the ground with a
tinkling thump.

He needed to get inside and find his stash. The tunnel vision of
experiencing a new hit spurred him on, and he knew it would set him right.

Frustration sent pinpricks stabbing his skull, obsessively fueling him as he

tried to gather his wits to complete the simple task before him.

The previous night he had been so disgusted with himself that he had
almost flushed the little white packets down the commode, but he just
couldn't bring himself to do it.

Abandoning the keys that became as elusive as Granger at that point. He

pointed his wand at the lock and whispered, "Alohomora." The door rattled
stubbornly but eventually swung open.

Relieved, Terry hurriedly stepped in, shut the door behind him and tore
through the small flat into his bedroom, bumping into the walls and fighting
the black spots that clouded his vision.

He pulled out the bottom drawer of his cupboard and emptied the contents
onto his unmade bed. Balled-up socks, boxers, and a tie or two fell out and
over the bed. The secret compartment he maintained was still intact. Sliding
it open, he pulled out a small, sealed plastic packet and rushed back into the
living room.

Terry cleared the table clumsily and emptied a packet onto the wooden
surface in his desperation. The white powder that could pass off as flour to
the untrained eye was a stark contrast against the chestnut brown surface of
the table.

Taking a smidge, just a taste, between his thumb and forefinger, he rubbed
them together to coat his fingers generously, rubbing it along his teeth and
gums before sucking on his fingers greedily.

The actual charge lay ahead. Bending over the table, he folded a discarded
paper into two and used it to separate a fine line of white powder and
snorted it without hesitation. The rush was immediate, and he fell back
against the sofa and let out a satisfied groan of ecstasy.

Terry did another line and laughed as his surroundings became crystal clear,
and his mind regained its former sharpness.

He had always experimented with recreational drugs and smoked weed

back at Hogwarts, staying away from the real hard stuff for fear of being
caught, but more so because he lacked the resources to purchase the
expensive narcotics. Even by Wizarding standards, the substances cost a
pretty penny.

That was until his job started doing his head in, and the lifeless, brutalised
images of the dead women visited him at night, keeping him awake for days
until he crashed from pure exhaustion. Calming draughts and more vital
Muggle medication were not holding the nightmares at bay.

A little research into cocaine, commonly known to Muggles as Snow White,

and a visit to Knockturn Alley scored him a single packet of the illicit drug.

That was months ago. He knew it was addictive, but he was an Auror, and
Aurors had the ability to remain impartial to the happenings at work. They
went home and let all the severe stuff go. Except he couldn't.

He just wanted to sleep without dark thoughts tormenting him, but as time
went on, the addiction began to control him, and now he was entirely at its
mercy. He hated that everyone else at work came in fresh-faced and ready
for the challenge, and he wanted to be there alongside them.
A knock on the door made Terry flinch. He was paranoid about mostly
every noise and sound that made it to his sensitive hearing.

The voice was familiar, "Open the door, Terry. I know you're in there."
Michael? What was he doing here?

He was supposed to be enjoying his day off with Brenda and her mother.

"If you don't open up, I'm coming in whether you like it or not," Michael
called out impatiently. Hannah had expressed concern over Terry's bizarre
behaviour and sickly appearance.

She hadn't minced her words and plainly told him that she firmly believed
Terry was doing drugs. Terry hurriedly tried to clean the table and the
sloppy mess he had made in his haste, but he didn't do a thorough job of it,
and when Michael burst in, he was still rubbing the table down.

Michael hissed, "Fuck! What the hell are you doing?" He closed the gap
between them, grabbed Terry's head and examined his face. The pupils were
dilated, and his breath stank. Michael's own features were pinched and
twisted in concern.

Terry laughed manically, "Nothing, mate. It's just a little something to take
the edge off."

Michael hesitated but let go, and something white on the floor by the table
leg caught his eye. He cautiously picked up the empty packet with powder
still clinging to the insides and brought it up to peer at it closely. The colour
drained from his face, and he rounded on his best friend, who was sprawled
across the sofa in a delusional state.

He shoved the packet in his mate's face and warned, "This is cocaine. Have
you lost your fucking mind?"

Terry shrugged, "It's no big deal." He wished Michael would lighten up and
at least try to understand.
Michael would not hear another word. He demanded, "How long, Boot?
And don't you dare lie to me." An uncomfortable silence engulfed them, and
Terry struggled to string words together. He finally confessed, "Few
months. Since the first victim turned up."

Michael cried indignantly, "That was nearly eight months ago!" He couldn't
fathom how none of them had noticed Terry was doing drugs. He was good
at concealing it, composed for the most part, and he'd shown no apparent
signs until recently.

Corner, however, had noticed that Terry was smoking more than usual. His
best friend went through two packets of Marlboros compared to his typical
half a pack, though he hadn't paid much attention to it and had blamed it on
the stress of the job.

He looked over at his friend and said sadly, "Look at you." Terry was an
absolute mess. The bloke reeked, needed a haircut, and nearly a week's
worth of rough stubble adorned his face.

The flat was a complete wreck with overflowing ashtrays, empty food
cartons and partially rotting food littering the small kitchen counter and
table.

Terry couldn't bring himself to confess that once the drugs were in his
system, they somehow suppressed the magic in him and rendered him
useless. He had discovered that nearly two weeks ago, but even that
dreadful discovery didn't discourage him from using the deadly substance.

He reached for a half-smoked cigarette, put the nasty bud to his lips and
snarled, "Yeah, I'm a disgusting fucking mess, right? Get lost, Michael. Go
back to your perfect little life." In a pathetic attempt to defend his actions,
he added solemnly, "I've been stressed, so I took a little more than I
should."

Michael exhaled, took out his wand and waved it over the untidy space. He
barely heard Terry mutter in desolation, "Besides, you don't need to be
around a fuckup like me." Michael tossed his jacket aside and rolled up his
sleeves, "Well, this ends here."
Terry snapped, "I don't need your help." Michael stared in disbelief. He
seemed to be dealing with another person altogether, but Terry was good at
his job, brilliant even. During training, his confirmed number of hits was
still a DMLE record.

He turned to leave with a heavy heart, but Terry's strangled voice cut
through the frosty stillness, "I can't stop. Please, help me before it destroys
me."

Michael smiled and reassured, "Of course. That's what mates are for." He
would put his life on hold to help Boot out of this frightening mess. His
friend meant the world to him, and he would do what was needed to set him
on the right path once more.

The Granger Residence

The older women were genuinely invested in their mission to serve a

delightful meal. The Granger household smelt scrumptious with a blend of
aromas from the moist chocolate cake in the oven and the preparation of
fresh herbs and vegetables.

Julia was making her trademark dishes. Shepherd's pie, made with ground
lamb, which she prided herself on being the ultimate comfort food. Creamy
mashed potatoes over a generous layer of meat and mushrooms in a
delicious gravy that would fill a delectable pie fit for a king.

The mouth-watering scent of lemon chicken drifting from the oven tickled
their senses and gave new meaning to the word tasty. Whole chickens
perfumed with garlic, wine, and lemons were a perfect way to welcome a
new member joining the family. A butter and sea salt coating created an
ideal pairing of crispy skin and juicy meat on the chicken.

Finally, small potatoes, peas, cubed carrots, mushrooms, and sweet onions,
which were baked and then pan-seared, were the perfect accompaniment for
the meal, along with freshly made rolls with oodles of butter.
Julia handed carrots over to Hermione and grinned, "Make yourself useful.
Wash them and chop them up into even pieces." Phyllis was at the table in
the kitchen, slicing button mushrooms in half and dicing potatoes to go into
the shepherd's pie.

Julia smiled broadly and helped herself to a glass of wine, "It's quite nice to
cook for my future son in law." It was clear from her expression that she
was enjoying herself immensely.

Phyllis snorted, and Hermione tossed a piece of carrot into her mouth,
pulled the cutting board close and frowned, "I'm glad the people I love most
find my life amusing."

Julia handed Phyllis a glass of white wine and laughed, "Just teasing,
darling." She basted the chickens with melted butter and popped them back
into the oven. Phyllis mashed the potatoes and strained them through a
sieve to rid the creamy composition of any lumps.

Richard wandered into the kitchen in a pair of khaki shorts and a loose
work t-shirt to grab a bag of crisps, "Mmm, smells wonderful, ladies."

Hermione inhaled deeply, "It does smell fabulous." Pangs of hunger

churned her insides unpleasantly, and she longed to sink her teeth into a
juicy chicken leg.

Phyllis tapped the bench with a wooden spoon and scolded, "Stop drooling
and knead the dough. "

Hermione scowled, "I'm not an elf, Gran." The Granger Matriarch looked
thoroughly bemused.

After preparing the potatoes for Julia, she began slicing peeled juicy green
apples into thin and even pieces to line the flaky pastry of her apple pie.

Richard reached over his wife's shoulder, stole a sautéed button mushroom,
and popped it into his mouth before his mother shooed him from the
kitchen. He went grudgingly, muttering incoherently to himself about a man
starving to death waiting for guests before he was allowed to eat.
Julia mused, "Are you nervous, Hermione?"

Hermione quipped, "When I bring home a man I fancy, then yes, I'll be
nervous. It's only Malfoy, and I couldn't care less what you thought of him."

Phyllis snorted, "I wonder if your brain has got the message, your heart
clearly hasn't. If you chew on your lip anymore, it will disappear entirely,
my dear."

Hermione grinned sheepishly, "Stop it, Gran." Happy laughter from the
women filled the kitchen, arousing Richard's interest from his place in the
den. He looked their way and couldn't help the sunny smile that crept onto
his face.

After much pleading with her grandmother, Hermione used bits of magic to
help clean the mountain of pots and pans gathered in the sink.

Teddy grumbled, "Is aunty Mione coming?"

Ginny couldn't help but feel sorry for the eager child waiting for his
favourite aunt to come by, but it was Ron that answered in a tone that
hardly masked his true feelings, "Aunty Hermione has other plans, mate.
She's introducing her pet snake to her parents."

Tracey pursed her lips, gripped the stem of her wine glass, and glared at her
husband. The look on Teddy's face was heartbreaking, "Oh, so she's not
coming? I miss her." He folded the drawing of the Snitch and tucked it back
into his pocket.

Ron ruffled the boy's hair and pointed to Victoire playing by herself, "Why
don't you go play?" Her parents Bill and a heavily pregnant Fleur spoke
with Andromeda, Molly and Arthur.

Teddy grimaced, "She's playing with dolls, Uncle Ron."

Ron laughed, "Come on, mate. Run along now." Teddy dragged his feet
miserably and went towards the pretty blonde child seated on the floor,
dressing up what looked remarkably like a barbie doll.

She beamed as Teddy plopped down beside her, sat cross-legged, scrunched
up his nose and asked, "Can we play with something else? Victoire nodded
in compliance and quite literally tossed the doll aside and awaited further
instruction. She was exceedingly fond of Teddy.

Ginny could not help the surprise that adorned her face, "What do you
mean?" She was taken aback that Ron knew and she did not. It somewhat
hurt her feelings that Hermione didn't share such a vital development.

Tracey felt obligated to explain, "Think nothing of it, Ginny. We happened

to be at the club with Draco yesterday when he got the call from
Hermione."

Ron spat savagely, "Her parents want to meet Malfoy," and then laughed
sarcastically, "Richard will slaughter the useless git." He wished he could
be present to watch the older man dismember Malfoy piece by piece.

The very thought offered him comfort from the excruciating fact that the
Slytherin Prince was marrying a person he cared for dearly.

Tracey warned, "That is enough, Ronald." His behaviour was tiresome and
exceedingly childish. Ron was a good, loving man but held onto a grudge
with unwavering determination.

Harry heard the words they spoke but kept quiet. He had plenty of other's
things running rampant through his troubled mind, and Malfoy and
Hermione were the least of them.

He shot worrying glances at his wife while she played the perfect host and
diligently tended to everyone, especially the children. It was as if their
morning altercation was long since forgotten, and he couldn't help but
wonder if her meeting with Zabini had something to do with her current
cheerful mood.

Oh, Harry was well aware of their torrid but short affair. Before they got
together, she had confided in him that she and Blaise had indeed been a
couple of sorts but ended it after the Sectumsempra incident that left
Malfoy writhing and almost bleeding to death.

The conspicuous looks of torment Blaise threw their way when they passed
each other in the corridors or Great Hall was not lost on him. Whether their
affair was short-lived or not, Harry knew that his now wife and Zabini had
shared something intimate. It caused jealousy to spread through him like
fiendfyre.

Malfoy Manor

After returning from the Ministry, Draco kept the parcel of new Auror robes
on the bed and stared at his reflection in the floor-length mirror he had
installed when he first arrived not three weeks ago.

So much had happened in such a short period he was still struggling to

come to terms with most of it. The man looking back at him had changed so
vastly during his time away it was hard to imagine how inconsiderate and
intolerable he had been as a youngster, but if one thing remained intact, it
was his confidence.

One could even call it arrogance, but he had the uncanny ability to walk
into a room and overpower it with his commanding presence. Still, the
upcoming dinner and prospect of meeting Granger's parents caused his self-
assurance to wither into nothing.

Taking a deep breath, he silently berated himself for acting like some
misbehaving child being sent to the headmaster's office, "Get a hold of
yourself. It's just dinner. Calm down."

Ginny closed the door behind Ron, who purposely lingered long after
everyone had left, mainly because he was worried about his sister.

He reluctantly went with the departing words, "Let me know if you need
anything." Throughout Sunday brunch, Harry had uncharacteristically kept
to himself with a permanent scowl etched into his face and a glass of scotch
that never left his hand. He looked utterly perturbed, and no matter the
probing from others to find out the cause, he kept mum and blamed it on the
job and the killer running loose. Molly had expressed her concern over his
odd behaviour, but Ginny defended her husband, saying it was work-
related.

Arthur concurred that it was indeed a stressful time with the murderer still
at large. Media and community pressure to catch the man was mounting,
resulting in a few unfavourable articles by Rita Skeeter. The vile witch had
suggested that the head of the DMLE lacked the vision, strength, and wit to
run the legendary department.

Andromeda heard bits and pieces regarding Draco's dinner invitation and
wondered if Narcissa would join her son or perhaps extend the same
courtesy to the Grangers. With each passing day, she longed to bridge the
gap between them and try to reconnect, at least in their old age. She was
well aware that her youngest sister went along with her parent's decision to
cast her out.

It had been excruciating for her since they had been so close growing up.
Still, for fear of their parent's retribution, Andromeda had been the one to
sever all ties despite Narcissa insisting that they could find a way to stay
connected. Picking up a few empty glasses on the way to the kitchen, Ginny
walked in to find Harry seated at the small wooden table with his hands
neatly folded and placed on top of the table's surface in front of him. His
eyes narrowed as she entered, and he pursed his lips in an unsuccessful
attempt to control his anger.

Ginny asked sweetly, "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

Harry intensely followed her movements with his eyes and grilled, "Where
were you this morning?"

Ginny poured herself a cup, glanced over her shoulder and raised a brow,
"Excuse me?" Panic and dread started to set in, and she wondered if her
whereabouts and his sour mood were somehow connected.
Harry did not disappoint. He pressed undeterred by her obvious discomfort
with his line of questioning, "Did you go out?"

Ginny replied with an air of nonchalance, "I did. I took James to Diagon
Alley to buy food for the owl and his turtle."

He probed further, "What else did you do?" She shrugged, "Umm, nothing."
It was on the tip of her tongue to mention her coffee and chat with Blaise
but come what may, she swallowed her words and kept silent.

"Don't lie to me," Harry gritted out. His patience was wearing thin, and the
alcohol in his system was not helping his cause.

Ginny glared sternly, "I'm not lying, Harry. I don't exactly know what you're
asking." She was sure he knew of the encounter, but why the questions? He
was interrogating her like he would some common criminal.

Unable to keep it concealed any longer, Harry snapped, "Did you have
coffee with Zabini?"

Ginny did not hesitate with her answer. She locked eyes with him and
nodded slowly with a quick reply, "Yes, I did."

Harry slowly rose to his feet and demanded, "Why the fuck didn't you tell
me?"

Ginny glanced at the door and hissed, "Keep your voice down. Our son is in
the next room." Her anger at being treated so poorly soared to the surface.
She argued, "I didn't tell you because it slipped my mind. I also had a
brunch to prepare." Having to singlehandedly entertain a dozen guests and
tend to an active toddler can do that to a person. She might have pushed it
aside and awaited a more opportune to bring it up.

Harry banged his fist on the table and yelled, ignoring her earlier warning
of James being in the other room, "Don't you dare lie to my face. You
purposely left it out."
Ginny crossed her arms over her chest and quizzed, "And why would I do
that?" He accused harshly, "Did you confide in him? Tell him about our
problems. How I'm neglecting my family?" The contempt he felt was
apparent in the words he uttered in spite.

Ginny bit back a nasty retort and scowled, "Don't be ridiculous. I ran into
him with his lovely daughter, and they invited us for ice cream and chat. We
were barely there twenty minutes." She pulled her hair back into a high
ponytail to calm herself and hide the incessant trembling of her fingers.

His tone was laced with malice as he queried with dripping sarcasm, "Does
he still get you all hot and bothered? I remember you being quite taken by
him." Keeping her eyes on her inebriated husband, Ginny fired back, "Yeah,
then I dumped him, remember? Because I loved you." He was hurt and
jealous, that much was clear, but this was no excuse for him to dredge up
the past.

She included angrily, "If any of your cronies have been spying on me, you
better pray I don't find out who!" She would gladly rip the bastard a new
one. How dare they report back to her husband with false information.

Harry asserted, "That is beside the point, Ginny." His tone mirrored the
torment he was going through, "Why would you go out with him behind my
back?"

That last accusation caused her blood to boil, "Sod off, Potter." Harry
closed the gap between them, grabbed her by the elbow and turned her
around to face him.

His fingers closed around her arm, causing Ginny to wince as he mocked,
"Are you having an affair? Rekindled an old flame, have you?" He was
trying to sound uncaring and aloof, but the gut-wrenching pain tormenting
him was enough to make his knees buckle and fall at the feet of the woman
he loved.

Ginny was livid. She broke free of his hold and spat through clenched teeth,
"Have you lost your bloody mind? Blaise loves his wife, and I saw him
today after years."
Harry ignored the anger radiating off her and demanded, "And what about
you? Do you love me?"

Ginny didn't mean to hurt him, but she was caught up in misery and replied
bluntly, "It's not always easy to love you, Harry, but of course I do. I always
will."

Harry poured himself a drink, drained it and warned, "I don't want you
meeting him." Taking a step back, Ginny said stubbornly, "It wasn't
planned, and if you are expecting me to ignore him should our paths cross
again, then I'm sorry, but I won't do that."

Harry realised he'd had too much to drink. The room started to spin, and he
grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter to steady himself, rasping, "Does he
mean so much to you?"

She scoffed, "I'm not to blame for your insecurities. If you were home more
often..."

Harry laughed hysterically, "So, the truth finally comes out. Nothing I do is
good enough. I'm trying to save lives." His laughter filled the space and
bounced off the walls ominously, and Ginny glanced at the door anxiously,
hoping the cartoon on the telly was enough to distract James and loud
enough to drown out their angry voices.

Ginny held back the tears that clawed their way to the surface, but she
fought a losing battle. They spilt over, and hopelessness engulfed her at
how adamantly he believed she would cheat on him so easily. She choked
back a sob and reached for her handbag resting on the counter, "I'm not
doing this. You're drunk."

Harry widened his eyes in panic, "Where are you going?" He pleaded
desperately. Even in his drunken state, it was evident that he had crossed an
invisible line. She was his wife, the mother of his child, not some
unscrupulous character he dealt with at work. In some way, he had managed
to merge the two and treat Ginny horribly.
Ginny stuffed a packet of biscuits, slices of cheese and a water bottle into
her oversized bag and hurled, "Far away from you!"

Harry watched, horrified as she quickened her step and left the kitchen. He
called after her in fear, "Ginny! Stop..." but it was useless. His speech was
slurred, his vision blurred, and his feet wouldn't corporate. The loud sound
of disapparation nearly cracked his heart and skull in half.

Fuck.

He held on to his head with one hand and tried to steady himself by leaning
against the wall, but instead, he slid down it and fell in a crumpled heap
near the entrance to James's toy room.

Heavy sobs echoed through the now-empty space, and Harry cried, "I'm
sorry. Please, come back, Ginny." He heaved, unable to gasp air and begged
an invisible entity to right his wrongs.

Hermione wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder and apologised
without waiting for the other party to speak, "Hi, Ginny. I'm sorry I missed
brunch, but something urgent came up." She continued to grumble and cut
more vegetables her mother tasked her with but stopped when she heard
sniffles and pressed the phone further into her ear to hear better.

She repeated meekly, "Ginny? What's wrong?" Her heart skipped a beat.
She had only heard Ginny cry twice before, and both were evoked by death.
Her hands turned numb. She placed the knife carefully on the board, left the
kitchen and wandered into the garden, purposely ignoring the looks of
apprehension her mother and grandmother threw her way.

Ginny sat on a park bench and watched her son playing on a mini slide. It
was the first place that came to mind since she and James visited the place
often during the morning. Going to the Burrow would have raised many
questions from her mother and father, and she was in no right mindset to
face two interrogations in one day.
She held the phone tight; tears ran down her flushed cheeks. "I need to...talk
to somebody," Ginny sobbed inconsolably. Her voice cracked, and
Hermione could only hear bits and pieces, but it was enough to get the gist.
She offered at once, "Of course, I'm at my parents."

Ginny wiped her nose and whimpered, "I know, I'm sorry, but can I come
over with James? We won't stay long."

Hermione assured, "You never have to ask. You are the sister I never had,"
and invited urgently, "Come over. You remember the address?"

Ginny responded with a muffled, "Yes, I'll see you in a bit." The line went
dead, and Hermione stared at her phone for a few minutes fighting the urge
to call Harry. Something told her that Ginny's plight had to do with her
husband, and she thought it prudent to speak with the spirited redhead
before going to her best friend for answers.

Ginny let James go down the slide a further two times before she got to her
feet and brushed away a few dust particles off her jeans before she strode
towards the happy toddler with her heavy bag tucked under her arm.

She bent to his level, pulled up the zipper on his jumper, patted his head and
mustered a happy smile, "How about we go see aunty Hermione? Would
you like that, sweetheart?"

The naughty scamp obviously thought the playground was far more fun and
shook his head stubbornly, but he reached out and touched Ginny's tear-
stained cheek with his chubby fingers and implored with widened eyes,
"Why mummy sad?"

Ginny bit the inside of her cheek, closed her eyes, and inwardly told herself
to stop the emotions clouding her other senses. She could not let James see
her distress. Instead, she took his tiny hand in hers, and they walked away
hand in hand down the street, hoping to come by a deserted area to
apparate.

Hermione pocketed the phone and walked back into the kitchen with her
lips pressed down hard, and her face darkened in concern.
Phyllis asked first, "What's happened, child?"

Julia queried impatiently, "Are you okay, Hermione? Was that Mr Malfoy?
Did he cancel?"

Hermione frowned and backed away from the older women. She poured
herself a glass of white wine and drained it without speaking a word.

She said thoughtfully, "Set another place, mum. That was Ginny. She
sounded awful. I fear something has happened between Harry and her."

Looking out the window for any signs of flaming red hair, Hermione
included earnestly, "She's coming over with James." Turning to face her
grandmother, Hermione pleaded, "Please don't ask her any questions that
will make her feel uncomfortable."

Phyllis scoffed, "I would never. You, I ask because I don't want you getting
into trouble, but I was under the impression Ginny and Harry had a perfect
marriage."

Hermione sighed, "Nothing is ever as it seems, Nana." They heard a semi-

loud crack, and all heads turned towards the source. Even Richard came
hurrying in from the living room to see the fuss.

Ginny walked in looking rumpled, with red-rimmed eyes and clutching

James firmly by the hand. The shy toddler saw the gathered grownups and
quickly hid behind his mother, peering at them shyly. She smiled at the
group looking at her with a mixture of pity, sadness, and concern, "I'm sorry
to impose, but I didn't know where else to go."

Julia spoke first kindly, "Nonsense. You are always welcome here, darling."

Hermione closed the gap between them and pulled Ginny into a tight hug,
and whispered, "What's the matter?" Richard raised a questioning brow and
waited for someone to shed some light on the turn of events. Still, when no
one tried to explain further, he gradually approached the hugging woman,
bent over, and spoke to the petrified toddler hiding behind his mother.
Richard offered his large hand and smiled warmly, "Come on, lad. Let's go
watch some cartoons."

Unsure at first, James waited for guidance from his mother. Hermione and
Ginny broke apart, and she encouraged, "Go on, James. He's a great deal of
fun."

James took Richard's hand and beamed. He seemed to instantly take a liking
to the man who resembled his grandpa, Arthur.

Phyllis waited until they left the kitchen, smiled pleasantly, and
recommended, "Hermione, why don't you take Ginny to your room?" She
pointed to the dinner preparations and grinned, "Your mum and I can handle
the kitchen."

Hermione nodded in agreement, "That sounds good." She pulled Ginny

forward, "Come on, love. Let's open a bottle of wine and have a girly chat."

Ginny looked at the ladies treating her so caringly and stated, "Thank you.
It was lovely to meet you all again. I wish it were under better
circumstances."

Julia waved her hand dismissively, "Darling, we all have our off days. Now,
let go of your troubles, and I'll be up shortly with some snacks."

Hermione grabbed an open bottle of chilled white wine resting on the

counter and two glasses and gestured with her head for Ginny to follow.
They passed a lively James laughing hard at a Sunday afternoon cartoon on
the telly. Richard glanced at them and offered an encouraging grin.

Throwing the door to her room wide enough for them to enter, Hermione
carefully placed the bottle and glasses on the table and took one and poured
the rich liquid into a glass and handed it to Ginny.

The distraught woman took it with trembling hands and sat on the
comfortable bed. Hermione shut the door, followed suit, plopped down on
the bed, propped herself up on her elbows, and questioned intently, "What is
going on?"
Ginny sighed, "It's Harry."

Hermione became tense. She inquired curiously, "Is he okay? What

happened?" She truly hoped it was nothing serious and Harry was alive and
well.

Ginny ran her forefinger around the rim of the wine glass, stared into its
contents and muttered, "We fought because he's never home, and I met
Blaise for a quick coffee."

Hermione choked on the wine, and saliva and bubbles slid from the corners
of her mouth. She croaked, "Since when do you hang out with Zabini?"
That part had caught her completely off guard, and she wondered if
something more prominent had happened between the former lovers.

Ginny gave Hermione a look of exhaustion. She was getting thoroughly fed
up with everyone assuming she and Blaise had planned some secret
rendezvous.

She voiced her thoughts without bothering to hide the sheer contempt she
felt, "You know very well that I haven't spoken to Blaise in ages. We
happened to run into each other at the pet store and some meddling arse
passing by told Harry."

Hermione had the good grace to look ashamed, "I know, Ginny. I'm sorry
for thinking the worst."

Ginny's voice broke with overwhelming emotion. To say the words aloud
gutted her, "Merlin, it was awful, Hermione. Harry thinks I'm cheating on
him with Blaise."

Hermione scooted close and put her arm around her troubled best friend's
shoulder, "Harry knows you're not. He's probably jealous and said some
things he probably regrets by now." She knew Harry, and the words she said
were true. He would never consciously believe his wife was having an
affair.

Ginny bit her lip and took a deep breath, "I'm an awful person.
"When Blaise touched my hand, I felt wanted and needed to make matters
worse. It felt so good for just a moment." It was clear she was overcome
with shame for feeling how she did.

Touched her hand? What? Hermione pushed it aside and focused. She
shook her head and advised sternly, "No, you were hurting. It's natural to
feel that way. What matters is that nothing drastic happened."

Ginny said fiercely. "I love Harry. Nothing will ever happen," she grew
forlorn, and her eyes clouded over with memories of a simpler time, "but it
took me back to a moment all those years ago, where Blaise would kiss me
senseless in some abandoned classroom. It felt amazing to be desired like
that."

Hermione reminded firmly, "Harry wants you. He loves you so much." The
man was entirely in love with his wife, and she grew worried about how he
was fairing alone. Regardless, Ginny needed her more, and she gave her
undivided attention. Julia knocked on the door and entered with a tray
burdened with cheese, salted crackers, and chocolate chip brownies that
were sure to mend an aching heart.

Hermione took the tray and smiled gratefully, "Thanks, mum." Julia
winked, gave Ginny a quick hug and let the women continue their
conversation. She returned to the kitchen, and Phyllis raised a brow, "Is
everything alright?"

Julia shrugged, "It was hard to tell, but I guess things will work themselves
out." She returned to kneading the dough Hermione had earlier abandoned.

Phyllis shook her head, "Children these days need a good talking to."

Richard rushed in, grabbed a glass, filled it with orange juice, and popped a
few cream-filled biscuits into a bowl. He glanced over his shoulder and
explained animatedly, "He's the closest thing I have or probably ever will to
a grandchild."

Julia chuckled and reached into the fridge to take out the bag of peas, and
Phyllis frowned, "That man will never grow up." The loud ringing of a
mobile phone interrupted the silence.

Ginny realised it was hers, took it out and stared at the name flashing across
the screen. Her heart sank. Harry had been calling every minute since she
left and followed up each call with a bunch of messages professing his
undying love and regret at having accused her.

Hermione glimpsed at the phone and sighed, "He must be worried."

Ginny tossed the phone aside, unanswered and let it ring its course. She
buried her head in her hands and wept tears of frustration, "I know Harry
loves me, but I feel so guilty for letting Blaise get under my skin. Even if it
was for a second, it was wrong."

Hermione stated in a no-nonsense tone, "Let it go. It was a moment of

weakness. You are allowed to be human, darling." Ginny had an aspiring
career and her own fame, and she had given it all up to be a full-time
mother and wife to Harry.

She knew she could never make such a sacrifice where her life choices were
concerned and held Ginny with the highest regard for putting others needs
above her own. It was a genuinely selfless act that deserved applause, not
ill-treatment.

She heard the unmistakable sound of her phone ringtone. She knew it would
be Harry calling to ask her if she knew anything about Ginny's
whereabouts. She pulled the device out of her pocket, showed it to the upset
woman sitting next to her and said, "I'm going to answer and tell him that
you and James are safe." Ginny did not bother with an answer.

Instead, she concentrated on the wine glass in her quivering hands.

Hermione connected the call and took the significant risk of putting Harry
on speakerphone. His frantic voice followed, and he went off without
leaving any space for interruptions, "Thank Merlin, you answered. Have
you seen or heard from Ginny? I did something stupid, Hermione. She's
probably chucked me for good. I need to find her. Has she contacted you?"
Ginny felt her heartbeat hasten and slam against her ribcage. He sounded so
defeated, so broken she wanted to run to him, hold him close and smother
him with her loving kisses.

"Breathe, Harry. Calm down," Hermione instructed. He seemed beside

himself with worry. Harry yelled, "Don't ask me to calm down. My wife has
left me, and it's all my fault!" Hermione kept her voice even, "Ginny has
not left you. She's right here and fine." An awkward silence followed,
stabbed by heavy breathing from both ends. Harry uttered, "Malfoy said
you were with your parents." She stiffened at the mention of her unfortunate
fiancé. How and when had Harry spoken to Malfoy? The day was riddled
with unanswered questions and misunderstandings.

Hermione answered while Ginny listened intently, "I am. Ginny came over
with James."

He asked at once, "Can I speak to her? I want to explain, or shall I come

over to fetch them? I am so sorry, Ginny. I never meant for things to go this
far. I love you."

Ginny's heart broke at the honest declaration. She swallowed her pride and
replied softly, "I'll be home soon, Harry. We can talk more then. Right now,
I need some space, just for a while." You could hear the sense of relief in
his tone.

He replied instantly, "Okay, darling. I'll be here waiting for you." They
heard a light chuckle, "Oh, and Hermione, enjoy dinner."

Hermione scowled, "Piss off, you prat." She cut the line and smiled at
Ginny, whose mood seemed to have improved significantly.

She inquired with a small smile, "Feel better?"

Ginny breathed, "Yes, thank you. I'm sorry I interrupted."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Trust me. You didn't interrupt anything
important. It's only Malfoy coming over to meet my parents."
Ginny scoffed, "So I've heard, and why am I the last to hear about it?"

Hermione sighed in exasperation, "I'm getting used to the idea myself. It

was last minute. Dad insisted."

Ginny shrugged, "Can't say I blame him."

Hermione injected with significant insight, "Ginny, listen. I know it is not

easy with Harry working all the time, but it's not always the case, and
unfortunately, we are, as a Ministry, at our wit's end, trying to catch this
madman. Harry is beyond desperate for some breakthrough that will lead to
the capture and hopefully before another woman goes missing."

Ginny reached over and squeezed her hand, "I know. I should have
considered that. I now understand why he's been pushing himself so much,
but it was just so hard being away from him while he runs himself ragged
and when there's nothing left for me. Believe me. I know how much he
cares - it's what I love about him. I just hate seeing him so exhausted and
with so little time for James and me. Sometimes being married to a man
who's everybody's hero is draining."

She explained, "I'm not a needy woman, far from it, but he has to be a
husband and father. James misses him. I miss him so much that I feel
lonely, even around my friends and family. Look, we'll get through it.
Godrick, he almost broke my heart when he was on the phone with you. It's
a blip, and everyone has them."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Now, back to you, we have loads to talk
about." She winked. They chatted about what to expect at dinner and Ron's
reaction to Draco meeting Richard. Hermione collapsed in a fit of giggles
while Ginny helped herself to another brownie and laughed along with her.

When the light in the bedroom began to darken, the low sun creating
shadows, Hermione glanced at her clock and gasped, "Shit! He's due in an
hour. I need to get ready."

Ginny dusted the crumbs off her lap and got to her feet, "Right. I'll get out
of your hair then."
Hermione frowned but followed Ginny down the stairs and stood in the
living room. Richard came forward with James, who was happily sucking
an orange liquid out of a colourful juice box with an assortment of fruits on
the front.

He informed happily, "He ate a chicken sandwich, far too many biscuits,
and we watched Tom and Jerry. I think he fancies a bit of a nap."

Ginny picked James up, and instantly the toddler nuzzled into the crook of
her neck. His eyes fluttered heavily with the need for sleep.

Julia smiled warmly, "Ginny, we insist you stay over for dinner."

Ginny politely declined, "I would love to, but Harry is waiting for us."

Hermione stroked James's back over his jumper and said sadly, "I wish you
would stay."

Ginny affirmed, "You can do this, Hermione." They walked into the garden,
and with a final encouraging thumbs-up, Ginny disappeared as the last
dying embers of the sun's rays fell upon them.

Malfoy Manor

Draco stepped out of the bathroom with a maroon towel wrapped around
his tight waist. Droplets of water cascaded down his taut, defined pectoral
muscles. They clung treacherously to the contours of his hardened body,
and he shook his head of short strands of platinum blonde, sending excess
water in all directions. Some landed on Max. The confused Alsatian stared
at his master but sat still in his bed by the dormant fireplace in the bedroom.

The sun was about to take its leave for the day, prompting Draco to look
into the grounds as the amber rays touched the tops of the trees, bathing the
ancient grounds in a hue of burnt orange, sizzling lemons and rose gold.

He exhaled to calm his frazzled nerves, made the short walk towards his
extensive wardrobe, threw the doors open and tapped his freshly shaved
chin in deep thought. Of course, he would wear black.

Not adorning himself in his preferred colour made him feel naked and
exposed, except when wearing his King fu robes which were hardly
appropriate for the occasion. Draco trailed his long fingers along the
multitude of suits that hung inside but decided against a suit since that
would appear too formal.

He finally decided on a new black turtleneck and fitting dark grey trousers,
the finest black shoes, and a casual black blazer to finish the look. He
dressed hurriedly, stood in front of the mirror, took in his reflection, and
nodded his approval. The only thing missing from the classic look was his
favourite Mont Blanc watch. Black leather strap, silver face, diamond dials
and hands made of titanium.

Draco ran his fingers through his hair, buttoned the jacket, whistled for Max
to follow him, and headed out the door with some regained confidence.

Harry heard the unmistakable sound of an apparition. He sprinted towards

the kitchen, closed the gap between his wife and son and pulled them into a
tight hug. Ginny's arms went around him, and he felt the pressure as her
fingers dug into his back, the action unloading the burden of a traumatising
day.

James grumbled in discomfort as his parents squished from both sides and
squirmed, wanting to be put to bed.

Harry let them go, cupped Ginny's face and kissed every inch fervently. He
fell to his knees and hugged her around the waist. He pleaded desperately,
"Forgive me, my Ginny. I am nothing without you. I will leave my position.
You were right. I'm missing out on everything."

Ginny's fingers found their way into his thick mane of hair, and she gritted
out, "Don't you dare, Potter. The world needs you." She softened her tone,
"It was selfish of me to try and change who you are. You are the man I fell
in love with, married and will love for the rest of my life." Kissing the
crown of his head. She repeated Blaise's words as if they were her own,
"You have a responsibility to keep everyone safe, and you've done your job
brilliantly." Ginny helped him to his feet after letting James down.

Harry hugged her tight and buried his face in the warmth of her clothing,
"Please don't leave me. Everyone I have ever loved has left me. I couldn't
bear it if you did too." His voice cracked with overwhelming emotion, "I
love you and James more than my life."

Ginny soothingly rubbed his back and kissed his cheek lovingly, "Shh… I'm
sorry too. I should have told you about Blaise, but honestly, there was
nothing to tell. I had a cup of coffee with an old friend."

Harry nodded with understanding, took her hands in his and mustered a
smile, "How about I put James to bed, and we can do anything you like?"

Ginny returned the smile, "That sounds wonderful." She could never love
another the way she loved Harry. All thoughts of Blaise and his flaming
touch evaporated, but deep down, she wished they would not run into each
other again. He was the one man she didn't fully trust herself around.

Harry scooped James up and tickled his tummy, "Did you have a good
day?"

James nodded and giggled uncontrollably, "Tom and Jerry are funny.
Grandpa Richie made me a yummy sandwich and let me eat only the cream
off all the biscuits."

Harry laughed out loud, "Did he now? He's a naughty grandpa."

Draco walked down the stairs with Max by his side and entered the foyer.
Narcissa and Bernard were having a lively chat over a glass of wine.

Hands in his pocket, he grinned, "What have the two of you planned for
tonight?" They turned towards him at the sound of his voice, and Narcissa
raved, "My, don't you look dashing."

Bernard concurred, "Looking sharp, son."

Draco exhaled, "Well, it's now or never." A hearty chuckle left his lips, "If I
don't return, Bernard, please take care of my mother."

Bernard laughed, "You have my word."

Narcissa frowned at the light banter between the two men, gracefully rose
from her seat and crossed the room to where an exquisitely wrapped gift
basket sat on top of the black ebony dining table.

Draco raised a brow, "Where did that come from?"

Bernard cleared his throat, "Well, I'm guilty of that, I'm afraid. I thought it
would add an extra touch of finesse."

Narcissa's face was barely visible over the many frills and the oversized
bow, but her voice made it to them clear as day, "Muggle or Wizard, nobody
can resist a sweet, decadent blend of coca with the richness of milk."

Bernard added, "Honeydukes does carry a wide range of chocolates and

sweets that can melt anyone's tough exterior." With a sceptical look, Draco
took the basket stacked with a mountain of chocolates and the rare bottle of
red wine his mother held out for him to take next. He sighed, "I'll be off. It
would not do to be late for the first meeting."

Narcissa cupped her son's face lovingly and gushed, "It will be just fine,
Draco Malfoy."

Draco covered her bejewelled hand with his own, leaned into her touch and
breathed, "I know. Thank you, mother."

She let go and went to stand by Bernard, who took her hand and raised his
entire glass of wine at the smartly dressed man ready to meet his future in-
laws. Thrilled for the boy, he said, "Go make us proud, son."
Draco smiled gratefully. It was a welcome change to have the full support
of one's family. He quickened his step and carefully balanced the gifts in his
arms as he reached the fountain. He managed to free two fingers, finding
that was all he needed. Draco felt the magic surge into his fingertips as he
closed his eyes and fixed his thoughts on the address Granger had provided.
He had memorised it earlier and bizarrely thought he might never forget it.

Hermione stubbed her toe as she hurriedly tried to get dressed before
Malfoy arrived and cursed out loud, "Motherfuc....." She roughly had
eighteen minutes to throw something acceptable on, apply a light layer of
makeup and assemble her unruly, uncooperative hair into something more
presentable.

Thinking that smart casual was the most prudent way to go, Hermione
pulled out a pair of dark blue jeans from the clothes she'd brought with her,
a red silk blouse and a red lace bra. She hooked flattering white gold
earrings, ingrained with handsome polished Victorian freshwater pearls into
her lobes, precious to her as they had been a gift from her grandma and a
family heirloom. They could never compete with the Malfoy ring, but their
beauty was timeless. She laid it down on her childhood bed and scrutinised
it from many angles.

"Sod it," Hermione breathed to no one in particular and wriggled into the
tight jeans that gave great definition to her bottom.

She slipped into the silky red blouse and deliberately kept three buttons
open, giving ample view of her necklace and a hint of a bosom. The silk
hugged her body luxuriously, moulding itself to her tightly in all the right
places and leaving space at the sides to breathe.

Jumping over the small stool, she sat at her dressing table, attached the
dangling earrings, and applied a rich coat of mascara, a fine line of black
eyeliner and a nude lip gloss to highlight her luscious lips. She brushed her
hair down but left the wildness Malfoy seemed to appreciate and bit down
hard on her lip. A bitter thought crossed her mind. She was unconsciously
dressing to impress the lout.
She glanced at the clock. Eight minutes to go.

Hermione shot to her feet, gave herself the once over and decided she
looked quite appealing. Throwing the door open, she dashed down the stairs
and doubled over to catch the stitch in her side.

Her parents and grandmother were already dressed and waiting for her to
appear. Richard wore a dark blue linen shirt and pressed trousers to match.
Julia wore a flared floral skirt and blouse that complimented it, and Phyllis
had decided to wear a dark purple dress with a studded diamond-shaped
broach pinned to it.

Richard frowned to show his disapproval, "Cutting it mighty fine,

Hermione."

Hermione slipped into a pair of casual but elegant sandals and huffed, "Oh
daddy, but I'm ready, aren't I?"

Richard snorted, "Someone's dressed to impress." He looked her over and

hissed, "Button up. We have raised you better than that. On the other hand,
go change into a turtleneck or something far more decent than what you
have on."

Julia intervened, "Leave the poor girl alone, Richard. She looks lovely."

Phyllis scolded, "Richard, do grow up and be welcoming towards this

gentleman."

Richard ignored his mother's words and argued, "I'm sorry, mum, but it's his
bloody job to impress me, not the other way around."

Draco double-checked to ensure he was at the correct address and stared at

the two-story house with grey walls. It had whitewashed windows and an
almost welcoming aura surrounding the humble abode. A Muggle girl of
about nineteen, pushing a bicycle alongside her friend, chatted until they
saw the fit blonde standing on the pavement, gawking into oblivion.
They threw him highly appreciative glances and giggled among themselves,
not bothering to be quiet. Draco was wholly focused on the house. He could
not be bothered by the ramblings of a few adolescent girls eyeing him. He
glanced at his watch. Five minutes to go. Gathering every bit of courage he
could muster, he walked up the neat path paved with dark grey stones and
stood in front of the mahogany brown door. Taking a moment, he moved his
shoulders in small circles to relax.

Why was he so nervous? It was preposterous that he acted like a teenager

going on a first date. He took a deep breath, realised he did not have a free
hand to ring the bell and groaned in annoyance. Careful not to damage the
gifts he brought, he placed the bottle of wine gingerly on the floor, rang the
bell and picked it up quickly before anyone answered.

The loud chime of the doorbell spread through the house, and four pairs of
eyes turned towards the hallway. One set of ageing eyes narrowed
suspiciously, and another shone bright with hope. A pair that held infinite
wisdom crinkled at the corners with delighted anticipation, and one pair of
amber swirls blinked rapidly in a futile attempt to compose her rattled
nerves.

"Oh, Merlin. Let me get through this night without a fuss," Hermione
silently prayed. She rose to her feet and found her legs had gone to jelly.

Her mother's stern voice bore into her thoughts, "Open the door, Hermione.
You know we don't keep a guest waiting in this house."
 Chapter 34
Chapter Summary

A huge thank you to everyone who posted a review and for everyone
following! It means so much! 😍

Loads of love to my amazing beta Carrie 😍

The much-awaited "DINNER." I have split it into two chapters, I'm

afraid. I truly hope you enjoy Draco's interactions with the Grangers.

Enjoy Chapter Thirty Four!

Stay safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! 🥰

He pushed the woman down on the bed despite her feeble protests and pried
her legs apart. The dress he had gifted was soiled with his sweat and ripped
in places. The old-fashioned garment encouraged his sick fantasies.

She bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood, grabbed the sheets to
mollify the repulsion and willed herself to be courageous.

There wasn't a moment of spare thought as he entered her most precious

place and pounded into her without abandon while she laid back and
pretended to enjoy his disgusting prick fucking her within an inch of her
life.

Silent sobs shook her fragile frame. The deranged man mistook them as
moans of pleasure that tore out of her. He quickened his pace and longed to
touch her clit. The rough pad of his thumb slipped between her dry folds
and settled on the pinkish bundle, and he rubbed over it in soothing circles.
Her body's treacherous reaction was instant, she felt the steady climb of an
orgasm, and before long, she was pushing against his hand, wanting that
sweet release, horrified by her reactions.
Her rapist brought her to a shuddering climax, and she wished for death. It
was the most despairing feeling she had ever endured.

He laughed cruelly, but satisfied by the result, he made a slow show of

sucking her fluids off his fingers and groaned huskily.

The tears that rushed to the surface stung her eyes, but she turned away and
refused to let him see them.

Plans to take her life plagued her mind constantly. It had been months, and
there were no signs of rescue.

She despised the sick bastard.

Hermione approached the door nervously, her palms beaded sweat and
slipped as she grasped the brass knob to open the door that would allow
entry to her so-called fiancé, who stood patiently on the other side.

Julia encouraged, "Go on, open the door."

Hermione gave a crooked grin and threw it open. A gust of chilly air from
outside swept into the warm living space. She brought her face up and
stared at the man standing on the top step of her parents Muggle abode in
all his glory, with a smile plastered on his face and arms full of what she
could only assume were gifts for her family.

Seeing him standing outside the door caused her mind to go blank, and she
slipped into a state of unresponsive shock. Everything was real, he was real,
and he was about to meet her family.

He looked quite fetching in a black turtleneck, dark grey trousers, and

buttoned blazer. His eyes shone with purpose as he shifted the weight of the
presents in his arms and patiently waited to be invited in.

Richard cleared his throat loudly, causing Hermione to snap out of the
dazed state she had unconsciously slipped into. She held the door wide
enough for Malfoy to enter, and Julia said, "I'm sorry about my daughter.
She seems to have forgotten her manners. Please come in."

Draco sighed in relief, dusted his feet on the rough welcome mat, stepped
into the cosy space, and awkwardly stood by the side awaiting further
instruction.

Everyone got to their feet, sizing up and staring at the handsome young
wizard standing on their freshly cleaned, rich red carpet.

His eyes took in the anxious and curious looks of the gathered family before
them.

Phyllis looked impressed. She leaned towards Julia and whispered, "Well, I
wasn't expecting that." Hermione had mentioned he was good looking, but a
unique specimen like him was not what she was expecting.

Julia herself was taken back by the appearance. Nothing could have
prepared her for the man standing before her with a flawless smile on his
face.

She prompted her daughter to act, "Hermione, help Mr Malfoy."

Hermione took a deep breath and scolded herself for acting like an
unsophisticated twit. She composed herself and offered kindly, "Let me take
those."

Draco was grateful to have Granger back to her senses. He gladly handed
over the beautifully wrapped basket of chocolates and bottle and ran his
fingers through his hair.

Hermione kept the items on the table nearby and murmured, "You found the
place alright?" She awaited a reply to a somewhat silly question considering
he was standing inside her house. Still, Draco understood her plight and
gave a quick nod given the circumstances.

She smiled unsurely and rattled off, "Good, great." Hermione could make
out the elders in the room impatiently waiting for introductions to be made
as she glanced over her shoulder. Her dad, in particular, shot her a look that
demanded action.

Grabbing Draco's elbow, she pulled him forward and introduced each
family member one by one, starting with her good-natured mother, "Oh,
umm, this is my mother, Julia, grandmother Phyllis and my dad, Richard."
She wanted to shout; watch out hes the difficult one but bit back the nasty
yet hilarious retort.

Draco stepped forward and took charge of the situation. He nodded

courteously and spoke articulately, "It's so nice to meet you all. Thank you
for inviting me to your home, Mr and Mrs Granger."

Julia came to stand by Hermione, touched her on the shoulder and

welcomed, "Please call me Julia. It is nice to meet you finally."

Richard drifted over to the table where Hermione placed the gifts and
muttered without interest, "You can call me Mr Granger."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Dad…." Draco hid an amused expression, and
Julia looked positively insulted by her spouse's childish behaviour.

Richard shrugged, "What? I'm joking," but his eyes held the honest truth,
and he mouthed to no one in particular, "No, I'm not."

He pulled at the oversized bow on the basket, peered inside and scowled,
"Chocolates? I'm diabetic." Hermione eyed the extravagant bundle in
interest, she knew Honeydukes was pricey, and a basket of this magnitude
must have cost a small fortune.

Draco felt his blood run cold, and he opened his mouth to apologise
profusely and explain that he hadn't known, but Granger's stern-looking
grandmother spoke up from her place on the sofa, "Luckily, the rest of us
are not. I do love a piece of fine milk chocolate."

Richard turned over the bottle of wine and nodded his approval, "This is a
vintage bottle from the Bordeaux collection of 1898." The boy knew his
wine. That was certainly an unexpected development.
Draco bowed in agreement, "Indeed." He sighed secretly and thanked
Bernard wordlessly.

Richard was impressed but showed indifference, "She is a rare and

expensive bottle." He spoke of the bottle as if it was a mistress.

He added with a touch of arrogance, "Are you trying to impress us by

tossing around your wealth?"

Draco was reminded of Potter's words about Hermione's dad being difficult
and disliking Ron. For once in his life, he shared the Weasels sentiments.

Hermione could not believe her ears. She was mortified that her father
would spew out such a crude remark. She cried indignantly, "Daddy! Please
Stop!" She looked to her mother and grandmother for help.

Julia sighed, but Richard chuckled and closed with a sincere, "Thank you."
He took immense pleasure in watching the man fidget and wipe his brow
repeatedly, but still, he seemed to keep up his own.

Draco beamed, "It was my pleasure."

Hermione led Draco to the plush cream coloured sofa, and they waited for
the others to take a seat before sitting down themselves.

She muttered out of the corner of her mouth, "My father is a wine
connoisseur." Ah, her knowledge of fine wine was a skill learned from her
father.

Draco heard her clearly and inwardly seethed. Had he known, he would
have gone with a rarer, more expensive blend.

His eager eyes moved over the framed pictures of a younger Granger on
what he assumed were family trips. She looked happy and full of laughter
as she posed for various photographs.

Tasteful paintings and homey ornaments adorned the mantlepiece. One, in

particular, caught his avid interest. It was handcraft made by a child of no
more than four. A boat decorated with elaborately painted crushed
eggshells.--It sat framed proudly amongst the others. He felt right at ease,
surrounded by the warmth of a loving family, but not so much under the
scrutinising gaze of his betrothed's father.

Hermione followed his gaze and snorted, "I made that in preschool. My
mother thought it would be a wonderful idea to display it for everyone to
see." Draco cleared his throat and smiled warmly; she could not help but
feel the genuineness that seeped out of his words.

She stared unashamedly at his luscious mouth and drank in the softness and
pinkish tinge that embodied them.

His lips moved in slow motion, "You have a lovely home."

Julia couldn't help the girlish giggle that escaped, "Thank you. I do try my
best to keep it neat and proper."

Richard glanced at his wife of many years and frowned. He did not like her
change of tone and evident liking to their future son in law.

Julia asked politely, "Would you like some tea?"

Draco agreed graciously, "That would be lovely. Thank you." He was the
poster child for politeness. Hermione knew his fine upbringing was
primarily to thank for his excellent manners.

Phyllis watched her granddaughter's reactions and expressions intently. She

did not utter a word but kept her astute eyes fixed on Hermione.

Richard inquired somewhat rudely, "Why have we never heard about you?"
He was determined to rattle the man's feathers. Still, it was an as good
question as any since he had heard about a multitude of characters his
daughter had gone to school with. The person sitting before him had
somehow not made it into the conversation. He was curious as to why.

Hermione sulked. So much for being welcoming. Her dad was purposely
trying to be intimidating. It had done the trick with Ron, and he had buckled
under the pressure and said but a few noncoherent words that led the
Grangers to believe he was slow or had impaired hearing.

Malfoy, on the other hand, was no Ron. The man had a gravitating orbit of
his own, and if she knew anything about him, it was that he was more than
able to take command of a tense situation.

On cue, he answered perfectly, "Well, Granger and I ran in different circles.

She was in Gryffindor, and I was in Slytherin."

Richard mused, "I have heard ruddy awful things about Slytherin." That
much was true. Hermione spoke highly and rather fondly of the other
houses and adapted a sour disposition if the need to mention the House of
Slytherin arose.

Draco chuckled, "We aren't all too bad, I hope. Slytherin has produced some
great wizards."

Hermione felt compelled to offer her input, "None greater than Albus
Dumbledore." Granted, as the years went by, Harry, Ron, and herself
concluded that Dumbledore was a mysterious man and a certified crackpot
at times. He held back so much valuable information that could've aided
them and helped them in their journey. While his decisions were
questionable, at best, his Magical abilities were far superior to anyone who
graced the wizarding world.

Despite his significant oversights, they respected him greatly and would
always hold him in high regard.

Draco turned to face Hermione with a knowing smile, "I couldn't agree with
you more. Albus Dumbledore was a remarkably gifted and kindhearted
wizard."

He gave Richard his undivided attention and added further, "I left the
country after our sixth year and have been away for nearly ten years. I
returned weeks ago."
Richard retorted derisively, "Must have been a shock to return to all this
arranged marriage nonsense."

Draco snickered, "Indeed. It wasn't ideal, but it is what it is." He spared

them the finer details of his initial reaction. It wasn't so much the law but
his match that surprised and baffled him. It still left quite a few questions
unanswered.

Julia got to her feet, smoothed her skirt and requested Hermione to follow
her into the kitchen to help arrange tea. The second they were out of earshot
and within the comfort of the kitchen, she declared cheekily, "Well, he's
incredibly good looking," and almost accused, "You failed to mention that
bit."

Hermione sighed irritably, "He is, but that doesn't change anything." He
looked utterly tempting with his perfect bloody hair, rows of pristinely
white teeth and a body she could only assume was sculpted by the Gods.
She conveniently forgot his athletic history and pain streaking fitness
regimen he swore by.

Julia cut generous pieces of moist chocolate cake, instructed Hermione to

make the tea and quipped, "True, but it does make things interesting." A
devilish glint lit up her eyes.

Hermione frowned to make her displeasure evident and tended to the

mundane task of preparing the tea. She tasted the final concoction, settled
on the flavour, and added the crystallised sugar cubes into a bowl and took
them over to where her mother was plating the other items.

They heard the muffled chatter of the people in the living room. It was too
faint to make out what was being said.

Hermione firmly grabbed the tray laden with pieces of chocolate cake, fruit
cake, an assortment of biscuits and a fresh pot of tea before speaking in
panic, "Right, now let's get back before daddy eats him alive."

They walked in as Richard asked brazenly, "So, Malfoy, is it?"

Draco answered courteously, "Yes, sir." For the millionth bloody time.

Hermione placed the tray at the centre of the Venetian red table and took her
previously occupied seat next to Malfoy. The cushions sunk under her
weight. He gazed in her direction and mustered a pleasing smile.

She looked quite pretty, and the way the ends of her hair curled was
endearing. It added to her charm, and he longed to touch a tendril dangling
as if it had a life of its own. He grew detached from the others and let his
keen eyes rove over his fiancé's face taking in the nervous fluttering of
eyelids, her cute button nose splattered with freckles. Those full, sensual
lips felt incredible under his, and her parted blouse displayed the chain and
pendant he had gifted.

Richards deep voice bore into his thoughts, "What are your sincere thoughts
on this marriage law?"

Julia ignored her husband and offered everyone a piece of chocolate cake.
Gratefully, Draco took the plate and patiently waited till everyone had a
piece before he hastily devoured it whole. It looked scrumptious, with rich,
thick frosting and a handful of chocolate sprinkles.

Hermione rushed to Draco's defence, "Dad, can we let him breathe." Not
that she did not enjoy her dad grilling the Slytherin prat, but Malfoy's
answers could prove detrimental to the image she painted for her parents
better understanding. Granted, she had omitted quite a bit of information
and truly hoped it did not figuratively bite her in the arse later.

She broke off a piece of her cake and popped it into her mouth, giving
Draco a clear gesture that he could eat his. Yet, he glanced around the room
and waited until the others started to eat. Only once they did, did he balance
the plate carefully and dig the tiny silver fork into his. The first taste
provided the happy conclusion that it undoubtedly tasted better than it
looked.

Draco thought comically, for a man with high blood sugar Mr Granger
certainly had no qualms about stuffing his face with a large piece of cake.
Richard brought his hand up and silenced his headstrong daughter from
uttering another word.

Hermione threw a look of remorse towards Draco, who smiled pleasantly

and patted her hand affectionately. She shovelled the cake into her mouth,
hoping the comfort food would calm her rattled nerves.

Draco set his plate aside and countered with a well-structured answer, "Like
Granger, I mean Hermione here, I was disgusted by it and opted to take one
of the exit clauses, but that would've meant my permanent departure from
the Magical world and leaving my mother."

Julia sounded truly upset, "And, of course, you could not possibly leave
your mother."

Draco breathed, "No, it was a difficult decision that left a gaping hole in my
heart." His mind went back to the fateful night his beloved mother
collapsed, and a shiver ran down his spine. He had, because of his
unintentionally selfish decision, almost lost his mother.

Hermione abandoned the last bit of fudgy cake stuck to her plate and gazed
upon him fondly.

Up until that particular moment, even though they sat on the same sofa, she
was careful to maintain a healthy distance between them by keeping her
hands locked on her lap. Still, something snapped, and unconsciously in full
view of her parents and grandmother, she took his hand in hers and
entwined her fingers through his. The coolness of the sizeable ancestral ring
he wore seared her heated flesh.

Draco applied pressure and stared at her bemused. He welcomed the

warmth she put forward, but her gesture shocked him and everyone around
them just the same. Perhaps, like him, she thought back to that ill-fated
night. He knew it had been rough on her to see his mother in such a fragile
state and fighting for her life. The guilt that encompassed them both was
difficult to put into mere words.
Richard polished the last crumb off his plate, bestowed a sceptical look
upon his daughters hand in some strangers and grilled, "What do you do for
a living?"

Draco didn't skip a beat. There was a hint of pride in his words, "I work in
law enforcement."

He held onto her hand, absentmindedly toying with the engagement ring
she wore. It seemed to soothe him.

Hermione was taken aback that he did not mention the family business.
Malfoy was exceptionally wealthy, a fact he took immense pleasure in
rubbing in most peoples faces. Now, he hardly mentioned it and decided to
work for a menial wage like the rest of them.

Richard narrowed his eyes sceptically, "Interesting. Dangerous sort of

work?" He was not too keen on his young daughter ending up a widow only
months into their marriage.

Draco ran his free hand through his blonde locks and mused, "I guess there
is a certain amount of danger involved. None more than crossing the street
without looking both ways. If I am careful on the job, then there's little to
worry about."

Hermione could not help the haughty grin that worked its way onto her
face. Point Draco.

Unscathed, Richard pressed adamantly, "Is that how you plan on providing
for my daughter?"

Draco opened his mouth to answer, but Hermione cut him off with a sharp,
"Excuse me, I'm quite capable of providing for myself." She was horrified
that her father would suggest such a preposterous and misogynistic notion.

Tightening his hold on her hand, Draco almost smirked, his eyes shone with
the hint of self-satisfaction, and he replied effortlessly, "I can manage her
needs, Mr Granger. I give you my word." He nearly laughed but held it
back and locked eyes with his intended bride instead, whose reddened
cheeks were visible. She tried to hide her face and took her hand out of his
scorching grasp.

Phyllis watched the intimate exchange closely but said nothing. She
observed, taking in the minor details, the things people usually missed or
disregarded.

Richard tapped the armrest and said earnestly, "I hope you understand my
hesitation. My daughter hadn't informed us about this marriage."

Draco longed for the security Granger's fingers in his brought, but instead,
he nodded in understanding, "I understand wholly and would like to clear
the air and address the elephant in the room if that's alright?" He knew from
the looks they bestowed upon Granger that she was so very loved, and it
was of the utmost importance to him to explain their situation.

Julia delicately held her teacup and enthused, "That would be smashing,
son."

Richard stirred a cube of sugar into his milky tea and said bluntly, "We
aren't thrilled about Hermione marrying a perfect stranger."

Phyllis, who had kept uncharacteristically quiet up until then, made her
opinion known, "Yes, Mr Malfoy. We would like to hear your point of view
on the matter."

Draco locked eyes with Granger matriarch and saw the fire and tawny
amber, that also burned in her granddaughter's beautiful eyes, size him up.
She radiated warmth with a touch of sternness.

He smiled kindly, "Please call me Draco. Mr Malfoy is my departed father."

He didn't know what possessed him to mention his father, even in passing.
He felt Granger flinch and regreted his words at once.

Julia comforted, "Oh dear. We are sorry to hear that."

Draco answered gravely, "That's quite alright."

Hermione cringed and hoped they wouldn't ask too many questions about
Lucius, but of course, she was dead wrong.

Richard pressed further, "I'm sorry for your loss. What line of work was he
in?"

Draco hesitated for a second, "He was a businessman." Short and to the
point, it seemed to appease the curious man drinking his tea while staring at
him over the rim of the cup.

Phyllis injected before anyone else could get a word in, "Please go ahead
with your explanation. I'm quite eager to hear it."

The pressure mounted significantly. Draco gulped tea to calm his nerves
and, after a moment's thought, stated with confidence, "I know it must have
come as a shock to you to learn that Granger, I mean Hermione is engaged
and that to a man you've never laid eyes on."

Richard scoffed, "That's a bit of an understatement."

Hermione scolded, "Dad, let him finish."

Draco continued with intent and purpose, "I do apologise for my appalling
manners of not formally introducing myself before proposing per se. It was
not my intention to start a new chapter in our life by stepping on anyone's
toes."

He said what he truly felt in his heart, and his tone of voice held the
conviction he hoped was enough to make them understand.

Phyllis listened intently. She was slowly coming to admire the man in their
presence. He was well brought up but cagey about his father. It was an
intriguing fact and one that possibly had to do with his poor past treatment
of Hermione and attitude in school.

Draco's tone mirrored resentment towards the law, "I gather you know this
already, but this situation has been forced upon us, and we are trying to
make the best out of a rather unfortunate predicament we were caught up in.
Then trying to get out of it and once we realised we could not, we
formulated a plan forward. I'm afraid it meant we neglected the traditional
norms of meeting one's families. For that, I sincerely beg your forgiveness."
He genuinely implored. It had never been his intention to hoodwink what
seemed like a close and generous family.

When no questions were raised, he barrelled into further clarification. "It is

customary in the wizarding world to visit the bride's parents before a formal
proposal is put forth. We've done things in reverse, and I speak for
Hermione as well when I say it was never our intention to worry you."

Draco stated the truth he felt dearly, "I care a great deal about your daughter
and will do my utmost to make her time within our marriage as comfortable
and tolerable as possible."

Hermione stared at Malfoys side profile. A piece of pale blonde hair fell
carelessly across his forehead. She ached to brush it aside, but he was
speaking such profound words. It baffled her, caught her completely off-
guard, and she wondered if he meant them.

A fond smile curved his perfect lips, "My mother adores her and would love
to have everyone over to the Manor for lunch at a convenient time to you."

Richard listened intently. There was something about the man bearing his
heart and soul. Did he believe the words he spoke? His mind answered on
his behalf with a resounding yes. He exhaled, "That was...."

Julia finished the sentence with a broad smile, "Enlightening."

Of course, at the start, she had been completely put off by the whole idea
that her only child was being forced into a loveless marriage. Now, judging
by their intimate conduct and stolen glances, it was clear there was
something quite real blossoming between the two.

Phyllis concurred, "Thank you, Draco, for that insightful depiction. We

appreciate that you understand the severity of this. Having said that, you
also seem to have things under control."
She pointed with her head to Hermione and rolled her eyes, "Much more
than this one here."

Hermione pouted, "Gran!" Draco could not hold back the chuckle that burst
out of him. It was nice to see Granger's feathers ruffled by someone other
than himself.

Richard got to his feet and said to the room with an air of importance, "I
would like a private word with Mr Malfoy." He wanted to discuss things
that he simply could not with the women breathing down his neck.

Julia's pleasant features twisted, "Richard..."

Panic set in, and Hermione pleaded, "Daddy, that isn't necessary." She
needed to hear all they discussed. It was an unprecedented turn of events
that did not sit well with her at all.

Richard smiled and assured, "Oh, I think it is. We shan't be long."

Then he requested quite politely, "Walk with me, son."

Hermione mouthed, "Son?" At her mother, who looked as puzzled as she

was.

Draco got to his feet without hesitation, slipped out of his jacket, folded it
in half and skillfully placed it on the seat. He touched Hermione on the
shoulder as he passed by, following his future father-in-law. She shot him a
look of true helplessness, but he winked and gave her a reassuring smile.

Richard slid open the transparent glass doors that led to the extensive
garden space they maintained. Draco was pleasantly surprised by how neat
and well placed everything was. Many rose bushes flourished, and the white
swing, in particular, caught his interest. He saw a vision of Granger with her
feet up, a book resting on her knees as she drank a cool glass of lemonade
and read in the sanctuary of the shaded place.

Richard's voice interrupted his vivid daydream, "I figured something

stronger than tea would be welcome."
Draco turned towards the voice and found the older man standing behind a
small polished wooden bar of sorts. Neat rows of bottles were placed on the
bar counter, while glasses were arranged inside a cupboard.

Richard fetched two crystal tumblers, poured a splash of whiskey into them,
and added two ice cubes each. He did not bother asking if Draco wanted
ice, though he was right in his assumption.

He pushed the glass towards the tall blonde man and waited for him to take
it. Once he did, Richard raised it and smirked, "Cheers."

Draco followed suit and clicked his glass against Richards, and both men
took gratifying sips of the smoky, rich liquid that partially burnt their
throats. They drank in respectful silence.

Hermione urgently uncorked a bottle of red wine, poured herself a glass and
bit on her fingernails as she paced around the kitchen in a tizzy. She shot
the barely visible men worrying glances and mumbled, "What do you
suppose they're talking about?"

Phyllis slapped her hand and chided, "Stop that. It is a disgusting habit."

Hermione pouted, "Ow. That hurt, Nana." She drained the contents of the
glass in one gulp and struggled to swallow without suffocating.

Julia tended to dinner and brushed newly melted butter on the freshly baked
bread rolls. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Richard pouring Draco
another drink and quipped, "If they wander towards the shed. Let me know,
dear. Your dad keeps his shotgun in there for emergencies."

Hermione spun around, spilling the wine from her refilled glass on the floor
and squealed, "What?" She realised her behaviour was bizarre and odd, to
say the least. What did she care if her father blasted Malfoy away? It would
save her from having to marry the self-righteous ferret.

Julia teased, "Darling, calm yourself. He is just speaking with the boy."
Phyllis helped plate the food and quipped, "Yes, and don't think we haven't
noticed you gawking at Draco and holding his hand."

Hermione lifted the rim of the glass to her lips and muttered
unconvincingly, "You are reading too much into our reactions." Her words
were muffled but still audible.

Julia fawned, "It's as plain as freckles on your nose."

Hermione rubbed her cheeks with the palm of her free hand and grumbled,
"Mum, stop it! I'm blushing."

Julia hummed a Muggle tune, swayed from side to side and perked up, "I
think your father likes this one." She knew from her husband's actions that
Draco was clawing his way through Richards hard exterior.

Phyllis snorted, "He hated the other one." She candidly recalled her son
using colourful words to describe Hermione's ex-boyfriend and couldn't
help but laugh at the terms used to describe him.

She laughed aloud, "Poor boy could hardly get out his name."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Ron was nervous, and Daddy was horrid to
him." Her father had mercilessly shredded the youngest Weasley boy to
tatters. Ron had been so traumatised, he vowed never to visit her parents
again and only would in the unlikely event they got married. So much for
that.

She added with an exasperated shake of her head, "Trust daddy to like the
one man I loathe."

Julia raised a questioning brow, "Loathe? That is a load of tripe. Please do

not insult our intelligence." She was quite frank with her only child.

Phyllis snapped impatiently, "Bollocks."

Hermione giggled at her grandmother's colourful choice of words, "Steady

on, Gran."
The eldest of the lot offered her wisdom, "This one is different. There's
some substance to him."

Julia doubled over with laughter. Their peals of merriment reached the men,
and they glanced in the direction of the kitchen. Draco felt an awakening in
his heart as Granger put her arms around her seated grandmother and
hugged her tight.

He had never wanted her more. She was beautiful, free, and bursting with
life.

Richard pointedly cleared his throat, and Draco unwillingly tore his gaze
from Granger's laughing form to give the older man before him his
attention.

Richard offered him another drink which Draco politely declined, "Thank
you, Mr Granger, but I cannot disapparate if I'm drunk as a skunk."

The liquor had clearly loosened him up. Richard waved his hand
dismissively, "Ah, call me Richard."

He took in the tensed body language of his would-be son in law and mused,
"This isn't an interrogation. You can relax."

His eyes clouded over with fear and concern over his only daughter, "I
worry about Hermione."

Draco's grip on the glass tightened. From Richards strained tone, it was
clear that he was anxious about Granger's safety.

It wasn't easy for Richard to open up about his true feelings. Still, he did
slowly, "She hasn't always had the easiest time adjusting to all this, and
originally I was scared for her, but now after meeting you, granted it's been
less than an hour, but I can tell your honest and sincere about all this." The
boy had taken his mocking and his determination to make him
uncomfortable splendidly and come off unscathed.
He brought the glass to his lips and scoffed, "Her earlier boyfriend,
Weasley, I wasn't a fan. He seemed to control her. My daughter is a free
spirit and headstrong like her mother, but with a heart of pure gold."

Draco couldn't help the smugness that radiated off him. He had a one-upped
Weasley with Granger's dad. He doubted anything else could be remotely as
satisfying.

He answered with a heavy heart, "I'm aware, sir. If you're worried, I may
hurt her in the future, I cannot promise that I won't, but I will do my utmost
to avoid it."

Richard sighed, "I wanted Hermione to have what her mother and I have,
but I guess expecting the normal went out of the window when her gifts
came to light."

Draco argued pointedly, "She can still find it, Mr Granger. Our marriage
will be short-lived. There is no reason why a beautiful, intelligent, talented
witch like her cannot find someone who will worship the ground she walks
on." Somehow his bold statement of Granger finding another did not sit too
well with him. His insides knotted obnoxiously, and he couldn't quite
fathom why. He brushed it off and blamed it on the alcohol spreading
wickedness through his body.

Richard smirked, and laughter lit up his eyes, "I doubt she's looking for a
simp. She needs someone to challenge her, keep her on her toes." He added
knowledgeably, "That's why the ginger didn't last. She grew weary of his
overbearing, childish nature."

More subtle Weasley bashing. Draco was beside himself with joy, but he
maintained his composure and said, "Granger, I mean, Hermione is
a...special woman." He had to remember to refer to her by her given name
in front of her family.

Richard raised a quizzical brow, "Hmm, you speak of her highly. Do you
have romantic feelings for her?"

Fuck. Right in the family jewels.

Draco hesitated, "I'm not sure, sir. Like her, I'm still figuring all this out."
He wanted to be honest and not give false hope. He included grimly, "This
situation isn't fair, but the population in our world is dwindling, and drastic
measures were needed to keep it afloat."

Richard looked mildly disgusted, "I see. So, it's an effort to repopulate?"

Draco wished he hadn't mentioned that part. There was a significant shift in
mood and a certain level of cringe hung heavily in the air.

He answered and wondered if he had shared too much, "Well, yes. That is
the goal of these marriages, but...

Richard grimaced and interrupted abruptly, "But?" He did not look pleased.

Draco answered quickly, hoping to appease, "I won't do anything that

makes Hermione uncomfortable."

Richard warned darkly, his eyes darted towards the padlocked shed, "You
better bloody not."

Draco felt a layer of sweat coat his upper lip, and his palms turned clammy
with apprehension.

The older man pressed undeterred, "So are you planning on taking a
mistress? Come on, a handsome lad like yourself will have them lining at
the door." He watched intently as Draco's face reddened with
embarrassment or possibly guilt? Richard wasn't quite sure which.

The young wizard wished he could disappear. He was digging himself into
an early grave.

He swallowed hard, "I respect Hermione greatly. I wouldn't do her the

dishonour."

The agreement between them was private, and her father hardly needed to
know the finer details.

Richard gave a curt nod, "Good. I would hate to see my daughter suffer."
Draco insisted, "I don't want her to suffer either, sir." He didn't mean her or
anyone else harm.

An awkward silence engulfed him.

The elderly man asked curiously, "Did you fight in the war?"

Draco broke out in a cold sweat, "I..."

The sliding doors slid open with a protesting creak, and Julia came towards
them with a warm smile and spoke to her husband directly, "You can grill
the child later, Richard. The food's getting cold."

Draco thanked all the founding fathers for the interruption.

Richard grinned, "Of course, darling. Lead the way."

Putting caution to the wind, Draco tossed back the remnants of his drink
and hoped it wouldn't result in an unsuccessful apparition and him
splinching himself.

They entered the kitchen space that led to the dining area. Hermione
questioned Draco with her eyes. They were filled with a mixture of concern,
curiosity and intrigue.

He ignored her, trying to make eye contact and instead, inhaled deeply and
complimented, "It smells heavenly, Mrs Granger. You have gone through a
lot of trouble on my behalf. I apologise for being such a nuisance."

Everyone took a seat, Draco held out the chair for Hermione, and she let
him without fuss. His fingers brushed along her arm as she muttered a
quick, "Thank you," and gracefully lowered herself down onto the
cushioned chair.

Draco took the seat next to her, placed the neatly folded napkin on his lap
and kept his arms locked at the side. His eyes moved briefly over the many
plates of delicious food, and a pang of hunger hit his belly. His would-be in-
laws had stopped at nothing to make him feel welcome.
Julia sat down herself, flicked the napkin open and laid it delicately in her
lap. She gently reminded, "Please call me Julia, and nonsense, I enjoy
cooking for my family."

Phyllis made polite dinner conversation, "What do you do in your free time,
son?"

Draco recited, "I read, meditate and when time permits, I meet up with my
friends to socialise."

Hermione absentmindedly folded her napkin into a swan before

interjecting, "He is also a Kung fu blackbelt, gets up at the crack of dawn to
practise and plays the piano as if Beethoven himself has possessed him."

Julia's head snapped up excitedly at the declaration. Phyllis threw her

granddaughter a curious look, and Richard sipped on the drink he brought
with him while he listened to the others speak.

Hermione adopted a sheepish demeanour and knew she had shared far too
much. She hadn't meant to sound like she knew much about his life. In
reality, she did not, but it surely wasn't coming off that way.

Draco stiffened, dropped his hand inconspicuously under the table, wrapped
his long fingers around Hermione's jean-clad thigh to give it a tight squeeze.
A whimper escaped her lips, and she winced softly, "Ow..."

Phyllis mused, "Are you alright, darling?"

Hermione was trying hard to dislodge herself from Draco's ironclad grip
without arousing anyone's suspicion that she didn't quite hear her
grandmother's question. Still, once Phyllis shifted her attention to Draco
and raised a knowing brow, he released his fiancé at once and smiled
politely, "You're too kind, Granger, but honestly, I'm not very good."

Julia chimed in, "I adore the piano. I played in my youth and for Hermione
when she practiced her ballet routines. How cute she looked in those pink
and yellow tutu's."
Hermione blushed, the skin on her thigh throbbed where his fingers dug in,
but instead of pondering on how sinfully delightful Malfoy's touch was, she
buried her face in her hands in embarrassment and protested, "Mum...come
on."

Draco was highly taken aback since he considered Granger to lack any form
of poise and coordination, with the exception of balancing a mountain of
books. He turned to face her and teased, "Ballet? I didn't know you took
ballet lessons. I'm sure you looked quite lovely in pink frills."

Hermione stared him in the face and scoffed, "There's a lot you don't know
about me."

Draco caught the nervous twitch of her eye and muttered more to himself
than others, "Yes, I can see that."

Julia insisted, her eyes sparkled with renewed hope, "Would you do us the
honour after dinner?"

Draco shifted in his chair uneasily. He knew he was decently talented when
it came to tickling the ivories, but to perform in front of his soon to be in-
laws was rather nerve-wracking.

He mustered a gracious smile, "I wouldn't want to impose."

Julia brandished her hand flippantly, "Not at all. I insist."

Draco gave a quick nod and settled, "Then your wish is my command."

Julia gushed, "He's a charming young man, isn't he?"

Hermione played with the corner of her napkin and mumbled sarcastically,
"Must be all that pureblood inbreeding rising to the surface."

"Hermione, apologise this instant!" Julia reprimanded most severely. It was

a highly inappropriate comment, but the man it was directed at hid a small
smile and took it exceedingly well.
Phyllis tutted sternly to make her displeasure clear. Hermione scowled, "I'm
sorry. Did I say that aloud?"

Richard chuckled from his place at the head of the table and wondered why
nobody was eating. This incessant talking was beginning to ruin his
appetite.

Julia radiated kindness, "We would love to meet your mother." She was
curious about the woman that raised the man before them. He had such
perfect mannerisms and was keen to meet the lady responsible for his
upbringing.

A fond smile split Draco's face in half. His mother was singlehandedly the
most important person in his life, "She would be thrilled to meet everyone.
She mostly tends to the roses and upkeep of the Manor."

Hermione loved how Malfoy downplayed his lifestyle, wealth, and

aristocratic position.

She felt compelled to shed more light on the enchanting woman she had
come to greatly respect and love, "Narcissa is wonderful. She does quite a
bit of charity work and provides aid to underprivileged children."

This family seemed too good to be true, Richard thought incredulously.

There had to be something wrong with them.

Phyllis inquired abruptly, "When is the big day?" Hermione and Draco
anticipated the question, but it took them by surprise just the same.

The young witch glanced at her grandmother and wondered why she had
remained abnormally quiet throughout, only seeing fit to ask an odd
question now and then.

The food was forgotten despite the mouth-watering aroma that surrounded
them.

Draco cleared his throat and offered a plausible answer, "We haven't
decided, but soon."
Hermione did not see the need to stretch the truth. As long as everything
was out in the open, why not this too?

She took a deep breath and stated firmly, "There won't be a big day. We are
not having a wedding." The eerie silence that followed was maddening.
Draco reached for a glass of water to moisten his suddenly dry lips and
quench his thirst. He glanced at Granger nervously fidgeting in her seat and
fought the urge to grab her thigh once again.

The daft bint. Everything had been going fine until her need to force her
way of thinking on everyone came out. Sometimes a little white lie was
perfectly acceptable.

Richard threw his napkin down in anger, narrowed his eyes and thundered,
"WHAT?"
 Chapter 35
Chapter Summary

A big thank you to everyone who posted a review and for everyone
following! It means so much! ❤😊

The Dinner - Part 02. There are three parts to this joyous occasion.

I strongly suggest everyone to listen to The Promise by Michael

Nyman. It is absolutely breathtaking.

Enjoy Chapter Thirty-Five!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads! 😊

Stay safe, beautiful people! ❤

HAPPY READING! 🥰

Teddy slipped into his pyjamas with cute little chubby nifflers printed on
the fabric and grumbled, "Has she forgotten about me?"

As he struggled with the buttons, Andromeda stepped forward to help and

smiled lovingly, "Of course not, darling. Aunty Hermione has some things
she's going through." She tried her best to explain, but what did a small
child understand about marriage laws and adult things?

Teddy frowned, "Like what? She promised Gran. I haven't seen her in
ages." His unstable emotions caused his hair to change into the most
brilliantly beautiful blue.

It suited him, and Andromeda ruffled his head affectionately, "I'm sure she
misses you. We should write to her as we discussed." A letter to Hermione
would put Teddy's mind at ease. Andromeda also made a mental note to
call.
Teddy climbed onto the bed and accused, "She said she would come by to
teach me Arithmancy."

Andromeda said a touch sternly, "Now Teddy, I'm sure she will. You mustn't
get upset." He was still coming to terms with his Magical abilities, and
childish tantrums quickly resulted in things flying across the room or
broken glass in more damaging instances.

Teddy crossed his arms, sat on the bed cross-legged and huffed, "She broke
her promise." His voice broke on the last word, and Andromeda felt
overwhelmed. She tenderly brushed back his hair and kissed his sweet
forehead, "Hush now, go to sleep. She will visit soon." Teddy's fondness of
Hermione blossomed from her uncanny ability to put the boy at ease with
unconditional love. Much like Ginny, Hermione was every bit a surrogate
mother to Teddy Lupin.

Andromeda sighed as her grandson got under the covers, curled up into a
ball and turned purposely away from her and faced the wall.

He was a stubborn one when he wanted to be, but in his defence, he loved
Hermione. Since birth, she had been a constant in his life. Andromeda
hoped Hermione's marriage to Draco would not put a permanent damper on
her relationship with Teddy. If so, she would have a few words with her
estranged nephew.

She retired to her room, let down her long greying hair, opened the drawer
and pulled out a battered old picture of Narcissa and herself.

How carefree they seemed at such a naive age.

With the marriage law putting a permanent wrench into Hermione’s life and
Draco’s timely return, Andromeda found herself thinking about her beloved
sister far more than she ever had through the years.

Though she was confident in her decision to elope with Ted and start a life
away from all she had ever known, Ted had filled the void with his kind,
understanding and patient nature, but over time Andromeda began to realise
there was a gaping hole in her heart that neither Ted nor her daughter could
fill.

There was only one person who could.

Julia pursed her lips to make her displeasure clear, "This is unacceptable."
Since the beginning of the night, she had kept her composure, not once
faltering, but what she was hearing caused her resolve to come crashing
down around her, and it was apparent her husband shared her sentiment.

Hermione kept her eyes fixed on the empty plate before her and gritted out,
"I will not play into the hands of the Ministry." What was everyone's bloody
obsession with a wedding? Sticking it to the Ministry aside, a massive
function to entertain a magnitude of useless sods was such an utter waste of
money. There were plenty of unprivileged children who would benefit
greatly from the kind of money Malfoy had. She conveniently forgot the
thousands of Galleons Narcissa donated monthly.

Phyllis lifted a brow and spoke up, "Don't you work for them?" Her tone
was thick with sarcasm.

Hermione couldn't find a suitable retort. She defended weakly, "That is

beside the point." She wouldn't dare sass her grandmother unless she had
lost the will to live.

Richard scowled, "I'm being denied the pleasure of walking my daughter

down the aisle.” He added with a cynical undertone, “Bloody marvellous."
She was taking away his god-given right.

"You will get your wish. Someday," Hermione averted her gaze, kept it
firmly on the plate before her and mumbled.

Julia seemed rather troubled, "I must say I find all this rather depressing." It
was one thing to accept her daughter was getting married to a man they'd
never met until today but to be robbed of their only child's wedding day was
quite rightly painful. She saw the intricately embroidered white lace dress,
the sweet-smelling flowers and all she hoped for the day disappear in a wisp
of smoke.

Draco shifted in his chair awkwardly. His mother shared similar thoughts
on the matter, and honestly, how horrid could a small ceremony be? He
understood Granger's intentions, but he also sympathised with their parents.

Hermione lifted her head, looked at her mother's face and argued, "Oh,
mum, please understand that a forced wedding under the circumstances to a
man I don't love is not something to celebrate."

She turned sideways and said with a halfhearted smile to the fiancé the
Ministry had stuck her with, "No offence." There wasn't any offence to be
taken considering the arsehole he had been to her.

Draco gave a slight smirk. "None taken." He deserved every insult she
hurled his way. At least, momentarily. With nothing better to do than watch
the situation unfold, he gulped water and swallowed it slowly.

Julia ignored her daughter purposely and addressed her future son-in-law
instead, "Draco, and your mother is okay with this?" She knew he was an
only child, too and was extremely curious about how his mother handled
this distasteful decision of not having a wedding. Narcissa appeared to be
an intelligent woman and would surely not put up with any nonsense.

Draco chuckled, "Oh, she's livid that we have refused, and I daresay she has
something up her sleeve." Salazar, he hoped they would’ve left him out of
it. After all, it was mainly Granger’s decision, and although he had gone
along with it to appease her, he could hardly be penalized for it.

Julia insisted, "And you agree with Hermione? That a ceremony of sorts is
pointless?" She was sure he could be persuaded, unlike her stubborn
daughter.

Had the temperature risen? Because Draco was burning up and felt
extremely hot. He pulled at his collar to allow some breathing space and
swallowed hard.

Caught between a rock and a hard place took on a new meaning. On one
side, Granger glared at him, and on the other, her family members waited
impatiently for his answer.

He found himself saying, "Well, a small gathering is acceptable by me to

satisfy my mother, of course." It was better to get in good with her parents,
but was it wise to unequivocally anger a woman he had to live with for the
next three years? A woman who would or would not have direct access to
his precious family jewels.

Hermione threw him a scathing look. This was one thing on which she
would not compromise, even for Narcissa.

She gritted out, "There will be no wedding. Everyone needs to make their
peace with that." It was the one thing she would not be bullied or forced
into.

With determination, she informed her beloved family rather callously,

"Malfoy and I will get the license at the Ministry." It was merely a
formality.

Richard hissed from his place at the head of the table, "I assume, this time
around, you will inform us in due time about the date." He was far from
thrilled by her declaration, and he was still seething from being kept in the
dark about her engagement. It was too big of a shock even to ponder.

Hermione locked eyes with her fuming father and sighed, "Daddy, I
apologised, but I don't know for much longer I can take you hurling it in my
face." It physically pained her to hear the bitter disappointment in her
father's tone. Her untimely nuptials were hardly her doing. She wanted
nothing more than to escape from their predicament, but sometimes to do
the right thing, you must embrace what you loathe. In this case, it came
covered in a delicious blend of black cashmere, white-blonde hair, pale
skin, and intoxicating eyes neatly packed into an imposing six-foot-two-
inch frame of hardened muscle.
Richard could barely contain his frustration. He accused rather harshly,
"You've thought of everything then? Without a shred of consideration for
the rest of your family."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort but swallowed her answer, not
wanting to irritate her father anymore. She knew from past experiences he
was reaching his boiling point and would blow at the slightest infraction.

Instead, she choked back a sob, soothingly rubbed the cool band of her
beautiful engagement ring and stared enthralled by it as the stones shifted
colour to a solid black to suit her grim mood.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco eyed his spirited fiancé and fought the
urge to comfort her. Only they knew the true nature of things and how
difficult their pairing was to accept. He wished she got paired with Terry,
but the fleeting thought vanished instantly. She deserved someone with their
wits about them, not some bungling oaf.

An uncomfortable silence settled upon them, and each avoided eye contact
and pretended to be deep in thought. That was until Richard chided,
"Hermione, if you are expecting me to be thrilled by the fact you kept your
engagement a secret, I'm afraid that’s not going to happen."

Hermione scoffed, "I explained everything."

Julia glanced at Draco and said with a certain level of embarrassment,

"Richard, this is hardly the time."

Richard argued undiscouraged, "Why? It's good that Malfoy here

understands how disappointed we are about this situation."

Hermione pleaded, "Dad, please stop." Her voice cracked on the last word,
and she almost wept. Her father meant the world to her.

Richard softened his gaze. His daughter was his pride and joy. He loved her
unconditionally, and that's why all this hurt so much, more so after her
memory swipe stunt. It pained him that he was unaware and unable to
comfort his child during such a trying time in her young life. He would
never forget the tall, well-dressed gentlemen that came calling from the
Minister of Magic with Hermione in the middle of the night. They, of
course, had no idea who she was or who the men were.

A lengthy explanation had followed over the course of a few days, magic
was used, and presto, their memories had been restored. It was a gruelling,
painful procedure that caused Julia to suffer multiple seizures while their
daughter held onto the Weasley boy and sobbed for causing her parents
pain.

He had been furious with her actions, and after much discussion, all was
forgiven considering why she did what she did. It was a pure act of love out
of fear for their lives.

Phyllis's stern voice pierced the stillness with a firmness that was not to be
trifled with, "I think Draco is quite aware already, Richard. Now the boy
has explained his side of things, and I strongly suggest you come to terms
with this extraordinary turn of events and leave things be."

Richard defended meekly, But, mum, I...." His mother's penetrating glare
forced him to rethink his words.

Phyllis replied in a no-nonsense tone, "But mum, nothing. Let it go, son."
She purposely emphasised her last words.

Hermione turned her face away from the table and fought the tears that
threatened to spill over. She looked to the ceiling and willed them to go
away.

Draco dropped his hand, slipped it under the table and edged his fingers
towards the trembling petite hand.

She felt long firm fingers close around her shaking hand. The warmth and
reassurance extended were welcome. His ardently offered heat seeped into
her skin, causing her to look at him through hooded lids at first. Tiny drops
of unshed tears wilfully clung to her long lashes.

Her eyes found his, and he gazed into her deep pools of amber and boldly,
in plain sight of her family, cupped her face and used the pad of his thumb
to brush away the single tear that slid down her cheek in a race against time.

She reacted how she always did when he touched her. Her eyes closed, and
her lips parted slightly as she leaned into his touch, not caring what her
parents or grandmother thought of their somewhat inappropriate behaviour.

Julia and Phyllis exchanged a knowing look, but neither spoke as they
watched the couple in fascination.

Hermione could feel Malfoy’s building frustration, his magic hummed,

wanting to be set free, and she momentarily wondered if he would snap at
her temperamental father.

Instead, Draco cleared his throat and spoke directly to Richard, "Mr
Granger, I wholly agree that you have every right to be angry.

He glanced at the woman squeezing his hand and said fiercely, “But
Hermione is hardly to blame.”

He included solemnly, "She's been under a considerable amount of stress,

and I can only imagine the guilt she must have felt at having to endure this
by herself and not share it with the people that mean most."

Without a moment’s thought, he said slowly, “If you want to blame

someone, then blame me.” He was far more equipped mentally than
Granger to endure any lectures or harsh words directed at them. A deep
sense of protectiveness towards her engulfed him, and like his sexual
attraction to her, he was further surprised by this new development.

Hermione was quick to defend, "No, Malfoy. It's not your fault either.” She
despised him, probably, but would never stand by and let him take the
blame for something that neither of them had any control over.
Draco ignored her words and said with purpose, "I will do my utmost to
provide her with every bit of luxury she deserves. This might be an
arranged marriage, but she will be my wife and the lady of the Manor after
my mother. I care a great deal about her wellbeing." It wasn’t a blatant lie to
satisfy her family. He meant every word and had every intention of
honouring them.

Hermione stared at him, unable to blink or comprehend the words that

seamlessly left his lips.

The atmosphere turned from tense to strained, and soon a soothing

calmness consumed them.

Richard grinned triumphantly after a moment’s thought, "Good. I'm glad to

hear it, son." His intended son-in-law's words had a profound impact on
him. They would revisit the wedding topic later, but for now, he was
satisfied that his daughter seemed to be in good hands and couldn't help but
think if there was more to this marriage law and Algorithm than meets the
eye.

He placed his napkin back on his lap, widened his arms and invited heartily,
"Now tuck in."

Julia sighed in relief, pushed the large platters towards Draco, and
encouraged, "Please, serve yourself."

He helped himself to a little bit of everything to be polite, but it was so

delicious he was quick to serve himself seconds and then thirds. His mother
would have been appalled by the way he polished off his meal like a man
starved, not leaving a crumb behind.

The matter of the wedding hung in the air much like an uninvited guest.
Still, everyone was momentarily distracted by the food and company, and
Hermione was grateful the subject had been swept under the rug for the
time being.

The Grangers were far more welcoming and pleasant than Draco could have
imagined. He felt instantly liked and part of the family. It was a refreshing
change to see Granger laughing and playfully bickering.

He decided he preferred Muggle Granger to witch. As a witch, she was

primarily tense, commanding and with a point to prove.

Surrounded by her loved ones, she truly let the burden that bore down on
her go and seemed much more carefree.

Draco wondered if her nightmares invaded her mind as much as when she
visited her parents.

The merry sounds of chatter and cutlery being used filled the area.

Richard pushed aside his plate and smiled in satisfaction, "That was
delicious, darling."

Julia beamed, "Why, thank you, Mr Granger."

Hermione leaned against the chair and perked up, "I've put on at least three
pounds."

"Good. You have lost a considerable amount of weight and could do with
some fattening up," came the concerned mother's reply.

Hermione quipped, "If you had your way, I wouldn't fit through the door,
mum."

Draco dabbed the corners of his mouth and complimented, "Thank you for
such a delightful meal. I have indulged far more than I should have." He
couldn’t possibly eat another bite.

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Work it off tomorrow morning." With his
vigorous routine, he was bound to lose it all in a few minutes.

Julia grinned, "Well, Draco. Will you do us the honour of playing a song of
your liking?"
He had hoped they would forget about his earlier promise, but how could he
refuse or make an excuse after the tremendous effort they had gone to on
his behalf?

Draco slowly pushed back his chair and gracefully rose from his seat and
bowed courteously, "It would be a small token of thanks for the welcome I
have received."

Julia blushed, "He's so well-mannered and spoken."

Draco offered his arm, which Julia took graciously and led him to the other
end of the living room. Richard snorted, bowed, and jokingly offered
Hermione his arm, to which she curtsied and took it while letting out a
laugh for good measure.

Phyllis trailed behind with a curious yet happy smile on her face.

Julia touched the dark brown wood and offered, "It's been years since
anyone's played."

Draco rolled up his sleeves, and they hugged his forearms perfectly. He
gently pulled back the mahogany stool, sat down and watched as everyone
took a seat and gave him their undivided attention. He gently opened the
flap and stared at the ivory keys that spoke to him. In his youth, he had
meticulously practised alone and under the supervision of his strict French
instructor, who, as it happened, had a gorgeous daughter and harboured a
hidden love for Muggle composers.

Of course, she was older but had no qualms about sleeping with a younger
man who certainly knew a thing or two about pleasuring a woman in bed. It
was brief, two months to be exact, before he was branded with the Dark
Mark and his lessons, along with his hopes and dreams, came crashing
down around him. He later heard from his mother that Renee had returned
to France to live with her mother after her father's untimely and unjustified
murder at the hands of snatchers. He had been a simple man who loved
music.
Draco touched the keys reverently. He pressed a few to get the feel of it and
exhaled. He brought his head up and addressed the room but kept his smoky
eyes on his betrothed, "With your permission, Mrs Granger, I would like to
play The Promise” by Michael Nyman." It seemed to fit the situation at
hand.

Julia brought her hands together in delight, "That is one of my absolute

favourites."

She glanced at her bemused daughter and added, "Hermione’s too."

Hermione froze. She was shocked by his knowledge of Muggle composers.

Would he never cease to amaze her? It couldn't be a coincidence that he
chose that exact song. She racked her brain, trying to remember if she had
mentioned it in passing, but no such situation or conversation came to mind.

Draco breathed, "That's a pleasant surprise." It was one of his favourite

pieces of music to play. The melody broke his heart and mended it all in the
span of five minutes. Such was the power of the song.

Of course, the piano was nothing like the grand one back at the Manor, but
it hardly mattered. He took a deep breath, touched the off-white keys and
began to move his long talented fingers effortlessly across them as he
serenaded them with the breathtaking melody that brought out such intense
feelings in those listening. Before long, everyone in the room was listening
intently.

Hermione couldn't help but gawk at the imposing man bent over the piano.
Strands of blonde fell over his face as he passionately caressed the
magnificent instrument at his disposal. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she was
transported to a timeless space where the music engulfed her whole, and she
thought of the first time she had laid eyes on him after his return to
England.

Time itself came to a standstill. She couldn’t explain the sensations that tore
through her. There was a burning desire in the pits of her being, and it was
scorching her from within. She surrendered to the music and its compelling
will that demanded submission.

Draco ended on a high, kept his eyes closed for a further few minutes and
willed his rapidly beating heart to return to normal. He slowly opened his
eyes and flashed a bright smile at his audience.

Everyone broke out in applause except Hermione, who was caught up in

thoughts of lying across the polished surface of the grand piano while
Malfoy spread her out and devoured her centre whole. His tongue exploring
her most intimate place caused goosebumps to spread across her body as
her sinful daydream pulled her under.

Draco got to his feet, clicked his heels together and bowed courteously.

Julia was beside herself and gushed, "You play so beautifully." She brushed
a falling tear off her face. Richard clapped but kept his thoughts to himself.

Phyllis, who had been listening to the beautiful music with a keen eye on
her granddaughter, insisted, "Hermione, why don't you show Draco the rest
of the house until I add the finishing touches to the apple pie?"

Hermione snapped out of her trance, closed the gap between them, grabbed
Draco by the arm and dragged him upstairs without uttering another word.

Draco let himself be pulled and mocked, "Should I be alarmed by your

behaviour, Granger?"

He goaded with pleasure, "You like it rather rough, don't you, pet?"

She glanced over her shoulder before throwing the door open and hissing,
"Sod off."

A hearty laugh tore out of his lips. He did enjoy getting under her skin, "Are
you trying to get me alone? I'm happy to oblige, of course."
He bumped into her back in the dark, and she cursed out loud, "You clumsy
troll."

Surrounded by darkness, Draco stood in one place, felt around and shot
back, "Who are you calling a troll, you graceless twat."

His fingers brushed up against something incredibly soft, and Hermione

squealed, "Watch it." She switched on the light, and Draco was horrified to
find that he had cupped Granger's left bosom in his predicament.

Her eyes were fixed on his fingers moulded to her breast.

Hermione cleared her throat pointedly, "Erm, do you mind?"

Draco at once dropped his hand off her person and grinned sheepishly.

Hermione went to stand on the other side of the small room. She leaned
against a chest of drawers, crossed her legs at the ankles and studied the
man in her room.

They regarded each other curiously.

He indeed was a sight. She marvelled at his fabulous bone structure every
time she laid eyes on him.

His eyes darted around the room in almost childish fascination. Draco
couldn't help but be captivated by the pastel shades of yellow that adorned
the walls. Hand-painted frames held pictures of her childhood. Especially
one with missing baby teeth and what looked remarkably like a bowl of ice
cream over her head.

All of his childhood photographs were stuffy professional portraits with

suits and bows except for a handful his mother kept to herself. Still, there
were hardly any candid or carefree pictures of himself. He had missed
something in his childhood, Draco thought rather grimly.

He approached the shelf crammed with books and touched some of the
leather-bound covers.

A layer of dust coated his fingers. He pulled out a black silk handkerchief
from his pocket, cleaned his hands with it and spoke to the feisty woman
following his every movement, "How charming. You were a cute toddler."
He mused, "Merlin knows what happened."

Hermione sneered, "I'm fine the way I am, thank you very much. Your
opinion of me hardly matters."

Draco chuckled, "You need to lighten up. I was joking, Granger. I find you
quite attractive." She wasn't the most appealing girl at Hogwarts. Not that
he had ever looked her way in a manner that suggested anything more than
disgust, but now, she occupied his thoughts far more than necessary.

She rolled her eyes and retorted sarcastically, "Thank you so much, Malfoy.
I can hardly contain my excitement." She made an elaborate show of being
overjoyed by his compliment.

He wandered over to where she had hung her Gryffindor scarf and touched
it nostalgically. It was the only thing magically related in her room, and that
struck him as odd.

Hermione inquired abruptly, "How was your date?" She didn't quite know
what possessed her to ask, but since hearing Astoria’s dulcet tones when she
called to invite him over for dinner, it had prickled her mind unpleasantly.

Draco abandoned the scarf and sighed, "I told you it wasn't a date. It was
Blaise's daughter’s birthday. Tori is her aunt, so she just happened to be
there. I do not need to tell you how she feels about me."

Hermione scowled, "No thanks. I'm well aware of Greengrass's obsession

with you."

He teased, "There's nothing to get jealous over."

She leered, "It might come as a surprise to you, Malfoy, but I don't care who
you fuck." Her subconscious yelled in protest at the brazen lie that left her
lips.

Draco ignored her crude comment, narrowed his eyes and pressed, "Why
did you widen your eyes when I mentioned Blaise."

Bugger. She hadn't even noticed. The man was too perceptive for his own
good.

She averted her gaze and mumbled, "Nothing." Fuck.

He rolled his eyes, "Cough it up, Granger. You really are an appalling liar."
She was too obvious, and her face gave her away instantly.

Hermione chided, "Well, excuse me if I'm incapable of being deceitful."

Except when the situation called upon itself.

She explained somewhat reluctantly, "Ginny came by earlier. She had a row
with Harry over having coffee with Blaise." She wasn't entirely at ease
confiding her friend’s issues with Malfoy, but this also, to a lesser extent,
concerned Blaise, who in a twisted fate of circumstances happened to be his
best friend.

Draco smirked, "Ah, is Potter feeling insecure?" Blaise was a good-looking,

successful man. It made sense that even the saviour of the wizarding world
had hidden insecurities.

Hermione wagged a warning finger and scolded, "Don't be an insensitive

lout. He's hardly home because of this maniac on the loose, and it's
obviously creating issues."

Draco shrugged, "It was just a cup of coffee." He couldn't fathom what the
big deal was unless Potter was the insufferable possessive type.

Hermione sighed, "It's nothing. Blaise is an ex, and I'm sure with all the
stress, Harry is overreacting." She was almost positive that was the reason,
and Blaise had nothing to do with it.

"Ex?" Draco asked in bewilderment. What the fuck? He felt like he had
fallen through some black hole and ended up in a parallel universe. Blaise
and Ginny? Ginny Weasley?

Hermione raised a questioning brow, "Didn't you know Blaise and Ginny
had a brief fling at Hogwarts? It was short but clearly impacted them both."
She was momentarily shocked that he didn't know. Still, it was
understandable considering the time frame of the secret affair and Malfoy's
initiation into the Death Eater club.

Draco became sympathetic. His reply came after serious thought, "No, I did
not know, but now that I do. Certain disappearances and hesitations on his
part make sense." Blaise had been bashful on certain evenings when
questioned about his odd disappearances and simply stated that it was none
of their business what he did with his free time.

Theo, of course, had been most curious about his friend's elusive
movements. Even resorting to a faulty batch of Veritaserum to squeeze out
the truth. Pansy, having overheard Theo bragging about it to Goyle at
breakfast, quickly put a stop to the dreadful plan.

His eyes caught sight of a flaming redhead, and Draco crossed the space
with two long strides, stood in front of her floor-length mirror and peered
into a large photograph placed between the small crack between the glass
and white painted wooden frame.

He pulled out the picture that was wedged in and quipped, "Speaking of
exes." Weasley had his arm around her and kissed her cheek while she
giggled and smiled at the camera. They looked happy in their ignorant bliss.

A content smile spread across Hermione’s face, "Oh, I'd forgotten about
that." She closed the gap between them and reached to take it out of his
grasp, but he held it over his head, out of reach and smiled devilishly down
at her, "Well, you won't be needing it."
Draco went to toss it in the bin, he was eager for her response, and she
didn't disappoint.

Hermione protested, "Hey! I don't want to chuck it." She and Ron were
over, but that didn't necessarily mean she had to get rid of every memory.
They shared some loving, good times and those she held dear.

Draco responded to her reaction, "Why? Do you still love him?"

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and huffed, "And what if I did?"
His line of questioning was beginning to irritate her. Even if she loved Ron
or Terry or whoever, it was none of Malfoy's bloody business.

Draco snickered, "Poor Boot would be beside himself, and Tracey would be
heartbroken."

She pressed anxiously, "And you would be okay with it?"

He shrugged and showed complete indifference, "Besides feeling a mild

sense of disgust, It wouldn't matter to me."

Hermione added further explanation, “Well, I don't, and neither do I have

any strong feelings for Terry. I do, however, care for them as friends.”

Draco advised harshly, “You shouldn't lead them on.” Scorned lovers were a
right pain in the arse, and she was inviting unwanted trouble to take up
residence in her life.

She snapped, “Hello, aren't you the kettle calling the pot black?” The
hypocritical bastard. All he did was handle Astoria with kids gloves as if
she were some precious ceramic doll.

Hermione bitterly reminded without hesitation, “Need I remind you about

Astoria, but perhaps, I'm wrong, and you do harbour strong feelings for the
uppish twit.”

She spat in mild revulsion, “Argh, she sets women back a hundred years.”
Draco snorted, "Calm down, Granger.” He knew she had a point, but the
situations were vastly different, and he made his thoughts vocal, “Astoria is
unwell. I’m not so cruel to torment and deny a dying woman.”

Hermione bit back a nasty retort. How he handled Greengrass was his
problem, and while she could sympathize with the woman’s plight, she
would not put up with Astoria’s crude behaviour and rude comments. Dying
from a blood curse did not exclude one from practising good manners.

Eager to stir the conversation well away from Astoria Greengrass, Draco
prodded eagerly, “Am I faring well with your family?”

A satisfied smirk tugged the corner of Hermione’s lip upwards,

“Brilliantly.”

He injected with an air of arrogant smugness, “Was there ever any doubt?”

Hermione frowned, “Your selfless modesty continues to shock me.” The

cocky git.

A sudden coldness swept through her, and she shivered involuntarily. Draco
noticed and demanded in concern, “What's the matter? You’re trembling.”

She glanced at her shaking hands and replied unsurely, “I don't know.” A
surge of emotions rose to the surface, and Hermione couldn’t understand
why her parents’ possible acceptance of her former bully made her want to
bawl her eyes out.

A masculine smell invaded her senses as Draco pulled her close, nuzzled
into her hair and inhaled deeply. He said with enough conviction, “You
have a wonderful family. I envy you, Granger.”

She broke free from his hold, stepped back and countered, “There's nothing
to envy. Narcissa and Bernard love you.”

Draco looked around the space and sighed, “I find a Muggle life appealing.
That is what I miss most about China.”
He said with a sense of freedom, “I could walk through the streets, and no
one knew who I was or what I had done. I was a foreigner. That is a
different kind of prejudice, but Jun wouldn't hear a word said against me.”

Hermione raised a curious brow, “Jun?” Whoever it was sounded important

to him. A girlfriend in China, maybe. Merlin knew he attracted them by the
dozen, but the way he spoke about this one was almost poetic.

A fond smile curved his lips, “Oh, she's a girl from the village that trained
with me.”

That piqued her interest, and Hermione wanted to know more. She pressed
unashamed for information, “A special girl?”

His eyes glazed over as Jun’s perfect image floated in front of his eyes. He
replied earnestly, “Very special.”

Hermione’s eye settled on the shiny black beaded bracelet he wore at all
times with tiny gold lettering and inquired, “Did she give you that?”

Draco fingered the beads and replied with a tenderness she had never heard
come out of him, “Yes, she did, and it's very dear to me.” The bracelet was
a gift and one he would never part with.

Hermione thought it was important to know, so without pausing, she blurted

out, “Did you love her?” What if he had? Would that affect their short
marriage? She shook her head of such thoughts and concentrated solely on
how their marriage was forced upon them.

Draco shook his head slowly and breathed, “It wasn't like that.” He grew
thoughtful, “Well, at least on my part, she did make it clear that she would
like nothing more than to pursue a relationship, but I was never really there
to stay. It would've been cruel to leave her. Besides, I doubt her father
would approve of her hooking up with an outsider.” The hefty man
would’ve severed his head and thrown his corpse off a cliff without
remorse.
He confided further, "It might come as a surprise to you, Granger, but I've
never been in love. At least not truly."

She ridiculed, "I do find that hard to believe."

Clearing his throat, he asked curiously, “Did you love Weasley?” He was
sure she did, but to what extent?

Hermione sighed, “I did, but I doubt it was the sort of love that would have
carried into old age.” There was a time when her world revolved around
Ron and his family, but with time, she came to the shocking conclusion that
they were just not meant to be. A bitter pill for a man who was getting ready
to propose to swallow, but swallow it he did unwillingly.

Her answer pleased him, “Hmm....” Somehow, Draco knew Weasley

couldn’t handle Granger in the long run. She wasn’t the easiest person to
keep up with. He had learned that the hard way.

She wanted to know more about the Chinese girl and requested, “Tell me
more about Jun.”

Draco grinned and summarised, “She was a beautiful, sweet girl who had a
crush on me. I didn't return her affections. Although, I care dearly for her.
There, does that satisfy your voracious curiosity?”

Hermione scoffed, “Who said I'm curious?”

He clarified, “Your eyes, Granger. These beautiful pools of amber give you
away.”

He called her eyes beautiful. She wondered if he was aware of how utterly
mesmerising his were.

She twitched nervously and said, “Jun must have been quite upset when you
left,” Hermione waited anxiously for his answer. An answer that never came
but his features twisted, and that was enough to gather the gist of what
might have transpired.

Draco walked about the room once again, taking in the finer details of the
other framed photographs and decor and worked up the courage to ask,
“Listen, there's something I want to run by you.”

Hermione raised a curious brow, “I'm all ears, Malfoy.”

He looked her dead in the eyes and stated, “The gangs planning a trip to
Hawaii.”

Her jaw dropped, “Hawaii? In America?”

Draco rolled his eyes, “No, downtown London, you daft bint. Obviously,
in America.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and argued, “And how does this
concern me?”

He sighed in exasperation, “Shut up and let me finish.”

Hermione frowned, drew a line across her lips with the soft pad of her
finger and motioned for him to continue explaining.

Draco swallowed hard and said with waning confidence, “They wanted me
to ask if you would like to join.”

Her jaw dropped, and she stared at him then. Completely and utterly at a
loss for words.

Did she hear him correctly? Was he asking her to go on a holiday with him?

What the bloody hell was he playing at?

 Chapter 36
Chapter Notes

Thank you so much to everyone who posted a review!

Raw emotions and internal struggles.

The final segment of the dinner :)

Enjoy Chapter Thirty-Six!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Terry doubled over the commode and continued to vomit. It wasn't the
cocaine making him colour the insides of his toilet, but the alcohol he had
been drinking to counteract his addiction.

The withdrawal wasn't easy. Cocaine produced an elevated sense of

euphoria, causing the brain to release higher-than-average amounts of some
chemicals. It was a painful yet blissful state to be in.

But, its effects on other parts of the body eventually could become severe or
even deadly. It was the addiction that killed most, and Terry was well into
the danger zone.

Michael sat on the floor of the tiled bathroom, keeping a watchful eye over
his best friend. It seemed impossible to recognise Terry. He looked like a
mere shell of his former self. At present, his eyes were bloodshot and tired.
Still, his alarmingly suspicious behaviour needed to be monitored.

The man was bordering on paranoia. Earlier, he had cowered in the corner
while Michael approached and begged him not to hurt him. It took some
convincing from Michael to assure his best mate that he meant no harm.

Inwardly, he felt guilty for not noticing Terry's conduct and signs that led to
the horrific scene before him.

Terry mumbled feebly, "I can't do this. I would rather die." He slumped in
defeat, his hands limp at his sides and mind oblivious to his surroundings.

Michael reassured, "You can beat this. Few more hours to go." He got to his
feet and helped his friend up. Boot swayed dangerously, but Michael held
onto him and guided him out of the small bathroom, down the hallway and
into the incredibly messy room.

Before they embarked on the journey of getting Terry clean, Michael had
torn through the flat in search of secret stashes and found the secret
compartment in the drawer. A thorough hunt of the flat produced another
polythene-covered pack hidden in the bathroom behind the loo.

When Michael destroyed the contents, Terry lost all sanity and viciously
threw himself at his friend to stop him from disposing of his precious
powder.

Using what he had at his disposal, his wand, Michael restrained Terry while
he wept and fought against the invisible bonds.

That was nearly five hours ago.

Michael waved his wand around the room with his free hand, and things
returned to their original place. He helped Terry to bed, where the shivering
man curled himself up into a ball and continued to shake without control.
Michael sighed, covered his best mate with a sheet and slowly backed out
of the room.

He sat in the living room with his head in his hands, fighting back the tears.
With trembling fingers, he pulled out his mobile phone, called his beloved
girlfriend and relayed the whole sorry tale to her while he sobbed hard, not
sparing any small details.
Brenda listened intently. She felt rotten for being awful to Boot and
wondered whether she should tell Hermione the shocking news. She
decided she would tomorrow at work.

She offered her boyfriend words of comfort, love and support, but a loud
crash and angry words from a voice other than Michaels made it to her ear.

Michael said hurriedly, "I'll call you soon."

The line went dead, and Brenda stared at her phone in a panic.

Hermione almost fell over her words, "Would you care to repeat that,
please?" She wanted further confirmation that he had indeed asked her to go
away with him.

Draco scowled, "Don't act so bloody surprised. Longbottom and Lovegood

are going too." That should add some weight when making her decision. It
wasn't like he was trying to whisk her away to shag her. Although, that did
sound utterly tempting, and he momentarily pondered if they would.

Hermione frowned, "So, they wanted you to ask me? This isn't something
you want?" He was giving in to peer pressure. The incorrigible idiot didn't
want her along but only did because he and her friends suggested it. She
was surprised Luna did not call and ask herself. It hurt her fragile ego that
he wasn't falling over himself trying to convince her to go.

Draco picked up a bright yellow plush toy with eyes more significant than
its head and stared at it oddly.

He kept it back and shrugged, "I told them you wouldn't agree." Well, he
had imagined her to insult him, accuse him of some underhanded plan and
refuse outright.

Hermione gave it a moment's thought. Hawaii was a vacation paradise.

Beautiful sandy beaches, rich native culture and exotic cocktails to cloud
one's thinking.

She speculated, "Why wouldn't I? It would be nice to lay around naked on a

beach getting tanned and sampling some delicious dishes."

Her acceptance caused him to turn around abruptly and gawk at her. It
wasn't the most gentlemanly response, but he could hardly help it, given the
situation. Where was the barrage of abuse he had expected?

He cleared his throat and gritted out, "Naked? I am not planning on any
physical entanglements with random gits that might hit on you, but you can,
however, lie naked in the proximity of our suite."

Hermione raised an amused brow, "Our suite? I find it hilarious that you
assume we will share a room, even one as large as a suite. Besides, I
thought my interest in other men didn't bother you."

Draco snapped, "Don't push your luck, Granger. You can have your own
bloody room to bring back any random surfer boy that grabs your fancy."
He was sure there would be plenty of women who would be more than
happy to keep him company. Images of Granger being chatted up floated
around his head, and he was not too keen on the prospect. Inviting her
might have been a horrible mistake and one that was too late to take back.

She drawled a tab bit seductively, "Are you always this possessive?" His
reactions caused her heartbeat to hasten. It was immensely satisfying to get
under the skin of the seemingly in-control man.

Draco argued without hesitation, "I am of people or things that mean

something to me."

Hermione scoffed, "I know I mean nothing more to you than a pair of tits
and arse."

A smirk tugged the corner of his mouth upwards, "You couldn't be more
wrong. Although, I do hold your tits and arse in the highest regard." Her
perky bosom and firm buttocks were hard to miss, and Draco was sure he
wasn't the only one that noticed the young undersecretary's assets.

He insisted, "Ah, so you want to go?" It sure sounded like the possibility of
going away had piqued her interest.

She was in two minds, and while it sounded downright tempting, there was
hesitation on her part. Hermione exhaled, "I didn't say that either." She
inquired curiously, "When?"

Draco tried to recall. After a few seconds of racking his brains, he

responded, "Next week, they are flying over on Monday."

Hermione grew thoughtful and demanded, "Monday? Wait a minute, how

many days are we talking about here?" During a potential crisis, there was
the question of leave, especially since Kingsley was still in France
negotiating matters with the difficult and sly French Minister. He was due
on Tuesday, which wouldn't truly dampen her plans, and Merlin knew she
had plenty of leave left. She hardly ever took a day off unless absolutely
necessary.

Draco began to answer, "A week, but ...."

She shook her head violently and hurled with her hands on her hip, "I can't
take a week off work in the middle of a crisis, and neither can you." She
added with a smidge of disappointment at his appalling work ethic,
somehow she had thought he would take his job seriously, "You start
tomorrow. That would make a horrid first impression."

Draco sighed in exhaustion, pulled her close, covered her mouth with his
sizeable hand and hissed impatiently, "Woman, shut up." She simply would
not do as told unless forced.

Hermione struggled but only momentarily. With his free hand at the base of
her back, he let his fingers dig into her flesh through the red silk blouse she
wore and held her firmly to him. He explained swiftly, "I thought, if you
agreed to go, we could push off work on Friday and Portkey. Saves us the
flight time and leave with everyone on Sunday."

They locked eyes and stared at each other, giving time for the information
he shared to sink in.

After a few minutes, Draco bantered, "I'm going to take my hand off your
mouth now. Feel free to bombard me with filth." He let go slowly, but she
did not attempt to step out of the circle warmth he projected or away from
him. He smelled so inviting, and she had to control the urge to do
something foolish.

She stood still and shockingly silent as if she were in deep thought.

Finally, Hermione took a step back from his manly fragrance and bumped
into her dresser.

She rubbed her elbow and mused, "You've certainly thought it through.
Have you made up your mind to go?"

Draco shook his head, "I haven't. It's all couples. Imagine me being the
third bloody wheel." He had no wish to be the only one without a partner.

Ah, that was the underlying issue. She vocalised her thoughts, "Is that why
you want to take me? To keep you company?" Was he expecting her to play
the perfect fiancé and perhaps share his bed too?

Well, she supposed there were worse things. Her thoughts made her silently
chortle—you naughty minx.

Draco shrugged indifferently, "Better you than anyone else." It made perfect
sense for her to accompany him. If not as his intended, but as a friend,
maybe. Wishful thinking on his part, of course.

His uncaring statement did not sit well with her. It was downright insulting.

What was he insinuating? That he could take anyone but had settled for
her?

Hermione gritted out, trying to keep her emotions at bay, "How bloody
flattering. Take Astoria." Her eagerness to go evaporated with his callous
comment. She would not play into the hands of Malfoy, no matter what her
libido dictated.

Draco realised his choice of words had been insensitive, but they couldn't
have been further from the truth. He asked Granger because he wanted her
to accompany him. It would prove an opportune moment away from their
responsibilities to see how they would fair together.

He retorted with caution, "If I wanted to take her, then we wouldn't be

having this conversation." He would instead go alone and play the desperate
bachelor than invite Astoria to go with him. That was a disaster waiting to
happen, and he had no immediate desire to feed her infatuation.

His answer somewhat appeased Hermione. She crossed her arms over her
chest and glared sternly—the insensitive lout.

With a permanent frown etched onto his face, Draco sighed in exasperation,
"I told them it was a long shot. That you would never agree." To be fair, she
had seemed willing to entertain the notion of going before his ridiculous
remark.

He wondered if she knew about his celibacy and came to the conclusion
that she did not.

In her eyes, he was a sexual deviant hopping from one bed to another. It
would be quite a culture shock for her to learn that she was more
experienced than him. Still, when he had a woman beneath him, despite his
age, he had been quite decent, causing them to cry out his name in delight
as he pounded into them relentlessly. Renee being older, had taught him
some valuable lessons in the art of cunnilingus.

Draco knew to savour, appreciate, and make a woman plead for more. It
was the ultimate turn-on to bring them to a shuddering orgasm with his
tongue, lips, and teeth. Besides, the extra wetness helped accommodate
what came next.

Hermione purposely ignored the man in the room and sashayed towards the
bed, pointedly sticking out her bottom as his eyes took in her every single
movement. She was teasing him and enjoyed every sinful second of it.

She laid down on the quilted bedspread, propped herself up on her elbows,
batted her long eyelashes and drawled, "Convince me, Malfoy." It would be
penance for treating her poorly in the past.

If she was going to go, then she was going to make him work for it.

She was playing with fire without fear of getting burned. Deciding to add
more fuel to the flame, she bit her lip hard and tossed her head back,
sending wild curls flying across her heart-shaped face.

Draco swallowed hard. His grey swirls narrowed forebodingly, "I warned
you about doing that, Granger."

Hermione simpered, curled her bottom lip with her teeth and thoroughly
enjoyed Malfoy's discomfort. He clearly had a thing about lips.

She pouted innocently, "Oh, did you? I can't seem to remember."

He looked around the room and then towards her closed door before
grinning, "You think because we're in your home, surrounded by your
family, that your safe from what I would do to you?"

How ridiculous. Her parents were downstairs. It would take one scream
from her for her father to come barrelling through the door with his trusted
shotgun locked and loaded.

Hermione pretended to show indifference. She studied her painted nails and
decided on experimenting with a new colour before adding with a small
laugh, "Actually, I do think I'm pretty safe."
He started to walk towards her, his stride fluid and pantherlike and it caused
her to panic slightly. Would he really follow through?

A devilish glint flashed across his eyes. Draco took purposeful steps closer
and rasped, "You couldn't be more wrong. I gave you ample warning that
you wouldn't like what followed." His tone was serious and heavy with lust.
At that moment, he was not to be trifled with.

Hermione gathered her bravado and teased, "Promises, promises."

Towering over her, he smiled angelically before closing his long fingers
around her ankles and pulling her roughly towards him. She gasped and
hurried over the sheet as if she weighed nothing.

Draco knelt at the foot of the bed, fisted her hair and pulled it back, causing
Hermione to arch her back and offer the exposed flesh of her chest to him.

She whimpered. It wasn't out of pain but pure longing. He paid no mind to
the mewls escaping her lips. He had barely touched her, and yet she was
responding fervently. Without prolonging the inevitable, his mouth touched
the base of her throat. He drew small patterns with his lips, and the cool
metal of the chain he gave her met the tip of his tongue.

Bugger, she had walked right into that one, but by Merlin, it felt deliriously
good. Her arousal wetted her knickers, and she squirmed and wished for his
tongue at her core.

Her hands moved on their own accord, one dug into the sheets to steady
herself, but the other disappeared into his smooth, delicate hair.

Draco brought his head up, moved the pad of his thumb across her lips and
watched the woman with her eyes closed shut, lips parted, and chest rising
and falling with anticipation.

Hermione opened her eyes slowly and was met with a smoky pair of clear
grey staring intently at her. She breathed, "We really must stop doing this..."
Draco kissed the corner of her mouth and taunted, "Yes, we must, but we
won't."

He tore himself away, brushed the hair off her face and queried eagerly,
"Would it be highly inappropriate for me to kiss you in your room?"

Hermione giggled and contemplated, "No one's ever kissed me in here."

Ron had been terrified and nearly wet his trousers, and there were no
Muggle boyfriends as such.

Draco chuckled against her throat. It was a deep and rippling sound, "Then
we must rectify that gross oversight."

She moaned in a low undertone, "Malfoy…."

He pleaded with enough conviction, "For once when I touch you, use my
name." It was such a genuine request it made her fingers tingle and heart
ache.

Hermione felt her heart flutter like a hummingbird trying to escape. She
leaned into his touch and whispered, "Draco..."

He throatily teased before taking her bottom lip between his teeth, "Such a
good girl when she wants to be."

She sighed when he kissed her full on the mouth, sinking in her essence and
the slight taste of strawberries. Her fingers trembled as they travelled up his
back, and neck and settled in his hair once more. She matched his hard
intensity and gave in to his dominating presence.

Draco rasped, "I missed you." He declared without an ounce of shame.

Hermione did not bother replying. She was engrossed in losing herself to
his passionate embrace. The truth was, she missed him too, but would she
openly admit that she wanted the man who belittled her at every
opportunity in school?
Not so easily. She settled for snogging him senselessly, forgetting all
thoughts of her parents and grandmother.

From his crouched position by her bed, Draco moved further between her
legs and felt the slight heel of her sandals dig into his back as she locked
her legs around his torso and urged him on.

So caught up in each other, they missed the sound of sturdy footsteps

approaching the door.

Without bothering to knock, Grandma Phyllis pushed the door open and
walked in on a positively heated moment between the unlikely couple.

Hermione broke free from Draco's grasp and pushed him away with all the
strength she could muster. Caught off guard, he lost his balance, toppled
backwards unceremoniously, and his back hit the hardwood of the floor
with a loud thud.

Phyllis admonished, "Hermione!"

Her cheeks flushed and burning red, Hermione muttered sheepishly, "What?
It was nothing. He fell over." She tried to discreetly fix her hair and settled
with piling the mess of unruly curls into an untidy bun.

Phyllis walked over to where Draco now sat on the ground, rubbing his
undoubtedly bruised back and scolded, "I'm not blind, Hermione, and
neither am I an idiot."

She steadied herself with her sturdy cane, grabbed Draco's arm and helped
him get to his feet, "Up you get, young man."

Draco got to his feet, straightened to his full height, dusted particles off his
clothes and ran his hand through his hair. He kept his mouth firmly shut. It
was a pity they had been interrupted, but honestly, what was he planning to
do?

Strip Granger down and make love to her while her parents were within
earshot? That thought alone was enough to return his semi-hard cock back
to its appropriate flaccid state.

Phyllis shook her head in disapproval and reprimanded harshly, "Honestly,

I'm shocked by your behaviour." She addressed her beloved grandchild
severely.

Hermione averted her gaze and argued feebly, "It's not my fault he lacks
poise and balance."

Draco injected with good humour, "Yes, I dropped to my feet on my own

accord. I apologise for my clumsiness." He found the whole situation rather
hilarious. Granger was absolutely terrified of her grandmother.

Hermione got to her feet, adjusted her blouse as if nothing happened and
went to pass Draco with her head held high, when he muttered, "I think I've
convinced you."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and replied sternly, "Not in
the least. Let's talk about it later."

The spirited elder woman in the room pointed her cane at the parting in
Hermione's blouse and cautioned, "I strongly suggest you button up unless
you would rather find yourself in hot water with your father."

Fuck. Three sets of eyes went to her bosom.

Horrified, Hermione buttoned up to her neck and threw Draco a look of

pure loathing. He shrugged; he was hardly to blame. They were caught up
in the moment, and good sense usually flew out the window in such
instances.

Phyllis raised a quizzical brow at Draco, "What exactly have you convinced
her of doing?" She hoped it wasn't something bizarre. You never knew with
the youth these days. Just the other day at the market, she had seen a boy
with a twat tattooed on his forehead. It was most strange.
Draco smiled easily, glanced at Hermione and before she could interrupt, he
spilt the beans, "With everyone's blessing, I would like to take Hermione to
Hawaii."

Hermione pursed her lips, "I haven't agreed." She was mortified that he
would ask her family for permission as if she were a child visiting
Hogsmeade for the first time.

Draco winked, "Oh, but you will." There weren't many things he was sure
of, but he somehow knew she would agree.

Hermione stomped her foot much like an impudent child and cried, "God,
you're insufferable," before dramatically storming out of the room.

Phyllis watched her granddaughter practically run down the stairs and said
affectionately, "You'll have your hands full with her." She loved her
granddaughter fiercely, but Hermione wasn't always the easiest person to
get on with. It took understanding and patience to put up with her sharp
mind and quick tongue.

Draco nodded in understanding and added for good measure, "I know, and
surprisingly, I look forward to it." He wasn't trying to win over the Granger
matriarch by lying. There was a part of him, albeit small, that genuinely
believed what he had divulged.

Phyllis glanced at the tall man and said knowingly, "She might never admit
it, but I know my granddaughter. You're good for her, despite you being a
slick-haired little sod to her back at that Magical school."

Draco braced himself. He was surprised that Granger would share their
unpleasant history with her family, mainly because it would worry them
more than they already were.

He cleared his throat nervously and tried to sneak past, "She told you about
that?" But the wise older woman was having none of that.
She blocked his path with her cane, rounded on him and exclaimed, "We
have no secrets. It's always been the way, and I'm well prepared to give you
the benefit of the doubt but hurt my precious baby, and I won't hesitate to
break your kneecaps with my cane." The last words weren't a threat, they
were a promise made certain by the intense look in the eyes of a doting
grandmother.

Draco bowed courteously, "Duly noted. I wouldn't dream of crossing you."

He had already come to respect her greatly.

Phyllis laughed, "Now take my arm like the gentleman you are and let's go
into the kitchen and tuck into that gorgeous apple pie I've made."

Draco offered his arm. Phyllis took it without hesitation, and he smiled
warmly, "It would be my pleasure."

Ron nursed a drink and couldn't shake his thoughts from Malfoy meeting
Hermione's family. It was such a serious move.

He drowned his sorrows and was oblivious to his wife entering the living
room in a see-through negligee.

Tracey realised she had failed to entice him with the black lingerie she had
purchased earlier in the day with the intent of providing her dear husband
with a memorable night. He seemed lost to the world.

She poured herself a drink and pressed, "Ron?"

He muttered without paying attention, "Hmm...." All he wanted to do was

lose himself in a drink and forget about Hermione.

Tracey took a sip and inquired curiously, "Are you okay?" He looked
depressed beyond words, and she felt genuine concern for his behaviour.

Finally, snapping out of his distressed state, Ron turned to face his wife and
did a double-take, "Oh, you look very nice." She did look quite appealing,
but his heart wasn't in it, and neither was his dick.

Tracey probed anxiously, "What's the matter? You seem preoccupied."

Ron thought a small lie would be best. He massaged his temples and said in
a pained voice, "I've got a headache."

Tracey was no simpleton. She wasn't fooled by her spouse's pathetic

attempt of trying to throw her off. She drained her drink and stated harshly,
"Hmm, and I suppose it has nothing to do with Draco meeting Hermione's
parents?"

Kerpow! Right in the fucking nuts.

Ron gritted out all pretence forgotten, "I just don't understand why they
would want to meet the snake."

Tracey was beside herself with anger and shouted, "Maybe because he's
marrying their daughter. You are unbelievable, and I refuse to let your
ridiculous hang-ups ruin my evening."

She was utterly fed up with his behaviour and was frankly beginning to
question whether they could move past his obsession with his ex-girlfriend
and have a normal, happy, wedded life.

There was certainly no way she would even contemplate bringing another
human being into the world under the current circumstances.

Tracey waved her wand over herself and transfigured her sexy underwear
into a modest floor-length dress instead.

Ron demanded in alarm, "Where are you going?"

She glanced over her shoulder and spat, "I'm going over to see Daphne.
Once you're done moping over Hermione give me a call, and I'll think about
coming back."
He tried to explain, even if it was a half-truth, "Trace, I'm just worried about
her."

She was already out the door and headed to her stepsister's place.

Ron cursed aloud. He was messing up everything, but it was not as easy as
everyone made it out to be. This was a woman he had every intention of
spending the rest of his life with. It physically pained him to see her with
another, but it was a whole other feeling to know that she would be
marrying and living with a man who had caused them nothing but misery.

How was he supposed to turn a blind eye and pretend like everything was
fine? It was far from it.

Malfoy knew the taste of her lip gloss. Had they been intimate? Sure, the
ferret was easy on the eyes, but Hermione was strong-willed. She would
never stoop so low as to let the snake kiss her, or worse, touch her.

The vivid image of Malfoys hands upon Hermione caused Ron to bare his
teeth, and grip his tumbler with all his might, causing his knuckles to
whiten. Pure unadulterated rage surged through his veins.

Ron thought of Tracey and sighed. He wasn't intentionally trying to cause

her grief. She was special to him and cared for him far more than he
deserved. He honestly hoped he would come to love his wife with time.

Hermione had dated others since their breakup, and unwillingly he had
accepted that she was moving on, leaving him with a broken heart. Still, he
also figured she would sow some wild oats and return to him, grateful for
his undying love. That was prior to the law and definitely before Malfoy.

The blonde bastard in the same room with her pushed him to the brink of
insanity. Her father hated him, that was no secret, but he also hoped Richard
would put the pampered pureblood arsehole in his rightful place.
Hermione eyed Draco stuffing his face with pie with an amused expression.
She snorted, "Malfoy, if you don't stop eating, you're going to slip into a
food coma, and Narcissa will have my hide for overfeeding her only child."
She had never seen him act so, what was the word?

Carefree.

He behaved so utterly ordinary, she was beginning to wonder if it really was

Draco Lucius Malfoy. He had abandoned all poise as he proceeded to lick
his spoon clean.

Phyllis scolded, "Hush, Hermione." She was thrilled that the dessert she
prepared was being consumed with such enthusiasm.

Draco dabbed the corners of his mouth, wiped his mouth of excess ice
cream and complimented, "Mrs Granger, this is delicious. I am quite partial
to apples." He typically consumed the green fruit by the dozen. Even in
China, Jun would manage to sneak him a few from the marketplace.

Phyllis wagged a warning finger and instructed, "I won't have you
addressing me as Mrs Granger. Hermione calls me Gran or Nana when she
is feeling emotional. Pick one and stick to it."

Hermione broke off a small piece of pie, popped it delicately into her mouth
and pouted. Her family was getting along with her childhood enemy
famously. If only it were that simple to bury the hatchet and move on.

Richard stated heartily, "Mum, you've outdone yourself. Julia, pass me the
ice cream." He had consumed more than his share of the pie and seemed to
be wanting more. For a reputed dentist, he honestly didn't give a toss about
sugary treats rotting his teeth.

Julia quipped, "Would this be a good time to remind you of your blood
sugar, among other things?"

Richard waved a vanilla ice cream-coated spoon in her direction and joked,
"If I die tomorrow from a busted valve, it would be worth it." He tucked in
and added, "This is delicious."

He scooped a generous portion of ice cream onto his already crammed

plate.

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Dad, stop being ridiculous." The hype over a
simple apple pie was justified. Her grandmother's granny apple pie was
legendary. Phyllis always kept them guessing about the secret ingredient
and vowed only to divulge it to Julia before her passing.

Phyllis reached over and pulled Richard's plate out of his reach and spoke in
a fond motherly tone, "You've had enough, son."

Richard didn't bother arguing but grumbled incoherently about being a

grown man who had the right to eat whatever he wished without his mother
treating him like a child.

Hermione giggled, gathered her plate and rose to her feet. She informed the
others at the table, "I'll wash the dishes."

Draco abruptly shot to his feet with his plate and smiled enthusiastically,
"Let me help you."

She threw him an odd look, "That's quite alright, Malfoy. I can manage."
What did he know about washing dishes? Hermione completely forgot
about his time in the monastery.

He would not take no for an answer, "I insist, darling." The last word rolled
off his tongue fluidly as he adamantly pleaded with his eyes to let him help.

Unable to come up with a plausible reason to disagree, Hermione nodded in

agreement, gathered the rest of the dishes from the table, and instructed
Draco to bring the remainder of the pie to the counter.

The older Grangers exchanged bemused looks but kept their mixed
thoughts to themselves as they retired to the living room. Within minutes
the loud sound of whistleblowing and football match highlights filled the
space.

Hermione tore off a piece of cellophane from the roll her mother kept in the
drawer, covered the almost empty pie tin and popped it inside the
refrigerator. When she turned around, Draco held out a cloth and sponge as
if asking her to choose with a satisfied smirk.

She chuckled, took the sponge, and mused, "I'll wash, you dry?"

He nodded in agreement, "I assume we won't be using magic?" He had

noticed how little Granger resorted to using her abilities in view of her
family and wondered why.

His answer came shortly. Hermione smiled shyly, "Gran isn't quite fond of
me using magic for simple things. She fears I will become lazy."

He took a wet dish from her grasp, proceeded to wipe it clean and
answered, "She is a wise woman." From his time around Nana Phyllis, it
was plain to see that she was an intelligent woman with little to no tolerance
for bullshit.

Hermione muttered, "Yes, she is." He was standing so close to her, his arm
brushed along hers, and an involuntary shiver crept down her spine.

They tended to the dirty plates taking far longer than necessary. A strained
silence fell over them, and once again, they slipped into the heat of being
alone.

Draco inhaled deeply and rasped, "You smell good."

Hermione held up her soapy hands and kidded, "It's the dishwashing soap."

Abandoning his task momentarily, he slowly moved to stand behind her and
pressed into her back.

Hermione acutely felt his presence and sighed, "Only you could make
something mundane as washing dishes into some sensual act."
He brazenly moved her hair out of the way and kissed the nape of her neck,
taking time to suckle on the supple flesh until a reddish bruise formed on
her skin under his pale lips. It was childish, but he couldn't help but want to
label her as his.

She would never willingly belong to him, he knew this, but their physical
attraction to each other went beyond the hate, past deeds and dark
memories.

His husky tones invaded the contours of her sensitive ear, "I can't help but
want you. More so after tonight."

Hermione was genuinely puzzled, "Why? What makes tonight so

different?"

Draco exhaled, "Being away from magic has a rather enticing appeal,
Granger. It's liberating not to be burdened by superficial responsibilities
such as producing an heir and keeping up appearances."

Conveniently forgetting the others, he pulled back the collar of her red silk
shirt, exposing more of her neck and skin to him and trailed feathery kisses
from behind her ear, down to the collarbone and let the sweetness of her
skin erupt in his mouth before murmuring, "It's exhausting."

Hermione threw her head back, and a sultry moan of want filled the space
around them.

God's, it felt heavenly. She wanted him to bend her over the sink and take
her without mercy, but they were hardly alone, and she didn't want a repeat
of what happened earlier.

She protested halfheartedly, "Malfoy, stop. My parents could walk in, and I
rather not answer some uncomfortable questions." The night had gone
splendidly, and the last thing she wanted was her protective father to catch
them in each other's arms. A bullet through Malfoy's presumably thick skull
was sure to dampen a delightful evening.
The sexual tension between them was crackling and almost at boiling point.
His invitation to go to Hawaii hung like a dangling carrot in front of her
with the promise of an unforgettable trip, but would she be able to live with
herself after sleeping with him? And she would, of that she was sure.

The fact that she wanted Malfoy already consumed her with shame.

Sure, years had passed, and their time at Hogwarts became part of a hazy
dream that consumed much of their teen lives. Could she honestly forget
who he had been, or still was, and commit the act of fusing their bodies?

Draco let go at once, straightened to his full height, turned Hermione

around and easily towered over her. His eyes bore into hers with such
intensity it made her flinch but not back down.

He announced rather abruptly, "As you wish. It's getting late. I best leave
before I overstay my welcome." He was never one to force his intentions on
anyone.

She nodded in understanding, placed the last dish on the rack to dry, wiped
her wet hands on a checkered cloth and led the way to the living room
where her family were watching a live football match.

"That was an easy pass, mate," Richard yelled at the red-clad player on TV.

He invited enthusiastically, "Care to watch some telly?" And discreetly tried

to hide a few wrappers from Honeydukes.

Draco declined politely, "Thank you, but I'll take my leave. Mother will be
waiting for me."

Julia grinned, "Eager to hear the details, I bet."

Draco chuckled, "Indeed." He could not help but think how well Julia and
his mother would get on.
Phyllis chimed in, "It has been an absolute pleasure meeting you."

Julia offered graciously, "We look forward to seeing more of you, son."

Richard reluctantly nodded in agreement. He had a good feeling about this

one.

Draco added with the utmost respect, "Thank you for everything. I cannot
put into mere words the gratitude I feel for such a lovely evening."

Julia smiled warmly, "Please convey our regards to your mother, and we
really must meet with her soon." She was already quite fond of her future
son-in-law despite the circumstances of the marriage.

Draco beamed, "She will be thrilled." He bid them all a fond farewell,
"Goodnight."

Hermione, who stood in the back silently, took his arm, "Come on, you can
use the backyard to apparate."

She led him back to the kitchen and into the lovely garden in which her
parents took great pride. Draco looked to the night sky. It was mostly clear
except for a handful of stars that twinkled brightly.

He brought his face down and took in the woman standing before him,
hugging herself in a futile attempt to shield herself from the bitterly cold air
and fought the urge to cover her petite frame with his own to offer warmth.

Instead, he rubbed his hands together to generate heat and said, "Thank you
for a fantastic dinner. I had an enjoyable time."

Hermione's teeth chattered involuntarily, but she managed a quick heartfelt

reply, "I should be the one thanking you for agreeing to it in the first place. I
owe you one."

Draco replied earnestly, "You owe me nothing."

He raised a curious brow, "Did you honestly think I would refuse?"

Hermione shrugged casually, "I had my doubts." He was in no way

obligated to cater to her every whim and request but she was beyond
pleased that he had agreed without fuss.

His eyes raked over her form, and he pointed out in pleasure, "You're
shaking less." The cold aside, her nerves about her parents' reaction to him
had settled. It made sense, considering how well the evening had
progressed.

Taking her cold hands in his, he covered them and closed his eyes in
concentration. She felt a sudden warmness seep into her skin and found that
she wasn't cold anymore.

She was still coming to terms with many things, and his ability to do
wandless magic was undoubtedly one of them.

Draco kissed her knuckles and then forehead, "Is that better?"

Hermione took a deep breath and blurted out, "Malfoy, I'll come to
Hawaii...with you." She had decided to throw caution to the wind and
scratch the insatiable itch she harboured for Malfoy.

He raised a questioning brow. Granger certainly was full of surprises.

She shrugged, "It's the least I can do after the effort you put in tonight."

Draco smirked in satisfaction, "I knew you would. Who could resist white
sandy beaches, alcoholic beverages amongst other more pleasurable
things...."

He tipped her chin and placed a gentle kiss on her luscious lips, but she
deepened the embrace by holding onto the lapels of his jacket while he
cupped her face and pressed into the warmth she willingly offered.

Granger would be the death of him. He thought feverishly as he pushed his

tongue against hers adamantly.

Fuck. The exact feeling that tore through his mind, he wanted to desperately
whisk her away and bury himself deep within her sweetness.

It had been far too many years since he last had sex, but he wasn't about to
jump into bed with anyone. He knew the witch he wanted to break his
celibacy.

Phyllis and Julia spied from the kitchen despite Richard's warning that they
mind their own business.

They saw the heated exchange between the two and couldn't help but
marvel at how in sync they appeared to be.

Julia raved, "Oh my lord. They make a beautiful couple."

Phyllis agreed and gushed, "Indeed they do. This is no mere arranged
marriage. He looks quite taken by her, and Hermione has always been one
to wear her heart on her sleeve. Something wonderful may come out of
this."

Something elusive caught Draco's keen eye. He reluctantly broke free from
the embrace, much to Hermione's annoyance, looked over her head and
smirked, "We, umm, have an audience."

Hermione widened her eyes, smoothed her blouse and cried, "What?"
Please don't let it be her father. That would be humiliation on another level.

Draco warned, "No, Granger. Don't look."

Too late, Hermione ignored him, and looked towards the kitchen with
narrowed eyes but saw no one, and Draco rolled his eyes. She was
incapable of listening or following instructions.

He spun her around and dropped a quick kiss to her temple, "Sweet dreams,
I'll see you tomorrow at work." At work, of course. He was an Auror now,
and she would probably see him every single day whether she wanted to or
not.

Hermione stepped back, put her hands in her pockets and smiled, "Tell
Narcissa, I sent my love."

Draco nodded and disappeared into thin air with a graceful pop that barely
breached the sound barrier.

Phyllis and Julia witnessed the departure from behind cabinets and made
themselves scarce.

Hermione took a deep breath of fresh, crisp air, touched her still-swollen
lips and looked to the heavens for answers. She stayed that way for a while
and gathered her scattered thoughts.

She walked back into the warmth of the house, still in deep thought of how
surprisingly well the evening had gone. Once she entered the den, her
family looked up at her anxiously and waited patiently for her to speak.

Hands once again in her pockets, she rocked on the balls of her feet and
invited sheepishly, "Well, let the Malfoy bashing begin." They had
mercilessly torn Ron's character to shreds.

Richard cleared his throat and stated, "He's far too pale, and that white,
blonde hair is odd, but overall, I like him much better than that Weasley
boy. He can look after you."

Hermione frowned and decided on reminding her father of her fierce

independence, "Well, I am shocked, but I'm not some invalid, daddy. I do
not need a man to look after me."

Richard chuckled, "Yes, I know, darling, but Malfoy seems to have his wits
about him. The other one fell apart." Ronald had hardly been able to get out
his name. Poor bloke.

Hermione rolled her eyes in exhaustion, "Dad, can we not compare? It's
completely irrelevant. I'm not with Ron. You win."

Julia gushed, "I think he's very handsome, and his manners are impeccable.
He seems like a very well put together young man, and if I might add, it's
obvious he cares for you." She came to that conclusion judging by the
night's events and subtle looks and gestures that had passed between the
two.

Hermione was quick to defend herself, "He doesn't care about me." How
could she explain to her family that it was merely a physical thing and not
genuine feelings?

Phyllis weighed in, "I agree with Jules. He does seem to harbour some
feelings for you. The extent of it, I can't be sure, but it is there."

Hermione wasn't convinced, nor was she going to let others believe such a
thing, "That's ridiculous. Maybe, it's a physical attraction, but it's certainly
nothing emotional."

Richard visibly cringed. That was far too much information for his sensitive
ears.

Hermione yawned pointedly, "I'm exhausted. See you in the morning." She
rattled off and climbed the stairs sluggishly. What she genuinely wanted
was a moment to herself.

Julia called after her, "Goodnight, sweetheart."

Draco appeared near the fountain, sat on the white bench nearby and
exhaled. His breath came out in white puffs as he willed his rapidly beating
heart to relax. The white marble angel standing guard almost bestowed a
sympathetic look upon him.

He desperately needed to clear his head of Granger and think straight. He

had enjoyed her family's company immensely, and that weighed heavily on
his heart.
Taking a deep breath, he got to his feet and jogged up the marble steps into
the brightly lit Manor. He could hear the distinct crackling of logs in the
fireplace and figured his mother was eagerly awaiting his arrival. On cue,
she turned to face him and enthused, "Glad to see you made it back in one
piece."

Narcissa took in the relaxed features on her son's face and said, "You
look.... happy." He did look perfectly at ease.

Draco smiled warmly, "I daresay I enjoyed dinner far more than I should
have."

Narcissa smiled broadly and pressed confidently, "They approve then?"

He shrugged, "I guess so. They were quite polite and welcoming. Her
mother reminds me of you. No wonder Granger gets on so well with you."
It was a delightful evening that offered much insight into his future bride's
upbringing and mannerisms.

After a second's thought, Draco chuckled, "Her dad is not to be taken

lightly. He is fiercely protective of his daughter."

Narcissa concurred, "And rightly so. If I had a daughter, I wouldn't let her
out my sight." How she wished for a beautiful daughter of her own to dote
upon.

Draco frowned. He knew of his mother's desire for another child, but she
had been unable to bear any more children. It was a heartbreaking
revelation.

Narcissa pushed aside such thoughts and beamed, "Marvellous. Do you still
doubt she's your soul mate?"

Draco argued, "With every fibre of my being. Our attraction to each other is
purely physical." Was it, though? Did he only want to bed Granger, or was
there more developing against his will?
Narcissa grinned knowingly, "These things always begin somewhere."

Max came running towards them and demanded attention. Dotty ran in after
with a tattered shoe and dress firmly in her grasp. The naughty rascal hid
behind Draco and growled at the tiny elf.

Dotty was almost in tears, "The naughty dog has ripped my dress to pieces."

Narcissa threw Max a disapproving look. He whimpered and pleaded with

his eyes.

She assured her beloved house-elf, "Darling, I will be sure to buy you a
brand new dress of your liking and shiny shoes to match."

Dotty glared at Max but softened soon after when he reluctantly

approached, licked her face and jumped, knocking her to the ground.

Draco ruffled the shaggy fur and called the dog to heel, "Max, we mustn't
play around with others belongings." He made a mental note to buy some
chew toys for the fast-growing Alsatian.

Max closed his eyes, nudged Draco's hand with his wet nose and demanded
to be petted once again, to which he obliged when a thought entered his
mind. He addressed his mother, who was comforting Dotty, "Oh before I
forget, the groups off to Hawaii for an impromptu holiday of sorts."

He added meekly, knowing his mother was going to take it the wrong way,
"Granger and I will be joining the happy couples."

Narcissa teased, "That sounds promising."

Draco scolded, "Mother, do stop your insinuations."

She sighed, "A mother can want happiness for her only son."

He stated firmly, "I am happy."

Narcissa frowned, "There's more to life than training and meditation."

Eager to stir the conversation away, he asked, "I'm surprised Bernard didn't
stay."

Narcissa didn't seem to be put off. She waved her hand dismissively, "He
was pulled away by an urgent owl."

Draco inquired suspiciously, "Mother, has he mentioned what this pressing

family matter is?"

Narcissa gave her son her full attention and replied firmly, "I haven't asked.
It's hardly my business, and I wouldn't dream of invading his privacy.
Besides, if the need arises, he will inform me. I trust him with my life."

Draco nodded in agreement, "And I trust your judgement." He bent to kiss

her cheek, "Good night, mother."

She touched his cheek lovingly, "Good night, darling." Max laid down by
her feet and refused to budge.

He retired to his room, stripped on the way to the shower and without
hesitation, stepped inside the glass cubicle. The water cascaded down his
back, and he bent forward and closed his eyes in deep thought.

A multitude of things ran rampant through his mind, his first day at the
DMLE in a few hours, Bernard's odd behaviour, and last but not least, the
insatiable witch that was Hermione Jean Granger.

After a long leisurely shower that failed to erase Malfoy's presence from her
body, Hermione strode into her room clad in comfortable pyjamas,
towelling her hair. The minor marks of dominance Draco had left on her
skin pulsated and throbbed, adding to the growing ache between her thighs.
However, she was too exhausted mentally and physically to do anything
about it.
Instead, she tossed the wet towel aside, plopped down on the bed and went
through her phone. She found an unopened message from Ginny, and it hit
her. Her troubled best friend, she hadn't checked on her well-being after
leaving.

She berated herself, jolly good friend, you are, Hermione.

Rapidly scrolling through the numbers, she settled on Ginny's, glanced at

the time and decided it was never too late to call her best mate. Besides, it
was barely ten PM.

Hermione dialled the number, kept the phone to her ear, chewed on a
hangnail and waited for Ginny to answer.

The rings went on endlessly, and when Hermione had almost given up, the
call connected. Ginny's now calm voice came through, "Hi, how was
dinner?" She came straight to the point.

Hermione pressed the phone further into her ear. She could barely hear her
friend, "Why are you whispering?"

Ginny muttered in a low voice, "Harry's asleep." She sounded much like her
old self, and for that, Hermione was highly grateful. She couldn't imagine a
world where Harry and Ginny weren't together.

Hermione sighed with relief, "Is everything all right? Are you feeling
better? I just wanted to check in."

Ginny smirked, "After what we just did. Oh yes, loads." They had an
enjoyable evening, and after putting James to bed, Harry had made slow
leisurely love to her. Taking his time to explore her body with his mouth,
leaving no place untouched.

Hermione pretended to vomit. She chided, "Argh, that's way too much
information, woman."
Ginny softened her tone, "Thank you for always being there, Hermione."
Growing up with a bunch of boys wasn't always easy, and Hermione was
much like the sister she never had. She had been devasted when things
ended with Ron for fear that she would distance herself from everyone, but
thankfully nothing had come of it.

Hermione replied fondly, "There's no place I'd rather be. I love you and that
idiot you married to bits."

She huffed, "I'm going to have a few stern words with him. How dare he
accuse you of cheating?"

Ginny would rather let sleeping dogs lie than open up a fresh, painful
wound and plainly said what was on her mind, "I don't want to talk about it.
We were both at fault, and Blaise just happened to be there."

She asked again eagerly, "How was dinner? Did Malfoy behave?"

Hermione summarised, "Dinner...hmm, was in one word. Surprising."

Ginny chuckled, "Oh do tell..."

Hermione fired right away, "He was attentive, charming and nothing
whatsoever like his slimy old self."

Ginny said thoughtfully, "Hmm, maybe he is for real then."

Hermione injected with determination, "Well, I'm not letting my guard

down." He could be Prince Charming himself, and that would not stop her
from being careful. She had already given in too much and had the sodding
marks to prove it.

Ginny inquired inquisitively, "What about your parents and gran?" She
knew Ron had a tough time with Richard, not so much with Julia, and Gran
had accepted her granddaughter's choice and not said much.

Hermione replied reluctantly, "They, umm, loved him. Even dad." To say
the words aloud was oddly strange, but the bottom line was they held
Malfoy in high regard. There was little to no point denying that.

Ginny stifled a laugh and warned jokingly, "For the love of Merlin, don't
ever let Ron hear that. He will collapse in a fit of insecurities." It went well
beyond self-doubt. Her brother would be severely traumatised.

Hermione listened intently and said slowly, "He invited me to go to Hawaii

with him and the Slytherin bunch. Neville's going, so is Luna."

Ginny gasped, "You lucky bitch. I am so jealous right now."

A brilliant idea came to mind, and Hermione implored, "Maybe you can
come too? Godric knows you could use the break."

Ginny was horribly tempted, "Harry won't take leave, not unless they catch
the bastard."

Hermione urged, "Yeah, but you can. Can Molly watch James for a couple
of days?"

Ginny knew Blaise would be joining, and it didn't sit too well with her.
Their recent encounter had brought back some distressing feelings she had
suppressed.

She politely declined, "I don't think it's a good idea, but it does sound
awesome," And openly teased, "Did you accept?"

Hermione contemplated her reply. There was no way she was coming off
unscathed. She answered hotly, "It's Hawaii. Of course, I fucking accepted.
I can relax and...."

Ginny quipped good-naturedly, "Jump his bones, no doubt. You whore."

Hermione explained further, "We are getting separate rooms, Gin." Like
that mattered.
She knew the risks of agreeing to the trip, but deep down, she wanted to
sleep with him.

One time, then it would be out of their system, allowing them to go forward
without any further entanglements or pouncing on each other at every
opportunity.

Ginny wasn't convinced. Her words dripped with sarcasm, "Right. I'll bet
you anything, that you're going to sleep with him."

Hermione agreed without hesitation, "I'll take that bet. What are the
stakes?" She cursed her stupidity. It was a bet she was sure of losing, but it
wouldn't do for even Ginny to know.

Ginny recited without skipping a beat, "One hundred Galleons, plus you
bring Malfoy over for Sunday brunch."

Unable to dictate terms, Hermione concurred grudgingly, "Done but think

twice about brunch. Ron isn't going to be happy with Malfoy's presence."

Ginny smirked, "You let me deal with my idiotic brother. Do we have an

accord?"

Hermione laughed out loud, "What are you, a bloodthirsty pirate?" She
gave a two-finger salute and adopted a pirate cackle, "Aye, aye matey. We
have an accord."

Harry's groggy and sleep-heavy voice interrupted the conversation, "Who is

it, darling?"

Ginny covered the mouthpiece and replied impatiently, "It's Hermione."

Harry groaned, turned over and said, "Tell her to sod off and come to bed.
It's cold without your body..."

Hermione heard word for word and frowned in disgust, "Ugh, please go."
Harry was like an elder brother, although technically, she was older than
him. Still, she had no desire to know about his sex life unless it came from
Ginny, and she could drown out Harry's face.

A fleeting thought came to mind, and Ginny hurriedly told Hermione, "By
the way, can you visit Teddy. He misses you terribly." The boy had sulked
for most of the afternoon because of her absence.

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed, "Of course. I cannot believe I've been
so tactless. I'll pop by tomorrow and take him out for a quick bite during my
lunch break." She never missed an opportunity to see Teddy. He was her
almost adopted son, and nothing would stand in the way of their
relationship. She had to rectify her costly mistake at once.

Ginny was happy with her friend's answer, "Sounds good. Goodnight,
love."

The line went dead.

Hermione tossed the phone aside and stared at the ceiling. She seemed to be
doing a lot of that lately.

She thought of calling Malfoy to see whether he made it home okay,

dismissing it almost at once.

Was she bordering on stupid? Of course, he made it to the Manor safely. He

was hardly going to be mugged on the estate, and even if he was, she was
pretty sure he would be able to fend for himself.

Burying her head under the many pillows, she closed her eyes tight and
wished for sleep. After a few moments of petulant tossing and turning,
exhaustion finally consumed her, and she drifted off into a dreamless,
content slumber.
 Chapter 37
Chapter Notes

My heartfelt apologies for the delay, but an unforeseen tragedy fell

upon our family. The untimely death of a loved one is hard to bear, but
more so when it is someone who has barely begun to live.

I want to stress how important it is to be kind to those around you.

Offer words of encouragement and always keep a mindful eye on the
young. Suicide is not the answer. Please seek help and know that you
can always overcome any obstacle in time.

Much love to you all!

Raw emotions and internal conflicts. 💔😩

Never assume to know another person's struggle.

Depression is real. It rears its ugly head when least expected. 😑

Thank you for all the lovely comments.

Enjoy Chapter Thirty-Seven!

Happy Reading :)

Blaise and Daphne's humble abode

Tracey walked around the lavishly decorated living room in an uproar and
massaged her throbbing temples in desolation, "I just don't know how much
more of this I can take, Daph."

Daphne watched her stepsister's movements intently, took a deep breath and
instructed, "Calm down, darling." She included with a tad bit of humour,
hoping it would appease the seemingly distraught woman before her,
"Blaise is quite fond of this rug, and you are creating a rather sizeable hole
in it with your pacing."

Tracey came to an abrupt halt, abandoned all poise and fell in a crumpled
heap into the nearest chair and exhaled in frustration, "Merlin, I'm sorry. It's
just that Ronald is driving me around the bend with his behaviour."

She added in a spiteful undertone, "No wonder Hermione dumped his arse."

Ever the levelheaded big sister, Daphne offered words of comfort and
wisdom, "Darling, you must calm yourself and try to understand." Making a
marriage work was hard enough on its own, more so when it was arranged.
There was so much to discover about the other that it wasn't always going
to be pleasant.

Daphne clarified the best she could, "Ron and Hermione were together for
some time." After a second thought, she exclaimed further, "As a matter of
fact, everyone in the wizarding world thought they would end up together."
That much was abundantly true. They seemed like a picture-perfect match
after Harry and Ginny, but somewhere down the line, things changed, and
they called it quits. She recalled the front pages of newspapers announcing
the event.

It was scandalous. Ron was portrayed as a heartbroken man deeply in love

with his girlfriend. The editors had not been so kind towards Hermione, and
she ended up labelled as a controlling, power-hungry bitch who was only
interested in furthering her career and no interest in starting a family. It was
an unfair assumption, but Hermione had handled it with her head held high
and a no-nonsense attitude. Daphne secretly admired her former classmate's
tenacity.

Tracey was hardly convinced. She replied solemnly and with a hint of
repulsion, "But the past is the past. He's still in love with her and shares my
bed. It's rather degrading, is it not?"

To be fair to him, Ron was a reasonably good shag. He was loving, and
attentive and took his time to please her. It was the one part of their
marriage she could not complain about.
Daphne got to her feet, crossed the room to a stylish minibar and poured
herself and her stepsister large glasses of red wine. She handed a glass to
Tracey, who took it willingly and sighed, "The marriage between you both
was arranged."

Taking a sip of the reddish concoction. Daphne felt the rich taste tickle her
tastebuds before assuring, "Give him time to adjust, perhaps after a child...."

Tracy spluttered, almost choking on the gulp of wine she took. She surfaced
unscathed but surprised and fired incredulously, "A child? I will not have a
baby under these circumstances. Not unless I'm absolutely sure of his
feelings towards me." It would be horrific to bring a child into a world
where their parents only tolerated each other. She had seen firsthand how
unhappy her mother had been.

A loud ringing tore through the room, interrupting the girl's conversation.

Daphne glanced at the phone buzzing on the ornately carved table and
grinned, "Your phones ringing again." It had constantly been ringing since
Tracey arrived, but the headstrong woman refused to answer and entertain
the persistent yet frantic man on the other end.

Tracey glared sternly at the phone as if it had done her a great injustice by
ringing, "It's probably him."

Daphne smiled reassuringly, "Tracey, go home to your husband. It's clear he

cares a great deal about you."

She added knowingly, "It must be difficult for him to come to terms with
the fact that, of all the people in the world, Draco is marrying Hermione."
She could relate and genuinely felt sorry for Ron.

Tracey drained her drink and looked away in thought. As usual, Daph made
perfect sense. She always was more sensible than the rest and never made
her feel like an outsider.
Daphne explained more, "There was no love lost between them at
Hogwarts. All things considered, Draco was an awful child." She was being
kind, he had been a superficial prick, and she never quite understood
Astoria's infatuation with him.

Draco's only things going for him back then were his looks, the power his
father saw fit to shove in everyone's faces, and unwavering arrogance. He
only seemed to come down off his pedestal in their sixth year, and the
reason why caused them all to go into a momentary state of shock,
especially once it became publicly known that he was a branded Death
Eater.

Tracey understood somewhat, but a deep fear rested within her mind, and
she made it known to the person she trusted most, "I understand they were
rivals, but what if Ron can never let go of his love for Hermione?"

Daphne smiled once more as a mother would and exclaimed, "Is it even
love? Seems more like memories to me." It made complete sense.
Sometimes it wasn't the person but the nostalgia you could not let go of,
and Ron seemed to be caught up in that.

Tracey nodded slowly and smiled gratefully, "Hmm. You might be right.
You always are."

She took her sister's hand in hers and gushed, "Thank you, Daph." They
were of the same age, only months apart, but still, Daphne radiated
calmness and wisdom.

Their situation was not ideal. The extraordinary indiscretion should have
ended their father's life since it resulted in a pregnancy. Still, when it came
to light, instead of being mortified by her husband's adulterous ways,
Victoria Greengrass had embraced the child and encouraged a relationship
with her half-siblings.

Daphne used her free hand to tuck a tendril of black hair behind Tracey's
ear and encouraged, "I'm always here, darling, whenever you want to talk.
Give him time. He will come around. You have my word."
Tracey nodded unsurely, fetched her bag and with a wave of her wand, she
was gone.

Just in time to, even though it was late, Daphne heard Carrie calling out for
her. Blaise was running late at the office due to the bungling of a shipment
of protective Quidditch gear.

Daphne walked down the long corridor leading to her beloved daughter's
room, placing the now-empty glass of wine on the table. When she entered,
Carrie clutched her favourite unicorn plush toy, the cat was curled up on the
bed, and she held up a book with a colourful cover for her mother to read.

Daphne snuggled up next to her naughty rascal, opened the enchanted book
that cost a small fortune and started to recite the story about a cursed troll
who was really a Prince.

Tracey returned home to find Ron waiting anxiously for her. She saw him
visibly sigh in relief as she came into view. He looked pretty disturbed with
mussed hair and a sulky demeanour.

Her talk with Daphne had helped, but it did not completely erase the doubt
and annoyance she felt.

Ron closed the gap between them without hesitation, gathered her
unmoving form in a tight hug and pleaded with a touch of desperation, "I'm
sorry. I am honestly not trying to hurt you. You mean so much to me." She
was his wife, and despite the circumstances of their marriage, he respected
her greatly.

They had more in common than Hermione, and he ever did. Tracey enjoyed
Quidditch. She loved a game of chess to pass the time and most
importantly, she appreciated his dry sense of humour.

Tracey was tempted to hurl, not as much as Hermione, but bit her tongue
and swallowed the nasty retort. Instead, she sighed with exasperation, "I'm
tired, Ron. Let's talk about it later." Or never.

She broke free from his hold and retired to the room, with him following
close behind. They slept fretfully. Each caught up in random unsettling
thoughts of an unsure future.

Draco woke up suddenly and found it to be darker than a whale's belly. He

rubbed the sleepiness off his eyes and glanced at the large clock mounted
on the wall.

It was five am. No wonder it was still dark. It was early, even by his
standards, but once he was up, that was it. There would be no going back to
sleep.

Admittedly, he was glad he had risen when he did. The day ahead was sure
to be full of unexpected twists and turns.

He threw his long-muscled legs off the bed and got to his feet, and did a
few stretches to loosen up and rid himself of the drowsiness that lingered.
Satisfied that his body was cooperating, he was sorely disappointed to find
his mind was not.

Sultry images of Granger invaded his mind, and it took all his willpower to
push them aside and not slip into some lovestruck daydream of them
frolicking in the gardens and making sweet love under a waterfall.

The trip to Hawaii would be most interesting, he thought devilishly. It was

far too early for such indecent thoughts.

He was becoming a hopeless romantic. Shaking it off, Draco pulled up a

pair of dark grey jogging bottoms, tightened the string to hold it in place
and strode with intent and purpose towards his training room.

Darkness and pain

The door opened with a bang. The naked woman who had been cowering in
the corner, shivering from the cold night wind that seemed to seep through
the cracks in the wall, shot up in alarm. She stared at the man standing just
a few feet away from her with a toothy leer, rubbing his cock over his
pyjama bottoms.

Cringing, she felt tears bubble to the surface. It had been months with no
possible escape from the bastard that kept her captive and used her as his
plaything, but each time he violated her, it filled her with undeniable disgust
and hate.

Fighting her inner thoughts, she forced an inviting smile and spread her legs
for him. You can possess my body, but never my soul, you sick fuck.

Her rage and an unquenchable thirst for vengeance gave her the strength to
stomach the man grunting and groaning on top of her.

Malfoy Manor

Draco sat cross-legged with his eyes closed and deep in concentration. He
seemed lifeless except for the laboured, practised breathing techniques he
had perfected for better mindfulness.

After his intense workout that included an extra half an hour of throwing
precise punches at the heavy sawdust-filled bag and repeated kicks that
made the sweat drip down his back and over his defined pectoral muscles.

He felt the warmth of the rising sun fall on his skin and unconsciously
leaned towards its burning touch. Draco took a deep breath and exhaled
before slowly opening his eyes to greet the rays of a new day. His eyes
shone with purpose, and his body radiated calmness and tranquillity. It was
a perfect start to the day.

After concluding his morning routine, he got to his feet, bowed respectfully
to an invisible entity and headed towards the bathroom for a much-needed
shower to wash away the grime and sweat he had accumulated during his
vigorous routine.

Satisfied by his early morning lovemaking, the man had left the woman
alone to rest and retired to the kitchen to make them breakfast. She was thin
and in desperate need of fattening up. Not too much, of course, but enough
for him to have something to grab onto.

She was the one, of that he was undoubtedly sure. He felt it in his bones,
and it excited him far more than anything else. It was time for them to take
the next step in their relationship.

Her compliance pleased him, and he figured such behaviour deserved a rare
treat. The smell of sizzling bacon filled the tiny kitchen with a
mouthwatering aroma.

Terry enthused, "Let's go, mate." He felt oddly alive after the harrowing
events of the day before. Michael was a far better friend than he deserved.

Michael eyed his friend sceptically, "Terry, you're in no condition to report

for duty." He was a danger to everyone around him, but more to himself. He
was a liability in their line of work in his present state, which could prove
costly and deadly.

Terry argued defiantly, "I'll go mad if I have to sit here staring at these
fucking walls. I took a calming draught. I should be fine." Frankly, he
desperately needed a distraction: anything to stave the anxiety away—
something to divert his thoughts.

Michael gritted out in exhaustion, "You carved up your arm yesterday, and
you tried to convince me to do the same so we could have matching scars. I
had to fucking restrain you."

Terry shrugged casually as if what he had done was an everyday

occurrence, "That was yesterday." He inconspicuously glanced at the
reddish healing deep cuts on his arm and shuddered. Michael was right, he
had crossed a line, but it had made perfect sense at the time.

Michael wasn't convinced, but he understood Terry's plight, "Mate, the stuff
is still in your system. You aren't done detoxing."

Terry accused, "What are you afraid of? That'll I'll pop by Knockturn Alley
for a refill?"

Michael nodded at once in agreement. He wouldn't put it past him. "Among

other things, yes, I am. Besides, you smell like piss and look like shite."
There was a week's worth of stubble on his face and the hint of a
blossoming beard. Terry was an okay-looking bloke who at present
resembled a bum off the streets.

Terry rolled his eyes pointedly, "Those are easily fixed." He pleaded with
enough conviction and hopelessness, "Michael, if I don't get out, I will go
fucking mad."

He did seem normal.

Michael groaned in defeat, "Fine, for a few hours, but I'm warning you, you
will not leave my sight. I won't hesitate to use force if necessary."

Terry sneered, "Are you threatening me, arsehole?"

Michael puffed out his chest, crossed his arms over it and nodded, "Yes, I
am. Try me, and you will regret it."

Terry laughed aloud, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

He inquired with an amused expression, "By the way, does Brenda hate me
more?"

Michael pursed his lips and said nothing. He was more concerned by Terry's
extremely calm behaviour and light banter.
The effects of the strong, calming draught were visible, but would it be as
pretty when the effects wore off?

The deranged man pushed a plate burdened with food towards the frail
woman and interrogated openly, "Do you like bacon, darling?"

She stared at it in disbelief. The pungent aroma hit her nostrils first, and its
intensity almost made her gag, but she swallowed the bile that rose and
answered timidly, "Yes, I do." It had been so long since she tasted anything
with an excess of salt.

When she didn't eat, he gestured for her to tuck in. With a simple nod of his
head, he bestowed his blessings upon her to soothe the growing pangs of
hunger in her belly.

Unceremoniously, she grabbed the strips of bacon and stuffed them into her
mouth, savouring the saltiness with her deprived tastebuds. The flavour
exploded in her mouth, it was a forgotten luxury, and she felt genuine
happiness.

That was until his disgusting voice tore into her thoughts, "Sarah?"

It shocked her that he referred to her by her given name. She did not know
how to respond, especially considering she had no clue what his name was,
but secretly she had named him "The Monster."

"Yes?" She replied weakly. Her name, she hadn't heard someone utter it in
so long. It prickled her skin uncomfortably, but none more than his next
question, "Are you happy here with me?" His face held a hint of a smile. He
looked at her hopefully and waited impatiently for an answer.

Was he crazy? Well, of course, he was. He honestly believed his actions

towards her were justified.

She stopped eating her egg and tried to find the correct answer. An answer
that would soothe him and further blind him to her true intentions.
Sarah managed a smile, "I, umm...yes, I guess I am." Feed his ego. It's the
only way you can escape this nightmare in one piece.

He kept the fork neatly by the side, took her trembling hand in his and
cooed, "I love you so much." How she wanted to stab him in the face with
her plastic fork and run out the door, but the fear of what he might do,
crippled her.

She could not grasp the words that came out of his mouth so seamlessly.

Love? His sick depraved version of it.

He gushed, "I want you to meet my mother. After all, she's the most
important woman in my life, after you, of course."

His eyes clouded over with longing, "No one can take your place, Sarah."

She hated the way he said her name. What right did he have after defiling
her countless times?

But more importantly, was there another woman in the house? Could this
mystery person help her, or was she in on it and fuelling her son's sick
perversions? So many unanswered questions ran rampant through her
fragile state of mind.

It was odd since she had thought his mother was long since dead. He always
spoke of her as if she were deceased, but a spark of hope ignited in the pit
of her being.

Sarah bobbed her head meekly, "That would be nice," she said
encouragingly.

He was overjoyed, "It's settled then. I'll take you to her in a few days."

Happy with the turn of events, he ate the remaining of his meal with gusto,
and she began to formulate a plan of escape just in case.
Hermione had just applied a layer of thick eyeliner when she heard a
distinctive knock on the door.

She looked at the closed door, straightened, adjusted her crisp white blouse
and made sure her knee-length navy blue skirt was facing the right way
before calling out, "Come in."

Julia walked in with a bright, happy smile and a tall glass of orange juice,
"Good morning, darling." She placed the glass on the table and sat down on
the freshly made bed.

Hermione eyed the glass, took a sizeable gulp to quench her thirst and
replied enthusiastically, "Morning, mum." She was in a good mood. The
weekend had gone smashingly, though she ached to get to the office and
start work.

Julia looked her daughter over and raved, "Don't you look lovely.
Professional, yet chic."

Hermione grinned. She had been up for hours and painstakingly gone
through no less than five outfits before settling for the one she wore. It was
her unruly, untameable mass of wild curls that required the most attention.
To match her outfit, she brushed it back and pinned it up in an elegant bun.

Making use of the extra time, she had drawn herself a warm, soothing bath
and relaxed in the tub until her fingers resembled shrivelled prunes.

"Draco..." Hermione had whispered into the void countless times while she
soaked herself in the rose-scented water. The pending trip to Hawaii and the
events that would follow hung heavy in her mind, but it also made her toes
curl in delight at the prospect of Malfoy taking her without abandon.

She spoke his name out unconsciously, it came from a place unknown to
her, and it frightened her far worse than anything else could.

Julia fidgeted and shot her daughter worrying glances.

Hermione, who noticed her mother's odd behaviour, stopped applying
mascara, spun around and raised a sardonic brow, "What's the matter, mum?
Are you alright?"

Julia barrelled into explanation, "Yes, yes, it's just Gran let slip something
about a trip to Hawaii at breakfast."

Hermione paled and quickly added further insight, "Oh, well, it's nothing to
be bothered about. It's not some stupid romantic getaway. A bunch of us are
going."

Julia smirked but said with seriousness, "I'm not worried about that, darling.
I just wanted to make sure you're practising safe sex."

"Mum!" Hermione cried indignantly. She blushed deeply and tried to hide
her embarrassment.

Julia rolled her eyes, "Come off it, Hermione."

She emphasised and stressed, "It's not like I don't know you're sexually
active. I just thought an unplanned pregnancy at this moment might not be
the best thing for you or Draco." Not that she would've minded a beautiful
grandchild, but the timing would be horrible.

Hermione blushed crimson again and begged, "Mum, please stop. I'm not
sleeping with Malfoy or anyone else, to be honest." Even she knew it was a
matter of time before she caved and gave into the Malfoy Heirs scorching
touch.

"Well, not yet at least," Julia mused. She always pegged her daughter as an
intelligent woman except when it came to matters of the heart.

She further inquired curiously, "Haven't you been dating?" Before Malfoy's
untimely entrance into Hermione's life, Julia had been a tad bit worried
about her daughter's workaholic nature and lack of relationships.
Hermione shrugged sheepishly, "Not in months. There was this one guy, but
it's too complicated with all that's going on."

Julia nodded in understanding, "I suppose you have a point." She had her
there.

Hermione finished the juice, sat down next to her mother and asked
anxiously, "What do you really think about Malfoy?" She was sure her
mother thought highly of the once-abusive boy, but she wanted to be doubly
sure.

Julia replied without a second's hesitation, "I meant what I said last night.
I'm not trying to make you feel better, but there's something quite magical
between the two of you." There was a hint of pride in the words she uttered.

Excellent choice of words, magical, indeed.

She implored, "Aren't you at least curious of what could happen between
you two?"

Hermione scoffed, "I know what could happen. I know who he is, mother."
But did she? Did she genuinely know who Malfoy was now? The answer
evaded her with purpose.

Julia pondered with ease, "Hmm, that might be, but he turned up, was
exceptionally well mannered and quite frankly went out of his way to
defend you. A man who does not give a toss would hardly go to such
trouble and lengths, sweetheart."

Again, her mother had delivered a perfect ringer between the eyes.

Hermione shrugged and countered, "I suppose he felt a sense of obligation."

Julia advised good-naturedly, "Just let it flow, darling. Please don't over
analyse as you always do." She knew better than others how critical and
rational her daughter could be, but with love, that simply wasn't possible.
Hermione cringed as she listened intently to her mother's words of wisdom.
Why was everyone telling her that? Was she that insufferable to nitpick
about everything?

She gave a military salute and promised, "Scouts honour."

Julia got to her feet with a smile and announced, "Come on, breakfast is
getting cold."

They went down the stairs chatting about new ideas to refurbish the house.

Phyllis looked up and greeted them warmly, "Ah, good morning, love."

Hermione dropped a kiss onto her grandmother's head and helped herself to
a piece of buttery toast. She bit into the crunchy goodness and yearned for
more.

Richard cut a large pork sausage into bite-sized pieces and mused, "Back to
the world of magic then?" He wore a light blue shirt and black trousers for
work. It was the first day of the week and would be a busy one at the dental
clinic.

Hermione sat down and frowned, "Yes, I'm not looking all that forward to
it." Her job, she loved, it was the other things that were sure to dampen her
mood.

Julia offered hopefully, "Oh, darling, you can stay for longer if you like."
There was nothing more delightful than having her only child around. She
enjoyed the company and girly chats.

Hermione sighed, "I wish I could. It's been so much fun." It was a
refreshing change to bask in the comfort and security her parents offered
without question.

Richard asked with a sarcastic connotation, "Are we going to have to wait

months before you visit again?" He missed her more than he let on.
Hermione reached over, patted her father's hand and assured, "No, dad. I'll
come by soon."

Phyllis instilled her own opinion, "We love having you around, dear."
Though she lived by herself, she visited her son often and hardly ever saw
her treasured grandchild.

Hermione was quick to respond. Her tone mirrored the admiration she had
for her family, "And I adore being around you, Nana, but I do worry about
you living alone."

Richard concurred, "She's right, mum. I think it's time you moved in with
us. Lord knows we've been bugging you to do it for years."

Phyllis was having none of it. She waved her hand dismissively, "Ah, pish
posh. I like my independence." That being said, she had almost fallen over
in the bath just the other day, and that particular incident had scared her a
little.

Hermione agreed but cautioned, "I understand, Gran, but it would be best if
there were someone around you."

Phyllis conceded defeat, "Fine, I'll think about it, but if I do, I expect you
and Draco over every Saturday for dinner." She knew once an idea got into
her headstrong granddaughter's head, it was nearly possible to get away.

Hermione frowned, "Gran, Malfoy isn't a permanent fixture." For the

duration of three years, he would be, and then they would part ways
amicably.

Phyllis shook her head in mild disbelief but kept her thoughts to herself.
Hermione was entirely oblivious to the situation at hand. Since it was easier
to blame their unexpected feelings on raging hormones, they did so, but the
underlying reason would probably shock them in the long run.

Hermione sneaked a peek at the clock, shovelled the remaining piece of

toast into her mouth and hurriedly got to her feet, "Okay, I've got to run. I'll
ring later."

Richard warned, "Bloody make sure you keep us informed about this
blasted marriage. I will not be kept in the dark any longer. Do I make
myself clear?"

Hermione swallowed hard and nodded slowly, "Crystal."

She kissed each of her family members fondly on the cheek, grabbed her
handbag, walked into the backyard with her stylish heels clicking against
the hardwood floors and looked around for any prying eyes before
disapparating.

Draco slipped into the tailored pitch-black Auror robes and critically
inspected his appearance in the floor-length mirror.

He was grateful for the long sleeves that covered his fading Dark Mark. The
last thing he needed or wanted was the macabre snake to make its presence
known.

Satisfied by the way he looked, he ran his long fingers through his hair,
fetched the gold-plated name tag with DMLE insignia and pinned it boldly
to the front.

His fingers brushed across the smooth surface of the new badge that held
his name.

Who would've thought that Draco Lucius Malfoy would someday become
an Auror? A man that upheld the law, tracked down unscrupulous characters
and reported to Harry Potter.

Draco glanced at the clock. It was still early, and there would be plenty of
time for a spot of breakfast before he left. He wondered whether it would be
prudent to drop his intended a text message.

Narcissa raved the moment her eyes fell on her son, "My, don't you look
handsome? The robes become you, son." She could hardly contain her
proud delight. This was unquestionably his calling.

Draco touched the lengthy line of buttons on his robes and mused, "Black
has always been my best colour."

Bernard spoke from his place at the table, "I couldn't agree more." A fond
smile split the older man's face. He was exceedingly pleased with the young
man standing before him.

Draco took a seat and greeted, "Bernard, good to see you. I hope all is
well?" Dotty appeared at the moment and poured him a glass of cool
pumpkin juice.

Bernard replied solemnly, "It is. I'm doing some research into a few missing
members of my family. Finally, I seem to have made a breakthrough with a
distant cousin of mine in Russia."

Draco offered comforting words, "I do hope you find what you are looking
for." He was curious about what the older man was up to, but his mother's
words that they mind their own business rang through his head. Bernard
wasn't a man that would betray their trust.

Bernard breathed in exasperation, "You and me both, dear boy."

He perked up and wished, "Now let us wish you the best, and caution you
just the same."

Draco chuckled, "I'm well aware that my employment at the DMLE will
garner some mixed reactions, but that hardly matters." He was expecting
some altercation but wasn't sure whether it would be mere insults or actual
bodily harm.

Narcissa cautioned fearfully, "Please be careful, darling." She was aware

her son had the necessary abilities to take care of himself. Still, that offered
her little comfort.
Draco explained best he could, hoping it would alleviate her and offer some
comfort, "Mother, the men in black are not going to take lightly to an ex
Death Eater joining their ranks, but I'm there to do some good and
hopefully, I'll be able to convince them of that."

Dotty interrupted without warning, "Would Master Draco like some

breakfast?"

Draco smiled at the tiny elf awaiting instructions and said without haste,
"Something light would be lovely. Toast and fruit if you please."

Dotty blushed at being addressed so kindly and disapparated with an

audible crack to tend to her kind master's wishes.

Narcissa scolded, "That's hardly enough, Draco. You really must eat more."

Draco argued pointedly, "I get all the right nutrients. Overeating causes my
mind to be more sluggish than necessary."

He grabbed a juicy green apple from the crystal bowl and bit into it
enthusiastically.

Ministry of Magic

Hermione breezed into the office in high spirits. She hardly noticed her
less-than-happy assistant.

Brenda nervously played with her fingers and rearranged the papers on her
table for the tenth time. This whole thing with Boot was making her anxious
for Michael, and she genuinely feared for his safety.

Hermione took a deep breath, dropped her handbag on the table, got behind
it and lowered herself into the comfort of the sizeable chair.

It was barely nine am, and already some matters required her immediate
attention. Everyone looked to her for answers during Kingsley's absence.
Coincidentally, the Minister of Magic had sent her an owl.

She popped the seal eagerly and read the letter with an amused expression.
Apparently, he would be returning at the end of the week because the
French Minister was being a right pain in the rear. Kingsley had used a
colourful slew of words to describe the arrogant, pudgy man with a thin
moustache.

Brenda poked her head in and timidly requested, "Do you have a minute?"

Hermione looked up from the letter, kept it aside carefully and gave her
assistant her undivided attention. Only then, she noticed the dark circles
around Brenda's eyes and wondered if she had a row with Corner.

She replied at once, "Yes, of course. Come in," and urged in concern,
"What's the matter? You look like you haven't slept a wink."

Brenda walked into the room, sat down on the sofa meant for guests, and
exhaled, "It's Michael, but, umm, mostly it's about Terry."

That bit piqued Hermione's interest, and she questioned urgently, "What's
happened?"

Brenda hesitated, unsure whether she was stepping out of place, but decided
Hermione needed to know, "Terry is umm...." She couldn't bring herself to
say the damaging words.

Hermione leaned forward and pressed undeterred, "What is it, Brenda?"

The woman's conduct was beginning to alarm her, and she demanded an
explanation.

Brenda blurted out, "He's been using cocaine for months. Michael says he's
addicted."

Hermione didn't believe the words that left Brenda's mouth. She stared in
utter disbelief and refused to comprehend the disturbing news.
She sat still in shock and stared deadpan at the wall and tried to understand.

Brenda coaxed, "Umm, Hermione?" Her words caused Hermione to snap

out of her dazed state.

Hermione fired back, "What? That is impossible. Somebody would have

noticed." It was a massive disappointment that she hadn't picked up on the
subtle signs when they had been together.

Brenda hung her head and responded gravely, "Michaels with him. Terry
crashed hard over the weekend."

Hermione felt her resolve crumble, "Oh, the poor bloke. I need to speak
with him." She still cared about him greatly as a friend, and this turn of
events was most upsetting.

Brenda replied unsurely, "Erm, I don't think they are in yet. It's debatable
whether they will come in at all."

On cue, there was a knock on the opened door, and Michael hovered in the
background, his face drawn and tired.

Brenda shot to her feet and hugged her boyfriend tight, and whispered
words of comfort in plain view of her boss. Michael returned her
enthusiasm and nearly lifted her clean off her feet.

After the night he had suffered through, Brenda and her sweet presence
were to him an oasis in a desert.

Unwilling to interrupt the tender moment, Hermione kept quiet and inquired
only after the couple broke apart, "Michael, where is Terry?"

Michael looked at her over his girlfriend's head and answered slowly, "In
Potters office." No doubt getting an earful.

Hermione nodded in understanding and instructed, "Brenda, can you leave a

message for him to come and see me once he's done."
Brenda acknowledged her boss's request with a firm nod, took hold of
Michael's hand and led him out of the office.

Michael thought nothing of the exchange between the women. What he

truly wanted was to knock off from work and get a good night's sleep. His
body was running on empty.

Hand in hand, they walked towards the DMLE floor.

DMLE

Harry shot to his feet at once as Terry walked in and scolded, "You
shouldn't be here. Go home."

What was the irresponsible git doing coming to work a day after detoxing?
Was he trying to get sacked?

Harry thanked Merlin that Kingsley was away on some diplomatic trip, but
unfortunately, substance abuse among the people at the DMLE was not
unheard of.

Most turned to alcohol to numb the pain and forget the gruesome images
that they saw daily.

Terry looked ashamed beyond words. His whole demeanour reeked of

regret.

His shoulders slumped, and he spoke meekly, "I broke the law, Potter. There
should be some punishment."

Harry gritted out, "And there will be, make no mistake. Your actions have
put this department to shame. I had high hopes riding on you."

He warned forebodingly, "Get your act together. I'll think of something, but
for fucks sake, do not go about advertising the fact that you were on drugs."
Terry shifted his feet and hung his head, "I'm sorry, Harry. It won't happen
again."

Harry didn't mince words, "Sorry doesn't quite cut it. Go and do your job,
but be assured I'm keeping my eye on you. Step another toe out of line, and
I'll fire your arse without mercy." He had a killer to catch, and this was an
unwelcome distraction, yet he would offer the support system Terry needed
to come out of the dark hole he had fallen into. They always took care of
their own.

Boot nodded slowly, "Understood, boss." The effects of the many calming
draughts he consumed still lingered, and he found it easier to focus. He was
relieved that he had escaped persecution with a mere slap on the wrist for
the time being, but if he knew Potter, the worst was yet to come.

Harry stared at the closed door after Boot's departure in deep thought. Their
job wasn't without stress, but to resort to something as strong as cocaine
was a drastic measure and something he planned on addressing after they
caught the elusive Dollhouse Strangler.

Terry almost bumped into Brenda, who lurked outside Harry's office,
hoping to catch him on his way out.

She offered a slight smile and said, "Terry, hi."

Terry rubbed the back of his neck and grinned sheepishly, "Brenda, I'm
sorry for hogging your boyfriend."

Brenda assured, "Please, that's alright. I hope you're feeling better."

Terry shrugged and replied awkwardly, "Loads, but there's a long way to go,
I suppose."

He looked around for Michael, and when he couldn't find him, he offered
helpfully, "I think Michael is in one of the interrogation rooms." A fleeting
thought to escape and get himself a packet of the white dust entered his
mind.

Brenda's voice bore into his thoughts, "I'm actually here to meet you.
Hermione wanted to see you."

His eyes bugged out at the revelation. He demanded at once, "Blimey, does
she know?" His tone turned accusatory, "Did you tell Granger about my
little problem?"

Brenda averted her gaze and took an involuntary step back from the fuming
man towering over her, and answered softly, "Well, yes, I did. I thought she
needed to know."

Terry was beside himself with anger. His hands balled into fists, but he
controlled the urge to smash the nearest table into smithereens and instead
spat out harshly, "You had no fucking right. You meddlesome little cu..."

Michael's voice was low and deadly, "I wouldn't finish that sentence if I
were you, mate." He came from behind and moved his girlfriend out of
harm's way, looking from one to the other for an explanation, "What the
hell is going on?"

Terry hissed in displeasure, "She's gone and told Granger that I'm some
fucking junkie."

Michael rounded on his girlfriend, "Is that true, Brenda?" Hermione's words
before they left her office made perfect sense now.

Brenda was quick to defend herself, "I didn't say it like that." Boot was
making it out like she gossiped about his condition and took the piss out of
the situation.

Michael shook his head and chided, "You shouldn't have told Hermione."
He sympathised that she did it with good intentions, but it certainly wasn't
her place to do so.

Brenda argued, "She needed to know."

Michael countered, "Why? She's not his girlfriend. They're hardly
anything." It was the harsh truth.

Terry bared his teeth and stormed off, leaving the couple to stare after his
departing figure. He took the stairs two at a time, and by the time he arrived
on the executive floor, he was exhausted, but the desire to clear his name
fuelled his purposeful steps.

Draco stepped out of the Floo network and onto the crowded ground floor
of the Ministry of Magic. It was bustling with people and other beings
hurrying about their business. He took a moment to gather his thoughts and
survey the busy scene before him.

He plunged his hand into the deep pocket and felt the handle of his wand
with the tips of his long fingers.

It was almost time to report to work on his first day as an Auror, but he still
had time for a detour. He skillfully sidestepped the people rushing about
their work and approached the ancient lift.

Several witches threw him appreciative glances and chatted excitedly

among themselves.

The doors to the lift opened. He stepped in and pressed the top button. A
middle-aged, smartly dressed witch who stood at the back grew quite
flustered by his presence. She pushed her spectacles up her nose and
clutched the bundle of files she was carrying tightly to her chest, pressing
her back hard against the metal frame of the lift.

Draco noticed he wasn't alone and flashed a flawless smile of greeting,

"Good morning."

The blushing woman barely got a word out. She mumbled incoherently and
stepped out the second the lift came to a halt without a backward glance.
Draco couldn't help but grin to himself. He blamed the robes for the avid
attention that came his way.

Terry barged in unannounced and almost shouted, "Granger, please let me

explain."

Taken back at first, Hermione composed herself enough to listen to the man
breathing hard and trying to speak.

He managed to get out, "I was stressed."

Hermione couldn't help the tone of disdain that laced her words, "We are all
stressed. That's no excuse for using drugs."

Terry stood his ground and gritted out, "Not all of us are perfect, Granger.
You have no fucking right to judge me." He was livid that she would imply
he took an easy way out.

Hermione retracted her earlier words, "I'm not judging you. Calm down,
Terry." She was surprised by his conduct, but the need to help him was
overpowering everything else.

She insisted, "You don't owe me any explanation, but go on if it makes you
feel better."

Terry implored, "I do owe you. I care so much about you. The last person I
would want to disappoint is you." That much was true. Her opinion of him
meant the world, and that's why he had been so angry with Brenda for
telling.

Hermione got to her feet, came around, closed the gap between them and
cupped his face, "Terry, I'm not disappointed, but I'm mad with worry.
Please let us help you." He leaned into her touch and inhaled the womanly
fragrance that came off her in waves. It was such an irresistible smell.

Terry covered her hand with his, closed his eyes and muttered, "I'm better. I
haven't touched the stuff in nearly two days."

Hermione dropped her hands from his person, took a step back and
critically surveyed the man standing before her with a sheepish grin. She
decided he looked decent for a man detoxing.

He explained with ease, "I took a bunch of calming draughts." More than
the recommended amount.

Hermione wasn't convinced. She scoffed, "That's only a temporary solution,

you know that, don't you?"

Terry agreed in a defeated tone, "I know."

Curiosity got the better of her, and Hermione found herself asking, "Why
did you do it?"

Terry's face fell, and he replied gravely without hesitation, "I was having
some terrifying nightmares about the dead girls." He could trust Hermione.
Underneath her tough exterior was a caring, kind and loving woman.

He looked ashamed, "You must think I'm some weak sod."

Hermione stiffened when he mentioned nightmares. No one knew better

than her the effects of unwanted dreams. She now wholly understood why
Terry did what he did, and while she did not condone his actions, she could
not fault him either.

Terry added in a defeated voice, "I took it to drive those dreams away, and
before I knew it, I was drowning."

She didn't quite know what possessed her to do what she did next, but
Hermione put her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. She rested
her head on his chest and muttered, "I'm so sorry. I wish you had told me."
Terry wasted no time in gathering her close and burying his face in the
crook of her neck.
The door was open, and a deep irritated voice pierced the still air making
them jump apart, "Ahem, I seem to have interrupted a private moment. My
apologies, I will take my leave and visit later."

Hermione couldn't help but stare openly. He looked utterly magnificent.

Terry wore a washed-out version of the identical robes, but there was no
comparison. Malfoy wore them as if they were painted on him. He looked
regal, electrifying, and equally menacing.

The material glided over him, fit him snugly at the right places and fell over
the black trousers down to his ankles.

She caught his narrowed gaze move to where her hand rested on Terry's
chest. He seemed to be staring unblinkingly at the engagement ring.

Hermione put a healthy distance between herself and Terry and said slowly
after finding her voice, "Malfoy…."

Draco shot her a frosty glare and nodded curtly, "Madam Undersecretary."
He had wanted to greet her before starting work and maybe sneak a kiss for
good luck. The scene before him was unprecedented, and it caused a burst
of anger to course through his veins. Despite his casual attitude towards her
dating others, he did not take kindly to another man's hands on his
betrothed.

Terry spun around and sneered, "You went ahead with it?" He could not
believe Potter would hire the smug prick. It was unfathomable.

Draco purposely ignored the man in the room and said in a husky, deep
voice, "I'll see you later, Granger." It was clear from his tone that he was far
from pleased but kept it well hidden, turned on his heel and left without so
much as a backward glance.

Hermione wanted nothing more at that moment to push Terry out of the
room, grab hold of Malfoy, and stop him from leaving so she could sink her
teeth into his porcelain white skin. Sadly, this was their place of work.
Although they had let their desires overtake them in the past, she could not
risk her reputation by being caught in the arms of a work colleague, even if
he was her intended.

Her heart sank as she watched Malfoy purposely walk away with his robes
billowing behind him ominously. The echo of his purposeful footsteps grew
faint as he disappeared from their line of sight.

Terry leered, "Can you believe that arsehole? How dare he!"

Hermione sighed, returned to the rightful place behind her desk, and
recommended firmly, "You could do with his help." Terry had no clue what
a valuable asset Malfoy was to the team.

Terry was insulted by what she foolishly proposed, "I would rather step off
Big Ben and plummet to my death than ask the budding Death Eater for
help."

Hermione saw just cause to defend her fiancé, "He was never a willing
participant, Terry. Don't be childish."

He hated the tone of fondness she used when she spoke of Malfoy. Like she
was softening towards him and falling for his fake charms.

She looked at the papers scattered across her table pointedly, "Listen, I've
got to get back to work. Take care, and let's talk more later."

He insisted boldly, "Are you busy on Friday?" There might still be a silver
lining in all this. If he could convince her to spend time with him, maybe
she could be persuaded to look beyond their friendship and pursue
something more solid.

Hermione frowned, "Terry, you know I'm marrying Malfoy. A relationship

is just not in the cards."

Terry rubbed his chin and pressed undiscouraged, "So? It's not like it's a real
marriage. Besides, I'm not looking for a girlfriend, just someone positive to
be around."

He was genuinely in a bad place, and what sort of person would she be if
she refused? After a moment's thought, Hermione retorted reluctantly, "That
might be, but...umm, let me think about it."

Terry brushed the strands of long hair that fell over his eyes, and his face
beamed with a happy smile, "Sounds positive. Have a good one, love."

He walked off, leaving Hermione to her thoughts.

She wished Malfoy had not seen her in that compromising position. They
had agreed to see other people and were far from exclusive, but it still left a
bitter taste in her mouth.

Despite all her talk, she found it hard to be intimate with more than one
person at a time and with how the physical aspects of their relationship
were progressing, it was only a matter of time before they ended up in bed.
 Chapter 38
Chapter Notes

Thank you so much to everyone who posted a review and for the kind,
supportive words!

The first day of Auror training and certain feelings about Draco's
appointment is brought out into the open.

Enjoy Chapter Thirty-Eight!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads! :)

Stay safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Arthur pushed his silver-rimmed glasses further up his nose, looked up from
his pile of messy papers and smiled goodheartedly, "You're in a jolly mood,
lad. Care to share the cause?"

Taken by surprise, John dropped the quill he was using and mumbled, "Oh,
I've had a rather good start to the day. I'm planning a surprise for my
beloved."

Perkins snorted and asked in an incredulous tone, "Beloved? Don't tell me

you have a girlfriend?" That would certainly be a bizarre turn of events.
John wasn't exactly what you would call a ladies' man.

Arthur cautioned, "Perkins, that is enough." He never understood the man's

constant need to harass John. It was disturbing to witness the pleasure he
derived from it.

Perkins defended at once, "What? It was just a question. I meant no

disrespect, boss." It wasn't his fault they took it out of context.
John played with his fingers, stared at his polished black shoes and said
shyly, "She's lovely, intelligent, and I'm going to marry her." His patience
would be rewarded. For years he had waited for the perfect woman.

Perkins leered openly. He didn't even have the decency to be subtle about it,
"Tough luck for her, mate." It came out before he could put the brakes on,
but he regretted nothing.

Arthur glared sternly, "Don't listen to him, John. I'm glad to see you happy."
He was getting tired of Perkin's irresponsible behaviour. It was one thing to
voice your opinion, but to be openly cruel was unacceptable.

He enthused, "Go on then. When's the big day?"

John replied slowly, "Oh, it'll be a very private ceremony." He had no

family or friends, and her family would be unable to attend, but she would
be his whole world once they were married.

Perkins could not help the callous laugh that bubbled to the surface. He
taunted frankly, "Bollocks. She's not real, is she? Is she one of those
Muggle life-like sex dolls?"

Arthur inserted innocently, yet jokingly, "You seem to know a great deal
about them, mate. Did you get one after Monica ran off with that fit bloke?"
It wasn't his way to mock others, but Perkins desperately needed a dose of
his own medicine. The man was a complete horror to be around.

Perkins shifted uncomfortably in his chair and struggled to control the anger
that surged through him. It was public knowledge that his wife left him after
seventeen bloody years of marriage.

What kind of a woman does that? He thanked Merlin they didn't have
children. Not that he was the fatherly sort, to begin with.

He had been devasted, especially considering the boy toy with whom she
was currently involved. There was no doubt the young sod was barely
thirty, but apparently, age was just a number, and they were in love.
Whatever that meant. It made him want to vomit every time it came to
mind.

John tried to ignore the jibe from the petty man, but it was futile, and he
frowned to show his displeasure, "Why would I lie?" The thought of a sex
doll sickened him, but unlike humans, the China dolls his mother collected
were perfect with white porcelain skin and painted smiles which always
captivated him. No matter what he did, they were always happy.

Perkins spat out spitefully, "Because your fucking strange, and it's hard to
imagine a woman would want to sleep with you." They were all thinking
about it. Only he dared to say it aloud.

John slowly raised his head, stared his hated colleague straight in the face
and snarled, "I am not strange." He hated the word. His mother preferred to
call him an oddity. A fat lot of good it did her.

Perkins reeled back in fear at the intensity in John's eyes. They say never
provoke a quiet man. John's actions reminded him of the age-old saying.

Unable to bear it any longer, Arthur brought his hand down on the table
with a crack and admonished, "Perkins, I will not warn you again."

He turned to John and reassured, "Ignore him, son," and added somewhat
cheerfully, "Okay. Well, I hope to meet her someday."

Arthur pushed the files aside and pulled out a folder that had clearly seen
better days and queried, "Are you done with documenting the exploding
toilet incident in Surrey? He thought an immediate change in conversation
was in everyone's best interests.

John picked up a neat stack of papers, got to his feet and walked the short
distance between his wooden table and his bosses. He placed it on Arthur's
desk and beamed with pride, "Yes, I finished it last night."

Perkins scowled and said in a low, barely audible voice, "Fucking kiss
arse."

Arthur heard the other man in the room grumble and questioned firmly,
"Perkins, what about you? I've been waiting on the Smith case report for
weeks." The man was useless. He would have a few words with him, again.

Flashing a sheepish grin, Perkins answered meekly, "Almost done, boss."

That was far from true. He had barely skimmed the surface of the detailed
report.

John scowled at Perkins, trying to find yet another excuse for why he never
delivered his work on time.

He hadn't uttered a cruel word towards his colleague for the man to be so
unpleasant towards him. Some people were born pricks, but they constantly
got what they deserved in the end.

Draco stormed down the Ministry stairs in a proper jealous fit. It was plain
to see that another's slimy hands on his intended romantically was causing
some rather distressing feelings to rear their ugly two-faced head. He had
never been good with sharing.

Friends? He had been a complete fool to believe Boot meant nothing to her.
Yet, he had trusted her word undoubtedly. This was Granger. She was a
woman you could trust. She had all these principles and whatnot that put
others to shame.

Also, hadn't they agreed to see others? Yes, they most definitely had. Then
why did he want to grab Terry by the collar and smash his stupid face into
the nearest wall? That would have been most satisfying.

This would not do. He needed to gain a better command of his emotions
and temper. Granger was well within her right to converse, snog, and shag
anyone she saw fit.

Draco swallowed the bitter taste of acid the words left in his mouth and
exhaled in a pointless attempt to regain control. This drama was a horrible
inconvenience and unwelcome distraction before heading into his first day
as an Auror. Brushing away such disturbing thoughts, he cleared his head
and took the flight of stairs that led to the Department of Magical Law
Enforcement.

He pushed the glass doors open and strode through them confidently. The
administration assistant snapped out of her boredom and gave him an
appreciative once over, unconsciously she undressed him with her eyes,
pushing her bosom out as she greeted him enthusiastically.

Countless suitors had told her in the past that they were pretty appealing,
and she saw no harm in using them to her advantage when the need arose.

Men were generally pigs, but she would gladly make an exception for the
man coming towards her. He was a delectable treat smothered in white
chocolate.

Draco ran his fingers through his hair and tussled strands fell over his face.
It was an enduring touch. He greeted the woman with a flawless smile,
"Good morning."

Merlin, his husky tones sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. She
clamped her legs together and braved a look at his brand-new name tag.
There it was, shining bold as brass, his name - Draco Malfoy.

She knew that name. His had been a highly publicised trial, but things were
different now. It was nearly ten years since the war. People were different,
or one could hope they were. She smiled broadly, "Good morning, Mr
Malfoy, and welcome to the team."

Draco thanked her for her kind words and walked the short distance to
Potter's office. Many turned his way, talking in hushed tones among
themselves, but he purposely ignored them and concentrated on reaching
his desired destination without too much of a hassle.

He came to an abrupt halt outside Harry's office, took a deep breath to relax
and knocked on the heavy oak door. Seconds passed, and the unmistakable
sound of the Head Auror's voice came through, "Come in."

Draco pushed the door open slowly and stepped into the carpeted room. He
stood silently awaiting further instruction, taking the time to study the other
recruits standing in the corner wearing similar black robes to his.

They were a good deal younger than him. He would be right in his
assumption since most were straight out of Hogwarts. They were a nervous
bunch, except for one that stood with his hands folded neatly behind his
back, head held high.

Draco recognised him as the arrogant one who had joined him when getting
new robes.

Harry looked up and said confidently with a curt nod, "Ah, Malfoy. Right
on time." He had half expected the pampered Prince not to turn up. This
would be most interesting.

Draco walked over to where the others were speaking to each other and
tried to make small talk, "I'm Mal..," but he hardly got the words out.

The man scoffed, "Oh, I know who you are. Voldemort's youngest
follower." He looked Draco over in repulsion and gritted out, "Why are you
even here?"

Draco had no false sense of hope that his presence would be welcome. He
cleared his throat pointedly, "That was a long time ago, and I didn't quite
catch your name?"

"Dennis Creevey," The mousy hair-coloured man almost spat. He

emphasised his surname proudly but was left wanting. Draco had no idea he
was the younger brother of Colin Creevey.

Colin had been a brave soul who unfortunately fell at the hands of
Voldemort's supporters once they breached the walls of the Hogwarts castle.
He died a hero, and Harry, in particular, was traumatised by his death. The
young lad had meant a great deal to him.

On cue, Harry walked over to them, clamped Dennis on the shoulder and
said in a carrying voice with a hint of unmistakable pride, "It's so good to
see you back in England, Dennis. Your brother would be very proud."

Harry couldn't help the look of resentment he shot Malfoy, but his former
nemesis paid him no mind and stared at Dennis with a pained expression.

Returning to his place behind his sizeable desk, Harry instructed everyone
to step closer and handed each a small booklet of sorts, preparing himself to
run them through the plan. He had done it plenty of times but a bunch of
fresh faces eagerly hanging onto his every word still made him slightly
nervous.

He looked at the recruits waiting silently for him to begin speaking. Only
Malfoy looked anything other than intimidated. The tall blonde patiently
stood right at the back, away from the limelight and surveyed the gathered
group.

Harry cleared his throat loudly, "Right, listen up, you lot."

He smiled at the new trainees and greeted them enthusiastically, "First of

all, it gives me great pleasure to welcome you into the Auror program. You
have been selected following your N.E.W.T results to pursue a career in law
enforcement."

Practised words left his lips with ease, "You will go through a month of
training and by the end of it, some of you will continue, but sadly, others
will not." Nearly sixty per cent would fail the strenuous course.

He emphasised with great importance, "Each of you will be paired with an

experienced Auror who will be your partner and mentor for all intent and
purposes. They will educate you about working in the field and, most
importantly, teach you all about teamwork. If we work as a unit, we survive
as one."
Harry held up a copy of a tattered book he handed out over his head and
stressed, "The book in your hands is your holy grail. It holds your assigned
assessments and classes. Do not lose it and keep it with you at all times."

All trainees hurriedly read over the written words, and most took the
gruelling schedule presented to them without fuss. Draco skimmed over the
contents, confident that it wouldn't require too much skill to master.

Harry questioned the group in general, "Have I made myself clear?"

There was a nodding of heads, and some responded with a quick, "Yes, sir."

Harry smiled and encouraged, "Good. Any questions?" He didn't run the
department on fear and intimidation like his predecessor. It was of the
utmost importance that those he managed felt comfortable enough always
to approach him with any problem.

Terry's situation prickled his skin uncomfortably. He wished the man had
come to him about his struggles. There were many ways to help overcome
such situations.

Almost every newcomer shook their heads, and the remaining few looked
undecided but went along with the rest.

Satisfied by their lack of needless questions, Harry came around the table,
walked over to the door, threw it open and enthused, "Right. Let's go meet
your partners, shall we?"

The gathered young witches and wizards enthusiastically followed him out
while chatting among themselves softly. Draco straightened to his full
height and trailed behind with less enthusiasm.

Harry entered the bowels of the hectic division where nearly every Auror or
Ministry worker was going over files, talking to each other about pending
cases or arguing over forensic methods.

He spoke in a magically magnified voice over the noise, "Can I have

everyone's attention?"

The second the words left his lips, pin-drop silence followed, and every
single person within earshot gave him their undivided attention.

He gestured with his head towards the recruits standing behind him and
introduced, "These are our new trainees."

Critical eyes skimmed over the black-clad new Aurors sizing them up,
wondering if any among the bunch had what it took to be a part of the
renowned department, but that was momentary as each person came to
notice the familiar yet striking, pale-faced man among the crowd.

A deep voice from the back bellowed, "Why the fuck is that Death Eater
joining our ranks?" It was more a statement than a question.

Draco felt his blood run cold. He closed his eyes, kept his composure, and
thought, better now in front of everyone than later.

Terry narrowed his eyes and glared. He leaned against his desk and pursed
his lips. He desperately wanted to hurl an insult, but after an arduous
internal struggle, he settled against it after Harry's last words to him rang
through his head.

Another sneering voice filled the space, "Didn't your father rot away in
Azkaban, Malfoy?" There was a collective murmur, and a burst of mocking
laughter followed. Many had taken great pleasure in throwing the once-
great Lucius Malfoy into Azkaban.

Draco took a deep calming breath and remembered his teachings. Master
Chun's words about patience and tolerance echoed through his mind. Let
them say whatever they wanted about his father, Salazar knew he deserved
it, but an unkind word against his mother he would not tolerate so easily.

A beefy heavy-set woman with a noticeable scar down her face came
forward, crossed her arms over her ample bosom and hissed, "Are we
supposed to work with and trust this two-faced git with our lives?" It was
clear from her staggering arrogance and stance that she was respected
among her peers. Many nodded in agreement and waited impatiently for
Harry to answer.

Her straightforward statement gave others the strength to voice their

opinions.

"What were you thinking, Potter, hiring this scum?"

"Kick him out, or there's going to be trouble."

The recruits moved away from Draco, leaving him exposed and vulnerable
to any unprovoked attack that might follow. Still, he stood his ground with
his hands at his back and face entirely emotionless. His fingers gently
brushed over the black stones of his bracelet. If there was a time for lady
luck to smile upon him, it was most certainly now.

An unexpected smile curved the ends of Harry's lips upwards. He slowly

moved to stand in front of Draco and bared his teeth at the large group of
seasoned Aurors glaring daggers his way.

Harry narrowed his eyes and snarled, "Where do you lot get off trying to
tell me what to do? This is my fucking department and who I hire and why
is none of anyone's business except for the Minister of Magic." He spoke
slowly enough to draw attention to his point.

He pressed urgently, "I will never put anyone in danger, and I happen to
believe Malfoy will be a valuable asset." His work meant a great deal to
him, and past issues aside, Harry truly believed Malfoy could be a
beneficial resource. Unbeknownst to others, he would keep his eyes peeled
for anything out of the ordinary. Malfoy was on a short leash, but he kept
that bit to himself.

The earlier hefty and dominating woman roared sarcastically, "Asset or

spy? Bullshit, I don't trust the bastard."

Draco bit the inside of his cheek and swallowed the nasty retort that almost
burst forth. He silently willed himself to keep his wits about him and not
antagonise the beast any further.

Harry forewarned, "That is quite enough, Martha." The woman was capable
of snapping him in half like a toothpick. She had to be dealt with calmly, if
possible.

Malfoy thought it best to offer a further explanation on the matter. He could

hardly let Potter defend him.

He took a step forward and stood by Potter's side. Harry looked at him in
alarm and wished the man would not do or say anything stupid.

Draco addressed the frustrated crowd in a voice loud enough to be heard,

"Look, get it out of your system because I'm here to stay, and your little
insults aren't about to drive me away. I made mistakes when I was a
blooming kid. Who the fuck hasn't? But I'm here today to try and make a
wrong a right."

A man in faded robes that were more grey than black limped forward and
growled, "You cocky fuck. Your bloody father and his gang of pureblood
fanatics almost destroyed our way of life, and we're supposed to give you a
chance?"

Draco saw the numerous burn marks and distinctive pattern of slashes
across the man's arm and involuntary shuddered as a painful memory rose
to the surface.

He knew the culprit responsible for the vicious yet precise cuts. He had
seen it done countless times, and the screams of pain had haunted his
dreams for years. His aunt Bellatrix had always been a sadistic cunt.

The same man argued, "I say no. You cannot be trusted." The offspring of a
prominent Death Eater simply could not be relied upon, especially one that
bore the dreaded mark.

Draco tried a different approach. He could hardly appeal to the softer side
of hardened Aurors who had seen their fair share of horrors, but he tried
nonetheless, "Am I to blame for my father's ideologies? Would you penalise
the son for his father's actions?"

Terry had heard enough. He sprang to his feet and accused in disgust,
"Don't fucking lie to our faces and pretend like you didn't look down your
nose at Muggleborns. At Hogwarts, you took sick satisfaction in calling
them Mudbloods."

Draco flinched. Sadly, it was the truth, and there wasn't a viable word he
could say in his defence.

Terry pressed forward triumphantly, "You hated them and treated everyone
like they were second class citizens."

Draco knew precisely the kind of boy he had been at Hogwarts. Instead of
coming up with some ridiculous excuse for his behaviour, he owned up to it
and took full responsibility for his actions.

He countered with absolute misery, "I did hate them because I was
misguided enough to believe they didn't belong, but I couldn't have been
more wrong." He fondly thought of Granger and their upcoming nuptials.

A hooded man watched the unravelling scene before him intently from the
shadows. He didn't utter a word, only watched with a disapproving frown.
The Malfoy kid had some guts. Grudgingly he had to give him that.

Undeterred by the judgmental glances that came his way, Draco pleaded
ardently, "I've never killed anybody, and this is my way of doing something
right for once in my life."

The man with the limp narrowed his eyes and warned darkly, "I'm watching
you, Malfoy. Step one toe out of line, and I'll personally end the Malfoy
line." The young wizard's speech had some impact on him. He knew
firsthand how damaging a parent's influence could be to a young child. His
father had a raging alcoholic, and while he wasn't a pureblood frantic, he
had been a monster in his own right.
Another harsh voice made it to everyone's sensitive ears, "Potter might
believe in second chances, but we certainly fucking don't."

Harry had just about enough. He had patiently listened after his initial
outburst, and the fact that his colleagues thought him to be some weakling
caused anger to ignite in the pits of his being.

He thundered for all to hear, "I'm not here to cater to everyone's personal
agendas. Malfoy stays. My decision is final. If anyone has a problem with
that, my door is open to discussing it further, though I warn you, it will be a
waste of your time and mine."

Harry walked to where an enlarged picture of the Daily Prophets front page
was pinned up.

The words Dollhouse Strangler were easy to see. He pointed to it and

scolded, "We have far more important things to attend to. Get back to
work!" Most shot disapproving glances, but they let the matter slide
momentarily and hurriedly returned to work.

Without wasting another moment, Harry pulled out a lengthy list from his
coat pocket and informed, "I'll be calling out your partners. Please step
forward when you hear your name."

He had purposely left Malfoy for last, knowing another bout of drama
would follow. The others were paired up, and everyone seemed at perfect
ease except the bloke who got partnered with the hefty angry-looking
woman who was quick to call him a pussy.

Harry moved towards the darkness that covered a small side of the room.
He knew exactly where to look. It was a sacred area that none dared to enter
without invitation.

He raised his voice but kept his directive more polite than he had with the
rest, "Thomas, you will partner with Malfoy."
Draco curiously peered into the shadows. Darkness was nothing new to
him. He welcomed and thrived in it. He anxiously watched for any
movement, as did the others in the room. His fingers prickled with the
sensation of centuries-old magic running through his veins.

The seasoned veteran stepped out of the dimly lit corner, lowered the hood
that covered his face and scrunched up his nose. He thought the whole idea
was ludicrous.

He was respected, and feared by his peers and fought in two wars against
Voldemort and his merry gang of misguided lunatics.

He had been overlooked for the head of the department by Kingsley, who
favoured The Chosen One in his stead. The Minister thought it would
assure the Wizarding World that their security was in good hands. Potter
was loved, revered and looked better in pictures than an armless man with
numerous battle scars littering his face.

If the truth was told, he was still sore about that. Potter was exceptionally
talented but still lacked the ability to head the department. The young
wizard was learning. He had to credit him where it was deserved.

Alastair Moody had been his trainer and later his partner. Rookie
Nymphadora Tonks tagged along with them after she arrived, eager to learn
and make her mark on the world. Her death was a tragic loss.

Working with a branded Death Eater was unheard of. It went against
everything they stood for, and he wasn't going to have any part of it.

Thomas strode forward with a confident stride and twirled his wand
absentmindedly, "No offence, boss, but I want nothing to do with Malfoy's
brat." Others quickly stepped out of the way to accommodate the imposing
man's purposeful stride.

Harry was incredibly fed up with the disobedience of his team. He had
decided to pair the two up because Malfoy would require less training than
the others but needed someone to show him how to be street-smart.
He gritted out, "Mind your attitude. I won't have past prejudges hanging
over us."

Thomas leered, "I won't do it, Potter, and I daresay you can't make me." He
wouldn't be ordered to do anything against his will. The department was his
life. He had no wife or child because he had come to harsh terms with the
job detail early on, and he would not stand by and watch Potter ruin it, even
if he was Kingsley's golden boy.

Harry fired back, "You have no bloody say in the matter." It was his
decision, his call, and while the senior members of the team had a profound
issue with his leadership, he would not tolerate blatant insubordination,
even from his most experienced Auror. An Auror, who his mentor, Moody,
had held in high regard.

A womanly voice cut through the tension like a heated knife through a stick
of butter, "Oh for fucks sake."

Thomas glanced over his shoulder and questioned, "Abbott, something you
like to add?" He was fond of the blonde-haired woman, her eagerness to
learn reminded him of Tonks.

Her confidence slightly weaned after being addressed by Thomas, but

keeping her head on straight, she adjusted her jacket, came to the front and
spoke to Harry directly, "I'll do it. I'll partner with Malfoy if that's alright
with you, Harry."

Harry was taken aback and then realised it was a far better fit than his
original choice. He nodded, wordlessly giving his consent that it was okay.
Internally he was beyond relieved that Hannah stepped up.

She had a few issues dealing with typical male chauvinists who regarded
her as too pretty and fragile to be an Auror. It was a male-dominated field,
except for a few exceptions, but she was twice as bright and meticulous
about her approach to the job.
Hannah couldn't help the resentment creep into her words, "You buggers are
acting like a bunch of two year old's." She wore her badge and robes
proudly, but some instances made her cringe.

A tanned man heckled from the back, garnering laughter from the rest,
"Wetting your knickers already, Hannah?" It was a crude, pointless
comment.

Terry grabbed hold of her arm, pulled her to his side before she could
answer and demanded, "Abbott, what the hell are you doing?"

Hannah's eyes settled on where Boot's fingers dug into her flesh. She
warned ominously, "None of your fucking business, now I suggest you
unhand me immediately."

Draco took a step forward. He wasn't about to stand on the sidelines and
watch Boot maltreat Hannah, especially not after the way she had stood up
for him. Still, Harry stopped him midstride and spoke directly to Terry in a
menacing tone that none had heard before, "This is your last warning to let
her go."

Michael stepped in at once. Terry dropped his hand off her person instantly
and apologised profusely, "I'm sorry, Hannah." Merlin knew what possessed
him. He felt on edge and grew alarmed that the effects of the many calming
draughts he had consumed were leaving him.

The bronzed man openly mocked, "He's not going to fuck you, darling.
Unless he's utterly desperate." The bold statement had nearly everyone
reeling around in shock.

Hannah spun around so fast it was a blur. She held her wand out and hexed
the tall, dark man effortlessly before biting back, "He's got a better chance
than you, love." The man toppled over and vigorously struggled to remove
the sticky tape that now covered his vile mouth.

She came to stand by Draco and smirked, "You okay there, Malfoy?"
Draco grinned in a grateful manner, "I'll live." He peeked a look at the man
still moving on the floor and stifled a laugh, "Nice work."

He dropped his voice so only she could hear and inquired unsurely, "Are
you sure about this?"

Hannah shrugged, "Yeah, how bad could it be?"

She gave an encouraging smile, "I'll take you through the ropes after your
training session today."

A strict-looking older woman entered the area and clapped her hands to get
everyone's attention. All eyes fell on her, and she announced loudly, "Will
all the newbies, please follow me to the training arena.

She turned on her heel, glanced over her shoulder and scolded, "Hurry up
now. We don't have all day," and exited the area with the recruits following
her out.

Hannah gave Draco a thumbs up and mouthed, "Catch you later then."

Terry stared at the exchange, Michael shifted his feet uneasily and kept a
watchful eye over his best friend, and Thomas scrutinised Draco, wondering
what the boy's true intent was.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and supposed things could have gone much
worse. At least, no blood was spilt. Yet.

Hermione drummed her fingers on the table and slipped into an avid
daydream of her own making.

Malfoy did look utterly irresistible in his uniform. An erotic scenario

painted itself within her mind.

Draco burst into her room with a look of hunger in his eyes, his usually
straight hair dishevelled in an unruly swirl.
He approached her hurriedly, grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her
onto the table and rasped in utter desperation, "Granger, I can't stop
thinking about you. Let me take you. I want you here and now, my darling."

Steady on, Malfoy. Whatever happened to wooing a woman?

His fingers were already making their way up her thin silk blouse to cup
sizeable breasts that had filled out since Hogwarts.

All Hermione could do to calm the raging hormones in her body was nod
and offer herself to him whole.

His mouth descended upon hers, intent on claiming her lips in a searing kiss
that quite often rendered her senseless.

Brenda walked in to inform Hermione of her morning meeting but found

her boss with her eyes closed, lips puckered and, frankly, in another world.

What the blooming heck?

She interrupted hesitantly at first. By the looks of it, Hermione was in the
midst of such an ecstatic dream, "Ahem, Hermione?" When she didn't get
an answer, Brenda raised her voice enough for her boss to snap out of her
dazed state, "Hermione! Your eleven o'clock appointment is here."

"No!" Hermione cried in frustration as the dream of Malfoy evaporated.

She blinked rapidly, looked up, blushed and tried to hide her discomfort,
"Oh, yes, sorry. Dozed off there."

Brenda raised a sceptical brow and led the smartly dressed man who had
been waiting into the room.

Before the meeting started, Hermione pondered how Malfoy was getting
on. She unconsciously hoped he was still in one piece.
Draco quickly learned the strict older woman was called Audrey Jones. She
was a retired Auror who handled the training of people with a firm, no-
nonsense attitude and an iron fist. She was willing to help and quick to
analyse.

They did a few drills that most wizards and witches could handle—
disarming charms, protective charms and how best to deflect an
unfavourable hex coming your way.

Draco lazily went through the motions because it was expected, but he
could've done all that was taught with his eyes closed and one hand tied
behind his back.

He thought it wise with his current predicament to keep to himself and

complete the tasks assigned to him, completing them with such flair and
style it caused the others to stop and stare at him in awe. The only person
who showed him any contempt was Dennis Creevey.

Audrey walked over and circled Draco like a predator would its prey and
nodded curtly to show her approval, "Impressive, Mr Malfoy." He was a
natural, but she assumed that he was far more advanced and competent than
the rest because of his age. She, of course, had no real clue about the other
talents that had prompted Potter to hire him.

Draco mumbled a quick, "Thank you," and returned to the task at hand,
deflecting a fireball aimed directly at his chest by the nervous petrified girl
he was practising with. He almost lazily brought his wand across, and the
burning ball transformed into a fluffy ball of snow that landed near his feet.

He offered the girl an encouraging smile, and she seemed to relax around
him afterwards. As the minutes dragged on, he gave her a few pointers on
handling certain things, and unlike the rest that shunned him, she eagerly
drank up all the information.

She was an innocent-looking little thing with chestnut brown hair, eyes the
colour of melted chocolate and braces. They exchanged a few pleasantries,
and Draco discovered her name was Emily Taylor. She was in Ravenclaw,
graduated at the top of her class, had an aptitude for potions, and quite
bizarrely knew extraordinarily little about who he was. It was a refreshing
change.

Audrey walked around the class observing and barking instructions.

"Better form, Mr Creevey. Hold your stance for longer."

"That was shite, Jason. You can do better, son."

"Good work, Miss Charlotte. That was a good first attempt."

"Heavens, Kyle! What have you done to this poor girl?"

At the end of two hours, Audrey stood at the front of the large room and
spoke to the recruits, "Good job. You have an hour's break. Use it wisely
and return. Do not be late. If one of you is late, then all will suffer the
consequences."

She waved her hand with authority, "Dismissed."

Emily tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and smiled broadly at Draco,
"Thank you for all the terrific tips."

Draco assured, "Ah, that's quite alright. Glad they were useful."

They chatted on the way out, but Hannah's voice stopped him from going
any further, "Malfoy!"

He turned towards the sound and found Hannah leaning against the wall
with her feet crossed at the ankles, and an amused expression spread across
her face.

Draco politely excused himself from Emily and walked over to Hannah. He
raised a curious brow and inquired, "Erm, what exactly are you doing
here?"
She smirked, "Come on, let's get lunch. I'm bloody starving." Grabbing his
arm, she pulled him towards what he assumed was the cafeteria.

Draco glanced at the woman holding tightly onto his arm and couldn't help
but like her. She was fearless, intelligent, pretty and good at her job.

The large cafeteria was packed with Ministry employees having lunch and
chatting animatedly during the one hour they had to themselves.

They stood in line patiently, and Hannah whispered, "I'd stay away from the
pudding if I were you. It's disgusting."

Draco laughed quietly, "I'll remember that." That was great advice
considering his fondness for all things chocolate.

Many people passing by threw Draco suspicious looks, moved purposely

away from him as he was carrying some transmittable disease, and started
talking amongst themselves, which caused Hannah to sigh in exasperation
and roll her eyes.

Their turn came up, and a cheerful elderly woman asked Hannah first,
"Hello love, what can I get you today?"

Hannah beamed, "The usual, Gladys and my friend here would like...." She
turned to Draco and waited for him to answer.

"Oh, sorry. A chicken sandwich and cup of tea, please," He answered off the
bat. Gladys grinned, placed a tray in front of them, and their order
materialised out of thin air.

Hannah picked up the tray. They thanked the ageing lunch lady and walked
towards one of the last empty tables, sidestepping through the crowds of
people surrounding them.

Draco plopped down onto a seat, and Hannah followed suit. He took his
sandwich out of the protective case it was in and said before sinking his
teeth into it, "Thank you for what you did earlier. That took some nerve."
She had singlehandedly stood up to her entire department to help him.

Hannah bit into her beef burger and chuckled with her mouthful. She
managed to say between mouthfuls, "Think nothing of it. Look, I'm not
saying you weren't an arse back at Hogwarts because you were, but that was
years ago, and I'm hoping you've changed."

Draco concurred, "I have changed. It took a war for me to realise how
wrong I had been about everything."

Hannah touched his sleeve and reassured him, "Stop beating yourself up
over it. You're here now, so make the best of it."

They made light conversation about Hannah's starting days as an Auror and
the challenges she faced then and now, and where he had been for the best
part of ten years. They ate the rest of their meal in companionable silence.

Once Draco swallowed the last bit of his delicious sandwich, he pushed
back the chair, got to his feet and said politely, "Excuse me, I need to use
the little boy's room."

Hannah giggled and pointed the way, "Knock yourself out, Malfoy."

Her meeting over, Hermione glanced at the clock, and heard the distinctive
sound of her stomach rumbling with hunger but pushed it aside and thought
it was the perfect time to visit Teddy.

She grabbed her bag, slipped on her recently purchased Gucci sunglasses
and breezed out of her office. She informed Brenda, "I'm stepping out for
lunch. Ring me if anything important comes up."

Brenda looked up from the book she was scribbling in and acknowledged,
"Have fun."

Once again, Hermione's thoughts went to Malfoy. She wondered if he had

lunch and how he was getting on. Merlin, she was beginning to simper after
him, and that really would not do.

Draco opened the sink tap in the public toilet and let the water run for a bit
before washing his hands and splashing cool water on his face.

It was while he washed his face, his vision obscured that he heard the clear
sound of leather shoes and the unmistakable sound of a latch closing him in.
The incoherent muffled ramblings of whoever it was were hard to make out.

It was a typical cliche scene out of every gangster movie, or high school
teen movie but still held enough magic to entertain.

The drops of water cascaded down Draco's face as he opened his eyes,
brought his head up and through the mirror, caught sight of four men in
Auror robes standing around him.

He calmly finished the task he started and waited for the men closing in
around him to make the first move. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco kept
watch over their slow and sluggish movements.

Terry cracked his knuckles. This was the distraction he needed from his
current predicament. Malfoy would soon learn his place. That spot was not
as an Auror and not by Hermione's side.

There wasn't much Draco could do against three skilled Aurors, four if you
counted Michael, but he stood in the background and refused outright to
take part. It would be simple if it were a fair fistfight, but wands drawn at
such close range made it nearly impossible.

Terry sneered, "You have some nerve showing your face here, don't you,
Malfoy?"

Draco wiped his hands clean, tossed the tissue into the bin and mused, "Do
you make it a habit of following men to the lavatory?"
Terry narrowed his eyes and spat, "You think you're being funny, do you?"
Why don't you quit before things get out of hand."

Draco turned around, faced the men with a bored expression and said
slowly, "I don't want trouble, mate." That much was true. He wanted to be
left alone to atone for the sins of his past, not pile new ones on top of each
other.

A man standing to the left took a step forward and scowled, "Well, trouble's
found you. We put away your filthy kind."

Terry pressed undiscouraged, "You have no place here, scum." Granger is

mine.

Draco almost laughed, but he goaded with calmness, "I was wondering
when you would grow the balls to confront me, or perhaps, you're scared I'll
break something else this time?"

Terry was reminded of their humiliating altercation at the Leaky Cauldron.

He paled, shook with anger and gritted out, "Do you really think a pathetic,
pampered twat like you could keep Hermione happy?"

Draco refused to back down. He replied somewhat smugly, "Hmm, she

hasn't complained so far, mate." If only he knew just how receptive she was
to his touch.

Terry did not believe anything intimate had taken place between the two.
Hermione would never sleep with Malfoy. His confidence waned, "Liar.
Shut up!"

Draco was growing tired of their conduct. The hour was almost up, and he
needed to return to his training session or suffer Audrey's wrath, and he had
no desire to receive that.

He tried to exit, but Terry blocked his path and crossed his arms over his
chest.
Draco felt his composure slip. He hissed darkly, "Move out of my way,
Boot."

Terry needed a diversion. He wanted to cause Malfoy pain, "Make me,

Death Eater."

Draco exhaled, stepped back and ridiculed, "The name-calling is getting

rather juvenile, isn't it?"

Michael sprang into action, tried to pull Terry away and pleaded, "Let it go,
Terry. Come on, mate, or Potter will fire you."

Terry broke free from his best friend's secure hold and snarled, "Get off me,
Corner."

He jabbed Draco in the chest and addressed him directly, "This is payback
for breaking my nose, bastard."

Draco mused, "Is this about your nose or Granger? Because trust me, she
doesn't give a toss about you."

The harsh truth in Malfoy's words caused Terry to relapse. His eyes glazed
over, and sweat dripped down his back. He balled his hands into fists and
instructed the others firmly, "Hold him."

Draco stood still as solid hands held him straight against the wall, and long
fingers dug painfully into his upper arms.

It wouldn't do to be caught fighting on his first day. To show he wasn't

afraid of them.

He didn't lift a finger to stop them. Instead, he decided to endure whatever

came his way. However, he could help the sarcastic retort that left his lips,
"Oh, very heroic. Three on one, you must be so bra...."

His last word was cut short as a hard punch landed on his ribs. He would be
lying if he said it didn't knock the wind out of him, but there was hardly
time to react as a fist collided with his face busting his lip.

It was then it hit him. They were not using magic. Magic left marks that
could be traced back to the owners but mainly, using one's fists was more
satisfying than resorting to a wand.

Draco saw drops of blood spray in slow motion through a haze onto the
clean white tiles of the bathroom, but still, he did not resort to his Kung fu
training or wandless magic to thwart the cowardly attacks.

He heard Master Chun's last words of advice echo through his mind and
knew his decision was the wisest course.

"You have a good life waiting for you; make it a good one… Don't forget
our ways."

He closed his eyes tightly and nodded, holding firm to Chun's words,
repeating them over and over to give him the strength to endure.

"It is my way of life. I will never deviate from this path."

He meditated to control his inner demons. One's who, if given leave to take
flight, might have slaughtered every one of his assailants. Knowing its bite
was fatal, the black mamba chose peace over violence, never to allow the
terrors he had mastered to come forth once more.

They had been banished before he had left the gate of the Shaolin Temple
and they would stay banished. Only the peaceful flicker of a yellowing
paper lantern lit his way. A continuous stream of merciless blows connected
with all parts of his body until he slumped in the arms of his captives,
coughed up blood and hovered between consciousness.

The men holding him exchanged looks of concern, threw anxious glances at
Terry's bloodied knuckles and let go. Draco fell forward onto the dirty floor.
He gathered all his remaining strength, got on all fours, spat a mouthful of
blood and laughed manically, "Granger is mine, and nothing you do will
change that, arsehole."
An angry growl of unadulterated rage filled the small space as Terry lept
forward, but Michael held him back with all the strength he could muster
and barked, "Are you trying to fucking kill him? That is enough!"

Terry looked quite deranged now that the effects of the calming draughts
had left his system. He yelled at Draco lying on the floor, spit flying out of
his mouth like a rabid dog, "You dishonour her and disgrace this badge.
Fuck off while you still can."

The last thing Draco saw before darkness claimed him was Michael
dragging an unwilling Terry out of the bathroom as the latter screamed a
slew of obscenities trying to escape his vice grip.

Finally alone, Draco groaned as he rolled over, stared at the ceiling and
tasted the rustic metallic taste of blood on his lips before the room started to
spin and everything went black.
 Chapter 39
Chapter Notes

Thank you for the kind reviews. I will reply to each one soon :)

It's been a difficult month, to say the least, but things will seem normal
once again with time.

The unprovoked attack on Draco spreads through the Ministry.

Teddy and Draco officially meet, and it's the sweetest introduction. I
love Teddy Lupin :)

There's a lot of detail throughout the story, I hope everyone's enjoying

it so far.

Enjoy Chapter Thirty-Nine! 🤗

Stay safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :) 🥰

Harry grabbed his sandwich around the middle, took a large bite and almost
choked. He assumed if he kept it up, he could devour the cold turkey treat
Ginny had lovingly packed for him in four bites and be out the door to meet
the potential eyewitness in the case.

Alas, the distinctive sound of a loud knock interrupted his quick lunch
break, and he looked at the door with a frown on his face. The untimely
intrusion was not in the least bit welcome.

After their horrid fight over the weekend, Harry had every intention of
finishing early and spending the rest of the evening with Ginny and James.
He wanted to tuck his son in, kiss him goodnight and relax with his beloved
wife, without whom he would be a broken shell of a man with only his job
to fuel his purpose.
He called out with his mouth full of turkey and rye, "Come in!"

Thomas pushed the door open, strode in confidently and requested, "Potter,
you got a minute?" He wasn't keen on how things had played out on the
floor in front of the entire department. Whether he accepted it or not, Potter
was a fair man and his boss for all intents and purposes.

Harry raised a curious brow, took another bite and savoured the taste of
mustard that exploded in his mouth. He swallowed hard and almost
mumbled, "Yeah, just heading out, but I can spare a moment."

Thomas sat down uninvited, leaned back, got comfortable and exclaimed,
"Look, it's nothing personal about Malfoy." It was personal. How could it
not be? The boy still carried the macabre snake and skull mark on his arm.
Granted, it was faded and looked more like a poor choice of a tattoo but
seeing it earlier had brought forth some ghastly memories.

Harry spat in a spiteful undertone, "You undermined my authority in front

of everyone and refused a direct order." He scoffed and mocked with
enough sarcasm to make the man before him slightly uncomfortable, "How
am I not supposed to take it personally?"

Thomas looked mildly ashamed but not enough to regret his actions
completely, "I don't trust the git."

Harry sighed in frustration, "If anyone has reason to distrust and hate
Malfoy, it would be Hermione, Ron and me, but if I can overlook his past
deeds, at least for the time being, then it should be a breeze for you lot."

He emphasised with a certain degree of mystery, "He's got a specific skill

set." Harry did so to feed the ravenous curiosity of the veteran. There wasn't
much that got past him.

The carefully recited statement piqued Thomas's interest. He raised a

sceptical brow in question and tried to show indifference but failed in his
poor attempt to appear uninterested, "What do you mean?"
Harry smirked. He couldn't help but feel triumphant in his endeavour, "You
will learn in due time. There's still stuff that can surprise even you,
Spencer." The man would be beside himself when he figured out that
Malfoy was a skilled Legimens and able to perform wandless magic at will
—a feat so rare that hardly anyone had seen it performed since the passing
of Albus Dumbledore.

Thomas scowled openly to show his displeasure at being left in the dark. He
did not enjoy surprises, especially in their line of work and preferred
everything in black and white—the shades of grey he usually eliminated.
The Malfoy brat was shrouded in grey, and he didn't quite know what to
make of it.

Harry popped the last piece of his sandwich into his mouth and chewed
slowly. He took his time to swallow and cleared his throat, "Look, I know
you deserve this seat." He pointed to the black leather sizeable chair where
he usually sat.

Without skipping a beat, he added with immense importance, "Merlin

knows you've given up more than your fair share of limbs to protect the
ones around you, but I'm not here to do this department an injustice." Deep
down, Harry was sure Thomas knew his intentions for the DMLE were
proper and, most importantly, justified.

Hiring Malfoy had not been an easy decision, but he knew it was the right
thing to do in his heart of hearts.

Thomas said dismissively, "That's got nothing to do with it. I respect

Kingsley's decision." That was a blatant lie, but given the circumstances, it
worked in his favour to keep his true feelings hidden.

Harry was not convinced. He had always known how Thomas felt about
The Minister's rather hasty decision, but Shacklebolt was adamant and
didn't waver from it once. His mind was made.

Thomas was overlooked despite his many years of devoted service, and
Harry's appointment as Head Auror came swiftly despite his continuous
refusal to undermine a respected colleague and trusted friend.
He cocked his head to the side and mused, "There's no need to pretend. You
and I both know that is a load of horseshit," He included pointedly, "but
unless I die on the job, I am not going anywhere, and I have the utmost
respect for you, mate."

Harry brought his hand down hard on the table and urged, "Work with me,
Spencer. I need your expertise and advice." The man was a walking legend
after Moody.

Thomas nodded slowly in agreement, "Alright, Potter. I will keep an eye on

the Malfoy kid. Hannah's got a good head, and she will be a good partner."
He rubbed his healed stump where the rest of his hand used to be.
Werewolves were nasty beasts. The scar itched unbearably at times.

Harry concurred almost at once, "Yes, I know. I see her going far." Hannah
hadn't been the same woman she was today back at Hogwarts. She had been
timid, hung around Neville often and listened to his rather dull stories on
magical plants when no one else bothered.

He pocketed his wand and said with a sense of urgency, "Listen, I've got to
get going. The witness isn't going to hang around for long, and I want to get
to the bloke before he changes his bloody mind."

Hopefully, this man who came forth would prove to be a valuable lead. It
was baffling how one killer, they assumed it was one, kept evading capture.
He was either extraordinarily intelligent, or they had missed something
substantial. There was always that one small thing that blew every case
wide open.

With a curt nod, Thomas got to his feet, turned on his heel and followed
Harry out. He wondered whether he should accompany Potter to meet this
so-called witness, but since the boy hadn't asked, he didn't volunteer his
services.

The doorbell rang once, but it was loud enough to travel through the modest
abode.
Andromeda looked towards the door from the kitchen, kept the mixing
bowl aside, wiped her hands free of the excess flour stuck to her fingers and
walked quickly towards the living room.

She tenderly patted Teddy's head as she passed him. He was hunched over a
bunch of papers doing sum after sum and absentmindedly chewed on the
rubber at the end of his yellow pencil.

Teddy did not pay much attention to who was at the door. The last sum was
a tough one and required all his concentration to solve it.

Andromeda brushed the long strands of greyish hair off her face, opened the
door a crack and smiled broadly. Hermione threw her arms wide open in a
dramatic yet elegant manner to present herself and announced in a carrying
voice, "Surprise!"

The ageing witch opened the door without a single moment's hesitation,
pulled Hermione into a tight hug and gushed, "Merlin, it's good to see you,
darling." Andromeda was not your everyday overly affectionate person,
except with her grandson, but she had her moments.

Hermione hugged her back with enthusiasm and hated herself for not
coming around more often. After the war, Harry, Ginny and her would find
any excuse to visit Andromeda and Teddy. They felt a deep sense of
obligation towards them after Remus's and Tonk's passing.

The once wary Black sister softened towards them and welcomed their little
visits. Over time they came to depend on, love and cherish each other. It
was an unbreakable bond of the purest form.

She looked around and probed eagerly, "Where's my handsome little man?"

Andromeda pointed with her head towards the kitchen and smiled warmly,
"Doing his sums."

She walked towards the clean kitchen, and Hermione followed close
behind.
Once she saw Teddy's unmistakable tuft of messy hair, Hermione yelled in
delight, "Teddy!"

Teddy dropped his pencil, turned in his chair, and the biggest smile split his
adorable young face.

He leapt out of the chair and jumped into Hermione's waiting arms. She
held him close and inhaled the sweet scent of him as a mother would, "Oh
my bunny, I've missed you so much."

Teddy beamed, "Aunty Hermione! You came." He repeated in relief, "You

came."

A surge of intense emotions surrounded Hermione. Never again would she

leave him wanting.

She cupped his face and invited excitedly, "Teddy, how about I take you out
to McDonald's for lunch?" It was one of the child's favourite places to eat in
Muggle London.

He added sadly after his initial excitement of seeing her died out, "I thought
you'd forgotten about me." His sincere words made her heartache, and she
silently berated herself for not being around more.

Hermione bent down to Teddy's level, held him gently by his shoulders and
said firmly, "Look at me, Teddy." He slowly raised his head and stared into
her face anxiously, "I will never forget you. Ever." He was not of her blood,
and she did not birth him, but she felt every bit of motherly affection
towards the loving boy in her arms.

A clear sniffle punctured the stillness in the room, and Teddy bobbed his
head in understanding.

Hermione took his small hand in hers, rose to her feet and informed
Andromeda happily, "I'll have him back soon, Meda."

Andromeda choked back a sob and replied with a quick nod, "Of course,
love. Have a good time."
Teddy ran off to put on his best trainers and get his backpack. He emerged
five minutes later wearing a black t-shirt with a silver Batman logo printed
on the front. He urgently pulled Hermione away from her conversation with
Andromeda and towards the door excitedly, "Come on, let's go!"

Hermione stumbled on her high heels and laughed, "Hold on, Teddy. Not so
fast."

He waved at his grandmother, "Bye! See you later!"

Andromeda closed the door behind them and watched the duo walking
down the street hand in hand in high spirits through the window. She
reached over and took the framed photograph of her darling husband,
spirited daughter and brave son-in-law smiling up at her and touching it
with quivering fingers.

She closed her eyes, and the unshed tears from earlier travelled down her
cheeks in despair.

Bernard got to his feet and went towards the portly, jovial man that entered.
He held out his hand and enthused, "Ivan, it's good to see you. I trust your
journey was pleasant."

Ivan sucked in his belly and moved remarkably fast for a man of his size.
He had a thick Russian accent, a trimmed moustache and rose-tinged
cheeks, "Bernard, my brother. It is a rare privilege."

He rubbed his back and scoffed, "Ah, Portkey. I hate the landing. Growing
old has severe consequences, my friend."

Bernard grinned and apologised, "I understand, but I wish the

circumstances for our reunion were better."

Ivan waved his hand dismissively. "Ah, at our age, it's always something.
Every time my phone rings, I think someone's died."
Bernard walked over to the exquisitely structured minibar he kept in his
extensive study and nodded in agreement, "Aye, I know the feeling."

Ivan sat on the wide three-seater velvet sofa and looked at his friend and
relative in concern, "What is this all about, Bernard?"

Bernard poured a splash of whiskey into two crystal tumblers, added two
ice cubes each and inquired curiously, "You still drink scotch?"

Ivan laughed good-naturedly. It was deep and pleasing, "Back home, we

drink vodka more than water. Do you remember when you used to visit? We
were drunk from dusk till dawn."

His eyes clouded over with lust, "Ahh, I recall a certain Russian dancer was
highly fond of you."

Bernard chuckled, "How is Natasha?" After completing Hogwarts and

shunning his family's increasing demands and needless interference in his
life, he travelled and studied abroad for a bit, and that's when he came
across the luscious, insatiable Natasha Makarov.

She was an exotic dancer of sorts for the upper class that discreetly
circulated the underground circuit and a gifted temptress. Still, Bernard was
immune to her advances, trying as she might.

It was possibly because he was in love with Narcissa at the time, but
Natasha simply would not take no for an answer. She considered it a great
insult that he wouldn't fall for her obvious charms.

Ivan laughed aloud, "She's on husband number seven, but that woman ages
like fine wine. She is an exquisite sight to behold."

Bernard rolled his eyes. He knew Ivan harboured a crush on the

promiscuous woman, and even after years had passed, his feelings for her
remained unbroken.

He strolled over, handed Ivan the glass of rich amber liquid, and sat on the
adjoining sofa. Reaching over, he fetched the beautiful ivory cigar case, a
gift from Narcissa and pulled a Cuban cigar out.

Ivan quizzed impatiently, "So, what can I do for you?" He had at first been
surprised by Bernard's brusque invitation, but curiosity was a curse.

Bernard puffed on the cigar, and instantly the area around them filled with
the pungent smell of tobacco. His face set in stone, he looked at Ivan
directly and questioned, "What do you know of a Gustav Nicolave?"

Ivan grew thoughtful. He stirred his drink and took a sip, relishing the
decade-old blend, "Ah, not much. He married a Flint sister nearly fifty
years ago. The marriage did not fare well."

He shrugged, "Can't say I am surprised. Gustav was a dominating brute of a

man that treated those around him like scum." The man had been known to
abuse his wife violently and shamelessly parade his many mistresses in
front of her as a form of punishment.

Ivan sighed. A hint of sadness reached his deep brown eyes, "His ill-
treatment of her turned her inwardly mad. I'm afraid I don't quite recall
which sister it was."

Bernard pursed his lips in frustration, "I was hoping you could shed some
light on that." Another dead-end, by the looks of it. It was exceedingly
frustrating.

Ivan hung his head in disappointment at not being more helpful and took
another gratifying sip, "I'm afraid not. There were so many back then, but I
do know her existence was erased from the books."

Bernard pressed urgently, "Is Gustav still alive?" He hoped for the best.

Ivan shook his head and said with an amused expression, "Alas, he is not.
He died over a decade ago in the arms of his Swedish mistress. The death
was ruled natural causes, but there was much speculation that the woman
poisoned him."
Curiosity got the better of the lively man, and he urged, "What's all this
about, Bernard?"

Bernard gritted out, "A serial killer is running loose in London, and I am
absolutely sure the murders are connected to someone in our bloodline."

Ivan couldn't believe his ears. Indeed there was some mistake. He gave
voice to his thoughts, "Well, that's bloody grim. What makes you so sure?"

Bernard gravely explained further, "The killer leaves behind an owl and
wand pendant as his calling card. I am one hundred per cent certain I've
seen the wand before."

Ivan thought long and hard, and a suppressed memory surfaced, "They had
a child, if I'm not mistaken."

Bernard nodded and said despondently, "Yes, but their name has been burnt
off the family tree. The child must have been a squib or lacked something."

Ivan let out an exhausted sigh, "I wish I could be of more help, but I've
heard nothing more of the child, and anyone who would've known is buried
six feet under."

He suggested candidly, "You could try speaking to the portraits, but I highly
doubt they will answer the questions of a blood traitor."

Bernard laughed aloud, "Arsehole."

Ivan leaned forward and grinned, "It is good to see you. I miss our old
Quidditch days and drinking binges."

Bernard clamped the porky man on the shoulder, "Likewise. I do hope you
will stay for lunch. There is a special someone I would like you to meet."

Ivan held his round stomach and burst out laughing, "Word has reached me
of your involvement with Narcissa Black."

He winked much like a mischievous adolescent boy, "You always did hold a
torch for that one."
Bernard drained his drink, snubbed his cigar and smirked, "Indeed. I'm
finally at peace."

Ivan stated goodheartedly, "It is plain to see by the sappy look on your
face."

He struggled but got to his feet and bellowed, "Well, come on. I'm starving.
Let us go meet this woman of yours."

Thomas always preferred to eat alone. It was a widely known fact, and none
invited him to join them out of fear of insulting him. He couldn't stomach
pointless gossip and needless chatting.

Most of his peers had families or close friends, he had friends once, but
most were deceased. They were taken away unfairly and without just cause.
Now, he had a tabby cat that scarcely depended on him but lived under the
same roof and shared his food.

The sudden call of nature tugged heavily on his bladder. Tossing the crusts
of his sandwich and banana peel into the nearest bin, Thomas walked
hurriedly to the closest men's room.

The door creaked as he pushed it open, and he walked in on a surprising

sight. Draco Malfoy was lying motionless on the floor, covered in what
could only be assumed as his own blood and bile.

Thomas looked him over, took in the slight movement of his chest that
often came with laboured breathing, and concluded that the man was beaten
up badly but still very much alive. Malfoy would have to wait. He stepped
over the unconscious man and strode towards the urinals to relieve himself
before attending to the half dead man.

Only once he was done did Thomas pay attention to the seemingly lifeless
body on the water-soaked floor. He zipped up, washed his hands calmly and
approached the unmoving man on the floor.
He took out his wand and waved it over Draco in a fluid figure-eight
motion, muttering in an ancient language, causing the air to still and the
blood and water to disperse.

Draco's eyes snapped open. He sat up abruptly, disorientated and hazy and
took a sizeable gulp of air. Blinking rapidly, he tried to gather his bearings
and recall the events that led him to his current predicament.

Thomas poked Draco in the arm with his wand without hesitation and
mumbled in his deep voice, "Fuck. Up you get, boy."

Holding onto Draco's arm with his good hand, Thomas prompted him to
move and get to his feet.

Draco obliged without so much as uttering a word. He tried to stand on his

own, but his legs simply weren't cooperating. He swayed dangerously but
managed to stand his ground.

Thomas let go and demanded, "What the hell happened?" He stood ready to
catch the imposing man should he lose balance.

Breathing hard and heavy, Draco stared deadpan at the wall and channelled
all his strength inward. His magic spread through him like rapid fire, and a
growl escaped his lips as his strength returned.

Thomas stared at him oddly and insisted loudly, "Malfoy, can you hear
me?"

When Draco remained still and quiet, Thomas forced adamantly, "Who did
this?" Was the boy mute? He was not used to repeating himself twice. His
silence was beginning to annoy him.

Finally, Draco managed a weak reply, "I tripped."

His chest hurt, his head was throbbing, and he was sure at least one of his
ribs was cracked. That would explain the difficulty in breathing. The need
to leave the suffocating stench of the bathroom before he vomited propelled
him into further action.
Thomas looked him over and mocked, "Yeah, and beat yourself up, I
assume." Did Malfoy think he was a blithering idiot?

Draco pursed his lips, ignored his saviour, scrambled out of the bathroom,
followed closely by Thomas, and almost collided with a very concerned
Hannah.

She had noticed Terry, pale-faced and shaking, walking across the cafeteria,
and the other lot looking pleased with themselves while Michael was beside
himself with anger. He had shot her a weary look, and that's when she
suspected something was horribly wrong.

She took one look at Draco and gasped, "Oh shite, what happened?"

Thomas crossed his arms over his chest and hissed, "The obvious, Abbott.
Malfoy here is the victim of an unprovoked attack by cowardly men."

He scolded, "It is your job to watch out for him."

Hannah bit back, "I can hardly follow him to the bloody men's loo."

They heard the unmistakable sound of heels coming their way. The
distinctive noise bounced off the walls, and Audrey came around the
corridor looking furious, "Heavens, I knew something was amiss when he
didn't return on time."

Without hesitation, she cupped Draco's ashen face and peered into it, "Well,
looks like you need to visit Doris."

Draco stepped back and croaked in a pained voice for all to hear, "I'm fine.
There's nothing to fuss over." He appreciated their concern, but besides the
excruciating pain in his chest that caused him to lean heavily onto Hannah,
there wasn't cause for alarm.

Thomas murmured almost incoherently, "Audrey."

Audrey caught sight of the Auror standing to the side and blushed, "Ah,
Thomas. I didn't see you there."
Thomas smirked. Hannah was baffled by the rare occurrence, "You look
lovely." He complimented her effortlessly and recalled their training days
together.

Hannah rolled her eyes in exhaustion, "Ahem, can we focus, please."

Malfoy was groaning quietly not to draw attention to himself but seemed to
be in quite a bit of pain. He was whiter than usual and looked ready to pass
out.

Audrey snapped back to focus, brushed her greying hair off her face and
snapped, "Yes, yes, to the infirmary."

Draco pleaded unconvincingly, "I'm alright."

Thomas directly questioned Audrey, "I trust you will look after him."

She raised a sardonic brow, "Was there any doubt?"

He grinned and backed away, "None whatsoever." Thomas turned away

from the group and went down the now deserted hallway, disappearing
from their line of sight.

Hannah sighed, "I'll come with you, Audrey."

Audrey nodded to show her approval, "If you wish, Hannah."

When Draco tried to interrupt, the stern instructor rounded on him, raised
her hand to shut him up momentarily and spoke firmly, "That's a nasty cut
above your eye, Mr Malfoy. Your lip is busted, and by just looking at you, I
can tell a minimum of two ribs are broken."

She wagged a warning finger in his face, "I will not have anyone saying I
don't look after those in my care."

Draco thought it best to adhere to her instructions. He conceded defeat and

slowly followed the woman while clutching onto his side, hoping the pain
would subside.
Audrey glanced over her shoulder and quizzed, "Hmm, why didn't you
defend yourself?" The man had promising skills, and she was quite frankly
shocked at his state.

Draco breathed, "They needed to lash out, and I have much to pay for. I was
a Dea..."

Hannah threw him a guarded look. His past deeds did not merit such a
vicious, unjustified attack.

Audrey frowned to make her displeasure clear and finished the sentence for
him, "Death Eater? Oh, I know who you are, Mr Malfoy. Your family is
famous."

Draco mused, "Infamous, you mean?" Despite his discomfort, his humour
was still intact.

Audrey rattled off, "Well, I'm not going to lie, son. Your father was a nasty
piece of work, but you could not have been more than sixteen. What choice
would you have had against The Dark Lord?"

"Not much," Draco said breathlessly. His windpipe was closing in on him.
He felt its squeeze even though the tightness was primarily in his chest area.

Hannah threw him anxious glances and sighed in relief as Healer Doris
came into view.

Her usually cheery face fell as the true extent of Draco's injuries came to
life.

She yelled to her assistants, "Clear the area. This man needs immediate
assistance."

They rushed Draco inside, leaving Audrey and Hannah flabbergasted

outside. They exchanged a serious look but shared no words.

Audrey returned to the training session and informed the recruits that Mr
Malfoy would not be joining them for the rest of the session.
Emily frowned and wondered what had happened. Dennis hid a satisfied
smirk and doubled his efforts.

Hannah grew thoughtful as she returned to the DMLE floor. The poor bloke
couldn't catch a break.

She plopped down on her wooden chair and randomly picked up a

photograph of one of the dead girls and stared at it intently, begging, "What
are you hiding?"

Hermione held the door open at the closest McDonald's for Teddy to enter
and then walked in herself. She was consciously aware of the appreciative
glances Muggle men threw her way.

Her outfit hardly screamed casual outing, but she did not give a toss. They
placed their order with an enthusiastic girl with neat braids and a pleasant
demeanour.

Teddy always ordered the Big Mac, it was almost the size of his head, but
no, he insisted and moped if others suggested he get the happy meal along
with a toy.

Hermione opted for a chocolate milkshake and large order of fries. She
avoided greasy food at all costs except the occasional instance she took
Teddy out. He loved it, and he was young enough to indulge. At her age, the
extra fat in the meal went straight to her thighs.

She grabbed hold of their tray filled with food and followed Teddy to his
choice of the booth near the window. He slid in eagerly and popped a few
fries into his mouth before Hermione sat down and reached for some
herself.

"So, what's new?" Hermione probed while squeezing sauce into the
provided plastic cups.

Teddy shrugged, "Nothing much." He grabbed the burger with both hands
and took a bite.
"I can turn orange." He swallowed slowly and added after a moment's
thought, his eyes sparkled, "Do you want to see?" Teddy could be a naughty
scamp when the need arose.

Hermione giggled, "Well, that sounds like fun, but not in front of all these
Muggles."

Teddy chuckled, "Gran said it's a gaudy colour, and she would prefer green
over it."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. Teddy shared other comical happenings
as a child would, and they enjoyed lunch to its fullest. That was until a text
message from Brenda put a damper on things.

Draco heard the voice of an older woman through a haze.

Was it his mother? No, it couldn't be.

"Mr Malfoy, can you hear me, son?" The voice demanded once again.

Salazar, the excruciating pain was gone. Only a dull throb remained, but
that was easily manageable.

He slowly opened his eyes and squinted to get a better view. A head full of
grey hair with kind eyes and a bright smile stared down at him. She
reminded him of Madam Pomfrey, the Matron from Hogwarts.

Draco struggled to sit up and managed to do so with some help, "Yes, I can
hear you. Thank you, Madam...."

"Doris, no Madam nonsense here. Just Doris is fine," the Healer tugged at
her blouse and quipped.

She waved her wand over him and nodded to herself, "Oh, good. You're on
the mend. The fractures have healed nicely. You had one fully broken rib
and a partially shattered one." There was a hint of pride in her words.
Doris poked his side with her wand, and Draco whimpered, "Ah, still sore, I
see. No matter, you will be good as new by tomorrow."

Draco tried to hop off the table, but Doris shot him a stern look, "And what
do you think you're doing?"

He looked at her sheepishly, "Oh, I thought of returning to my training

session."

Doris stated firmly, "Well, son, I think you're done for the day. Besides, I
want to monitor you to make sure there is no internal bleeding."

"Do you recall who did this to you?" She inquired.

Draco instantly shook his head, "No, I haven't a clue." He remembered

every bit of the attack but pushed aside the anger that coursed through him.
There would be no vengeful thoughts or actions. What was done was done,
and hopefully, Terry Boot had now gotten it out of his system.

As soon as Hermione and Teddy came into view, Brenda greeted them, "Oh
hello, Teddy. Look at the wee lad. Growing like a weed, you are." He
visited on and off, and she would often be tasked with keeping the child
entertained while Hermione was in a meeting or Harry was busy with his
band of Aurors.

Hermione hadn't planned on bringing Teddy to the Ministry. Still, Brenda's

urgent reminder that her signature was needed on an official document in
Kingsley's absence had her cutting lunch short and rushing back to the
office.

Teddy slurped his drink loudly through the straw and smiled broadly at
Brenda, "Hi!"

Hermione instantly signed the document that Brenda pushed her way and
looked up, "Any messages?"
Brenda hesitated, "No, but..." She battled internally over whether to spill the
beans on Malfoy's attack. The news was spreading through the Minister like
fiendfyre. No one knew who the culprits were, but there was speculation
that it had been a group of disgruntled Aurors looking for retribution.

Hermione exhaled and asked in frustration, "Merlin, what now?"

Brenda fidgeted anxiously and muttered, "Umm, Mr Malfoy is in the

hospital wing."

Hermione's eyes widened in disbelief, "What? Why?" She had felt on edge
regarding Draco all day, and her fears had been justified.

Brenda quickly explained further, "He's, well, injured. Doris is taking care
of him." She had been meaning to ask Michael for more details, but her
boyfriend was babysitting his drugged-out best mate, and they hardly had
ten minutes together.

Hermione sighed, "It's one of those days, isn't it?" She felt drained at once.
A sense of fatigue swept over her.

Brenda agreed without argument, "I'm afraid so."

Taking Teddy's hand in hers once again, Hermione turned away from her
office and marched out.

Teddy tossed his empty cup into the bin and questioned curiously, "Where
are we going?" He hoped it was somewhere interesting.

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip and muttered, "To see someone." A
hundred different scenarios ran rampant through her mind, and she grew
more thoughtful with each passing minute.

Doris attended a nasty burn on one of the employees from the Care of
Magical Creatures department. The man's entire arm was burnt, and his skin
peeled off its bone. She spoke calmly to the man writhing in pain and
applied a greenish paste over the affected areas.
She looked towards the door as it opened, and the superior sound of heels
clicking against the clean tiles made it to her ear.

It was Hermione Granger. She admired the young witch who held a high
position at such a young age, but her visit surprised her. Besides the odd
appointment every six months, the smartly dressed woman never came by.
She pondered if it had anything to do with a particular patient in her care.

Doris greeted enthusiastically, "Madam undersecretary."

Hermione mustered a smile, "Doris, I hear you have a new patient."

Teddy could not help but glance at the many jars with odd things floating
about in potions. He was particularly drawn to the sizeable dragon's heart
that sloshed within a glass container.

Doris giggled and replied rather devilishly for a woman her age, "Indeed we
do. I wish we got more like him. He is quite fit for his age. I haven't seen
such defined abdominal muscles since Kingsley was a lad."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh, "Steady on, Doris. I'm quite certain Mr
Malfoy is a unique specimen." She would bet money on the fact without a
second thought.

Doris's tone grew severe and professional, "He's not too bad, few broken
bones, cuts and bruises, that sort of thing. No magic was used. Thank
Merlin for that." It made her job of patching him up relatively easy.

They moved towards a pair of double doors through which Draco was
visible. A permanent frown was etched onto his face as he moved his arms
about, trying to restore proper circulation.

He made a fist causing the ribbed nerves running down his hardened arms
to bulge as he went through a succession of quick punches.

Doris added in a humourous undertone, "Just beaten up to a pulp the old-

fashioned way."
Hermione bit her lip, eyed Draco from her place by the glass door and
muttered, "He looks fine."

Doris stated frankly, "You should've seen him when he first came in. The
man could hardly breathe."

Hermione barely heard the words. She was too busy staring at Malfoy. Her
eyes raked over the visible contusions on his body and came to rest on a
sizeable angry-looking purple bruise decorating his side.

Doris interrupted politely, "Ahem, how can I help you, Hermione?"

Hermione realised how utterly pathetic her conduct was. She snapped to
attention and adopted a business-like tone, "I'm here to see Mr Malfoy. He
was assaulted, and I need to know who is responsible for such a heinous
act."

Doris rolled her eyes and mumbled, "Good luck with that." The man kept
mum on the identity of his assailants.

Hermione lied unconvincingly, "It's procedure, you understand?"

Doris wasn't persuaded, but she played along, "Of course," and returned to
the burnt man who had regained consciousness and was now howling in
pain.

Alarmed by the distressing sounds emitting from the man, Teddy moved
closer to Hermione as she pushed the glass doors that served as a barrier
between Malfoy and herself and strode towards him with intent and
purpose.

He looked up as she approached, and his signature smirk neatly lifted the
corner of his lip.

If she wasn't a sight for sore eyes, it was the child hiding behind her that
grabbed his intense interest.

Hermione mused, "Well, you're having quite the eventful day." He looked
positively dreadful.
Draco laid back on the uncomfortable makeshift bed, rested his arm behind
his head, looked her over in a manner that made her squirm and quipped,
"Is it time for my sponge bath? You really shouldn't have, Granger."

Without much thought, Hermione instinctively trailed her fingertips over

his swollen lip, down his body and over the many bruises that adorned his
flesh. Draco closed his eyes involuntarily and winced slightly in pain, but
he welcomed her soothing touch.

A low groan escaped his lips, and she demanded an explanation, "What
happened?" Teddy hovered uncomfortably in the background and wondered
whether he could go home.

Draco kept his eyes closed and breathed, "Nothing I didn't have coming."
He wished she kept her hands on his body. It felt deliriously good.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and scoffed, "Hell of a first day.
They have no right to treat you this way."

His eyes flew open, and they darkened with evident anger, "Your boyfriend
seemed to think that I needed to learn my place from the second I stepped
onto the DMLE floor."

Hermione gritted out, "He is not my boyfriend, but I will speak with him."
She was livid and knew without a shadow of a doubt that Terry was
responsible for Malfoy's current state.

Terry's behaviour would not go unpunished. There would be severe

consequences for his actions, but she needed solid proof before making an
allegation, and it didn't seem likely that Malfoy would cooperate.

Draco rolled his eyes and quipped, "I don't need you to fight my battles,
Granger." He hoped she would take his advice and leave well enough alone.

He included firmly in a tone that was not to be trifled with, "Besides, I

didn't tell you it was Boot, so drop it. I deserved this, and I'm quite capable
of handling him if the need arises."
She pushed undiscouraged, "No, you don't deserve such crude treatment,
and why didn't you fight back? I'm pretty sure you could have annihilated
them with one swift kick." It baffled her that he had allowed such a
thrashing.

Draco smiled in a manner that radiated serenity despite the painful

alterations to his body and said earnestly, "That's not the way, Granger."

She argued, "Neither is this. We have rules and restrictions."

The image of her in Boot's arms earlier that day twisted his handsome
features unpleasantly, and he hurled without mercy, "You two looked quite
chummy earlier or am I to believe you treat all your friends that way?"

It caught her off guard at that particular moment, but Hermione composed
herself and said slowly, "Let me explain, and frankly, I don't care for your
accusatory tone or what you are insinuating." The man was lying on a
hospital bed battered and broken, and that's what was running through his
hot head?

Draco paid no heed to the warning in her tone and hissed, "Spare me the
gory details of your make-out session with Boot. I rather not colour these
clean floors with my vomit."

Hermione was beginning to lose her patience. He had no right to grill her
this way, especially without letting her explain the circumstances that led
her to hug Terry.

She took a deep breath to control her temper and tried again, "Malfoy,
listen, it wasn't like that...." but couldn't help but add in a disgruntled
undertone, "Not that I owe you an explanation."

He heard her clearly even though he had been watching the small boy she
brought with her examining the drawings of plants on the white walls and
their medicinal benefits.

Draco snapped, "No, you don't. So do not bother. Why are you even here?"
His disrespectful question caused a flicker of hurt to flash across her face.
Hermione softened her gaze, swallowed her pride, went closer and
whispered, "I don't know, Malfoy, but I guess I was worried about you."

Draco threw his legs off the bed, sat up and reached for her hand. His long
fingers encircled her arm, and he pulled her towards him, she went
willingly, and they locked eyes meaningfully.

There was much said between them. Her eyes held the burning desire he
seemed to bring to life every time they were together. The flattering beams
of the sun came through the enchanted window and fell across her face
emphasising the softness that lay within.

He tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear and said in a low husky voice
meant to intimidate, "Were you now? You look lovely, by the way."

Her fingers outlined the pink-tinged Sectumsempra scar sprawled across his
chest in plain view of Teddy, and Draco grabbed her gently by the wrist and
mused, "As much as I enjoy your touch, I doubt it's appropriate for the child
you brought along."

Bollocks.

Hermione blushed. She had momentarily forgotten all about Teddy.

Draco ignored her moment of humiliation and spoke directly to the young
wizard in the room, "And, who is this fine young man?"

Teddy fidgeted nervously, rocked on the balls of his feet and waited
patiently for Hermione to make the formal introduction.

Hermione pushed Teddy forward and gazed upon him lovingly and subtly
pointed to the platinum blonde looking at him eagerly, "This is Mr Draco
Malfoy."

Draco didn't skip a beat. He enthused, "Ah, let me guess, you are the
famous Teddy Lupin." Of course, he knew who the boy was. He had seen
him at Tracey's wedding.
Teddy's cheeks turned beet red, but he said confidently, "Hello, how do you
know my name?"

Draco fondly looked over his head at Granger and replied with ease,
"Hermione speaks of all the time. It is an honour to meet you finally."

Hermione joked, "So you better watch what you say to me. Teddy here will
protect me."

Draco laughed good-naturedly and clutched his side in pain but managed to
say, "I have no doubt he will."

Blimey, the child, looked much like a younger version of him, minus the
prominent nose. His was more suited to his cute, childish face.

Teddy cocked his head to the side and raised curiously, "Does she really
talk about me?" His eyes sparkled brilliantly as he waited for a favourable
answer.

Draco nodded without hesitation, "Quite often, yes." She hadn't mentioned
him, or had she? But who was he to break the child's heart? His small white
lie was rewarded when the youngster's face split in half with a happy smile,
and Hermione offered a genuine smile of gratitude and mouthed, "Thank
you."

Teddy scrunched up his nose, and his chestnut brown hair turned turquoise.
It was a common occurrence when he was feeling sensitive. The colour
mirrored his mixed emotions.

Draco stared in awe, "You have a remarkable gift, Teddy." It was a rare
talent indeed and a useful one at that. The boy before him was destined for
remarkable things.

Teddy nodded shyly, "Thank you, Mr Malfoy."

Draco leaned forward and winked, "Please call me Draco. We are cousins,
after all.
Teddy's eyes widened at the revelation, "What? Gran never told me about a
cousin." He had relatives. Blood relatives? It couldn't be. Surely someone
would have told him.

Hermione glared. Draco melted under her stern gaze and regretted his
words. He had gone and done it now. Of course, his estranged aunt wouldn't
have mentioned any ties to them.

Teddy looked to Hermione for answers, his little heart beating fast within
the confinement of its ribcage, "Is he, my cousin?" He found it hard to get
the words out.

She saw little point in lying. Teddy was a bright boy for his age, and the
truth had to come out at some point whether Andromeda preferred it or not.

Hermione took a deep breath to calm the rapid beating of her own heart and
answered truthfully, "He is, Teddy, but it's a long story, love."

Teddy pressed adamantly, "But..." He wanted a proper explanation and

answers.

Hermione replied firmly, Teddy, let's talk about it later. Alright?" She smiled
encouraging, "I promise!"

Teddy shifted his feet uneasily, "Yeah, okay."

Draco swapped a look of concern with his intended and could not help the
surge of feelings that consumed him. He noticed her engagement ring
change colour and pulsate. He could quite literally feel each beat of her
heart, making him double over uncomfortably.

Hermione cried in panic, "Draco! Are you okay?" Even in his pained state,
he could appreciate her using his given name.

She turned to get Doris, but he held her back and mumbled, "No, don't. I'm
fine."

Teddy stared in panic. This wasn't his idea of a fun-filled afternoon with his
aunt.
Hermione held Draco against her body, letting her hand slip into his hair
and other travel down his broad back. His strong arms went around her, his
fingernails still caked with his blood dug into her back over the flimsy
material of her shirt. He pulled her close enough to rest his head on her
chest from his seated position and sighed in relief.

The words left her lips seamlessly, "I am worried about you, but I don't
want to be." When Brenda told her he had been attacked, her mind went
blank for a second out of pure fear. She didn't quite understand her
compulsion to rush to his side.

He swallowed hard and let her warmth engulf him, "I know." The concern
she felt for his well-being was genuine.

His wet lips dampened her blouse, and she felt its heat against her skin,
causing her to reluctantly break free of the embrace and pull Teddy to her
side.

She bit her lip and exclaimed, "It's getting late. I best get him back to
Andromeda before she worries."

Draco nodded in understanding, "I look forward to seeing more of you,

Teddy."

Teddy smiled politely and waved, "It was nice to meet you, umm, Draco."

Without much thought to her audience, Hermione dropped a quick kiss onto
Draco's busted lip, and she tasted the rustic taste of his blood. Once the
realisation of her actions hit her, she blushed a brilliant shade of pink while
Doris, who had just entered to check on them, chuckled with an amused
expression.

The procedure, indeed. The girls working for her would be sorely
disappointed to know that the young Mr Malfoy was a taken man. They had
diligently fought over who got to heal his bruises and apply ointment.
Draco licked his bottom lip sensually and said smugly, "I guess I'll see you
later."

Hermione took Teddy by the hand, bid Doris a quick farewell, tried her best
to hide her mortification and hurried off as fast as her heeled feet would
carry her. She heard Malfoy's distinctive deep laughter echo in her head.

Teddy glanced over his shoulder and then at Hermione and frowned, "Is he
your boyfriend?" He was pretty possessive over his favourite aunt.

Hermione said thoughtfully, "Oh, what? Oh, no-no." She couldn't call
Malfoy a friend, and the more she thought about it, the more horrified she
became by her behaviour in front of Teddy.

She cleared her throat, "He's, well, we are going to be married. It's a grown-
up thing."

Teddy raised a brow, "Is it because of the marriage law?" He had always
been rather astute for a boy his age.

Hermione was surprised he knew and tried to persuade him into telling her
just how he came to find out, "It is, and how would you know about that?"

Teddy shrugged, "I heard my gran and grandma Molly talking about it." Ah,
that would explain it.

He pouted, "Do you love him?"

Hermione stiffened but managed to hide her discomfort with an ill-timed

giggle, "There's only one man I will always truly love." She stopped
walking, turned him towards her, and probed with a big smile, "Any
guesses who?"

Teddy answered without blinking, "Uncle Ron?"

Hermione was momentarily stunned, "Huh? No, of course not." She patted
him on the head and kissed his forehead, "It's you, silly."
Teddy beamed and hugged her around the middle, "I love you too, aunty
Mione."

It was then Hermione noticed the crimson stain on her blouse. She stared at
the stubborn mark and thought about the superficial importance placed on
his blood.

Was it truly any different than hers? Not really, except hers was a richer red
while he was almost maroon in colour.

Teddy glanced at her oddly, wondering why his aunt was so enthralled by a
small patch of blood on her blouse. He tugged on her sleeve to get her
attention, and when she slowly turned to look at him with a lost expression,
Teddy smiled.

That small gesture was enough to spur Hermione into action, and she pulled
out her wand, pointed it at the dirty patch and muttered a quick Scourgify.

Teddy took her hand in his, and silently they walked towards an apparition
point.

Terry staggered up to Hannah, wiped his brow of sweat and leered,

"Where's your partner, Abbott?" He shook violently and held onto the
nearest chair to steady himself.

Hannah barely looked up and scowled, "That was low, Boot. Even by your
standards." She knew he was responsible. His reddened knuckles grasping
the chair were a testament to that.

Terry looked over the passing crowd innocently and mocked, "I haven't the
foggiest. Why did something happen to him?"

Hannah replied slowly, "Nothing at all. Thomas found him before he bled to
death." Despite their differences, Terry and Michael were her friends, but
now, she was not sure where to place them. Unfortunately, Corner got
lumped with Boot even if he wasn't directly at fault.
The blood drained from Terry's smug face. He stammered, "Thomas?" The
veteran's involvement in the matter could spell disaster for the lot of them.

Hannah noticed the sudden change in Terry's demeanour. He went from

arrogant to gutless in mere seconds after she mentioned Thomas.

She capitalised on his discomfort and the others sulking around him, "Yes,
Thomas. He was livid and said it was a spineless attack." She stretched the
truth a tad bit.

Terry took a step back and stumbled. His head throbbed, and a wave of
nausea tore through him. He was detoxing and not handling it well.

Hannah grabbed his arm and spoke in hushed tones, "Your pale and
trembling. You should not be here. Get your arse home, Terry."

He shook her hand off and snarled, "I don't need you to tell me what to do."

She scoffed, "Yeah, you seem to be doing so well on your own."

Michael made his presence known, "She's right, mate. Let's call it a bloody
day." He should never have let Terry talk him into letting him come to the
office. It had been a horrible misjudgment on his part.

Terry looked around at the others walking around him. The room was
beginning to spin. He desperately needed to sit down. Ignoring the looks of
concern, Hannah and Michael shot his way. He managed to walk over to his
desk and collapsed into the chair.

Draco gingerly slipped into his Auror robe. The blood stains were gone, and
it was once again in pristine condition. He attended to the gruelling task of
buttoning up.

Doris looked at him closely, patted him on the back and gave her consent,
"Off you go, Auror Malfoy," but gave fair warning, "I expect you here
bright and early tomorrow to change those bandages."
Draco gave a curt nod of acknowledgement and said gratefully, "Thank you,
Doris." She was a lovely lady who treated those around her with kindness.

Doris smiled warmly and advised, "You're welcome, love. Do not let those
boys knock you about. It might stick."

Draco smirked knowingly, "I'll remember that." There wouldn't be a repeat

of what happened. He had let it slide this once, but if Boot thought it would
be an everyday occurrence, he was sorely mistaken.

Teddy burst into the living room the second Andromeda opened the door,
plopped down on the sofa, and looked at his grandmother anxiously.

Andromeda knew something was awry. She closed the door slowly, looked
at Hermione for answers and inquired in interest, "Did you have a nice
time?"

Teddy nodded and said offhandedly, "Yes, I had a Big Mac and met my
cousin." He was curious to see his grandmother's reaction, and sure enough,
she did not disappoint.

Andromeda stepped back and held the edge of the dresser to steady herself
and blurted out, "What?"

Hermione offered a sheepish grin and pleaded, "We, umm, ran into Draco.
Please don't kill me!"

Andromeda looked at her curiously and regained her composure enough to

ask, "And he openly called Teddy his cousin?"

Hermione was taken aback by her question and answered cautiously, "He
did, actually. I thought you would be livid." She had not banked on Meda
acting so casually about the whole thing, especially after her initial reaction
upon hearing it.

Andromeda smiled, "Quite the contrary, I'm utterly shocked." She included
after a moment's thought, "Maybe, the brat has grown up." She had always
seen Draco as a miniature version of his overbearing father.

Hermione accepted, "Hmm, maybe." Well, that was still up for debate,
wasn't it? He had been back for a grand total of three weeks. That was
hardly enough time to judge him on his newfound redemption arc.

Andromeda sat down next to her grandson, took his hands in hers and
started to explain in a way he would understand, "Yes, Teddy, Draco is your
cousin. You see, I have, well, I had two sisters."

Her voice filled with emotion, "My eldest sister, Bellatrix, died a long time
ago." She didn't think it prudent to burden his young mind with the specific
details of her death and the horrific path of pureblood arrogance that led her
to her well-deserved fate at the hands of none other than Molly Weasley.

Hermione cringed at the mere mention of the dark witch, and thought it best
she took her leave, "Meda, I need to get going." She had recently been
spared the nightmares that plagued her.

She hugged Teddy and assured him, "I'll see you soon, darling."

Teddy nodded but gave his gran his undivided attention and waited for her
to continue telling him what sounded like an interesting story.

The last thing Hermione heard as she left was Andromeda speaking fondly
of Narcissa.

"So, Narcissa is your other sister and Draco's mother?" Teddy asked after
Andromeda concluded. He wondered why nobody told him about any of
this. It wasn't like he was a toddler; he would be off to Hogwarts soon.

She nodded once and answered painfully, "Yes."

Teddy watched his grandmother intently and inquired curiously, "Do you
miss her, Gran?" He had only seen her as vulnerable as she was now when
they spoke of his mother or grandfather.

Andromeda wiped a tear and smiled, "Very much."

Teddy touched her cheek and said with determination, "I think we should go
see her."

She replied without much conviction, "It's not that easy, darling."

Teddy tried to make her see reason through the eyes of an innocent child,
"But, why not? I bet she misses you too. You're the best grandmother in the
world."

Andromeda cupped his face and peppered him with loving kisses, "I love
you so much, darling, but you will understand when you are older."

Teddy pouted and said with determination, "Well, it seems silly, and I'm
going to fix it."

Andromeda smiled affectionately and patted his head, "Of course you are.
Now off you go."

He jogged up the stairs and called out, "I will. Just you wait and see, Gran."

Andromeda could not help but choke back a sob and marvel at how mature
Teddy sounded at his tender age.

Times were changing, and they all best brace themselves for what lay
ahead.
 Chapter 40
Chapter Notes

The comments are genuinely amazing. ❤

A huge thank you to everyone who took the time to post such fantastic
feedback. 😍

So sorry for the late update, but I have made up for my tardiness by
posting a long chapter.

Conflicts, genuine confessions of love and moments of friendship.

Oh, I have included a line in French. Google translate helped! Lol

My French is poor and I'm welcome to anyone pointing out any

mistakes.

Enjoy Chapter Forty!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads! ❤

Stay safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! 🥰

"Neville!" A stern voice made it to his ear, making his hair stand on end and
causing him to drop the parchments he was going through as he glanced in
her direction.

He was in his late twenties, but his strict paternal grandmother still had the
uncanny ability to frighten the living daylights out of him.

Lord have mercy. He braced himself and responded from the living room,
"Yes, grandmother?"
Mrs Augusta Longbottom moved with ease for a woman her age. From her
disgruntled tone, it was abundantly clear that she was far from pleased.

She demanded sternly, "What's all this that I hear about a trip to Hawaii?" It
sounded more like an accusation than a question, and Neville thanked
Merlin that Pansy was out to lunch with her mother.

She had texted earlier and informed him that she would be running late but
not to go to bed because she had a fantastic surprise for him. A soppy grin
curved his lips as he thought of his wife's sensual body pressed up against
his.

Pansy was a woman of many talents, but she excelled in the bedroom. He
had never met a more willing woman to entertain his fantasies.

"Boy, are you listening?" Mrs Longbottom put forth with a frown forming
on her aged face.

The clumsy, forgetful boy was long gone and in its place was a man that
would make his parents proud, but Augusta worried about him when it
came to matters of the heart.

Neville snapped to attention, "Yes, grandmother, you were saying?" He

could not afford to daydream in her presence.

Augusta said with a hint of disgust, "I heard your wife instructing the
maid..." She was cut short by Neville.

He massaged the bridge of his nose in exhaustion and exclaimed wearily,

"She has a name."

The elderly woman could not be bothered to play nice and scowled,
"Who?"

She knew exactly who but refused to accept the spoiled brat that the
Ministry had dumped on her grandson.

The Algorithm, dwindling population or otherwise, the fools at the Ministry

had no right messing with people's futures.
Neville pleaded sincerely, "I wish you would stop referring to her as my
wife." There was no love lost between his grandmother and Pansy, but he
hoped against hope that they would at least behave cordially towards each
other.

Augusta glared and conceded defeat, "Fine!"

She explained further in a tone that mirrored her distaste for the situation,
"Pansy was directing them on how to look after that mangy cat she can't
seem to separate from." Saying the girls name out loud left a far worse taste
in her mouth than the bitter potions she took each morning to ease the pain
in her back.

Neville sighed and decided he needed a drink, but Augusta stated with
dripping sarcasm, "Hopefully, she will care of her children as diligently as
she does her cat."

She included rather harshly, "If she can have children, that is."

Neville bit the inside of his cheek and ignored the crude remark. His
grandmother was not known to be a gentle and sympathetic soul.

He admitted his plans with a certain degree of reluctance, "Well, yes, I'm
taking her to Hawaii for a week, and some of our friends are joining the
trip."

A brilliant idea struck him, and he quickly added, hoping to appease his
headstrong grandmother, "You remember Hermione and Luna." He did not
know whether Hermione had agreed to tag along, but he truly hoped she
did.

Augusta replied proudly, "Of course I remember those fine girls."

A slick well thought retort left her lips, "Either one would have been a far
better match for you than the daughter of a known Death Eater."

Neville sighed. It was pointless to argue with her. She was set in her ways,
and there was no changing her mind.
She scoffed, "I doubt a change of location will help her fertility."

Neville tried to keep his composure and insisted, "Gran, stop! We are not
ready to start a family." He honestly wasn't ready to become a father.

Augusta was having none of it and blatantly declared, "Nonsense, you are
almost thirty. The longer you wait, the more the chances of bearing a child
decrease."

She included in a snide undertone, "More so for her than you."

Neville argued with just cause, "This is ridiculous. We are not on our
deathbed. When the time is right, Pansy and I will have a child."

The elderly woman mocked cynically, "She's got you properly

brainwashed."

Neville closed the gap between them and pleaded, "Please give her a
chance. You mean so much to me, and all I ask is that you try to get along."

Augusta felt her heartstrings tighten. She touched his cheek and implored,
"I worry about you, Neville." He was more like her son than grandson, and
she loved him fiercely.

Neville smiled gratefully, "You always have, but you don't have to. Pansy
loves me as I love her."

Augusta sighed, but she wasn't wholly satisfied, "Hmm, I hope your right."

Neville grinned happily and assured, "I am, you'll see."

Hermione slowly entered through the glass doors and walked over to Doris,
the Head Matron and Healer at the Ministry of Magic.

Doris got to her feet and greeted, "Madam Undersecretary, two visits in one
day?"
She was pleasantly surprised but also curious as to why and voiced her
thoughts, "This is an honour, but I'm afraid I discharged Mr Malfoy. The
lads magic is uncharacteristically strong. He was able to heal himself by
directing his magic towards the damaged areas in next to no time."

As fascinating as it sounded, Hermione's mind was caught up in a great

many things, and she replied unsurely, "Actually, I'm not here about him."

Doris raised a sceptical brow, "Oh?"

Hermione exhaled and spoke slowly, "It's about Terry Boot."

She didn't go into the finer details but came straight to the point and
summarised Terry's current situation in a few words, "He's addicted to
cocaine."

Doris widened her eyes but didn't appear as surprised as her expression,
"Oh dear, he must seek help immediately."

Hermione gave fair warning, "He's not going to come quietly, I'm afraid."
She knew without a doubt that Terry would put up a fight, and she mentally
prepared herself for whatever insult he chucked her way.

Doris replied solemnly, "Well, we've had worse and seen our fair share of
Aurors under the influence of various substances." It was the sad state of
things. The black-clad men and women who protected them paid a heavy
price and resorted to other means to numb the images, trauma, and pain
they endured daily.

Hermione said with a sigh, "I will be sending him your way shortly." She
had already instructed Brenda to inform Harry and had made plans to take
up the matter with Kingsley upon his return.

Doris reassured, "Don't worry, love. We will take good care of him."

She beckoned a man forth, "Jordon, have the Portkey to Ireland ready. We
have a guest visiting shortly." The rehabilitation centre was located in
Northern Ireland, away from prying eyes, with plenty of nature and fresh air
to reinforce positive thinking.

Jordon was a man of average build with a full head of messy dark hair and a
deep voice, "Another Auror?" He inquired rather sadly and shook his head
despairingly.

Hermione hovered awkwardly in the background, and Doris exhaled, "I'm

afraid so.." They hated seeing one of their own suffering.

Jordon said despondently, "I pity those blokes." It was no secret the Aurors
faced more than an average person's share of horrors.

Hermione couldn't help but feel a deep sense of grief as she walked out of
the surgically clean room in search of Terry Boot.

Harry stepped out of the Floo network in a foul mood. The so-called
witness had been more focused on asking questions about the ongoing case
than answering any of the queries directed at him.

After the third question, Harry caught on that he had been had. The man
impersonating a possible witness was an undercover piece of shite that
worked for Skeeter.

At first, the lowlife scum had denied the truth and maintained that he
remembered nothing much from the night Sarah was abducted. When Harry
probed further, the man had cracked under pressure and revealed reluctantly
that he indeed worked for The Daily Prophet. Without hesitation, Harry had
the man committed to Azkaban for a day on an obstruction of justice
charge.

The man's horrified expression was enough to convince Harry that he would
not dare try such a foolhardy attempt to gather information again.

He lumbered into the DMLE, and his heavy boots echoed through the
deserted corridor. So caught up in his thoughts, he did not notice the tall
man in front of him and walked right into his broad back.
The towering blond-haired person lethargically turned to face him.

Harry took in the marks, coagulated blood and nasty cut above his eye that
was healing and gnashed out, "What the hell happened to you?"

Draco croaked, "Let it be, Potter." His throat was dry and scratchy, but
nothing a cool glass of pumpkin juice could not fix.

Harry peered into Malfoy's face and exclaimed in anger, "Merlin, you look
like shite. I will not have this sort of childish behaviour in my fucking
department."

He insisted on an answer, "Who did this?"

Draco frowned and stated the obvious, "Do you honestly expect me to
snitch on them? It wouldn't help my cause, and quite frankly, I'm not
bothered by their little punches and spiteful words."

Harry was taken aback by his response. He had fully expected Malfoy to
hand over his assailants on a silver platter. The git from their earlier days at
Hogwarts would not have hesitated.

He hissed his displeasure and disappointment in a team he had come to

respect, "Well, I'm having none of it."

Without hesitation, Harry enhanced his voice magically so it could be heard

over the noise, "Can I have everyone's attention?"

The department was bustling. Nearly everyone except the odd few was on
their feet. The previously neatly arranged desks and chairs were in disarray,
and a few offenders of petty crimes sat perfectly still in the row of wooden
chairs assigned to them, silently watching the imposing men and women in
pitch black doing their best to uphold justice.

When nobody paid him attention, Harry repeated significantly louder this
time, "Shut it!"

Draco rolled his eyes and honestly wished Potter would let things be.
The chatter stopped, and everyone turned to face their boss with intriguing
and anxious expressions. Their eyes shifted to Draco, and some gasped in
surprise; others snickered, but no one uttered a word.

Harry pointed to Draco as if he were a child and demanded an explanation,

"Who is responsible for this cowardly attack?"

Draco felt on display and shifted his feet uneasily, but for Potter's sake, he
stood still and looked into the crowd of curious faces. His discerning eyes
moved over the people eyeing him with contempt and came to rest on Terry
Boot's rigid form looking about anxiously.

Pin-drop silence ensued.

Harry was livid by the actions of who he assumed were a few people and
thundered, "I am going to say this once, and I'm not accustomed to
repeating myself. The decisions I make, I make with the best interests of
this department and the community in mind. You might not like it, but
tough shit, at least give the man a bloody chance."

"I told you lot that I hired Malfoy, and you aren't expected to fucking like
it." He gritted out, not caring what others thought of his behaviour.

When nobody dared to answer, Harry stormed away and banged the door to
his office shut behind him, causing those within earshot to flinch nervously.

Terry exchanged a look of concern with Michael. He was sweating, his eyes
were bloodshot, and he looked pretty deranged.

Michael inconspicuously grabbed Terry's arm and muttered, "Let's go

before we both get the bloody sack. I've had enough of your behaviour, and
I'm trying to be a good friend, but you are not making it easy."

Terry got to his feet and almost collapsed. He begged with renewed
desperation, "I need it, Michael. Just one quick hit to take the edge off."

He added urgently, "I'll be back before anyone notices I'm gone." One call
was all it took for the powder to be delivered. His fingers itched with want,
and he chewed incessantly on his bottom lip until he breached the barrier
and tasted fresh blood.

Michael grabbed Terry by the lapels of his coat and hissed, "No, have you
lost your fucking mind! Come on, let's grab a smoke and leave."

Thomas had his feet up on the table and took in the situation with a solemn
expression. He would honour his word and keep an eye on the Malfoy brat.
There was something there that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Draco made eye contact with the veteran and gave a curt nod of
acknowledgement and appreciation which, to his immense surprise, Thomas
returned with a distinctive nod of his own.

Others stepped out of his way and let him pass by without fuss, only
offering colourful phrases along the lines of deserving what he got.

Hannah offered an encouraging smile as Draco approached her small desk,

but a short girl stepped in front of him and inquired suddenly, "Are you
okay? I knew something happened, but I didn't expect it to be this bad."

Draco grinned reassuringly, "I'm fine, Emily. Nothing too much to bother
about." His face hurt when he smiled, not to mention the soreness that
spread throughout his body.

He asked in an attempt to make small talk, "How was the rest of training?"

Emily shrugged, "Okay, I guess."

She glanced over her shoulder at Hannah, "I'll let you get back to work with
your partner then," and added sincerely, "Take care of yourself. I will see
you tomorrow?"

Draco gave a confident nod, "Definitely, and Emily?"

Emily questioned at once curiously, "Yes?"

He said with a genuine smile, "Thank you."

She grinned and said in a slightly loud voice, "No worries. Don't let these
stuck-up fools get to you." The girl had guts for a new recruit.

She didn't know half of it, but he appreciated her kind words, "I won't."

Hannah smirked, "Well, she's cute. Feeling better?"

Draco shook his head gently, "Like I got stomped on by a giant."

Hannah chuckled and gave the enlarged pictures on her desk her undivided
attention. Draco sat down next to her and glanced at the many disturbing
images cluttering up her table. He reached over and moved them about. His
astute eyes went straight to the beautifully carved pendant of the owl and
wand.

It intrigued him, and he was confident it held significant meaning, but his
mind was sluggish from the potions he had been forced to take to manage
the pain.

A high pitch seductive laughter filled the air, but a crowd of black cloaks
covered the source.

The sound was pleasing, and he couldn't help but look towards it and ask
Hannah, "What's the commotion?"

She rolled her eyes. Her frustration was apparent, "That would be the dulcet
tones of Michelle." The stupid French cow.

Draco raised a curious brow, "Michelle?"

Hannah explained further in an annoyed tone, "An Auror sent over for
training by the French Ministry. She's not bad if she can manage to keep her
big fat mouth shut for more than five minutes."

A realisation struck home, and Draco grew thoughtful, "I see."

A group of wizards gathered around a witch he hadn't seen before. She

seemed to be holding centre stage, and it was obvious why.
Her uniform wasn't their standard issue but consisted of a fashionable blue
knee-length skirt, a white silk blouse, and a stylish jacket. The material
skimmed over her flattering curves and fit her perfectly.

She sat on top of a desk, crossed her legs, purposely letting her skirt hike up
as she addressed the wizards gathered around her animatedly.

The woman was a looker. Tall with long legs, smooth skin by the looks of
it, a slim yet toned figure and dark blonde hair, which she had carefully
pulled back into a neat ponytail.

Her startling blue eyes were her most captivating feature. The appreciative
look she sent in his direction was filled with pure flirtation. It was
abundantly clear she liked what she saw and made it obvious.

Draco yawned pointedly, looked away and once again gave Hannah his full
attention.

Hannah noticed his lack of interest and chuckled, "Well, that's a first."

Draco raised a brow in question, "What do you mean?"

She pointed to the wizards fawning over Michelle and teased, "How come
you're not drooling over her like those other miserable sods?"

Draco answered with a devilish glint in his eyes, "She's not my type." His
type was sitting two floors above him in what he assumed was a very
comfortable leather chair.

Hannah snorted, "Right."

Michelle eyed the towering, gorgeous man with ice-blonde hair who
seemed immune to her charms.

It was a refreshing change. She loved a challenge and somehow knew her
efforts would be rewarded.

"Who is that?" She boldly pointed at Draco and drawled in a thick French
accent
A well-built man glanced over his shoulder at who she was pointing at and
openly scowled, "That's Malfoy. You shouldn't waste your time on him."

An olive-skinned good-looking man added grimly, "He was a Death Eater."

Michelle bit her lip and continued to stare unashamed, "Mmm, he is very
handsome." She did not care much about his past. If he was an Auror now,
wasn't it clear that he had renounced his old ways?

Another man thoroughly smitten by her uttered a blatant lie, "He's also very
gay." He didn't take kindly to the way she was looking at Malfoy.

Michelle wasn't convinced. She cocked her head to the side and studied
Draco intently, answering, "Hmm, really? I don't think so."

Hannah looked up from the pictures she was scrutinising in time to catch
Michelle gawking at Malfoy. She coughed to get his attention and muttered,
"Merlin, she's been staring at you for the past five minutes."

Draco couldn't be bothered to look at the woman who was clearly taken by
him and shrugged instead to show his indifference, "That's her bloody
problem." He wasn't the least bit interested in whoever Michelle was.

"Are you free for dinner tonight?" The same man asked eagerly. There was
a quaint restaurant on the outskirts of London that she would love.

Michelle stroked his cheek and replied in her native tongue, "Le dîner a l'air
merveilleux, ma chérie, mais je préfère aller avec lui que toi."

She finished in a carrying voice and glanced expectantly at Draco out of the
corner of her eye.

Loosely translated, she had said, "Dinner sounds wonderful, darling, but I
would rather go with him than you." These boorish Englishmen were
uneducated in the fine art of the French language, she thought candidly.

Draco smirked the second her comment made it to his ear. She would be
pleasantly surprised to find that he spoke her language fluently with a slight
accent, he admitted to himself.
Hannah raised a brow, "What's so funny?"

He brushed it off, "Nothing at all."

He changed the topic quickly and insisted, "Go on, hand me the pictures of
the first victim."

Hannah looked at him curiously but pushed the pictures in his direction and
let things be.

On the way back from Doris, Hermione found Terry in the smoker's lounge.
She was thankful that they were alone.

She took a deep breath and sashayed forward confidently with a bounce in
her step and letting her hips sway.

She entered the smoke-filled area, gasped for a breath of fresh air but
composed herself enough to approach the duo.

Hermione leaned against the wall made of glass, twirled a strand of rogue
hair, and spoke sweetly, "Hi, I thought I might find you here."

If Malfoy were not going to corporate, she would have to resort to other
means to find out who was responsible and reprimand them for their
insubordination. Harry had enough on his plate rather than having to play
Headmaster to a bunch of unruly boys with inflated egos.

Terry took a deep drag and tried to steady his trembling hands, "Were you
looking for me?"

Hermione nodded, touched his arm, and replied earnestly, "Uh-huh, I was
worried about you." She paused for a moment and took in Terry's quivering
fingers wrapped around his cigarette before requesting, "There's one other
thing I wanted to ask, darling."

Terry smiled tiredly, "Go ahead, Hermione. Ask away." He knew what she
was after. He wasn't a complete idiot.
Hermione stepped closely and invaded his personal space. She looked at
him through hooded eyes and questioned innocently, "Are you responsible
for the assault on Malfoy?" Her womanly fragrance overpowered the stench
of smoke that lingered.

Michael stiffened and averted his gaze. This was not going to end well for
either party.

Terry leered at once, "Is that what the little shit told you?" The no-good
bastard was the same two-faced asshat he was back at Hogwarts.

Hermione shook her head and lied convincingly enough to fool Boot, "No, I
haven't seen him. Why would I? His wellbeing means nothing to me."

She touched his reddened knuckles and simpered, "But I can see your
bruised fingers. Poor baby."

Terry sighed. Her fingers brushing over his was soothing, "Ah, I punched a
wall earlier to take the edge off."

"Hmm, well, it's a good thing someone put Malfoy in his rightful place,"
she added while continuing to trail her fingers along his fingers. Her actions
filled her with a certain amount of guilt. Still, she deemed it necessary to
rectify the violation of conduct and, most importantly, get Terry the help he
desperately needed.

Her answer surprised him but pleased him just the same. It wasn't like
Granger to condone violence of any kind, but he wasn't thinking straight in
his current state. In a moment of pure weakness in front of the woman he
supposedly loved, he confessed smugly, "Yeah, you should see his pretty
face. I fucked him up real good."

Michael paled and cursed under his breath. How could Terry make such a
costly mistake?

Terry tried to pull Hermione close and muttered, "You know I would do
anything for you."
She stepped away from him. Her demeanour changed as she narrowed her
eyes and accused, "How dare you attack him?"

Terry struggled to grasp what was happening.

His head pounded relentlessly, but he managed a weak, "What? You just
said..." Did Granger trick him into a confession?

Hermione scowled, "You're a bigger idiot than I give you credit for if you
believed that little act." She was, unfortunately, letting her emotions fuel her
actions.

She spat harshly, "What were you thinking, Terry? Oh, that's right, you
weren't. I mean, look at you." He looked a right mess, but was it fair of her
to throw his weakest moment in his face? It wasn't, but she was consumed
by the unfairness of his unprovoked attack on Draco.

Hermione could feel the magic within her come alive. She hurled spitefully,
"Did you honestly believe I would support your cowardly attack on a man
who refused to lift a finger to stop you?"

Terry argued feebly, "He had it coming for breaking my nose."

She pressed undeterred, "You are not fit to work."

Michael made his presence known. He stepped forward and spoke to

Hermione in hushed tones, "Granger, calm down."

She looked at him, frowned and replied with disappointment, "Stay out of
this. It does not concern you. I expected more from you, Michael."

Michael felt his temper rise and defended, "You need to get your facts
straight."

Hermione mocked, "You probably stood by, watched and did nothing,
Michael. That is much worse."

Terry growled, "Leave him out of it. I take full responsibility for my actions
as they were mine alone." He wasn't about to let Michael take any blame for
his recklessness.

"Good, because your "actions" are not without consequences," Hermione

made air quotes to emphasise her point.

Witnessing the intense argument and not wanting to intrude, many turned
away from the lounge, pocketed their pack of smokes, and returned to their
department's grumbling.

Terry struggled but straightened to his full height, so he loomed over her
and gritted out, "What are you going to do about it, Granger?" He hoped to
intimidate, but Hermione wasn't in the least bit swayed by his effort to seem
threatening.

He didn't even show a smidge of remorse. Boot was too far gone.

Hermione stood her ground, took a deep breath, and stated plainly, "Terry,
you are suspended until further notice."

Terry could not believe the words she spoke. He questioned in disbelief,
"What? Because of Malfoy?"

Hermione shook her head and countered, "No! It's because you need help to
overcome this compulsion."

He spluttered viciously, "You have no fucking right."

Hermione did not take lightly her position being questioned. She reacted
with authority, "I am the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, and you
will find that I have every bloody right."

She declared frankly, "You are a liability that we cannot afford." Albeit, it
was a harsh statement even though it was true.

Terry tried to come up with a suitable answer but spat instead, "Potter is my
boss, and you are...."
Hermione glared sternly and warned, "I wouldn't complete that sentence if I
were you."

She ignored the frothing man before her and recited somewhat calmly,
"Following a full psychological evaluation in a month and hoping you pass,
you will be reinstated, but until such time, you will be enrolled into an
anonymous Ministry program to overcome your issues."

Terry barked, "Bullshit. I disagree. You cannot force me!" The visible veins
on his temple pulsated under the stress of the situation.

Hermione frowned and held out her hand, palm up, "Fine! If that is your
wish. Hand in your resignation and badge."

The blood drained from Terry's face, "What?" No! He refused to accept
what was happening.

Michael could not help but come to the aid of his best mate, "Granger, don't
you think this is all a bit cruel?"

His choice of words stung, but Hermione shut him down and cautioned,
"This is none of your business, Corner. You are lucky we have decided to
overlook your involvement in this matter."

Terry laughed manically, "You've crossed over to the dark side then,
Granger?"

He bowed elaborately and said in a hurt tone, "I'll do as you command, but
I'll never forget it. My biggest mistake was not the drugs. It was loving
you." His true feelings were out in the open, and there was no going back
now.

Hermione was stunned into silence by his bold declaration, but after a few
seconds had passed, she retorted, "That's neither here nor there." It was a
horribly weak response.

Terry knew she didn't return his affections, but it broke him just the same.
He wanted to cause her a smidge of pain he was feeling, "Oh, the truth
finally comes out, doesn't it?"

Hermione answered firmly, "Yes, and the horrid shameful truth is that you
attacked an unarmed man. Merlin, you disgrace the name wizard."

Terry laughed out loud and sneered without regret. He asked incredulously,
"I disgrace the name wizard? And I suppose Malfoy is innocent?"

He took a step forward and hissed, "Why are you sticking up for a man who
belittled you at every opportunity?" They had all witnessed the arrogant
Slytherin's disgusting behaviour towards Granger.

Hermione couldn't believe the following words she uttered, "He's trying to
make up for everything's he's done, but look at you. You're nothing but a
drugged-out waste of space."

Her words caused Terry to reel back and his features to contort painfully.

She knew she crossed a line and tried to form a proper apology, "Terry, I'm
sorry, I didn't mean that.."

Michael intervened, "Look, let's talk about all this later."

"You two-faced bit...," Terry started to say but swallowed the last word. He
could never bring himself to call her that unforgivable word.

He cried helplessly, "This has nothing to do with helping me. This is about
you punishing me for putting your fucking boyfriend in the hospital wing."

Hermione tried to argue, "That is not true..." It wasn't, was it? But she knew
it was his addiction that clouded his judgement.

Terry cut her off, "You act all high and mighty, refusing to initially entertain
the very thought of marrying Malfoy but now, it's all miraculously
changed."

Had it? Was she changing towards Malfoy?

Terry bared his teeth and taunted without mercy, "Tell me something, is it
his money or his puny cock that's got you bending for him?"

Hermione balled her hands to make fists, her fingernails dug into the palm
of her hand, but she kept them firmly at her side and grated out, "You
disgust me." Her inner thoughts screamed for her to control her anger.

Terry didn't skip a beat with his reply, "And you repulse me, Princess. At
least, I don't pretend to be someone I'm not while fucking the enemy on the
side."

Her temper spiralled out of control. Hermione brought her hand across and
slapped Terry hard across the face. The sound of her hand connecting with
his cheek bounced off the walls and caught him off guard but only
momentarily.

He pushed her back effortlessly, pinned her to the wall with his body,
nuzzled into the warmth of her neck and rasped, "You cut me deep,
Granger. Your mere presence drives me insane with lust."

She struggled to push him off, but he was too strong. The pungent stench of
stale smoke emitting from him was sickening, but she brushed it aside and
hissed, "Get off me."

Michael snapped into action, pulled Terry off and held him at bay while he
sneered, "You are nothing but a filthy little hypocrite. Malfoy will tire of
you and toss you aside."

Corner shoved Terry back and warned darkly, "That is enough."

Hermione instructed while trying to keep the tears at bay, "Take him to
Doris, Michael. He is not himself."

Terry laughed once again, "I think it's you that's lost herself along the way.
Is Malfoy a fantastic shag? Did you give him what you denied me?"

Michael tried to drag Terry out, but he wasn't corporating, "Let's go!" A few
bystanders were now watching the exchange and listening intently.
Hermione scowled, "I won't dignify that question with an answer." His
words stung, but she was convinced she had done the right thing.

Terry departed with the final words, "Have a good one, Hermione."

She held her head high and spoke directly to Michael, "Doris and Jordan are
expecting him. They will process and admit him."

Corner pursed his lips and gave a curt nod.

They did not see the tears of frustration finally breach her flattering
composure and stream down her face as she fled the area.

Draco decided to call it a day. He simply could not concentrate or offer any
helpful insight without a good night's rest. He informed Hannah, who was
engrossed in the details of the case. She waved at him without looking up.

Michelle scribbled on parchment with her quill and looked up eagerly as

Draco passed by her desk, but he didn't so much as a glance in her direction.
It irritated her that like the rest he wasn't eating out of the palm of her hand,
but she figured there was plenty of time to rectify his gross oversight.

He thought it best to stop by Hermione's office before heading home but

was disappointed to find her elsewhere.

Brenda cleared her throat and said, "Christ, I heard about the attack, but you
look bloody awful."

Draco chuckled, looked around and asked in interest, "Where is Granger?"

Brenda shrugged but looked uncomfortable, "She didn't say where she was
off to." Her boss had been gone for hours, and it did not sit well with her.

Draco had a good idea what Hermione was up to, but there was a wild look
in Terry's eyes that hadn't been there before. The man seemed unhinged and
unpredictable.
They heard the unmistakable sound of heels against the hard marbled floor,
and as soon as Hermione appeared from around the corner, Brenda
exclaimed, "Oh, here she..." She didn't finish her sentence after taking in the
distraught and drawn face of her boss.

Hermione hurried her footsteps, didn't stop to greet either of them, breezed
past them into her room, and shut the door with an audible bang.

Brenda sprang to her feet and swapped a grave look with Draco, who in
turn mustered a comforting smile to appease the worried assistant and
entered the room without announcing himself.

He locked the door behind him and found Hermione with her hair down,
tossing her shoes aside and reaching for the bottle of red wine she kept
hidden in the secret compartment under her desk.

Her cheeks were red and tear-stained. It was clear something substantial had
occurred.

Draco approached her cautiously and said deliberately in a husky

undertone, "Granger..."

She choked back a sob and almost shouted, "Just leave me alone."

He was adamant he would find out what had transpired and tried a more
direct question, "What happened?"

Hermione tossed back the drink she had poured herself, rubbed the aching
area on her arm that Terry grabbed and lied rather feebly, "Nothing
happened, Malfoy."

Draco closed the gap between them in two strides, spun her around and
narrowed his eyes to mere slits and hissed darkly, "Don't fucking lie to me.
Did he hurt you? I'll tear him limb from limb."

He would take the punches, name-calling and every unpleasantness they

threw his way, but he wouldn't tolerate any ill-treatment towards his mother
and fiancé.
The possessiveness in his tone caused her to halt and stare at him oddly. His
eyes urgently raked over her trying to find a smidge of evidence that Terry
had maltreated her.

She pushed him back with all her might and cried in desolation, "It's you
that's hurting me! Ever since you came back, everything has gone right to
hell."

Hermione yelled, her high-pitched voice bouncing off the walls of her
office, "I want my life back!"

She walked around in circles, waving her arms about madly. "It was going
exactly how I wanted, and I hate that it's not anymore. What's worse is that
nearly everyone thinks I've willingly fallen into the Malfoy pot of gold."
She exclaimed bitterly.

"Your bloody Galleons mean nothing to me," She spat after rounding on
him. Her golden-brown eyes burned with renewed anger.

Draco watched his intended pacing around the large area and smirked, "Yes,
I'm well aware it's my charm that's got you smitten."

She came to an abrupt halt at his teasing tone and warned, "This is not the
time to make ridiculous jokes. I am not amused, Malfoy."

Undiscouraged by her rage, he mused, "Clearly. Although I do find your

temper tantrums mildly arousing."

Despite his attempts to lighten the mood, he could see she was hurting. The
need to comfort her was overwhelming.

Draco questioned impatiently, "Did you confront Boot, even after I told you
it wasn't him.?" He added wisely, "Some things are best left alone,
Granger."

Hermione scoffed, "Stop it, Malfoy! You are not the only one who can tell
when someone's lying." Did he think she was a fool? That she wouldn't find
out?
Draco tried again to offer some words of comfort, "Granger...." She
interrupted without much thought, "What happened to you was wrong."

She gripped the edge of her desk and said solemnly. Her voice and tone
were heavy with regret, "I said some horrible things to him. It was
completely uncalled for. Merlin, I feel like such an unprofessional
thundercunt."

Draco raised a quizzical brow, "A what?" He had never heard such an odd
word.

Hermione smiled sheepishly, "It's a word Ginny uses quite often."

Her lips quivered as she fought hard to control her emotions, "Why did you
come back and ruin my life, Malfoy?" It was an unfair question, especially
since that was not his intention. He hadn't known about the marriage law or
his unbelievable pairing with Granger. He was as helpless as she was.

She pressed forward, "I was happy. I had everything under control."

Draco eyed her almost lazily and quipped, "So you keep saying." He did not
believe her. Sure, from the outside, Hermione Granger appeared to be a
woman in control, but underneath the facade was a woman desperate to find
her true self.

He moved close enough to make her squirm, "Are you quite finished?"

Hermione tried to step away but found she could not, thanks to her lumpy
desk. Instead, she looked at Malfoy through hooded eyes and opened her
mouth to reply, "No, I....."

His long fingers fisted her hair and pulled it back as his mouth descended
upon hers and claimed her lips in a soul-shattering kiss. It was no gentle
embrace. He wanted to possess her, chase away the darkness and claim her
as his.

She was surprised by his actions, but only for a second as she willingly
opened herself to him and returned his enthusiasm fervently, pushing her
pert tongue against his and wanting to drown in his presence.

He kissed the sensitive area behind her ear, sending shivers down her spine
and murmured between kisses, "You don't always have to be in control."

Her fingers found themselves in his hair, his silky strands slipped from her
grasp, and she protested, "But, I..."

Draco tilted her chin and once again claimed her blood-filled lips hard. If
she wasn't the most captivating creature, he had ever met.

Surrendering to the situation, he rasped, "You forgot to mention the

undeniable chemistry we share. I can feel your magic hum under my
fingertips."

He placed a feathery kiss on the pulse point of her neck, "It likes me, even
if you don't."

She held onto him and pleaded halfheartedly, "Stop, anybody could walk in
on us."

Draco couldn't care less if the Minister of Magic himself walked in on

them, and he voiced his thoughts with confidence, "Let them."

"We are about to become husband and wife in a matter of weeks, and if I
can't sneak a kiss during office hours, what's the bloody point?" He argued
with good reason.

Hermione was quick with her retort, "This isn't a conventional marriage,
and we are not a couple." She would have sounded more convincing if they
weren't locked in a passionate embrace.

Draco chuckled, and the soft tip of his nose brushed up against her skin,
making it come alive, "So you keep reminding me."

His fingers ghosted over the exposed portion of her collarbone and groaned,
"The mark I left on you has healed. I think this is the opportune moment to
rectify that."
She offered little to no resistance moving her head to the side. Hermione let
him have his way.

His mouth closed around the diminished love bite on her collarbone. He
gently pulled at her skin with his lips, allowing his teeth to graze the
smoothness. His movements garnered a low moan from the woman in his
arms, and he couldn't help but ask, "Does that give you pleasure?"

The punishing pulsating bruise he was bestowing upon her caused a sudden
rush of desire to tug at her navel, "Oh, God..."

She breathed, "Draco, I..."

He silenced her with his lips, "Ssh...just let me kiss you."

His desperate plea was muffled against her lips, "Please..."

He unbuttoned her shirt and pushed it off her slender shoulders, exposing
her lacy black brasserie to him.

Their little office escapades were getting out of hand. Still, at that particular
moment, good sense went out the window, and all that remained was heavy
breathing, intense kisses and marks on their skin that would serve as a
remembrance of their heated exchange.

She looked completely vulnerable, and it caused his breathing to still as his
eyes hungrily raved over her delectable mounds pushed together to form a
perfect valley between her breasts. He ached to pull down a cup and take an
eager rosy, pink bud in his mouth.

Draco was cruelly brought back by Hermione's petite hands with

moderately long painted nails digging into his flesh over the rough material
of his Auror robes.

In her eagerness to pull him close, her fingers dug into a particularly painful
spot on his side which caused him to wince.

The dull pain reminded him not to take things any further.
Hermione broke free as soon as the barely audible sound of his discomfort
made it to her ear.

She widened her eyes, mortified by her actions, "I'm so sorry."

Draco smiled and rubbed his side, "You have nothing to apologise for."

Hermione reached out, touched the area herself allowing her fingers to
brush along his and asked in concern, "Does it hurt much?"

Draco sighed, "I'll live. Trust me. I've survived much worse." She wasn't the
only one to have suffered his aunt's wrath.

Narcissa had been furious. It was one of the only times he'd seen her use
spells with deadly force against her own sister.

Bellatrix educated him in the fine art of Legilimency, but he perfected it

through hours of mediation at the Monastery. He grasped the bits and pieces
he was taught and patched them together to teach himself.

Besides, those sessions were more torture than learning and often resulted
in him writhing on the floor in pure agony at the slightest infringement.

Despite stern orders from the Dark Lord to not intervene, his mother barged
in one day and caught her beloved sister in the act of brutalising her only
son.

The lessons came to an abrupt halt after Narcissa threatened to murder her
older sister without mercy if she so much as touched her son again.

Draco reluctantly backed away and let Hermione button up, restoring her to
her earlier decent state.

With one hand on the door to let himself out, he smirked in his usual semi-
arrogant way, "Thank you for defending my honour, Granger."

Hermione willed her rapidly beating heart to return to normal and mused,
"Oh, sod off you egotistical prat."
His deep laughter carried him out, and she couldn't help but smile herself.
She felt drawn to him despite her efforts to thwart his existence.

The ring that sat majestically on her finger emitted a golden hue that
washed over her. It was making its approval of their union known.

Terry stormed into Harry's office unannounced, leaving Michael to sulk

outside.

He was trembling and looked ready to collapse, but gathering every bit of
remaining strength, he yelled, "Granger has fucking suspended me!"

Harry remained calm; Boot was in no state to be reprimanded. He waved a

piece of paper with the Ministry's official seal and replied, "I'm aware."
Brenda had sent it earlier. Hermione was a stickler for the procedure.

Terry brought his hand down hard on the table and growled, "This is
unacceptable, Potter. She has no fucking right."

Harry leaned back and forewarned, "Mind your tone, Boot." He would not
tolerate nor listen to an unjustified word against Hermione

Terry was livid, "Oh, so you agree with her decision?"

Harry slowly got to his feet, "As a matter of fact, I do." He had intended on
doing it himself, but Hermione had beaten him to it.

He softened his tone, "Look, mate, you need help. Get this thing under
control before it destroys you."

Terry lied with no conviction, "I'm fine." He was far from okay. It took all
his inner strength to keep standing.

Harry narrowed his eyes, "Like hell you are," and added what he believed
to be the truth, "Granger cares about you."

Terry bit back sarcastically, "Yeah, and pigs can fly."

Harry wasn't about to argue and instructed sternly, "Report to Doris
immediately or do I need to assign an Auror to escort you?"

Terry frowned, "No thanks, I can find my way there." He walked out
without a second glance, and minutes later, they were speaking to Jordan.

Jordon spoke kindly and placed a box on top of the table for Terry to put his
belongings, "Boot, your admittance is anonymous. No one besides Granger,
Potter and Corner, here will know."

Terry was still seething over Hermione's actions and what he regarded as a
betrayal of the worst sort.

He glared, "I don't need this treatment or whatever. Put that on record."
They were treating him like some lowlife junkie, and it didn't sit well with
him at all.

Michael clamped him on the shoulder and tried to make his friend see
reason, "Mate..."

Terry interrupted in anguish, "Granger is way out of line. I cannot believe

she picked that blonde fuck over me."

Michael sighed and said, "She didn't..."

Terry shot him a look of loathing, "You're supposed to be my mate."

Michael was the brother he never had. His only true friend.

Michael stated firmly, "I am, but I'm not going to agree with you blindly. I
should have never let you come to work in your current state."

Jordon pushed a paper towards Terry and instructed politely, "Sign here."

Terry read the words sprawled across the parchment, signed it reluctantly
and demanded impatiently, "Do I need to go get my belongings?"

Jordon shook his head, "That won't be necessary. Everything you require
will be provided for you."
Boot scoffed, "I get to wear underwear that's been picked out for me.
Bloody marvellous."

He questioned mockingly, "Are they going to help me wank off too?"

Jordon was an overall nice bloke until you pushed his buttons. He fired
back without remorse, "Awww, would you like me to assign someone to do
that, you bloody prick?"

Michael said wearily, "Come on, man, let's not make this more unpleasant
than it already is." He was exhausted from trying to keep Terry in line. The
man was as stubborn as a mule.

Terry bared his teeth and gritted out, "I'm going to kill Malfoy the next time
I get my hands on the pale-faced arsehole."

A burly Healer appeared and took Boot's arm to lead him in, but Terry
shook it off and warned, "Don't fucking touch me."

He glanced over his shoulder at Michael standing sadly by the entrance and,
for the first time, shot him a look of fear, regret, and hopelessness.

Michael smiled reassuringly and silently hoped for the best. Terry was in
for a couple of rough nights, and secretly he thanked Hermione for making
the right decision.

The sun was setting, and Draco was thankful that the gruelling day was
almost at an end. He walked up the stone stairs, and no sooner did he enter
the Manor, Max reared his head, ran in his direction at breakneck speed and
demanded affection.

Draco ruffled his head and stroked his back while he sat still at his master's
feet and enjoyed the attention.

The playful yet protective Alsatian grew with each passing day, and his pure
white coat of fur almost reached the ground.
Narcissa looked upon her only child with love, rose from her seat by the
fireplace and walked towards him, intent on learning about his first day as
an Auror. His injuries became known when she got close enough to see his
face.

She let out a small cry of shock, cupped his face and implored, "Oh son,
what happened?" Her eyes urgently moved over the marks on his face in
despair.

Draco smiled pleasantly, "The inevitable, mother. I'm fine."

The pressure in her nose grew heavy, and Narcissa felt the rush of tears to
the surface, "It pains me that you still must pay for our mistakes."

Draco took her hand in his and kissed it, "It's not your fault. I'll be fine."

Narcissa sighed, "I'll have dinner sent up. Rest, darling." She didn't bother
to ask why he didn't defend himself; she knew the answer to that.

"How was your day, mother?" Draco inquired, eager to stir the conversation
well away from his current state.

A small smile lit up her face, "Delightful. I met one of Bernard's old
friends."

She giggled like a schoolgirl, "What a charming man. I haven't laughed like
that in years."

A sudden thought came to mind, "Before I forgot, the contractors called

about the cottage renovation. I asked them to come around on Wednesday."

Draco almost pleaded, "Thank you, mother. Can you handle it, please?" He
didn't quite understand the fuss over matching curtains, bathroom designs
and colour pallets.

Narcissa smiled knowingly and nodded in agreement, "Of course, I'll speak
to Hermione about her preferences and set up a meeting between them to
discuss further."
He thanked profusely and bowed to show his gratitude for being excused
from such an arduous task, "I am forever in your debt."

Once in his room, he took off his bulky uniform but kept the trousers on and
sat crossed-legged in the middle of the room facing the last dying embers of
the sun and closed his eyes in meditation.

He willed all thoughts of revenge and lust to leave his troubled mind and let
the overwhelming feeling of calmness and serenity replace them.

Brenda had left for the day with a disturbed and unhappy Michael trailing
after her miserably.

Harry poked his head into Hermione's office and raised a brow, "Care to
explain why Boot was in my office earlier yelling bloody murder?"

Hermione stood firmly by her decision, "I'm not going to change my mind."

Harry walked in, plopped himself down on the sofa and waved his hand
dismissively, "Don't worry about it. I support your judgment. I was about to
do it myself. The bloke desperately needs help and a serious attitude
adjustment."

Hermione was beyond relieved, "Well, yes. I was worried you would think I
acted out of place." It had been eating away at her ever since she suspended
Terry.

Harry smacked his lips together and invited, "Do you fancy a drink?"

She was on her feet and reaching for her bag, "Always. Let's go."

Minutes later, they piled into the Leaky Cauldon. It was a slow day
considering it was Monday, and hardly any tables were occupied, but still,
they opted to sit at the bar.

Harry reached for a bunch of stale peanuts and asked, "Rough day?"
Hermione threw him a mild look of disgust. Everyone knew better than to
eat peanuts in a dish at a bar.

She rubbed her temples and answered grimly, "Like you wouldn't believe."

Harry saw Tom limp towards them and greeted enthusiastically, "Good
evening, Tom." The ageing Innkeeper was still getting on with the help of
others. He stubbornly refused to retire and joked about dying on the job.

Tom enthused, "Mr Potter, Miss Granger, always a pleasure to have you."

Hermione smiled warmly, "Lovely to see you, Tom."

Tom grinned and invited, "What can I get you? The usual?"

Harry and Hermione replied together, "Yes, please."

Seconds later, two glasses of Firewhiskey with three ice cubes each were
placed before them.

Harry took a sip and raised thoughtfully, "Did you have any idea about
Terry?"

Hermione shook her head and stared into her glass. The tawny liquid
sloshing within captivated her, "Not at all. I am, however, worried about
him."

Harry nodded in agreement, "As am I, but he's always been the reckless
one."

Hermione groaned in exasperation, "Can we not talk about Terry Boot. We

had a rather nasty argument that I would like to forget."

Harry looked her over and couldn't help but grin, "Over him beating up
Malfoy or having him committed?"

Hermione turned to face him with a look of shock written all over her face,
"You knew about Malfoy? Why didn't you take action?"
Harry laughed aloud, "Of course I knew."

He nudged her and admitted, "You've gone and done my dirty work for me
by suspending him. Besides, it was a hunch, I didn't have proof, and Malfoy
kept his big mouth shut on the matter. It wouldn't have looked good if
everyone labelled him a rat on top of every other foul name they have for
him."

Hermione pulled her hair into a messy bun, got comfortable and frowned, "I
guess." The consequences of her actions hit her, "Shite, maybe I shouldn't
have confronted Terry." The last thing she wanted was for the situation to
escalate.

Harry shrugged, "Yeah, maybe you shouldn't have, but it's too late for that
now."

Hermione sighed, "I thought spending more time with Terry would help
him."

Harry rolled his eyes and mocked, "And feed into his infatuation with you?
If you haven't noticed, and I'm sure you have, Boot is in love with you."

Terry's earlier confession of love floated through her mind, and it made her
heart ache. Life would have been so much simpler if she returned his
affections instead of snogging Malfoy in her office.

Harry took a sip of his drink, pushed aside the burning sensation and teased,
"You always were one to tend to a wounded soul."

Hermione argued, "I was willing to do what I can to help him."

Harry chuckled, "That would have been brilliant. Malfoy would have been
thrilled."

He added in a severe tone, "Speaking of the Slytherin git, he had a rough go

of things today."
Hermione averted her gaze so Harry would not see her expression of
concern and nodded, "I know. He didn't even attempt to fight back. Says he
deserves it."

Harry frowned, "He's an idiot. I hired him for a reason. He is no use to me

dead."

Hermione urged, "They shouldn't pick on him it's utterly unfair."

Harry raised a curious brow, "Is it? Half of the DMLE lost loved ones in the
war."

Hermione hung her head, drained her drink and replied, "I know, it's just
that....."

Harry smirked and teased, "Aww, do you have genuine feelings for the
tosser?"

Hermione denied the accusation, "Of course not."

Harry chuckled, "If Ron could hear you now."

Hermione grimaced, "Very funny. Pity, we should have asked him to join
us."

Harry shook his head vigorously, "And listen to him moaning about how
horrible Malfoy is? No thanks, I've had enough of that all day."

A sickeningly sweet voice that they knew all too well interrupted their
moment of peace and fun, "Harry, Hermione, how lovely to see you both."

Hermione held nothing back, "Piss off, Skeeter."

Rita grinned, "Well, that's rude." Nothing threw her off.

Hermione tried a more direct approach, "What do you want?"

Rita shrugged casually, "Oh, nothing, I just came over to say hello."
Harry muttered angrily, "Next time, try not to send a complete idiot to do
your dirty work."

Skeeter acted shocked and reacted innocently, "I have no idea what you're
talking about."

Harry glared sternly, "Of course you don't. Try something like that again,
and you'll be sharing your mate's cell in Azkaban."

Rita paled but smiled, displaying her crooked teeth to hide her discomfort.
Then her eyes caught sight of something far more interesting.

Hermione rested her hand on the bar counter, her legendary engagement
ring on full display.

Skeeter could barely contain her excitement. She knew without a doubt it
was pairing against their wishes. There was simply no way the righteous,
stick-up-her-arse Granger would ever agree to a union with former Death
Eater Draco Malfoy. This was the work of the marriage law.

"Yum, yum," Skeeter muttered under her breath. The headline was already
forming in her devious little head.

She excused herself at once, "Well, it was nice to see you both, but I must
run. Toodles."

Hermione mumbled, "Fuck off, you twat."

They sipped the second round of drinks in companionable silence until

Hermione thought of Ginny and how upset she had been over their fight.

She cleared her throat and approached the topic cautiously, "Listen, Harry,
you know Ginny loves you."

Harry looked miserable at the recollection of the stupid fight he had with
his wife, "Of course I do. I just lost my head."

Hermione suggested, "She needs a relaxing holiday." Silently she pleaded,

don't hate me, Gin.
Harry concurred, "We both do, but I can't leave in the middle of all this."
How would it look if he took off on a holiday while a serial killer was at
large, and one woman was still missing?

Hermione swallowed hard and said slowly, "She's going to kill me for this,
but Malfoy and his lot, Luna and Neville, are going to Hawaii."

Harry asked abruptly, "Are you going too?"

Hermione fidgeted and answered nervously, "Well, yes, I am going, as a

matter of fact. "

Harry seemed genuinely concerned, "Moving rather fast, aren't we? Meet
the parents and now a holiday? What's next, a pet?"

Hermione laughed candidly, "Don't be ridiculous. Besides, there's Max, and

I wouldn't dream of getting another."

Harry looked perplexed, "Who the heck is Max?"

Hermione smiled fondly and explained, "Oh, Max is Malfoy's Alsatian. He

is so cute, playful and utterly adorable."

Harry couldn't help himself, "Malfoy or the dog?"

Hermione scolded, "Shove it, Potter."

She included hopefully, "Anyways, I thought Ginny could go with us. You
know, enjoy herself for a few days."

Hermione inquired, "Do you think Molly could help you watch James?"

Harry was feeling a bit peckish and ordered a sandwich. He answered

without a doubt, "I don't see why not. I'm sure she could be persuaded. She
loves her grandchildren to bits."

He added thoughtfully, "Maybe I could have Teddy over. Make a day out of
it."
Hermione bobbed her head in agreement. It was going better than she
expected until Harry raised his head with a wild look in his eyes, "Will
Zabini be there?"

She swallowed hard and answered slowly, "Considering he's Malfoy's best
mate, I'm pretty sure he will be, but honestly, you have nothing to worry
about."

Reaching over, she squeezed Harry's hand and reassured him, "Your wife
loves you to the moon and back, you blithering idiot."

Harry tossed a disgusting peanut at her and frowned, "You know, Hermione.
I might pity Malfoy."

Hermione giggled, "Oh, fuck off, Harry."

Harry said after a moment’s thought. His voice heavy with emotion, "But I
do agree that Ginny should go. She deserves a break. I know it is not easy
on her. She gave up so much when James was born, and it's been rather
selfish of me to go along with it."

Hermione punched him in the arm, "That's the spirit. Besides, I will be there
and Merlin knows I could use the company." She needed someone
levelheaded to make sure she didn't make a complete fool out of herself.

Harry raved, "It's settled then, but let me tell her. I want it to be a surprise."

Hermione beamed and drew an imaginary line across her lips, "My lips are
sealed."

They clinked glasses in celebration of their brilliant plan.

 Chapter 41
Chapter Notes

HAPPY CHRISTMAS! Be always blessed! ❤

First of all, my sincere apologies for the late update, but work has been
demanding and the plot of the story is expanding and as we advance I
will be updating every ten days! There are some exciting twists and
turns, which I hope everyone will enjoy!

The comments are genuinely amazing. ❤

Also, I want to point out that I appreciate the time taken to leave such
fantastic feedback. 🤗

A huge thank you to everyone who took the time to post such amazing
feedback.

Enjoy Chapter Forty One!

Stay safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! 🥰

Nott Manor

It was a reasonably warm day, but the couple embracing on the second floor
of Nott Manor could not be bothered to go out into the world. They were
exposed with only a cotton sheet thrown across them haphazardly to cover
their nakedness.

Luna pulled her leg free from under Theo's leg, pressed into his side and
trailed her fingers slowly up his torso, avoiding the light patches of hair on
his otherwise bare chest.

She sighed in exhilaration, "Was it good?"

Theo adjusted his weight, got comfortable, pulled his loving wife to his side
and placed a kiss on her forehead, "It gets better each time."

That much was true, Luna was exceptionally different from any woman he
had been with, and that didn't change in the bedroom. She preferred to be
on top, and he had no qualms about it.

Frankly, he enjoyed a dominating woman, and she pounced on him as if she

were a caged animal set loose with her intense passion for him.

She grew forlorn and disappointed, "It's the last day of ovulation." They
hadn't been trying to get pregnant for long, but somehow she figured it
would have happened by now. Every time the pregnancy test came back
negative, it filled her with despair.

Theo rested his head on the pillow, averted his gaze and mumbled, "Oh, is
it? That's a shame." He could not lie to his beloved. Having sex to a
timetable was emasculating, and the more Luna bounced into the room
excitedly to announce it was time to have sex, the more his cock wanted to
dislodge itself and flee.

While he wanted to have children and build a family with Luna, an

underlying and problematic issue caused him to think twice.

Luna was perceptive. She had noticed her spouse's odd conduct ever since
they collectively decided on having a child.

Somberly, she supposed that she hadn't wanted to pay too much attention to
his mood swings and had purposely ignored them since she was so adamant
about starting a family.

Deciding her possibly selfish behaviour could spell disaster for their
relationship in the long run. Luna thought it best to address the problem
head-on and devise a tangible solution.

She took her husband's large hand in hers, entwined her fingers through his
and tried to get his attention, "Theo?"

Theo was deep in thought, but he heard her sweet voice bore into them,
"Hmm?"

She let go of his hand, sat up and let anxiety fuel her question, "Do you
want to have a child?"

Theo gave her his undivided attention. If there was a time, to be honest, it
was now. He struggled to find the right words to say without hurting her
feelings, "Oh, umm..."

Luna stared at him through tear-filled eyes. Her face fell, and she exclaimed
in utter mortification, "Merlin, I've forced you into this, haven't I?" A part of
her had known it all along. How could she have been so thoughtless?

Theo shook his head, sat up himself and cupped Lunas's small, sweet face.
She looked ready to cry out her frustrations.

He implored, "No darling, I want to have children, but it's just, I'm afraid."

Luna brushed aside her feelings and raised a curious brow, "Afraid?" She
had been expecting many things, but being afraid was undoubtedly not one
of them.

Theo sighed and said with raging bitterness, "My old man was a bastard,
Luna. I've told you bits and pieces, but I spared you the true horrific details
of my upbringing."

She scooted closer and encouraged, "You can always talk to me, Theo." She
would help him overcome his past demons and chase away the pain that
affected him.

Theo looked entirely defeated. His usual casual demeanour vanished, and in
its place was a scared little boy who fought hard to keep his emotions under
control, "It's not easy for me to talk about my childhood. If it weren't for
Hogwarts, I'd probably be dead or committed to an asylum like my mum."
This was the first Luna was hearing of it. They hardly ever spoke about his
parents, and since it was a sensitive topic, she didn't want to push him into
talking about it. To hear that his mother spent her last days in an institution
was disturbing, and she gave voice to those thoughts, "What? How come
you never told me?"

A small smile crept up his face as he spoke of his mother. It was apparent
she meant a great deal to him, "She was the only saving grace in my life,
and he made her life a living hell."

By he, Luna assumed Theo was referring to his father.

Her assumption was proven correct when Theo barrelled into an

explanation, "I had to watch him physically and mentally abuse her daily."

He included helplessly, "She was such a fragile woman. There was nothing
I could do! He would use her body to practise the Cruciatus curse and laugh
at her agony." Memories he had suppressed rose to the surface, he clutched
the sides of his head and willed them away, but they remained to torment
him.

A sharp pain stabbed his heart as an image of him lying in the comfort of
his mother's arms while she read him stories of faraway lands came to
mind. Those were his best childhood memories, and he cherished them.

Luna pulled his hand free and looked upon him with tears streaming down
her face, "Oh, Merlin. That's terrible." She couldn't begin to imagine the
misery and pain they had endured at the hands of a man she knew to be
intelligent but a deranged lunatic who took pleasure in others' suffering.

It was as if a floodgate opened, and Theo spilt out his tragic story, "A year
after I started at Hogwarts, she was committed. She, umm, passed away
when I was twelve."

Anger coursed through his veins at the very thought of his father's callous
attitude. He gritted out in disgust, "I didn't even know. One day, my father
turned up at school, handed me a black leather box with her diamond
broach pinned inside, and told me she had died. He didn't show a hint of
remorse."

Oh, he remembered that day well. Professor Snape had fetched him, and
despite the usual sour disposition of their House Head, Snape bestowed a
look of pity and sadness upon him. Perhaps, because he knew what the
child was going through, having gone through it himself and sympathised.

Theo could no longer hold his feelings at bay. He cried bitter tears, "I didn't
even get a chance to say goodbye to my darling mother."

Luna cradled him and repeatedly whispered, "I'm so sorry." She knew
firsthand what it was like to lose a mother but not being allowed to say a
final farewell was beyond cruel.

Theo composed himself somewhat and said bluntly, "I never went home
during the holidays. Usually, I stayed at Hogwarts or quite often at Malfoy
Manor." Narcissa had become a foster mother to him, and in her care,
though temporary, he felt true happiness.

Luna nodded slowly in understanding, "I can only imagine." She pictured a
terrified teenager hiding from his domineering father.

He continued to confess. It felt oddly comforting, "One night when I was

fourteen, he came looking for me, and Draco hid me best he could in this
ancient cabinet smelling of mothballs. Narcissa tried to protect me, but
Lucius did not think twice. He handed me over to my father without a shred
of mercy."

Draco had literally begged his father to stay silent and let Theo be, but
Lucius was having none of that. The older men were friends, bound to the
same cause, and their unruly sons would not get in the way of that.

Theo said dejectedly, "I will never forget that day. I can still recall the sound
of his heavy belt as he brought it down hard on my back time and time
again until I lay in a pool of my blood."
Luna stroked his cheek lovingly, "Theo..."

He swallowed hard, "After his imprisonment in Azkaban, he showed some

remorse, I was told, but despite his countless pleas to see me, I could never
bring myself to forget all he had done and visit him. He died alone, covered
in his filth. I hardly recognised the body." The figure that was supposedly
his father was unrecognisable, but from the unique tattoo of a Basilisk on
his back, Theo successfully identified the corpse.

Theo grabbed Luna by her arms and shook her, "What if I turn out like him,
Luna? Our children will hate me."

She broke free from his hold and pleaded, "No, baby! You will not. I know
you and what's in your heart." She touched the area on his chest just above
his heart and implored, "Don't let your past define who you are."

Theo leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on her lips and muttered
desperately, "I love you so much, Lovegood."

She pulled him close and whispered between kisses, "And I love you, so
much, always."

The Institute

Terry wore the standard-issue white shirt and jogging bottoms. His feet
were bare.

His room was not much. A colourful painting hung on the wall, a single bed
rested in the corner with a clean mattress and matching sheets, and a table
with a few books neatly stacked on top of it to chase away the boredom
when the gut-wrenching pain stopped. The floor was cold, but he welcomed
the coolness that seeped into his skin.

They had confiscated his wand. He hadn't given it up without a fight. Being
a highly skilled Auror, it had taken no less than three Healers to restrain him
and relieve him of his beloved item, but he supposed it was for the best.

As Granger so eloquently pointed out, he wasn't a drugged-out waste of

space. There was still much he needed to, wanted to accomplish.

Terry sat by the one window in the room, overlooking the breathtaking view
of a lake. There seemed to be a gentle breeze, noticeable by how the trees
were swaying lightly in the wind.

Grudgingly he was forced to admit the place was decent. The staff of
Healers and Learners were helpful, went out of their way to inquire about
their well-being, and the food was better than the drivel he had been
shovelling into his mouth back home.

Others overcoming issues like him reached out upon his arrival, but Terry
stayed away, kept to himself and ignored the friendly gestures of the other
patients. The night had been particularly rough. He had been plagued with
such violent hallucinations and dreams they had to restrain him once again
for fear of harming himself.

His appetite was beyond control. He grabbed the food tray as it arrived and
greedily devoured the contents within minutes.

Terry tapped his head against the pane of thick glass that separated him
from the real world and thought exclusively about Granger. Thinking about
her caused him mental and physical pain, her refusal of him did not sit well,
but she entered his thoughts against his will and festered within.

The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that Malfoy
had done something to her. Perhaps slipped her a potion or used a spell to
make her complacent. It was the only plausible explanation for her sudden
change in attitude towards him.

The Hermione he knew would never soften towards a bastard like Malfoy.
He shuddered as a wave of frosty coldness engulfed him. It was hard to
keep his bearings in such moments. He collapsed to the floor and
convulsed.
After an unsatisfactory shower, her thoughts revolved around Terry Boot
and his current predicament. Remembering the harsh words she had
unjustifiably thrown at him and his declaration of love, Hermione retorted
to pushing aside such thoughts for another time and chose her outfit with
care. A black, sleeveless dress where the hem flirted with her kneecaps and
a flattering set of purple silk underwear.

Following Malfoy's employment and their moments of unbridled passion in

her office left her wanting. It put a mischievous smile on her face.

She was not one to break the rules often, but it felt heavenly to push the
boundaries as long as their activities were shielded from wandering eyes
and gossip.

It was a reason to look forward to going to work. She loved her job, but not
knowing what lay ahead each day further motivated her.

Fetching a pair of golden hoops from her jewellery box, and was attaching
them to each delicate earlobe when the phone rang. Hermione looked at the
name pulsating on the screen and smiled.

Hermione connected the call and said happily, "Good morning, Narcissa."

Narcissa sounded quite pleased herself, "Darling, how are you?"

Hermione answered with what she truly felt, "It's lovely to hear from you."

Narcissa smiled, "Likewise. I miss you terribly."

Hermione made a split-second decision, "Are you free for lunch?"

Narcissa was quick to reply, "That sounds marvellous."

Hermione queried casually, "At the Manor?" She hoped they could go out
for a chance.
It seemed like Narcissa shared her sentiment, "Oh Merlin, no! I'm fed up
with staring at these walls."

Hermione was relieved, "I completely understand. Where would you like to
go?"

Silence surrounded them as each thought of an appropriate place, but it was

Narcissa that suggested, "How about J.Sheekey? I do have a craving for
seafood."

Hermione bobbed her head in approval even though the person on the other
end could not see, then said in agreement, "As you wish. Does one pm work
for you?"

Narcissa tittered, "It does indeed. I look forward to it." She sounded more
like an excited teenager than the aristocratic woman she indeed was.
Hermione wondered if Narcissa had any part of her childhood that hadn't
involved proper manners, long dresses, hours of etiquette training and
lessons on pureblood dominance.

They hung up on a high note. Hermione tossed the phone back into her
sizeable handbag, threw open her cupboard, gazed fondly upon the neat
rows of shoes and chose a pair of red heels to complete her ensemble before
heading off to work.

Harry sat fully dressed in his Auror robes at the small wooden table in the
modest kitchen of Grimmauld Place and read The Daily Prophet with mild
interest. James coloured a picture he had drawn of a winged dragon while
Ginny piled her hair on top of her head, yawned while she fixed them
breakfast and fussed over her only child.

She looked over James's shoulder before setting down his favourite cereal
and gushed, "That's lovely, darling."

James beamed at his mother's encouraging words, scooped a spoonful of

milk and crunchy flakes and stuffed it into his mouth before grabbing a
thick green crayon to colour the dragon's head.

Harry gathered his courage. After his discussion with Hermione for half the
night, he had gone over it in his head and weighed the pros and cons once
he returned home.

Of course, the advantages outweighed the massive disadvantage that was

Zabini tagging along. After much deliberation, he came to a decision. Still,
once again, he was in two minds but decided it was for the best and blurted
out before he could change his mind, "Ginny?"

Ginny applied a thick layer of mayonnaise on the slice of bread, covered the
rest of the sandwich with it, pressed down hard and cut it in half. She wasn't
paying attention to her husband and responded with a disinterested,
"Hmmm, yes, love?"

Harry spoke timidly, "I have something for you."

Ginny set the packed lunch bag in front of him and looked at the piece of
paper Harry pushed in her direction, "Oh?"

He had conjured a postcard with the word Hawaii written across it in a

desperate attempt to appear creative.

She wasn't amused, but the surprise on her face was apparent, "What's all
this, Harry?" Hermione's upcoming trip to Hawaii had slipped her mind
entirely, but it dawned on her within seconds, and she widened her eyes in
realisation.

James tugged at her sleeve to get her attention, "Mummy, look. Please look,
mummy." He was proudly trying to show his now completed drawing of the
dragon.

Harry patted his son on the head, "That's gorgeous, mate. Why don't you
run along and watch some cartoons on the telly?"

Drawing forgotten, James jumped down from the chair and ran into the
living room screaming, "Yay! Cartoons." His mother never allowed him to
watch television until he had finished breakfast.

Ginny sat down and continued to stare at the printed picture of a voluptuous
hula girl, white sandy beaches, and a clear blue sky. One could almost feel
the warmth, and it did look quite appealing.

Harry covered her hand with his, mustered a smile and insisted, "I want you
to go, darling."

Ginny raised a quizzical brow in question, "Did Hermione put you up to

this?" She was sure their mutual best friend played a substantial part.

Harry was quick to defend, "No, of course not. She mentioned she was
going, and I thought it would be the ideal holiday for you."

Ginny protested, "Harry, I don't think...."

Harry interrupted undeterred, "You do so much for us, Gin. You deserve a
break and treat." He could not remember the last time they went on holiday.
His attitude towards the job was to blame.

She exhaled and argued, "But you couldn't possibly manage James and
work. I wouldn't want you to be more stressed out than you already are."
There was so much going on at the DMLE. He needed her around to hold
down the home front.

Harry waved a hand dismissively, "It's only for a couple of days." He was
already regretting his choice but kept it well hidden.

He put in with a triumphant grin, "I can ask Molly and Andromeda to help
out. I am sure they will agree that you need a bloody holiday."

Ginny grumbled, "Language! And no, I don't think it's a good idea."
Especially if a certain Italian man was joining the trip, their last encounter
left many unanswered questions. Ginny resentfully questioned her darkest
fears about whether she could trust herself around Blaise.
She pouted and tried her best to convince her loving husband, "Besides, I
would have no fun without you."

Harry sighed, "Ginny, do you want to go? Be honest." He could see in her
eyes that she was sorely tempted.

Ginny accepted defeat and confessed, "Yes, I do, but not without you."

Harry got to his feet with purpose and put his foot down, metaphorically
speaking, "Then it's settled. You are going to Hawaii with Hermione, and
that's final."

Ginny implored, "Harry...."

He turned on his heel and called out over his shoulder, "No, I don't want to
hear another word."

Ginny grasped her warm coffee mug with both hands and took a deep
breath.

After his dramatic escape, Harry sheepishly re-entered the kitchen and
picked up the brown paper bag that held his lunch.

He gave a lop-sided grin, "Oh, umm, forgot my lunch."

Ginny couldn't help but laugh as he scrabbled away. She finished her coffee
in deep thought, placed the mug in the sink to wash later, put up James's
drawing on the refrigerator and went in search of the little scamp with the
half-eaten bowl of milk and cereal firmly in her grasp.

Draco skipped his vigorous routine and went straight to meditation under
the big oak tree. He closed his eyes and let the feeling of peace and serenity
wash over him.
The weather was perfect. He felt the warmness of the sun fall upon his
cheek, the rustling of leaves caress his inner ear, and the joyful sound of
nature filled the space abundantly.

His body still ached from the battering the previous day, and though his ribs
were fully healed, a dull pain lingered when he moved his arms in a circular
motion. His training would undoubtedly aggravate the condition and cause
Healer Doris to reprimand him severely.

He had to remember to stop by her office for a checkup. After all, she had
insisted, and the motherly yet stern Matron was not to be trifled with.

Draco was dressed in pitch-black Auror robes and ready to head off to work
within an hour. He was determined that his second day on the job would be
better than the first.

His mother was nowhere in sight, and Max barked at him in greeting and
whimpered when he left after grabbing a piece of toast. He fancied a stroll
among Muggles and made a mental note to take the dog out of the Manor
grounds for a walk.

Hermione breezed into the office in less than high spirits. She was
determined to check on Terry's progress. His pained face haunted her, and
she was once again wracked with guilt over her actions and decisions.

She greeted Brenda fondly, "Good morning! Any messages?"

Brenda put aside her phone. She was busy texting Michael who had
coincidently decided to take a well-earned day off and catch up on his sleep.

"Nothing so far, boss," Brenda answered almost at once.

Hermione nodded and entered her well-furnished, immaculately neat office,

tossed her heavy bag aside and threw herself onto the sofa.

She leaned back and closed her eyes for a few blissful seconds. The endless
ringing of her phone destroyed the sanctity she tried so hard to maintain.

Hermione got to her feet and headed towards her bag with a frustrated
groan, fished out her mobile and connected the call without hesitation.

A voice she knew all too well hissed, "You conniving little twat."

Hermione stifled a laugh and responded innocently, "What? I have no clue

what you are on about."

Ginny snapped, "Oh, don't you dare act like a doe caught in front of
headlights."

Hermione grinned and admitted, "I just gave him a nudge. The decision was
completely his."

Ginny rolled her eyes, "Harry's too blinded by his love for you to know
when you're manipulating him."

Hermione pulled a face and scoffed, "You cut me deep, Weasley."

Ginny giggled, "Looks like you're stuck with me."

Despite her pleas to Harry that her place was by his side looking after their
son, she neglected to mention how happy she was to be going.

Hermione joined the laughter, "I wouldn't have it any other way." She was
over the moon that Ginny was going with her to Hawaii.

Ginny reminded devilishly, "I hope you haven't forgotten our bet." A bet she
had every intention of winning.

Fuck.

Hermione looked at her nails and played dumb, "And what bet might that
be?" She would spare her spirited friend the right to gloat by keeping to
herself and possibly avoiding Malfoy at all costs.
Ginny jogged her memory and repeated with glee, "The one where you
jump Malfoy's bones in Hawaii." It was bound to happen. She knew
Hermione was physically attracted to Malfoy. It would take the right place
and encouragement for it to happen.

Hermione countered confidently, "It will be the easiest hundred Galleons

I've ever won." Her confidence hung by a proverbial thread.

Ginny was not in the least bit convinced, "Let's see about that."

She inquired reluctantly, "Erm, are you sure Blaise will be there?" She
dreaded seeing him again amid such a romantic setting.

Perhaps Daphne and his kids would be accompanying? She secretly hoped
they were.

Hermione shrugged, "I guess so, but don't worry, I'll keep you in line."

Ginny scowled, "Excuse me, I love my husband." There was no doubt

where her feelings for Harry were concerned. Blaise was a distraction she
would sooner avoid than face.

Hermione gushed, "Of course you do."

Ginny grumbled, "Merlin, I have to go shopping and get some decent

clothes. Everything I own is rather outdated." When had she let herself go?
It really wouldn't do.

She invited eagerly, "Do you want to tag along?"

Hermione politely declined, "I've got lunch plans with Narcissa."

Ginny admonished, "Not today, you daft bint. How does Saturday sound?"

Hermione bantered, "What's with the bloody name-calling, you ginger

biscuit?" Sophistication aside, she could genuinely be her wonky self with
Ginny.

She heard her best friend's good-natured laughter.

Hermione perked up, "Let's make a day of it." She loved nothing better than
spending the day with her opinionated friend.

Ginny grew thoughtful and queried, "When are we leaving, by the way?"

Hermione tried her best to recall, "According to Malfoy, next Friday. The
others are heading over on Monday." They hadn't discussed the details since
the dinner at her parents' house.

She liked to plan ahead and made a mental note to discuss it with him
without further delay and, less importantly, a possible date for getting
married.

"Magic or Muggle transportation?" Ginny posed wearily. She assumed it

would be a long flight.

Hermione shared her sentiment, "I'll get Kingsley to authorise a Portkey. I

don't fancy sitting next to Malfoy on a plane for over ten hours."

With a certain degree of importance, Ginny said, "Perks of working for the
Ministry."

Hermione chuckled, "Indeed."

A brilliant idea struck Ginny, and she suggested excitedly, "Shall we ask
Luna to go shopping with us?"

"Another excellent idea," Hermione replied right off the bat.

Her enthusiasm was cut short by a knock on the door. She thought it might
be Malfoy quickly visiting to wish her good morning and grew stupidly
excited at the prospect. She swiftly informed Ginny, "I got to go, love. Call
you later?"
Her excitement came to an abrupt halt as Brenda aversely led in an ageing
witch with a sour expression and lips pressed down firmly to form a thin
line.

Hermione swapped a look with her assistant and mustered a smile.

Draco stepped out of the Floo network onto the crowded Ministry floor. It
was barely nine am, but the place was packed with an assortment of
Magical beings going about their business.

He stepped into the elevator and pushed the button to his desired floor. The
gates were about to close when a woman's petite hand stopped it, and a
fashionable dressed witch stepped inside and smiled at him brightly in
greeting, "Good morning, Draco."

Draco wished he had taken the stairs, but still, he returned the mannerly
gesture, "Good morning, Stacy."

She came closer and gushed, "I heard about the cowardly attack. I was so
worried about you." Her words were thick with emotion and longing.

Draco pointedly moved to the side, "Well, I'm fine as you can see."

Stacy looked him over and beamed, "Yes, you look very handsome." Her
voice and tone were heavy with lust. She made it rather evident that she
wanted to establish a connection.

Draco shifted his feet awkwardly and willed the rickety old lift to move
faster. Finally, it came to a halt on his preferred floor, and he hurried out
with so much as a have a lovely day.

Stacy's face fell in disappointment. She had anxiously hoped to sow some
wild oats before marrying the sorry excuse of a man assigned to her by The
Algorithm.
Draco saw Doris tending to a patient. He pushed open the solid glass doors
and closed the distance between them with two long strides.

Doris raved, "Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes? You look completely
cured, Mr Malfoy."

She spoke kindly to her assistant, who was hovering in the background,
"Catherine, do you mind fetching the paste and finishing up here while I run
diagnostics on Draco here."

It was clear from Catherine's hesitation that she would rather run
diagnostics than apply the paste on a very questionable area of the patient's
body. Still, she shielded her true thoughts and attended to the task assigned
to her without so much as a complaint.

Doris gave Draco her undivided attention and instructed firmly, "Spread
your arms wide and hold still."

He did as instructed and felt a coolness wash over him as the Matron moved
her wand over him slowly, stopping only at the points she deemed
necessary. The inspection ended, and Doris declared, "Everything looks fine
and in place. You have an extraordinary command of the magic in you."

Draco brushed it aside, "No more than anyone else, I assume."

Doris eyed him sceptically, "Hmm, you are a curious fellow, aren't you?"
She dismissed him after a few seconds had passed, "Off you go. Try not to
get into any more physical altercations."

Draco laughed and promised with a small respectable bow, "You have my
word."

He didn't risk using the elevator this time around and running into more
undesirable characters. Instead, Draco used the stairs and walked into the
training room of the DMLE confidently.

A few recruits were already gathered, and Emily waved and beckoned him
over. He smiled at her. At least he wasn't hated by everybody.

Draco went to pass the assembled bunch of men when a deep voice of
loathing made it to his ear.

He spun around and caught Dennis Creevey looking smug and pleased with
himself, "Heard you took a beating, Malfoy?"

It was far too early for a confrontation. Draco pretended not to hear and
tried to walk over to Emily, who looked slightly alarmed.

Creevey gnashed out, "Don't ignore me, scum."

Emily made her presence known, "Leave him alone, Dennis."

Draco spun around, faced the fuming man and apologised profusely, "I'm
very sorry about what happened to your brother, Creevey, but I played no
part in his demise."

Dennis stepped closer without fear, jabbed him in the chest and blamed,
"You led those bastards right into our school."

He spat harshly what he believed to be the truth, "Their blood is on your

hands whether you choose to accept it or not." It was a truth most
acknowledged and rightly so. Only a few knew the true nature of the events
that led to that fateful night.

Draco reeled back from the unforgivable truth and tried to explain, "I know,
I'm trying...."

Dennis cut him off and sneered, "Does your mother cry, Malfoy?"

"What?" Draco inquired through bared teeth. His fingers curled slowly to
make fists.

Dennis answered without skipping a beat, "Because mine does! She cries
every single fucking day over my brother." His tone mirrored the evident
anguish he was experiencing.

He insisted further in anguish, "Do you know what it's like to helplessly
watch as the woman who raised you slowly descend into chronic
depression?" His voice cracked on the last word.

Emily listened intently. She felt divided in her opinion but decided on
giving Draco the benefit of the doubt. He certainly didn't seem like the vile
creature everyone made him out to be.

Draco did know. He knew all too well how it was to watch a loved one
suffer from the sidelines and be utterly helpless.

He confided desperately, "I do know what it's like! I watched Voldemort

torment and torture my mother for weeks as punishment for my father's
failure while we watched in despair." Countless times he had tried to save
her, Lucius himself appealed to the Dark Lord for mercy, but their request
fell on deaf ears of a madman bent on his own needs.

Draco recalled the vacant expression on Narcissa's face. Her malnourished

body and thinning hair as she endured a fate worse than death.

He raised his voice for all to hear, "I did what I did to save her. I hated
myself for it, but I loved her enough to not care a damn about anyone else."

Draco stressed desperately, "We suffered at his hands just as you all did."

Dennis was unmoved by his honest declaration. He taunted sarcastically,

"Oh, I'm sure you suffered living in your castle, looking down your nose at
everyone. Thinking you were better than us."

Draco knew it was a pointless argument and hissed, "I cannot change the
past, but I can try my best to make amends for my mistakes."

Dennis opened his mouth to hurl a clever retort, but Audrey walked into the
room and snapped, "That is enough chit chat. You two are holding up the
entire session."
The door opened with an audible click, and Sarah stirred. She wasn't feeling
well and had vomited twice during the night. The pool of sick festered
uncleaned on the floor, and she tried hard not to breathe in its acrid
fragrance.

The man entered with a cheery grin that vanished the second he saw the
retch on the floor and sizeable patches of blood on the sheets.

"Disgusting," He muttered in a carrying voice, and Sarah pulled at the chain

that held her in place and cowered. Her menstrual cycle was hardly her
fault.

Did the animal not understand basic womanly needs? Hadn't he used her
body enough? Didn't she deserve a stitch of clothing?

She found her voice and croaked, "Please, let me use the bathroom. I need
to clean myself."

He stared at the blood in repulsion—the filthy creature.

Sarah cooed, "You like me clean, don't you, darling?" Directing the word at
a man like him made the bile rise in her throat once more.

She had a point. He would not touch her in her current predicament. The
very sight of her made him nauseous.

The man nodded unsurely and warned, "Of course, you can, but I'll be
watching you. Make one wrong move, and I'll wring your neck."

He further included, "You can wear some of my mother's clothes and use
napkins to deal with your....situation." He could hardly waltz into the
nearest market and buy sanitary pads when it was widely known that he was
a loner and lived with only his darling mother to keep him company.

Sarah basked in her small victory. He returned with an unflattering dress

and a pair of beige knickers that had seen better days.
The Monster unchained her, and she rubbed her wrist where the rusted
metal dug into her flesh.

She fought the urge to kick him in the face and make a run for it. The sad
truth was she lacked the strength to confront the man and obediently
followed him down a narrow corridor and into a surgically clean tiny
bathroom.

Her mind took mental pictures of her surroundings as she passed the living
area and into the bathroom. The tiny home seemed spotless, but the deco
was outdated and lacked warmth.

He nudged her in the back, making sure not to touch her completely, "Go on
then," He pointed to a white stool, "I'll sit here and wait for you to finish.
Hurry up."

Sarah passed the mirror and caught a proper glimpse of herself in months.
She almost let out a cry. The woman staring back at her with hollow eyes
was not someone she recognised. Her skin was gaunt, and her hair was a
long tangly mess but what truly filled her with despair was the reddened
bruises that adorned her skin.

It was evidence of the brutal sexual assault she endured daily. In the
beginning, he had been careful not to leave marks or touch her, but
something had changed, and now he cared little for leaving his DNA on her
body.

His being foolhardy scared her, it made her think her demise was near or a
fate much worse awaited her.

The man hissed forebodingly, causing her to snap out of her daydream and
scramble unsteadily into the white tub.

Her fingers trembled as they came in contact with the shower handle. She
turned it slowly, and a delightful spray of water fell upon her, and she
sighed aloud to show her satisfaction.
From his place by the door, he watched in fascination as the love of his life
washed the dirt off her sensual body. His eyes never left her diminished
curves and perky bosom. A trickle of blood coiled its way down her legs
and disappeared down the drain.

He felt an all too familiar tightening in his trousers. Even in her impure
state, he still wanted her, unlike the rest. With practised ease, he freed his
cock and palmed it feeling its length grow as the woman before him
thoroughly cleaned herself with a bar of soap.

Sure, he couldn't fuck her, but there were other ways to relieve himself. He
moved his fingers up and down his hardened length and patiently waited for
his beloved to finish.

What was taking her so long? She seemed to be enjoying the shower far too
much.

His cock head beaded fluid, and he groaned in intense pleasure. He

demanded, "That's enough. Get over here."

Sarah slowly turned to face him and whimpered. Her bottom lip trembled as
her eyes raked over the indecent act.

He spread his legs apart and beckoned her forward. This would be the first
time since her capture that he would force her to perform oral sex on him.
She knew it was too good to be true. He wouldn't spare her even if she were
dying.

"Hurry up, love," He appealed urgently.

The need to release was overwhelming, but it would be sweeter to do so

with her succulent lips wrapped tightly around his throbbing cock.

Sarah left the water running, climbed out of the tub, and slowly approached
the man. She fell to her knees in front of him and screamed as he grabbed a
fistful of her hair and guided her face towards his pitiful appendage.
She needed no further instruction. Her heart beat wildly, and she hoped
against hope for some miracle to save her from this humiliation.

Opening her mouth, Sarah went to take the below-average cock in her
mouth when he warned, "If you bite on it or do anything to thwart me, I'll
kill you without a second thought."

She almost laughed. Did his minor death threats matter anymore? Her will
to live was slipping with each passing day.

Audrey scolded most severely, "Merlin, all mighty, what in the bloody hell
was that, Mr Griffin?"

The gangly young wizard apologised profusely, "I'm sorry, but I panicked."

Audrey pointed to a girl with a high ponytail who looked far from pleased,
"It's not me to whom you should be apologising. Look at Johnson's face.
She has got no bloody eyebrows."

He stared at his feet and grumbled, "I was nervous." Johnson, meanwhile,
shrieked at the revelation that her face lacked a much-needed component
and almost lunged at the person responsible.

Audrey pulled her back, "Calm down, you ninny. Go and see Doris in the
infirmary. She will give you better eyebrows than the ones you were born
with."

"Bitch," Johnson muttered under her breath and hurried away.

Audrey circled the others with disapproving critical eyes until she came up
behind Emily practising with Draco and raved, "Finally a pair who seem to
know what they're doing. Gather around everyone."

She highlighted, "See, Mr Malfoy's form, the placement of his feet and
movement of his wand? That is exactly what we are trying to learn today."
The strict instructor held nothing back of her opinion, "You lot look like a
bunch of monkeys with your useless brandishing of wands."

Audrey patted Creevey on the back as she passed and encouraged him,
"Good job, Dennis. Excellent."

She addressed the group of exhausted recruits, "Are we ready to move on to

Patronus charms?"

There was a collective groan, but Audrey brushed it aside and disregarded
the grumbling entirely.

Thomas entered the area discreetly and watched intently from the shadows.
His eyes never left Malfoy. The man had remarkable skills. He also caught
onto a few bits of wandless magic the young wizard tried to hide. It had
been years since he came across a wizard or witch with the ability to wield
magic without the aid of a wand.

His interest in Malfoy intensified. He was beginning to understand and see

why Potter hired the pampered prat.

Audrey's voice rang loudly throughout the hall, "Think of your happiest
moment. Channel it within and let it burst forth as a beautiful luminescent
spirit animal

Thomas rolled his eyes as her words caressed his inner ear. Audrey had not
changed much. She had always been a spiritual soul, even in their youth.

A burst of laughter broke through as everyone stared at a wriggling thick,

fat worm on the ground.

It was unfortunate, and the rookie who conjured it looked utterly ashamed.
It didn't help when Audrey said in a carrying voice, "Oh dear! It is, umm,
unique. In all my years, I've never seen a Flobberworm Patronus."

Draco ignored the incessant babble around him, closed his eyes in
concentration and filtered through what he considered to be happy
memories.

There weren't many, but in the past, when practising, he had often used
specific moments he had experienced in China. This time they centred on
more sinful thoughts of wild curls wrapped possessively around his fingers,
and sultry moans planted themselves deep in his mind and refused to budge.

A knowing smile curved his lips, and he uttered the words in barely a
whisper, "Expecto Patronum."

A brilliant white dragon larger than life erupted from the tip of his wand,
encircled him once, and snarled at those around him, causing everyone to
take a step back. It then sat almost obediently by his side.

Audrey, along with the others, stared in awe. Even Dennis was at a loss for
words. His Patronus of a silver hawk perched itself on his shoulder and kept
a watchful eye on the majestic beast.

She clapped and exclaimed in delight, "Mr Malfoy, you have outdone
yourself."

Thomas was impressed but kept his existence hidden. He turned to leave.
His presence was needed elsewhere.

Hours passed, and Hermione slipped off her glasses, massaged the bridge of
her nose and glanced at her watch.

It was quarter to one pm. Panic gripped her. Her lunch plans with Narcissa
were long forgotten with the morning rush of work.

She jumped to her feet, slipped into her shoes and hurriedly grabbed her
bag before rushing out of the door and informing a startled Brenda that she
was heading out for lunch.

Hermione grumbled, "Why the bloody hell is it so far away?" She clutched
her bag to her chest and hastened her footsteps towards the closest
designated apparation point.

It would not do to appear out of thin air at the entrance. It was a Muggle
establishment. Hermione decided to appear a little way off and do a brisk
walk towards the reputed restaurant.

She already had her wand out and waved it fluidly as the destination left her
lips. Her surroundings changed, and she appeared near a deserted cobbled
street.

Hermione looked around wildly and breathed a sigh of relief that no people
were about. She straightened herself up and headed in the right way. She
entered the restaurant making a few heads turn her way. Narcissa was
already seated at one of the more prominent tables, wearing a sophisticated
cobalt blue dress, a tasteful blue sapphire necklace and hair pinned up in a
neat, elegant bun.

She caught Hermione's eye and smiled as she approached, "I hope you don't
mind, but I ordered us a bottle of red wine."

Hermione sat down, eyed the expensive bottle critically and exclaimed,
"Narcissa, you do know I have to go back to work afterwards."

Narcissa waved her hand dismissively, "Yes, yes, but it doesn't hurt to
indulge now and then. Besides, when was the last time we had lunch?"

A fair point, Hermione thought and answered with a hint of guilt, "A week
or so before your son decided to descend upon us." And uproot all of our
lives, she kept the snide remark to herself.

The head waiter arrived with the menus and a bread basket with an
assortment of freshly baked rolls while another poured them glasses of
wine. Narcissa swirled the liquid around in her hand-blown glass, inhaled
the rich fluid and gave her approval with a refined, ladylike nod.

She buttered a dinner roll casually, "I heard dinner with your parents went
well."

Hermione flipped through the impressive menu and responded grudgingly,

"It did. My family is, umm, quite fond of him." Her mum and gran had
nothing but positive things to say. The blonde had even managed to win
over her father somewhat, which was a near-impossible task.

Narcissa gushed, "That sounds promising. Do they know I adore you?"

Hermione blushed and reached for the wine, "I'm sure Draco mentioned it."

Narcissa observed her would-be daughter-in-law's reaction and spoke with

profound keenness, "You don't cringe when you refer to him by his given
name anymore."

She probed anxiously, "How are the two of your fairing?"

Hermione shrugged, "We have our moments, I suppose." Moments of

unrestrained desire. Merlin, he had such an intensity about him that made
her want to cater to his every sexual whim.

Not now, Granger. Let your impure thoughts lie dormant in the presence of
his mother, she chastised herself.

Narcissa suggested resolutely, "Once you come back from Hawaii, we must
arrange dinner at the Manor with your family."

She knew about Hawaii. Is there nothing he did not share with his mother?

Hermione debated, "That's really not necessary."

Narcissa was not easily discouraged. She absolutely insisted, "It is

mandatory, Hermione. I would very much like to meet your delightful
family."

The server arrived once again, hovered over them for a few seconds and
inquired ever so courteously, "Are you ready to order, Madam?"
Hermione took the opportunity to divert the conversation, closed the menu
and reacted with a gracious smile, "I think I'll have the lobster, please."

He seemed quite pleased by her selection, "An excellent choice." He was

smartly dressed and oozed confidence.

Narcissa went over the expansive menu and decided, "I will have the same."

The man bowed and excused himself to place their order with the kitchen. It
was a rather busy afternoon, and he hoped there wouldn't be any delays that
affected his tip.

Narcissa took a sip of wine and stated frankly, "Don't think I haven't noticed
your poor attempt to deviate the conversation."

Hermione was adamant in her quest to avoid answering. She chuckled,

"Didn't Healer George ask you to stick to a rigorous diet?"

Narcissa scoffed, "Nonsense, I'm a grown woman, and I wish to have a

delectable meal with my future daughter in law."

A knowing smile curved her lips, "There you go again with trying to avoid
the question at hand."

Hermione conceded defeat since it was clear the noble lady with her wasn't
about to let up, "I'm sorry, Narcissa. It's just that I rather not give my family
or..," She paused to accentuate, "You! Any false hope regarding this union,
because whether everyone agrees or not, we will divorce in three years and
go our separate ways."

Hopefully, they would part amicably and remain friends. Friends with
benefits would be most likely.

An abrupt sadness flashed across Narcissa's face, "Well, darling, as parents,

we can only hope for happiness for our children."
She cleared her throat, "Have you given thought to a date?"

Hermione refilled her glass with wine, took a long drink and answered
bluntly, "We haven't discussed it yet, but sooner the better, I suppose. There
is no point in prolonging the inevitable. The Ministry will not overturn their
decision."

The bottle of red wine before them was diminishing rapidly. Initially, she
had planned to have just one glass, but presently she was on her third and
going strong.

Narcissa complied in agreement, "I quite see your point, darling."

Before Hermione could impart any further insight, the server arrived with
their meal and placed it delicately in front of each of them. Each plate was
covered with a silver cloche which the server dramatically moved away
from and announced, "Bon appetite."

Both women thanked him and gave the mouthwatering dish of Lobster,
cream pear and melon gel their devout attention. The Michelin star dish
looked stunning. The plating was artistic yet subtle and much too pretty to
consume.

Hermione could no longer contain herself. She tucked in and sighed,

"Goodness, this is delicious."

Narcissa followed suit, dabbed the corner of her mouth, and murmured with
satisfaction, "Mmm, I quite agree."

They ate in companionable silence. Each enjoyed the meal immensely until
Narcissa pierced the silence with an ill-timed question which sounded more
like an allegation, "Are you quite sure you don't want a wedding?"

Hermione dropped the fork in her grasp, it collided noisily with the white
China plate, and she almost choked but managed a strangled,
"Unquestionably."
Narcissa wasn't pleased and didn't bother to hide her displeasure, "Draco
has passed on your feelings on the matter, and I thoroughly disagree,
Hermione. A small function will not be so unbearable."

Hermione petitioned, eager for her to see reason, "Please understand,

Narcissa. I couldn't possibly walk down the aisle and pretend to be happy
with this ghastly situation." None of them understood how she truly felt
about the matter.

She combined quickly, "No offence." This was Narcissa's son, after all.

Narcissa frowned openly, "None taken." Her son wasn't without faults, but
she had always imagined a grand wedding.

An uncomfortable silence engulfed them, and despite the delicious dish,

Hermione lost her appetite and pushed the remaining bits of Lobster and
vegetables around the plate in a futile effort to pass the time.

Narcissa sensed the shift in Hermione's mood, and not wanting to dampen
things, she stirred the conversation well away from weddings, beautiful
white gowns and parental expectations.

She said brightly, "I called you earlier to discuss the plans for the cottage.
What do you have in mind, dear?"

Hermione attempted to smile, "Oh, I haven't given it much thought.

Something simple would be appropriate." Images of clawfoot tubs, soft
yellow draperies and plush bedding made her rethink her answer, "I do,
however, like a spacious bathroom with all the amenities."

She rattled off excitedly, "I am partial to warm pastel shades, maybe with
touches of red added to the mix."

Narcissa was glad to see Hermione happy about at least one aspect of the
marriage.
She consented at once, "I understand wholly. I will have the interior
designers show us an array of colours and designs."

Hermione pulled a stubborn piece of carrot off her fork with her teeth and
grinned sheepishly, "If it's not too much trouble."

Narcissa proclaimed, "Think nothing of it. It keeps me occupied, and I do

enjoy renovations."

They ordered scrumptious chocolate soufflés from the extensive dessert

menu and spoke more about homey touches that could be done. While
Hermione's suggestions were far too plain compared to Narcissa's
expensive tastes, she kept her opinions to herself and went along with them.

Halfway through the bottle of wine, Narcissa divulged stories from

Bernard's youth that Ivan had candidly confided. They certainly were a wild
bunch.

Hermione teased, "You really are smitten by him, aren't you?"

Narcissa blushed but hid the rosy tinge well, "Yes, I suppose I am."

She included solemnly, "However...."

Hermione pressed further, "What's the matter?"

Narcissa hesitated, but Hermione was the closest person she had to a good
friend, "I loved Lucius. There was no doubt in mind until our latter years,
but is it normal that I feel some guilt for loving another perhaps too soon
after he's passed?"

Hermione sighed but offered wisely, "You can't help what you feel,
Narcissa."

She stated adamantly, "You deserve to be happy. I know Draco wishes it for
you and holds Bernard in the highest regard."
Narcissa reached over and covered Hermione's hand with her own and
gushed, "Thank you, darling. It is comforting to know I have his blessing."

Thinking it was best to share some important news, Hermione delicately set
down her dessert spoon and said slowly, "There is something I must share."

Narcissa raised a curious brow, "Of course, dear."

Seeing little point in prolonging the truth, Hermione told her what had
transpired the day before, "Draco met Teddy."

Narcissa sat in silence as she digested the information and found the
courage to ask, "I see. Was Andromeda in attendance?"

Hermione confirmed with a quick shake of her head, "No, Teddy was
visiting the Ministry, and we happened across Draco, and he informed the
child that they were cousins." She purposely left out the bit about the
unprovoked attack and visiting Malfoy in the infirmary.

Narcissa knew by observing the boy that he was intelligent. She was
curious about his reaction to learning he had a cousin, "Oh, and how did
Teddy respond?"

Hermione sighed at first but seemed relieved, "Obviously, he was shocked.

He is only a small boy. The child thought his only living relatives besides
his grandmother were dead."

She added with a hint of pride, "I think Draco is trying to establish a
connection."

Narcissa looked away sadly, "Andromeda will not be thrilled." She hoped
Draco trying to get to know Teddy Lupin would not affect Hermione's
relationship with the boy.

Hermione reassured, "On the contrary, she seemed rather pleased when I
told her."
Narcissa snapped her head up and stared in surprise, "That is shocking." It
wasn't at all what she expected.

Hermione said cautiously but with just cause, "Is it, really? You two are
sisters. Don't you think it's time to let the past go and mend bridges for a
better future?"

She persevered, "You can't possibly want to go through life being apart
from your own flesh and blood."

Narcissa straightened and reacted with devotion, "I would gladly extend an
olive branch, but she has more plausible reason to refuse me than I her."

She included sadly and in pain, "Her husband, her daughter, and son in law
were brutally taken away from her by a monster my husband blindly
followed."

Hermione raised a sceptical brow, "You would be surprised, Narcissa."

Andromeda's reaction to Draco meeting Teddy was a testament to that.

She offered ardently, "I could speak to her on your behalf. Help mend
things." It was something she would gladly do.

A smile spread across Narcissa's face, but she kindly declined, "You're a
sweet child, but this is something I must do myself."

Hermione nodded in understanding, "If you insist."

They pushed aside more intense issues and focused on having a pleasant
lunch.

Hermione had missed her outings with Narcissa. They always managed to
have an enjoyable time. It was a refreshing change to see the aristocratic
woman enjoying herself without the burdens of being Lady Malfoy.

It dawned on her that she would assume the title for the duration of the
forced marriage in a few short weeks.
Audrey clapped loudly, "Good job, everyone. That was a productive second
day." She pointed to the sizeable doors and instructed, "Meet with your
partners and go over any pending cases for the rest of the day. Good day
and see you all tomorrow."

Emily doubled over, "Whew, that was exhausting, but thanks again, Draco,
for the terrific tips."

Draco took a long swig of water, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand
and managed an exhausted grin, "Think nothing of it. I'm happy to help."

He offered kindly, "Shall we practise deflecting spells tomorrow?"

Emily grinned from ear to ear, "That would be so great."

Draco stepped out of the training hall expecting Hannah to be there, but
sadly she wasn't and in her stead was an unlikely person leaning against the
wall waiting for him.

Michelle boldly stepped forward and drawled, "Bonjour, Monsieur Malfoy."

Her womanly fragrance surrounded him, it was a captivating smell of

perfume, and he momentarily wondered if it had been tampered with.

Mustering his good manners, he replied with a slight smile on his face,
"Good Morning, might I ask how you know my name?" The other recruits
exited the great hall, threw them curious looks, and went about their way
except for Emily, who glanced over her shoulder and frowned at the
exchange.

Michelle was not a subtle woman. Her eyes raked over his tall form. In
plain sight, her pert tongue darted forward and licked her plump bottom lip.
She touched his arm and quipped in a thick French accent, "Why Monsieur,
you are quite famous."

Draco found her performance amusing. His eyes darted to where her fingers
touched his person. Painted in a soft shade of pink, long nails dug into the
material.

A perceptible smirk curved his lips, "For the wrong reasons."

Michelle stepped closer, thinking her advances were well received and
whispered most seductively, "I've done my homework...Draco."

His name rolled off her tongue, "You do have a very sensual name. It suits
you well."

He was the exact type of man she went for: towering, hypnotic eyes and
toned, taut body.

She breathlessly wondered how he was in bed. Judging by looks alone, he

seemed like the dominating type who would not mind some roughness in
the bedroom.

Draco gazed at the woman, almost pressing herself flush against him. He
took a quick step back and inquired, "What can I do for you, miss...." He
had a fairly good idea of what she wanted, but it did nothing for him,
attractive as she was.

The enticing woman answered almost at once, "Dubois, Michelle, but

please, ma Cherie, call me Michelle."

Hannah came around the corner at that exact moment humming to herself,
took in the scene and scowled, "For fucks sake, woman. Didn't take you
long to swoop in, did it?"

Michelle glared, "What I do with my time is not your concern, Abbott."

Hannah stood by Draco's side protectively. She crossed her arms over her
chest and scoffed, "It is when you're pestering my partner. He's been
through enough unpleasantness already."

Draco stifled a laugh but managed to keep a stern emotionless face, "Calm
down, Hannah."

He gave the now frothing French woman his full attention and tried to keep
a straight face, "Alright, Michelle, was it? How may I be of service?"

Michelle regained her alluring composure, "You really shouldn't ask such
misleading questions."

Draco gave a curt nod, "My intentions were pure, trust me." Michelle was
about done playing this game of cat and mouse and homed in for the kill.

She pushed her bosom out and invited while trailing her fingers up the front
of his coat, "Would you like to join me for lunch? We can discuss tactics,
among other more enjoyable things."

Hannah rolled her eyes and fought the urge to throw up.

Draco respectfully declined, "Ah, it is a tempting offer, but I already have

plans with Hannah." Michelle threw the other woman a look of pure disgust
while Hannah gloated and elaborately flipped her off.

Michelle was not easily discouraged. She drawled in a faint voice, "Why
would you waste your time with her when we could be getting to know
each other?" She touched his arm again to emphasise her point.

Draco swallowed hard, stared into the woman's riveting eyes, and rasped,
"You are bold." He found a woman who knew what she wanted highly
tempting.

She glanced sideways at Hannah once again emphatically and expressed

brazenly, "I'm different from these British women."

Hannah lunged forward with the intent of causing bodily harm, "That's it!
I'm going to punch you in the fucking face, you French tart."

Draco grabbed her around the waist and held her back while Hannah
thrashed about and demanded, "Let me go, Malfoy."
Sparing a few moments, Hermione walked into the DMLE to speak with
Harry about Ginny's call earlier that day.

The second she pushed open the glass door, outraged high pitch voices
made it to her ear, and she caught bits of the exchange out of the corner of
her eye.

Hermione turned to face them, and the most unappealing sight greeted her.
Malfoy held Hannah back while a strikingly beautiful woman had her hands
up in defence, ready to throw a punch.

What in the name of Merlin?

His employment was causing quite a stir. Day two proved to be as fatal, if
not more lethal, than day one.

Abandoning her original task, she felt the wine cloud her senses as she
walked over to the group taking care to sashay her hips from side to side.

Hermione called out for all to hear, her voice firm and authoritative,
"Malfoy!"
 Chapter 42
Chapter Notes

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HAPPY READING! 🥰

Blaise called out impatiently, "Daph?" He had some good news and was
determined to share it with his lovely wife.

Daphne heard the unmistakable sound of her husband's voice as he searched

for her. A smile spread across her face. She glanced over her shoulder and
made her presence known, "In here, darling."

She was in the living room studying the new dinner set that had been
delivered and took immense pleasure in examining the hand-painted
patterns and fine craftsmanship.

They hosted plenty of events, and Daphne prided herself on being an

excellent hostess. She knew the right food items to serve, and who to flatter
with compliments. She always commanded the room with an air of
elegance.

Blaise exclaimed triumphantly, "I just got off the phone with your mother."

Daphne couldn't entirely hide her surprise, "My mother?" Sure, Blaise got
on well enough with her family, but he hardly called her mother up to have
an odd chat now and then.

It all became known with his following sentence, "She has graciously
agreed to watch the kids while we are in Hawaii." He was pretty pleased by
what he had accomplished, and that was plain to see by the bright smile on
his face.

Daphne, however, was not thrilled, "I don't think my mother can handle
both of them."

Blaise closed the gap between them and insisted, "We can send over Miffy
to help." The old house-elf adored the children and would be an extra
helping hand around Greengrass Manor.

Still, Daphne was not convinced. She voiced her concerns, "They can be
such a handful, Blaise. Adam has his allergies, and Carrie gets cranky at
times. I would be so worried and ....."

Blaise put his arms around his wife, held her close and urged, "Breath,
Daph. We need to do this. I want to spend some alone time with my darling
wife."

He kissed her gently, feeling the softness of her lips under his and
grumbled, "I can't remember the last time I saw you in a bikini."

Daphne laughed, but there was a touch of sadness to her tone, "After two
children? You probably never will." Her body was not without
imperfections. There were plenty of stretch marks from her pregnancies that
decorated her abdomen, which she carefully covered when necessary, using
a few tasteful Magical spells.
It was the price to pay for motherhood, but one she did not regret in the
slightest. Her family was the core of her being, and that's precisely why
Blaise's chance meeting with Ginny Weasley left unsettling thoughts.

Back at Hogwarts, she had heard him comment offhandedly on how sexy
Ginny looked in her Quidditch uniform. It upset her greatly at the time, but
she kept her feelings well hidden.

Daphne always thought he preferred an athletic woman since he was an

avid Quidditch fan, but he never brought it up or held the fact that she
wasn't against her.

Oblivious to his wife's insecurities, Blaise nuzzled into the crook of her
neck and rasped, "You have a beautiful body, my love." He insisted, "One I
cannot get enough of."

Daphne attempted to push him away halfheartedly, "Blaise, stop. Carrie

could interrupt us at any moment."

Her eyes fluttered close as she pressed herself into her husband's toned,
religiously worked-out body and pulled him close enough to smell the
strong scent of his aftershave.

Blaise was hard to discourage. He held on tight and growled, "Then let us
take this to the bedroom."

Daphne conceded, "Mmm, I do love the sound of that."

Blaise apparated them into their master bedroom with an audible pop away
from prying eyes and demanding toddlers. He backed his wife towards the
bed and reassured her, "Don't worry about the children. They love your
mother."

Daphne tried to protest, but she was drowning in insistent kisses, "I know,
but..."

Blaise cupped her face and argued, "But nothing, they will be completely
fine."
A sigh left her lips in defeat. It was pointless to resist, "I suppose you're
right. We do need some alone time." The last time they did anything alone
was probably a year before Carrie was born. It was not like they did not
have their fun, they did, but it had been a while.

Blaise unbuttoned her blouse and chuckled, "With Theo around, one can
only hope, but that's the spirit."

He pushed the flimsy material off her shoulders and kissed her passionately.

They fell onto the bed, lost in each other's arms.

Hermione called out for all to hear, her voice firm and authoritative,
"Malfoy!"

Draco knew the voice well. He inwardly groaned and clenched his teeth—
another spirited woman.

If this kept up, he would need backup since he already had his hands full
from holding Hannah back from tackling Michelle.

Everyone straightened and composed themselves in preparation for the

incoming woman in a black dress that hugged her figure and flared out.
Hermione had a reputation for being a stickler for procedure with a no-
nonsense attitude.

The sound of her purposeful steps echoed through the passage and bounced
off the walls adding to the foreboding ambience her arrival brought.

Draco let a smirk curve his lips as Hermione came closer. She looked rather
ravishing in black.

He greeted with a devil may-care attitude, "Madam, Undersecretary. How

are you this lovely afternoon?"

Hermione ignored him but secretly wished he would stop looking so deadly
attractive in his Auror robes. It simply was not fair.
She stared curiously at the unknown woman in their company and muttered,
"Quite well."

Draco exclaimed animatedly, "How rude of me. Where are my manners?

Have you met Michelle?" Even though his attitude towards the situation
remained carefree, he inwardly hoped it would calm itself.

Hannah snorted but covered her reaction with a poorly disguised cough.
She had somewhat calmed herself and decided to behave in the presence of
their Undersecretary.

Hermione regarded the pretty Auror critically and answered sweetly, "I
haven't had the pleasure."

Michelle wasn't fazed. She adjusted her blouse, slipped effortlessly into a
more professional manner and introduced herself without hesitation, "The
French Ministry sent me over to train with the DMLE. I earned top marks in
my class for such a privilege."

She dutifully held out her hand and added, hoping to impress, "Our Minister
speaks highly of you, Madam Undersecretary."

Hermione smiled innocently and took the offered hand in an ironclad shake
that made the other woman slightly wince. She responded, "I wasn't aware
we had a visiting Auror. Nonetheless, it's good to meet you."

Of course, Pascal thought the world of her. It was common knowledge that
the French Minister was an adulterous, backstabbing man who flaunted his
position to get his way.

Michelle inconspicuously rubbed her hand to ease the pain and glowered.

Hermione glanced at Hannah fuming and raised an inquiring brow,

"Hannah, are you alright?" After all, they were friends and had been for
years, albeit not close buddies, but there was enough concern to inquire
about the other's wellbeing.
Hannah gritted out, "Never been better." Her eyes never left Michelle's
form.

Hermione directed her next question at Draco, "Malfoy, might I have a

word?" Merlin knew what possessed her to lie, but with every fibre of her
being, she wanted to put a sizeable distance between him and Michelle,
who looked positively infatuated.

Without much thought, Draco took her hand in his, brought it up to his lips
and brushed her knuckles with an enduring kiss, "Of course, darling."

Hermione tore her hand out of his grasp, glared sternly and stormed away.
Was he mental?

He did not bother with Hermione's reaction but apologised to Michelle, who
looked quite taken aback by his small display of affection, "Excuse me,
Michelle, but I must follow orders."

Draco took the stairs and followed his intended at a distance. She honestly
had the most gorgeous legs and bottom. He particularly loved the sensual
sway of her hips and red high heels.

He waved at Brenda, who smiled in greeting and followed Hermione into

her luxurious office.

Arms firmly crossed, she waited impatiently for him to enter and shut the
door. The second they were alone, she lashed out, "What the hell was that,
you Slytherin git?"

Draco stepped closer and peered into her face, "Are you drunk?" He could
smell the faint hint of wine on her breath. Her cheeks were flushed, and it
was clear by her nervous fidgeting that his being close bothered her.

Hermione deliberately stepped back and laughed to hide her discomfort,

"Don't be ridiculous. I had a glass or two of red wine over lunch with your
mother."
Absentmindedly, Draco picked up a small snow globe out of the collection
Granger kept on her desk, and a genuine smile curved his lips, "My mother?
It's nice that she got out for a bit."

With her hands on her hips, Hermione fumed, "Don't try to change the
topic."

Draco rolled his eyes, "How have I managed to upset you this time?"

He carefully kept the globe back among the others and grinned, "I think
there's more to this than you're letting on. She was being friendly, Granger.
There's no need to get jealous."

Hermione could not believe his audacity to suggest such a ludicrous thing,
"You think I'm jealous?" Ridiculous. Her irrational behaviour indicated
otherwise.

She looked him over and scoffed, "Please, get over yourself, Malfoy."

Without skipping a beat, Hermione cautioned, "And for the bloody record,
she wasn't being friendly, you dumb arse. She was undressing you with her
fucking eyes."

Draco sighed and causally shrugged while continuing to walk around the
tastefully decorated office, "I hope she liked what she saw." Out of the
corner of his eye, he saw Granger's face twist in apparent disgust or was it
something else entirely?

Hermione pursed her lips and tried her best to maintain an air of
indifference, but it was a futile effort, and before she could think her actions
through, the words tumbled out in a jumbled mess, "I bet you enjoyed every
second of it, didn't you? But let's get one thing fucking straight, I am not
jealous."

Draco glanced her way and grinned in a mocking manner. He moistened his
bottom lip and teased, "Your flaring nostrils and body language say
otherwise, but I'll humour you."
Hermione muttered thoughtfully, "I wonder who authorised her work permit
without running it by me."

She answered her own question, "Must have been Kingsley." It had to be
the Minister. Only he had the authority.

Draco injected animatedly, "Or Potter. He is the Head of the DMLE, you
know?" He reminded smugly. Hermione groaned in exasperation. Of
course, how could she have forgotten Harry?

Pointing to the door, Hermione spat out irritably, "There's the door. You can
leave." The arrogant lout.

Draco shrugged coolly. He was enjoying her discomfort enormously, "Sure,

but first, is there a reason for this unsolicited meeting? You almost dragged
me up two flights of stairs to dismiss me once there?"

He openly taunted, "Or were you just not keen with me dining with
Michelle?"

Hermione hissed in annoyance, "Shove off. I was trying to neutralise the

situation."

She reprimanded harshly, "Furthermore, we are Ministry officials, and I'm

not comfortable with public displays of affection. It does not work well for
my image for me to be caught snogging my colleagues in plain sight of
others."

He knew his display would infuriate her, which is partially why he did it,
but mostly to send Michelle a clear message that he wasn't interested.

Draco narrowed his eyes, "Excuse me?"

Hermione gritted out, "You didn't have to kiss my hand in plain view of the
entire DMLE department." She was being a bit dramatic since nobody else
was about to witness it besides Michelle and Hannah.

A sudden thought dawned on him, and he said thoughtfully, "Why did you
walk up to us? You were clearly there to meet someone else."
She spluttered in disbelief and reasoned pointedly, "You didn't leave me
much choice, did you? Two women were about to have a go at each other.
Am I supposed to ignore it and walk away?"

He ignored her ranting and alleged, "Boot, perhaps?" Her affection towards
Terry Boot bothered him far more than he let on.

Her demeanour changed. Hermione averted her gaze and became cagey
with her reply, "Um, Terry is on leave."

Draco knew it was a bunch of blatant lies, "Leave? I do not believe it."

Hermione scoffed, "If you must know. I came by to speak with Harry." She
purposely left out that Ginny would be joining the trip to Hawaii.

Curiosity got the better of him, and Draco insisted, "Where is Boot? He was
sure the man was indulging in some substance. The strange behaviour and
odd body language did not quite add up.

Her patience was wearing thin, and Hermione snapped, "It's not your
business where Terry is. Please refrain from touching me intimately in front
of others."

Draco suppressed a laugh and quizzed, "I see. Behind closed doors, then? Is
that what you want? Our physical attraction to each other to remain
unknown?"

Hermione replied haughtily, "Well, it would be prudent."

He accused with a hint of pain in his tone, "Are you that ashamed of your
feelings for me?"

She lied with enough conviction, "I have no such feelings for you, Malfoy.
Please don't delude yourself into thinking this is anything more than a
physical thing."

He closed the distance between them in two purposeful strides, and pulled
her flush against his body. An involuntary moan left her lips as their bodies
collided.

Hermione stood perfectly still and swallowed hard as Draco rasped hotly, "I
beg to differ."

His voice caressed her skin. He dragged the tip of his prominent nose up her
cheek, barely touching the surface, "You want this to be our dirty little
secret because heaven forbid the rest of the world find out that you want to
fuck an ex-Death Eater."

Draco slowly kissed the outer shell of her ear and teased shamelessly, "The
audacity. The disgrace."

Her skin came alive under his touch. Goosebumps rallied to the surface as
evidence of her reaction to his tender yet dominating caresses.

There was no denying the truth, but she would spare him the smug
superiority of being right, "Do you think me that shallow?"

Draco moved away, put a considerable amount of distance between them

and leered, "As a matter of fact, I do. Go on, tell me I'm wrong."

Hermione threw her hands up in defeat and gave up trying to act righteous,
"Fine! You're not wrong. I would prefer the world not to know that I've
given you the green light to fondle me when it pleases you." She found it
utterly bizarre that she could drop the perfect image she had to uphold
around Malfoy of all people.

He could not help but stifle the laughter that clawed its way to the surface
because of her crude yet accurate depiction of their situation.

Hermione argued breathlessly, "We have a past, Malfoy. A horribly

unpleasant one. Why do you not understand?"

"Are my advances not well received by you? Am I forcing myself on you?"

Draco inquired, slowly dragging out his words.

Without a moment's hesitation, Hermione refuted, "Don't be ridiculous." He

most certainly was not. She enjoyed every second of his advances.
He straightened to his full height and stated firmly, "If so, tell me now, and
I'll cease any and all activity towards you." If there was ever a moment
Draco Malfoy proved to be a complete and utter gentleman, it was now.

Hermione retorted with regret, "No, I..." She did not want him to stop.
Quite the contrary, but just not in public.

There was no salvaging or covering her reaction of bitter disappointment,

but she powered through, "But just because we now work together does not
give you the right to flaunt our sexual attraction in front of our colleagues."

She tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear and explained feebly, "It is a
moment of weakness in which I find myself strangely drawn to you against
my wishes."

Against her wishes? Her words were not stroking his ego in any sort of way.
If anything, her conduct was beginning to annoy him considerably.

Draco nodded reluctantly in understanding and said solemnly, "In other

words, I will never be worthy of the great Miss Hermione Granger, and
honestly, I couldn't agree with you more, but I don't expect to be shoved
into the background and only cater to your sexual needs."

Hermione defended, "I didn't say that. Please do not twist my words."

Draco raised a hand to stop her from uttering another word, "Save it,
Granger. What I don't understand is this incessant need of yours to please
those around you."

Hermione looked around pointedly. His eyes followed her gaze as they fell
over her Order of Merlin First class, a gold cup for outstanding service to
the Ministry and countless other awards.

With renewed desolation, she poked herself in the chest repeatedly, "I have
an image to uphold. I cannot appear weak in the eyes of the wizarding
world."
Draco watched her conduct intently, it was clear that maintaining her image
meant a great deal to her, but it did not stop him from retorting sarcastically,
"An image? That's a neat little illusion you have created for others to see."

She countered helplessly, "It's not an illusion."

Draco ran his long fingers through his hair and implored, "So, you consider
finding me appealing to be a weakness?" It hurt his fragile self-worth
despite his tough outer skin.

Hermione scoffed, "Yes, it most certainly is considering our past and my

willingness to toss all that aside and jump into bed with you."

She sighed in frustration, "No one has made me feel worse about myself
more than you. If I'm quick to forgive you, then don't you think others will
expect the same treatment?"

Draco didn't fancy other men touching her the same way he did. His clear
grey turned smoky with rising anger, "I hope you will not offer others the
same benefits you allow me."

Hermione reeled back from the insinuation and replied in contempt, "Do
you think me so cheap?"

Draco ignored her last statement and addressed the previous, "Do you hear
yourself, Granger? How absolutely ludicrous this all sounds."

He dug deep and yearned while trailing his fingers down the flushed skin of
her arm, "For once, let yourself feel what you want, not what's expected."
With a sarcastic smirk, he combined, "You haven't forgiven me. Let us get
that straight."

Hermione fired back without remorse, "You've been gone nearly ten years.
You have no idea what you are talking about, Malfoy. Maybe to you, it
sounds stupid, but to me, it makes perfect sense."

He let the statement pass even though it stung and ridiculed, "I could be
gone a hundred years, and it would baffle me still as to why you continue to
please a bunch of people who care nothing for you."

Hermione did not have a single clever retort. The truth was what he uttered.
It was exhausting to maintain the picture-perfect image of the Golden girl,
Harry Potter's best friend, the brains behind it all. Even after ten years had
passed, she could not break out of the mould.

Being associated with Malfoy tarnished that perfectness. No one knew

about the nightmares except him. He was fast becoming the one person she
could genuinely be vulnerable around.

She stood her ground shakily and braved a look at the man staring at her in
a displeased manner with a frown etched on his face while her eyes
devoured his chiselled chin, high cheekbones, silvery blonde hair and soft
lips.

His tone turned deadly, sending a shiver down her spine, "But if that's what
you want, then so be it."

Hermione could not quite comprehend, nor did she have time to. Confusion
gripped her, and she all but tried to offer a witty remark, "What are you
talking abou..."

Draco closed the distance between them in less than three strides and
crushed his lips with hers in a kiss that wasn't meant to be gentle in any way
but to serve as a reminder of the unfaltering attraction they shared.

His voice ghosted over her skin ardently, "Let me be clear, I'm not in favour
of remaining in the dark for the duration of our marriage even though I have
given in to your demands for the time being." It was temporary. He had
lived in the shadows long enough.

Dumbstruck and in utter shock, Hermione's body went rigid, her mind in
disarray from the wine floating about in her system, but mostly from being
unable to understand what was happening.
Draco took her lack of movement to signify that perhaps he had
overstepped and reluctantly pulled away with a distinguishable
disappointed groan.

It took but a moment for Hermione to snap out of the bizarre trance she
seemed to have slipped into. She leapt forward and pulled his retreating
form towards her. Her arms encircled his neck, and one hand slid into the
soft yet silky strands of platinum hair.

They shared a fleeting look, both unsure who made the first move, but their
lips met once more. Forceful and desperate kisses spoke volumes about the
physical allure between them.

His palm moved effortlessly over the luxurious material of her dress and
came to rest on the small of her back. Draco seized the opportunity and
deepened the embrace; his tongue swept across her bottom lip and tasted
the wine she had consumed earlier.

He pressed his body against hers, letting his hardened cock press into her
thigh. Hermione let out a surprised, "Oh..," into his mouth as she felt his
engorged length and gasped.

Did he desire her that much? It excited her, and caused an elevated feeling
of exhilaration.

She wanted him. Needed him. They needed to give in to the burning desire
that engulfed them.

Malfoy clearly shared her sentiment. Reaching between them, he hiked up

her dress, letting his hand disappear under the folds. He had never touched
her there before. It caused her stomach to knot in anticipation, but he did
not keep her waiting.

Draco ran his long middle finger down the centre of her slit over the silk
that covered her most intimate place. The silk was dampened, and the carnal
need for release encompassed her. She whimpered wantonly, "Mmm..."

Hermione wondered if these meetings would be an everyday occurrence.

Her response to having her womanhood touched was instantaneous. Their
deep kisses muffled his groan, but raising his head, he huskily stated the
obvious, "Your wet, Granger." Fuck. He desperately wanted to drop to his
knees and taste her sweetness with his tongue.

She could not deny the truth, and neither was she bothered to. Instead, she
pushed against the roughness of his hand without shame. He moved the pad
of his thumb over her covered clitoris with practised ease, and she
whimpered in pre-orgasmic bliss. It was comforting to know that he had not
lost his touch.

Draco felt Granger squirm. He felt her heat. She was so close, and he had
barely begun.

Just when she was at the cusp of her release, he kissed the sensitive spot
behind her ear and slipped his fingers under the thin sheath of material that
served as a barrier until it was his skin against her heated core.

A moan escaped her already parted lips.

The cool metal of his solid white gold ring brushed against her silken folds
as his fingers parted her soaking pussy lips. Draco enticingly slipped one
finger, then another into her tight passage.

Hermione knew his intent, but it surprised her just the same. She threw her
head back, causing a few curls to come loose and fall across her face
haphazardly. Her eyes closed tightly, and a mewl of want tore out of her lips
as her cunt instinctively closed around his fingers, allowing him to ravish
her with his digits.

She concentrated hard on every slight push of his fingers, every caress he
diligently bestowed upon her. Her reactions urged him forward. Under his
meticulous care, she came undone, and he basked in her pleasure, "You like
that, don't you, my darling?"

Cheeks flushed; Hermione couldn't bring herself to answer. Her hardened

sensitive nipples rubbed uncomfortably against the lace of her bra. At that
moment, she wanted to forget who she was and let Malfoy claim her
savagely.

Through hooded eyes, Draco watched the woman before him enjoy his
ministrations. Her eyelids fluttered, her luscious red lips parted ever so
slightly, and the rise and fall of her chest quickened as she drew near to
climax.

It had been nearly ten years since he had touched a woman intimately. Years
since, he had heard the sounds Granger was making but seeing her in this
state somehow made the wait worth it.

"That's it, love. Let go," Draco encouraged in a sensual tone licking a stripe
from her neck down to the valley between her breasts. She tasted faintly of
rose-scented body lotion.

Hermione felt the tug at her navel, and she held onto him, grasping at
whatever was in reach and let out a loud moan as the intricately spun
bundle of nerves exploded within her.

"Fuck!" She cried and buckled under the weight of her release.

Wave upon wave of unbridled desire was unleashed within her as an earth-
shattering orgasm tore throughout her body. Her slick juices dripped down
her thighs and, but he didn't stop until she was utterly spent. Pushing his
digits further in, he fucked her till her climax ceased.

"Malfoy...oh...my...god," she whimpered as his fingers darted in and out of

her tight little hole.

Draco tightened his hold around her waist, held her shuddering body to
him, and let her ride the wave of pulsating pleasure that shot through her
body, making her knees quake.

Only once she stilled completely did he pull his fingers slowly out from her
soaking wetness, and she protested against her will, "Not yet..."

She wanted more. So much more.

He turned her around, pushed her face down onto her desk before she could
resist and pried her legs apart with his knee and came to stand in between
them. His cock begged to spring free from its confinement. He was
painfully hard, and his throbbing erection threatened to rip through his
trousers.

Hermione was sure she heard the unmistakable sound of a belt coming
loose, but instead, she felt a weight on her back as he leaned over and
whispered in her ear, "You can lie to yourself, but isn't the alternative
better?"

This was not the time for a quick fuck. It would be a much more
comfortable setting when he took her and certainly not where every Tom,
Dick and Harry could barge in on them.

He had proved his point.

Breathing hard and heavy, they straightened, and Hermione looked at the
man before her with a residing bulge in his slacks in both disbelief and
admiration. His fingers were coated with her slickness, but he didn't dare to
clean it.

For a brief moment, she thought he would suck it off his fingers and taste
her. This was not how she planned on this confrontation going.

Hermione adjusted her knickers, pulled at her dress, tried to smoothen the
creases, arranged it best she could and scolded, "That was highly
inappropriate."

Draco eyed her in interest and mused, "Was it? Then why didn't you stop
me?"

Hermione had no viable answer. They swapped a meaningful looks and

smiled at each other.

She regained her composure, came towards him and keenly clung to him
and kissed him while undoing the stubborn button of his newly tailored
trousers.
His resolve crumbled but gathering all his inner strength, Draco grabbed her
gently by the wrist and stopped her from going any further.

Hermione protested in a faint voice laced with lust, "Why? I want to do this,
Draco."

He shook his head and said with a small smile, "Not here, Granger. I
envision a much more romantic setting for our first time."

Disappointment floored her; Hermione was keen to return the favour. Plus,
she wanted a glimpse of his appendage. It was always hard to judge the size
through a thick layer of material, even though it felt sizeable when he
pressed into her earlier.

Draco cupped her face and ran his thumb along her bottom lip. She leaned
into his touch willingly and closed her eyes in satisfaction.

He kissed her heatedly. She returned his enthusiasm, and they were once
again locked in a passionate embrace. There would be no escaping what
they felt for each other despite the scrutinising eyes of the wizarding world.

The imposing man that was Kingsley Shacklebolt approached his

Undersecretary's office. His rich velvet robes billowed after him, adding to
his intimidating presence.

Brenda got to her feet and thought bloody hell.

She cleared her throat and attempted to remain calm and professional, "I'm
sorry, sir, but Hermione's, umm, busy."

Irritated, Kingsley replied in his deep voice, "What could possibly be more
important than meeting with the Minister of Magic?"

Brenda squirmed in discomfort, unable to produce a reasonable

argument. Kingsley disregarded the young assistant, strode purposefully
towards the closed door and knocked.

The unlikely couple broke apart, and in her haste, Hermione bit Draco's
bottom lip before looking towards the door in a state of panic. She heard a
faint, "Ow," but paid absolutely no mind to it.

Shit. Would they never get a moment's peace? It was the steep price one
paid for unprofessional conduct.

She could not risk someone walking in on them and finding them in such a
compromising position.

Draco gingerly touched his lip, tasted blood, and complained, "That hurt,
Granger."

Ignoring the grumbling man she had unintendedly harmed, Hermione

fetched her wand and muttered a quick Scourgify over herself, and it was as
if nothing had transpired.

She hurriedly looked to the smug wizard in the room watching her closely
with an amused expression and instructed urgently, "Malfoy, straighten
yourself up, please."

He heeded her demanding words, lazily waved his wand over him and
presented himself, "Are you satisfied?" There was a double meaning to his
words. Her eyes wandered over his clothing and came to rest on his
sheathed cock.

She frowned and wondered if Malfoy would be willing to cast a

Disillusionment charm over himself. Thinking that he would probably be
insulted, Hermione instead unlocked the door, cleared her throat and said
loud enough for anyone standing outside to hear, "Come in!"

Kingsley briskly walked in, came to an abrupt halt and stared unblinkingly
at the unlikely duo.

Hermione mustered a smile, "Minister, we weren't expecting you till later

this week."

Merlin. What horrid luck.

Kingsley offered a self-righteous grin, "Business finished early. It looks like

things have changed."
He addressed Draco with an amused expression, "I hardly expected to find
you in here."

Without much hesitation, the Minister of Magic teased Hermione, "Would

you like me to visit at a more convenient time?"

Hermione tried to argue with an ill-conceived lie, "This is not what it looks
like, Kingsley. Malfoy here stopped by to..."

Kingsley raised a brow, looked her over and chuckled, "You would be more
convincing if his lips were not smeared with the shade of your lipstick.

Did Granger consider him to be a complete idiot? Probably.

Mortified by the revelation, Hermione whipped around in time to catch

Malfoy shooting her a look of pure self-satisfaction. On another's skin, it
wouldn't have been so dreadfully obvious, but against his paleness, it was a
stark contrast.

She pursed her lips to relay her frustration but said nothing. The Bastard!
He had purposely left her mark upon him for all to see.

The Minister added in distinguishable relief, "I'm glad to see you two are
warming up to each other." He had quite frankly expected the odd couple to
be at each other's throats

Kingsley stared at the exquisite ring on Hermione's wedding finger in

calculated shock. It took him a few minutes to gather his wits enough to
inquire, "Did you two tie the knot already? I would have loved to have been
there."

Draco answered before Hermione could string the words together, "We have
not. My mother insisted I present Granger with the ring."

Shackbolt concurred, "Your mother is an intelligent woman. I hope she is

well."

"She is quite well. Thank you for asking," Draco found himself replying
ever so politely.
Hermione made her thoughts on the matter known, "We haven't decided on
a date, Minister, but it should be soon." She snubbed Malfoy and offered
offhandedly, "Perhaps in a manner of weeks."

Draco raised a quizzical brow, "Well, that's certainly news to me." He

mused, "If it's all the same to you, Granger, I would appreciate due notice of
our marriage date."

Hermione scowled, "I'll be sure to roll out the red carpet for you, you
bloody wank…"

Kingsley snapped, "Granger!" He sounded much like an annoyed father.

"Welcome back, Minister," Draco nodded curtly, discouraging a handshake,

especially after his fingers had been knuckle deep inside Granger's very
tight cunt. Though they were clean now, it still seemed inappropriate.

Hermione felt the dire need to explain further and exclaimed with haste,
"Nothing of the sort is happening. I loathe..."

Kingsley sighed with exhaustion, "This is all very tiresome, Granger. Fine,
you hate Malfoy? There, does that appease you?"

Hermione stood her ground and frowned, "I was going to say, I loathe this
situation."

Looking from one to the other, Kingsley raised a knowing brow and
quipped, "Apparently."

Draco thought it best to make a quick exit. Hopefully, he had time to grab a
sandwich. His stomach growled and knotted with pangs of hunger.

He said politely, "I'll take my leave."

Kingsley patted Draco hard on the back and advised sternly, "The suit looks
good on you, Malfoy. Make sure you do it justice and not let us down."

Draco promised without hesitation, "You have my word." After a month of

training, and if he passed the strenuous course, he would take the oath to
bind him to the DMLE for the rest of his days.

Kingsley said thoughtfully, "I was pleasantly surprised by Potters decision

to take you on. I gather the others didn't take so kindly to the appointment."
He knew it would be a hurdle from the start. Most weren't willing to forgive
past Death Eaters regardless of their age or unavoidable consequences that
bound them to Voldemort's servitude.

Draco chuckled at first but turned severe a moment later, "They did not,
Minister, but rest assured I'm here to do some good to the best of my
ability."

Kingsley saw a determination burn in the depths of the young wizard's eyes.
He gave a nod of approval, "Hmm, I'll remember that. Second chances are
hard to come by."

Draco took a step back and informed, "If you excuse me. I need to get back
to training."

He spoke directly to Hermione, who had been listening carefully and

studying his facial expressions, "Granger, let's discuss our matter later." She
was still fuming and refused outright to answer.

Draco turned on his heel to leave and heard bits of Granger and the
Minister's conversation on his way out.

Hermione inquired curiously, "How was France?" She hoped the Minister
wouldn't stay long. She desperately needed to visit the bathroom.

Kingsley groaned, "Dreadfully boring, but fruitful. Pascal sends his regards
and wants me to send you in my stead in the future."

Hermione giggled, "The bold old toad."

Kingsley wagged a warning finger in her direction, "He fancies you." The
annoying sod would not let up about how immensely talented he thought
her to be and how Kingsley wasn't using her to her full potential.
Draco stiffened but headed out without a backwards glance.

Kingsley sat down and made himself comfortable. They spoke more about
the French Minister and the Minister's visit.

Hermione raised a brow, "So he agreed to let our Aurors patrol the
country?"

Kingsley gritted out, "Yes, but at a steep price." A settlement he had

approved grudgingly.

Besides the potential serial killer at large, more significant matters

threatened their security, and he desperately needed the help of the
international community.

He spat in disgust, "The incorrigible man would not let us have an inch
more than what was promised."

After a moment's thought, Kingsley beamed and said with pride, "The
proposal you drafted was Ironclad. Excellent job, Granger."

His laughter echoed, "I daresay, Pascal was so impressed he would've hired
you on the spot. He considers his staff grossly incompetent."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Kingsley cut her off, "Forget it,
Granger. You are not leaving English soil or this Ministry."

In another part of London

Skeeter looked out of the window in deep thought. She thought long and
hard about her encounter with Harry and Hermione at the Leaky Cauldron.

The engagement ring Granger sported played repeatedly in her mind. She
had heard the stories surrounding the unique piece of jewellery. Still, it was
an awe-inspiring sight up close. The stories hardly did the ring justice.

Granger and Malfoy were indeed engaged, but why the secrecy?
True, he had a colourful past, but that did not change the fact that he was
the sole Heir to one of the noblest families in the Wizarding world.

She was confident that The Algorithm would have produced such an
inconceivable match. It was hard to imagine the unlikely couple coming
together on their own.

Rita dipped her quill with chestnut brown and deep green feathers into the
bottle of black ink and set to work on her piece. She knew the Editor would
feature it on the front page. It was a gripping story, and if the masses liked
anything, it was a bit of juicy gossip.

Who didn't care for enemies to lovers' tale with a strong redemption arc? A
hot story sold papers by the dozen, and this one was the hottest yet.

Golden Girl and redeemed Death Eater.

Miss Hermione Jean Granger was spotted wearing the famous Malfoy
engagement ring.

A fantastic start to the article, Rita thought happily. She sighed. It was going
to be a long night.

When Draco reentered the DMLE, Michelle was nowhere in sight, and
Hannah took a large bite of her ham sandwich, set it down clumsily and
rearranged the photographs for the twentieth time.

She saw him approach and tossed a packed sandwich box at him, it
narrowly missed his head, but Draco caught it expertly.

Hannah chuckled, "Figured you would be famished after Hermione got

through with you."

Draco grinned, "You thought right. Thanks, Abbott." He already liked

Hannah. They had the right vibe to work well together.
He tore open the stubborn plastic casing, took the sandwich out and
devoured it in three bites. There weren't many Aurors around, and that
struck him as odd.

Draco observed the scattered group of Aurors with interest and wondered
what cases besides the Dollhouse Strangler they were investigating.

Hannah caught his wandering gaze and joked, "If you're looking for your
French girlfriend, Smith took her out to lunch. The poor bastards been
trying to get into her knickers for nearly two weeks now."

Draco sat down on a rusty old chair and declared, "I don't give a rats arse
where she's gone off to." He could still hear Granger's laboured breathing,
smell the remnants of her climax and how tempted he had been to taste her
wetness.

Hannah's voice bore into his thoughts, "Okay, come on, spill the bloody
beans."

Draco questioned, "What do you mean?" Oh, he knew exactly what she was
after, but Granger had been specific. He would play by her rules for the
time being.

Hannah probed for further information, "You and Granger? Are you guys a
thing?" Her eyes sparkled devilishly.

Draco laughed aloud, "Are you barking mad? Can you imagine Granger
ever having the hots for me?"

Hannah didn't seem convinced, but she let it slide and responded, "I don't
know about her, but you look right smitten." She wiggled her eyebrows in
his direction.

Draco nudged her playfully, causing her almost to topple over, "Push off,
you nosy parker."

Hannah laughed it off and shrugged, "Well, for what it's worth, I think you
make a smashing couple." Hermione needed someone strong and not
willing to settle for a mediocre existence. Ron had been far too plain and
less than ambitious. Hannah was not surprised when she heard that the
legendary couple had amicably parted ways through the grapevine.

Draco suggested and added sheepishly, "I'll be sure to tell her that. She's not
umm, very pleased with me at the moment."

Hannah couldn't help but laugh goodheartedly, "Because you kissed her
hand like some lovestruck simp?"

Draco rolled his eyes and hissed, "Fuck off, Abbott."

She wiped a fake tear, regained her earlier calmness, and returned to the
photographs scattered messily across her desk. The woman would get no
awards for tidiness. She was an infinite slob.

Draco was curious about her actions and asked for better insight, "Why do
you keep staring at the same photos?"

Hannah gestured to the group of pictures and explained, "Thomas always

said the answers are buried in there, and you just need to fucking find the
elusive bugger."

It made sense, Draco wisely thought. He pointed to an enlarged picture of

the pendant and chain and exclaimed, "I know I'm not supposed to
intervene and all, but I'm pretty sure this pendant has a lot to do with it."

Hannah picked it up and nodded gravely in agreement, "Aye. We visited

every jeweller in Wizarding Britain and a few Muggle shops that seemed to
specialise in this sort of thing but came up with fuck all."

She rolled her eyes with a sigh, "Quite embarrassing that. Before visiting
the stores, Terry and I dressed up in our finest Muggle attire and pretended
to be a blooming eccentric couple. A fat lot of good that did."

Draco kept his gaze on the pictures and inquired with some tact, "Hmm,
where is Boot?"
Like Granger, Abbott became reserved, "Oh, don't know really. He must
have taken the day off. He looked bloody awful yesterday."

He gave up on his quest to find the answer and stated, "Fine! Keep your
secrets, but there's something off about that wanker."

The gleaming pendant left next to the dead woman caught his keen interest.
Draco pointed out, "The craftsmanship on these is remarkable. He is a
skilled man."

Hannah concurred, "Yeah, we thought so too."

She added miserably, "It's never taken us this long to find a perpetrator
before. It's doing Potters head in."

Draco responded solemnly, "I can only imagine."

"Do you reckon the last woman's alive?" Hannah asked abruptly.

Draco grew thoughtful, "Yeah, I think so. If he had grown tired of her, we
would've found her body by now."

Hannah grew frustrated and pounded the table with renewed determination,
"I really want to catch the sick fuck."

Draco gently squeezed her shoulder and reassured her with a slight smile,
"We will, Hannah. Have some faith."

Thomas entered the bright space of a Muggle ice cream parlour and slowly
approached a table occupied by a well-built, blonde-haired man digging
into a bowl of chocolate ice cream, topped with oodles of whipped cream
and rainbow sprinkles.

He turned a few heads with his attire and handicap as he dragged his feet
across the floor, and Muggles threw him suspicious looks.

Grabbing the white chair, Thomas pulled it back roughly, plopped himself
down and hissed, "Dorian Blackwood."
Dorian bit into a thick wafer that was stuck in his ice cream for decorative
purposes and gave a toothy grin, "Thomas Spencer."

A bubbly waitress hovered over them and asked the sour-looking Auror,
"What would you like, sir?"

Thomas never cared much for these Muggle establishments, but it wouldn't
do to arouse suspicion, so he placed an order, "Three scoops of vanilla ice
cream, fresh cut strawberries and a dollop of cream on top." The waitress
scribbled it down and turned away when Thomas suddenly included, "And
a coffee, black."

She smiled, "Coming right away, sir."

Dorian cleaned his mouth with a napkin and said offhandedly, "They know
he's back."

Thomas leaned back and stretched his legs, "It wasn't a bloody secret."

Dorian emphasised. His cheerful demeanour vanished, "They'll come for

him. You know they will."

Thomas wasn't bothered. He made his thoughts vocal, "Hmm, they can try,
but Draco isn't Lucius. The boy is made of tougher stuff than his father ever
was."

Dorian wiped his brow to rid himself of the beads of sweat that gathered,
"They all are until he cracks them." The man he served was a merciless
fiend. A man bent on revenge with a single course of action and purpose in
mind.

Thomas retorted confidently, "He will not be able to crack Malfoy."

The Malfoy brat was no longer the child that yielded to his father's every
whim. He was highly skilled and possessed a unique ability.

Dorian narrowed his eyes sceptically, "You have some faith in him, but you
underestimate the power of persuasion."
The waitress arrived with his order and delicately placed it in front of him
before tending to another order.

Thomas grabbed the spoon, dug in and countered, "I have no faith in him.
At least not yet, but I believe he is different and able to withstand a few
mind tricks."

Dorian scooped up the last bit of ice cream in his dish and shrugged before
popping it into his mouth, "If you say so."

Thomas picked off the strawberries one by one and mused, "Must we meet
at these ice cream parlours, Blackwood?"

Dorian laughed good-naturedly, "What's the Muggle saying? Hide in plain

sight, that's the one, but having said that, Thomas, you could make more of
an effort to blend in."

He pointed to the table next to them and grinned, "The children are terrified
by the look of you," and sure enough, no more than three children shot him
anxious glances.

The veteran did look rather menacing in this thick black coat, heavy boots,
and battle scars running across his face.

Thomas swallowed a spoonful of vanilla ice cream and gritted out, "Well,
blonde is a terrible look on you."

Dorian smirked for good measure, "I beg to differ. Plenty of women go for
the blonde-haired, blue-eyed, muscled body look."

Thomas scowled, "Argh, shut up. I didn't come here to hear about a
Polyjuiced werewolf's sex life."

Dorian eyed a pretty brunette by the counter and quipped, "When was the
last time you got laid, old man?"

Thomas was quick to defend, "None of your fucking business." The truth
was he could hardly remember. Most women were put off by his job. All
except, Audrey that is, but that ship had sailed, or had it? He had been a
right arsehole not to pursue her when he had the chance.

A Muggle woman dressed in a plain summer dress from the next table
covered a child's ears and scolded, "Mind your tongue, sir. There are
children present."

Thomas sneered, "Piss off, you nosy old goat." The children collapsed in a
fit of giggles until a stern look from their mother shut them up momentarily.
Their earlier expressions of fear vanished into thin air and were replaced by
awe.

The woman was beside herself with embarrassment, "Well, I never!"

Dorian graciously stepped in with impeccable manners, "My apologies,

Madam. Please excuse my friend."

The angry woman grew flustered at being addressed directly by the

handsome man and tittered. She shooed away her young son, who tugged
on her sleeve to demand another ice cream cone and replied, "It's perfectly
alright."

Dorian rounded on Thomas after the Muggle woman looked away and
advised animatedly, "We must work on your people skills, mate."

Thomas frowned at the sloppy mess in his bowl and urged impatiently,
"Hurry up, Dorian. The bloody ice creams melting."

Dorian discreetly pulled a vial out of his coat pocket. He swirled it around,
causing the silver strands of memories to float unrestricted within their
confinement.

He hesitated before handing the small bottle over to Thomas, but he did so
with a sigh and informed with substantial importance, "Keep an eye on the
Malfoy Heir, Spencer."
 Chapter 43
Chapter Notes

I am so sorry for the late update! Work has been brutal!

Inner battles, Skeeter's damaging article, a pending war and possible

Stockholm syndrome.

Thank you for the awesome comments! :)

Enjoy chapter forty-three!

HAPPY READING!

Thankfully, it was the end of another gruelling day, especially after her
moment with Malfoy left her wanting more.

The day had been riddled with one pointless meeting after another. By the
end of it, all Hermione craved was a long leisurely bath, amongst other
things, but those rather exotic diversions coming to life seemed unlikely.

Hermione apparated directly into her flat. She was in no mood to entertain
her elderly neighbour and listen to meaningless gossip about the woman
down the hall and her promiscuous activities.

She dropped her handbag on the ground and proceeded to kick off her shoes
as she sluggishly strode towards the bathroom, massaging the knot that had
formed on her neck.

Plopping down on the bed, she stared at the ceiling deep in thought. An
overwhelming sense of loneliness washed over her.

She missed Crookshanks. Despite her lack of relationships and throughout

her battles with Ron, the half-Kneazle cat had remained loyally by her side.
To be fair, Crooks had always been rather horrid towards Ron for whatever
reason, possibly because of his ill-treatment towards him in their third year.

Crooks was a perceptive cat who knew precisely when to climb into bed
and curl at her side, allowing her to gently stroke his fur while he purred in
delight.

A tear made its way down her cheek as the day of his passing came to mind.
Even though Ron hadn't been overly fond of the companion she held dear,
he had been sympathetic towards her feelings and held her long into the
night as she bawled her eyes out for the loss of a great friend.

Many times, Hermione had fleeting thoughts of getting another, but

questions such as who would look after it constantly plagued her.

She wasn't always home, and from time to time, the Minister would send
her abroad on diplomatic tours for days on end.

Those came to a temporary halt after a few letters arrived at the Ministry
implying heavily that her life was at risk. Years had passed, but some
individuals who kept their identity well-hidden loathed her position of
power and made their presence avidly known by threatening bodily harm to
the Muggle-born witch they considered beneath them.

The hated words and explicitly detailed letters had caused the bile to rise in
her throat, but she composed herself and soldiered through that grim period.

Harry had been completely beside himself and requested the Minister to
refrain from sending Hermione abroad alone. His overprotectiveness
angered her at the time, but she knew his actions were fueled by genuine
concern.

On an unavoidable summit in Austria, Harry had accompanied her as a

bodyguard and proceeded to glare daggers at anyone who came close. He
was in every sense an older brother. Still, in the end, he needn't have
bothered because the letters had amounted to nothing more than a few
empty threats made by a group of pathetic people.
An image of a loving Alsatian floated past, and her sadness evaporated with
the joyful memories of Max and his slobbery kisses. The dog mirrored his
caregivers with his pure white coat of thick fur, regal stature and
memorising eyes of blood red.

She was growing exceedingly fond of Malfoy's dog, among other things he
possessed. A hearty chuckle left her lips, and the need to cleanse herself
overwhelmed her.

Hermione pushed herself off the bed, grabbed a towel and went in search of
a bottle of wine. She found the half-empty, white wine bottle nestled
between the sauce bottle and mustard jar.

Grabbing it firmly by the neck, she started her walk towards the bathroom
when her bag sitting haphazardly in the middle of the room caught her
attention.

Groaning at her carelessness, Hermione picked it up, fished her phone out
of the stylish bag and kept it on the small table as she passed it on the way
to the ensuite with a bit of spring in her step.

Since he lost his arm over twenty years ago, Thomas had adapted to life and
got on better than most. At first, it had been a frustrating task that made him
bitter and angry towards everyone, especially Audrey.

She blamed herself for his current predicament since it was his heroic act of
saving her from being mauled that landed him in a sticky situation with an
older, fully formed werewolf who didn't know friend from foe. The beast's
old age allowed him to transform at will. It was an unfair advantage the
Aurors had not anticipated.

Thankfully, it was not the time of a full moon, but once bitten and over the
course of the coming weeks, Thomas developed a fondness for raw meat
and adopted a dark temperament. Along with the unpleasantness, he found
his senses heightened and profound.
For the longest time, he resented Audrey, hated her for her carelessness but
kept his true feelings hidden by ignoring her existence, until time passed
and he realised what a fool he had been.

During the healing process, he vividly recalled how she had never left his
side, tending to his bandages and other minor injuries, crying over him
when she thought no one was looking.

Regardless of his coldness towards her, not confiding his true feelings was
one of his biggest regrets. They would have made a splendid couple.

Of course, they had been eager adults, ready to do some good under the
watchful eye of Mad-Eye Moody or Alastor as they liked to call him. They
had, for the most part, done their duty except on that one ill-planned
mission that cost two Aurors their valuable lives and his precious limb.

Following the life-altering event, Audrey distanced herself from active duty
and instead resorted to training the next generation of highly trained men
and women who would eventually replace them.

He watched from afar as she dated, and came close to marrying a colleague,
but at the last moment, she broke it off much to his delight. The heartbroken
man requested a transfer to Germany and fled the humiliation.

Mad-Eye had not been pleased with her decision to leave the field but
grudgingly agreed after seeing how distraught she had been.

Thomas pulled himself out of his trip down memory lane, poured himself a
hefty scotch and walked towards a dusty cabinet that rested in the corner of
the dimly lit living room. He took out the vial Dorian had grudgingly
handed him and held it up to the light.

The silver strands of memory danced within, almost eager to display the
information they held.

He knew Dorian Blackwood put his life at significant risk by working for
them, and as far as werewolves were concerned, he wasn't all bad. Indeed,
not a foul, lowly, brutish beast like Fenrir Greyback had been.

Thomas felt anger burn his insides. He downed his scotch, threw open the
battered-looking cabinet and took out a stone basin covered in ancient
runes. Tipping the contents of the vial into the Pensieve, he watched
impatiently as they settled.

Taking a deep breath, he plunged headfirst into the murkiness. He landed in

the middle of what appeared to be a dark hall with marbled grey floors,
surrounded by emerald green draperies and a large round table at the centre
that grabbed his immediate attention.

The room was bare of any other pieces of furniture, which struck him as
odd, but it was possibly used as a meeting place, and additional chambers
lay beyond the hall.

Even at first glance, one could tell the table was unusual. Intricate patterns
depicting battles between Muggle Kings, fire-breathing dragons and fallen,
severed bodies were carved into the deep brown polished surface.

What was this place? It was clear it was underground, but where? The
location was well-guarded with charms and shrouded in eerie unrest.

Thomas looked around, hoping to catch a glimpse of something he would

recognise, but for the moment, it evaded him. He would revisit the memory
in the days to come, and note his findings.

Masked figures sat around the tables with their wands tactfully placed in
front of them. Thomas moved like a shadow even though his presence in
another's memories would not cause him to harm or alert others.

He quickened his pace and came close enough to clearly see the wands and
obscured men. All sat perfectly still, listening intently to a man speaking
passionately about the new world order. It was clear from their garments
and behaviour that they were refined and wealthy.
They were dressed in heavy black robes embroidered richly at the hem,
dragon leather gloves protected their hands, and once he got closer to the
figures, the complexly carved masks that covered their face whole became
known.

Each was made of silver and black precious metal split down the middle to
signify light and darkness superficially.

Thomas came to notice the creatures that adorned the front of every single
mask. Every person had a different animal worked into the surface of their
disguise, overlayed with valuable gems. The significance this held
mystified Thomas. He could not help but feel astounded by the unique
artistry visible within the grim and ominous setting.

These were not mere Death Eater masks. He was sure each held a profound
meaning. This was a highly organised group of individuals intent on a
single purpose.

Thomas ignored the finer details of the room for the time being and gave
his full attention to the shrouded man keenly addressing the room. His deep
voice ricocheted off the walls of the dungeon, adding to its importance.

Dorian had dutifully informed that this was the first meeting of the New
World Order that he had been allowed to witness and physically take part in
after he had proved himself worthy of such an honour.

Previously, he had been taxed with meagre tasks to further the cause. It was
a rare privilege to be included among a handful of people trusted with
rebuilding a broken world with their deluded minds.

The man spoke with such fortitude, it was hard to resist his voice, “My
brothers’, we have lived in silence for far too long.”

Thomas reeled back. That voice, it was vaguely familiar. He had heard it
before, but could not place where. He prided himself on his remarkable
memory, but it failed him miserably at present.

There was an open nod of heads and a distinct murmur of agreement.

He addressed the group before him solemnly. His words held caution, “We
must tread carefully. The Dark Lord paved the path to greatness, but he was
a fool!”

An uproar of disagreement pierced the still air, and a hiss of disapproval

followed, silenced by a large hand coming down hard on the ancient table.

As specks of dust floated in all directions, an eerie silence fell over the
room, and the disguised figures gave their leader their undivided attention.

The man, like his predecessor, tolerated no-nonsense. He warned darkly,

“You know I speak the truth.”

He said with determination and emphasized the last part of his well-
thought-out sentence, “For years, we have been plotting, planning our
return, but we must lead by respect, not fear.”

A Chimaera adorned his mask. Blood-red rubies filled the eye sockets, and
they seemed to come alive in the dark setting, piercing and unsettling.

Presenting his hand, he welcomed and encouraged those before him, “I

offer you freedom from the bonds that have shackled us into believing our
rightful place is to be obscured by the shadows.”

After careful consideration, he uttered the following words that would

shatter his earlier allegiance, “Voldemort was not a leader. He was not who
he claimed to be. We blindly followed him without question, but that was
wrong.”

Thomas drew in a sharp intake of air. Most cringed at the mention of their
fallen Lord by name.

Undeterred, the tall, seemingly well-built man continued in a loud, booming

voice, “Our blood is pure and untainted, and we must take our rightful place
in the world, my friends.”

At first, most held their tongue out of terror for the man who had cheated
death in the past. Despite his death, many still remained loyal to Voldemort
out of fear.

Momentary silence engulfed the space, followed by a sudden collective

shout of agreement as the realization of what was being offered began to
sink in.

He delivered his next words triumphantly, “All of you have tasks assigned.
Do them well and discreetly, and our time to rule will come sooner than we
know.”

In a toast, the hooded man raised a goblet of rich red wine, "To the future!"
Others followed suit, and before long, succulent meats, caviar and wine
were served to the followers to gorge upon.

The scene shifted, and Thomas was eavesdropping on a private

conversation from Dorian's perspective. After all, it was Blackwood's
memory that Thomas was invading. He glanced at the man hidden by the
heavy oak door, crouched and discreetly peering into the room.

Only then did Thomas notice the eagle with spread wings sprawled across
Dorian's mask. The beautiful bird had stones of blue sapphire embedded to
outline its wings and gazing white diamonds for eyes.

Inside the room, the enigmatic leader spoke to another who attended to
scriptures on a parchment, “Is it true that Draco Malfoy is alive?”

Without looking at his master directly, he nodded vigorously, “Yes, my

Lord.”

Thomas hoped he would get some insight into who the mysterious man
was, but his curiosity wouldn’t be satiated. The imposing individual grew
thoughtful, “Interesting. We shall follow his movements closely.”

Dorian spied from his place behind the door as the two men inside spoke
freely. They were completely unaware that their conversation was being
listened to by a Ministry informant.
The shrouded man's next words were smeared with contempt for Lucius
Malfoy, “His father was a coward, unworthy of the blood that flowed in his
veins.” He included hopefully, “Perhaps, the son is different. Although, I
remember him to be a spoiled little prince.”

“Keep an eye on him.” He commanded his servant, leaving no room for

doubt.

The cowering servant acknowledged his leader's wishes at once, “As you
please, My Lord.”

He said shrewdly, “When the time is right, we can recruit and offer him a
position of foremost importance. We will need his Galleons to further our
cause.” There was staggering confidence in his words that made Thomas
scowl.

With a wave of his hand, the lowly masked figure listening to the
instructions was dismissed. He bowed low in agreement and slowly backed
away towards the door.

Dorian scrambled away just in time before he was caught. He disappeared

around the corner, leaned against the stone wall of a narrow passageway
and tried to calm his breathing.

Thomas felt his blood run cold. He reluctantly pulled himself out of the
memory, grabbed the nearest paper and quill and hurriedly scribbled a
single sentence in thick bold letters.

"Aunt Petunia has arrived for dinner," It was a cryptic message meant only
for Potter and the Minister in case their owl was intercepted. The line had
been Potter's clever idea.

Dark, uncertain times lay ahead, and Dorian was right, they would need to
keep a watchful eye over their latest recruit. It would spell disaster if
Malfoy joined the ranks of this cult.

They first got wind of the group years ago, when Granger first started
getting threatening messages.
Even after a thorough investigation, no hard evidence presented itself.
Though Dorian provided names of a few supporters who were the sons of
fallen Death Eaters and now somewhat respectable members of the
community, there was hardly any proof of wrongdoing to arrest the bunch
of them.

Despite their fathers being killed or carted off to Azkaban, they still had
some influential hold over the public due to their deep pockets and
pureblood status. It was a prejudice that would never completely disappear.

The few that Dorian mentioned included Graham Montague, Gregory

Goyle, and surprisingly Cormac McLaggen. Still, according to Dorian, the
ex-Gryffindor was not fully committed to the cause and was often
considered a liability. His involvement was largely tolerated because of the
Galleons he donated towards the misguided organisation. Still, there was
heavy speculation that McLaggen was somehow forced to be a part and his
participation was against his will.

Even Dorian wasn't sure who the elusive leader was. He had his
suppositions, but they didn’t amount to much. It was rumoured the hooded
man consumed Polyjuice's potion to conceal his identity until the opportune
moment.

Thomas whistled, and a grey owl with white-speckled feathers flew towards
him and landed on the table. He stroked the feathers, gave the eager bird the
letters, and whispered the names of people for whom they were destined.

The owl gave a quick hoot of acknowledgement and flew out of the window
with haste.

Thomas watched the bird fly over the rooftops of thatched houses and
continued to stare into the distance in deep thought long after the owl
disappeared.

He desperately needed another drink.

Harry stared into the fireplace, eagerly awaiting word. The fluttering of
determined wings pulled him out of his troubling thoughts and caused him
to look directly at the approaching bird.

He unburdened the bird from its task and offered a treat which the owl
nibbled at it gingerly and watched the bespectacled man walking across the
room to a comfortable armchair.

Taking the letter in his hands, he opened it and read the one line. The tiny
piece of parchment fell to the ground, and Harry’s eyes fluttered shut in
desolation. Would they never be done with this madness? Would their
children continue the endless fight against such atrocities?

With a heavy heart, he slipped into his son’s room, watched over him and
kissed his forehead.

Kingsley had just offered his wife of twenty years a glass of scotch when
the owl made its presence known. He recognized the creature at once. The
Minister held out his hand and the owl obliged by dropping the sealed letter
onto his open palm before flying out the window.

Maureen Shacklebolt asked in concern, “What is it, darling?”

Kingsley read the bold line sprawled across the paper in an almost childlike
way and answered gravely, “A war is coming.”

She gasped, and the crystal tumbler in her hand dropped to the floor,
smashing upon impact into a hundred tiny pieces.

Draco stepped out of the bathroom in his bedroom suite, and a steady
stream of steam followed his exit. A towel hung loosely on his taut hips; a
thin trail of blonde hair disappeared into the decency the towel offered.
With his free hand, he dried his hair vigorously.

There was nothing more satisfying than the soft beads of cool water that
caressed his skin after a long day of Auror training.
After pulling on a pair of black bottoms and slipping into a simple white t-
shirt, Draco went in search of his mother. His stomach growled with
hunger, and he wished Dotty had prepared something exquisite for dinner.

He picked up a green apple from the fruit bowl Dotty kept stacked with
fresh fruit for his benefit and sank his teeth into the shiny green flesh in
satisfaction. An intense eruption of flavours tantalised his taste buds, and he
eagerly drank them in while walking into the foyer.

Narcissa glanced at her approaching son, and a happy smile curved her lips.
It was wonderful to have him home.

Draco returned the smile and kissed her forehead, "Good evening, mother."

Taking her spectacles off, Narcissa kept them carefully on the table and
gave her only child her complete attention, "Good evening, darling."

She looked him over for any noticeable injuries and inquired with a frown,
"Was today any better?"

The pain from the unprovoked ambush by Terry Boot and his lackeys
lingered, but it had lessened, and he hardly felt it.

Draco took another large bite of the apple and nodded with his mouth full of
the sweet and sour treat and barely managed, "Yes, it was much better. I
think I have made a few friends."

He thought fondly of Hannah and Emily. However, Michelle was not

looking for friendship unless it came with a side order of sex. She was quite
appealing and tempting, but he had his sights on a much bigger prize.

Miss Hermione Jean Granger. Salazar those moans and panting when she
orgasmed. He wondered what erotic noises she would make when he slid
his cock into her tight passage.

His mother's voice bore into his erotic thoughts of a pleasurable afternoon,
"That's nice, dear."
Draco polished off the apple ravenously and raised sceptically, "How was
lunch with my beloved fiancé?" His tone was mocking and dripping with
sarcasm.

Narcissa blushed instantly and scolded, “Hush! Must you joke about
everything? If you must know, it was quite enjoyable.” She added fondly,
“We had the lobster, drank more wine than we should have and gossiped.
Hermione makes me feel young again.”

She raised a brow in question, “Did she mention it?”

Draco responded, “She did.” Among other things, he thought devilishly.

Narcissa took the opportunity to point out a bit of valid information, “Well,
I would like to ask why you didn't see it fit to inform me that you met
Teddy Lupin.”

Draco tensed, "There was nothing to tell, mother. Granger brought him by,
and I happened to be there." He excluded the bit about the infirmary.

He said thoughtfully, “He’s quite a special child.”

Narcissa smiled warmly, “I'm sure he is.” She thought of Andromeda and
longed to speak a few words with her estranged sister.

Draco interrupted with determination, “I have every intention of righting

every wrong done.”

Narcissa was baffled by his words and asked his intent, “What do you
mean?”

He turned to face his mother and questioned slowly, “Are we not the sole
remaining heirs of the Black family? Teddy and I?”

Narcissa nodded, and the realization of what her son intended made her
heart sore with happiness, “Yes! I think I know where you are headed with
this, and I cannot be more pleased.”
Draco retorted with fierce resolve, “Aunt Andromeda and Teddy deserve
their inheritance and the respect that was cruelly taken from them.

Made speechless by the words he spoke, Narcissa simply stared at the man
her son had become. After a few moments of silence, she expressed
wholeheartedly, “I am so proud of you.”

Draco offered a humble smile, “Not yet, mother. First, we ask for their
forgiveness, and the rest will follow.

Narcissa agreed without much hesitation. She eyed her only child
knowingly, “I daresay Hermione will be thrilled.”

Draco shook his head in exasperation and argued, “My union with Granger
or her fondness of the boy has absolutely nothing to do with any of this.”

Narcissa laughed. Her peals of delightful laughter filled the space. She got
to her feet, smoothed the creases on her gown and said, “Of course not,
darling. Are you ready for dinner?”

Draco sighed, “Yes, I'm famished.” He was positively starving. They

entered the dining room to find the table burdened under the weight of
mouthwatering dishes. Dotty had clearly outdone herself.

The murderer threw open the door and exclaimed, “My darling!” He was
glad to be home and around her once more.

Sarah cringed and moved away as she always did, but this time she began to
sob and desperately plead, "Please, let me go! I miss my family."

Usually, such an outburst would have angered him, but instead, he moved
close, stroked her hair, and cooed, as if to a lover, "But I'm your family
now." Soon she would be his wife and belong solely to him.

He pointed to the blood on the sheets. His face contorted with disgust, but
he succeeded in saying what he truly felt, “Once you are clean, we can visit
mother and get her blessing. She is quite anxious to meet the woman I
love.”

Pulling her close, he held on and hugged her tightly, and despite her hatred
of the fiend, Sarah let herself be held because it felt good to be sheltered for
a moment, even if it was by him.

He gently pushed her back, left a plate of food close by and waited for her
to start eating. Like a ravenous dog, she devoured the cheese sandwiches
and chocolate croissants. Her cheeks bursting with food, she didn't
acknowledge her nakedness anymore; he had already defiled her in every
possible way.

The man enjoyed her reaction to the things he brought her. Watching the
simple meal he prepared to be consumed with such enthusiasm gave him
tremendous pleasure.

He gently stroked her hair and placed an enduring kiss upon her brow. The
subtle act of affection made Sarah stiffen. She swallowed hard and stared
into the eyes of the long-haired man who had kept her prisoner and raped
her for months.

The scarred flesh on one side of his face was grotesque. The skin was
burned so horrifically it was a miracle he could see out of his eye at all.

“Who did this to you?” She asked meekly, her voice was faint and cracked
with lack of use.

Sarah regretted her words at once since the man hardened and his barely
visible eye darkened with what was clearly a painful memory.

Without much thought, she reached out and touched the charred side of the
face, and at that moment, her abuser, her captor, appeared human to her as
he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.

It was clear he had suffered at the merciless hands of someone he probably

loved.
The swift realisation of her movement forced her to reel back in self-
disgust.

Horrified by her actions, Sarah pulled her hand back at once, causing his
face to contort painfully. She cowered and braced herself to suffer his
wrath, but instead, he stood up abruptly and fled the room, leaving her once
again in darkness with tears streaming down her face.

Hermione bundled herself up in a fluffy white towel, shook her curls

sending water droplets flying in every direction and stepped into the
comfort of her room and not a moment sooner.

The loud ringing of her phone from where she placed it earlier travelled
through the tiny flat that had her rushing towards it without abandon.

In her eagerness to reach the device, the towel she had secured around her
body came undone and fell to the ground in a crumpled heap. Squealing and
cursing out loud, she abandoned it and ran naked towards the phone.

It was unnecessary since she could have easily called back whoever it was,
but a thought lodged in the depths of her mind wished it was Malfoy. Hours
later and she could still feel the gentle yet determined brush of his finger
over her clitoris. How perfectly he had moved his long fingers in and out of
her cunt at a punishingly low pace.

She picked up the phone with water-coated fingers and couldn't help the
bitter disappointment that curled in her belly.

The word "Mum" flashed on the screen.

Hermione sighed and connected the call, "Hi, Mum!" She wedged the
phone between her ear and shoulder, bent to pick up the towel and secured
it around her more firmly this time.

Julia’s loving motherly voice came through, "How are you, darling? We
haven't heard from you since Draco came over for dinner."
Hermione sat on the edge of the bed and admitted guiltily, "I know, Mum.
Work has been rather hectic." She could picture her mother rolling her eyes.
Her family had unceremoniously branded her a workaholic.

She straightened as her grandmother's voice came through clearly, "Are you
coming by this weekend? Phyllis did not bother with unnecessary
pleasantries; she dropped all pretence around her beloved grandchild and
came straight to the point.

Clearing her throat, Hermione thought of a valid explanation, but she knew
her grandmother would see right through her lies and excuses. She settled
for the truth and whatever scolding that would be sure to follow, “Nana, I'll
try my best.” It was a weak retort.

Phyllis was having none of it, “There won't be any trying, Hermione. I
expect Draco and you around for Sunday brunch.”

Hermione groaned and asked weakly, “Must I bring him? He's probably
busy and...”

Phyllis cut her short, “And nothing.”

Hermione conceded defeat but said stubbornly, “Fine, I'll ask him, but if he
refuses, there's nothing I can do about it.”

Phyllis smiled broadly and reassured, “I have confidence in the boy.”

Eager to speak of anyone other than Malfoy, Hermione deviated the

conversation towards more pleasant things, “Where's dad?”

Julia replied in a tired voice, “Still at the clinic. An emergency case came
in.” There were plenty of those thanks to people leaving their teeth
unattended until the pain of a rotting tooth became unbearable.

Hermione sighed, “Give him my love.”

Julia gushed, “Of course, darling. Be safe.”

Hermione concurred, “I always am.”

She hung up, fell unceremoniously on the bed and thought of how she
would go about breaching the topic of brunch with her family on Sunday to
Malfoy.

She was sure without a doubt that he wouldn't refuse, but her family getting
close to him didn't sit too well with her. It would lead to unnecessary
complications beyond what they already faced.

The day’s events swept over her, and before she knew it, Hermione pulled a
fluffy pillow close, hugged it firmly to her chest and fell into a deep
slumber still in the towel.

Dinner was, as usual, satisfying. Draco decided to take Max for a walk to
aid his digestion. The eager dog was impatient and showed his willingness
by repeatedly jumping on his master’s body.

Grabbing the battered tennis ball, Draco left his mother to her reading and
wandered into the well-maintained gardens of Malfoy Manor. He truly
welcomed the serene calmness, the gentle rustling of leaves and beams of
moonlight that illuminated the full-grown trees of the beautiful landscape.

Max came to a halt and growled threateningly with his fur standing on end.
The rustling of the bushes alerted Draco to his companion’s distress, and he
stroked the dog's back in an effort to soothe him and grilled, "What is it,
boy?"

The Alsatian dug its claws into the earth and barred his teeth in a low
menacing growl. The bushes rustled, and out of the thick brush, a majestic
white peacock glided out without a care in the world oblivious to the
strangers intruding on his nightly stroll.

Draco stared at the beautiful creature in awe. It was a common sight around
the Manor since the magnificent birds had been one of Lucius's prized
possessions. Still, the appreciation for such an exquisite creature heightened
in the darkness and fall of moonlight.
Slowly, he slipped his fingers under Max’s black studded collar, tightened
his hold, preventing the angry dog from pouncing and pulled him back
gently, “Come on, Max. Let's find another spot.”

Though the astute dog kept his eyes on the bird preening his feathers and
strutting around the courtyard with an elevated sense of purpose, he heeded
his master's command.

Draco released the dog once they were away and near the angelic fountain.
He sat heavily on the marble bench and threw the ball in his grasp for Max
to fetch.

He leisurely stretched his legs out and stared at the night sky. Hardly any
stars were visible except for a few sparkling dots millions of miles away.
Astronomy like Alchemy intrigued him.

Draco thought hard about the day's events, and a smile slowly worked its
way onto his face. He decided seeing Granger come undone was a sight he
could indeed get used to. His fingers twitched with the remembrance of her
wetness that coated them.

He had always liked a somewhat vocal woman in bed, and when she
moaned his name, it had taken all his inner strength not to rip the panties off
her body and impale her with his cock.

At that moment, he regretted not letting her have her way with him.

The thought of Granger on her knees, between his firm thighs while she
sucked him off, was an enticing image. He particularly enjoyed the way her
hair wrapped around his fingers during their many moments of passion.

Draco licked his bottom lip and wondered whether he should call her. She
would answer and, in her usual way, berate him for calling. Though he
knew she secretly welcomed it, he chuckled softly at the roguish thought.

He was on his way to a hard-on, and that simply wouldn't do. Max had
returned with the ball begging for it to be thrown again. Draco patted the
dog fondly and obliged, but he needed to let off some steam and banish his
vicarious thoughts desperately.

With purpose, he got to his feet and let out a low whistle, Max emerged
with the ball firmly in his mouth and paws covered in dirt, and when Draco
started the walk towards the Manor, the dog whimpered in disappointment
but followed obediently.

Draco heard the soft whimpers and caught a glimpse of the hanging face of
the white Alsatian. He said somewhat guiltily "Ah, don't look at me like
that, mate. I need to practice before bed." He felt fit enough to endure the
vigorous workout routine. His body craved it.

The loud laughing of a deranged woman filled Hermione’s head, “Wakey,

wakey little Mudblood.” When she didn’t stir, the voice inside her mind
shrieked, “Get up, you slag.”

Hermione gritted out, “Get away from me.”

Bellatrix laughed and taunted, “Always the same, get away from me, don't
hurt me. Such a pitiful creature, shameless slut.”

Hermione defended feebly, “It was mutual. He touched me, and ...”

Her words angered the dead witch. Bellatrix screamed, “He cares nothing
for you! Do you believe he will sullen his bloodline by impregnating you?”

Hermione defended relentlessly, trying to convince herself, “He wants

me….”

The heinous witch fired, “He wants to fuck you, dearie. You will never
amount to anything more than the foulest creature to him.”

Hermione felt the vomit rise, but she managed to hold it down enough to
counter, “That’s not true.”
Bellatrix narrowed her eyes and taunted, “Draco can have any woman he
pleases. Why would he willingly choose you?”

The young witch trapped within her mind scoffed, “He can have them for
all I care. Malfoy means nothing to me.”

Bellatrix laughed manically. The unholy sound bounced off the walls of
Hermione’s disturbed mind, “Yet, you crave him? I can see into your
darkest fantasies, you little liar.”

Hermione gathered all her inner strength and hissed, “Does it bother you,
Bellatrix? That your precious nephew wants to fuck a Mudblood?”

She challenged, “I can make him love me.”

Bellatrix sneered, “Love you? Draco would never stoop so low to develop
feelings for an ugly, bushy-haired know it all.”

She cocked her head to the side and pouted, “Deep down, you’re still that
girl fighting for everyone's approval.”

Hermione denied the truth that left the dark witch’s lips, “That’s a lie.”

Bellatrix smiled most spitefully and mocked, “On the contrary, darling. I
think it's you that's afraid of falling in love with him.”

Hermione choked back a sob, “I will never.”

The cackling grew louder, “What would the blood traitor Weasley think of
you? He loved you then. He loves you still.”

Bellatrix rejoiced, “I will celebrate your pain as Draco tears your heart out.
He will succeed where I failed.”

Hermione fired back without hesitation, “I won't give him the satisfaction.”
She could never love Malfoy.

The deceased witch exclaimed menacingly, “Enough! I tire of your pathetic

excuses. I thirst for blood.”
Hermione was taken back to the fateful night she was branded on the floor
of Malfoy Manor.

Bellatrix leaned closer and whispered, “Scream, my pet.”

Hermione struggled in her sleep, her towel came loose, and in her naked
form, she twisted and writhed in a futile attempt to get away from an
invisible entity. Her nails dug deep into her arm, and a painful gash
appeared down her left forearm.

Her nightmares created such a powerful hallucination it caused the lamp

and book she kept for light reading on her nightstand to shake violently and
tumble to the floor as the magic within her surged to the surface.

The engagement ring she wore rose to protect her from distress such was
the power of the enchantment placed upon it and unwavering loyalty to its
bearer.

She felt a weight press down hard on her chest as if someone was sitting
across her, constricting her airway, but the mad cackling resided and
retreated to whence it came, and Hermione shot up spluttering, gasping for
breath covered in a thin sheet of cold sweat. She took gulps of air to fill her
oxygen-deprived lungs.

The emerald in the ring glowed bright, throwing light across her grief-
stricken face.

Once her breathing returned to its normal state, Hermione fell sideways,
hugged her legs to her chest and wept. Her nightmares brought her deepest
insecurities to life, and she hated herself for desiring her childhood
tormentor.

Draco's fist collided with the bag noisily. He winced as he threw the hard
punch and held onto his bruised side with his gloved hand. His leather-clad
fingers dug into his skin through his sweat-drenched t-shirt.
He pulled it over his head and tossed it aside.

Rapid thoughts of Granger responding fervently to his touch flashed by,

causing a deep growl to escape his pale lips. He held onto the bag heavy till
it stilled and steadied himself but mostly his raging thoughts.

He wanted her in a way he hadn't wanted anything in the past, and that
intense feeling in the core of his being terrified him, especially since she
was adamant about refusing any genuine feelings between them.

In frustration, he did a roundhouse kick that collided and shook the bag
dangerously, making it swing, creak and protest.

Draco aggressively pulled off his leather gloves, tossed them aside and
stormed away, having failed in his attempt to rid his thoughts of his forced
fiancé.

He glanced at the clock on his way out and fumed. It read 11:30 pm.

The Next Day

Narcissa enjoyed an early morning stroll around her beloved gardens. She
tended lovingly to her roses and other precious plants with the help of the
elves. It was a routine she upheld from her youth and during her many years
of house arrest.

Dotty, in particular, enjoyed gardening and would often water the plants and
tend to the relentless weeds, though this morning, the tiny elf who favoured
polka-dotted dresses was busy elsewhere. Narcissa found herself walking
along with Max, who chased after the many butterflies that fluttered
teasingly around the most scented flowers.

She passed by the large Oak tree with lush green leaves turning reddish and
orange with the pending season change when a random gust of passing
wind made her shiver.
Narcissa looked around the serene space and wondered where Draco was.
He was usually up at the crack of dawn, and during her walks, she would
often find him under the tree in a deep meditative state.

A month would soon come to pass since his return, and she still marvelled
at the transformation.

Narcissa had her doubts and reservations about his decision to flee from
England in search of his true self mainly because she worried relentlessly
about his well-being.

Unfortunately, he was raised a certain way, and she supposed she was as
much to blame as Lucius since she allowed her husband to imprint his
ideologies on their only child. Had she known he would return in such an
elevated state of calmness and humility, she would have brushed aside her
insecurities and supported him one hundred per cent.

Narcissa brushed her fingers along the petals of a few blossoming long-
stem roses, but her sense of peace was about to be shattered.

Dotty ran towards her as fast her tiny feet would carry her with The Daily
Prophet clutched firmly in her hands.

Narcissa bemused, "Whatever is the matter, Dotty?"

The elf came to a screeching halt in front of her mistress and almost toppled
over in exhaustion at having run the entire way.

She held up the freshly printed newspaper for the aristocratic lady to take.

Narcissa raised a curious brow. The usually calm elf seemed beside herself.
Something was amiss; she took the paper, and the headline jumped out at
her. Her eyes widened in shock at the sight of an old picture of her previous
engagement ring that had a new owner late.

The picture was years old and probably from The Daily Prophets Archives.
Lord knew they had been featured in the scandalous newspaper on
numerous occasions.
Narcissa let her eyes scan over the article, with each word, her face creased
with worry. Once she got to the end, she reread it rooted to a spot near the
large Oak tree and raged, "Bloody vultures!"

Dotty squeaked and nodded wholeheartedly in agreement. Rita Skeeter had

not been kind in her description of Hermione and attacked her character
without just cause. Skeeter had taken it upon herself to portray Draco as an
unfortunate poor soul with no choice in the matter but be paired off with a
gold digger.

The Algorithm has caused many upsets since the laws passing, but none
more than the despair it is causing reformed ex-Death Eater Draco
Malfoy over his alleged engagement to Miss Hermione Granger. She was
spotted wearing the famous Malfoy engagement ring on an outing with
her long-time best friend and Chosen One Harry Potter.

Does Ginny Potter approve of this nightly rendezvous? Wouldn't we love

to know?

Inside sources at the Ministry confirmed that the Algorithm brought the
Golden girl and redeemed Death Eater together. Ironic, is it not?

Miss Granger, who is well known for her callous attitude towards the
press and unforgiving nature, has fallen into a pot of gold. It is no
wonder she has taken to flaunting the exquisite ancient piece of jewellery
at every given opportunity.

It is a clear sign. Watch out, ladies! Draco Malfoy is taken! With the title
and vast wealth, Mr Malfoy is intended to inherit, it is no wonder Miss
Granger is keen to keep her fiancé on a short leash.

Mr Malfoy, who was earlier thought to be dead after his disappearance

from the Magical world after his trial, seems unaffected. One can only
wonder about the trauma he is suffering by this rather odd match.

We intend to find out! Me, myself and I, look forward to bringing you the
latest developments.
Narcissa crumpled the paper in frustration and let it fall to the ground
before quickening her steps towards the Manor searching for her son.
 Chapter 44
Chapter Summary

Hey all! I hope everyone is fabulous! :)

I have uploaded a longish chapter and beg forgiveness to make up for

my horrid tardiness! :)

Skeeter is at it again, but this time, she might have bitten off more than
she can chew.

Thank you so much, as always, for the lovely comments. I will reply to
each one soon :)

Enjoy Chapter 44!

Happy reading, and stay safe, beautiful people! :)

Hermione was up early. While lying still and gazing at the illegible patterns
on the ceiling, she had not gotten a wink of sleep.

It was a common occurrence after one of her episodes. Sleep was hard to
come by, and insomnia plagued her for the rest of the night and days to
come.

Mainly, she was afraid to close her eyes and be at Bellatrix's mercy once
again. Even from beyond the grave, the dark witch tormented her.

The intensity of her nightmares increased daily, and her sanity hung by a
thread.

Bringing her hand up to the dim light that flooded her room, Hermione
stared in fascination at her engagement ring. There was deep and powerful
magic at work here, and whoever had forged it had done so with extreme
skill.
How was a piece of jewellery able to chase away her nightmares and
comfort her? It was intriguing and what was most bizarre was she could feel
Draco, his pulse beating tandemly with hers.

Perhaps, her mind had been playing tricks on her, but she was sure she felt
his presence even if it was for a fleeting second.

A sharp pain shot through her body. Her limbs ached from the physical
struggle with herself, and the open gash down her arm where coagulated
blood bridged the gap throbbed and stung with the slightest movement.

Hermione stared at her arm in disbelief. Had she truly inflicted pain on
herself? Was she that weak-minded that she could allow the mere memory
of a deceased witch to haunt her?

The tears came before she could stop them.

Grabbing hold of her head, she sobbed for a great many things. The
unfairness and impracticable marriage law, her shameful attraction to a man
who degraded her and cheapened her morality, and the uncertainty of his
true intentions weighed down on her heavily.

Her wild curls obscured her face, and the waves of despair that lived
dormant within her troubled psyche encased her whole and pulled her into
their warm embrace.

Hermione cried until there were no tears left. The wound opened slightly,
and blood thick and red trickled down her arm.

Theo enjoyed a hearty breakfast before he disappeared into his study for
work. He had the luxury of working from home. It was a rare privilege, but
in his line of work, which included creating trinkets, potions, and advanced
alchemy, quiet space was mandatory.

Reading the morning paper was a ritual, but after many years the headline
this particular morning made him sulk.
With his mouth full of scrambled eggs, he hissed in displeasure, "Oh,
bloody hell. That's depressing." He managed to say in a strained voice

"What is, darling?" Luna queried while pouring herself a glass of orange
juice. Her throat was parched, and her stomach rumbled with hunger.

She never read the drivel The Prophet dished out. It never appealed to her.
As she was the Editor in Chief of the Quibbler, it seemed like a betrayal of
the worst kind to read another paper.

Theo pushed aside his plate, laid the paper down and pointed to the
ridiculous headline to show Luna precisely where to look, "Draco and
Granger have made the front page."

Luna glanced at the paper and frowned, "Oh dear, how awful. Poor
Hermione." She made a mental note to speak with one of her dearest friends
later in the day.

Theo shook his head despondently, "Skeeter is a right twat."

Luna never wished ill on anyone, but Rita was an exception to the rule. She
had half a mind to defend Hermione's honour by printing a counter article in
the Quibbler.

Daphne placed a costly imported napkin on her lap before handing Blaise a
cup of hot tea. His eyes were fixed on the morning paper and nowhere else.

She tutted, "Darling, your tea is getting cold." When he made no effort to
take the cup out of her hand, she placed it by his side and tended to her
youngest child, who in a matter of five minutes had butter smeared all over
his cute chubby face.

Blaise threw the paper down and bellowed, "Can you believe this shite?"

Daphne threw him a look of disdain and scolded, "Blaise! Please, mind
your language in front of the children."
Carrie giggled uncontrollably, "Daddy said a bad word, mummy! She
abandoned her bowl of porridge and listened intently to any other colourful
words her father would say.

Daphne took a sip of tea, dabbed the corner of her mouth delicately and
inquired, "Whatever is the matter, Blaise?"

Blaise gritted out, "They've crucified Granger. The bunch of meddlesome

arseho...."

Daphne sternly reprimanded before he could finish the sentence, "Blaise!"

He glanced at the children, especially his daughter looking at him with a

mischievous grin and apologised sheepishly, "Oh, sorry. It's just ridiculous."

After reading the unforgiving piece, Daphne sighed, "Well, it was bound to
happen sooner than later. I guess it's the start of a storm we will all have to
weather out." She said wisely, and her thoughts instantly went to her sister
Astoria.

The scarred man sat at the table in the kitchen. He carefully buttered a few
pieces of burnt toast and placed them prudently on the plate next to a fried
egg. He had to feed his beloved and change her soiled sheets before heading
off to work, but the front page of the morning paper distracted him.

Abandoning his task, he pulled the newspaper towards him and eagerly read
the article, stopping to reread the parts about Hermione Granger. He was
quite fond of the Undersecretary.

She was a kindhearted woman, and he did not appreciate a corrupt woman
such as Rita Skeeter sullying her good name.

He looked towards the living room where an older woman elegantly dressed
in a lime green dress and emerald brooch pinned to her chest was seated on
an old black rocking chair staring seemingly into space. Her long auburn
hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and her face was expressionless.
The man voiced his opinion with importance, "Disgraceful, isn't it,
mother?" His view amounted to nothing since he received no answer in
return.

The whole story intrigued him. It made him happy that two unlikely
individuals with vastly different upbringings and backgrounds could be
matched. Perhaps, there was still hope for Sarah and him.

Dorian Blackwood enjoyed the finer things in life, and he indulged in those
far more when he took a form other than his own.

Despite Fenrir's barbaric and beastly nature during Voldemort's reign, there
had been a time when the werewolf was far more cultured, and it was that
part of him that Dorian embodied.

The hotel was a reputed five-star establishment in the heart of London, and
lying across the pearly white sheets on the sizeable bed was a naked short-
haired brunette he had picked up at one of the clubs he frequented the
previous night.

She was a feisty Muggle, and he had enjoyed fucking her hard within an
inch of her life. She was so loud that he was undoubtedly sure the guests in
the next room could hear their passionate lovemaking.

He strolled naked through the room, grabbing bits of his clothing and
hurriedly pulling them on before she woke and demanded another round of
exquisite fun.

Not that he would not have minded a quick shag, but things had gotten out
of hand in bed, and he had pierced her skin with his teeth, tasting the
sweetness of her blood. It was a costly mistake he would rather not repeat.

Dorian pulled up his trousers, secured them at the top, threw enough money
down on the table to cover the room and an extra something for her and
disapparated into the deserted alleyway next to The Leaky Cauldron.
It was early by his standards, but his stomach grumbled with hunger, and he
fancied a spot of breakfast. He walked in, dusted his jacket down, and made
a beeline to the bar.

A discarded Daily Prophet lay randomly on the counter, and at first, he paid
no mind to the dodgy tabloid. Still, after placing his order for a full English
breakfast, boredom got the better of him, and he lazily reached for the
paper. His eyes widened at the article gloriously spread across the front
page.

Of course, he had heard about the infamous law, but since he kept a low
profile, and his existence was on a need-to-know basis, he didn't know
much about it.

So, Malfoy was marrying the ultimate Muggle-born witch, Hermione Jean
Granger. How bloody interesting. That was an unlikely coupling if any.

He wondered how their masked leader would react to the news, especially
considering his eagerness to recruit the young wizard. Would the shrouded
man still consider Malfoy valuable with a Mudblood wife? Or would a
darker, more sinister path be taken to rectify this unjust union?

His food arrived. Dorian tossed the paper aside and tucked it into the
heavenly-smelling plate of bacon, eggs, crispy toast, and plump sausages.

No longer famished, he bit into a blood sausage savagely in deep thought.

Her mood was foul, and with dark circles around her eyes, Hermione opted
for a grey skirt and white shirt to match her sour disposition.

Showering had proved to be a painful experience since the deep cut on her
hand limited her movement, and any contact with soap made her wince.

She desperately needed help to conquer her inner demons. Perhaps, Malfoy
had the answer to her grave problem? He seemed to have put his past
horridness to rest.
Pouring herself a cool glass of orange juice and making up her mind to grab
a sandwich on the way to work, Hermione sat down at the small table that
fits in her tiny kitchen and reached for The Daily Prophet.

The headline jumped out at her and grabbed her metaphorically around the
throat.

Hermione spat out the orange juice coating everything in its path. Her mind
lit up with the surprised yet angry words. What the fuck? She staggered and
almost toppled off the chair.

How could Skeeter stoop this low to imply that she welcomed the union
because of Malfoy's deep pockets? It was beyond ludicrous.

She read the article urgently, her anger growing with each passing second
and snarled, "I'm going to Avada that cunt." The tone in her voice held the
contempt she clearly felt.

It was a marvellous start to the morning. Not only would the entire
wizarding world know about Malfoy and her, but she had been portrayed as
some petty gold-digging whore who applauded the match.

Skeeter had never written anything remotely favourable about her since
there was too much bad blood between them, but it was unforgivable to
tarnish her character and outright lie. Hermione would not tolerate such
brazen behaviour.

Using her wand, she accioed her phone and searched through the contacts
for the nasty reporter's number. It was saved under the title Daily Prophet
filth, and rightly so.

Hermione made the call, held the phone to her ear and impatiently
drummed her fingernails on the polished surface of the table while she
waited for Rita Skeeter to answer.

Barely three rings went by before the call connected, and Rita's smug, high-
pitched voice came through, "Ah, good morning, Madam Undersecretary. I
was expecting this call much sooner." She sounded highly pleased with
herself.

Hermione did not bother with any false politeness. She threatened openly,
"I'm going to destroy you, Rita." As the Undersecretary to the current
Minister of Magic, she had a certain level of power, and if she so wished,
she could make life difficult for the unscrupulous journalist.

Skeeter seemed to have anticipated Hermione's reaction and countered

confidently, "Tut, tut, I'm sure we can resolve this. Besides, if you harm a
hair on my head, it will just prove me right about how unstable you are."

Hermione bit out in anger, "You have made me out to be an unscrupulous

slut."

A low laugh from Skeeter moved over the shell of Hermione's ear, causing
her to flinch, "I can fix that, my darling."

It dawned on Hermione. Her gut instinct that Skeeter had an undisclosed

agenda became known. There was a profound reason behind the damaging
words in the article.

Hermione took a deep breath and bluntly accused, "You planned this, didn't
you?"

Shrill laughter of pure glee pierced the tense situation, and Skeeter taunted,
"And you fell right into it. You are exceedingly predictable, Hermione. Any
threat towards your perfect image and you can't bear it, can you?"

Hermione's grip on the phone tightened. She inwardly cursed her stupidity
for acting impulsively and hissed through pursed lips, "What the hell do
you want?"

Skeeter did not skip a beat with her request. Her tone was almost seductive
as she uttered one name with longing, "Malfoy."

An uncomfortable stillness encased them, and neither spoke until Hermione

broke the silence and cried in outrage, "What?"
What exactly was Skeeter after? A night with her fiancé? The woman was
asking for the unthinkable.

Rita sensed what Hermione was thinking and was quick to defend herself
with an explanation, "Oh, no, he is yummy but far too young for the likes of
me."

Hermione retorted with dripping sarcasm, "Not judging by your last

boyfriend."

Skeeter ignored the younger witch's crude remark, mainly because it was
true. She stated her true intention, "I want an exclusive interview."

Hermione could not help but feel relieved. She raised a curious brow,
"What do you mean?" Her patience was exhausted, and she wished the
incorrigible woman would get to the bloody point and be done with it.

Skeeter smirked and answered with an air of arrogance, "Get your fiancé to
talk to me."

She insisted with a touch of irritation, "He will listen to you, and
unfortunately, won't give me the time of day." She had even extended an
invitation to Narcissa to hear her side of the story after her house arrest
came to an end, but like her son, the aristocratic woman wouldn't so much
as entertain an owl from her.

Hermione snorted and bit back sarcastically, "I can't imagine why. It must
be your winning personality."

Rita went on to explain further with an eagerness and hunger that wasn't
present before, "I want to know everything. Where he scurried off to, what
he has been doing, and most importantly, why he joined the ranks of He-
Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Hermione listened intently to the demand and couldn't believe the level of
desperation in Skeeter's voice, but that didn't help her feel anything but
appalled, "Forget it! Malfoy's life story is not a bargaining chip." She added
in disgust, "You really have stooped low!"
The seasoned reporter changed her attitude and kept it casual. She studied
her long-painted talons and responded calmly, "Pity. Oh well, I hope you
and the wizarding world enjoy part two of my article. My imagination does
run wild."

Hermione paled, "You wouldn't fucking dare...."

Skeeter reminded in a less-than-happy tone, "What are you going to do,

Granger? Trap me inside a bottle? Oh, I haven't forgotten what you did to
me." She immensely enjoyed making Hermione squirm.

"You deserved a fate far worse than that for what you write, Rita,"
Hermione hurled unapologetically.

Rita recovered from the insult unscathed. She had heard and faced far worse
adversaries than Hermione Granger. The woman's bark was far worse than
her bite.

Her face contorted unpleasantly, "Listen to me, little girl, you might think
you have the upper hand, and true, people despise me, but they devour what
I write, and I'm particularly gifted in painting a vivid picture."

Hermione could not come up with a reasonable argument. Much to her

annoyance, she said nothing. It was the bitter, sad truth.

Skeeter said with twisted pleasure, "I know just how much your precious
little reputation means to you, and what kind of a journalist would I be if I
didn't exploit your weaknesses for a delightful story?"

Hermione had backed herself into a corner and yet again played right into
the hands of the hardened conniving reporter. Juvenile words of hatred spilt
from her lips before she could give them a second thought, "Fuck you,
Skeeter." It was a retort in the weakest form.

Rita laughed mockingly, "Such primitive language from our darling

Undersecretary."
She stated with a firmness that wasn't to be trifled with, "Call me when you
have an answer, Granger."

Hermione said what she knew to be the truth, "He will never agree to such a
proposal." Malfoy was in no way compelled to cater to Skeeter's
preposterous demands to save her reputation from being tarnished by The
Prophet.

Skeeter implied slyly, "Convince him, darling. Use your womanly wiles.
I'm sure you have a peculiar way...with him."

Hermione fumed. Was she now to whore herself for the benefit of this vile
individual?

Rita did not bother waiting for an answer. She was needed elsewhere and
had no desire to prolong the conversation, "Toodles, darling. I must run and
bask in my glory."

She included further with smug superiority, "We've sold a record number of
newspapers today. I must thank you, Hermione. Have a wonderful day, dear.
"

The line went dead before Hermione could begin to formulate an answer.
The fucking bitch.

She felt sick to her stomach.

Maybe, it was time to teach dear Rita Skeeter a lesson she wouldn't forget
in a hurry.

Narcissa stormed into the dining room and found Draco dressed in his
Auror robes and ready for work, eating an apple as he usually did and
Bernard lazily stirring a spoonful of sugar into his tea.

The men exchanged a few pleasantries, and Bernard was keen to know if
any new details about the Dollhouse Strangler had surfaced. His attempts to
uncover the identity of Gustav Nicolave's wife proved problematic. He had
failed in his attempt to find any viable information. It was as if their
existence had been wiped clean.

It was a disturbing thought, and he endlessly tried to recall where he had

seen the wand, but without a specific date or time, it was impossible to shift
through his memories and find the source.

Draco reached over to grab a piece of toast and looked bemused as his
mother came charging in with less than her usual grace.

Bernard noticed the difference in her behaviour and inquired first in slight
alarm, "What's the matter, darling?"

Narcissa marched over to where another Daily Prophet lay rolled up, bound,
and neglected. She tore the rubber band with considerable force, held it up
and pointed to the decorative front page.

Draco tensed as the blown-up picture of his famous heirloom and headline
caught his avid attention. His thoughts went to Hermione all at once. They
had previously planned to inform the papers themselves about their pending
nuptials, but unfortunately, it looked like Rita Skeeter had beaten them to it.

This sudden turn of circumstances was most unfortunate.

Bernard pursed his lips, quickly got to his feet, and approached his beloved.

He spoke calmly, but each word was burdened with undying love,
"Narcissa, please calm yourself. You must control your blood pressure, my
dear."

Narcissa grabbed hold of the paper once again and shook it with
considerable force until some pages came apart and fell to the ground. She
was absolutely livid, "They've completely tarnished Hermione. I have a
right mind to go down to The Prophet and demand a retraction."

Draco struggled to remain composed, yet he retained a straight face and

showed indifference. Keeping his breathing even and face set in stone, he
slowly rose from his place at the table with intent and purpose.
Narcissa glanced at her son and insisted in concern, "Draco?" His features
were pinched, lips pressed down hard in frustration, and resentment flashed
across his hardened steel-grey eyes.

He gently took the paper from her grasp and read the damaging article. His
mother was right. Skeeter had mercilessly shredded Granger's character to
unrecognisable pieces by portraying her out to be an immoral woman after
money.

Mustering a smile, he reassured, "Mother, Bernard is right. You mustn't

upset yourself. I will look into this matter and sort it out."

Bernard looked closely at the picture and declared, "That isn't Hermione in
the picture, is it?"

Narcissa answered grimly, "No, it's my hand, probably from years ago."

Draco closed his eyes and let his feelings on the matter wash over him. It
was imperative that he kept his wits about him if he was to comfort his
intended and resolve the situation.

Of course, Granger would have read it by now and was probably in a state
of shock and unimaginably angry over the unfair assumption.

Reaching into the deep pockets of his tailored robes, Draco pulled out his
phone and dialled the number he had come to memorise. He appealed to no
one in particular, "Answer the phone, Granger." But his somewhat frantic
pleas went unanswered.

Bernard shook his head and stated with evident disgust, "It's pitiful the level
people would sink to sell a newspaper. Skeeter would sell her mother for a
good story."

Narcissa expressed with growing concern, "I am so worried about

Hermione. Why would Rita Skeeter say these horrible false things?" Her
voice was heavy with emotion.
It was Draco that answered in a low, ominous tone that instilled fear in all
within earshot, "Because she has no conscience."

He combined with determination, "I need to see Granger." Draco grabbed

his wand and hurried out of the Manor without a backwards glance and his
mind in turmoil.

Ginny threw down The Prophet in anger and glared at the printed words.
How fucking dare they? The audacity to imply that Hermione was after
Malfoy's money.

She purposely ignored the bit about Harry. The Prophet's scoundrels had
been implying a relationship between Harry and Hermione since the
Triwizard Tournament.

Harry walked into the kitchen in a good mood, poured himself a glass of
pumpkin juice and bent to kiss his wife on the forehead when he saw the
paper sprawled in front of Ginny and Hermione's name mentioned along
with his.

It had been a while since he made the front page, and curiosity beckoned
him to read it, but once he finished reading, pure unadulterated anger
clouded his vision, "Hermione must be frothing mad."

Ginny concurred, "Among other things." She added in a worried tone, "I
called her several times, but no answer."

She turned to face her husband and implored, "Can you check up on her?
And bring her around for dinner? Merlin knows she needs to vent."

Harry assured without a moment's hesitation, "Of course, love. The second I
step foot in the Ministry, I will go see her."

He helped himself to a piece of toast and marmalade before heading out and
said gravely, "You never quite get used to the bashing that Skeeter so
joyfully hands out. That woman is pure evil."
Ginny nodded in reply and spat without a shred of remorse, "She's a
thundercunt, Harry. She deserves whatever she's got coming."

Victoria Greengrass read the editorial and sighed. She looked forward to
having her grandchildren around while Daphne and Blaise were in Hawaii.
It would be a welcome change.

She hoped her younger daughter was still in bed and unaware of the
problematic story on the front page of the Daily Prophet. It had been days
since Astoria's last episode, and she was mentally drained and in no mood
to handle another outburst.

Victoria beckoned the elf hovering in the background forward and quickly
instructed, "Get rid of any copies of the Prophet and make sure Miss Astoria
does not see it."

It was of the utmost importance that Astoria remained in the dark and did
not see the ring intended for her on the finger of another.

Victoria bared no grudge against Draco, she understood his feelings for her
daughter were not romantically inclined, but convincing Astoria of the hard
truth was no mere task.

The elf bowed low in acknowledgement, "Yes, mistress." He hurried as fast

as his tiny feet would take him to the den. Once there, he grabbed the spare
copy of the newspaper kept especially for Mr Greengrass, threw it into the
fireplace and watched the flames consume the fragile paper.

A Healer sitting at a table in the common room greeted enthusiastically,

"Good morning, Boot."

Unshaven and dishevelled, Terry managed to croak out a snarky reply,

"Cheryl, you're in a good mood."

Cheryl leaned back in the chair and grinned, "That I am, love."
She explained further with a happy smile, "Me husbands back from
Scotland after three months. We didn't leave the bedroom all day."

Terry frowned, "That's too much fucking information, woman."

He could not help but smile, "It's good he's back. You can now stop your
bellyaching about him being gone too long." He liked Cheryl; she was the
only person he spoke to inside the institute.

The loud, outspoken Healer was well-liked and somehow got through to
him. The first two days had passed by, with him constantly throwing up,
fighting his hallucinations, and battling to stay alive while he curled up into
a ball on the floor.

Cheryl looked him over and inquired genuinely, "How are you feeling
today, lad?"

Terry attempted to smoothen his unkempt hair, "Same as yesterday, like

shite. I've been here a few days, but it feels close to a fucking month."

Cheryl chuckled, "It gets better." She pushed a covered plastic container in
his direction and offered goodheartedly, "Would you like some pudding?
I've got chocolate."

Terry shook his head and politely declined. The very sight of food made
him queasy, "No thanks. I could go for a fag, though." He was desperate for
a quick drag, and to smell the fumes of a cigarette would be a delightful
diversion.

Shaking her head, Cheryl warned strictly, "You know you can't." She
looked around the area at the other patients playing cards, and reading
books, and encouraged, "Why don't you try to make friends? The blokes
here can help you."

Her suggestion angered him and made him feel unworthy, "I'm not some
fucking junkie."

Cheryl sprang to her feet and reprimanded him most severely. "Mind that
attitude. You are here for a reason, and so are the rest of these people. Some
good people lose their way, and don't you dare be a judgmental arsehole
about it."

Terry backed away in shame.

She had been one of them many years ago, and if her mother and now
husband hadn't interfered to stop her addiction to Firewhisky, she would
have easily succumbed to it and died an early death.

Terry hung his head and apologised profusely, "I'm sorry, Cheryl. My minds
not right."

She understood his outburst. As an Auror, they were trained to be an elite

force of individuals. To protect the community at any cost and show
absolutely no weakness. It was a tall order to fill, considering the horrors
they witnessed daily.

Cheryl patted Terry on the back and thrust the morning paper into his hand
with a small smile,
"Here, have a read. Our Undersecretary has made the blooming front page.
Those bloody bitches at the Prophet won't let the woman take a dump in
peace."

That piqued his interest, and he swallowed hard before asking in a weak
voice, "Hermione?"

Cheryl did not pay much attention to Boot's sudden interest and replied
casually, "Aye, that be the one.

He fell into a white plastic chair and flipped the paper over with trembling
hands and wished he had not left his room that morning.

His heart sank to the pits of his belly.

Love was gut-wrenching misery and pain.

Hermione held her head high as she marched through the Ministry. She
passed many onlookers giving her cautious yet curious looks, but some
seemed sympathetic to her situation.

Stacy from Logistics was beside herself with happiness. The high and
mighty, Golden girl was nothing more than a leech, and she pitied Draco for
being matched with such an undesirable woman. She wondered if she
should write to him, express her concerns, and offer sympathy over the
situation.

Kingsley took a gratifying sip from his morning coffee and a sizeable bite
off his scone.

He had long since cancelled his subscription to The Daily Prophet, but as
the Minister of Magic, he was entitled to a free copy which his secretary
kept folded and ready for him to go through whenever he found the time.

One glance at the front page was enough to remind him of exactly why he
cancelled his subscription nearly a decade ago.

To even imply that Hermione was enticed by the gold in Malfoy's Gringotts
account was unfathomable. This was a woman who spent half her salary
supplying necessities for underprivileged children, who fought tirelessly for
equal wage pay for house elves and other underappreciated beings.

He would personally have a few words with Skeeter and that sodding
spineless excuse of a Chief Editor the Prophet employed. It was common
knowledge that Skeeter gave it to him good in exchange to run stories and
articles of her choosing.

Well, he was fiercely protective of his Undersecretary and would not

tolerate an unfair word against her.

Not stopping to greet her coworkers or offer any explanation, Hermione

stormed into her office and came to an abrupt halt at the disorderly sight of
Brenda's desk. It was a minor miracle that the witch who sat at the desk was
visible under the mountain of letters that cluttered her table.
Brenda took in Hermione's stunned expression and exclaimed, "They've
been coming in since early morning."

Hermione stood rooted to the spot in disbelief for a few seconds before
finally finding her voice, "Why?" It was the only word that came to mind.

Brenda shifted nervously in her seat, "Oh, umm, I glanced at some, and the
majority are encouraging, but a rather nasty howler ripped me to shreds. I
wouldn't read them if I were you."

Massaging the bridge of her nose, Hermione said exasperatedly, "Oh

Merlin, this is an absolute nightmare."

Brenda pleaded once again, "Please don't read them." While some
comments were vile requesting her immediate resignation, most were
encouraging letters imploring the talented young witch not to heed Skeeter's
words and how unbelievable it was that she was paired off with a known
Death Eater.

She muttered under her breath, but it was clear enough to be heard by those
close, "Bunch of jealous fools." People had no filter when expressing their
thoughts.

Kingsley's heavy footsteps and deep voice interrupted them, "She's right,
Granger. Spare yourself the grief and don't bother with these." He said
while pointing to the many closed cream-coloured envelopes.

Hermione turned to face the Ministry and accused nastily, "This is all your
fault." Her bottom lip quivered with frustration.

Kingsley raised a sceptical brow in question, "Excuse me?" He knew the

accusation was somewhat justified.

She glared sternly, "You let them pass this ludicrous law."

Her voice broke with overwhelming emotion, "In a matter of minutes,

everything I've fought so hard to accomplish has been tarnished."
Kingsley put caution to the wind, held Hermione firmly by the shoulders
and stated, "Nobody takes this rubbish seriously."

Hermione rolled her eyes and gestured to the hundreds of letters gathered
on Brenda's desk.

She retorted with thick sarcasm, "I beg to differ."

Kingsley let go and cleared his throat. He emphasised with foremost

importance, "Let me rephrase that. No one with an ounce of intelligence
considers anything the Prophet prints as anything more than meaningless
gossip."

Hermione was having none of that. She narrowed her eyes and hissed, "I
blame you, Kingsley."

Kingsley laughed aloud, "If it makes you feel better, Granger." He

wondered how Malfoy was fairing. It would not do to ask Granger at this
precise moment.

In a serious tone, he said, "Take the day off if you need." Looking at Brenda
for further support, he said confidently, "We can look after things here."

Brenda concurred, "Yes, of course! I would be happy too."

Hermione scoffed, "I have work to do. A wizarding world to keep in order."

Kingsley smiled at the bold statement and mused, "I thought that was my
job, Granger, but you're absolutely right. I could never do a thing without
you."

He instructed before departing, "Get rid of these letters, Brenda. Do not let
her read these. That is an order!"

Brenda jumped to her feet and pulled out her wand on the double.

Hermione protested, "No, I want to read them."

She reached into the pile just in time because she was forced to pull her
hand back as the letters caught fire and burned to a crisp. Luckily, she
managed to grab two, which she cleverly concealed.

Brenda apologised innocently while Hermione shot her a look of mild

annoyance, "Oh, oops, sorry! You really should have said something
sooner."

She came around the table and took Hermione's hands in hers, applied
pressure and instructed calmly, "Breathe, Hermione." Taking the odd yoga
class on the weekends was paying off.

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath, but the second
her eyes closed, everything that had come to pass flashed through her mind,
causing her to drop Brenda's hands in alarm.

Brenda sensed the shift in disposition and quickly offered, "Would you like
a cup of coffee?"

Hermione opened her eyes, walked the short distance towards her office,
glanced over her shoulder and said with a forced smile, "Yes, please! Douse
it with poison."

It was a pitiful attempt at humour which had the reverse effect on Brenda
making her cringe at the comment before hurrying to attend to her task.

Closing the door behind her, Hermione leaned against the smooth wooden
surface, took out the letters she managed to stash away and stared at them.

Banging the back of her head on the door repeatedly, she willed the tears
that clawed their way to the surface back to whence they came.

Ron was thankful he had left for work early. The situation between Tracey
and him was strained due to his obsessive behaviour over Hermione.

She hardly spoke to him, and he left well enough alone. They still shared
meals and slept in the same bed, but the void kept growing, and neither
addressed it.

He cared greatly for Tracey, but Hermione was his first love. Frankly, she
had been part of a significant number of firsts. You simply don't forget a
love like that.

The business was booming. All year round, they had steady sales that
exceeded everyone's expectations. George was more like his old self, but
there were times he would stare at old photographs of their fallen brother
Fred and weep for the terrible loss.

Ron leaned back and exhaled. He needed a good cup of coffee and a ham
and cheese sandwich before starting his day. On cue, his assistant walked in
carrying a steaming mug of coffee and a newspaper tucked under her arm.

He took it with a grateful smile, "Thank you, Jane."

The coffee was hot, and it burned his throat but no more than the article that
adorned the front page of the Prophet.

Anger blurred his vision, and his ears turned cherry tomato red with each
word he read.

How dare they make Malfoy out to be the innocent party and Hermione into
some lowly tramp. Skeeter certainly held no love for Hermione, but she had
crossed that invisible line between loose facts and outright fucking lies.

He had to speak to Hermione. Grabbing the phone on the desk, he violently

punched in the numbers and held it up to his ear.

Draco stepped out of the Floo network and ignored the swarm of people
staring at him oddly, hoping to engage him in conversation about his current
situation. He wasn't in the mood to cater to anyone's curious wonderings
about his relationship with Granger.

He sidestepped people who blocked his path, some holding onto the
morning paper and most trying to get to where they were supposed to in
time.

Draco stepped into the questionable lift and impatiently pressed the button
to take him to his desired floor.

He wasn't alone. A man with long straggly hair covering half his face in a
dull grey suit purposely stepped away from him. The man glanced sideways
and caught a glimpse of the shining Auror badge, and his face warped
unpleasantly.

Noticing the man standing to his left, Draco turned and greeted him with a
pleasant enough smile hoping to put the nervous man at ease, "Good
morning."

John was taken aback by the sudden greeting. He clutched the files he was
carrying to his chest and replied in a shaky voice, "Good morning." Aurors
generally treated him like scum. Perhaps Malfoy knew what it felt like to be
treated as an outcast.

Draco pointed to the Prophet in John's hand and gave a lopsided grin,
"Don't believe everything you read in the papers, mate."

John nodded vigorously, "No sir. Miss Granger is a wonderful person." The
lift arrived at his floor, and he hurried out before Draco could reply.

Wonderful person? Indeed.

Draco urgently looked up at the indicator as the floors passed and cursed to
himself.

Finally, the surreal voice announced as the lift came to a halt, "Office of
The Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shackbolt and Madam Undersecretary,
Hermione Jean Granger."

Stepping out, Draco strode forward, pushed open the heavy glass doors as if
they weighed nothing and spoke to Brenda in a carrying voice laced with
concern and unease, "Is she in?"
Brenda shot to her feet and nodded, "Yes!" Somehow his presence calmed
her. He would look after Hermione, chase away the vultures surrounding
her and protect her from anyone who wished her harm. She was blissfully
ignorant of their past.

Draco nodded curtly, "Thank you." He walked towards the closed door
without stopping when words of genuine concern caused him to come to an
abrupt halt.

The soft voice tore right through him, "She's hurting."

He spun around to find Brenda staring at him, with quivering lips and
fingers grasping a copy of The Prophet. Making his way back to the young
witch, he questioned gently enough not to upset the distraught woman
further, "What did you say, Brenda?"

Brenda choked back a sob and exclaimed gravely, "Hermione always puts
up on a brave face and pretends as if nothing gets to her, but it does."

He knew that much already. Draco was sure Granger used the exact
mechanism to protect herself back at Hogwarts.

Brenda continued all the while staring at the papers on her desk. She
couldn't bring herself to make eye contact for fear of bawling her eyes out,
"There's so much going on under that facade that I fear for her sanity at
times."

She concluded with such sincerity, "She's the nicest, most loyal person I
know."

Draco felt his heart clench, "I know that, Brenda." Of course, he knew.
Hadn't Granger rushed to his defence without question when he did not
deserve it?

Brenda brought her head up and mustered the courage to stare into Draco's
imploring eyes. Hers were light brown and clouded over with unshed tears.
She confessed, "I don't think you realise how truly vulnerable Hermione is."
There was so much truth in her words. He knew about Granger's issues but
not the true extent of them. Not only did he have every intention of finding
out, but he would do everything in his power to help her overcome.

He looked at Brenda directly and reassured her, "l will do my best to

understand her better."

Suddenly, Brenda grabbed his hand and squeezed tightly, "Please don't hurt
her, Mr Malfoy."

Draco used his free hand to run his fingers through his luscious locks and
smiled faintly, "You have my word. And Brenda?"

Brenda dropped his hand at once and asked blushingly, "Yes?"

Draco smiled broadly, "Call me Draco."

Ron yelled into the phone, "How could you be so bloody careless,
Hermione?"

Hermione wished she had never answered the phone. She desperately
wanted to hang up, but he kept shouting and blaming her as if she had
brought it on herself.

Hermione pleaded in desperation, "Ron, please. I don't need this right now."

He brusquely ignored her pleas and accused through gritted teeth, "Why are
you still wearing his bloody ring? Chuck it!" Clearly, he considered it the
ultimate betrayal and showed no remorse in pointing it out bluntly.

Get rid of the ring? No, it was incomprehensible. She felt an allegiance to it.
They were one.

Despite the unfavourable circumstances that led her to be in possession of

the enchanted ring, she could not part with it. The very thought left a gaping
hole in her heart, and at that point, she could not fathom why she could feel
excruciating pain at her centre.
Hermione refused, "No, I can't..." I need it. I need…him.

Ron insisted desperately, "Leave him, Hermione, before he destroys

everything you've worked so hard to build."

If only it were that easy. Ron had lost all common sense and forgotten about
the fundamental clauses of The Algorithm.

His voice was heavy with longing, "Everything we stood for."

Hermione reminded him firmly, "You know it's not that easy."

Ron could not help but sound vindictive, "It sounds like you've developed
feelings for the bastard." He was so caught up in his emotional turmoil he
apportioned blame without a shred of thought for Hermione's feelings, "Are
you that blind to what is happening? Since when are you this bloody
naive?"

Hermione swallowed hard, held back the tears, and said weakly, "I have to
get back to work, Ronald." She included in barely a whisper, "You are just
being cruel."

Ron wasn't easily discouraged, "I won't stand by and let you destroy
yourself. I care too much about you."

Hermione held onto the phone tightly and implored, "Please stop..." She did
not hear the door open or the purposeful steps that approached. His
intoxicating scent invaded her space long before his fingers did.

She felt the light brush of his thumb across her sensitive earlobe as he took
the phone from her grasp and spoke firmly into it, "Weasley, Hermione will
call you back shortly." It was clear from his harsh tone of voice that he was
displeased.

Ron barely got a word in edgewise before the line went dead, "Malf..."

Standing by the window with her back to him, Hermione discreetly tried to
wipe the tears that stained her cheeks and questioned, "Why are you here?"
Draco was seething from Weasley's outlandish behaviour. He gritted out,
"You know very well why. Let us not pretend, Granger. It gets rather
tiresome."

His words hurt. Hadn't she suffered enough already?

Gathering her inner strength, Hermione took a deep breath and turned to
face the imposing man in her room and found he was standing too close for
comfort.

She intentionally moved away and declared, "I don't want to see you right
now."

He insisted in a manner that was not to be toyed with, "I am exactly who
you need to see."

Draco kept a watchful eye over her every movement. After a moment of
silence, he asked, "How did Skeeter find out?"

Hermione looked at him directly and confessed, "I had a drink with Harry at
the Cauldron the other night, and she came by to say hello, unfortunately.
She must have spotted the ring then." Their terrible lousy luck was that they
had run into the infamous reporter.

Throwing her head back, she exclaimed in exasperation, "How could I have
been so stupid?"

Draco shrugged, "Well, better late than never, I suppose."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, "What is that supposed to mean?" She knew
he was not particularly thrilled about her wanting to keep their union
private.

He explained casually, "Everyone was bound to find out eventually,

Granger. It was inevitable."

She could not believe how lightly he was handling everything, but then
again, it was her name that was being dragged through the mud while he
remained clean and in pristine condition.
Hermione fumed, "I can't do this, Malfoy." She choked back a sob, "The
lies they believe about me being interested in your Galleons fills me with
disgust."

Draco moved closer and quipped, "And here I thought it was my good looks
and obvious charm." He had made a similar statement before in an almost
identical situation, but she needed reminding.

Hermione scowled, "Stop it! None of this is funny."

Draco chuckled, "It is rather hilarious."

Hermione cried in outrage, "How is any of this bloody hilarious?" She

needed a drink to calm her rattled nerves but mostly to deal with his
carefree attitude.

Draco closed the gap between them in three long strides and came to stand
in front of her. Even though he invaded her personal space and towered
over her, she stood her ground stubbornly and refused to move away.

Placing a crooked finger under her chin, he lifted it and gazed into her
beautiful pools of chestnut brown. He spoke the truth he ardently believed,
"If anyone deems you as the sort of person to go after money, then they
don't deserve to breathe the same air as you."

He boldly tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear and trailed his
fingers down her neck until they came to rest over her beating heart. The
rapid flutter drummed into the palm of his hand over the material of her silk
blouse, "Your heart has always been pure."

Hermione felt the searing touch of his fingertips, but she pushed aside all
feeling and said in barely a whisper, "I don't want any of this."

Walking over to her desk, she held up the two letters she salvaged and cried,
"People are sending me hate mail. They fucking love you!"

Draco followed her, raised a curious brow and took the letter from her
grasp, "I know. It's a cruel yet beautiful world we live in." He weighed the
tiny envelope in his hands and decided on tossing it aside rather than
reading whatever lay within. In his hand, the letter incinerated, leaving
nothing but ash in its wake. Hermione watched in horror as the remnants of
the letter became one with the wind.

He offered wholeheartedly, "Would you like me to renounce my title and

inheritance?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Don't be ridiculous." Even though he said it

with humour, she knew there was some truth behind his declaration.

Hermione leaned against the edge of her desk and sighed, "She planned
this."

Draco questioned, "What do you mean?" What possible reason besides

being a ruthless bitch did Skeeter have?

Hermione could not bring herself to look him in the eye. Instead, she looked
out of the enchanted window and muttered, "She wants an exclusive
interview with you about where you've been and, umm, your involvement
with Voldemort."

Draco stiffened. He was yet to openly speak about the terrors of the war and
its lasting effect on his life.

To speak plainly about Voldemort over a cup of tea was not something he
looked forward to, especially with a person such as Rita Skeeter. No one
besides his family knew the complicated details of why he did what he did,
and revisiting such painful memories would certainly not be healthy.

He mused, "Does my boring existence in China sell papers?"

Hermione stifled a laugh, "Clearly."

He grew profoundly serious, "What does the conniving twat want?"

She ran her tongue along her bottom lip and grudgingly told him what
Skeeter demanded, "A private meeting with you or she keeps attacking me
in the papers."
Hermione was quick to point out, "It's not like I've not put up with her
pathetic comments in the past, but she's never gone this far before."

Draco grew thoughtful. It was a grave problem since he didn't particularly

have plans to divulge what led him to join Voldemort's ranks or the dire
reason behind it.

His hesitation spoke volumes, and Hermione decided it was unwarranted to

burden him with such an unjust situation. She would handle Skeeter as she
had done in the past.

She waved her hand dismissively and stated, "It's nothing. You shouldn't be
blackmailed by such a lowly creature as Rita Skeeter."

Her declaration pulled him clear out of his thoughts. He stared at the
woman before him with newfound respect and drawled, "I would gladly
throw my body to the wolves to protect you from these heinous
accusations."

His words stunned her, and all she could manage was his name. It rolled off
her tongue effortlessly, "Draco..."

Why was he saying such things? His sincere words made her resolve to
crumble into dust.

He took her hand in his and gently brushed his lips along her knuckles,
stopping to place a lingering kiss on the sizable engagement ring. His husky
tones caressed the shell of her ear, "Shut up, Granger. I want to do this."

The tears she held back ran down her cheeks. Embarrassed by her lack of
self-control, Hermione attempted to turn away, but Draco cupped her face
and pleaded, "Please, darling, stop crying. None of this is your fault." Her
tears were daggers aimed straight at his heart.

Everything was going horribly wrong. He was not supposed to be feeling all
these mixed emotions. His heart was betraying him mercilessly, and it
simply wouldn't do.
She leaned into his touch, closed her eyes, and whispered, "I'm trying..."
Tiny teardrops clung stubbornly to her lashes.

Draco wanted nothing more than to comfort her and whisk her away to a
distant land away from the madness that surrounded them. He couldn't help
but feel the overwhelming need to protect her.

He exhaled to calm his breathing and runaway thoughts and told the truth
he truly believed, "Don't let this piece of paper bring you down. You are an
amazing woman, and nothing Skeeter writes can take that from you or
tarnish the gold on your halo."

Picking up the last spiteful owl mail that had been sent, he tore it up into
little pieces and tossed it into the air. The shredded pieces fell over
Hermione and onto the floor.

Halo. The word triggered a resting part of her she could not shake. Her
fingers dug deep into the material of his robes in a futile attempt to seem
intimidating.

She hissed, "Stop it, Malfoy. I am not perfect. Far from it." She was no
angel despite the picture-perfect image she felt compelled to maintain.

His hands snaked their way around her slender waist, and he pulled her
roughly to him, "I never said you were perfect, Granger. Nobody is, but you
are remarkably gifted and if I might be so bold…."

He leaned in and drawled in a teasing manner, "It's your imperfections that

captivate me the most."

Her office had become their haven—a place away from prejudice,
judgment, and past ugliness. They flourished inside the space, found solace
in each other's arms, and let their insecurities show.

Draco bent to kiss her. His hand left her waist and travelled down her arm,
and at the point, their lips tenderly touched, Hermione winced in
discomfort. She tried her best to conceal the pain but failed miserably.
His long fingers were closed around the cut along her arm, causing
Hermione to shudder.

In alarm, he gently brought it up to take a better look and demanded

urgently, "What's this?"

Random thoughts popped into his head. Had she done this to herself? What
brought it on?

Hermione tried her best to break free from his hold, but it was pointless.
Instead, she shrugged it off, "It's nothing." She had planned to apply
Dittany, but the task completely slipped her mind.

Draco peered into her face making her immensely uncomfortable, and
snapped, "It doesn't look like nothing. What the fuck happened?"

She struggled once again to keep the tears at bay. After his kind, supportive
words, how could she not tell him what happened?

"Granger, why?" Draco mumbled painstakingly.

He traced her wound with his thumb. His touch on the sensitive skin was
soothing. Her lips parted slightly, and a sigh escaped her lips as the magic
in his fingertips healed the deep cut.

Keeping his emotions under control, Draco urged, "Did you have a
nightmare?"

Hermione was eager to stir the conversation away. She became defensive,
"Look, I don't want to talk about it."

He countered with absolute resolve, "Once we are under one roof. I am

going to teach you to shut these out whether you agree or out."

She swallowed hard. Living together. Sharing a bed? Countless

possibilities.

Hermione cocked her head to the side and probed, "Why are you doing all
these things for me, Malfoy?"
Draco took in her pinched expression and smirked, "Because I owe it to
you."

Disappointment flooded her. It was so sudden it caught her completely off-

guard. She requested meekly, "Is that all?"

A smile curved the corner of Draco's rather pink lips.

He raised a brow and speculated, "Yes. That is all. Would you prefer there
to be another reason?" Their life together would be so fragile, but she was
and would probably remain a complete enigma to him.

Reaching where a single strand of blonde hair had fallen across his forehead
haphazardly, Hermione brushed it back and asked with a hint of anguish,
"Have you really changed, or is this all an act?"

Draco laughed. The rippling sound was so pleasing it tickled her senses, "If
so, I must be a bloody good actor, but I assure you, my intentions are
genuine."

He tipped her chin and placed a determined yet chaste kiss on her eager
lips, "Me kissing you..."

Next, he cupped her face and tenderly stroked her cheek with his thumb,
"Me touching you so intimately should stand as a testament that I have
changed my ways."

He sucked on the junction of her neck in a way that made her knees buckle,
"I've thought of no one else but you since yesterday."

Her hands moved on their own. She placed her hands flat on the front of his
Auror robes and felt the rough texture prickle her fingertips. She boldly
moved them upwards to encircle his neck and pulled him down to meet her
waiting lips. Taking his lower lip between her teeth, she drew a strangled
groan from the man between her thighs.

She pressed flush against him as the need to reciprocate his diligent
caresses overwhelmed her. Hermione sucked and nipped at his pale flesh
and claimed the joint of his Kung fu defined trap muscle with her lips. Her
eyes fell upon the substantial bulge in his trousers trying to break free.

Draco kissed her lightly, trailing his finger down her throat despite her
desire and enthusiasm. His palms beaded sweat; he was as nervous as a
virgin, in all honesty. He might as well be one since the last time his cock
felt the warmth of a vagina was nearly a lifetime ago.

What if he lacked his former renowned skills? If memory served him right,
he had quite a talented tongue.

He reluctantly broke free from the embrace and buried his face in the crook
of her neck, and pulled her into a tight hug. She needed the embrace.

Hermione responded fervently despite herself and hugged him tight around
the waist and rested her cheek on his well-defined chest. He was so tall that
she could reach no higher, even with heels.

Malfoy was willing to protect her from herself and the outside world, and
she could not help but welcome it wholeheartedly. Yet, his hesitation in
taking things forward baffled her. She had given him her consent, but still,
he refused to take advantage.

Did he still think her unworthy of sharing his bed? Surely, he would have
done the deed with any number of witches since his return. Merlin knew he
had plenty panting after him for possibly an unattached shag.

Her breathing hitched. His smell caused her to inhale profoundly and wish
to never leave its space.

His deep voice was barely audible, "If you burn, so do I, and if this is pain,
then I welcome it."

The words he spoke were poetic. Hermione drank it in and gave herself
over to whatever may follow.

Draco reached for the paper that lay on the table behind her. Brought it up
in between them and looked deep into her eyes. He tore it in half much like
the letter and tossed it aside. The tattered halves fell in slow motion to the
ground as his lips crashed down hard on hers and his insecurities
disappeared.

He kissed her with only what could be described as unimaginable ferocity.

As his hands explored the area of her exposed flesh, she felt the delicate
hairs throughout her body stand on end in response to his demanding
strokes.

Brenda doodled on her notepad and daydreamed about Michael. They had
showered together, made slow leisurely love as the warm water fell over
them and shared breakfast afterwards. He seemed much more at ease now
that Terry was committed and receiving the help he needed.

She sighed, looked curiously towards the closed door, and wondered what
was happening inside. Her imagination ran wild and a devilish smirk crept
up her lips.

There was a deafening thud, and the glass double doors that lead to their
office shook violently as Ron came charging in unceremoniously. Red in
the face and lips pursed, he looked positively livid.

Surprised at first, Brenda shot to her feet and warned, "Mr Weasley, you
cannot go in there."

Ron pushed past her with the final furious words, "Watch me!"

He strode confidently towards the door he had approached countless times

in the past and barged in without introduction while Brenda tried to stop
him.

His heart slammed hard against his ribcage, and breathing ceased at the
lewd sight before him.

Merlin, no!
Hermione was draped around Malfoy like a flower seeking the sun as he
passionately pushed his tongue against hers and kissed her heatedly, making
her moan wantonly.

Ron came crashing back to his senses. He fought the blackness that flashed
before his eyes and thundered, "What the fuck are you doing?"

He pulled out his wand, pointed it directly at Draco's chest and threatened,
"Don't touch her! Haven't you done enough?"
 Chapter 45
Chapter Notes

I adore bringing out the angst between all the characters. :)

Please read and review. I love reading reviews because it helps

motivate my writing, while other reviews help me become a better
writer.

To all the comments: - I am blown away. I'm so glad everyone is

connecting to the story. Much love!

Enjoy Chapter Forty-Five!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

“The entire wizarding world is out and about today,” Molly grumbled as she
bumped into another stout wizard carrying a basket of fresh vegetables
while walking alongside Andromeda and Teddy down the cobbled path of
Diagon Alley. It was a hectic day.

They did a bit of grocery shopping now and then. It gave them the chance
to step out for a bit and enjoy some much-needed socialising.

Molly’s complaint fell on deaf ears since Andromeda had come to an abrupt
halt in front of one of many newspapers stands. She had headed out early
and missed the Prophet, but now stared at the front page in utter shock and
disappointment as her eyes rushed over the printed words.

Her thoughts went straight to Hermione. The poor dear.

Glancing over her shoulder, Molly caught sight of Andromeda’s frozen

form and backtracked to where she was standing seemingly rooted to the
spot and barely got the words out, “Whatever is the matter?”

The bold headline jumped out at her, and she impulsively grabbed the
nearest copy and started to read. Much like her beloved sons, her cheeks
turned red with anger, and her motherly disposition vanished to be replaced
by blind rage.

Rita Skeeter! You horrid bitch!

Andromeda shook her head despondently and said in absolute disgust,

“That is shameful. How could they write such things after everything
Hermione has done for us?”

Molly glared at the young wizard in overalls tending to the stall while he
crouched behind the stack of papers and wished she would just go away. It
was at times such as this that he questioned his career path. He was a
budding young journalist with aspiring dreams to have his own column
someday.

Teddy, who had been taking in the sights and daydreaming over having a
pet of his own, snapped out of his daze and threw his grandmothers a look
of pure confusion. He wondered what was so awful about a newspaper.

His purple head of hair turned blue as he tugged on Andromeda’s sleeve to

get her attention and questioned as an innocent child would, “Is everything
alright, gran?”

Andromeda looked his way, smiled, and affectionately patted his head with
bright blue locks. She thought it best to keep their composure so they could
leave with their dignity intact. She implored Molly to follow suit, but the
fierce matriarch was beyond listening to reason.

In a carrying voice, Molly said for everyone within earshot to hear, “The
Prophet has sunk to a new low, and you lot should be ashamed for buying
this disgusting rag that passes itself off as a newspaper.”

The boy tending to the stand pouted. It was not his fault Rita Skeeter had
tarnished the image of an adored war heroine. Her rude conduct towards his
clients was bound to cost him sales. He had a target to reach to get paid for
the day.

Most who heard Molly’s words returned the Prophet to the nervous
salesperson and hurried off without making eye contact. She was well
known, and none wanted to cause her further distress.

Turning on her heel, with her head held high, Molly joined Andromeda, and
both women resumed their hunt for fresh produce. Puzzled but uninterested,
Teddy trailed behind them lazily and took in the many more exciting scenes
and unusual people that filled the narrow street.

One particularly odd-looking individual caught his keen attention. The man
was savouring what appeared to be a cup of steaming coffee at many of the
cafes that had opened post-war.

Teddy noticed the man was missing an arm, and he could not help but
wonder why? He was dressed in black robes, and a worn-out emblem was
embroidered onto the material covering his chest, but the gleaming gold
badge that stood out proudly made Teddy’s eyes sparkle with interest and
awe. The man was unquestionably an Auror like his mum.

The interesting gentleman looked up from the paper he was reading and
made eye contact with the young boy with brilliant cobalt hair staring at
him. Still, before he could muster a polite smile, the flustered youngster
hurried his footsteps and caught up with who he assumed to be his
grandmother and a fuming Molly Weasley.

Thomas watched the boy of no more than nine skips down the way and
disappear into the crowd. He knew the boy to be Tonk’s son. He was
undoubtedly a Metamorphmagus and had inherited his mother's rare gift. A
sudden jolt of sadness snatched hold of him, but he briefly brushed it aside
and gave the paper before him his full attention.

Malfoy and Granger! It was an odd pairing if any, and an unfortunate one at
that. How would such a relationship span out between the unequivocal
Golden Girl and the youngest Death Eater?
He grew thoughtful. Would their marriage discourage the masked man from
trying to recruit Malfoy? That would indeed be a shame since they had
plans to use that vital need to their advantage when the opportune moment
presented itself.

It would be an actual test of Malfoy’s loyalty and allegiance. A war was

coming, and every person would be compelled to pick a side once again.

A frown creased his ageing features, and Thomas rolled up the paper and
stuck it into his coat pocket. He slammed a few Galleons down on the small
wooden table and rose.

“Have a good day, Thomas,” the server said with a happy smile.

Thomas pulled up his collar to weather the chilly London air that hit the
back of his neck and trickled down his spine and flashed a grateful smile at
the woman who appeared to clean up after him. He began the short walk
towards the Ministry of Magic without another word and more than a few
unsettling thoughts.

Still locked in a heated embrace, Hermione unwillingly broke free first due
to the deafening sound of the door opening and the furious voice of
someone she knew intimately.

Draco stubbornly refused to release her. He kept his arm snaked around her
possessively to stake his claim and gently suckled on the sweet flesh of her
collarbone, garnering a whimper before slowly bringing his head up from
the crook of her neck and glancing at the redhead gawking at them in
disbelief.

Brenda disregarded the entwined couple and glared at the enraged man
frothing at the mouth with contempt, "I'm so sorry, Hermione. He pushed
past me." She said in annoyance.

Despite Draco's unwavering refusal to let her go, Hermione had no

intention of aggravating the fragile situation.
She moved away and put a considerable distance between them before
throwing Ron a complete look of disapproval, “Put that wand away,
Ronald, before you hurt yourself.”

Hermione then set about appeasing her angry assistant, "It's quite alright,
Brenda. It is not your fault."

Ron grudgingly pocketed his wand while Draco licked his kiss-swollen
bottom lip and offered the seething young witch a kind smile and reassured,
"We can take it from here, Brenda. Thank you."

Brenda pursed her lips and nodded reluctantly. She wished she had put her
wand to practical use and made up her mind to tame the next joker that
came along with a well-aimed hex right between the balls.

Ron snapped clear out of his daze and, without pause, took hold of
Hermione’s delicate wrist and roughly pulled her to his side. He used more
force than necessary, but that hardly mattered since he was consumed with
the need to get her away from Malfoy.

She let out a yelp at the sudden movement, and persistent fingers digging
into her barely healed wound. Draco attempted to stay composed, but
Weasley's audacious behaviour simply would not allow it.

He inconspicuously moved his hand in a circular motion, but he needn’t

have bothered since the long sleeves of his Auror robes covered any hand
movement. His actions drove Ron to take a few steps back and crash into
the wall behind him, making the shelves packed with books rattle
dangerously.

Hermione glanced helplessly at Draco, her eyes pleading with him to

remain calm.

Ron straightened, looked at his current position and how much he had been
forced back and hurled suspiciously, "How the fuck did you do that?"

Draco sneered, causing his eyes to narrow to mere slits. He would do as

Granger requested, but his tolerance was wearing thin, and he made his
thoughts vocal, "Touch my fiancé again, Weasley, and you will live to regret
it."

His ominous tone mirrored his true feelings on the matter, and at that
particular moment, he was not to be trifled with. Seeing Weasley manhandle
Granger caused something deep within him to snap. He had failed to protect
her once, but history would not repeat itself today.

“Is that a threat?” Ron thundered, but his voice lacked conviction.

Hermione felt Malfoy stiffen, and before the situation escalated, she
intervened, "You are hallucinating, Ron. I pushed you back, and don't you
ever put your hands on me without my consent," She also hoped to divert
attention and keep Draco’s ability to do wandless magic concealed until the
opportune moment.

Ron blatantly ignored Hermione. Instead, a sarcastic scowl tore out of his
thin lips, "Fiancé? You have the audacity to call her that?” His gaze
lovingly fell upon the woman he held in such high regard and breathed, "I
was worried about her."

Draco did not take kindly to the insinuation that he would put Granger in
danger. Despite his brutal words towards her at Hogwarts, he never meant
her bodily harm and made it a point to say, "As you can see, Granger is in
good hands."

Hermione struggled to keep her temper and loathing well hidden. She
hissed savagely, "Ron, you have no right to come charging in here like a
raging bull without explanation.

She pointed boldly to the brass plaque with the Ministry logo secured on the
wall just above her comfortable leather chair, “This is the Ministry of
Magic."

Ron looked mildly ashamed. He shifted uncomfortably, "I thought you were
in trouble." That fleeting thought evaporated as the lewd sight he had
walked in on flashed before his eyes, causing temporary paralysis.
Malfoy had his filthy hands all over her! How could she let him touch her
this way?

Ron brazenly pointed to Draco with a long shaking finger and accused, “So,
it’s okay for him to…fondle you in broad daylight, but I cannot come by to
greet an old friend?” Hermione cringed at the unflattering word and opened
her mouth to hurl a retort, but Draco beat her to it and stated the obvious
with profound smugness.

It was petty, but he was determined to thwart Weasley and gain an

advantage. He glanced at Hermione and smirked in a lucid manner, "Unless
you are visually impaired, Weasley. I'm sure you can tell by Granger's
flushed cheeks that my attentions were very well received."

Hermione instantly looked away shyly to hide the deep blush that stained
her cheeks and did not dare utter a word. How could she even begin to deny
the truth?

Closing the gap between them with purposeful strides, Draco courteously
presented Hermione with his hand and exclaimed with little room for
argument, "Excuse us, Weasley, but we were heading out to confront Rita
Skeeter and clear up this horrible misunderstanding."

Without a moment's hesitation, Hermione willingly took Malfoy’s offered

hand, felt his fingers close around hers and gently brushed his thumb over
them in a manner meant to soothe her.

She did not spare a second thought to Ron and let Malfoy lead her towards
the door. He was absolutely right. They had to tackle Skeeter before things
spiralled well out of control.

Ron's hand came out of nowhere as she passed him, and his digits locked
around her tender wrist in an ironclad grip. Hermione shot him a look of
complete surprise, but he did not budge. He would save her from herself if
need be. She was treating the situation far too lightly, and it agitated him.

If Hermione were expecting him to stand by and watch as she left with
Malfoy, then she would be denied the pleasure.
He pulled Hermione towards him, yet he failed in his attempt as Draco
applied equal pressure and kept her firmly at his side. Hermione cursed,
“Let me go, Ron!” She struggled in vain to free herself, but clearly, they
were far too strong for the likes of her, and her wand was resting
conveniently inside her handbag.

Not that it would have mattered since both men held onto her from either
end and refused to yield. She had become a toy to tug about in their
competition of egos.

One, a unique specimen wrapped in black that put the great god Apollo to
shame with his platinum blonde locks and starling grey eyes who was
clearly sent to test her self-control and arouse feelings in her she never
thought possible. On the other, a tall, semi-built man with a neat crop of red
hair dressed in a plain suit and freckles scattered across his cute boyish
features.

Neither looked pleased. One could cut through the tension that surrounded
them with a knife.

Ron found his voice first, "Hermione is not going anywhere with you." He
yanked her towards him, and her attempts to escape and protests fell on
stubborn, ruby-red ears.

Draco held on and refuted with equal arrogance, "I wasn't aware she needed
your permission. She is leaving with me."

Hermione contained the need to scream to remind them of her presence and
that she belonged and answered to no one, but the more she suffered, the
heat from their hands seeped into her skin, she detached herself from reality,
and the present ceased to exist.

Gone was her office. The dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts surrounded her.
The stone walls seemed to close in on her.

Hermione found herself wearing her old uniform and tie perfectly in place.
Her hair was the bird's nest she managed at school. It fell in unmanageable
strands over her face and cascaded untamed down her back.
On one end, a slick-haired, pale, pointy-faced arrogant boy with a
permanent scowl and loosened green and white tie looked down his nose at
her. He held on to her for whatever reason, perhaps to prove a point or
worse, to fool her into believing he had changed.

Holding onto her with both hands almost possessively and with desperation
was a gangly youth in hand-me-down robes, long red hair and fierce
courage that had come to her defence on more than one occasion.

The pain in her arm intensified. A sinister cackling bounced off the walls of
her troubled mind, "Pick the blood traitor. My spineless nephew watched
you bleed. He did nothing to stop me from mutilating you."

Hermione staggered but came crashing back to reality. The decision was a
simple one, wasn’t it?

She glanced at Draco for a fleeting second with saddened eyes. He felt a
sudden shift in her feelings towards him. The profound realisation that his
past treatment of her was causing her to turn him away again gutted him,
but he was helpless.

How much more could he do to convince her that his deeds were genuine?

Draco stared into Hermione’s eyes imploringly, willing her not to do what
he knew she was about to while she gathered all her internal strength to
break out of his hold. He tightened his grip for a brief minute unwilling to
part but dropped her hand and didn't pursue.

Her actions wounded him slightly, yet he could hardly hold it against her.
He had seen firsthand how wrecked Weasley had been at the Manor while
Bellatrix tortured Granger and how in a most selfless act had offered
himself in her place.

No, he could not fault her for picking Weasley over him. How could he
begin to compare with their past? However, even though Ron held onto
their whirlwind romance, it was abundantly clear that Granger did not share
nor return his affections.
Hermione averted her gaze to pathetically hide her look of dismay. She
rubbed her hand where Draco's mere touch scorched her skin and moved
slowly to her former lover's side.

Draco felt his heart clench painfully as his intented took her rightful place
by another man's side. The sudden stab of pain he endured wasn’t real, he
determinedly tried to convince himself.

He made no fuss but silently accepted and respected her decision while Ron
looked quite pleased with himself.

The former Gryffindor spat in the most insulting manner, "That will be all!
Run along, ferret." He addressed Draco as if he were a mangy mutt on the
streets.

Ron laughed in pure exhilaration and combined smugly. He could barely

contain his happiness, “In what world did you think she would pick you
over me?"

His words cut Draco deep, it hurt his fragile ego, but he showed
indifference and mustered a crooked smile.

Hermione warned in barely a whisper, "Ron, that is enough." Malfoy was

not to be ridiculed because of her actions. She had chosen the more
immature one, the one who would not listen to reason or understand but
only see her decision if she picked Draco as the ultimate betrayal.

Malfoy had a good head resting on his shoulders. He would be far easier to
deal with than an immature Ronald Weasley. Despite Ron's continuous
efforts to get under Draco's skin, it had a trivial effect and only caused the
pale-faced man to reflect and feel exceedingly sorry for Weasley.

Draco held his head high and spoke the truth in a calm voice, "It is only out
of love for your friendship and misguided loyalty that she prefers you."

His smouldering gaze penetrated Hermione’s tough outer exterior and

caused what little resolve she managed to maintain crumble.
Draco included in a dark undertone, "Do not delude yourself into thinking
that Granger has any romantic feelings for you."

Ron countered hopelessly. His voice was heavy with emotion, "You know
nothing about our feelings or our relationship." Malfoy was oblivious to the
love, commitment and promises they had made to each other. Their time
apart was a phase. Hermione would sooner than later realise they belonged
together.

Hermione said in a small strained voice, “There is nothing between us, Ron,
except friendship.”

Draco smirked and studied the duo with a smidge of resentment and
retorted, "Maybe not, but I am observant, and all I see is a pitiful man
lusting after his ex-girlfriend while his wife sits at home possibly in tears."

Hermione stiffened at the mention of Tracey, and an overwhelming feeling

of guilt engulfed her. She moved further away from her ex-boyfriend. She
was determined not to be portrayed as the other woman, and Ron fixed his
eyes on Malfoy. His hands balled into fists, as he fumed but failed to
produce any clever retort.

Draco's eyes roved over Hermione. He had succeeded in making her

immensely uncomfortable.

With a curt nod, he bid them a less than fond farewell, "Have a good day."

His smoky grey swirls never left her form. They penetrated her soul and
stroked it tenderly.

Hermione watched with a heavy heart as Draco stormed out of her office.
His robes billowed behind him, adding to his dramatic exit. The minute the
door closed behind him, Hermione stared at the polished surface before
turning on Ron. She poked him hard in the chest and gritted out, "How dare
you?"

Ron brought his hands up in defence and slowly backed away, "Please,
darling, listen to reason." He had been on the receiving end of her temper in
the past and took no delight in being attacked by a bunch of ruddy birds.

Hermione looked around the room in search of her bag and grumbled
angrily, "Reason? Listen to reason, he says! Where the bloody hell is my
wand?"

Ron swallowed hard and pleaded, "Calm down, love. I only have your best
interests at heart."

Having successfully located her bag, Hermione pulled out her wand and
pointed it directly at Ron's sheathed penis. She promised with renewed
hostility, "I will castrate you."

His hands instinctively went to cover his beloved package. The excessive
need to explain his actions was replaced by bitterness. Why was she
threatening him when it was her actions that were wrong? She had some
serious explaining to do.

Ron’s bottom lip trembled as he thought back to Malfoy pressing himself

against her. His voice cracked, "How could you kiss him, Hermione?"

Hermione flinched at the blatant accusation but covered it up well. She

walked hurriedly towards the door and threw it open. Startled at first,
Brenda jumped to her feet and gaped at the arguing duo with exceedingly
less enthusiasm. Pointing to the wide area outside, Hermione said with
remarkable poise for an enraged woman, "I want you to leave."

Ron crossed his arms over his chest and firmly stood his ground. He
retorted stubbornly, "I'm not going anywhere until we talk about what I had
the horrid misfortune to witness."

Hermione locked imploring eyes with Brenda and mouthed in utter

desperation, "Help me."

She knew discouraging Ron was no easy task, but she tried anyway and
failed miserably.
Closing the door once again, she faced the man in her room and braced
herself for whatever else followed.

The brisk walk to the DMLE was by no means an easy one. Unsettling
thoughts ran rampant through his mind, and to make matters worse, he
could quite literally feel the push of her pert tongue against his.

Draco stepped onto the slightly busy floor of the DMLE, and all those
around regarded him with curious expressions. A few bold individuals
outwardly showed their displeasure at what they considered an unjust
union.

He ignored the murmuring and hushed tones of comments as he went

further into the bowels of the DMLE in search of his partner.

"Hermione deserves much better than the likes of you, Death Eater."

"Scum. That poor woman."

"She's not going to let you touch her, mate."

"Why don't you fuck off and leave her alone?"

If only Granger could hear the comments. She would be ecstatic, Draco
thought with a small smile.

Hannah sat at her desk with an open bag of crisps. She had a craving for
Muggle brewed coffee that morning and stopped by the local barista to get
herself a tall coffee Grande. The taste was heavenly.

She stuck her hand into the sizeable bag of salty treats, popped a large crisp
into her mouth and munched while looking over the pictures scattered
across her desk. They were the same photos of the deceased women she had
been staring at and obsessing over for the past few months.

It infuriated her that they were nowhere nearer to catching the sick bastard
than they were at the start. Nobody was that good or careful.
She polished off the bag of crisps and looked up in time to see her partner
approach. His face was pinched with worry and rightly so considering the
little gift Skeeter had been kind enough to provide.

Hannah took a swig of coffee and inquired the second Draco was close
enough to hear, "Morning. You alright there, Malfoy?"

Draco nodded solemnly, "You read the article then?"

Hannah looked ashamed, "Aye, I'm sorry to say I did."

"Hermione got the brunt of it, I'm afraid," Draco said firmly with a frown
on his face.

Hannah scowled, "That Skeeter bitch is a nasty piece of work. Bloody

woman."

Draco shrugged and fell into the nearest chair in exhaustion, "I've survived
much worse gossip and speculation, but Granger takes it to heart."

Hannah grew somewhat thoughtful and exclaimed, "They are really going
to come after you now." She mused, "You have enticed the paparazzi."

Draco sulked and ran his fingers through his hair, "Do my mundane
activities sell newspapers?" He was vividly reminded of Granger’s nails
scraping the surface of his scalp as she returned his demanding kisses
feverishly.

Hannah giggled, "Clearly. You better watch it." She wiggled her eyebrows,
he noticed she did that quite often, “But, I was right about Granger and you,
wasn’t I?”

Draco rolled his eyes, “Yes! You are incredibly gifted. You must teach me,
Abbott.”

Hannah chuckled and punched him in the arm, “Arsehole!”

She opened her drawer, pulled out a nearly empty bag of bright red
liquorice strands from Honeydukes and tossed it onto her cramped table.
Draco eyed it sceptically and quipped, "Isn't it a bit early for sweets?"

He reached forward and tried to grab a long sticky stick, but Hannah
slapped his hand away and stuck her tongue out at him, "Shove off, Malfoy.
These are mine!"

“Greedy pig,” Draco muttered in an amused tone.

Leaning back in his chair, he stretched out his legs, rested his head on his
hands and requested animatedly, "Go on then. Enlighten me."

Hannah hopped onto her desk, sat cross-legged and faced him with an eager
expression.

She savagely tore a piece of liquorice off with her teeth and explained with
interest, "You are an ex-Death Eater, turned Auror extraordinaire and the
heir to the Malfoy throne."

Draco scoffed, "Aren't you being bloody dramatic?" Throne? Was that
really how he was still perceived?

Hannah silenced him with a loud, “Shush. Listen,” and proceeded with
enthusiasm, "You also have a boatload of money and significant power that
comes by being associated with the Malfoy name."

She snorted and added in a sarcastic undertone, "And let us not forget how
lovely you were to her back at Hogwarts. Weren't you best mates?"

Draco rolled his eyes once more and kept his mouth shut. There was not a
single counter-argument he could raise.

Hannah bit into the sugary treat once again and pointed the chewed-up end
bit at Draco and said casually, "Furthermore, you are rather easy on the eyes
if one is into that sort of thing and Hermione is successful, the brightest
witch of our age and a force to be reckoned with. The woman can do no
wrong. She's perfectly put together."

Draco recoiled at the depiction. No one knew the torment Granger inflicted
and unleashed upon herself or the severe PTSD she was suffering through.
That bit of delightful information was his to keep.

Hannah further emphasised, "So you, see? It is the perfect enemies to lovers
story. People love that shite."

Draco laughed out loud. Enemies to lovers, indeed.

He rose from his seat slowly and grinned with more excitement than he
originally intended, "Granger certainly has come into her own."

Her smell, the softness of her skin and her taste. Salazar that taste. How he
wished to drown in it and never surface.

While she had blossomed and embraced womanhood, many features from
her awkward youth lingered, such as a cute little button nose and tiny
freckles splattered across the bridge of her nose, just like tiny drops of
chocolate which she concealed well with makeup.

Hannah grew thoughtful and drifted off to a place known only to her,
"Certainly. She is quite sexy and those legs…," she trailed off before
embarrassing herself, but the comment was not missed by Draco nor the
sparkle that lit up her eyes.

He regarded her with a raised brow and amused expression, "Do you fancy
Granger?" Without waiting for her to formulate an answer, he grabbed the
bag with one bright red stick lodged inside while Hannah watched in
horror.

She leapt forward and tried to take it back, but Draco held it over his head
and well out of reach. Hannah protested and tried in vain to reach the last
piece of Honeydukes best liquorice, "Piss off, Malfoy! Give it back." Draco
stuffed the piece into his mouth and chewed the hard candy with some
difficulty in a blink of an eye.

Bollocks. He had not thought this through, the sweet stuck to his teeth but
he still managed to say, "Fine! You have a point. Regardless, that is not a
valid enough reason to attack Granger and sully her good name or make me
out to be some victim in all this."
Hannah bobbed her head in agreement, "You are absolutely right. What do
you plan on doing about it? Because it's only going to get worse."

Draco continued to chew and answered with staggering confidence, "I will
handle it." He couldn’t work out when had he begun to confide in Hannah,
but it was surprisingly pleasing.

She looked over his shoulder and shuddered. A disgruntled French woman
walked towards them in ridiculously high heels and a tight uniform that left
little to the imagination.

The woman sashayed her hips, purposely capturing the attention of every
hot-blooded male in the department.

"Oh, Christ. Incoming," Hannah warned most purely with a deep frown
forming on her face.

Draco raised a quizzical brow and spun around to see what the commotion
was about, "What?"

He wished he had not because standing before him with her hands on her
hip and looking at him through hooded eyelids was Michelle.

Salazar, save me from an early demise.

Michelle moved close enough to smell his aftershave. Like him, the scent
was strong and overpowering. She leaned into it, took a deep breath and
almost whispered, "Congratulations, darling. I did not know that you are the
Undersecretary were close."

Draco surveyed the petite woman, almost pressing flush against him and
quipped, "Had you known, would it have mattered?"

A sensual smile curved Michelle's plump pink lips. She crawled huskily,
"Not really. I can be extremely discreet."

Draco swallowed hard and tried to focus. The woman was born to seduce.
Hannah gritted out in obvious disgust, "Ugh! You shameless tart. The man
is engaged!"

Michelle’s eyes travelled from Draco's chiselled chin down his chest and
came to rest on his large hands. She ran her tongue slowly along her bottom
lip and refuted, "I see no ring on his finger. Yet."

Draco welcomed Hannah's interruption. He took a step back, put a sizeable

distance between himself and Michelle and straightened to his full height,
so he towered over the stature of the determined French lady and said
simply, "I have no intention of cheating on my fiancé. Please excuse me."

Michelle briskly stepped aside and gestured for him to pass. She bit her lip
and stared at his broad back as he walked away with a devilish smile on her
face. She had never worked so hard to grab a man's fancy, but deep down,
her gut feeling told her that he would be worth the wait.

Hannah, who had been watching the exchange, hissed, “Bugger off,
Michelle!”

Harry had just walked out of the Floo network he maintained in his office.
It was connected to a similar one at home and made the commute to work a
breeze.

He dumped his lumpy bag on the table when a loud knock interrupted the
peace.

Harry glanced at the door and frowned. He wouldn't get a second to himself
before starting the day, and he wished to pay Hermione a quick visit to see
how she was fairing and offer his support.

Another well-timed knock tore through the silence once again. Harry
cleared his throat and said, "Come in."

Draco pushed the door in and walked onto the carpeted floor. His eyes went
straight to the breathtaking sword in its glass cabinet. He longed for the
swaying trees, falling leaves and courtyard of The Shaolin Temple.
Harry raised a brow prompting Draco to speak and state his reason for
visiting, "Good morning, Potter."

Harry frowned. He was hardly convinced, "Is it really?"

Draco pursed his lips and added grimly, "It is not, and that is precisely why
I wanted to speak with you."

It was clear Harry was taken back by the statement and thought Malfoy
might ask for his assistance or opinion on how best to approach Skeeter.
After all, it was barely a month since his return, and there was much change
in his absence.

Harry bemused, "Oh, how can I be of assistance?"

Draco requested in the politest manner imaginable, "I need a few hours to
sort this mess with Rita Skeeter."

Harry agreed wholeheartedly, "By all means."

A look of calculated ruthlessness replaced his typically calm demeanour,

"And remind Skeeter that cowardly untrue articles such as these will not be
tolerated."

A knowing smirk curved Draco's luscious lips, "Duly noted. I will be sure
to show her the error of her ways."

Harry smiled in acknowledgement, "Good." He sat down, got somewhat

comfortable and generally said, "I was just about to pop in to check on
Hermione."

Draco could not help the contempt that crept into his voice, "Weasley is
with her."

Harry demanded in surprise, "Ron?"

"That would be the one," Draco replied with next to no enthusiasm. How he
wished it was Charlie Weasley.
Harry grew thoughtful, "Oh, that's surprising."

Draco raised a brow and questioned as if it was the most common

occurrence, "Is it?"

Harry chuckled goodheartedly, "No, I suppose it's not." He should have

known Ron would rush to Hermione's side when the story broke.

His tone turned serious, and he inquired gravely, "How is she?"

Draco stiffened but replied truthfully, "Coping. I'll see to this matter and
rectify it immediately. I wish Granger no ill will." On the contrary, he
wanted her infectious laughter to surround him.

Harry nodded curtly, further giving his permission and watched intently at
the retreating figure of the seemingly redeemed man. He still harboured
doubts over Malfoys changes of heart and behaviour.

Could it be possible for someone to change as drastically as Malfoy

appeared to have? It seemed rather farfetched, but nothing was impossible,
Harry supposed.

Perkins slammed the paper down on his untidy table, sending extra dirty
quills to the floor and expressed, "Well, isn't that a bloody shocker."

Arthur looked up from his pile of papers, pushed his spectacles further up
his nose and glared, "Put that aside, Perkins." He had read the article and
had no wish to revisit the unkind words used to depict Hermione.

John glanced at his coworker and arranged the files on his immaculately
neat table. He wondered how Perkins managed to find anything in the mess
accumulated on his workstation.

Just the sight of askew papers and spilt ink was enough to make him cringe.
He kept quiet, though, tended to the new Misuse of Muggle Artefacts case
files and didn't offer any input.
Perkins ignored Arthur's warning and pressed, "It's barking mad though!
How do these idiots expect Granger to start a family with an ex Death
Eater? It's barmy."

A strained silence followed the crude statement until John offered meekly,
"Maybe he's her soulmate. They are meant for each other despite the odds."
He romanticised.

Arthur looked up in surprise as did Perkins before bursting out in laughter.

He ridiculed the timid man, "You dumb bastard. Soulmate?

Perkins explained harshly, "Granger is a Muggleborn, and Malfoy comes

from a long line of pureblood fanatics. His lot has persecuted people like
her for generations."

After a second thought, he included bluntly, "Although, if he allows it, she

will have access to riches beyond her wildest dreams, but is it enough to
overcome his family's past darkness?"

The answer to his question evaded him, and he shrugged, "You never quite
know with broads. A fickle-minded bunch." His ex-wife was one of them.
She was strutting around the place with another man, rubbing her perfect
bloody life in his face. She would pay one day and come crawling back to
him.

Arthur bared his teeth and fought the overwhelming urge to hex his
subordinate.

John stuck to his guns. His earlier encounter with Draco Malfoy in the lift
was testament enough that a man was capable of change, and he voiced his
thoughts, "He seems different."

Perkins shook his head in exasperation, "I wouldn't expect a blooming squib
to understand."

John flinched at the harsh words but gathered enough strength to mutter, "I
understand better than you ever will."
"What did you say, you little shit?" Perkins demanded with an edge to his
voice.

Arthur had heard and witnessed enough. He brought his hand down hard on
the table and reprimanded most severely, "That is enough. Put aside that
garbage and get back to work the both of you."

Harry walked through the open glass doors that led to the Undersecretary's
office. The loud voices coming from behind the closed door made it to his
ear, causing him to rethink his visit and frown. He saw Brenda cringe in her
seat and purposely busy herself with work.

Brenda was no stranger to Ron's jealous outbursts or sudden visits to the

Ministry when he wanted to see his girlfriend. While Hermione strived hard
to maintain a professional image and avoid personal conflicts during office
hours, Ron wore his heart on his sleeve and demanded her attention at odd
hours.

On many a day, Brenda had overheard and witnessed the intense arguments,
much to her dismay. They were mainly centred around Hermione’s
workaholic nature, unwillingness to act spontaneously, and reluctance to
take the next step in their relationship.

Secretly, Brenda had been thrilled the torrid affair ended when it did. While
she was sure Ron loved Hermione fiercely, his demanding nature hindered a
witch who had her sights set firmly on her career.

Harry threw Brenda a sympathetic look. They both glanced nervously at the
door as the sheer volume of the raised voices emitting from within
increased.

Harry strode forward with purpose and walked into the room without
knocking. He was sure all the yelling would drown it out, and he was right.
The two individuals going at each other barely acknowledged his presence.

He took in the scene of Hermione having a go at Ron while he countered

with what he believed to be plausible reasons.
Harry raised his voice, "Will you two keep it down. Or at least cast a
Silencio. I can hear you from down the fucking Hall." Yet his words fell on
deaf ears of his best friends.

Hermione deliberately ignored Harry's presence and gnashed out, "You

have no right to tell me how to live my life, Ron."

Ron, however, brushed aside her statement as if it was trivial, turned to face
Harry and spoke with distinguishable anguish, "She was kissing him,
Harry."

That piqued Harry's interest. He interrogated at once, "Who?" Somehow he

knew the answer but needed validation.

Ron hissed in disgust, it was hard to keep down the bile that rose, "Malfoy!"
His breathing quickened, and he demanded answers from his ex-girlfriend,
"How could you let that snake touch you?" His voice broke on the last
word.

They had dated for years and not once had she entertained the thought of
being intimate inside her office. Even when he suggested it playfully, she
would make up an excuse, send him on his way and avoid it entirely.

What made Malfoy so special that she would break the rules for him?

Shite, Harry thought, but kept his wits about him and said slowly, "I didn't
know you fancied Malfoy."

For the first time since his arrival, Hermione acknowledged him with a
raging fire burning bright in the depth of her eyes and fired back, "I do not
fancy Malfoy."

Actions speak louder than words. Self-loathing prevented her from

confessing that she did indeed feel a sexual stirring towards the generously
built Malfoy.

Harry implored, "Calm down, the both of you." He approached his spirited
friend cautiously, "Hermione, Ron is worried about you as we all are. This
is Malfoy. We all know what he's like."

Hermione scoffed and accused brazenly, "Of course, you would take his
side." She reminded him of a similar time from their younger years, "You
always do, even when he's wrong." Hagrid had been her only friend for
most of their third year. She missed the humble half-giant. He was getting
on and hadn't changed much except for the greying beard and hair.

Harry argued, "Come on, it's not like that."

Ron injected, "We care about you."

Harry continued hoping to appease her and perhaps see reason, "Malfoy can
be charming and granted, he seems like less of wanker now but whether
he's truly changed remains to be seen."

Hermione was having none of it. She wasn't about to stand by idly and be
lectured on her personal choices. She gritted out, "My sex life is none of
your business."

Sex life? Sex with Malfoy? Ron felt positively faint.

He salvaged himself from toppling to the ground and warned forebodingly,

"Don't you bloody dare. I forbid it."

Hermione couldn't believe her ears. She was no child to heed their
ridiculous commands, "You forbid it? Who the hell do you think you are?"

Ron replied in a strained voice as if it was the most obvious thing in the
world, "Someone who would do anything for you."

Harry sighed. He truly felt bad for Ron, but it was way past time to let go.

Hermione let the heartfelt response slide; she was simply too angry to
comprehend.

She cried in outrage, "You are a married man!" Had he forgotten that vital
bit of information before barging into her office uninvited?
Harry grimaced. That was bludger right between the eyes.

Ron visibly shuddered as if she had physically wounded him. He was the
scum of the lowest form to put Tracey through this challenging ordeal,
especially when she had accepted him without so much as a fuss.

Hermione poked herself in the chest hard and emphasised, "The last thing I
need is scandalous gossip about me running after you to surface because by
the Prophet's low standards, I can't seem to do a bloody thing right."

Ron reached out and tried to hug her, "Hermione, but, I…," but she moved
purposely away and choked back a sob, "Go home to Tracey. You have a
loving, caring wife who thinks the world of you."

Her last words were almost cruel, "She needs you, I don't!"

Ron staggered as the hurtful words pierced his fragile heart, "Please,
darling. Don't you see how much I care?"

Unable to take the emotional turmoil much longer, Harry intervened, "Let's
all take a deep breath and talk about this."

Hermione shook her head and addressed them both, "This is my life, Harry,
and if I decide to fuck Malfoy, there's nothing the both of you can do about
it."

Ron's features contorted with disgust. He spat viciously, "Are you that
desperate to let him defile you?"

To call her desperate was a new low by any standards.

Hermione reeled back from the vile comment, and even Harry looked
mortified by the implication. Ron had clearly lost all sense.

She held her head high and fought the tears that threatened to spill over, "I
would like the both of you to leave."

Seeing little point in prolonging the inevitable, Harry made the first move.
He caught hold of Ron's upper arm and pulled him towards the door, "Come
on, mate. She's right."

He scolded, "You crossed a line with that remark."

Ron stared into Hermione’s distraught face and apologised profusely, "I'm
sorry. I didn’t mean it, love."

She threw him a scathing look, slammed the door shut once they exited and
leaned against the cool wooden surface and let the events that took place
and words that were exchanged wash over her.

Her legs gave out, and she slid to the ground dejected and struggled to keep
her composure. Before she knew it, Hermione was crying out in anger and
humiliation.

Ron's callous words hurt her far more than she let on.

Harry and Ron walked in silence. Each caught up in their thoughts as they
wandered aimlessly around the Ministry of Magic.

So much for heeding Ginny’s words about bringing Hermione about for
dinner. Ron seemed the more likely one to join.
 Chapter 46
Chapter Notes

My story is essentially Dramione but I adore every other character and

love bringing their side stories to life.

Skeeter interviews Draco and gets more than she bargained for. I have
taken a few liberties. :)

Hermione came off rather badly in the previous chapter, but I implore
everyone to think of her as flawed with many insecurities she has
neatly covered up.

I want to make her as relatable as possible. :) Please don't hate me! :(

Trigger warning:- Nonconsensual sexual acts and thoughts of suicide.

The Dollhouse Strangler is in love and making mistakes that could
lead to his capture. We shall know soon enough.

I hope everyone enjoys this longish chapter! :)

Much love to my fantastic beta Carrie who indulges my madness

without fuss! :)

Enjoy Chapter Forty-Six! Yikes!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Neville leafed through the new catalogue detailing the plants he had
recently succeeded in budding. They flourished under his meticulous care
providing a much-needed solution to a growing weed infestation.
His company dealt exclusively with Horticulture and Herbology. It was a
subject he had always taken a keen interest in.

He supplied rare herbs, plants and roots for potion making and consumption
throughout the wizarding world worldwide and even catered to a few
exclusive Muggle clients in the Far East, but his true calling was to take up
a position at Hogwarts, preferably as the Herbology Professor after
Professor Sprout's retirement, yet it seemed like such an implausible dream.

Neville stared out of the window in his office in deep thought. It was a
naturally sunny day and the warm rays spread throughout the vast grounds.
There would be no need to alter the weather in the Greenhouses.

He sat back in his chair and remembered the intense conversation that had
taken place over breakfast.

In anger, Neville threw down the Prophet and exclaimed with a sour
disposition, "Unbelievable." Hermione was one of his dearest friends, and
the unjust words used to describe her brought about strong emotions in
him.

Pansy glanced at the discarded newspaper and nodded grimly, "I know. I
must speak with poor Draco right away."

From down the table, a stern voice pierced the air in a sarcastic tone, "Poor
Draco? Indeed! It is Hermione Granger who needs your sympathy, not
some arrogant, spoiled brat."

Augusta Longbottom sat at the other end of the table. She could not
stomach sitting so close to a known Death Eater's daughter.

She was the laughingstock of her group of friends, not that there were many
at their age since they dropped like flies, but the ones that remained were
quick to point out Pansy's illustration background.

However, Pansy was used to Neville's headstrong grandmother's audacious

behaviour. It was no mere feat, but she remained calm and responded, "I'm
aware that Hermione has been portrayed unfairly, Augusta. I only said what
I did because Draco is one of my oldest and dearest friends."

Augusta scoffed, "Death Eaters and rot! Following in their moronic father's
footsteps, and my grandson has to pay the price."

Pansy looked to Neville and implored with her eyes to intervene. To support
her, but since it was evident that he would not rally to her defence, she
thought it fit to voice her opinion.

She dabbed the corners of her mouth delicately and said, "I'm well aware
that you have no love for my family, Mrs Longbottom, and if you expect
me to keep quiet while you insult them, I'm sorry, but you are sorely
mistaken."

Augusta had not forgotten, nor would she ever come to terms with what
Malfoy's maddened aunt did to her beloved son and daughter-in-law. She
hated the lot of them with passion; it was a burden she would carry to the
grave.

She bit into a fleshy orange wedge and sneered, causing the nectar to trickle
down her chin, "You have nothing to be proud of, Pansy. It would have
benefited us all if you got paired off with Draco Malfoy while Neville here
got matched with a remarkable young woman such as Hermione."

Pansy stiffened, and her helpless gaze fell upon her husband once again.
Would he not speak on her behalf? She knew Augusta despised her, but her
cruel, taunting words hurt, "It is quite clear that you dislike me and do not
approve of this union, but I love Neville."

Augusta ignored the heartfelt declaration with an audible snort. Love? It

was such an overrated emotion.

She replied callously without a spare thought for Pansy's feelings, "That
might be, but you are not suitable for him. Furthermore, you have added to
your uselessness by failing to provide him with a child."
Throwing her napkin down in anger, Pansy glared at the older woman at the
table, "For Salazar's sake, there is plenty of time."

Augusta looked the young woman over and claimed, "You are almost thirty.
Childbirth becomes exceedingly difficult with age."

She watched intently as Neville paled and added thoughtfully, "Perhaps,

you are unable to conceive."

Pansy was beside herself with anger and humiliation, "I don't have to sit
here and listen to this nonsense." How dare the old goat suggest such a
thing? They had not even tried to get pregnant, taking every precaution to
prevent it until such time they were ready to expand their family.

Neville had quietly sat by, biding his time and waiting for his grandmother
to get her opinions and views well out of her system.

He knew without a doubt his reluctance to intervene infuriated his wife, but
he also knew his grandmother, and she was not a woman who took to being
interrupted lightly. Still, he had listened and observed in silence for long
enough.

Raising his voice, he kept it firm and authoritative to make his presence
known, "Grandmother, Pansy is my wife and the woman I love."

Unfortunately, his emotions dictated his argument. He included with equal

force and without much thought, "The past does not matter to me, even if
she did try to hand over Potter. We were children!"

Pansy, though grateful, inwardly groaned and patted Neville's hand in an

effort to reassure him, "I don't think you're helping my cause, darling."

His tone pleaded, "For how long will you penalise her for it?" Boldly he
kissed Pansy's hand in full view of his grandmother and looked at his wife
adoringly, "I couldn't be happier with this match."

Her eyes lit up, and Pansy smiled, "I wasn't thrilled at the start, but now…I
couldn't imagine my life without you, darling."
Keeping a firm hold on his wife's hand, Neville looked down at the table
and said in a wounded voice, "Why can't you be happy for me? You mean
so much to me. To us."

Pansy pursed her lips. There was little truth in the statement. She did not
particularly care for the tough old broad. However, she did greatly respect
Augusta Longbottom.

Neville took a deep breath to calm himself and sighed, "I am not my father,
and I never will amount to his brilliance." His parents were Aurors. Even
though he was never academically at their level, he was fearless,
unquestionably loyal, and courageous.

He fondly recalled Professor McGonagall's words, "It's high time your

grandmother learned to be proud of the grandson she's got, rather than the
one she thinks she ought to have – particularly after what happened at the
Ministry."

Pansy's heart broke at the pained declaration. Her face fell in sadness.
Despite her family's shoddy past, she was doted upon and loved
unconditionally by her parents.

An uncomfortable silence fell over them.

"No, you are not my Frank," Augusta said unexpectedly but with profound
sadness.

"Although, you look much like him when he was your age," she added
fondly with a faint smile forming on her face.

There was a strained quietness until Augusta included after a moment's

pause. Her voice was thick with emotion and unmistakable pride, "You are
better than your father, and they would be tremendously proud of the man
you have become."

Neville's jaw dropped, his fork fell out of his numb fingers and collided
noisily with the pristine China plate.
Augusta ignored her grandson's state of shock. She struggled but smiled
slightly and said, "I am so very proud of you, Neville."

Pansy choked on her orange juice, and in a poor attempt to hide her
complete look of disbelief, she covered her mouth with a napkin. Even the
elf standing meekly in the background could hardly conceal his surprise.

Ignoring the reactions of everyone around her, Augusta confessed, "I know
I am harsh at times, but I have always had your best interests at heart."

Neville struggled to string coherent words together. He was still reeling

from the shock of her words. Besides making him feel inadequate, his
grandmother had never openly praised him for much in all his years.

Augusta continued to speak her mind and eyed Pansy sceptically, "This isn't
an ideal pairing, but I suppose you could have done worse. At least, she is
feisty and protective of you, and that's all I ask for."

Getting to her feet, she beckoned the elf forward to help her and announced,
"I feel like taking a walk." She was on borrowed time and feeling every bit
of the aches and pains that came with extreme old age.

The bitter potions helped, but there was no denying the truth. She would die
soon and peacefully, knowing Neville would be loved and cared for.

Neville and Pansy watched the Longbottom matriarch chatting animatedly

with the house-elf as they exited the dining room and walked towards the
vast gardens that Neville immaculately maintained.

Turning to Pansy, Neville smiled brightly, "That's progress, I guess."

However, he kept his excitement over his grandmother's words hidden.
Inside, he was bursting with joy.

Pansy glanced out the window and caught sight of Augusta leaning heavily
on her cane and walking among the rose bushes. She couldn't help the
sarcastic tone," Depends on how you look at it, sweetheart."
Neville was brought crashing back to reality by the door to his office
opening. A burly man in blue overalls with dirt caked under his fingernails
walked in. He was carrying a heavy potted plant with both hands.

The man panted clearly out of breath from the gruelling task but managed
to ask, "What should I do with this, sir?"

Neville smiled and candidly wondered why the man did not resort to magic
to help with the massive load, "Set it down over there, Greg." He said
politely, pointing to the corner.

The man was barely visible behind the thick leaves. He nodded, heaved and
set to complete the task assigned to him.

Draco stood outside the red brick building with The Daily Prophet's name
in platinum looming over him. The colossal bold letters made anyone
standing before it seem minuscule, and he speculated if they intended to
intimidate those who stood before it.

However, it had little effect on him. Plenty of casually dressed witches and
wizards walked in and out of the building, and surprisingly none paid him
any attention.

He exhaled, joined the crowds of people, and entered the building without a
second thought. The interior had changed since his last visit many years
ago. It consisted of white tiles and modern fixtures to suit more recent
times.

Draco spotted the vast help desk almost at once. It was nearly impossible to
miss the uniquely sculptured massive structure. Smartly dressed, attractive
women attended to the many calls, owls, and visitors' queries. He
approached the area with an air of confidence, waited patiently for his turn
and spoke with extreme kindness to the woman who attended to him,
"Good morning. Would you be so kind as to direct me to Miss Skeeter's
office?"
Requests to visit Rita came often and not always with good intent. The
woman studied the handsome man before her and paled.

She knew who he was and his probable reason for visiting. The article on
the front page had garnered enough attention. They had and continued to
receive numerous calls and mail regarding the scandalous story.

Smiling politely, she excused herself and headed hurriedly into a back room
where she picked up an ancient-looking device and spoke directly into it,
"Mr Draco Malfoy is here to see you."

The voice on the other end remained calm and collected. Skeeter was still at
her flat, getting ready to come into work. She usually preferred to arrive
fashionably late.

"Show him to my office. I'll be there shortly," Rita said briskly. She kept her
rattled nerves hidden.

While she had expected Hermione to convince the Malfoy heir, she had also
expected him to turn up later in the day.

Rita continued to apply her makeup carefully with slightly more trembling
fingers than before. There was a foreboding feeling in the pit of her stomach
that she could not quite shake.

The woman returned shortly, and Draco raised a questioning brow. While
his patience remained intact, he was not overly fond of being kept waiting.
Little did he know that his wait for the wretched journalist would be
extended until she arrived.

With a smile plastered onto her face, the gracious executive dusted her skirt,
came around and gestured for him to follow her, "Please come this way, Mr
Malfoy." Sceptical at first, Draco followed the woman down a brightly lit,
wide corridor. The many people who occupied the area drowned out the
sound of her heels colliding with the clear tiles.

They passed many rooms crammed with small tables, memos wheezing
about and people chattering in carrying loud voices. He was instantly
reminded of a fish market in China. On his first visit to the marketplace, he
had been horrified by the putrid smell and shouting and refused to
accompany Master Chun on any further visits. Still, the older man insisted
and over time, Draco became accustomed to the unfamiliar surroundings.

She stopped at a tall deep brown door with prominent brass handles and
Rita Skeeter's name, carved into a gold-plated plaque. The tile was over the
top and gaudy. It suited her superficial personality perfectly.

The woman grabbed hold of the handles, threw the doors open and stood
aside while Draco followed her into the empty room and frowned in
disappointment. Still, before he made his displeasure vocal, the executive
offered a swift explanation, "Miss Skeeter will be with you momentarily. If
you require any further assistance, Mr Malfoy, please let me know." She
closed the doors behind her and hurriedly left without waiting for a reply.

Draco heaved a sigh and walked around the spacious but tastefully
furnished room looking at odd trinkets, outdated and recent photographs of
Rita on holiday and framed front pages of the Prophet that hung proudly on
the wall. He gathered that they were among the articles Skeeter wrote and
treasured. Most of the dreadful headlines he could vividly remember.

One, in particular, caught his attention. He stared at a younger version of

himself looking grim walking out of the Ministry of Magic with his
distraught mother after his father's publicised trial and well-deserved
imprisonment.

He purposely looked away, and his wandering gaze fell upon a battered
copy of a leather-bound book. The title caught his curiosity right off the bat,
The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore.

It was a biography of his departed Headmaster that Rita Skeeter wrote.

Draco gingerly picked it up and blew off the layer of dust that had
accumulated on the cover. He flipped it open and began to read with keen
interest.

By the time the door opened, and Rita Skeeter decided to grace him with
her presence, he had finished chapter one and made a mental note to buy
himself a copy of the riveting book.

Her shrill voice invaded his peace, "My, you are a sight for sore eyes."

She recalled an arrogant youth willing to dish out the dirt on Harry Potter
whether it was outrageous lies or otherwise, but the man in her office was
the total opposite, collected and strikingly handsome.

He had a head of platinum blonde hair where a few longish strands fell
teasingly over his eyebrows and a face with sharp features you would not
dare forget in a hurry. It was his magnetic eyes that pulled you into the
netherworld. So clear and refined, it was easy to lose oneself in them.

Draco closed the book with a thud, returned it carefully to its original place
and turned slowly to face the woman standing by the open door in a figure-
hugging low-cut purple velvet dress, rhinestone-studded glasses, and an
overall haggard appearance.

He let his eyes roam over her unflatteringly before retorting with dripping
sarcasm, "I wish I could say the same. Time has not been kind to you,
Skeeter." Though they had briefly met at Tracey's wedding, he had not paid
her much attention until now.

Skeeter could not help but feel self-conscious, yet she attempted to
smoothen the creases on her gown, kept her faltering composure and
muttered, "Impudent pup." There had been a time when unemployment had
been unkind to her and when she had been unable to keep up appearances.

Hermione took advantage and, besides keeping her captive inside a jar
imbued with an unbreakable charm in her unregistered beetle Animagus
form. She had further insisted she author an article for the Quibbler about
Voldemort's return and the truth as deemed by Harry Potter. Since it was she
who placed the groundwork for the Prophet's defamation of Potter, with her
original stories about him, the prissy witch wanted her to be the one to set
the dubious record straight.

She had long since registered herself. It had taken a bit of persuading and
the exchange of Galleons to see it through, but thankfully it was too trivial a
matter to require the Undersecretary's attention. Rita managed to slip under
the radar as she usually did. It was her speciality.

Rita had not forgotten Hermione Granger's blackmailing tendencies. How

the vicious tables have turned! She thought with delight and pondered if
Malfoy knew her unfavourable history with his intended before rushing to
defend his betrothed's character.

She ignored Draco's roving glances and went around her sizeable solid
desk. Her eager eyes travelled over his impressive form and came to rest on
the name tag pinned to his new Auror robes. She crossed her arms over her
chest, making her ample bosom rise and quipped, "So, you're an Auror.
Wouldn't your father be proud?"

Draco smirked at the remark, said deliberately to cause him discomfort, and
dismissed it with little remorse, "My father is dead. His opinion of me
hardly matters anymore."

She showed indifference and refrained from offering her condolences but
muttered under her breath, "The standards for recruitment have fallen well
below par if the Ministry would allow an ex Death Eater to join the
DMLE."

Draco hadn't heard her of course but sized her up in a second and said
firmly, "I presume you know why I'm here." He had no time to exchange
pleasantries, and neither was he bothered to.

Skeeter pulled back her chair and sat down before answering. She kept her
tone of voice casual, "I have a fairly good idea, but why don't you enlighten
me unless it has something to do with the tell-all interview you promised
me at the Weasley - Davis wedding."

Draco smiled in the most engaging way. He went around the big desk,
caught hold of the arms on the chair that Skeeter sat on and dragged it
roughly towards him. The chair protested and creaked at the sudden
movement while Rita widened her eyes in possible fear and astonishment.
Leaning forward, he invaded her space. The wrinkles she had tried to cover
up desperately were visible and similar to embedded tiny trails on either
side of her eyes. Their faces were mere inches from touching. Skeeter gazed
into clear swirls of pale grey with a bluish hue and swallowed hard.

Draco pointedly ignored her discomfort and almost whispered. His husky
tone and warm breath caressed Skeeter's cheek as his words of warning
made it to her sensitive ear, "I don't take kindly to threats against my
fiancé." He scrutinised her movements as she closed her eyes and
shuddered in apprehension.

Having achieved the desired effect, he pushed himself back and

straightened to his full height and towered over her cowering figure, "I am
here because of her and nothing else." Draco said with renewed vigour.

He cautioned with distinct animosity, "I am not a man who negotiates with
extortionists. However, in this instance, I will do as you ask for Granger's
sake, but do not delude yourself into thinking that your actions are without
consequences."

Skeeter sat up straight and willed her rapidly beating heart to still. Despite
her dishevelled state, she still managed a shaky yet snarky reply, "Indeed,
she has you wrapped around her little finger." She studied his body
language and continued surreptitiously, "You seem quite taken by the
Golden girl."

A burst of mocking laughter left her lipstick-smeared mouth, "What a

ridiculous title to bestow upon someone as narrow-minded as her." Rita had
always considered Hermione Granger's image to be overrated and
ludicrous. Lurking beneath the picture-perfect facade was an insecure
woman struggling to find her rightful place, or so Skeeter thought.

Draco warned, "Watch your tone, Skeeter." He was not about to stand by
idly and let the insufferable woman gossip about Granger in his presence.

He sat down on the black leather sofa, got somewhat comfortable and
insisted with reasonable force, "Get on with it!"
Skeeter gave a curt nod and perked up, "Of course, let me fetch my Quick
Quotes Quill." She pointed her wand to the far end of the room and
muttered a spell, causing a notepad and an odd long feathered quill to shoot
out of the cupboard and head in her direction at breakneck speed.

She turned the chair towards him, made a pathetic show of crossing her legs
and drawled rather sensually, "Whenever you are ready, Mr Malfoy."

Draco rolled his eyes at the downright pathetic display and scowled, "Let's
get this over with." He had little to no patience for the creature before him
sitting far too comfortably for his liking.

His training in China did not prepare him to deal with a leech-like Skeeter,
but he focused on inner peace and kept the troubled thoughts at bay.

Bask in your small victory while you can, he thought with a satisfied smirk.

The meeting was unprecedented, and while she had no doubt Granger
would go to any lengths to protect her perfect image. Skeeter was
unprepared for the questions she wished to ask the once bratty boy and
blurted out the most obvious one to the best of her knowledge, "Why did
you join He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?

Draco stiffened. Straight to the jugular. Skeeter evidently did not practise
the fine art of subtly.

He became cagey and replied in the same manner, "My mother was in
danger. Next question."

His short answer failed to impress her. It lacked the depth behind his life-
altering decision, and that bit was what she was frantically after.

Abruptly, Rita held up her hand, and the Quick Quotes Quill came to a
screeching halt.

She smiled sweetly in a mocking fashion, displaying crooked teeth and

exclaimed, "Hold on, I'm going to need details. I'm milking this for all it's
worth." If he thought he would get away with half-arsed answers, he had
another thing coming.

Draco pursed his lips and leaned further back into the comfort of the sofa. It
was going to be a long bloody day. He badly needed a cup of strong coffee
to rejuvenate him but thought against it since Skeeter could not be trusted to
douse it with Veritaserum.

She studied her long painted talons that passed off as fingernails and
shrugged nonchalantly, "Either we do this right, or you go back to your
fiancé and tell her you failed in your task, and I will publish a very
profitable article in tomorrow's paper."

Pointing to the door, Skeeter cocked her head to the side, causing her
perfectly set blonde curls to bounce. She fixed him with a steely glare,
"Please do not waste my time, Malfoy."

Draco was not intimidated or shaken by her empty threats. His demeanour
became hostile and cold. He scowled, not allowing her to utter another
word, "You're on thin ice, Skeeter. Choose your next words carefully. I
might have laid my past ways to rest, but I urge you not to provoke a
slumbering dragon."

Skeeter curled her bottom lip with her teeth and grinned devilishly,
"Somehow, that sounds most enticing." Her coy response caught her
completely off guard. Merlin's beard! Was she trying to flirt with the
imposing man young enough to be her son?

Her lascivious comment was not well received by Draco. He scrunched up

his nose and spat in abhorrence, "If you force my hand, life will become
most unpleasant for you."

Insulted by his reaction, Skeeter scoffed, "Hmm, you've inherited your

father's arrogance as well as his good looks." Lucius was an attractive man,
but he paled in comparison to his son, who had also inherited Narcissa's
prominent Black family genes.
"Shall we continue?" She brushed aside the unpleasantness and said with
renewed determination.

Draco could not help but roll his eyes, "If we must…." He braced himself
for the worst-case scenario.

She shrugged and glanced at him with practised shrewdness, "It is solely up
to you, darling. I always have something up my sleeve for my avid readers."

Draco threw the unscrupulous reporter a look of deep loathing and started
to speak. He held nothing back since there was little point in withholding
the truth anymore.

Perhaps this was the platform he needed to speak the truth about what he
essentially faced and survived.

For the first time since his failed task atop the Astronomy Tower, he
divulged the factual circumstances that led him down a path of horror,
darkness, and self-loathing, "I was offered little choice in the matter. My
father had failed to please Voldemort, my mother was being punished daily
for his failures, and I was given an ultimatum. Adorn the mark, join the
ranks and kill Dumbledore or a fate worse than death awaits your mother."

Thinking back to that fateful night made his heart clench. Lucius had
walked into the room with his hair unkempt, looking disturbed and paler
than usual with bloodshot eyes and blurted out unceremoniously that their
master requested his immediate presence.

Draco distinctly remembered what he was doing and how he felt at that
exact moment. He had been lying in bed in nothing but his nightclothes,
staring at the ceiling, worrying about his mother and what fresh hell they
would put her through that day. In his mind, he had already begun to
formulate weak plans for her escape, but none seemed plausible.

They would not have gotten very far before Voldemort released his trusted
hound, Fenrir Greyback, to hunt them down.
Certain death by Voldemort's hand seemed a better end than being ripped
apart and mutilated by Greyback.

Draco had looked at his father imploringly, but no answers came. Lucius
avoided him and stared at the wall in defeat. Then, when his maddened
aunt, Bellatrix, came into his room unannounced, it caused him to jump to
his feet while she shrieked in delight, "You are going to make our family
proud." Her laughter had bounced off the walls, and that deafening sound
would haunt and torment him in the years to come.

The initiation ceremony where he was branded with the Dark Mark and,
therefore, regarded as a Death Eater took place at Borgin and Burkes, an
antiquary known for dabbling in the Dark Arts located in Knockturn Alley.

His mother was beyond horrified, his father emotionless, but his aunt
praised him for his courage and loyalty to the cause. As the days turned to
weeks, he was used as a torturer of innocents and tormentor of those foolish
enough to disappoint or disobey Voldemort.

Draco exhaled and let the memories of a bleaker time subside to whence it
came.

He said with conviction, "There was no choice. To save her from a slow,
humiliating, and painful demise, I became a Death Eater and spoke proudly
of being chosen to complete a task even Voldemort himself could not,
though I kept the true nature of my mission to myself." His potions
Professor and House head knew, of course, but that wasn't his doing.

Rita cringed at the casual mention of the Dark Lord by his self-imposed
name, but she did not dare interrupt the flow.

His thoughts drifted to his beloved mother. He couldn't disguise the emotion
that laced each word, "My mother has always meant a great deal to me.
Lucius and I had our differences, but I was a boy eager to please his father
and gain his approval." It seemed highly pointless now.

Skeeter grew exceedingly thoughtful, "Interesting...." He was opening up to

her, and she loved and embraced every second of his vulnerable past self.
She was curious to know how he handled such a grave situation and
inquired bluntly, "How did you manage with the situation?" It couldn't have
been a walk in the park, she imagined.

Draco smiled slightly and said together with bitter disappointment, "I was a
sixteen-year-old boy, and while my friends were talking about girls, sex,
and parties, I was scheming to kill our Headmaster and trying to fix old
cabinets. It was possibly the bleakest period of my existence."

Rita nodded in grim understanding and quizzed, "If you could go back in
time, would you have done things differently?"

Draco grew thoughtful. He had often wondered the same thing. After a
moment's hesitation, he answered, "Yes, without a doubt. I would have
sought help from Dumbledore." He should have, but at the time, he was
paralysed with the fear of disobeying a merciless fiend who would have
slaughtered them without remorse.

His answer took her by surprise. She had expected him to stick with his
original plan and not further endanger Narcissa.

She momentarily lost her current train of thought and asked a poorly
thought-out question, "Oh, umm, did you kill Dumbledore?"

The question was preposterous, and Draco frowned, "The wizarding world
already knows the answer to that query thanks to Potter coming forth with
the intricate details after the war."

He sneered most unpleasantly, "But, I'll humour you. No, I did not kill
Albus Dumbledore. Severus Snape did the deed sparing me from
committing a heinous crime at such an early age. However, I doubt I would
have gone through with it even if Snape didn't happen upon us."

The scrawling sound of the quill taking notes was beginning to irritate him
enormously, and Draco shot it a look of pure disdain. Still, Skeeter kept up
her interrogation, "Were you aware that Severus Snape was a spy for The
Order? That his meeting with Dumbledore on top of the astronomy tower
was preplanned?"
She leaned forward in eagerness displaying her cleavage to hear his answer,
but needn't have bothered since, Draco averted his gaze and replied with a
hint of happiness, "I was not aware at the time, but it brings some relief to
hear that Snape was a good man."

He had heard bits and pieces of Snape's undying love for Potter's mother
but was blissfully ignorant of the full extent of the whirlwind story. Lily
Evans had been a Muggle-born witch who Snape loved fiercely till his
death. His feelings towards her fueled his actions and caused him to betray
Voldemort.

Love. What a peculiar and powerful feeling. Its limitations were endless.
Draco doubted whether he would ever experience such an undying emotion.

Skeeter thought back and exclaimed, "A true unsung hero was Potter's
words used to describe Snape at the last anniversary ball held in celebration
of He-who-must-not-be-name's demise." Each year, a grand ball was held to
celebrate the defeat of possibly the most dangerous wizard of all time.

"And rightly so. Snape played his part well. He had us all convinced,"
Draco replied with a slight smile.

Rita cleared her throat and delved, "You lost a friend during the battle.
Vincent Crabbe. Was it a shocking blow to lose someone close?"

Draco had not spared a thought for Crabbe or Goyle in years. During the
latter parts of Hogwarts, he had grown close to Theo and Blaise and
preferred their friendship and intellectual banter over the more dimwitted
pair.

Memories of that fateful night were dragged forth from where he had buried
them. His palms beaded sweat, but he willed himself to remain at peace and
sighed, "It pales in comparison to the significant number of loved ones that
lost their lives that day, and it did sadden me at the time because he was a
good friend, but I have since dealt with it. His death, like so many, was
unnecessary."
He felt compelled to offer some profound insight into the weeks of
Hogwarts before the battle, "Crabbe lost his way towards the end. He was
truly a shadow of his former self. He became a monster who took pleasure
in the torturing of innocents. His actions were fuelled and encouraged by
the teachings of the Carrows, who briefly taught Defense Against the Dark
Arts, except it was known as Dark Arts while they held the post. Not
surprisingly, their teaching career came to a savage end."

Skeeter listened intently, greedily drinking in every golden word. She could
barely contain her excitement. This particular issue of the magazine would
indeed surpass sales of all previous ones.

She pushed her spectacles back up her nose and eagerly raised the subject
she believed to be most important, "You were presumed dead. Where have
you been hiding?" It would be interesting to know where he had
disappeared.

Draco hesitated. He reminded himself that he was doing this for Granger.
She deserved every sacrifice on his part. With a certain degree of
reluctance, he answered grudgingly, "I have been learning and training at
The Shaolin Temple in China."

That much was true. He had poured hours over ancient texts. His fondness
for reading and learning new things never wavered. It had blossomed, but
his love of books was essentially a credit to his father.

Rita grew thoughtful once again for a fleeting second. It was most
intriguing. She would have never guessed he sought refuge in such a
secluded yet tranquil place.

It was no surprise his whereabouts remained a complete mystery. Draco

coughed purposely to clear his throat, which caused Skeeter to snap out of
her daze and say in an almost impressed manner, "Fascinating!"

Her brows furrowed together in avid inquisitiveness before she gathered the
courage to ask, "But are they not Buddhist monks? Were you one?" Rita
took in Draco's look of wonder with a smug expression of her own. She
prided herself on knowing what lay beyond their Magical world and made it
a point to travel to exotic destinations when time permitted.

Draco was quite taken aback by her knowledge. It was highly intriguing.
Not in his wildest dreams did he expect a woman like Rita Skeeter to know
things about the Muggle world, let alone The Shaolin Temple.

He regarded her curiously and educated, "Most are Monks and among the
most highly skilled martial artists in the world. Even though I followed the
path to enlightenment, I was not a monk. My journey to fulfilment is yet
incomplete."

She leaned forward, resting her chin on the palm of her hand and
questioned his choice, "Why did you seek refuge among Muggles?" It
baffled her why he would travel halfway around the world for answers
when he could have found them right at home.

Draco let out an exasperated sigh, "I needed to free myself from my dark
past and be well away from those who knew me and what I had done." He
included in a pained tone, "Had I remained, I would have been judged and
suspected every waking day."

Rita supposed he was right. Years had passed, but most had not forgotten or
were yet to forgive his involvement. They blamed the breach of Hogwarts
by Death Eaters solely on him, and rightly so. He had supplied the means
for them to enter the sacred school undetected.

Draco said in determination with a level of anguish in his tone, "I was
desperate to put aside my misguided ideologies, my upbringing by a
bigoted fool and emerge reborn from the ashes, so to speak."

Skeeter nodded in understanding. She was beginning to see him in a

different light. It appeared he made the right decision to flee.

She wondered how he faired in a distant, unfamiliar land and searched his
face for answers that did not come. Tired of trying to figure out the man
who seemed wise beyond his years, she instead asked directly, "And has
your journey been helpful?"
For a brief but fond moment, he remembered the Abbott and his calming
presence, his trainer and Master, Chun, who had his utmost devotion and, of
course, Suri Jun, how could he ever forget the stunning beauty?

A grateful smile curved his lips, "Yes, it has been greatly beneficial. I
heeded the lessons of a few great men, and I see things for what they truly
are now." He kept his most profound new skill of wandless magic a secret.

Skeeter tapped her chin as she processed his answer. Narcissa unexpectedly
popped into her mind, and she was interested in how the fierce mother
handled his choice. She fired the following question and waited anxiously
for the emotional turmoil he would unleash, "You left your mother behind.
Surely that must have been a difficult decision to undertake?"

Draco's striking features twisted unpleasantly, "It was complicated. Leaving

her behind to serve out her sentence alone was gut-wrenching, but she
understood why I had to leave."

His face fell in despair, "Staying in London in my current state would have
hurt more than help her, and it would have led to severe depression among
other unpleasantness."

He would have ended his miserable existence to escape the nightmares that
visited him daily.

Rita was not wholly convinced that he had made the right decision to
abandon his mother, but she did not push him any further on the subject.
Instead, she offered a deceptive but passable, "I understand."

Deciding that she had gathered enough insight into his past reasons and
spent time as the notorious youngest Death Eater, she decided to inquire
more about his life and opinions of late.

She shifted her bottom to get more comfortable and sat up straight, "So, are
you a trained fighter?" It was a question she had seldom asked in her many
years of journalism. You hardly if ever came across wizards or witches who
practised any form of Muggle martial arts. It seemed fitting that Malfoy be
the first.
Draco chuckled, "No, I am not." He brought his hands up and moved them
almost fluidly, using his fingers to cut through the air with precision and
grace that captivated Rita, "Kung fu is a way of life. The discipline,
meditation and diligence help me daily to become a better man."

Skeeter came back to her senses and asked casually, "Do you still train?"

"I do," Draco replied instantly without skipping a beat.

A devious smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. She inquired with
immense pleasure, "You broke Terry Boot's nose in a pub brawl." So much
for control and whatnot.

The details of why the fight broke out at The Leaky Cauldron were sketchy,
but she suspected it was because of a woman.

Draco let out a low laugh but grew severe enough to respond appropriately,
"I did, unfortunately, and I greatly regret my actions." No, he did not, not
for a second. Boot deserved to be taught a valuable lesson, but it would not
help his cause for others to know.

He offered what seemed like a plausible explanation, "Mr Boot goaded me,
and I fell prey to my emotions. It was a costly mistake that I will not be
repeating." That much was true.

Skeeter winked and raised a perfectly shaped brow in question, "Goaded

you over Hermione?" There was nothing like a tumultuous love triangle to
captivate her readers. People just loved drama.

Draco tugged at his collar and lied convincingly enough, "No. It was merely
a disagreement between two men over a personal matter." Granger being
that intimately personal reason.

Rita was hardly convinced, and she urged him to divulge more salacious
details, "Care to elaborate?"

Draco grew impatient and shrugged, "There is nothing on which to

elaborate. The reason as to why the fight started evades me. There had been
a fair amount of alcohol consumed, and tempers were running high." He
hoped Skeeter would let bygones be bygones and not poke the hornet's nest.
The last thing he wanted was Granger to be implicated as the cause.

Knowing that she would not get any more specifics out of the reluctant and
frustrated man, Rita directed her line of questioning towards his sound
structure. There was not an ounce of fat on his toned, fit physique, and she
was curious to find out how he maintained such a pristine condition, "Do
you follow a fitness routine?"

He was not particularly keen on the question. Draco shifted uncomfortably

in his seat and scowled. "How is that relevant to this interview? But, yes, I
do follow a strict workout regimen that I normally swear by."

She drawled shamelessly while letting her eyes move over the lines on his
neck and prominent Adam's apple, "It shows."

Regardless of Skeeter's poor attempt at keeping her brazen comment barely

legible, Draco heard her loud and clear and hissed in annoyance, "I beg
your pardon?"

Rita blushed, but it was well hidden by the layers of concealer. She smiled
angelically and said hastily, "Moving on…." Her stomach rumbled in
hunger. It was understandable, considering she had skipped breakfast, and it
was half past two in the afternoon.

A proper lunch would have to wait, but she could, however, partake in
something simple. She waved her wand over the table in a lucid movement.
A beautiful China-patterned teapot, cups and saucers appeared out of thin
air along with pieces of chocolate and fruit cake.

The pungent smell of freshly brewed tea filled the air, and it smelt heavenly.
Draco inhaled deeply and felt a slight pang of hunger.

Rita poured herself a cup and explained, "Forgive me, but I am feeling
rather peckish." She set aside her full cup and gracefully pulled an empty
cup towards her, and glanced at the man sitting on the far corner of the
sofa.
While holding the steaming pot over the cup, she politely suggested before
pouring the contents in, "Have a cup! It's quite good."

Draco was sorely tempted but shook his head and declined. Skeeter stifled a
laugh and read his thoughts, "It's only tea, I swear. I have not
added….anything extra." She mused with a mischievous grin.

She took a sip of tea and sighed in exhilaration. It warmed her within. Next,
she reached for a piece of cake and devoured half in one bite before asking,
"Has your return been well received?"

Draco peered at the chocolate cake. His sweet tooth flared and almost
caused his resolve to crumble, but he answered truthfully, "Mixed reactions,
to be honest. My old friends and mother are quite pleased, but others are
hostile and adamant I pay for my crimes."

Skeeter popped the last bit of cake into her mouth and closed her eyes
dreamily as the thick frosting collided with her tongue.

"Mmm, are you sure you don't want a piece, Draco? It's divine." While
taking her time to savour the treat, she urged as Draco eyed her cynically
and wished the interview would end. He had far better things to do and
judging by the antique clock in the room, hours had already passed.

Skeeter sensed her guest's impatience. She snapped her fingers, and the
quick quotes quill came obediently to her side. She was curious about his
thoughts on the Gryffindor bunch. He did not have a kind thing to say about
the group in his youth, but now, she was almost certain his opinion had
changed.

She asked straightforwardly, "What are your current thoughts on the Golden
Trio? As an Auror, you will report directly to Harry Potter. Will it prove
difficult to answer to a childhood rival?"

Draco had truly not given the fact that Potter was his boss any serious
thought. It honestly did not bother him, and he bluntly shared his point of
view, "Potter has always shown constant vigilance. He is capable and suited
for the position entrusted to him. Despite our past rivalry on the Quidditch
pitch and off, I have no reservations about reporting to him."

Skeeter blinked rapidly and tried hard to make sense of Malfoy's drastic
change. It was unfathomable.

"I prefer not to comment on Weasley. The bumbling Buffoon does not
interest me in the slightest," he scoffed. He sounded much like his former
arrogant self when talking about Ronald Weasley and Skeeter poorly
disguised a hearty laugh.

Rita regarded him with an amused expression, "I see, and his past
relationship with Hermione has nothing to do with it, I suppose?"

The unfavourable events from earlier that day were still fresh in his
mind. He was still stewing in his frustrations even though he was convinced
Granger had come to the correct conclusion.

Weasley's spiteful words played back, "In what world did you think she
would pick you over me?"

Draco coughed to hide his discomfort and said with enough confidence and
conviction, "Not at all. They have a history and remain good friends. Ours
is not a romantic coupling; hence their relationship does not bother me."

Liar!

Granger had picked Weasley over him, and he could hardly lie to himself.
Her actions wounded him, but who would she choose in the future? That
remained to be seen.

"I am quite interested to know your thoughts on Hermione Granger."

Skeeter requested and proceeded to listen intently. This ought to be good,
she thought impishly.

Draco could not help the smile that crept onto his face. He glanced away in
serious thought as if considering his answer, "Ah, my thoughts on
Hermione Granger. That is the million Galleon question, isn't it?"
Skeeter offered candidly, "You could say…."

His hardened eyes found Rita's. He stared right into them enough to make
her twitch and refused to break eye contact, "If I could sum Granger up
using one word, that word would be.... unforgettable."

"Unforgettable?" Skeeter scoffed. Bollocks. That plain Jane was anything

but memorable.

Draco argued decisively, "She is an extraordinary woman, don't you

agree?"

Skeeter made her displeasure quite clear and refuted, "Unfortunately, I

don't, but my opinion on the Undersecretary is not what's important at the
moment."

"You could learn a thing or two from her, Skeeter." Draco smiled and said
wisely with a hint of pride.

Rita was eager to stir the conversation well away from the current direction
it was heading.

With a bit too much force, she demanded, "Are you happy about your
match with Miss Hermione Granger?"

Draco gathered by her flustered body language that he had succeeded in

goading her.

The former Slytherin simply leaned back and answered as if it was the most
obvious thing, "What's there not to be happy about? She's intelligent,
charming, and fierce." Her physical attributes also contributed to her allure.

Rita grimaced and fought hard to swallow the bile that rose in her throat.

Thinking that he might be sounding like a simpering fool, Draco supplied in

a serious undertone, "However, when I first learnt of the law and our
pairing, I was more concerned for her than myself."
That piqued Skeeter's interest, and she gazed upon him in confusion, "I
don't follow. Would you care to elaborate?"

Draco summarised, leaving nothing open to interpretation, "I think it's fairly
easy to guess that I was a horrid git to her back at Hogwarts. To say we
have an unpleasant past is putting it mildly. She has every right to loath
me."

Skeeter battled internally not to roll her eyes. Instead, she waved her hand
dismissively and countered, "I'm sure she is warming up to you. You are
handsome, wealthy, and somewhat intelligent. Regardless of your behaviour
as a child, she must realise how lucky she is."

Any witch would give her weight in gold to be in Hermione's prominent

position. That was popular opinion, but was it the truth?

Draco chuckled, "On the contrary, I consider myself the lucky one to call
her my fiancé."

Rita gasped at his honest declaration and probed, "You speak highly of her.
Have you developed feelings for little miss perfect?"

He proclaimed frankly, "It would be hard not to, but at present, our
relationship remains on the borders of a forced courtship."

"Pity," Skeeter said with a nonchalant shrug.

Skeeter took off her glasses, looked directly at him with a sparkle in her
eyes and smiled in a prudish fashion, "What is your current relationship
status with Astoria Greengrass?"

Draco froze and pursed his lips but held his tongue. This was an unforeseen
circumstance.

He had not counted on Rita bringing up his ex-girlfriend.

Fuck.

How did she even know about his turbulent past with Astoria?
Swallowing the slew of curses that threatened to spew out, he said in
contempt, "You've done your homework."

Rita giggled, "Of course, Draco. Did you expect any less?"

Draco answered to the point, leaving nought to speculation, "Astoria is one

of my oldest and dearest friends. She will always have a special place in my
heart."

The shrewd reporter watched him intently, relishing in his uncomfortable

body language and aversion to the question.

She thought hard and asked inquisitively, "What is your single biggest
regret?"

Draco's eyes clouded over, and he gave his answer some thought before
responding, "I stood by and watched an innocent girl being tortured by
Bellatrix on the floor of Malfoy Manor."

He swallowed hard as Granger's screams from that night came back to

haunt him with a vengeance. Unmoving, he kept it together and admitted
his weakness, "I could have stopped or done something to thwart her, but
my cowardice won the night, and that girl suffered terribly at the hands of a
deranged lunatic."

Rita was more than interested to know who the girl was. She appealed and
wondered if said girl would consent to be interviewed, "Is this girl alive?" It
would be the perfect follow-up story.

A faint smile appeared on his face, and Draco responded gravely, "Yes,
she's alive and quite well. I'm supposed to marry her in a matter of weeks."

Skeeter flinched. Her eye twisted nervously, and her fingers dug painfully
into the material of her seat. It was impossible.

She widened her eyes in surprise, "You mean to say that girl was
Hermione?" How was it possible that she did not know this?
Draco gritted out, "Yes. Do you now understand why this union would
disgust Granger? Why she would consider herself anything other than
lucky?" His attitude mirrored the repulsion he held for his interviewer.

"I didn't know…." Rita countered with a smidge of remorse.

Draco spat in contempt, "Then do not fucking assume to know. Hermione

Granger deserves far better than the likes of me."

Another bout of awkward silence engulfed them.

Skeeter moved the chair back and seemed uneasy, but it was only a
momentary lapse of judgement. She gathered her professionalism and
gushed, "Last question, Mr Malfoy."

Draco gestured with his hand for her to go ahead, "Go on." Finally!

She pried without a shred of decency, "Have the two of you been intimate?"
She had linked Hermione with men in the past, such as Viktor Krum and
Harry Potter, but this was shaping up to be her favourite one.

Draco stiffened. Granger's strangled moans as she shuddered while her

pussy lips closed tightly around his digits came to mind.

The earth-shattering orgasm he had evoked still lingered in his mind. It

would be an occurrence he planned to repeat, except, instead of his fingers,
it would be his cock that drowned in her slick wetness.

Skeeter grinned with a knowing smirk and teased brazenly, "Mr Malfoy?
You have gone rather red in the face. Would you like a glass of water?"

Draco pressed his lips down hard while he gathered his wits and brushed
aside the vivid image of Granger's flushed face. He stated with a firmness
that wasn't to be trifled with, "If we have, you can hardly expect me to own
up to it. I am a gentleman and will not do my fiancé the dishonour of
entertaining such requests."

Narrowing his eyes, he dropped his voice to a dangerous low and hissed,
"Besides, that is none of your fucking business now, is it?" That wiped the
smug look right off Skeeter's stupid face.

He had kept his end of the bargain, and now, it was time for her to keep her
word if that was possible.

Draco moved to the edge of the seat, brought his hands together and pointed
out, "I have answered your meaningless questions and given you enough
material to run a lewd article of your liking."

"You have, and I am most grateful," Rita said genuinely.

She moved her chair closer and patted his thigh, "Now what can I do for
you? Name your price, darling."

Draco pushed her hand off his person, rose and crossed the room to where
Rita kept a bottle of Firewhiskey. He poured himself a drink and ignored
the older witch, shooting him anxious glances and taking a gratifying sip.

The amber liquid burnt his throat, yet he relished the richness, pointed his
glass directly at the astonished woman and gave fair warning, "Leave
Hermione out of your little gossip column."

Skeeter sighed, "Hmm, you truly care about her, don't you?"

Draco took his time to finish the drink and pondered his answer. He could
feel Rita's restlessness come off her in waves, but he let her stew for a bit
more before confiding, "I care for her wellbeing. She is my responsibility."

She scoffed, "You mustn't feel obligated, Draco."

He demanded forebodingly, "I'm warning you, Skeeter. Pull another stunt

like this, and you will pay it back in spades."

Draco drained his drink and announced sharply, "Now, if you're quite done,
I'll be on my way."

Skeeter shot to her feet and grabbed hold of Draco's arm to stop him from
leaving, and announced abruptly, "We need some pictures." His eyes moved
down to where her fingers dug into his sleeve, he raised a questioning brow,
and she let go promptly.

Draco queried impatiently, "Is that necessary?" He had not agreed to such a
tedious thing and was doubtful about entertaining her request.

Skeeter smiled most provocatively, "Of course it is. Witch Weekly

Magazine isn't like the Prophet, it has a wider following, and my readers
rely heavily on pictures to help their wild imagination."

That bit of information was new and, frankly, unwelcome. His features
contorted unpleasantly, "Witch Weekly Magazine? I was under the
impression that this was an article for the Daily Prophet."

Skeeter threw her head back in laughter, "Oh darling, you've been away too
long." She whispered huskily, "Come tomorrow, you will have every witch
and her mother lusting after you."

"That is not my reason for doing this, Skeeter," Draco argued deliberately
with purpose and intent.

She waved her hand dismissively, "Minor details." Opening the door, she
poked her head outside and yelled, "Gloria, bring the camera!"

Salazar! Give him the strength to endure.

A witch with a nose ring who was clearly in her early twenties hurried into
the office wearing a baggy weird sisters t-shirt and jeans, carrying a lumpy
camera under her arm as she closed the door behind her.

Rita ran her eyes critically over Gloria's tomboyish outfit and rolled her
eyes before speaking to the woman in hushed tones.

Gloria nosily glanced over her shoulder at Draco while he stood on the
other side of the room, glaring at them.

He went to take off his heavy Auror robes. Underneath was his all-black
ensemble consisting of a sharp, long-sleeved black shirt and tailored
trousers that fit him snugly around his tight waist.
Skeeter protested loudly, "No, keep it on. It adds extra spice to the
redemption arc."

She teased with an air of superiority, "Every girl adores a bad boy, Malfoy.
Even the elusive Miss high and mighty Granger."

Draco stopped mid-task and threw her a look of deep loathing, but
unscathed, Rita's beady eyes wandered over him openly, and she whispered,
"Would you mind posing shirtless?"

He refused outright and cried in outrage, "Yes! Of course, I mind. It's

absolutely rubbish." Was she bloody mental to suggest such a thing?

Rita sulked, "Just one picture won't hurt you."

Draco could not believe his ears. He stood his ground and snapped, "You're
trying my patience."

He was on the verge of storming out but reluctantly gave in to hopefully the
last request of a vicious reporter, "Get on with it, Skeeter. I haven't got all
day." The day was already at an end, and Granger's saddened face propelled
him to tolerate these ridiculous demands.

Gloria waved her wand, and out of it burst a magical setting that covered
nearly half of Skeeter's office, but the women were unfazed since it was an
almost daily occurrence.

Draco was impressed by the complex enchantment. She had conjured what
looked remarkably like a plush black armchair that sat on a dark green
carpet in a regal setting, complete with an elaborate mantelpiece and
roaring fireplace in the background.

Gloria approached the tall man cautiously and invited, "Please follow me."

She led him over to the fireplace, waved her arms about and instructed
firmly. The woman clearly knew what she was doing, "Rest your elbow on
the mantelpiece and look directly at the camera. Do not smile. Appear
intriguing and mysterious." She arranged his hair with trembling fingers
without his consent. Hence, it seemed unkempt, and a few rogue strands fell
carelessly yet enduringly onto his forehead.

This was a bit much, but Draco did as he was directed. Gloria took several
shots, and though the blinding light of the flash hurt his eyes, he did not
dare blink. A few minutes passed, and once she was satisfied by the pictures
she took, Gloria flashed a smile, extracted a few with her wand and came
closer to show him the result.

He showed indifference but was quite glad about the outcome. Skeeter
hurriedly looked at the photographs and gave her approval before
continuing to the next situation.

Gloria led him over to a simple but regal-looking chair, and before she
could get a word in edgewise, Skeeter spoke in a carrying voice, "You can
lose the robe now and undo the top buttons of your shirt. You don't have to
show the goods."

The young, carefree woman shot Skeeter a wide-eyed look of disbelief, but
the seasoned reporters withering glare had the young witch rethinking her
actions.

Draco pursed his lips but said nothing. He undid the stubborn row of
buttons taking his time and slipped out of the heavy robe outlined with
dragon skin. Folding it neatly, he kept it carefully on the stool nearby and
awaited further instructions.

The women stared at his six-foot-two-inch sturdy frame without shame.

This interview was turning out to be far worse than he initially thought.
Draco felt exposed in more ways than one.

The photographer's grip on the camera tightened, and Skeeter discreetly

excused herself to visit the washroom. She needed to splash some chilly
water on her face and regain her flattering composure.

Merlin, he was sculpted, and some somewhat pornographic thoughts were

invading her mind.
Draco raised a brow at the hurriedly retreating figure of the annoying
journalist who simply refused to look his way, but he appeared disinterested
and looked to Gloria for guidance.

He took the seat as told by the flustered woman and sat up straight. The
aristocratic nature of his upbringing did not allow him to slouch. He ran his
long fingers through his fair in an attempt to appear presentable.

"Cross your legs, sit at an angle and keep your hands folded on your lap."
Gloria directed. Her eyes kept darting to the door in the hope Rita would
return soon.

It was a cliche setting and pose, and one Draco had seen his father do
countless times in similar settings for family portraits. His sizable signet
ring with the bold family crest glistened on his index finger.

Gloria set to work, shouting instructions while clicking several rolls of

film.

Like before, once she was satisfied by the photographs, she showed him a
few and pointed to a dark setting with no visible furniture except a bright
red chair in the centre, "Mr Malfoy, can I have you over here, please." He
was suspicious and outwardly reluctant at first. Still, by the time Skeeter
returned, Gloria had shown him references of Muggle celebrities in similar
situations and positions as she intended for him, and those put his mind at
ease.

He thought increasingly of Granger, which gave him the strength to push

through and stomach Rita Skeeter's outlandish requests. It would be the last
time he would play by her rules.

Conceding defeat, Draco complied. He was asked to lean back casually,

spread his legs wide and look away as if in deep thought but by preserving a
certain level of arrogance.

She took several low-angle pictures of him looking dangerously good-

looking and settled on a full black-and-white background with only the red
chair to add any colour.
Gloria beamed. This pose was by far her favourite, and despite his initial
reluctance, Draco had to agree with the aspiring photographer. He did look
quite appealing.

Skeeter grinned, causing her eyes to sparkle behind her bejewelled glasses.
The shots were spectacular. Malfoy was a natural.

Draco glanced out of the window and caught sight of the orangish hue that
fell over the buildings and street.

Where had the time gone? It was an absolute waste of precious time, and he
had missed a full day of Auror training.

He hoped Audrey would not penalise him too harshly. At least Potter would
defend his actions and offer any further explanation if needed on his behalf.

Draco sighed as he gathered his robes off the stool and set to the gruelling
task of pulling it back on.

Skeeter held out her hand, "Thank you for your time and agreeing to this,
Draco." She had given them little choice but to adhere to a request.

Draco ignored the poor attempt at a handshake and hissed, "Remember my

words, Skeeter. Do not push your luck."

He walked past her and out of the room while she stood rooted to the spot
and unable to produce a retort.

Unlike Hermione's empty and somewhat childish threats of late, she

supposed it was mainly due to her position. As the Undersecretary, she
couldn't take matters into her own hands and behave recklessly. Malfoy's
words, however, struck fear in her heart.

She was undoubtedly sure he was a man of his word and would follow
through on his warning.

The man entered as he usually did with a cheery, "Good evening, Sarah."
She ignored his presence and stared at the wall. When she heard the
movement of his feet get closer, she screamed, "Don't you dare use my
name. You have no right."

Her attitude shocked him and caused him to come to an abrupt halt. She
appeared so docile of late. He was convinced she was warming up to him,
maybe even falling in love as he had.

What brought on his sudden change of heart?

He cooed in concern, "What's the matter, darling?"

She shot up, pulled at her restraints, not caring whether the metal would cut
into her skin and screamed, sending flecks of spit spiralling through the air,
"Kill me, you bastard. I am tired of this fucking game. I welcome death."

He gazed at her through a loving haze of his own creation and rasped, "Shh,
I know what will make you feel better." It had been days since they last
made love, and he was convinced it was the cause of her outburst.

Pushing down his trousers, he stepped out of them and stroked his growing
erection. He strode towards her with his socks still on, and she grew
horrified and pleaded helplessly, "No, please! Stop!"

Her feeble pleas fell on deaf ears of a man consumed by lust. Grabbing her
by her bruised ankles, he pulled her towards him and pushed her legs apart
with some force.

Sarah fought him with what little strength she could muster, but it was
pointless. He lined his penis up with her vagina and entered her in one swift
movement.

A strangled sob tore from her lips, and she went numb.

He buried himself to the hilt and groaned in intense pleasure, "I love you so
much, darling."

She fought the urge to claw at his back with the uneven nails she constantly
chewed on.
Reaching between her legs, he rubbed her tender clitoris while pounding
into her feverishly.

He confessed in a muffled voice punctured by the sound of flesh hitting

flesh, "You belong to me. It's time you met my mother and gave me a
child." He was past caring about being careful. Unlike the others, he
preferred to violate her without protection.

His words caused her breathing to still. A Child? Merlin, no!

If he impregnated her, she would belong to him whole. The thought of

starting a family with her applied to him.

Once she was pregnant, maybe he could risk getting a Marriage licence, but
they were already spouses in his eyes. The license was a mere formality.

She kicked him in the gut and twisted to escape his grasp. The enraged man
brought his hand around and slapped her hard across the face causing the
inside of her cheek to split and blood to gush out.

Sarah whimpered and spat up blood, but he ignored her discomfort, pushed
her legs apart further and continued to fuck her, grunting and heaving as his
release closed in around him.

A silent cry left her that his pleasured moans drowned out.

What wickedness had she ever done to deserve this?

His orgasm was swift. He pulled out in time and coated her abdomen with
thick spurts of semen.

Sarah lay perfectly still. Her vacant expression held no emotion. Her spirit
withered away into nothingness until only silence surrounded her. She
looked away as he pushed himself off her with a satisfying final groan.

Her legs were bent awkwardly; her arms twisted uncomfortably above her
head while his release clung stubbornly to her skin.
The man disregarded her. His hair was matted to his head and covered his
disfigurement perfectly. A thin line of sweat dripped down his back and
thighs. He urgently needed to cleanse himself, but she was so sweet and
desirable.

Her naked form prompted his flaccid cock to show signs of life, but he
diligently fought the urge and pulled up his beige trousers, securing them as
he strolled towards the door.

This was not the right time to impregnate her. He wanted his mother's
approval, her blessing. Once he had that, there would be no stopping him
from claiming her as his own.

He glanced over his shoulder at the lifeless woman and said with a satisfied
smirk, "I'll be back with dinner, darling. Won't that be fun?"

Sarah did not respond. She barely heard a thing he said. Thankfully, he did
not pursue an answer, and she continued to stare at the Gryffindor scarf on
top of the table.

The intricately embroidered scarlet and golden lion was visible even in the
dim light. She wondered how the rough material would feel around her
neck.

Her fingers itched towards it, but it was out of reach. Pity, she would not
have hesitated to take her own life.

Hermione returned early after hordes of letters kept disturbing the peace.
She simply could not handle the bombardment of hate mail.

Brenda had marched into the room and commanded Hermione to take the
rest of the day off. She had assured her that she would look after things in
her absence and contact her if necessary.

She found her assistant's bossy nature amusing, but she welcomed the
intervention wholeheartedly on days such as this.
Once she was inside the comfort of her flat, Hermione shut herself off from
the outside world using a few crafty spells but made a mental note to ring
Ginny. Her best friend had called her no less than twenty times and left
numerous messages, even resorting to owl when she did not reply.

Hermione wondered if Ginny knew about the events that transpired

between Ron and her.

She wildly shook her head, making her unruly curls fall haphazardly over
her face and decided on resorting to happier thoughts and treating herself to
a warm uninterrupted bath—she had numerous glasses of red wine before
changing into an oversized t-shirt and cotton shorts.

The distressing events of the day repeatedly washed over her, but she
refused to let them consume her any longer.

Hermione plopped down on the sofa, nursed a tub of chocolate chip ice
cream, and ate a generous helping of the delicious treat. Chocolate could
mend a broken heart and offer temporary release. It was exactly the quick
fix she craved.

She had thought of no one else but Malfoy since he stormed out of her
office.

Did he despise her? Probably.

What was his plan for Skeeter? She hadn't the faintest clue.

Unanswered questions ate at her, but she was too much of a coward at that
moment to call him and ask what happened after her blatant refusal of him.

Onlookers would undoubtedly fault her for picking Ron and dismissing
Malfoy so quickly.

Most would even call her weak for putting up with her ex-boyfriend's
childish and dominating behaviour. Still, no one understood him as she did.
She was not weak, she was tolerant, and that wasn't the best of habits.
Ron's bark was worse than his bite, and he had been there for her countless
times. How could she, with good conscience, pick Malfoy over her past
love? No matter what, she trusted Ron with her life, which would not
change in a hurry.

She knew her somewhat misleading behaviour gave Ron the hope of one
day reconciling, but that simply wouldn't come to pass. They were long
since over in the humblest of ways, and he was a married man, a fact he
clearly did not take seriously enough.

The thought of marriage made her think of Draco once again. She was
faced with the conundrum of having to figure him out.

For all Hermione knew, Malfoy could have by now abandoned all thoughts
of confronting Rita Skeeter after her poor treatment of him and headed
straight home to weather the onslaught of the article, leaving her to fend for
herself.

She was quite capable of handling Skeeter but grew angry at the prospect
and unjustly accused him of being a ruthless arsehole.

Her fingers moved over the barely visible scar she was maimed with. It was
hardly noticeable and had become one with her skin with time. However, it
prickled when least expected, and the unimaginable pain she endured as the
tip of the dagger carved her flesh was still crisp as if it were yesterday.

Could she genuinely forget everything and let Malfoy claim her savagely?

She wanted him to bed her and make her scream his name in intense
pleasure, but would she arise from their union unscathed?

The scar began to burn incessantly, causing Hermione to stare at the

unforgivable word used to label her as a magical outcast.

Though it was healed, the words glowed when darkness came. It prompted
the maddened witch that lived in her mind to come forth and torment her,
reminding her of the sinful deeds she would commit with her nephew.
Pride. Her pride and self-doubt stood in the way of opening up to him.

Greed. For his lingering caresses and feverish kisses.

Lust. To have him stake claim over her body.

Envy. Of others who would take his fancy.

Gluttony. To gorge on him until overwhelmed.

Wrath. Anger towards anyone who would dare question them.

Sloth. To lazily stay naked and entwined in bed.

Hermione ignored the burning sensation. She was far too accustomed to it
to care. She licked the spoon clean and blamed her current state of mind and
disturbing thoughts on The Algorithm and the Ministry she swore to serve
while she held office.
 Chapter 47
Chapter Notes

A huge thank you to everyone who posted a review and for everyone
following! It means so much! 😍

Loads of love to my amazing beta Carrie 😍

There is a fair bit going on. I hope everyone likes the long chapter :)

Enjoy Chapter Forty-Seven!

Stay safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! 🥰

It was quarter to midnight when Skeeter stepped into the glass-encased lift
that would take her to the penthouse flat in one of the more prominent parts
of Muggle London.

The new Editor in Chief of The Daily Prophet liked to splurge and chose to
live an extravagant lifestyle, and that suited her fine as long as he was
willing to share the spoils of war.

She had a thick glossy magazine trapped under her arm and tapped her
heeled foot impatiently as the lift headed towards the desired floor.

The Chief Editor, Simon McGregor, was of Irish descent and cut from a
different cloth than his predecessor, Barnabas Cuffe.

Cuffe was notoriously known for lacking journalistic integrity, but he was
somewhat respected for running a tight ship though he favoured sales more
than factual accuracy.

On the other hand, Simon valued a good story with accurate information. To
accomplish such a tumultuous task, he had many Ministry workers and St
Mungos Healers on his payroll willing to let a few bits of information slip
when needed. Still, he was scandalously known for allowing Rita Skeeter to
bend his ear in whichever way she pleased to get her way. It was speculated
that exchanging sexual favours kept both parties satisfied.

He was a childless widower with a neatly cropped head of greying hair that
he diligently dyed every week with a well-maintained beard and moustache
that sat above fleshy lips.

Simon was of a generous build and taller than most men. He had been a
handsome man in his youth. Still, the blatant favouritism he treated Rita
Skeeter with had everyone suspecting a relationship between the two.

He often indulged in a glass of scotch every evening after a gruelling day's

work, but he chose to keep the entire bottle close on this particular night.

The Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had paid him a discreet visit,
and it was certainly not to check on his wellbeing.

Simon took a long, gratifying sip of the smoky liquid and thought back to
the Minister's short but impactful visit.

Not that he hadn't expected one after reading through Rita's article that
painted Hermione Granger unfavourably, yet he gave his approval for the
scandalous story to go to print. Simon was glad he ran the front-page story
despite Kingsley's stern words.

They had a record number of sales prompting Rita to ask for a substantial
increment for her trouble. He had agreed, of course. Skeeter and he had an
understanding of sorts.

Earlier that day.

Simon glanced at the enormous fireplace that served as the Floo network in
his office.

The usually dormant hearth showed signs of life, and Simon hurriedly rose
to his feet as none other than Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped out of the wide
ashen area that connected the two offices.

The busy Minister hardly ever visited except when peeved. Simon felt a
tightening in his chest but brushed it off and gave the commanding man in
the room his undivided attention.

Kingsley straightened to his full height, dusted the remnants of particles off
his robes and fixed him with a murderous glare.

The Minister was far from pleased and was not bothered in the slightest to
hide his displeasure.

"Good morning, Minister. What can I do for you on this fine day?" Simon
swallowed hard and feebly greeted with a slight stutter cowering in the
presence of the once Auror and intimidating man.

Kingsley stared him down, repulsed by his behaviour and hissed, "Stop
your pathetic arse kissing."

Simon held his tongue, sank slowly back into his chair, and waited for the
bombardment of abuse that was about to be hurled his way. Beads of sweat
gathered on his upper lip, but he hurriedly wiped his forehead and then lip
with his handkerchief and braced himself.

Kingsley twirled his wand and paced around the room. He stopped to pick
up a copy of the morning paper and pursed his lips in annoyance, yet he
inquired in a casual tone, “Do you like your job, McGregor?"

Simon hesitated, not quite knowing how to respond. Before replying, he

took a deep breath and almost squeaked, "Yes, sir."

"That's good to hear," Kingsley said with faux politeness that nearly put
Simon at ease, but he should have known it was too good to be true.

The Minister followed up with a quick and decisive nod, “I won't take much
of your time.” Crimson and gold sparks flew out of his wand, igniting fear
in the pits of Simon's being. His fingers edged towards his wand, but he
could hardly attack the Minister of Magic and live to tell the tale.
Kingsley caught the slight movement of the perspiring man out of the
corner of his eye and almost laughed. Did the idiot believe he even stood a
chance?

He took the comfortable seat meant for visitors and leaned back before
bringing his hands together and making his reason for visit abundantly
clear, "I expect an apology to Hermione by Skeeter and a retraction of the
biased lies that were printed today."

Kingsley turned towards the nervously twitching man and glared sternly,
"Do I make myself clear?" He was in no mood to negotiate or listen to
pitiful excuses.

Simon almost breathed a sigh of relief. He flinched and nodded without a

moment's pause, "Of course, Minister. I will personally see to it."

His satisfactory answer caused Kingsley to smirk. Even so, he gave a subtle
warning, "See that you do, or I'll be paying you another visit soon."

He slowly got to his feet and turned his back purposely on the dishevelled
Chief Editor of The Daily Prophet and bid the snivelling man a fond
farewell, "Good day, Simon. I hope in the future you will keep your wit
intact before granting permission for such obnoxious pieces to see the light
of day."

Simon could not gather enough words to form any sensible retort. Instead,
he settled for staring at the Minister’s back as he stepped into the Floo
network once again and disappeared in a puff of dark green smoke.

Whatever happened to freedom of the press? He thought despondently.

He was brought back to the present by an impatient heel tapping on the

floor and a womanly fragrance invading his space. Skeeter had clearly let
herself in.

His throat was parched, so he tossed back the drink in his hand and once
again reached for the decanter and poured himself a hefty shot.
Pointing it in the direction of the woman in the room, he stated with a deep
frown etched onto his face, "Your little stunt has landed me in hot water
with the Minister of Magic."

Rita stifled a laugh. She cocked her head to the side and inquired almost
innocently, "How so?"

Simon sneered, "Don't act so bloody naive, Rita. You knew exactly what
you were getting us into." He further enlightened her with a sarcastic snort,
"He does not take kindly to crude remarks about his beloved
Undersecretary."

Skeeter grinned in her most flattering manner. She brought the magazine
from under her arm and slammed the fresh copy of Witch Weekly Magazine
down on the table. The abrupt action caused parchment and other knick-
knacks scattered across the table to raise a couple of inches into the air and
fall back down haphazardly. It was the first copy, hot right off the press.

Simon pulled the publication towards him and raised a quizzical brow while
Skeeter leaned forward with a smug expression displaying her jiggling
bosom for him to ogle.

He tore his gaze away from her prominent cleavage and asked in a strained
voice, "What's all this?"

Skeeter encouraged, "Go on. Have a read.”

<<-- The Malfoy Heir Returns -->>

Presumed dead for years, Draco Lucius Malfoy, redeemed one time Death
Eater, speaks frankly of the horrors of his past, his enlightening journey
to finding inner peace and life among the Buddhist monks who made it
possible in our phenomenal article. In this exclusive tell-all interview with
Rita Skeeter, hear his thoughts on his recent engagement to prudish
Undersecretary, Hermione Jean Granger.

The cover photograph was a black and white embossed closeup of Malfoy
looking directly at the camera, seeming mysterious and aloof but radiating
arrogance with his smouldering gaze and a flawless slight smile.

Skeeter initially had reservations about making the deadline since the
editing of the riveting story could not be rushed. It was a unique piece and
one that would not grace their presence ever again.

She would have published it in next week's issue if push came to shove
despite her immense impatience.

Unlike the Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly Magazine ran an exclusive edition
once a week, but once she had gotten down to it, Rita realised that the
whole interview had required minor tweaks and edits. She kept the raw
emotions and points of anguish and darkness Malfoy took delight in
emphasising.

Simon read through the highlighted points of the interview in wide-eyed

shock, and once he was done, he asked in complete awe of the woman
before him, "This is…. umm, brilliant. But how in the world did you
manage to get Malfoy to agree to this?"

Skeeter adapted a profound sense of smugness and smiled devilishly,

"Malfoy threw himself under the bus to save his precious fiancé's
reputation." She further explained in giddy happiness, "I knew Hermione
would not be able to stand being labelled a gold digger. I purposely targeted
her to lure Malfoy out.”

She dragged her words, “It worked like a charm."

He massaged the bridge of his nose and scolded, "Must you call Granger
prudish?"

Rita giggled, "Old habits die hard, I'm afraid."

Simon chuckled. She never failed to amaze him. Her sheer tenacity was to
be admired on some level, even though her work ethic was shoddy at best.

He remembered the Minister's demands and hoped that it would not put a
damper on the current mood, "This is all well and good, but Shacklebolt
demands an apology from you and retraction of today's story."

Rita laughed; her peals of laughter echoed through the lavishly furnished
flat. She expressed with resounding firmness, "Merlin, I'll give it to him! I
will apologise to the prissy twit when I send her a copy of the magazine."

She clutched the weekly magazine tightly to her chest in an elevated state of
euphoria and proclaimed, "This is precisely what I was after, and I got
exactly what I wanted!" She knew Malfoy did not need to comply, but he
did for whatever reason and to her utter delight.

Skeeter put the precious magazine aside, took the tumbler from Russell's
grasp and tossed the contents back before sensually pulling down the zip of
her velvet dress and stepping out of it.

Standing in nothing but black sheer lace knickers and bra to match, Rita
fanned herself with her fingers and pouted innocuously, "Hmm, is it hot in
here?"

Simon felt his cock spring to life. Despite his age, he found himself wholly
aroused but fought his carnal urges and gritted out, "That is not going to
work."

Skeeter sensually strode towards him, sat across him, making sure to rub
her lace-covered cunt over his sheathed penis and drawled, "Oh, I think it
will."

She licked his bottom lip and spoke in a babyish voice that caressed the
shell of his ear, "Have I been a bad girl?

Simon swallowed hard, and his hands acted on their own to cup her sizable
breasts. He took a pebbled nipple in his mouth and bit down on the eager
nub garnering a low groan from the witch on his lap grinding on his fully
hardened appendage.

Skeeter managed to roughly pull out his belt and thrust it into his hands
with some difficulty. Her eyes sparkled brightly, and she asked coyly,
“Maybe you should punish me.”

Simon knew his weak resolve hung by a thread. It crumbled around him
like stale biscuits. He grabbed a fistful of her blonde hair and yanked her
head back, and crushed her lips with his.

He would leave his mark on her creamy smooth arse tonight. She knew of
every single one of his perversions and delighted in catering to every one of
them.

The next day.

Astoria worked out religiously. She was not under any false impression that
she would survive the curse placed upon her ancestor, but that did not
dampen her determination to keep her body in pristine condition.

She vigorously swam lengths in their modest-sized swimming pool, cutting

effortlessly through the water like a well-oiled machine, not stopping until
the ache in her leg prompted her to.

It was indeed a lovely day. Though it was not particularly sunny and barely
seven am, the trees swayed in the gentle wind, and the happy chirping of
birds was audible among the rustling and bustling of leaves.

Thinking that she had enough exercise for the day, she gracefully hoisted
herself up from the pool. She made her way to the recliner where a dry
towel lay awaiting her return, and a small table held a hot plate of breakfast,
a mug of freshly brewed coffee and the latest edition of The Witch Weekly
Magazine.

She grabbed the towel and wiped herself off before taking the mug between
her cold fingers and feeling the welcome heat seep into her skin. Draining
the almost scalding liquid, she carefully set it down, laid back, slipped her
sunglasses on, and reached for the overturned publication with its back page
and contents to her.

Astoria flipped it over and almost dropped it as Draco’s face stared right at
her. His eyes bore into hers, causing her heart rate to hasten, and she could
not quite fathom what possessed him to agree to such an interview.

It was unlike him and entirely out of character. She worried about how
Skeeter had twisted his arm into agreeing.

Her eager eyes roved over the cover taking in every minute detail. She
moved her fingers lightly over his face, lingering on his lips and prominent
jawline.

Astoria took in the intricate details before flicking it open and gorging on
the content within. She was not pleased by how he had addressed his forced
courtship with Hermione nor the words he had used to describe a woman he
loathed in the past but brushed it off as a few white lies he would have said
to appease the general public.

She stomached the gut-wrenching answers and grew exceedingly nervous at

the mention of her name. Astoria braced herself for Draco’s answers
regarding their non-existent relationship. Still, he had handled it tactfully,
and she hung onto the meaningful words— Astoria is one of my oldest and
dearest friends. She will always have a special place in my heart. Those
simple words had a profound impact on her.

An overwhelming surge of happiness engulfed her. She embraced his words

and mistook it to mean that he harboured hidden feelings for her. Astoria
was certain Draco would willingly give himself to her in her deluded mind,
and they would live happily until she succumbed to her eventual fate.

They would have a beautiful child that mirrored his father in every way.
She would lovingly name their son Scorpius, and even in her absence,
Draco would never be alone. Many a night, she would ponder such blissful
thoughts and relish in the delight they brought her.
His marriage to Granger was duty-bound. There was no iota of love or
affection between them, and Astoria was more than convinced Draco
deserved a loving, doting wife to return home to after a tyring day's work as
apparently an Auror. He truly was renouncing the old ways and embracing
some rather questionable new ones.

She had almost given up on their happy ending, but his loving words gave
her such hope.

Astoria rose elegantly as her upbringing dedicated and walked towards

Greengrass Manor with newfound resolve and her heart bursting with joy.

A flash of lightning illuminated the skies, and a deep growl of thunder

followed, making her shudder. She glanced at the dark clouds laden with
raindrops looming over the gardens and hastened her footsteps.

Drops of water chased after each other and ran down the windows. A
sudden rumble of thunder shook the frames and caused the slumbering
witch to crack open her eyes slightly to assess the dark surroundings.

Hermione slept fretfully, given the circumstances. Even though the self-
inflicted wound was completely healed, a lingering tingle remained, and it
was most uncomfortable.

Her mind was a jumbled mess of uncertainty. She had stayed up late into
the night consuming glass after glass of warm milk as a solution for her
insomnia while obsessing over Draco and what possible action he would
pursue.

The alarm blared. Hermione turned and shut it off before it gave her a
splitting headache. She pushed the duvet off her body, and stared at the
ceiling and random thoughts of what a new day would bring popped into
her mind.

Would the barrage of hate mail accusing her of being a traitor to the
wizarding world for agreeing to wed a Death Eater and heinous comments
about her selfish desire to inherit her husband's vast wealth continue to dog
her every step?

It was inevitable that she and Malfoy would cross paths considering the
proximity of their departments and jobs. She felt a shiver shoot down her
spine at having to face him after what transpired yesterday.

Hermione sighed. If she were going to mope around thinking about

countless different scenarios, she would undoubtedly be late for work, and
there were more than a few urgent matters that needed her immediate
attention.

Gathering her strength, she pushed herself off the bed, dislodged the
material of her shorts that were stuck between her arse cheeks and
sluggishly dragged her feet to the bathroom.

Once there, Hermione stared at her reflection in the mirror. She was pleased
with what you saw for the most part.

How far had she come since her days at Hogwarts? She felt a sense of
immense pride in her accomplishments, which gave her the confidence to
go forward and ignore the ramblings of a few disgruntled individuals.

In a secluded part of London

The nervous man moved the longish strands of hair off the disfigured side
of his face and stared out of the window and the falling drops of rain.

As a child, he enjoyed jumping in puddles and playing in the mud as any

child would, but his strict mother would reprimand him severely with a
cane for acting like a roguish Muggle child unbefitting of their noble birth.

She had confided once while brushing her long auburn hair that it was her
greatest desire at the time to commit him to an orphanage. Still, she decided
against it, hoping that his magical abilities would manifest later.
Those abilities never came much to his dismay. He thought about the
woman who gave birth to him with disgust. Yet, even years after her death,
he sought her ardent approval.

Her unimaginably cruel acts towards him were unwarranted, especially

when all he wanted was her love and acceptance.

He would have been better off in an orphanage than suffering as he did at

the hands of a ruthless woman who took out her intense psychological
issues on her only child, scarring and maiming him as she saw fit.

The heavy downpour pelting against his windows caused him to brush away
thoughts of his mother and think of the three women he laid to rest. He had
done them a kindness by sparing them a prolonged stay in a horribly unfair
world.

They were so innocent and beautiful with long flowing red hair and smooth
skin to touch except Sarah, he thought fondly. She was a spirited
Gryffindor, unlike the other three who belonged to Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw
and Slytherin.

He dreaded going to work, preferring to instead lay with his beloved and
make sweet love till the rains passed, but it would be a luxury he would
have to forgo.

Sitting back down at the workbench nursing a steaming cup of tea, he set to
work once again on the final pendant of the owl clutching an intricately
carved wand. He was a self-taught jewellery maker who excelled at the
craft.

He remembered a painful incident when he was fifteen where he had slaved

for days over a similar piece and presented it to his mother on her birthday.
She had taken one look at it, snatched it out of his hand and thrown it in the
fireplace while he watched in horror as the flames swallowed the pendant
whole.

They said it was his calling card, but the small trinket was deeply personal
to him and carried a profound meaning.
The man diligently polished the surface and moulded the wand, carving the
little groves to match the others he had gifted the women. He looked across
the room and stared at the stuffed greyish owl on the mantlepiece that
served his mother.

It was a cruel beast that pounced on him when least expected, sinking its
talons into his tender skin as he shrieked in pain while covered in blood, but
his mother would tenderly stroke the bird's feathers, ignoring his pleas for
help and treat the owl with much love and respect.

The creature and his mother’s precious wand gave him the inspiration for
the pendant.

He had taken great pleasure in wringing the filthy bird's neck at the first
opportune moment.

Soon he would stop the madness and settle down with Sarah. After all, she
was his purpose for living.

An ear-piercing scream shattered the peace.

Hermione opted for a lovely red dress with small cap sleeves that oozed
confidence.

She completed the outfit with a pair of treacherously high black heels and
walked into the living room, attaching a single diamond stud to each ear.

Her stomach rumbled with slight pangs of hunger. She glanced at her
watch, decided she had time for a spot of breakfast and threw the fridge
door open.

While studying the contents to make a quick sandwich, out of the corner of
her eye, she caught sight of the usual Daily Prophet rolled up neatly and
along with it a sleek magazine inside a plastic casing.

Thinking it was incredibly odd since she did not subscribe to magazines of
any sort, Hermione forgot the task at hand and headed straight for the table
where the intruding magazine lay.

A sealed envelope grabbed her keen interest. She snatched it off the table
and stared at her name written on the front in perfect cursive script.

Hermione took a deep breath and opened it carefully not to damage the
letter. She gingerly took it out and read the contents growing exceedingly
surprised and annoyed with each passing word.

My dearest Hermione,

I beg your forgiveness for my published article in yesterday's Daily

Prophet. We will retract the story and issue a formal apology. It was
never my intention in the slightest to slander your image or cause you any
harm. Please accept my humble apology.

P.S - Your precious reputation is safe. Malfoy came through on your

behalf. You have bagged a winner—my warmest wishes for a happy
married life.

Skeeter made Malfoy seem like a prize to be won at a fair.

Hermione crumpled the perfumed-scented paper that contained Skeeter's

neatly written words in anger and tossed the small paper ball aside.

The audacity!

She bared her teeth and hissed, "Skeeter, you lying bitch."

The absolute gall of the woman to wish them well on their marriage, but
what did she mean by Malfoy came through on your behalf?

He had done diddly squat as far as she was concerned. Something was
definitely amiss.

Her answer came swiftly as she glanced at the magazine, and her eyes
widened in utter disbelief. She stumbled on her high heels and fell into the
nearest chair with the magazine clutched tightly in her hands.
She was unable to tear her gaze away from the front page. The black and
white image of the brooding, sexy man who adorned the cover was
dangerously handsome and, most, notably her intended and future husband.

What in the name of Merlin's saggy left testicle had he gone and done?

Hermione hurriedly flipped through the pages of the magazine. She passed
countless articles on hair treatment, facial remedies, and fashion choices for
the career-driven witch before stopping at the story that caused her mind to
go blank of any useful thoughts or speech.

She leaned back dumbfounded by what he had done and started to avidly
read without stopping, only going back to reread some answers that struck a
distinctive chord with her.

The emotion behind his honest declaration was plain to see. She could
practically hear his husky voice as the printed words rolled off his velvety
tongue.

His answers when asked about her. Merlin!

She simply could not comprehend them. The meaning at the back of them
spoke volumes to her, and at that exact moment, she wanted to run to
wherever he might be, throw her arms around him, nestle into his warmth
and smother him with kisses. It seemed surreal and unthinkable.

She blushed deeply at his response to the question of whether they had been
intimate.

Did he genuinely believe his words, or were they perfectly articulated for
Skeeter's benefit, or worse had the unscrupulous reporter twisted his words
and printed a version of her making?

Nonetheless, Hermione choked back a sob and fought the stubborn tears
that threatened to streak her perfectly made-up face.

Not in a million years did she expect a sacrifice of this magnitude.

She thought back to how lonely and dejected Draco seemed in his final year
at Hogwarts.

He had suffered from the weight of the world on his young shoulders, no
wonder he looked ready to throw himself off the highest tower.

With her head in her hands, Hermione wept for his intense suffering and
how he spoke so flatteringly about her. Her heart ached with the
overwhelming need to soothe his pain.

Who was this man coming to her rescue? He could not possibly be the
Draco Malfoy she knew and despised.

Her stomach knotted unpleasantly, and she could not subdue the nervous
flutter within.

Draco had been up for hours, and abandoning the usual workout routine, he
had gone for a much-needed walk around the property with Max to clear his
head.

The eager Alsatian chased the butterflies and barked at the many birds that
burst into song to signify a blissful morning.

Sleep had not come easily, mainly due to his thoughts drifting towards
Granger. He wondered incessantly how she was fairing in the face of the
abuse she received, but without knowing what happened after he left her
office, he was reluctant to call in case Weasley answered.

It wasn’t a setting that sat too well with him. Her refusal to accept Weasley
for being a boorish lout was infuriating.

He had been staring at the sky in deep thought when a single drop of rain
fell onto his cheek and slid off the edge of his chiselled chin. The skies
darkened, and sudden flashes of light travelled through the clouds.

Draco whistled impatiently for Max, who came running towards him at
breakneck speed with what looked remarkably like a dead rodent dangling
from his mouth.

His long fingers slipped under Max's collar almost instantly, and he
apparated them both without hesitation inside the comfort of the Manor.

They made it just in time as the heavens opened and unleashed their
onslaught over the vast grounds. Max dropped the unmoving rat onto
Narcissa’s expensive Persian carpet, and Draco grimaced. His mother
would not take kindly to blood on her precious carpet.

His thoughts went back to Granger bleeding and writhing in agonising pain
on their living room floor while his aunt loomed over her with a blood-
stained dagger. Nobody seemed to care then.

With a quick wave of his wand, the unsightly creature disappeared, much to
Max's dismay.

Another faint roar of thunder echoed through the Manor, causing the many
paintings that hung on the walls to shake and tremble. It was then Draco
decided on resorting to his training room for meditation.

Steady water beads chased after each other and ran down the centuries-old
window. He always enjoyed the rain. It was childish, but to him, it meant
the washing away of dirt and grime that lingered in the drains and gutters
that he could not reach.

Even in China, he would look forward to the monsoon season and took
great delight in watching the village children stomping around in muddy
puddles and sending handmade paper boats down the small streams that
formed.

The soft pitter-patter of raindrops falling onto the ground could be heard
through the seemingly quiet Manor, and Draco synchronised his breathing
to match his environment.

After a while, he opened his eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath. He felt
a profound sense of calmness surrounding him.
Getting to his feet from his cross-legged position, he pulled at the
drawstring on his bottoms to loosen it while he strode towards the ensuite.

The lukewarm beads of water fell chaotically over his form, coating his
pectoral muscles and hardened stomach area as they travelled down his firm
thighs and softened cock.

Draco leaned into the spray and closed his eyes to enjoy that gratifying
feeling of cleansing oneself. In his youth, he was pretty partial to sex in the
shower and had indulged in his fantasy often with Renee, his French piano
teacher's older daughter.

He could not help but wonder if Granger would entertain the idea. Whether
it was something, she would be a willing participant in.

Oh, how he would welcome her on her knees before him, taking his shaft in
her mouth while the overhead shower cascaded a stream of water over her
naked body. He enticingly imagined tiny drops of water hanging onto her
pebbled nipples as he took each rosy bud between his teeth and twirled his
tongue around them.

A groan of want tore out of his lips. His illicit thoughts caused his hands to
move on their own to palm his thick appendage and gently caress it. Before
long, Draco faced a raging hard-on and the imminent desire to fuck Granger
into the smooth tiled cubicle wall and fill her with his seed.

His fingers moved with practised ease, working his manhood to climax. He
needed to release the pent-up tension in his body, but more importantly, he
needed Granger.

Covered head to toe with water, Draco felt the intense second his bollocks
raptured, and thick spurts of semen burst forth, painting his cockhead
completely. One hand on his cock, the other slammed palm down into the
wall to steady himself.

His breathing hastened, but he milked his dick dry of every last drop before
closing his eyes and smiling in satisfaction.
In Hawaii, he would make his intentions wholly clear and claim her if she
was willing. It seemed the ideal location to commit the act that loomed over
them every second they were alone.

He would let his insecurities about sex fade away and rely on his carnal
urges and instincts.

Ron walked into the office in less than high spirits. His mind was riddled
with images of Hermione snogging Malfoy, and his short marriage was
falling apart thanks in part to his insensitive behaviour.

Despite his efforts to make polite conversation with his wife, she had
snubbed his efforts, ignored his existence and left without so much as a
goodbye.

He found his secretary reading Witch Weekly Magazine with a sappy

expression and Malfoy's pointy mug sprawled across the entire front page.
The slimy git was everywhere, but it piqued his interest as to why the ferret
was such a hot topic. Without fair warning, he grabbed the issue right of her
hands and started to read.

She protested half-heartedly and settled instead to watch Ron’s reaction

intently.

His temper flared as he took in the answers, and it spiralled out of control
when he came to the section where Draco had labelled him a bumbling
Buffoon.

Fucking Slytherin bastard.

He closed the magazine shut with such force, causing Jane to flinch and
tossed the copy in the bin before walking purposely into his office and
closing the door behind him with a loud thud.

Jane waited until she was absolutely sure her boss wouldn't return and
fished the discarded publication and shoved it quickly into her drawer for
safekeeping.
She somewhat understood Ron's outburst and sympathised with the man's
predicament.

Hermione slipped on dark shades to cover her red-rimmed eyes. She had
bawled her eyes out at Malfoy’s intense suffering, and the crushing
expectations society inflicted upon her melted away into nothingness.

She could not bring herself to believe Malfoy had done what he did. Was he
that committed to right the wrongs inflicted upon her by him?

This was an unprecedented turn of events that Hermione never saw

coming. He was making her feel things she had never felt before.

No! She could not afford to let her guard down around him. At least, not
yet!

Hermione had simply assumed Malfoy would go down to the Prophet and
have a few harsh words with Skeeter, maybe even attempt to scare her a bit
but never comply with the reporter's unfair request to bring out the
skeletons that lay hidden in his closet.

She was used to the glances that came her way and whispers directed at her.
Still holding her head high, Hermione took the lift and pressed her preferred
floor. Somehow, Malfoy's interview gave her an elevated boost of
confidence.

Hermione pushed the glass doors and found Brenda seated at her desk with
a smirk plastered onto her face.

She quoted happily as her boss came close, "What's not to like she's…."

Hermione tried to grab the copy, but Brenda giggled and moved it well out
of reach.

"Haha, very funny, Brenda," Hermione quipped. Her mood had improved
drastically.
Brenda mused, "He sounds like he's halfway in love with you already. The
fucking simp."

Hermione rolled her eyes and greeted with dripping sarcasm, "Good
morning. Any messages?"

Brenda winked, "You have a delivery from someone special."

Her face contorted unpleasantly, "There's also more delightful mail."

Hermione smiled and showed a blatant sense of indifference, "Burn them

for me, will you?"

She added after a pause, "Oh, keep a few of the interesting ones."

Brenda applauded and gushed, "That's the spirit. Welcome back."

Hermione walked into her office, and an extravagant bouquet of white roses
caught her immediate attention. It was a beautiful arrangement of flowers.
She fetched the tiny card and read the words inside.

My darling,

You mean the world to me

Yours always,

Ron :)

He had childishly drawn a small happy face next to his name. Hermione
sighed, he simply would not give up, and it was becoming exceedingly
tiresome.

She carefully took a long stem rose with thorns still intact out of the
arrangement and smelt the sweet fragrance in deep thought about how
simple but empty her life would have been if she stayed with Ron.

Malfoy was destined to shatter the peace and drag her into a whirlwind of
emotions that neither of them could contain.
Draco walked into the foyer in crisp black robes and cheery disposition
expecting to find his mother and Bernard engaged in a lively conversation
over a game of chess or breakfast but was sorely disappointed by what
greeted him.

His mother ignored his presence entirely and continued to read the booklet
in her grasp. Bernard was bent over with a serious expression reading a
copy of Witch Weekly Magazine, and stretched across the front page was
his likeness.

In his moment of disclosing intimate details, he had forgotten that his

mother would read the interview. Draco hoped she would not be too
appalled by his answers.

Making sure not to alert the adults in the room to his presence, Draco
discreetly walked over to where his mother was seated and stood behind the
chair. He peered over her shoulder and smirked, "I do look quite good, if I
do say so myself."

"Merlin, you gave me a fright," Narcissa gasped, clutching her chest.

Bernard chuckled, "This is most interesting."

Draco looked over to where an unfamiliar sight caught his attention. By the
look of it, hundreds of letters had arrived in a matter of hours, along with
rosy-coloured envelopes and sweet, decadent scents that made him
involuntarily move in their direction.

There was a massive box of chocolates that he felt compelled to open. An

intense hunger to gorge on what lay within consumed him, and he
impatiently tore at the stylish gift wrapping and ribbon, opened the box and
with sufficient greed, pulled out a stubborn chocolate square that was
wedged into a space.

He felt his mouth water with the overwhelming need to devour the treat.
Still, He did not get very far since Narcissa appeared promptly at his side
and smacked his hand away, causing the diamond-shaped treat to fall
unceremoniously to the ground.

"Have you lost all good sense? These are probably laced with love potions
and other worrying things to cause strong infatuations," she scolded with an
anxious face and eyed the box with disgust.

Draco exhaled and wondered why his mother was acting so poorly. He
shook his head slowly and tried to break himself free from the feeling of
disorientation that clouded his senses.

Bernard cautiously picked up a barely open envelope and pulled out a

picture of a scantily clad beautiful woman posing proactively. The woman
was a stunner and evidently flexible.

He turned it at angles and smirked, "She's not bad, Draco. Quite

appealing."

Narcissa threw him an utter look of abhorrence and slapped the hand
holding the illicit picture with more force than necessary. The picture fell to
the floor, and Max pounced on it and ripped it to shreds.

Draco composed himself and picked up a rose-scented letter. He took a

deep breath of the enticing fragrance, looked up from a letter he was
reading and mused, "Donna from Surrey believes I have a better future with
her and that I should break off my engagement to Granger and rush to her
side."

Next, he leafed through the letters and held up a picture of a buxom blonde
in a tight-fitting bodycon dress and inquired candidly, “Would you prefer
her as a daughter-in-law, mother?”

Bernard let out a hearty chuckle, and Draco followed suit, but Narcissa was
far from amused.

She graced the laughing men with a look of intense disapproval and rubbed
the bridge of her nose in exasperation, "This is no laughing matter. How can
you both take this so lightly?"
"Mother, calm yourself. It is rather hilarious," Draco argued, and Bernard
weighed in with a distinctive nod, "The boy is right, Cissy. Do not work
yourself up over these meaningless issues."

Narcissa sat down, her face drawn and distraught. She implored, "Why
would you speak so frankly about all you endured?"

Draco sighed and smiled slightly. It was not his intention to upset his
beloved mother, so he knelt at her feet, took her hands in his and simply
said, "I did it for Granger."

Narcissa fixed with a thoroughly bemused look. Her blue eyes shone with
uncertainty. What did he mean?

He shuffled through his thoughts and explained best he could about the
events that led to the interview's publication and how it was perhaps a
blessing in disguise.

"That bloody wretch!" Narcissa thundered after Draco concluded his

explanation of Rita Skeeter’s dubious plan and intent.

Draco’s lips curved into a smile, and he reassured with a firmness to his
tone that meant business, "It is done. She will no longer bother Granger or
face my wrath."

His features contorted and his face darkened, "I have made it clear that any
further defamation will not be tolerated."

Bernard patted him enthusiastically on the shoulder with an approving nod,

"Good man. I'm sure Hermione can handle Skeeter, but that might result in
unfavourable backlash towards the Ministry."

Draco could not agree more. He emphasised with determination, "Exactly!

It was a small sacrifice on my part and one I gladly made."

Narcissa rose gracefully, cupped her beloved son's face and gazed upon him
lovingly, "I am so proud of you, Draco. You continue to amaze me since
your return."
He covered her right hand with his own and said, "I must leave, or I’ll be
late for Auror training. Have a good day, mother."

Bernard came to stand by Narcissa. He put his arm around her shoulder and
gave it a slight squeeze. She leaned into his touch and watched in pleasant
surprise as the once arrogant youth left the comfort and wealth of Malfoy
Manor to earn a minimum wage.

Hermione pushed her spectacles further up her nose and concentrated hard
on the document in front of her. New letters kept coming, but she paid them
no mind whatsoever. Malfoy's interview was causing quite the stir far worse
than the slandering article the previous day.

Her earlier confidence waned.

Were people so deluded in their thinking that they thought she was useless
and unworthy of the Malfoy heir?

Why? Because of blood status?

Some had gone as far as to attack her physical attributes, calling her a vast
number of vile things but mixed with the backlash were caring positive
feedback wishing them well and a bright future.

There was one sealed black envelope that Brenda had brought to her with
an air of suspicion and a face shrouded with unrest. She did not dare to
touch it.

She suggested asking Michael, Harry or even Malfoy to assist, but

Hermione pacified her. After all, she was quite capable and had astounding
skills second to none of an Auror.

They cautiously opened it together using their wands, and the letter
presented itself without hassle, but the contents within made Hermione's
blood run cold. Whoever wrote it accused her of tarnishing a centuries-old
bloodline and that dire consequences awaited her should she carry forth
with the union.
Her thoughts went at once to her poor Muggle parents. Would this unhinged
group of purebred fanatics target them?

Brenda urged her to hand over the letter to Harry. The language used was of
a learned person. It was not the scribblings of a simple-minded fool, but it
was not the words of warning that alarmed her. It was the unmistakable
stamp of the Dark Mark embedded into the wax seal.

She had received plenty of threats before, but the forbidding mark had
branded none. Malfoy's return made it easy to assume that their unlikely
pairing caused certain determined underground groups to make their
presence known.

“Well, are you going to hand it over?” Brenda eyed the letter and solemnly
pressed in concern.

Hermione shook her head. It was hardly necessary. There were no spells or
hexes as such placed on the letter. If so, it would have already been detected
before ever making it to her by the Ministry's extremely component Mail
Room handlers.

She informed her stunned assistant, “I do not think it’s necessary. It's
obviously the work of a desperate copycat bastard trying his level best to
intimidate me by implying the involvement of Voldemort.”

Brenda pursed her lips, but she was not convinced. The letter looked
foreboding, and it did not sit well with her at all. She feared for her boss's
safety.

While Malfoy's actions had been noble, they had quite the reverse effect on
a society that still held extreme prejudice against those of her birth.

So caught up in her thoughts, Hermione barely heard the knock on the door
or its opening.

Harry poked his head in and smiled, "Busy?"

Hermione came back to her senses and frowned, "Go away, Potter."
Harry held up a peace offering, "I have chocolate. It's your favourite." He
knew her weakness for milk chocolate. Unlike the rest of them, she
preferred the delicate blend of milk and cocoa without the addition of nuts,
raisins, and other things.

Showing a level of indifference, Hermione waved him in, "Fine! Come in."

Harry strode in with a happy smile and spotted the large bouquet of white
roses now resting in a vase. He pointed at them and raised a brow, "From
Ron?"

Hermione ignored his presence but nodded in reply and went back to
reading the massive proposal Stacy from logistics saw fit to burden her with
for the rest of the day.

The annoying cow was probably out for revenge since she harboured
feelings for Malfoy.

Harry came straight to the point, "Look, I'm sorry about yesterday."

Hermione regarded him with a curious expression as if to say really?

Instead, she voiced her thoughts, "Are you truly sorry for siding with
Ron?"

Harry countered without hesitation, "Of course, I am. Ron should never
have behaved that way, and I'm sorry for encouraging him." They had been
entirely out of line in their treatment of her. At times it was easy to forget
that neither Hermione nor Malfoy was entirely at fault.

Hermione scowled, "Ron will never change. I'm so tired of his childish
outbursts and crude comments." Yet she put up with them, forcing him to
continue his brazen behaviour.

Harry shrugged and argued, "I guess, but he is worried about you. It is
Malfoy, Hermione. Ron has good reason to be concerned."

Hermione almost screamed, "You think I don't know that? But that doesn't
give him the right to control my life or speak to me like I'm some two-bit
slut."

Harry willed his spirited best friend to remain calm, "You are absolutely
right."

Hermione looked purposefully away and said slowly, "Besides, Draco is

umm, different, but, still, it's like I've been sucked into an alternate universe
where Malfoy is a decent human being capable of compassion."

She confessed in anguish, and Harry truly sympathised with her

predicament, "I don't want to have these feelings for him."

Harry raised a brow and teased in an effort to lighten the mood, "Feelings,
huh? Like, err, love?" Surely, it was not love? Malfoy had not been among
them long enough for such strong feelings to develop.

Hermione started to laugh. It was wholly unconvincing, though she tried her
best to throw Harry off, "Merlin, no! It's purely physical."

"Ugh, I wish you hadn't said that," Harry complained.

Hermione pulled the enormous bar of chocolate towards her, tore the
expensive wrapping open and broke off a sizable square of pure chocolate.
She tossed it into her mouth before saying, "I honestly can't wait for
Hawaii. Ginny will love it too. It would be a welcome change to get far
away from this madness."

Harry grew thoughtful, "Ginny had a go at Ron. He almost cried." Being the
youngest in a family of seven and the only girl, his wife was not afraid to
speak her mind even if her harsh words were directed at her siblings.

Ginny tolerated no-nonsense and had little to no patience for Ron's

overbearing childish self.

He thought back to how vicious and to the point his beloved wife had been.

Ginny opened the front door and looked bemused as her husband and
brother strode in, smelling faintly of Firewhiskey.
She looked behind them and outside before closing the door behind her and
raising a brow, "Umm, where is Hermione? Didn't she come with you?" She
had been expecting to have a chat face to face since Hermione was being
elusive and entertained no calls. It was an annoying character trait of her
best friend.

Ron gritted out in annoyance, "Probably snogging Malfoy in some dark

Ministry corner."

Ginny crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes. The
resemblance to Molly was uncanny, "Excuse me? What the heck have you
two done?"

Harry moved well out of harm's way and offered, "I'll let you take this one,
mate."

Ron swallowed hard and hissed out of the corner of his mouth, "Coward."

Once Ron had explained his version of the events that took place, a lengthy
argument resulted between brother and sister, with Ginny siding firmly with
Hermione and blatantly accusing Ron of being a horrible husband.

She had then turned on Harry and scolded, "And you stood by and let him
treat her like rubbish."

Harry hung his head in shame and pursed his lips. There wasn't a single
retort he could say in their defence, but her mention of Tracey opened a
floodgate of repressed emotions, and Ron collapsed into the armchair. He
then blurted out to a stunned Ginny and Harry that his marriage was falling
apart.

Ginny was unmoving and scoffed, "You have no one but yourself to
blame."

"Forget about Hermione. Focus on your bloody wife, you moron," she
advised fiercely while Harry threw her a look that implored her to be
sympathetic to her brother's plight. He tried to offer words of comfort,
"Ginny has a point, mate. We spoke about this, and you know there's no
future with Hermione."

Ron’s bottom lip trembled, and he tried to counter with a weak retort, but it
was a futile effort as any.

Hermione brought Harry back to the present, offering him a piece of

chocolate and stern words, "Ron needs to let me go. I cannot imagine what
Tracey must be going through."

"She's not doing well," Harry sighed. Tracey was a good woman. She was
far more tolerant than Ron deserved.

Hermione frowned, "His behaviour is completely mental."

Harry shrugged, "He's blinded by love."

Hermione scowled, "You’re raving. It is not love, Harry. He is caught up in

what we were.”

Harry felt the need to defend Ron and his questionable actions, "It's not that
he doesn't care about Tracey. He does. Maybe it's because of Malfoy?"

He added with a bitter taste in his mouth that even the most delicious
chocolate could not wipe out, "It's a difficult pill to swallow, Hermione,
even for me."

The pitch-black envelope with blood-red writing caught Harry's wandering

eyes. He narrowed them behind his glasses and scrutinised the mysterious
letter Hermione had poorly tried to hide under a few parchments.

"What's this?" He asked in interest while pulling the thick envelope towards
him.

Hermione shrugged nonchalantly and disregarded it, "Hate mail."

Harry flipped the letter over, examined it with wide-eyed disbelief and
bared his teeth. This was no ordinary letter from a disgruntled member of
the general public.
His tone grew serious, and he scolded most severely, "This carries the Dark
Mark. Why didn't you bring this to me at once?"

"Because you would have kicked up an unnecessary fuss," Hermione said

with a smidge of guilt. Perhaps, she should have brought it to Harry for a
thorough investigation.

He read the contents and grew angry with each passing word. His hold on
the letter tightened, and fiery rage clouded his judgement. Along with the
warnings of hate and repercussions that would surely follow if she went
ahead and married Malfoy was an explicitly detailed series of events that
would befall her.

Whoever wrote it was a sick pervert who would defile Hermione to teach
her a valuable lesson about knowing her rightful place, saving Malfoy from
taking a soiled witch as his wife. They had conveniently forgotten about the
marriage law and how the situation had been forced upon them.

"Have there been others like this?" Harry impatiently questioned and
followed up with a grim, "This letter is not to be disregarded, Hermione."

He raised a curious brow and raised at once, "Did you tell Malfoy about
this?"

Hermione responded abruptly, "No! I haven't, and I would appreciate it if

you didn't either."

She had not spoken to him since he left her office with less than his ego
intact the previous day.

Harry argued with purpose, "It would be in your best interests to tell him. I
have a feeling that he won't take this lying down."

A feeling of deep unrest engulfed him, and, try as he might, he was unable
to shake off a sense of dread.

It was undoubtedly related to the potential uprising they were investigating,

but unlike Kingsley, Hermione was yet to be briefed on the finer details of a
possible upcoming war.

He pocketed the letter for further analysis and left shortly after with the
promise of meeting up for lunch in a few short hours.

Draco abandoned the lift, jogged up the stairs ignoring swarms of witches
that glanced his way and headed straight for the vast training hall.

Audrey adjusted her gold-rimmed spectacles and quipped, "Ah, Mr Malfoy!

Thank you for gracing us with your presence this morning. I apologise for
not rolling out the red carpet."

Draco stiffened and barrelled into explanation, "Good morning, Miss

Audrey. Please let me explain…."

She waved her hand dismissively, "Don't bother. Potter has already seen to
it. However, I would like a direct word from you in the future."

Draco heaved a sigh of relief and nodded curtly, "Yes, of course. You have
my word."

Emily flashed a happy smile in his direction and waved him over. Dennis
and a few others threw him the usual looks of suspicion before Audrey
yelled for them to pay attention and started the lesson.

They worked in pairs, and by the end of the first half, Draco and Emily
outshone their comrades with their quick decision-making and survival
techniques that combined magic and Muggle tactics.

Emily beamed, “That was brilliant.” She was exhausted but considered
every ache and pain utterly worth it.

Audrey clapped in appreciation, "Well done, team! Have lunch and return
promptly."

Hannah was waiting for him outside the training hall with a smug look
plastered onto her pretty face.
She mused, "Figured you could use a good bodyguard."

Draco rolled his eyes, "Don't start."

Hannah laughed, grabbed him by the arm and dragged him towards the
cafeteria, "Come on before all the good stuff is gone. I'm starving."

Draco let himself be pulled and refrained from reminding her that it could
be multiplied using magic while the food was there.

His thoughts went to his feisty fiancé and how she was fairing. He refrained
from paying her visit in case his presence was not welcome.

Draco thought it wise to let her approach him when she was good and
ready. He had to tread carefully with Granger.

Hermione and Harry entered the large cafeteria bursting with energy. Many
heads turned their way, but it was a fleeting moment as everyone returned
to their meals and conversations.

She caught sight of a familiar head of ice-blonde hair and glanced in its
direction in time to see Michelle bent suggestively over Draco, whispering
in his ear while Hannah looked positively livid.

To Hermione’s dismay, the brazen French woman slid into the seat next to
her fiancé and continued to touch his arm and cheekily throw her head back
in laughter. Hannah sulked, and it was clear from the frown on her face that
she did not welcome the untimely intrusion by Michelle.

Well, he seemed to be having a jolly good time.

Hermione willed herself to move towards Draco, but her legs turned to
jelly, and she was too ashamed of herself at that moment to speak with him
or thank him for what he had done on her behalf.

She knew firsthand how difficult it was to speak about one's suffering,
especially with an outsider. Her disastrous therapy sessions were a
testament to that, but for him to bear his heart and soul out to a despicable
lout like Skeeter was most definitely thousand times more strenuous.

Draco moved pointedly away from Michelle, brought his head up and
caught Hermione staring at him with mixed emotions. She seemed
somewhat forlorn and sad. He itched to close the distance between them
and gather her in his arms, but all he could fathom at that moment was how
tempting she looked in red.

Neither attempted to break eye contact, and they exchanged meaningful

glances over the crowd of people that spoke volumes.

Her stomach knotted unpleasantly, causing her breathing to hasten to some

extent, but she didn't dare look away.

Oblivious to what was happening, Harry studied the area for an empty
table, and having located one, he prompted, "Shall we sit down? Lunch is
on me!" He said with a happy grin trying hard to flatten his unkempt mess
of black hair.

Hermione observed Michelle's flirtatious attempts to get closer to Draco

and frowned. The woman had no qualms about publicly making her
intentions known towards an engaged man.

Since when did she regard Malfoy as engaged?

Turning on her heel, Hermione announced abruptly and fled the area, "I've
lost my appetite."

Harry caught up and studied his best friend's odd behaviour. He nudged her
playfully, "What's going on, Granger?" He only used Granger as a term of
endearment.

Hermione averted her gaze and mumbled, "It's nothing. Shall we head out
for lunch?"

Harry touched her arm, gently stopping her from storming away and
questioned, "Are you softening towards Malfoy? The git had said some
pretty nice things about you in Witch Weekly Magazine." He tried his best
to keep the contempt for Malfoy out of his voice.

He had read the tell-all interview. Malfoy's answers shocked him; it wasn't
at all what he would expect the once arrogant man to say regarding
Hermione. The man had even complimented his leadership skills. It was
bizarre.

Harry was pretty sure Hermione was having a tough time coming to terms
with it.

"You read it?" Hermione asked at once. He had not mentioned that bit when
he visited earlier. It was the sort of thing you generally led with.

Harry sighed, "Ginny made me read it." In reality, he read the women's
magazine while sitting on the loo on the odd days that Ginny left it lying
about. It held some interesting articles at times, but in this instance, his wife
had forced it upon him and insisted he read every word.

He had to admit he was taken aback by some of the replies.

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip nervously and confessed, "I haven't
spoken to him about it yet."

Harry raised a quizzical brow, "Umm, shouldn't you? I'm guessing he did it
to get Skeeter off your back."

Hermione confirmed rather loudly, "Yes, he did!"

Her features twisted, and she said sarcastically, "But after what happened
yesterday, I can hardly march up to him and go, thank you so much for
defending my honour, Malfoy, I do love snogging you, but I'm sorry for
picking my sodding ex-boyfriend instead of you."

Harry frowned deeply, "Erm, you can omit certain details, you know? I do
not need to know that you love kissing him." He concluded with a definite
roll of his eyes.
He looked momentarily mortified as a vision of Malfoy and Hermione
entwined flashed before his eyes, "Oh Merlin, now that image is stuck in
my head."

Hermione linked her arm through his and laughed, "Grow up, Potter."

He massaged his temples and groaned as they headed towards an exit,

"Why do you hate me, Hermione?"

Draco expected a reaction from Granger, but she remained

uncharacteristically quiet about it.

Even a simple thank you would have sufficed compared to the declaration
he had in mind of her throwing herself into his arms and kissing him
passionately. He was quite frankly addicted to the feel of her soft lips
moving under his.

A heavyset Auror called Michelle away. She reluctantly followed the stern-
looking woman and glanced over her shoulder at Draco, who moodily
picked at his lunch.

At the same time, Hannah threw him thoroughly amused glances as witches
in other departments hurried past whispering among themselves and
discreetly pointing at them.

Hannah grew tired of a bunch of dimwitted bints at the following table

staring at him and giggling like a bunch of randy schoolgirls.

What was the matter with these women?

She scowled openly in their direction and hurled, "Take a bloody picture. It
will last longer."

The women threw her a look of pure loathing, and turned beet red as others
turned to look and poke fun. They hurriedly got to their feet and scurried off
in the opposite direction.
Draco could not help but laugh, "Thanks, love." Abbott was a breath of
fresh air he wholeheartedly welcomed.

Hannah twirled the fork around the pasta, trying to get a generous helping
to stick to it and rolled her eyes, "Well, you do look quite fetching in the
pictures. It's your own fault."

Draco chuckled, "It's not my fault I'm blessed with good looks and
impeccable manners."

Hannah stuffed her face and grew thoughtful, "It would have been
interesting to see how this would have panned out if you bared a similar
resemblance to a hairy troll."

Draco ran his fingers through his hair, scrunched up his nose and thought
hard. Crabbe and Goyle came to mind.

She interrupted his thoughts and was enthused, "Look on the bright side,
after you are done with training, we are going on patrol. There are a few
other active cases besides The Dollhouse Strangler, and a particularly nasty
one regarding an illegal potions ring has come to our attention."

Draco perked up and straightened, "That sounds brilliant!" It was the

distraction he needed and his first field assignment.

The rest of the day passed without much fuss, with the odd owl turning up
of some witch he had never met confessing her newfound love and
admiration for him.

He thought of Hermione often as the minutes ticked by relentlessly.

While his intention for the interview was selfless, he was forced to admit
that Rita Skeeter had been right in her assumption. They were now faced
with the problem of his growing obsessed fan base.

Women were crawling out of the woodwork, and it was utterly bizarre how
his life story was being romanticised, and Hannah had a valid point. He
wondered if he would have gained the same fame and adulation if he looked
like anyone other than himself.

He returned to training and was less than his usual self, thanks largely to his
disturbed mind.

Later that day, in one of the boardrooms of the DMLE

Harry leaned forward and addressed his team gravely, "Nothing?"

Michael tossed the pictures aside in frustration and sighed, "Nothing.

Perhaps, he's stopped?" He put forth the question and waited for everyone's
input.

Harry brought his hand down hard on the table and hissed, "It's fucking
infuriating."

Another Auror working on the case shared her thoughts, "That's impossible.
There's one woman left."

Michael leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest and said grimly,
"Maybe her disappearance is unrelated. We have no proof he took her."

The same woman pointed out and argued decisively, "She's a redhead."

Michael argued with just cause, "That doesn't mean anything. It could be a
sheer coincidence. "

Harry frowned in his direction, "They are no coincidences in our line of

work, mate."

He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something was definitely amiss,
"Something feels off."

Thomas had listened to the various takes on the case and offered from his
place in the corner, "Maybe he's fallen in love with her."
Harry was taken aback by the declaration and asked curiously, "What do
you mean, Thomas?"

The veteran shared his profound insight, "I've done some research into
similar Muggle cases, and in quite a few instances, the killing and
abductions stop because the kidnapper develops romantic feelings towards
the woman in his possession."

A general hiss of disgust and an air of unrest settled over them. They were
aware the victims had been sexually assaulted, but subjecting them to the
notion of love seemed unusually cruel.

A seasoned Auror scowled, "That's absurd. He's no mere kidnapper but a

sick bastard incapable of love." She shook with incomprehensible anger.

Thomas disregarded her reaction and shrugged, "He's looking to fill some
void." It would not help the case to get emotionally involved. Once you let
feelings cloud your judgement, mistakes happen. That's why he remained
detached at all times except when it came to Audrey, and he had paid for it
with a limb.

Harry gritted out, "Unless we are certain, we will not give up on Sarah."

Thomas nodded curtly, "Agreed."

Michael heaved a sigh and shrugged. Unlike Terry, his opinion was valued
but hardly counted.

The sound of files falling to the floor prompted the black-clad individuals to
turn towards the source. John knelt on the floor, gathering the dropped files
and repeatedly muttered, "I'm so sorry."

Michael callously pointed out, "This is a confidential meeting. You have no

place here." He was still sore after catching the man being extra friendly
with his girlfriend.

Harry gave Michael a withering look and spoke kindly to the man
collecting the fallen files and scattered parchments, "John, we didn't hear
you come in, mate."

John answered almost at once and cowered in the presence of the

intimidating individuals, "I knocked plenty of times, I swear."

Harry waved his hand dismissively and smiled, hoping to put the timid man
at ease, "Relax. It's not a big deal."

Meanwhile, Michael puffed his chest out and frowned in a most despicable
manner. John tried to look away, but his eyes slowly moved over the many
photographs of the dead women looking angelic yet brutal and exposed.

While studying the man intently, Thomas injected slowly in a carrying

voice, "John?"

John snapped out of his daze. Placing the files on the table, he replied
timidly, "Arthur said you had asked for these."

Harry answered and slapped him hard on the back, "Yes, thanks for
bringing them up. You shouldn't have."

John smiled, "It's not a problem, Mr Potter."

The meeting resumed after John hurriedly left without a backward glance.
Thomas watched his departure with newfound interest.

Even after consuming many pots of tea and numerous packets of biscuits,
they were still undecided on whether to consider The Dollhouse Strangler a
cold case and move on to more pressing issues like the letter Hermione had
received earlier that day.

Hermione succeeded in avoiding Draco by staying well away from the

DMLE. She hugged herself as the wintry weather surrounded her.

She crossed the street and looked over her shoulder whilst walking towards
her flat complex. A shadowy figure fell in step behind her, but it amounted
to nothing since the man stopped to greet an old friend.
It was hard to shake off the feeling of being followed but brushed it off as
nothing more than paranoia and rattled nerves from the threatening letter.
The document affected her far more than she let on. There was a certain
truth behind it that genuinely startled her.

Only once she was inside her flat did she relax and breathe a sigh of
immense relief.

Hermione sat on the sofa fully clothed in her office attire, picked up the
phone and stared at Draco’s name and number. She owed him an enormous
vote of thanks for what he did, but why was she feeling so utterly gutless?

She contemplated inviting him over for dinner. A delightful, home-cooked

meal as a sign of gratitude would be something he would appreciate. He
was partial to her grandmother's green apple pie.

The phone rang, and Hermione jumped at the sudden loud noise that spread
throughout the flat and fumbled the phone but thankfully did not drop it.

She was overly fond of the person calling and thought about how ironic it
was that she was just thinking about the caller's beloved son.

Hermione connected the call and put it on speaker, "Good evening,

Narcissa."

Narcissa spoke warmly, "Hello, my darling. How are you?"

"I just got in. How can I be of help?" Hermione asked eagerly and fought
the urge to ask about Draco.

Narcissa said in a businesslike tone, "Darling, I've arranged a meeting with

the contractors and designers to discuss the renovations of the cottage at
eleven am tomorrow."

Hermione was quick to point out, "I'm fine with whatever you pick,
Narcissa."

Narcissa laughed in the most ladylike manner, "That's flattering, my dear,

but the cottage will be your home, and despite the nature of this marriage,
you must make it yours and add any personal touches of your liking."

She added thoughtfully, "Maybe an exquisite bath."

Hermione beamed, "That would be wonderful." She held back her

excitement as good manners kicked in and said politely, "If that's your wish.
I'll see you then."

Narcissa gushed, "I look forward to it." Her tone shifted to that of concern,
"I've been meaning to call you after the Prophet's article. I hope you are
well."

Hermione felt emotional, and she could not quite figure out why, but she
kept the tears at bay and responded, "Thank you for asking. I'm used to
Rita's unflattering words." She was not, not really. The unfair assumptions
always stung.

Narcissa knew the young woman was suffering and sought to lift her spirits.
She gushed, "Let's catch up tomorrow."

Hermione said fondly, "Good night."

Narcissa sighed, "Sleep well, Hermione."

Hannah pressed her back against the wall and waited for her partner to turn
up. She glanced at the clock; it was a little past six pm.

She smiled as Draco came into view and towards her. She shoved a set of
folded clothes into his arms.

"Change," Hannah instructed firmly.

At first, Draco was sceptical and a little repulsed with having to wear
clothes that had been in another's possession, and Hannah guessed as much.
She put his mind at ease, "Relax, Princess. I got them brand new for you.
The Ministry picked up the tab."
They ditched their prominent Auror robes and opted for more casual attire
consisting of a pair of plain jeans, a black hoodie for Draco, beige trousers,
and a deep brown hoodie for Hannah. They could have easily passed off as
Muggles.

He was impressed by how well she handled everything. The girl he

remembered, barely, was certainly not the woman before him.

She led the way into the bowels of the DMLE and entered a room Draco
had not seen or been in before. It was heavily guarded with enchantments,
and a well-built wizard with a fashionable ponytail and permanent scowl
stood guard.

He eyed the incoming pair with a slight smile and crossed his arms over his
chest.

Hannah greeted coolly, "Clive."

Clive tipped his chin, "Heading out, Hannah?"

Hannah nodded and requested eagerly, "I need the Glock 17."

Clive gave his approval, "You've taken a liking to that one." He walked into
the back and returned with a pair of pistols with black handles.

Hannah shrugged, "Hmm, it handles well and is easy to conceal." She

picked one up and loaded it with gold-plated bullets while Draco eyed the
procedure in interest.

Clive gestured towards Draco with his head and mused, "What about your
boyfriend here?"

Hannah wasn't fazed. Instead, she smirked, "He's still in training. He has his
trusty old wand." If only she knew the truth about his abilities.

She felt compelled to explain since it seemed like Draco was waiting for
one, "In a raid a few years back, a bunch of Russian wizards opened fire on
a group of Aurors sent to detain them. The fuckers used AK47s and shot the
approaching group at close range. It was lucky Thomas projected a shield
charm that took the brunt of the bullets."

She included with a hint of pride, "Once Potter took up the reins, he thought
it wise to couple magic with firepower on field assignments."

Draco could not help but feel impressed by Potter's wise decision to
implement change and keep up with modern times.

He also couldn't fathom why Hannah would need to carry a lethal weapon
on a random, seemingly harmless patrol.

Was she expecting trouble?

A neglected pistol sat on the counter. Clive had it out for cleaning. Draco
gave in to temptation and picked up the lethal but slick-looking gun. It fit
perfectly in his hand.

He had practised with multiple swords and staffs of various lengths and
sizes but never touched a gun. The teachings at the Temple went against the
use of such methods. His teachings promoted peace, not bloodshed and
violence.

Clive eyed the young Malfoy getting a feel of the gun and said, "Ah, one of
my personal favourites. The Desert Eagle 50 is probably one the best-
known handguns of all time."

Hannah smirked and asked her partner, "Are you ready?"

Draco laid the gorgeous pistol down and nodded curtly, "Lead the way."

Hannah did not wait for an explanation. She grabbed his sleeve, and they
disapparated and appeared near a dark cobbled lane littered with debris in a
lane a little way off Knockturn Alley.

The stench of rotting flesh hit them first. What in the name of Merlin was
that horrific smell?
Both fought the bile that rose and maintained a level of profound
professionalism. She pulled up a hood that obscured her face and gestured
for him to do the same and advised, "Follow my lead."

Draco took in the drab surroundings and covered his head entirely with the
hoodie. It wouldn’t have been prudent to be recognised given the
circumstances. Following his partner down the alley, he made sure to avoid
the rabble of shady-looking characters that leaned against the walls,
smoking cigarettes and observing their every movement. He balled his
hands into fists and took a deep breath to calm himself.

They entered an ages-old shop. The paint was peeling, and a name board
hung loosely off its hinges and threatened to plummet to the ground
crushing whoever stood underneath, but surprisingly the interior was
spectacular.

There were numerous neat rows of jars upon jars with unexplainable
oddities floating about within them, and a separate set of rows held raw
ingredients for potion-making.

Hannah pushed open the door, causing a bell to sound and confidently
strode in. She smiled somewhat politely at the man behind the counter but
received no greeting of any kind in return.

Draco followed suit and entered inconspicuously behind her. His eyes took
in the finer details of the place that was most overlooked. There were a
handful of customers, and like them, they covered their faces and kept to
themselves.

Hannah fished out a list out of her pocket and slid it across the counter, and
inquired, "Are you, Mr Smith?" Detailed on the paper were ingredients to
make a large batch of Polyjuice potion.

The man glanced at the paper and showed indifference, "I am. We don't sell
these here. Take your business somewhere else." They certainly did, but he
needed all available stock to cater to his Master, who sought different faces
when it suited him to walk among the populace unnoticed and undetected.
Hannah adopted an air of smug superiority. She informed the shop owner
knowingly, "That's funny."

She looked about for good measure and shrugged casually, "You see, one of
your regular customers highly recommended your shop, and I was hoping
to get these."

Draco hovered in the back but kept a keen eye on the exchange. Hannah
was doing brilliantly and hardly required his assistance.

The man paled but gathered his courage and gritted out, "He's mistaken.
Leave.”

Hannah reached over the counter, grabbed the stunned man by the collar,
and pulled him roughly towards her in a blink of an eye. She spat in his
face, "I don't think so." Her usually calm demeanour was replaced by rising
anger and frustration.

Draco sprang to action as the stout man in the corner they had not noticed
earlier leapt to his feet and drew out his wand with the intent of causing
Hannah bodily harm.

Still, he barely had time to point it in her direction since Draco acted fast
and subdued him wordlessly by throwing him against the tall rack of neatly
stacked potions causing the contents to fall to the floor around the enraged
man.

The man groaned and, with a prominent snarl, sprang to his feet, but Draco
narrowed his eyes and swiftly used a well-placed roundhouse kick to knock
him unconscious. The sickening sound of his heavy boot colliding with the
stunned man's head spread to the corners of the small shop.

Hannah was momentarily shocked by his use of wandless magic combined

with Kung fu giving the shopkeeper an unfair advantage over her, but he
wasn't quick enough and failed in his attempt to grab her by the coat.

She slammed his face down on the counter, took out her wand and pressed
the tip into his cheek and exclaimed, "You are under arrest for the illegal
peddling of unicorn blood."

Draco could barely contain his surprise. The slaughtering of a scared being
such as a unicorn was punishable by a weighty sentence at Azkaban, but
most importantly, what was the purpose for slaying such a pure creature?

The man sneered, "Where's your proof, girl?"

Hannah smiled serenely. She effortlessly flicked her wand, and a cowering
sobbing man's memories and confession came forth. The blubbering mess
of a wizard spewed out every bit of information regarding the vile deeds
committed and exactly where to find the banned materials.

"That treacherous bastard," Smith cried in outrage. The traitor would pay
dearly for his betrayal.

Hannah stated in a carrying voice, “Ah, don’t be too hard on him. We,
Aurors, can be quite persuasive when the need arises.” She pointed her
wand towards the vast shelves and dust-covered shelves and said in a clear
voice, "Accio Unicorn blood."

A sizable bottle filled to the brim with a thick silvery substance came flying
at her. She caught it expertly, brought it up to the light for further
clarification and smirked in satisfaction, "And there's the stuff."

She pushed the wand further into his skin and gritted out," Lock up! You
will not be returning from Azkaban anytime soon. I will make sure you
serve a hefty sentence for this heinous crime."

Smith scowled, "Filthy bitch."

Hannah roughly hoisted him up and mocked, "Now, where are your
manners, scum?"

She looked over to where Draco stood awaiting further instruction and said
rather sweetly, "Malfoy, if you would…."

Draco nodded in understanding, moved closer and took out his wand. He
muttered the incantation Audrey had seen fit to drum into their heads since
day one of training.

A pair of rusty handcuffs materialised out of his wand and secured

themselves around the man's wrists, tightening under his slightest
movement.

Michael stepped out of the shadows and made his presence known, "Nice
job, Hannah. We missed you at The Dollhouse debriefing." Potter had
assigned him to the Potions case with strict instructions that he only
observed and not interfere unless necessary.

Hannah frowned in bitter disappointment, "A bit too late, Corner. I was
wondering where you were."

Michael answered with a hint of guilt, "I'm sorry, I got held up.” He smiled
and said proudly, “But you hardly needed my help." He had gone to pay
Terry a quick visit after the meeting and lost track of time.

In the days since his admittance to the rehabilitation centre, Terry seemed to
have a tough time sobering up and looked a right mess with days-old
stubble adorning his face, and bloodshot eyes, and he seemed to have lost
weight overnight.

Hannah pressed urgently, "Have they decided to stop pursuing the

Dollhouse Strangler?"

Michael shook his head, "Not yet! Potter is adamant.”

Hannah breathed a sigh of relief, “Thank Merlin.” She needed to catch the
killer. Her mind would not rest until they did.

Corner faced Draco with a certain degree of remorse and sized up the man
who had performed well on his first patrol. The last time they met had not
been a pleasant occasion, but hoping to make amends, Michael straightened
to his full height and commended, "Good work, Malfoy. I didn't even see
you pull out your wand."
Hannah threw her partner a sceptical glance, and Draco nodded curtly
regarding the compliment but didn't bother to follow up with encouraging
words.

Draco marched over to the semi-unconscious man among the debris and
pulled him to his feet. Hannah had Smith well under control.

Smith was simply an alias; his real name was Griffin Sandar Montague. A
small-time villain from a prominent wizarding family with a self-presumed
higher calling.

The defeated man stared deadpan at the wall and refused to speak. He
seemed awfully quiet for a man who was being carted off to Azkaban.

Hannah took hold of Draco's hand. His fingers closed around hers tightly,
and she gave a curt nod before disapparating them to Azkaban.

Draco had never been to the infamous prison, and with good reason. Dimly
lit narrow corridors appeared before him like a labyrinth he had to
manoeuvre around and escape from. The strong smell of disinfectant was
repulsive. It hung over them as if to suffocate them with its pungent aroma.

He felt a sudden shift in his mood and cries of those he had long since
forgotten invaded his mind, but terrifying sounds of anguish and despair of
the prisoners surrounded him.

His eyes fluttered shut, and he almost collapsed from the sheer weight
pressing down on him.

The voices he locked away and refused to acknowledge clawed their way to
the surface, scraping at the inner walls of his mind and letting him bleed.

It started treacherously, his mother's desperate pleas for mercy as another

Cruciatus curse tore through her fragile body and her cries of pain
combined with the malignant laughter of her torturer echoing through the
Manor. At the same time, he sat in his room holding onto his mother's wand
so tightly it might have snapped in half and invaded his mind.
He held onto his head and groaned, his mother's voice morphed to be
replaced by Granger's ear-piercing screams with his aunt's maddened yet
panicked voice accusing her of stealing, “What else did you take, what
else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!”

Hermione’s cries echoed off the walls, and Draco was once again the
helpless boy who stood by the sidelines while the screams intensified. It
was his father's moderately deep voice from beyond the grave that sent a
shuddering chill down his spine.

Lucius scowled at his son and hissed, "You gutless worm."

His voice sounded much like himself but was laced with pure malice, "How
dare you come here when you didn't so much as lift a finger to help me?"

Trapped in his mind, Draco tried to argue, "No, I…."

Lucius said with a definite snarl, "You abandoned me here to die!"

Venomous words spewed out of his mouth, "My suffering is on your

conscience, and my blood stains your hands."

Draco refused to be goaded even by a memory. He countered with resolve,

"You brought it upon yourself, father."

Lucius laughed aloud and spat in contempt, "Coward. I wish you had never
been born."

Draco closed his eyes and gritted out as fiery rage consumed him, causing
the walls he put up to crumble and his magic to surge to the surface, "Get
out of my fucking head!"

Hannah heard her partner speak to an entity that was not present.

Alarmed by his behaviour, she turned to face him and implored in a gentle
voice, "Draco, are you alright?" She touched his pale face for good measure
in an effort to snap him out of the trance he had fallen prey to.

Draco slowly opened his eyes and grew wistful, "Yes. It's this place…."
Hannah looked about and visibly shuddered, "It's terrible, isn't it?" The
Dementors were stationed outside, overlooking the boundaries, but their
ghostly presence leaked through the cracks in the walls and affected all
those who dwelled within the prison.

She grew solemn and wisely explained further, "It affects you more because
you have horrors in your past that others don't."

"I suppose, but I best get used to it," Draco agreed and kept his eyes trained
on the shadowy, ominous pathway ahead of them.

Hannah mumbled, “Hmm….” She would do what she could to help him
ease into his new job role. It was in every sense morbid and soul-sucking.
Heavy winds beat down around them, threatening to suck them into its
epicentre of horror.

Though they could not see the inmates, they could hear the agony and
whimpering of tortured souls and the many whisperings of the prisoners
who were slowly succumbing to their bleak surroundings and becoming one
with their sentences.

Draco had a firm hold on Smith while Hannah trailed behind them with the
unnamed man occasionally stopping to speak to the guards and other Aurors
that passed by.

Smith glanced at Draco and spoke in a deep clear voice, "I know you, boy."

Draco eyed the man out of the corner of his eye and sneered, "Can't say I’ve
had the pleasure."

"My Master knows of your return," Smith said in determination with a

reverent yet disturbing look in his eyes. Draco knew that look well; he had
seen the flicker countless times across Voldemort’s most loyal subjects.

Out of nowhere, with some degree of difficulty, Smith grabbed Draco’s arm
as they walked, allowing his long fingers and short fingernails to press into
where he had been branded with the Dark Mark. He leered, showing off his
yellowish teeth and a single gold tooth, "They will come for you, Malfoy.
You cannot forget your past or run from it. Eventually, it will catch up to
you."

Draco broke free from the grasp and roughly pushed Smith back, causing
the handcuffed man to fall and collide unceremoniously with the black-
painted sterile floor. An eerie silence fell over them as Smith started to
laugh deliriously, prompting the wizard guards on the watch to intervene
and drag him away along with his protesting, cowering accomplice.

His deafening cries echoed through the narrow passageway, “Please! Help
me! I was only following orders.”

The wizard guards shot Draco a look of deep loathing and disapproval but
relaxed once Hannah came into view.

"Carry on. I will fill the paperwork to process him and be right back," she
informed all those within earshot and exchanged a grave final look with
Draco before moving away.

Draco glanced at his arm, which was red with visible scratches from where
he had been grabbed and stared at the gruesome snake in disgust. There
were no known ways to remove the mark. He had tried on numerous
occasions, but it just wasn't possible without severing his limb.

His thoughts grudgingly went to his father once more and his miserable last
days alone and dejected in this horrible place. It caused his heart to ache,
and he felt an unfamiliar pain directed at his father grip his chest.

It was a kindness that Lucius passed without suffering too much, and
according to Narcissa, he was not driven mad by his surroundings. He had
died with his mind reasonably intact.

"You did good," a familiar encouraging voice made it to his ear, pulling him
out of his unsettling thoughts.

Draco turned to find Hannah smiling at him. He retorted, "So did you."
She wearily looked around and stated with sarcasm, "Are you ready to
leave?"

Draco tried to muster a smile, "If all is in order."

Once again, Hannah reached for his hand and disapparated them away into
a narrow alleyway near a popular Muggle eatery that was open at all hours.

Hannah fetched a bar of Honeydukes best chocolate from her pocket, broke
off nearly half the slab and pushed it into Draco’s slightly trembling hands
and commanded, "Eat!"

He did as instructed, and the very second the chocolate touched the minute
taste buds on his tongue, a warmness spread throughout his body, making
him feel instantly better.

Hannah smiled and followed suit. Like her partner, she felt the chocolate
work its unique blend of magic. She always kept a bar of chocolate handy,
just in case, and it had nearly always paid off.

Their attire allowed them to blend into the surroundings without too much
hassle. They entered the almost empty restaurant, ordered steaming cups of
coffee, and a sizable piece of chocolate cake to share between them and slid
into a booth.

The coffee arrived, and Hannah took a sip before heaving a sigh and
studying the man in front of her with a mixture of awe and uncertainty. She
hesitated at first, not wanting to pry but asked in fascination after a
moment's thought, "How long have you been able to do wandless magic?"

Draco took a sip of his coffee before drawing a deep breath. Abbott was his
partner and someone with who he would spend a considerable amount of
time. They needed to trust each other.

He did trust her and could hardly keep a secret of this magnitude from her.
Sooner or later, his remarkable gift would come to light, and pointless
intrusive discussions would surely follow.
Draco took his time, exhaled, and confessed slowly, "For a few years."

Though Hannah grew deeply thoughtful and concentrated on eating the

cake, she thankfully did not pursue the subject.

"Are you okay?" She inquired after a few moments of silence about his
well-being since their trip to Azkaban had not been well received by him.

Draco stared into his coffee and replied gravely, "I'm fine.”

“I heard my father's voice. He accused me of leaving him to rot." His voice

cracked on the last word.

His grip on the mug tightened, "He sounded pitiful and without remorse."

Hannah reached over and squeezed his hand, "I'm sorry, Draco, but those
voices aren’t real. It’s your deepest fears brought to life."

"Don't worry about it. I will put up better shields to keep any unwanted
voices and thoughts out," he said solemnly but with some confidence.

Hannah, still reeling from shock over his abilities, nodded in agreement but
said nothing to placate him further.

After the coffee was consumed and the heavenly piece of chocolate cake
devoured, they paid and thanked the server before stepping out. They fell
into step beside each other and walked along the deserted London streets in
the dead of night in companionable silence.

Draco pierced the silence with a firm, "It's late. Let me see you back to
yours."

Hannah chuckled, "Don't be bloody ridiculous."

She rubbed her hands to keep warm and said with a slight smile, "See you
tomorrow."

Draco replied good-naturedly, "Definitely."

Hannah punched him in the arm playfully and exclaimed, "Don't bother
coming in early. I'll clear it with Audrey."

Draco nodded but thought it wise to inform his superior himself. He did not
want to get into another pickle with the strict instructor.

Hannah gave a two-finger salute and disapparated. Draco pulled up his

collar to weather the brutal winds that swirled around him, stuffed his hands
into his coat pockets, closed his eyes and thought hard of Malfoy Manor.

It was past two in the morning when Draco arrived at the Manor. He
collapsed onto the white marble bench and stared at the angel that sat atop
his favourite fountain. Smith's warning did not sit well with him, and he
was adamant about finding out what the man's crass comments meant.

Who was this Master of whom he spoke so worshipfully? He shuddered as

an image of Voldemort floated into his mind.

Could it be? They had witnessed the Dark wizard's demise. No, it was
impossible.
 Chapter 48
Chapter Notes

A gruesome crime scene - Trigger warning - Please read with caution.

Firstly, I sincerely apologise for the late update, I've been down with a
fever, and it was awful.

Hermione and Draco visit the cottage, and sparks fly.

A twist in the plot ;)

Enjoy Chapter forty-eight. Hawaii is around the corner ;) I will be

splitting it up into two chapters :)

Stay safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

In the dead of night, Harry, Kingsley and Thomas crossed the empty road
and walked down a deserted street in a more undesirable part of Muggle
London where poverty rang steady and petty crimes ran rampant.

They walked in silence, having apparated earlier from the Ministry upon
hearing the tragic news.

Each wizard was caught up in their thoughts until Thomas cursed aloud and
held onto his new trendy hat with his good hand to stop it from being blown
away by a sudden strong gust of wind.

Kingsley raised a curious brow, "I've never seen you wear a hat before,
Spencer.

"Going bald, are we?" He mocked good-naturedly in an effort to lighten the

mood.
The veteran Auror quipped in his rough voice, "Thankfully, not yet.
Although Audrey thought it looked quite dashing." She had commented on
his bold fashion accessory earlier that day when they crossed paths on the
way to the cafeteria.

"Still holding a torch for that one, I see," Kingsley brazenly teased the older
man. Oh, he knew all about Thomas's feelings towards Audrey and that she
reciprocated them. It was a hot topic of gossip over the years among the
more senior members of the DMLE.

Unfortunately, Thomas loved his job above all else and whilst his
dedication to his career was admirable, it could put a severe damper on a
relationship.

A deep, hearty laugh tore out of Kingsley's mouth, "You look like a sleazy
Muggle gangster from the fifties." Harry hid the smile that made its way to
his face and swallowed the laugh that bubbled to the surface despite the
grave situation they were headed towards.

Thomas pointedly adjusted the vintage-style greyish hat and frowned,

"Fuck off, Shacklebolt."

The Minister of Magic chuckled and stepped lively. The weather didn't help
much. It was bitterly cold, forcing the men to pull up the collars of their
thick coats and plunge their gloved hands into the deep pockets to seek
extra warmth.

None used magic. It seemed inappropriate and somewhat disrespectful to

those whose lives had been cruelly taken that day.

It wasn't a charming street, and obscene graffiti adorned the walls. A myriad
of fluorescent colours mixed with shades of black was splattered
haphazardly across the grimy walls. Some were brilliant works of art
depicting darkness, poverty and hardship. Harry glanced at the drawings
and wondered from what pain the artist suffered to draw these graphic
images. His heart sank to the pits of his belly.
Overflowing dustbins and discarded scraps of newspapers swimming in
puddles from faulty plumbing added to its unappealing nature. The pools of
water were abundant and difficult to sidestep. Their boots collided noisily
with the murky water.

It was clear why such a place had been chosen for the heinous crime that
left Muggle authorities completely baffled.

To an onlooker, it seemed like they were three men in heavy coats out for a
night stroll after a few drinks at a pub, but the real reason they were out was
far more distressing and alarming.

They approached an area prompting Harry to scan their surroundings

meticulously, but it was deserted but for a homeless man who sat quite still
in a corner, fast asleep. Harry discreetly took out his wand, slashed it
through the air, and muttered a single elongated word.

A horrific scene opened before them, and they walked towards the bloodied
area of spilt guts and gore of two Muggle men and a woman on her back
twitching and writhing in agony. The site was bustling with Aurors walking
back and forth with severe and intense expressions.

The team had arrived earlier on the scene and were busy at work, waving
their wands over torn pieces of flesh with bits of ligaments still intact,
taking pictures of the scattered remains and speaking to each other in
hushed tones as if not to disturb the deceased. Still, everything came to a
standstill once they spotted the incoming trio.

Kingsley nodded in acknowledgement at a few who greeted him and swore

as his astute eyes wandered over the mauled body with many deep gashes
down the man's abdomen that caused his skin to be shredded into delicate
thin ribbons, "Fuck."

Thomas sniffed air thick with unrest. He inhaled deeply—blood. The

pungent decadent smell of death surrounded him whole.

He licked his bottom lip and scanned the immediate area. His gaze fell upon
a woman in a simple server's uniform with a blank expression staring
unfalteringly at the decapitated bodies on the cold, dirty floor. She held a lit
cigarette between trembling fingers. It perpetually burned, dropping bits of
ash at regular intervals.

Harry took the report he was handed and keenly flipped through the pages
of what had been documented thus far. He outright refused to accept such
an atrocious crime had happened on his watch.

What bloody madness was this?

Keeping his eyes fixed on the countless photographs, he inquired gravely in

barely a whisper, "How many?" His head was spinning, and he wondered if
there were more than the three visible bodies.

The thorough Auror replied solemnly, "Three, sir. Two are dead and
mutilated beyond recognition." She glanced over her shoulder at the
scattered fragments and almost spat the last words out.

Michael Corner passed by with a brown file tucked under his arm and wand
pointed at the skies. He muttered a spell in an ancient tongue to keep their
presence hidden from the outside world for longer. A clear sound of
vomiting pierced the silence as a novice Auror standing close by hurried off
in the opposite direction and threw up in the corner because of the repulsive
stench of blood, spilt guts and the surrounding swarm of flies.

His burly partner threw him a look of pure disapproval and ignored his
existence while he proceeded to vomit violently. She paid him no mind and
went about her tasks without pause. Kingsley deeply exhaled. The rookie
caught him looking, smiled sheepishly and muttered a quick Scourgify
before scurrying off in shame.

These youngsters were keen on the fame, accolades and respect that came
from being an Auror but were quick to forget the gruesome cases and
monstrosities they were constantly challenged with.

Moving close, Kingsley stood over a body of a male shredded to so many

pieces that the deceased man's severed nose was mere inches from his
leather boot. He could hardly blame the newbie for feeling sick. He had
never come across a more horrific scene in all his years.

Covering his mouth and nose with a pearly white handkerchief, Shacklebolt
inquired in an ominous tone, "Cause of death?" He somehow knew the
answer already. If this were the work of rabid dogs or some Muggle-related
creature, they wouldn't have been called in.

The experienced Auror, bent over the victim, scrapping bits of stuck
intestine off the ground with her wand, looked up at him and said the
foreboding word, "Werewolves." She whispered like it was taboo to utter.

However, Kingsley was hardly discreet. He wasn't averse to causing a

commotion by making his displeasure quite vocal. He bellowed in outrage,
"Are you fucking serious, Amelia?" His deep voice travelled through the
ramble of Aurors, who stopped what they were doing to stare his way.

Michael hissed from the sidelines, "Preposterous." He was in complete

denial about the true nature of events.

Harry came up from behind, swapped a serious look with Kingsley and
questioned persistently, "Werewolves? This close to Muggle London?" It
was mind-boggling, to say the least.

Kingsley shook his head in disbelief and argued, "It's unheard of in over
three hundred years."

Michael nodded in agreement, "They wouldn't risk killing Muggles in the

city." Werewolves generally kept to themselves and occupied wooded areas
or lived within forests where plenty of animals roamed free to hunt.

An uncomfortable silence fell over them as the truth began to sink in.

"After all we've done for them?" Kingsley scowled in bitter disappointment.
He had sacrificed his safety by refusing any bodyguards despite Granger's
persistence and personally met with prominent pack leaders and spoke at
great length about terms and conditions for coexistence.
They had agreed to the terms eagerly enough, adding a few of their own
conditions but could this be some sort of macabre message?

Treaties were signed to ensure peace among all magical beings. However, it
was probably the one decision he took that received nationwide backlash
and plenty of controversial comments from prominent members of the
wizarding community.

It hadn't been an easy task to achieve such a feat, but with the help of
Granger and her unwavering loyalty and diligence towards a just cause,
they had achieved the impossible. It had worked marvellously up until now.

Unafraid to speak her mind, Amelia scoffed, "Kingsley, even you cannot be
so naïve. Just because the Ministry passed a law allowing unanimous
registration of Werewolves so they can obtain Wolfsbane and compete for
poor job opportunities, that this community who has feared them for
centuries is going to accept them with open arms."

Kingsley flinched as Amelia's harsh but true words cut through his thick
outer defences and wounded his fragile ego.

She pointed to the shoulder of the victim with a gloved hand and trailed her
fingers over the gaping wound, "These marks are consistent with a
werewolf bite." A sickening squelchy sound emitted from where her fingers
made contact and dug into the open wound, causing the men watching her
to wince and swallow the bile that rose in their throats.

Ignoring the squirmish reactions, Amelia got to her feet, took off her gloves
and enlightened the group further, "This could be the work of a rogue wolf
that is not bound to the rules of a pack or Alpha."

Kingsley massaged the bridge of his nose in exasperation. A rogue wolf was
a massive problem that fell through the system's cracks.

Harry offered Amelia a slight encouraging smile, "Good work, Jones."

"Merlin's beard!" The loud exclamation came from the other end of the
crime scene.
Arthur Weasley had arrived with John in tow and rolls of parchment tucked
neatly under his arm.

The cowering man in brown trousers and a plain white shirt stuck close to
Arthur and squarely avoided the vomit on the floor, not wanting to dirty his
shoes. He wished Arthur had picked Perkins to go in his stead.

His sadistic colleague was far better equipped than him to tackle such
horrifying images. The smell alone was making his stomach turn.

Although he couldn't stop thinking about how random and disgusting the
killer had been, whoever it was had not given a second thought to leaving
behind an unprofessional mess, but that was hardly his concern. He was
there to do his job to the best of his ability, not psychoanalysis a murderer.

"Arthur, what brings you by?" Harry led his father-in-law away from the
scene and probed in interest. Arthur was the Head of The Misuse of Muggle
Artefacts department. While his expertise in all things Muggle was above
the average wizards, he hardly ever visited crime scenes and especially not
ones of such a gruesome nature.

Arthur wiped his brow and then upper lip. His eyes kept darting to the
woman in a tattered dress screaming in agony as an Auror tended to her. He
replied glumly, "They requested identification on some Muggle items."

He pointed to the parchment that John clutched tightly in trembling fingers,

"We brought along a couple of images for you to reference."

Indeed, Harry looked over the pictures and sighed. Most were computer-
related hardware such as a portable keyboard, a sleek black mouse and a
few scratched CDs.

The items had fallen out of one of the victim's bags, giving some insight
into the dead man's profession, and Arthur had been called in to help
identify and catalogue the equipment. It was a tragic circumstance.

A tall Auror with a scraggly beard and loose-fitting robes came forward,
"Weasley, right on time! You are an absolute lifesaver, mate." His sharp
eyes fell on Harry, "Sorry, boss. I didn't see you there."

Harry smiled, politely excused himself, left Arthur and John to it, and went
over to where Kingsley was still talking with the Auror woman in charge of
the blood-curdling crime scene.

Amelia pointed to the corpse of a man with his mouth open in a silent
scream and half his tongue bitten off. She said with a certain level of
disgust, "He's been drained dry of every ounce of blood through multiple
puncture areas."

"Are we certain this is the work of one werewolf?" Kingsley asked

incredulously, unable to contain the surprise in his voice. It was pretty
farfetched to assume that one werewolf could cause this much devastation.

Harry addressed the Minister's concern and nodded curtly, "Yes, it is. A
powerful one." He had another mystery on his hands, and he couldn't help
but wonder if everything was somehow connected.

Next, Amelia indicated to the body closest to them, "This poor bugger was
probably still alive as the wolf feasted on his flesh. His face was brutally
mauled beyond recognition."

Without further word, she walked over to the magically bound woman on
the floor in the ripped dress, screaming in what could only be assumed as
unimaginable pain.

The others followed her at a short distance and approached the victim with
extreme caution.

Compared to the rest, the woman was in considerably better shape. Harry
looked at her and felt a deep sense of pity and remorse. He had failed to
protect her and every other soul there.

Amelia stated openly, "She's been marked and well on her way to becoming
a werewolf at the next full moon. Instinctively she will seek her maker and
perhaps lead us to him."
A panicked voice interrupted, "Isn't she too dangerous to be kept alive?"
The young Auror in training kept his distance and visibly shuddered. It was
abundantly clear that he would not pass the upcoming Auror trials with his
gutless attitude.

Harry whipped around and glared at the recruit, "Oh, really? And what does
your abundant experience suggest? Should we end her miserable
existence?" He goaded, "Go on then, if you believe it must be done, go
ahead and do it!"

"Potter, you mustn't lose your head over this," Kingsley advised and
speculated whether the pressure of the job was finally getting to the man.
They were facing dark times, and none could afford any costly mistakes.

The nervous recruit backed further away and apologised profusely, "I'm
sorry, sir. I didn't mean anything by it." He wished he had taken his mother's
advice and become a Healer. This was certainly not what he had signed up
for.

Harry pointed to the helpless woman and hissed, "This disastrous attack
wasn't her fault. She's just a Muggle heading home after a hard day's work,
by the looks of it."

Michael handed over a leather purse with a small wallet visible inside, "Her
wallet, Kingsley."

Shacklebolt pulled it out, flipped it open, and sadness flooded him at the
sight of the happy family picture that greeted him. He said slowly for all
within earshot to hear, "Susan Alice Hartley. She is a loving wife and
mother of two beautiful children."

He gritted out in a most displeasing manner, "Fucking wonderful. This

woman's husband and children are probably frantic, waiting for her to come
home."

In the nonmoving picture, Harry pointed to the pleasant-looking husband,

"This man is probably worried to death." He knew he would be if Ginny
were late from returning after an outing. He clutched his fists inside his
pockets, trying to hide his anxiety.

He addressed the gathered group sternly, "Which one of you is willing to

march into her home and tell them that the woman they love and cherish is
slowly becoming a werewolf?"

The gathered group exchanged looks of concern over their boss's behaviour.
It wasn't like him to snap at them or regard them in such a fierce way.

"Nobody?" Harry eyed every member of his team, "Then I guess it falls to
me."

Michael intervened. He clamped Harry down on the shoulder and appeased

him as best he could, "Calm down, mate."

Harry stared at the woman, grief-stricken, "Not all Werewolves thirst for
blood. They have an element of control." He was reminded of his wise ex-
professor and good friend Remus Lupin.

He struggled to compose himself and instructed firmly, "Transfer her to the

Werewolf care unit and inform the blokes at the Ministry to expect a visitor.
We are best equipped to educate her on how best to deal with her," he
paused for a second, "Condition." He made up his mind to accompany the
Ministry official when visiting her family. They deserved that much, at
least.

A kindly medically trained Auror tending to the woman nodded dejectedly.

He took out his wand, gingerly placed his hand on the victim's shoulder and
apparated them away.

Michael looked to the heavens and breathed a sigh of relief. The off-white
once full moon that loomed over them previously was smaller and obscured
by the clouds, "Thank Merlin, the full moon has passed."

Amelia hated to be the bearer of more bad news, but she had no choice but
to keep the team informed, "But some werewolves can transform at will. It
comes with age and strength." It wasn't common knowledge that once a
werewolf reached a certain age that they were able to shift when it pleased
them, but it was a rarity. Most with the skill were mindful of their actions
and strived to control their bloodlust by slaughtering animals to satisfy their
thirst instead of humans.

Kingsley sighed in exhaustion and gritted out, "The Muggle Prime Minister
is yelling bloody murder. His head is so far up my arse; it's choking me."

Fixing the Minister with a disgusted look, Amelia returned to taking

photographs of the victims from every possible angle. She had witnessed
some horrific scenes in her years as a dedicated member of the DMLE, but
what lay before her rendered her speechless.

Kingsley had flooed into the muggle prime minister's office for a tense
conversation along with the head of Muggle MI5. It was apparent from the
Muggle Prime Minister's body language that he was doing his utmost to
keep his composure and not have a complete meltdown, "Handle it,
Shacklebolt. This is under your bloody domain."

The Minister of Magic crossed a leg over the other and regarded the
Muggle Prime Minister through narrowed eyes and a sour disposition. His
patience and tolerance for the man hung by a fine thread.

The balding man sneered, "Innocent civilians cannot pay the price for gross
negligence in failing to keep your lot in place."

Kingsley glared sternly, slowly rose to his feet, towered over the seated
Muggle minister, and gritted out, "What exactly do you mean by my lot?"
The MI5 Agent known by the alias Evan moved instinctively between the
men and attempted to diffuse the situation, "We must remain calm,
Shacklebolt."

Keeping a watchful eye over the sweating man, Kingsley stated with little
room for argument, "I will disregard that last comment, Minister, as poor
judgment on your part considering the situation but rest assured the
situation is already handled." He wasn't about to sit idly by and be insulted
by a tub of lard who hadn't a clue about running the country.
Evan sighed and returned to his place by the main door to keep watch.
Witches and wizards, he hadn't believed it first, brushing it aside as a joke
in poor taste until Kingsley transfigured a simple stapler into a bottle of
scotch.

Kingsley further advised in a tone that was not to be taken lightly, "There
will be instances where our worlds collide, and without passing blame and
panicking like some witless pillock, we must work together to keep the
peace."

The Muggle Prime minister flinched and nodded hastily in agreement

before apologising, "I understand. Please accept my humble apology for my
crude remark, Kingsley. It was truly uncalled for."

Kingsley turned to the other man standing in the room and advised, "I trust
you will do all required to ensure this does not become public?"

"Indeed, Minister Shacklebolt. Rest assured, we will be available should

you require us." Evan nodded.

He had left the Prime minister's office immediately and met with Thomas
and Potter, who were working late, to discuss the grave situation.

"Any witnesses?" Kingsley irritably grilled Michael and Amelia.

Amelia nodded and pointed to a girl of no more than twenty, looking dazed
and quite frankly hypnotised, "Just the Muggle waitress who stepped into
the Alley for a quick smoke, but she's petrified and no good verbally."

Michael added with a smidge of hope, looking over his shoulder, "Thomas
is shuffling through her memories. Hopefully, we can salvage something
worthwhile to pin this bastard."

Kingsley pursed his lips, "If he was in his wolf form, we are without hope."

Harry thoughtfully interjected, "Do you think Granger's letter is connected?

It's too much of a sheer coincidence."
Kingsley weighed the possibility and concluded that it made sense
somewhat, "I wouldn't rule it out, but Voldemort and his merry band of
Death Eaters considered Werewolves beneath them. They treated the lot like
filthy mongrels only fit to do their bidding."

Michael chimed in, "The predator is smarter than we give him credit for
because by targeting Muggles than magical folk, it can go undetected for
weeks."

"First, the Dollhouse Strangler and now this?" Kingsley questioned Harry
solemnly. Things were looking quite bleak for DMLE.

Thomas approached them with a frown etched onto his face.

Harry raised a brow, "Any luck?"

Thomas shook his head and barrelled into explanation, "The culprit is quite
a large greyish wolf with a distinctive line of white fur down its back."

Glancing at a mountain of neglected garbage bags filled to the brim with

debris and rotting food, among other things, he encompassed, "The girl hid
behind those bags, and the revolting odour masked her smell from the
werewolf and possibly saved her from an early demise."

Thomas said with a slight smile, "The poor lass. I wiped her memories and
sent her on her merry way."

His tone turned dark and menacing, "I've seen bigger wolves who hunt
Muggles because they were threatened or eager to feed, but all this, it looks
like it was done out of pleasure." After a moment's thought, he added, "For
the sheer thrill of the chase, and there's something vaguely familiar about
the wolf in question."

Harry suggested, "I think it's time to pay Dorian another visit."

Kingsley warned everyone within earshot, "Make sure the parasites at the
Daily Prophet do not get wind of any of this. I don't need a nation in panic."
Michael gave a two-fingered military salute and made a mental note to call
Brenda. He missed her terribly, but it didn't look like he was heading home
soon.

It would be hours later when the last Auror disappeared from the scene,
having cleaned up the place and removed all trace of what happened that
Harry had left for home.

Ginny and James were, of course, fast asleep. Taking care not to wake
them, he stepped into the bathroom, stripped and stood under the shower for
ages thinking incessantly about the situation that he landed himself with a
headache.

Satisfied that he had succeeded in scrubbing the stench of death from him,
he climbed into bed and sought the comfort that was Ginny.

She felt his unrest and looked at him sleepily, "What's the matter, love?"

Harry hugged her tight and asked with almost boyish insecurity, "Do you
think I'm shit at my job?"

Ginny rubbed the sleepiness off her face, smiled and did her best to reassure
her husband, "You have the toughest job besides the Minister of Magic. You
can't save everyone, Potter, but I know you try your very best, and you have
saved hundreds of people, which makes you bloody brilliant at your job."

"I'm losing control," Harry confided and choked back a sob.

Ginny cupped his face and kissed his forehead, "You are human, Harry. We
all lose control at some point, but what's important is that you get back out
there and take control."

Harry kissed her passionately and whispered between heated kisses, "God
bless you, my Ginny Potter."

Malfoy Manor
Draco bolted up in a state of panic with his hands balled into fists and raised
before him aggressively with the single intent of striking a faceless entity.
His entire body was coated in a thin sheath of cold sweat.

Rapidly blinking to gather his bearings, he came to the shuddering

conclusion that he was within the comfort of his room with steady beams of
moonlight licking the floors in a luminous silvery glow.

Kicking the sheet that covered him to the side with some force, Draco threw
his legs over the edge letting his bare feet touch the coolness of the wooden
floors. It served as a wake-up call, and his breathing hastened while he
stared out of the window into the seemingly sinister grounds.

It had been years since he had a nightmare.

Smith's boisterous warning and his father's words from beyond the grave
tormented him.

There was a feeling of intense unrest that curled like a trapped serpent in
the pit of his belly.

What fresh hell had he returned to?

Next morning

Hermione sat at the table nursing a cool glass of orange juice. She owled
Brenda to inform her that she would be running late and asked her to take
care of matters in her absence.

She chose her outfit with care and thought it best to visit Narcissa and the
contractors before heading to work and made sure to purposely arrive late at
Malfoy Manor to avoid any run-ins with Draco. He was a stickler for time
and would have undoubtedly left for work before she came to meet with his
mother, Hermione wisely thought.

Hermione grabbed her handbag and apparated with a single destination in

mind. She appeared near the vast rose bushes on the ground. As luck would
have it, Narcissa, Dotty, and Max tended to the red roses, oblivious to her
arrival.

Max sensed her presence first and ran towards her with his tongue and
saliva flying in every direction and jumped into her waiting arms, almost
knocking her back. It was then Narcissa and Dotty looked her away, and
instantly their lips curved upwards to form happy smiles.

"Hermione!" Narcissa gushed, abandoned the white roses she diligently

tended to and glided over to where Max was attempting to lick every inch
of Hermione's face. Dotty hurried over and, with some difficulty, pulled the
stubborn dog off their guest and managed to tame him momentarily.

"You look lovely," Narcissa raved as she usually did, and Hermione replied
almost at once, "As do you. Green is such a stunning colour on you." They
exchanged air kisses, and the aristocratic woman exclaimed, "Your timing
could not be more perfect."

With a slight smile, Hermione wondered what the statement meant and
made her thoughts known with a raised brow, "How so, Narcissa?"

"The contractors and interior designer made their way towards the cottage
not fifteen minutes ago," Narcissa gestured graciously and offered a quick
explanation. She looked pointedly in the direction of the cottage and asked
with a twinkle in her eyes, "Shall we?"

Hermione nodded and moved to Narcissa's side, but a rugged voice of pure
steel cut effortlessly through the moment, "I will show Granger the cottage,
mother."

Bloody hell! Hermione thought with an imminent roll of her eyes and
butterflies relentlessly fluttering within her stomach.

Draco strode towards them as the mist cleared, and a lump formed in
Hermione's throat, which she swallowed with some difficulty and stared
shamelessly at the man walking towards them in freshly laundered black
Auror robes and a panther-like stride.
She was instantly reminded of the classic Muggle novel Pride and
Prejudice. Malfoy bore a striking resemblance in both looks and
mannerisms to Mr Darcy.

This was going horribly wrong. He wasn't supposed to be home. It was

nearly noon, and she knew without a doubt Auror training started sharp at
ten am per Audrey's strict guidelines. At first, Draco ignored Hermione's
presence, much to her annoyance, causing her to purposely look away and
focus her attention on the sweet-smelling roses that grew in abundance. He
flashed a bright smile at his beloved mother and lightly kissed her on the
cheek, "Good morning, mother."

Narcissa patted his cheek and smiled fondly, "Good morning, darling. Did
you sleep well?"

His face fell into darkness but only for a fleeting moment. It would not do
for others to know his predicament. If only he could share the truth of what
he endured during his short trip to Azkaban with his mother without
needlessly worrying her. Instead, he settled on an excellent white lie to
protect her, "I slept like a baby."

Hermione watched him intently. Her astute eyes took in the dark circles
around his eyes, and she mumbled without much thought, "Babies sleep
fretfully. They get up every two hours to feed."

Slowly turning to face his intended, Draco finally acknowledged her and
smiled somewhat smugly, "Good morning, Granger."

Hermione attempted to keep calm and appear professional. She muttered

almost inaudibly, "Morning, Malfoy." You could cut the tension between
them with a knife. It was thick, prominent and bound to swallow them
whole.

Oblivious or completely undisturbed by their behaviour, Narcissa

punctuated the moment with a firm, "I trust you will see Hermione to the
cottage."
Draco kept his mesmerising swirls fixed on Hermione. He nodded curtly
and replied with an air of superiority, "But of course, mother. You have my
word."

Shuddering at the intensity his eyes bestowed upon her, Hermione fought
the cowardly urge to flee Malfoy Manor and return at a time when Draco's
presence was only limited to the lingering smell of the aftershave he left in
his wake.

Narcissa grinned devilishly and clapped to show her delight, "Wonderful!"

She looked over to where Dotty was struggling with Max and commanded,
"Come here, Max," But the German Shepherd whimpered, stubbornly broke
free from Dotty's weak grasp and stayed firmly by Hermione's side.
Wagging a ringed finger at the dog, Narcissa scolded with a fond smile,
"Fine, you naughty rascal. See if you will get any treats from me."

Draco moved closer to Hermione, who went rigid as his presence invaded
her space. Once again, he ignored her, ruffled the fur on top of the eager
dog's head and insisted, "Let him stay, mother." He lifted his gaze from
Max, fixed it on the squirming witch, and declared arrogantly for all to hear,
"Granger and I shan't be long."

Hermione cleared her throat to compose herself and stated brazenly, "I
didn't expect you to still be at home."

Draco smirked, "Of course, you didn't." He thought it prudent to explain

why he was running late, "I was out on a mission last night and got back
quite late."

He raised a perfectly shaped brow and questioned in an amused tone, "Does

that appease your curiosity?"

That bit of voluntary information piqued her interest, "What mission?"

"I am not at liberty to divulge sensitive information," Draco replied with a

shrug.
The nerve of him to imply that she didn't have the proper access to know
about stealthy missions. Hermione scowled but held her tongue in
Narcissa's presence. His nightly wanderings hardly mattered to her. With his
newfound fame, thanks to Rita Skeeter portraying him as a Saint, he was
bound to have scores of witches lusting after his cock.

Draco started to move away, and when she didn't attempt to follow him, he
glanced over his shoulder and snapped, "Well, are you coming, Granger?"

"Narcissa…" Hermione mouthed helplessly, but the Malfoy Matriarch

smiled and encouraged with a tip of her chin before returning to preen over
her beloved flowers.

She willed her jelly-like legs to move and almost squeaked, "Yes. Lead the
way." Hermione was appalled by her behaviour and wanted nothing more
than to string coherent words together to break the ice and thank him. Still,
unfortunately, no such comments made it to the surface, and they
maintained an uncomfortable silence.

Max happily ran ahead, chasing the many butterflies feeding on the nectar
from the many sweet-smelling flowers that blossomed.

Draco inconspicuously glanced at the witch who purposely walked behind

him in silence, putting as much distance between them as possible, only
stopping to smell the flowers or gaze in delight at the many birds that burst
into song. Her behaviour was peculiar at best, and he infinitely struggled to
understand her.

A large part of him wanted to confide in her about Smith's words and his
visit to Azkaban but decided against it for the time being to focus on the
matter at hand.

They walked steadily along the cobbled pathway explicitly built to lead
people to the cottage. Though it had been around since the inception of
Malfoy Manor, hardly anyone occupied it. For centuries it lay abandoned
but kept in pristine condition by regular cleaning and minor renovations.
It was by no means a close distance, and clearly, heels were not the ideal
shoe for such a trudging. Her ankles were beginning to ache and buckle, but
she put on a brave face and marched forward with less grace than before,
cursing the inventor of heels with every painful step. They could have
easily apparated, but neither suggested it since they were content in
strolling through the grounds and taking in the interesting sights and
countless breathtaking flowers, or at least Draco was.

Unable to keep his troubling thoughts shielded any longer, Draco gazed
longingly at a blue-breasted bird with a tuft of yellow feathers lulling his
mate with a beautiful song and asked thoughtfully, "Are you about done
avoiding me?"

Bugger! Hermione thought. Oh well, best to address the elephant in the

room and be done with her abysmal conduct.

She tore her eyes away from the same bird that captivated him and retorted
with an audible sigh, "I'm not avoiding you, Malfoy. I simply do not know
what to say."

Hermione couldn't help the resentment and smidge of spite that crept into
her voice as she uttered the following words, "Besides, you had your hands
full yesterday catering to scores of infatuated bints who now think you are
the catch of the decade."

A hearty laugh tore out of Draco's pale pinkish lips. Without a shred of
decency, he teased, "Don't tell me you're jealous, Granger?"

Hermione stopped to look at a rare orchid and scoffed, "Don't be

ridiculous."

Draco curled his bottom lip with his teeth and mused, "Well then, you can
start by…." His words trailed off into nothingness as he took in his fiancé's
look of utter disbelief and silent wonderment.

They were greeted by a spectacular two-storey modest Victorian abode

painted in brilliant white. Hermione's flabbergasted look of shock that left
her with her mouth hanging open amused Draco.
She grew wide-eyed and asked incredulously, "This is a cottage?"

Showing utter indifference, Draco shrugged, "It's smaller than the Manor."

She raised her eyebrows so far up they disappeared under her fringe of hair.
With her hands on her hip, Hermione hurled fairly, "Not by much."

Cocking her head to the side, she teased, "Do you even know what a cottage
is?"

Draco grabbed Hermione by the wrist and pulled her forward with a roll of
his eyes and a rather commanding, "Come on. Let's go inside." She hadn't
expected him to take her hand, let alone touch her after her terrible
behaviour, but Malfoy seemed to have tough outer skin.

The cottage was untouched and breathtakingly beautiful. There wasn't much
she would change in the exquisite interior.

Hermione felt like she had stepped into one of the many fairy tales she was
obsessed with as a child, minus the handsome Prince, of course. Still,
ironically she supposed Malfoy did qualify even though they were destined
to divorce and seek they're happily ever after elsewhere.

The draperies were a rich crimson with gold trimmings, and the furniture in
the foyer by the large fireplace was tasteful and nothing short of
spectacular. She grew happy yet embarrassed, and then her face fell in
sadness at the prospect of adorning the mantlepiece with their wedding
photographs and many pictures of their children.

She envisioned a life with him as some foolish lovestruck woman bent on
marrying and starting a family. What in the name of Merlin was wrong with
her?

An embroidered carpet lay by the dormant hearth adding sinful thoughts of

naked nights entwined in each other's arms to her imagination. Her fingers
brushed along the velvet material of a chintz chair that she could only
imagine as costing a sizable fortune and moved closer to a window that
boasted a splendid view of the garden.
She desperately needed to think clearly and shake her head free of enticing
and wholesome thoughts. This thing between Malfoy and her wasn't real in
the slightest. It was a farce, a sham marriage cooked up by The Ministry.

Husky tones of pure lust invaded the shell of her ear, yet there was no
physical contact. He seemed to share her sentiments on roaring fires and
passionate, unbridled sex.

His deep voice caressed her skin, sending goosebumps in droves to the
surface, "So, which of these rooms should we christen first?"

Draco had watched in fascination as Hermione walked around the cottage in

a world entirely of her own, smiling secretly and literally having the time of
her life. Seeing her in such a state of euphoria made him gravitate toward
her even more.

Hermione stiffened at the sudden movement and whispered, "Excuse me?"

He had come up from behind, pressed into her back and soothingly ran his
fingers up and down her arms. Closing his long fingers around her upper
arms, he spun her around, stared down at her stunned face, and took in the
perfections and imperfections. She looked so oddly innocent it made his
heart bleed.

Despite her halfhearted protests, he positioned her by the window and said,
"You look beautiful when the sun hits you at this precise angle." Stubborn
beams of sunlight bounced off the wild curls of her hair and enveloped her
face in a healthy glow highlighting her puckered, slightly parted lips with a
nude shade of lipstick and lowered eyelids.

Hermione felt the warmth of the sun seeping into her skin. She kept her
eyes downcast and said abruptly, "I'm sorry." Her statement was almost
childish.

Her sudden declaration caused his fingers to dig in, making her wince.
Draco relaxed his hold, cursed his stupidity for causing her pain and
sincerely implored, "For what?" She couldn't bring herself to make eye
contact. Hermione averted her gaze and mumbled, "For many things."
Draco reluctantly let go and regarded his betrothed intently. He enjoyed her
discomfort immensely but kept his reactions well hidden and urged with
mild impatience, "Go on. It's not every day one gets an apology from the
Undersecretary." He would have bet his inheritance that Granger hardly
apologised unless absolutely necessary.

Hermione could barely stand his carefree attitude. She complained

somewhat unfairly, "Why aren't you mad at me? You should be livid."

Draco swallowed the laughter that clawed its way to the surface. Instead, he
shrugged and offered a plausible explanation, "Perhaps, but I understand
you far better than you give me credit for."

Nervously chewing on her lip, Hermione said meekly, "I wanted to leave
with you, but…."

"Weasley is an immature git," Draco mused from his place by an exquisite

cabinet that undoubtedly housed antiques with runes carved into them.

Undeterred, She continued with unwavering determination, "And, I…," but

the words were barely out of her mouth before he rudely interrupted once
again, "Still have doubts about my intentions?"

Damn his uncanny ability to read her like a book.

Draco closed the distance between them in less than three purposeful strides
and tipped her chin, "The most enjoyable part is trying to convince you
otherwise." Sure, her rejection of him dented his ego, but he understood
perhaps better than anyone why she did what she did, and he wasn't about to
penalise her for it.

There was another beat of silence as he bent to claim her lips, but she
suddenly turned her head sideways, catching him off guard, and offered her
flushed cheek while staring unsurely at the entrance.

Hermione protested halfheartedly, "Stop, Draco. Anyone could walk in on

us."
A sound of deep disappointment emitted from him and sent a shiver down
her spine. It was heavenly to be encased by his smell and trapped in his
arms.

Draco placed a heated kiss on to the throbbing pulse of her neck and
muttered, "I must say the interruptions are getting rather tiresome, but the
contractors work for Malfoy Industries. I can tell him to take a long walk
while we…."

"I saw you having lunch with Michelle," Hermione blurted out. It had been
on the tip of her tongue to say since seeing him.

Draco closed his eyes and sighed, "Right." After a fleeting moment, he
opened them and regarded her with a frown, "Well, you have succeeded in
butchering the mood. If you want to talk, then we can talk." He backed
away, leaned against a polished desk, crossed his legs at the ankles and
waited for her to begin, but her hostile body language indicated she was
waiting on him to explain.

He shrugged nonchalantly and said, "She's hard to discourage, but rest

assured it was nothing but a shared brief moment between colleagues." He
chuckled as he recalled Abbott's sour disposition, "It's hardly a date with
Hannah breathing down my neck."

Hermione raised a brow and questioned gleefully, "Doesn't Hannah like

Michelle?"

Draco held back a laugh with an amused expression and replied frankly,
"She does not!"

"Do you like her?" Hermione averted her gaze and inquired casually,
hoping not to show keen interest but failed miserably in her attempt.
Deciding to take the piss out of the peeved woman before him, Draco
answered with faux enthusiasm, "As a matter of fact, I do. Abbott is
intelligent, a joy to have around and…."

Forgetting all composure, Hermione stomped her foot on the ground like an
impudent child and admonished, "Not Abbott, you idiot. I meant Dubois."
Draco grew thoughtful. He scratched his chin in deep thought, taking his
time and retorted, "Ah, she's a very attractive woman and quite
intelligent…."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, and her nostrils flared. Bah,
Intelligent, my foot, she thought in envy. The former Slytherin was enjoying
himself immensely but enough fun. His tone turned serious, "But Michelle
pales in comparison to you, Ma Cherie." The last two words rolled off his
tongue, leaving Hermione dumbstruck but pleasantly surprised.

Draco raised a brow and addressed the obvious plainly, "How much have
you accomplished since leaving Hogwarts? Judging by the sheer number of
accolades that decorate your office, I'd say it's more than a few." His tone
held a sense of immense pride.

Hermione looked away shyly and blushed at the compliment.

It was general knowledge that she was the youngest witch in history to take
up office as the Undersecretary and the most dedicated to the job. She
picked up a beautifully crafted crystal peacock and coyly defended, "Well, I
like helping others, especially underprivileged children."

Caught up in the heat of the moment, Hermione rambled on, "There's this
one wizarding orphanage in the upper East side of London. They lack the
basic requirements, but I've done all I can to provide them with running
water, clean sheets and food." A good portion of her wages went to the
place each month, but it was barely enough.

Draco said after a moment's thought, "Interesting. I would like to visit this
place you speak so passionately about."

Hermione wandered around the massive room, picking up expensive-

looking trinkets and replied politely, "You don't have to, Malfoy."

Draco blatantly insisted, "But I want to, Granger," He argued with purpose,
"I am capable of doing some good things."
He added with a low laugh for good measure, "And I do have a vast
inheritance at my disposal."

A jewel-encrusted box grabbed her avid attention and stroked her insatiable
curiosity. The light bounced off the many semi-precious stones that adorned
the lid, creating a prism of colours to reflect on the walls.

Hermione anxiously opened the box to see the contents within and frowned
when she discovered it was empty and said without much thought, "Then
you should first help Teddy." She knew things weren't always easy for
Andromeda, but the refined woman's noble upbringing and pride stood in
the way of asking for help outright.

The words left her lips effortlessly. As the realisation of her actions sunk in,
Hermione covered her mouth and stared at Malfoy in true mortification,
awaiting the rightfully stern words that would likely follow.

Draco stiffened but gathered his wits and answered truthfully, "I have every
intention of relinquishing my rights and handing whatever is due and more
to Teddy Lupin and Aunt Andromeda."

His features contorted in sadness, but he said with fierce determination,

"They have suffered enough, but they will no longer whilst I draw breath."

Hermione softened her gaze and questioned in barely a whisper, "You

would do that?" Her heart thawed in that exact second, and Draco Malfoy
managed to make a memorable mark.

Straightening, Draco nodded curtly and affirmed, "Mother and I have

already spoken about it." She couldn't help but stare at the dangerously
handsome young man saying such things worthy of admiration.

Draco smiled and teased good-naturedly, "Close your mouth, Granger. The
awestruck look does not become you. I prefer your sarcastic quips and
banter where I am concerned. It amuses me."

"Smug prat," Hermione frowned and proved him right once again.
His eyes clouded over with the many splendid memories of China. He had
the overwhelming urge to share them with Granger, "At the temple, we
looked after many orphans, and I taught the little rascals English when time
permitted."

"It was quite fulfilling to do something worthwhile for a change," Draco

confessed with a heavy heart. He fondly recalled the many sessions of
keeping the many children in line as he valiantly tried to teach them the
alphabet.

He flashed a bright smile, "Besides, I would like to do something you

approve of and believe it or not, I enjoy working with children." He thought
back to Suri Jun's younger sister and her merry band of misfits.

At first, Hermione hesitated and then implored once good sense kicked in,
"Do you really mean that? They could truly benefit from proper funding."

Draco rolled his eyes, regarded her with an amused expression and said
candidly, "Always the tone of surprise. Must you always expect the worst
from me?"

His tone was not to be questioned or trifled with. The seriousness of the
words he spoke imprinted themselves on her heart, "Of course, I mean it. I
would hardly joke about such a serious matter."

"Malfoy?" Hermione said in a slightly low voice but enough to be heard.

He smiled and eagerly responded, "Yes, Granger?"

She locked eyes with him, never faltering, and responded genuinely, "I
never thanked you for doing the interview."

Draco smirked and brushed it aside, "Ah, there's nothing to thank me for,
but it does sound nice coming out of these cherry red lips." His gaze fell to
her plump lips causing Hermione's pert tongue to dart out and moisten her
bottom lip.
Swallowing the sizable lump that formed in his throat, he included in
disbelief, "I meant every word in the interview. However, I am shocked
Skeeter kept my answers as is and did not tamper with them."

A devilish glint lit up his eyes, "Rita knows better than to tarnish you in her
column anymore."

Hermione looked at him directly and felt compelled to ask, "You didn't
stretch the truth?"

"No, I did not. I saw no reason to," Draco eased her mind with his sincere
answer.

A strained silence fell over them until Hermione almost choked back a sob,
"Do you truly feel that much regret over what happened to me?" Her tone
was heavy with the overwhelming weight of the situation.

He replied solemnly, "Of course, I do. I, umm, looked away for the most
part. My father warned me to shield my thoughts, bury them deep within,
he kept saying, but I had just started to learn Legilimency. It wasn't an easy
task."

"It's one of the reasons why I left," Draco purposely looked away and
caught sight of Max immensely enjoying himself in a hole he had dug. A
slight smile curved his lips as the carefree creature uprooted decades-old
plants.

Hermione backed away and nodded in agreement, "Yes, I'm beginning to

see why you did, and oddly enough, it makes perfect sense."

Keeping his eyes on the many antics of Max, Draco further enlightened,
"Like you, I hate being inside the Manor at times. New furnishings and a
coat of fresh paint do not undo the horrors and blood shed within those
walls." A sudden burst of anger surged through him.

Hermione assured, "I understand. Thank you for doing what you did. I
know it wasn't easy."
Draco moved closer and smirked. His eyes roved over her in appreciation,
and he boldly tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear, allowing his thumb to
brush over her sensitive earlobe. He towered over her and whispered, "Well,
you can ease my pain."

Hermione moved away slightly, and her back hit a wall. She blushed, "I
don't follow…."

Slamming his palm down on the wall to steady himself, Draco pressed
himself unashamedly flush against Hermione's body, causing her bosom to
flatten against his chest, garnering a satisfying low moan from her.

He leaned forward and drawled seductively, "I'm going to kiss you now,
Granger."

Hermione looked at him through hooded lids contemplating her next move.
Her eyes mirrored the intense arousal he evoked in her. She pulled him
close, put caution to the wind and let her arms encircle his neck.

He smirked in the most alluring way, and she wanted to bite his lip.

Playing with the fine blonde strands that fell carelessly onto the back of his
neck, she licked her bottom lip and sensually rasped, "Well, if you must."

Draco did not waste time. He had her consent to do as he pleased. He

pushed her up against the closest wall and hungrily devoured her lips.
Hermione responded feverishly by moving her fingers into his hair and
grabbing at his robes later.

Their lips moulded perfectly together and moved in unison, but Draco
deepened the embrace by parting her lips and pushing his tongue hard
against hers.

He would surely drown in her sweet essence. Their need was urgent. The
hunger for each other consumed them, and soft mewls of want pierced the
air.
Her leg snaked around his waist in her eagerness to bring him, if possible,
closer, and the heel slipped off her foot and hit the ground noisily. He
moved between her legs, causing the skirt to further ride up her thighs,
barely covering her most intimate place.

Gently, his hand edged up the exposed flesh of her thigh. He dug his fingers
into the sensitive skin, making her moan wantonly as he held her in place
by pinning her to the wall.

A single finger slipped under the band of her silk knickers, and Hermione
thought he would proceed to remove them. Her breathing hitched. The
anticipation was causing her nerve endings to come alive, and her arousal
wet her panties.

She angled herself to make it easier for him to remove them and then buried
her face in the crook of his neck and proceeded to leave a trail of reddish
love bites peppered across his palish skin. He did have the most deliciously
defined long neck.

"I want you," Draco huskily rasped against her neck while tugging at the
silk material, and Hermione took his bottom lip between her teeth and bit
down hard.

She arched her back, possessively pulled him by his waist and rubbed his
aroused bulge against her core, "Then take me…."

Heavy footsteps entered the foyer without announcement. A smartly dressed

woman gasped, "Oh, sorry, sir. We were not aware that you had arrived"

"Yes! We were expecting you much later," A visibly perspiring man

barreled into further explanation. He could barely tear his gaze away from
Hermione's partially visible thong, stubbornly peeking from where her dress
was hiked up.

Every bloody time. It was uncanny and infuriating.

Draco purposely turned his back on the unexpected visitors, shielding

Hermione with his large frame covering her exposed flesh from roaming
eyes and issuing a dire warning, "Leave. Now!"

"Of course, Mr Malfoy. Pardon our intrusion," a man in a formal white shirt
and black trousers snapped to attention and replied at once. They swapped
looks of concern and backed out of the room hurriedly.

"Oh, that's quite alright. Let's start, shall we?" Hermione injected loudly as
she clumsily adjusted her blouse and skirt while the two constructors and
interior designer stepped outside without another word and awaited further
instruction.

She scolded once they were alone, "Well, that was rude."

Draco straightened, removed any remaining lipstick stains from his face,
and frowned, "What do you mean?" The untimely interruption irked him
since he was painfully hard and unable to do anything about it.

"It wasn't their fault. You didn't have to be so…intense," Hermione moodily
stated. She was beyond embarrassed at being caught in such a
compromising situation yet again. Still, it was no one's fault but their own
for letting their urges get the better of them in inappropriate settings.

Draco hissed in a foreboding manner, "I'm not overly fond of others getting
a glimpse of your knickers."

"Right, of course, but as noble as your actions were, your behaviour was
tyrannical," Hermione countered and pursed her lips.

With a roll of his eyes, Draco ignored the yammering, took her hand, and
dragged her out to meet the awaiting contractors who had made good use of
the time to arrange colour palettes, references of bathrooms and suite
layouts on the sizable dining table.

"I'm paying for half the cost," Hermione hissed out of the corner of her
mouth, and that insulting bit of information caused Draco to tighten his hold
and mutter, "In your bloody dreams, Granger."
"Good afternoon," Draco greeted with an air of superiority, pushed
Hermione forward and introduced, "I'm sure you all know my fiancé."

The interior designer spoke first, "Of course, Mr Malfoy." She smiled
broadly, "It is good to meet you in person, Madam Undersecretary." She
extended her petite hand, which Hermione shook with a polite greeting,
"The pleasure is all mine. Shall we begin?"

Draco held out a chair for Hermione to sit on before taking the seat beside
her. The others followed suit, and Dotty magically appeared with a large pot
of tea and other delectable goodies such as pastries, cakes and sandwiches
to sustain them.

They spoke for a good hour about specific designs, colour schemes,
furniture to match their different tastes and various patterns for an exquisite
bath.

Hermione fell in love with every single bathroom design they presented but
ultimately settled on a gorgeous porcelain clawfoot tub to lounge and relax
in and all the more exemplary fittings that went along with them. Her room
would be fitted with an enormous walk-in closet to house all her knick-
knacks.

Draco interrupted the proceedings, "Make sure an entire section is dedicated

to her ever-growing shoe collection." Hermione blushed. She was pretty
taken aback by the fact that he knew of her one weakness where fashion
was concerned.

On his visits to her flat, he hadn't overlooked the cramped cupboard she
kept, especially for shoes of various designs. It baffled him that one woman
could require and manage to wear so many shoes in a lifetime.

Draco leaned back in his chair and watched Hermione pull books with
designs towards her and enthusiastically discuss bathroom fittings as if they
were the most significant part of the renovation. He smiled at her
schoolgirl-like amazement and happiness when presented with the best
materials. There was an innate softness to her face that he had long since
forgotten, and it enthralled him.
The interior designer inquired courteously, "What about you, Mr Malfoy?"
He had remained calm and quiet the entire time.

"I'm a simple man," Draco replied with a slight smile. Hermione rolled her
eyes exasperatedly at the blatant lie that left his lips.

Simple? He was anything but a simple man.

Leaning forward, he informed offhandedly, "My mother has already

provided you with the detailed plan of my training room."

The man sitting to the left with a severe expression answered at once,
pulled out a hand-drawn sketch, and waved his wand over it, "Yes, she has,
Mr Malfoy, and we've begun work on creating the room to your exact
specifications."

Nodding curtly, Draco instructed, "My bedroom suite will consist of mostly
black coloured furniture. I am not particularly fond of bright colours. A
sizable wardrobe with glass sliding doors will be required, along with a
sturdy personal desk and..," his voice trailed off, and his gaze shifted to
Hermione, who listened intently to his every word. He completed his last
request firmly, "And a large bed with silk sheets if possible."

"Of course, Mr Malfoy," The nervous man jotted down the requirements
and nodded vigorously. He wondered why they were designing two master
bedrooms instead of the usual one.

Draco glanced at the time and grimaced. Salazar, he was running very late.
He had informed Audrey via owl that he would be joining the second half
of training but received no reply, and he had no intention of prolonging the
inevitable.

He abruptly got to his feet and smoothened his robes, "I must leave. My
fiance will answer any further questions on my behalf. I trust her
impeccable judgement."

Hermione threw him a look of surprise, nodded in acknowledgement but

said nothing. She knew he had Auror training and was well aware of the
tight ship Audrey ran. The woman was respected, and rightly so.

Draco requested with a satisfied smile, "Are you staying for lunch? I have
to go in for training, but you are more than welcome to stay. I know my
mother will enjoy it."

Hermione returned the smile, "I think I will take you up on that."

He dropped a quick kiss on her forehead, "I will see you later, darling."

Fighting back the urge to kiss her once again, he took out his wand and
disapparated quickly before a moment of weakness could tempt him any
further.

Hermione sighed. Despite the unpleasantness surrounding them, they had

fallen into a comfortable pattern.

She gave her undivided attention to the gathered group of people who
would see to the renovations and who looked upon her with awe and
interest.

They discussed a few more details regarding Draco's room, and when the
meeting ended, Hermione was quite pleased with all that was discussed and
could hardly contain her excitement at seeing the end result.

"So, I think we've covered everything?" Hermione said and slowly got to
her feet.

There was a collective nod of heads and a distinctive, "Yes, Miss Granger."

One by one disappeared, leaving Hermione alone in the cottage. She

welcomed the solitude and took the opportunity to wander around on her
own with only Max to keep her company.

She came across the rooms that would serve as her and Malfoy's bedrooms.
They were empty and devoid of furniture until new ones took their place.
There was a haunting feel to it but not so much to discourage Hermione
from exploring. She soon discovered that the two rooms could be accessed
by a door that connected them.
The corridors seemed endless, but a carpeted one led Hermione to the holy
grail. She pushed open the tall doors and stood inside a striking library with
high wooden shelves, neatly arranged books and ledgers. It lacked the
breathtaking ambience of the Manor library. Nonetheless, it was exquisite,
and Hermione smiled happily as her eyes fell over the valuable books.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" A snide voice demanded. Max growled with
his hair standing on end.

Startled, Hermione wiped around to find the source and saw a large portrait
of Lucius Malfoy watching her closely. His features were contorted into a
permanent scowl, bearing a striking resemblance to how he had been when
among the living.

She regarded him evenly and replied without fear, "Yes, I am, actually. I
have a fondness for books."

His tone was heavy with contempt, "I gather my son has agreed to marry
you and taint a bloodline that has remained pure since the inception of the
Great House of Malfoy."

Anger clouded her vision, yet she kept calm and collected and replied with
witty banter, "He can do a lot worse than the likes of me, but if you are not
aware, Mr Malfoy, I would be glad to educate you on the Algorithm."

Lucius sneered openly, "I have no time to listen to pitiful explanations from
an impudent girl." His beloved wife had happily explained the workings of
this so-called Ministry law that encouraged the mingling of bloodlines to
create the next generation of mediocre witches and wizards.

Hermione said with dripping sarcasm, "The only thing you have left is time,
Mr Malfoy." She emphasised, "This marriage is not our doing. While we
have collectively decided to give it a go for Narcissa's sake, make no
mistake in understanding that I am doing this against the very things I have
fought hard to uphold."

The gall of this Mudblood, Lucius thought in anger. He hurled spitefully,

"You should feel privileged…."
Narrowing her eyes, Hermione gritted out, "I feel nothing of the sort. Draco
has returned a changed man by some small miracle, and whatever atrocious
ideologies you instilled in him no longer dictate his life."

Lucius thundered, "He is a blood traitor and a disgrace to the Malfoy

name."

Hermione frowned to make her displeasure evident and fired back, "Believe
what you wish, but I speak for many people when I say he has changed for
the better and will be the first Malfoy in history to do some actual good."

She smiled almost politely, "I bid you a good day, Mr Malfoy. I suggest we
attempt to get along for the duration of this coupling, after which you will
no longer see or hear from me ever again."

Turning on her heel with Max at her side, Hermione fled the library before
something genuinely awful left her lips and made a mental note to move the
portrait to a more suitable location.

Hermione left the cottage and collapsed onto one of the many white
benches of the garden. Max sensed her shift in mood and came closer. He
rested his head on her lap and whimpered as if to ask what the matter was.

Hermione took off her heels and let the coolness of the grass invade the
space between her toes. It felt liberating and glorious. She stroked Max's
head and sighed, "You don't think I'm useless, do you?"

Max responded by jumping on her and eagerly licking her face. Hermione
giggled, got to her feet and walked barefoot towards Malfoy Manor with
her heels dangling from her hand.

Draco entered the normally busy DMLE and raised a brow, "Where is
everyone?" Except for a handful of people the department was mostly
empty.

Hannah hopped down from the desk she was sitting on and shrugged. She
chuckled as Draco came into proper view and pointed to the unbuttoned
exposed side of his long neck, "Eventful morning?"

Draco bemused, "What are you on about?"

She pulled him towards a reflective surface and pointed more aggressively,
"Darling, you have a sizable hickey on the side of your very pale neck."

Draco widened his eyes and took in a reddish bruise that stood out like a
sore thumb. When had Granger branded him in such a crude yet satisfying
manner?

Hannah grinned, "Granger is a wild one. I didn't think she had it in her."

Draco touched the spot with two fingers and closed his eyes in
concentration before asking, "What makes you think it was Granger?" He
tried to throw Hannah off but unsuccessfully.

"You must think I'm a simple-minded fool," Hannah replied, shaking her
head. In time, she glanced over her shoulder to catch Michelle staring at
them, and Hannah quipped, "Speaking of simple-minded fools, your French
stalker was asking about you."

Draco laughed, promised to meet up after training and strode off towards
the training hall with Hermione's sultry moans and scorching touch lodged
deeply within his mind.

It took Hermione a while to reach the Manor, mainly because she stopped
along the way to twinkle her toes in the icy water of the large pond with
many exotic fish. It had been years since she last allowed herself to be silly.

Taking the outside marble stairway, Hermione walked up to the terrace

while Max overtook her and hurried up the stairs at double speed. She heard
the unmistakable happy peals of laughter from Narcissa Malfoy, "I missed
you too, you little devil."

Once Hermione made her presence known, she was greeted by an ecstatic,
"Hermione. How wonderful to see you. I thought you might have left."
Narcissa took in her future daughter in laws dishevelled appearance, and
her eyes went directly to Hermione's bare feet, and she couldn't help but
smile at the oddness.

Max laid down by his mistress's feet, closed his eyes in contentment, and
drifted off into a peaceful slumber shielded from the sun.

Hermione grinned sheepishly and used her wand to clean the dirt off her
feet. She slipped on her heels and sat next to Narcissa, "Draco left for work.
He invited me to stay for lunch, if that's alright with you, of course."

Narcissa beamed, "I would love it. I was just about to have lunch served.
Bernard will not be joining, he's away on work, and you must be
famished."

Hermione hadn't given a thought to food, but her stomach rumbled with the
pangs of hunger once she did.

On cue, Dotty appeared with a cool pitcher of orange juice, which she
gingerly set down and clicked her fingers. The table was burdened with
mouthwatering dishes of freshly baked rolls, an assortment of garden salads
and cold cuts of meat.

Narcissa offered an explanation for the lack of fine meats and other
extravagant dishes, "I hope you don't mind, but the food is more on the
lighter side of things seeing that it was only me and we were not expecting
company. However, if you wish for something else, Dotty can prepare it for
you."

Hermione reached over and squeezed Narcissa's hand and reassured her,
"Please, I am fine with all this." She went the extra mile and smiled at
Dotty, "Everything looks amazing." The tiny elf radiated happiness and
curtsied.

Narcissa smiled warmly, "If you insist, my dear."

Hermione helped herself to a warm bread roll and oodles of butter. While
she carefully buttered the roll, Narcissa questioned curiously, "Did you sort
out everything at the cottage to your liking?"

Mouth full of bread, Hermione nodded in reply and mumbled, "Yes, thanks
to you." She thought it best not to mention her encounter with Lucius. They
were having a pleasant time, and there was no need to dampen the mood by
mentioning the pretentious senior Malfoy.

Narcissa smeared a dollop of caviar across a bite-sized piece of bread and

asked rather offhandedly, "Have you and Draco given any thought to a
date?"

Hermione swallowed hard and replied with a weak answer, "Oh, not really."
They had to get cracking. If memory served her correctly, they were on
borrowed time.

"Well, you best get a move on," The older woman advised a touch sternly.

Hermione bobbed her head in agreement but made no further comment.

However, she made a mental note to clear it with Malfoy and set a definite
date.

Narcissa delicately forked a combination of lettuce and smoked chicken and

strongly suggested, "I thought it would be prudent to have your family over
for a meal before Draco and you depart for Hawaii."

Hermione paled, dropped her fork and choked on the pear, fig, and goat
cheese salad she was enjoying.

Completely disregarding her discomfort, the headstrong Malfoy Matriarch

explained with just reason, "I'm well aware that we live in modern times,
but I rather not overlook certain traditions, and if you are going away on
holiday with my son, I would like to meet your parents beforehand and put
their minds at ease that their daughter is well thought of and loved."

Technically, she wasn't going away with Malfoy. It was a trip among friends
and acquaintances, but Hermione thought against mentioning it.
Hermione cleared her throat and said as politely as possible, "It's not
necessary, Narcissa. I wouldn't want to inconvenience you."

Narcissa dismissed the notion with a swift wave of her hand, "Nonsense. I
think a lovely dinner at the Manor on Wednesday is quite acceptable."

Oh no! Wednesday was two days before they embarked on their journey to
Hawaii.

"Shouldn't we first discuss this with Draco?" Hermione tried to find a

plausible excuse.

Narcissa raised a sceptical brow, "Whatever for? Draco will do as he is

told." She still spoke of him as the small boy she sent off to Hogwarts.

Somehow, Hermione strongly disagreed. True, Malfoy held his mother in

the highest regard, but she was sure he wouldn't just yield to her every
whim and suggestion at the drop of a proverbial hat.

"As you wish, Narcissa," Hermione hesitated but reluctantly agreed, not
knowing what else to say or do to discourage the stubborn lady.

On a more positive note, she knew her parents, especially her

overprotective father, would be delighted at the prospect of meeting her
future mother-in-law.

Her stomach knotted unpleasantly, and she wondered how Draco would feel
about this impromptu dinner.

The disfigured man walked into the room, and Sarah lay motionless. Her
hair was stuck in oily strands to her forehead, and her skin was ashen from
the lack of proper exposure to the sun and nutrition.

She was once a pretty woman, but now, she was but a former memory of
her once confident self. He had succeeded in breaking her spirit.
A day earlier, she had lost her mind and screamed for no good reason. She
just yelled as loud as she could to rid herself of the immense frustration of
the situation and hoped someone passing by would hear her. Unfortunately,
the monster that kept her captive came rushing in, grabbed her by the hair,
slammed her face-first into the mattress, and pelted her back with his belt
until she couldn't scream anymore.

He was a man who suffered from multiple personalities. Once he had

beaten her black and blue, he held onto her broken body and wept,
apologising for his unprovoked attack and trying to justify his actions by
blaming it on her. She could barely hear the pitiful words he uttered.

He left and returned with a jar of soothing ointment that he rubbed all over
her back slowly in small circles until each mark caused by him was covered
in the rich healing liquid.

It smelt familiar, and she knew at once that it was Dittany. He had left her to
rest and heal, only returning much later with a plate of fried chicken, chips
and a generous portion of mashed potatoes which she struggled to eat
without throwing up.

The man came closer with a shopping bag and sat by Sarah. She looked
away and didn't utter a sound. He inspected her back and ran his fingers
over the barely visible scars the rough end of his belt created and
shuddered. He vowed never to strike his beloved again and spoke softly,
"Darling, I have a surprise for you."

Sarah couldn't bring herself to speak. When she didn't answer, he pulled out
a red dress from the bag and held it up for her to see. It was knee-length and
fashionably cut compared to the one dress he had gifted her in the past.

"Come, let me help you wash," He encouraged and held his hands out for
her to take.

A cleansing bath sounded more desirable than food, but his acts of kindness
often came with a steep price. Her voice was hoarse from the screaming,
and she croaked, "Why?"
He smiled broadly, displaying an impressive set of dazzling teeth, "I want
you to meet my mother."
 Chapter 49
Chapter Summary

Jeez, my longest chapter yet! I hope you enjoy reading it.

My stunning country Sri Lanka is facing an economic crisis due to the

mismanagement of finances by corrupt government officials, but I
implore tourists to visit this beautiful destination.

Now, back to the story. There is quite a bit going on and much to
remember. There's darkness on the horizon. A potential werewolf
uprising might spell disaster for our young lovers, or will it bring them
closer?

Enjoy Chapter forty-nine.

Stay safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Harry stood outside one of the rooms of the werewolf care and victims unit
situated on the Care of Magical Creatures floor. He watched the woman
with unkempt hair and deep gashes down her arm staring deadpan at the
whitewashed walls through the thick glass of the one-pane window that
separated them.

Doris, the head Matron, came out with a tray of odd-shaped bottles loaded
with potions and a vial filled to the brim with blood, leaving a small space
for the thickened liquid to breathe.

Harry eyed it sceptically but kept his thoughts to himself. Instead, he

pointed to the woman lying on the bed and inquired, "How is she?"

Doris sighed in reply and said, "Not great. She mostly screams and stares
into space but seems to have calmed down somewhat in the last hour." The
first hour after her admittance had been the absolute worst, and calming the
troubled woman had required her powerful persuasion skills.

She added for good measure, "We've seen much worse." Indeed, they had.
There had been instances where victims would turn hostile and violent,
prompting the Healers on the watch to use magic to restrain them. One
unfortunate incident resulted in the suicide of a victim who chose death
over his predicament. The disturbed man hung himself from the rafters
while Doris stepped out to bring his medication.

Harry nodded in understanding. He was unable to string enough words

together to form an appropriate retort. Doris included in a pained tone while
keeping a watchful eye over the patient, "Would you expect any less after
the ordeal she's been through?"

"Not at all. Is she stable?" Harry queried in concern.

Doris answered at once, "Yes. Her immune system is quite strong." After a
moment's thought, she supplied, "It makes me wonder if he targeted her
specifically. They can sense these things."

"Interesting," Harry responded while narrowing his eyes and taking an even
keener interest in Susan Alice Hartley.

Doris offered eagerly, "There's more about lycanthropy I can educate you
on if you wish to learn." She and most of her staff were educated on the
complex subject since it was imperative to their job.

Harry smiled gratefully, "I'll keep that in mind." At first, he hesitated but
requested, "Can I speak to her?"

"I don't see why not, but I warn you not to upset her further. Tread carefully,
Harry," Doris replied with her own slight smile.

Harry held the motherly Matron in high regard. She genuinely cared for all
her patients. He reassured, "I appreciate the advice. You have my word that
we will not upset her. We just need to ask her a few routine questions."
A smartly dressed man in a crisp navy-blue suit, striped tie, and neat head
of hair with a file tucked under his arm approached them hurriedly and said
impatiently, "Ah, I'm just in time. I was afraid you'd spoken to her first."

Harry heaved a sigh of relief, "Just in time, Branson. You're better equipped
with handling these things."

A hearty chuckle erupted from deep within Branson, "Having over ten years
of experience breaking it to Muggles about breeches in the Statute of
Secrecy does come in handy."

Harry smiled, held the door open and graciously offered, "After you."

Branson stepped through the open passageway and mused in a subtle effort
to lighten the mood, "Thank you. Hopefully, she'll take it well."

Harry frowned at Branson's poor attempt at humour and pursed his lips.
Was he a blithering idiot? Fat chance of that happening. They were about to
walk in and announce that her earlier life was over, magic was real, and she
was slowly turning into a werewolf.

Branson greeted with a solemn expression, "Good morning, Mrs Hartley."

The woman toyed with a gold pendant of a cross that hung from a chain
around her neck. She looked up at the approaching men with haunted eyes
and stated firmly, "It's Alice."

Harry stepped forward and politely introduced himself, "Hi Alice, I’m
Harry Potter, and this is, umm, Branson." He gestured to the man standing
beside him and felt like a complete arsehole for not knowing the man's first
name.

Branson remained unfazed. He smiled and provided helpfully, saving Harry

from further embarrassment, "Norris. It's Norris Branson. Harry suppressed
a laugh. He was reminded of the Hogwarts caretaker Argus Filch's precious
cat, Mrs Norris.
Looking around the surgically clean room, Alice questioned in a hoarse
voice, "Where am I?" She had clearly lost her voice from all the screaming.

Harry sighed, "It's a bit complicated, I'm afraid." He did not know where to
begin to explain. His presence at these reveals was not necessary, but he
succumbed to the strong need to be there in this case. In some peculiar way,
he held himself responsible for what happened to her.

Alice shuddered and choked back an audible sob, "I saw an unholy creature
attack two men. The beast ripped the head clean off one of them and tossed
it aside like it was nothing." Every time she shut her eyes, the horrific scene
was all she could see. The splattering of blood and gore across the walls
creating a macabre Jackson Pollock was embedded deep in her mind.

Branson and Harry swapped looks of grave concern but let Alice speak
without interruption.

She brought her knees up to her chest, hugged them tight and rocked back
and forth. Her eyes darted madly around the room, and she spoke in an
unhinged way, "That monstrosity attacked me! Its eyes, oh Lord! They were
blood red and daunting. It was pure evil!"

Harry gathered his courage, stepped forward and almost reached for her
hand, "I'm so sorry you had to endure that." Ignoring his genuine words of
comfort, Alice demanded outright, "What is this place? Am I at some secret
government facility out in the sticks?"

"No, but it is confidential and, on a need, to know basis," Branson

responded almost at once. He truly hated this part of the job, but someone
had to do it.

She winced in pain and slightly complained, "My shoulder hurts. The
woman caring for me keeps giving me some foul liquid to drink." The
concoction tasted vile and vaguely similar to blended chicken livers. Harry
explained with an encouraging smile, "It's to help manage the pain. It
should subside later today."
Alice implored, "I want to go home." Her eyes widened with realisation,
"Has anyone informed my husband? He must be frantic." A relentless
stream of tears streaked her face as she recalled her loving husband and
adorable children.

Branson offered sympathetically, "Of course, he must be, but unfortunately,

the situation is complicated, as Potter mentioned earlier, and we haven't
been able to contact Mr Hartley."

Alice glared and gritted out, "You keep saying it's complicated without
explanation." She was rapidly starting to lose her patience with these
strangely dressed pillocks. "What the fuck is going on?!" She yelled, not
caring who heard her or if they severely punished her for her
insubordination and noncompliance.

However, Harry remained calm and collected enough to extend further

insight into her unprovoked assault, "The creature you saw, which attacked
you, was a werewolf."

Alice fixed him with a look of complete shock. She threw her head back
and laughed maniacally. Within a few moments of calming herself down,
she hurled back, "Do you think I'm a complete idiot? I do not believe in
fairy stories or mythological creatures."

Harry's features contorted unpleasantly, "I wish it were a lie, but sadly it is
not." He slowly pointed to their pristine surroundings and announced, "You
are in the Ministry of Magic."

"Ministry of what?" Alice expressed curiously, and her gaze shifted from
Harry to Branson as the tall man came closer. Branson intervened. He
clamped Harry down on the shoulder and offered kindly, "Potter, if I may?"

“Yes, of course,” Harry said and moved out of the way giving Branson clear
access to the distraught woman on the bed.

Branson cleared his throat and barrelled into an explanation, “Alice, you
have been exposed to a hidden community of witches, wizards and plenty
of other magical beings and creatures. We have kept our presence hidden
for centuries with the sole intent of protecting our way of life and yours."
His elucidation lacked warmth, Harry thought. It was a well-rehearsed
speech that he had undoubtedly delivered hundreds of times.

Alice was not appeased. She cried without further thought, “You're crazy!
You want to hurt my family and me for some bloody reason.”

Sighing, Branson pulled out his wand from his coat pocket and almost
lazily flicked it, triggering blue sparks to fly out the end and transform into
a brilliant crystal rose that glistened and hovered a foot above them before
leaving a shower of shimmering dust to fall over them in its wake.

“No! That's impossible. You've drugged me!” Alice yelled in panic and
moved to the edge of the bed, almost causing her to tumble to the floor.
Branson pocketed his wand and brought up his hands to stress that he meant
no harm. “I assure you, we haven't, Alice.”

With a shaky finger, Alice pointed to where his wand was concealed and
croaked, “It's a trick. Any half-arsed magician can do what you did.”

“You've been bitten,” Branson pointed to the bandaged wound on her neck
and emphasised. His patience was weaning, and he sought to make her
aware of her grim situation.

At once, her hands went to the covering in such aggression that the bandage
slightly came apart while she shrieked, “No! Please tell me it's not true!”
She tightly clutched the cross around her neck with her free hand and
started to pray. The edges of the cross dug painfully into her palm, but she
paid it no mind.

Branson reassured the best he could, “There are ways to control your
condition.”

His words gradually began to sink in, and it was as if they had delivered a
death sentence. She whipped around and questioned in panic and
unmistakable fear, "Condition? Am I going to turn into a werewolf?"
He absolutely detested this part. Branson nodded slowly, “At the next full
moon, yes, you will go through your first transformation.” He added with
acute determination, “But we can help you, Alice. Lycanthropy is incurable
but manageable with the correct precautions and potions.”

Her bottom lip trembled as she fought hard not to break down and weep for
her lost life. She lashed out, “I could hurt my family and children like that
monster did yesterday.” The very thought of her babies made her heart
clench in unbearable anguish.

“Not if you let us help you!” Branson argued with renewed determination.
She was tough. He could feel it ripple off her in waves. He knew without
any doubt that she would survive the horrendous ordeal that would plague
her life. It wasn’t a sentiment he shared often.

Alice shook her head vigorously, “I would rather die than hurt my babies.”
Harry watched disdainfully from the corner, and his heart shattered at the
mother’s honest declaration. She desperately pleaded, trying to make sense
of the unfair situation, “Why is this happening to me? I have always treated
people kindly.”

Her voice broke as the events from the previous night invaded her mind
against her will, “I was just heading home when it grabbed me and dragged
me into the alley.”

Branson responded hopefully, "We can teach you to control yourself and
anticipate your cravings."

"Cravings? What do you mean?" Alice questioned, wide-eyed and

nervously. Was there no end to the foreboding condition?

Clearing his throat, Branson replied with the dreaded words, "Well,
Werewolves have certain needs. Blood and raw meat, to name a few."

Alice's face twisted in pain and horror.

Deciding that he had observed in silence for long enough, Harry interrupted
as he strode towards them, "Branson, stop. It's too much for her to take in
all at once. Slow down."

Branson took in Alice's ashen face and acknowledged Harry's words with a
quick nod, "Yes, quite right, Harry. My apologies, Alice. We can continue
this discussion when you are ready."

Alice felt a sudden heart palpitation, it pounded and fluttered persistently,

but she wiped the tears that fell with the back of her hand and begged the
people she believed were holding her captive, "Please! I just want to go
home."

Branson smiled and reassured, "Of course, you can! No one here is holding
you hostage, Alice." He added genuinely with another slight smile, "We’re
keeping you here for the sole reason of tending to your many injuries."

Alice heeded his words and relaxed. She shut her eyes, fought to regain her
composure, and said in a weak yet strained voice, "I understand."

Moving closer to the bed, Branson boldly covered her hand with his, and
even though she flinched, she did not attempt to move her hand away from
his touch. He informed calmly, "We will have to come with you once you
are ready to leave, and I must stress that our world remain hidden from
Muggles and these harrowing events not be shared with anyone besides
your husband."

"Muggles?" Alice searched for an answer in interest. What a peculiar word,

she thought to herself.

Patiently, Branson clarified further, "Non-magical folk such as your

husband. There are certain Laws to uphold, and we need to strictly educate
your family on them and take precautions to make sure our world is not
exposed." The very mention of her family caused her mind to snap, and the
despair she was drawing in consumed her.

Brusquely taking her hand out of Branson's grasp, she grabbed her head
with both hands, letting her nails sink into her scalp and begged, "Stop! My
head's splitting!"
Harry came forward and offered soothing words, "What's most important is
that you're safe and under our protection." Doris walked in without an
announcement and with a stern face. She heard the alarming sounds coming
from the patient and rushed in to see what the matter was.

Doris regarded the wizards and fumed, "What are you saying to this poor
woman? She has been through plenty and needs to rest. I won't tolerate this
nonsense."

Branson looked her way, ignored the seething look she often bestowed upon
him and requested with an exhausted expression, "Can she leave now?"

Doris frowned to make her displeasure at the incompetent request evident,

"Not yet. I'm still tending to her wounds, but she seems to be healing quite
well on her own."

They exchanged looks of concern mixed with astonishment. Victims often

perished within an hour of being brought in. Still, they were presently
witnessing a rare occasion worthy of documenting.

Their terse reaction was not lost on Alice. She struggled to sit up straight
and queried in a strained voice, "That's not normal, is it?" She knew little
about werewolf folklore, but her blood was synchronising with the
transformation remarkably well.

Harry kindly enlightened, "It’s quite normal. Your senses will heighten
greatly over time."

Branson nodded curtly and said, "We will visit again soon to escort you
home." He took his leave shortly after. Harry turned to leave but stopped
dead in his tracks as Alice's pained declaration made it to the sensitive shell
of his ear, "Maybe this is the Lord's plan for me." He couldn't bring himself
to refute her beliefs, but he highly doubted it was.

Her heavy sobs of despair and Doris's valiant attempt to calm her down
with soothing words followed him as he left.
Hermione breezed into the office in high spirits after her lunch with
Narcissa. Despite the aristocratic woman's prejudiced upbringing, she knew
how to engage in lively conversation and witty banter.

Brenda shot to her feet, blocked her path by dramatically throwing her arms
wide apart and stopped her boss from entering the office. Raising a brow at
her usually quirky assistant, Hermione probed rather impatiently, "What's
the matter?"

"Kingsley wanted to see you tout de suite," Brenda responded with a swift,
nervous glance towards the Minister's office and followed up with a fair
warning, "He seems pretty peeved, so good luck."

Hermione grew exceedingly curious but frowned in reply and refrained

from speaking her mind. A sudden sense of unease engulfed her, and she
could not fathom why. Whatever it was that had Kingsley riled up would
spell disaster for the rest of them.

Dumping her bag unceremoniously on Brenda's desk, Hermione turned on

her heel and hurried off in the direction of the Minister of Magic’s office.
His assistant Nancy was overwhelmed with numerous owl messages,
interdepartmental memos and more than a few official letters bearing the
official seal of the Ministry.

"What is all this?" Hermione asked, bemused. The woman barely

acknowledged her presence, so she knocked on Kingsley's huge office door
and waited to be granted admittance. His gruff voice came from within. It
was abundantly clear from his tone that he was far from pleased, "Come
in."

Hermione strode in with her head held high and mind riddled with random
thoughts. She approached Kingsley's sizable desk and said in a clear voice,
"You wanted to see me."

Kingsley took off his glasses, tossed them aside and regarded his
Undersecretary with a stern expression, "Where the hell have you been?”
He glanced at the antique clock and hissed his displeasure, “It's nearly two
pm."
Hermione hesitated before replying, and she chose her following words
carefully, "Umm, I had a private matter to attend to." Kingsley was livid,
and she had no desire to add fire to his perturbed state.

He leaned back in his chair and accused harshly, "We are in the middle of a
crisis, and you're off running errands." Initially, he had expected to come
into the office and consult with her about the dire events from the night
before and find a possible way forward. Instead, he had been profoundly
disappointed to discover that she was running late. Unfortunately, Brenda
had taken the brunt of his frustration.

Hermione sulked. She was not about to stand idly by and be referred to as
incompetent or irresponsible.

She kept her anger at bay, not wanting to aggravate the situation. "My
apologies, Minister, but I wasn't aware of any crisis,” she said evenly, “This
is the first I am hearing of it. Why did you not inform me?" There, the ball
was in his court.

Conceding defeat, Kingsley heaved a sigh. He massaged the bridge of his

nose in exasperation and apologised, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at
you."

Uninvited, Hermione took a seat and peered into Kingsley's face. Heavy
bags hung under his eyes from lack of sleep, and light stubble adorned his
face. She proclaimed at first glance and then questioned impatiently, "Well,
you look awful. What is going on, Kingsley?"

Kingsley pursed his lips and pushed a manilla file across the desk.
Hermione threw him a quizzical look, flipped the file open and gasped. The
mutilated remains of a man greeted her.

She swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat at the sight of the
horrific pictures but forced herself to look through each one, "Merlin! What
is all this?"

The Minister exhaled and began to explain the previous night's events in
precise detail. He did not share an abridged version and spared no specifics.
Hermione crossed and uncrossed her legs at intervals but sat still for the
most part and listened intently to the unprecedented ghastly series of events
that had occurred.

He concluded with a smidge of hope that he desperately hung onto, "I have
sent Patronuses to the most significant pack leaders. They have agreed to
meet at the werewolf settlement in Epping Forest. Hopefully, we can catch
this rogue with their help and guidance before he strikes again."

Hermione could not fathom what was happening. She finally found her
voice and lashed out, "You can't be serious! No! I refuse to believe it. Are
you telling me apart from a serial killer on the loose, there is now a bloody
rogue werewolf hunting Muggles?"

Kingsley nodded solemnly, "That is precisely what I'm telling you."

Hermione relentlessly thought of her best friend and Head Auror. He had so
much riding on his shoulders. Would he never be spared a peaceful
moment? She voiced her troubled thoughts, "Harry must be losing his mind
and doubting himself."

Kingsley concurred without a moment's hesitation, "He is."

He included sincerely, "Have a word with him, will you? The man needs
reassurance that all will be well."

"But will it? This is too much, Kingsley," Hermione argued and wished she
had the Minister's confidence. Her own confidence over the matter hung by
a proverbial thread.

Kingsley sighed, "I know." He fumed, "The Muggle Minister has become a
royal pain in my arse."

Hermione suggested at once, "Would you like me to update him on matters

pertaining to this issue?" She got on reasonably well with the Muggle Prime
Minister, and he always seemed to value her input on important matters.
"If it's not too much trouble," Kingsley replied gratefully. That was one
massive load off his plate. He trusted Granger to appease the Prime
Minister and inform him that all was handled but knew that was far from
the truth. In reality, he had no plan forward and hoped some proper answers
would present themselves after meeting with the pack leaders.

Hermione almost smiled despite the grim situation they were burdened
with, "Don't worry about it, but while I do that, you need to speak with the
Alphas and figure all this out."

Kingsley nodded curtly in agreement, "Yes. I'll be leaving shortly with

Thomas, Potter, Corner and Amelia." He slowly got to his feet, ignored the
sudden jab of pain that shot up his spine, and walked over to the fully
stocked bar to pour himself a much-needed drink. It wasn't like him to
indulge during work hours, but he desperately needed a distraction.

He picked up the bottle and paused to read the label. Satisfied, he broke the
seal of a twenty-five-year-old scotch, sniffed the pungent air that escaped
and poured two fingers into a crystal tumbler.

Hermione was sympathetic to his plight. She said with a hint of warmth to
her tone, "Good. I will see you later, then? And Kingsley..."

After taking a sip of the heavenly-tasting smoky amber liquid, Kingsley

responded. "Hmm?"

"Be safe," Hermione finished with sufficient emotion.

Kingsley raised his glass in her direction and smiled in exhaustion, "I
always am, love."

The shrouded man stared hard at the writhing man on the cold hard
dungeon floor. He felt no compassion nor remorse but a mild sense of
satisfaction. Even in his youth, he had been fascinated by blood and
enjoyed watching with sick perversion the spilling of it from lesser beings
than himself.
There was something immensely satisfying about the red-hot substance that
pulsated through the veins giving life gushing out of a weakened form. His
hunger for blood had not lessened, and while he would no longer heed the
ideologies of his predecessor, he took vicious pleasure in practising the
Cruciatus curse.

He was less than human now and relished that there were but a few who
would amount to his brilliance. How wrong they had been in their
assumptions. It was perhaps a costly mistake that led to the downfall of
their cause and everything they had blindly believed in.

An army of wizards was no match for a group of mature werewolves. They

had brute strength, agility, and heightened senses, which would outweigh
the use of a wand given a fair fight. He had seen plenty of his brethren fall
at the hands of witches and wizards. They called it a lawful killing.

It was murder in the worst form and overlooked by a ministry who were on
a course to cleanse the Magical world from any who did not fit into their
perfect illusion.

Still, Kingsley Shacklebolt was a formidable adversary. He could not be

swayed like his predecessors nor tricked into believing many blatant lies
like Cornelius Fudge. Shacklebolt offered peace, some remarkable perks,
and a safe passage from persecution, which many pack leaders readily
accepted. Yet, they would remain to be treated with mistrust, disgust, and
fear by the wizarding populace.

He supposed they had every right to fear them, but this fight was not about
generating fear. It was about justice that had been denied their kind for
centuries by beings who thought themselves superior.

The full moon once a month brought about his release. It was the day of
reckoning and one he looked most forward to. He loved to hunt Muggles
with ardent pleasure. They tasted horrid, but the thrill of the chase and the
fear in their eyes as he sank his teeth into the spongy flesh of their neck was
exhilarating.
He had enjoyed marking one the night before and leaving a bloody trail for
the Aurors to find. The woman was special. He had sensed it the moment he
saw her crossing the street. It was time to make his intent and existence
known but not his identity. Of course, they knew him and searched for him
across countries and continents, but he had evaded recapture and embraced
a new life.

It had not been easy escaping after his defeat at the battle at Hogwarts.
While waiting to be carted off to Azkaban, where he would no doubt
receive the Dementor kiss for his heinous crimes, he had managed to free
himself by using a few wandless magic tricks learnt from his Master and
fled by stealing a wand from a man he ambushed while hiding in
Hogsmeade. No one knew about his wandless abilities except the man who
taught them to him.

He used the wand to aid his journey but discarded it before reaching his true
destination, fearing that the Ministry would track the wand's activity,
leading them directly to him.

Fleeing Britain had been relatively easy. He had taken refuge among distant
relatives in Romania. They shared his beliefs, gave him a hero's welcome
and helped him recuperate.

They had heard about the fall of Voldemort at Hogwarts and had been
doubtful of his escape but rejoiced in his return, and he was surprised to
learn that they lived peacefully among werewolves. The mangy mutts
offered protection in return for small luxuries such as red meat, acquiring
wands and countless other favours that were often unscrupulous but doable.

He soon learned that it was an arrangement that worked well for both
parties.

The very idea of mingling with the beasts disgusted him at first, and he kept
to himself despite his extended family's insistence that he shed himself of
such thoughts. As time passed, he came to appreciate them for the
wondrous creatures they were, and after much deliberation, he willingly
offered himself to be marked by the Alpha.
The Alpha had his doubts, mainly fearing this determined individual would
usurp his position. Still, he knew that he would be a valuable addition to the
pack.

It had been a gruelling journey, but his will and determination had given
him the strength to endure and continue. He gathered a sizable following
across continents throughout the next ten years by preaching what he
believed to be the truth. Alphas of other packs were sceptical and cynical at
first and sought to destroy him, but he was stronger and more intelligent
than most.

Slowly they started to comprehend and understand his words, and before
long, they acknowledged him as their self-appointed leader. It had not been
an easy task.

At times, he was required to challenge an old Alpha who could not be

swayed and take over the pack to further his cause. Over time, his
reputation grew and spread like wildfire until he was regarded as a
Werewolf royalty. A worthy king to rule them all.

A whiny voice brought him back to reality. His hand, which held a newly
acquired wand, was still posed over the wizard whimpering in agony,
"Please, have mercy!"

The cowardly bastard.

He spat brutally, "Mercy is for weak-minded fools and cowards. You will
find I'm neither, and I do not take the failure of my tasks well."

Looming over the mess of a man on the floor, the masked individual
deliberately pointed out, his voice was deep yet sultry and pleasing to the
ear, "McLaggen, were you not trusted with securing funds for our brothers
in Romania and Russia?" He bared his pearly whites and hissed ominously,
"It has also reached my ear that you sent a letter bearing the mark of
Voldemort to the Ministry. Is this true?"

Cormac paled and fought the urge to vomit as the last of the effects of the
Cruciatus curse left his body and groaned, "No... yes, my lord. It was not
my doing. Goyle thought it necessary to warn Granger…."

Gregory Goyle lunged forward before Cormac could finish his sentence,
grabbed him around the throat in an ironclad grip, and snarled, "You rat
bastard. I'll have your tongue for lying."

Their new master commanded from his seat, "Unhand him, Goyle. You will
be spared the pleasure of killing McLaggen for the time being."

He hissed in annoyance, "You fools," and ridiculed after a moment's

thought, "Goyle, your father would have your hide if he was aware that
your mother raised an incompetent moron but then again, he was not the
brightest bulb of the lot." The hooded figures emitted a ripple of mocking
laughter. Goyle scowled and let Cormac go. He fell to the ground and
gasped for air.

The letter carried a clear warning that he had every intention of making
reality whether their masked Master agreed or not. He and Malfoy had been
thick as thieves back at Hogwarts, and the traitor had not so much as tried
to contact him since his return, he thought bitterly. Worse, he was about to
marry a Mudblood. A woman they knowingly tormented at school.

Granted, it was the one Mudblood he would touch without feeling disgust,
Goyle supposed with humour. He had a hard-on for Granger's long smooth
legs and perky bosom. He had unashamedly ogled them at every
opportunity when he visited the Ministry or, on the odd occasion, he saw
her in Diagon Alley.

His wife was a timid creature who would not dare question her husband's
wandering cock and abusive nature. Her job was to play the part of a
wealthy aristocratic wife and raise his many children. He fucked her when it
pleased him after a heavy night of excessive debauchery. She was an
unresponsive bitch that hardly moved while he pounded her with his thick
appendage.

The masked man silenced the group with a quick wave of his snake-skinned
gloved hand. He walked over to where Cormac lay, overpowered and
dejected. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, he pulled his head back until it was
inches away from his cloaked face and rasped, "I will not tolerate a
backstabbing weakling. You were clearly sorted into the wrong house."

The man cowering before him was a surprise addition to the new
brotherhood.

He further degraded and mocked, "Is your Gryffindor heart questioning

your conscience?"

Cormac pleaded, “No, My Lord. It is not solely my decision to withdraw

funds. My father….”

The figure interrupted with an amused expression behind his mask, “Ah,
senior McLaggen. He could never be swayed, and we all know he wouldn't
be pleased with your choice to join our cause.”

Cormac shuddered. His father would Avada him if he ever found out.
Unfortunately, the bastards had him by the balls and because of a few costly
mistakes on his part he was forced to obey. He hoped Hermione would
forgive him one day.

A darkness fell over the area, and the other members retreated into the
shadows.

The man raised his wand and brought it down hard across Cormac’s back,
causing him to scream in distress.

"Do not disappoint me,” The Master leered. He pocketed his wand and
slapped the wizard, grovelling at his feet, sending him flying halfway across
the room. The wizards observing exchanged severe looks of concern at the
brutal display of physical strength. It was otherworldly.

Unlike their fathers, they were not as inclined to the cause.

The man caught sight of the uncertainty that flashed across their eyes—
pampered princes living off their parents' money. Werewolves knew how to
survive. Hardly anyone besides his pack no one knew he was one, except
perhaps the latest recruit into their midst, Dorian Blackwood.
Blackwood had been one of Greyback's finest lieutenants but was heavily
overshadowed by the ruthless beast and presumed dead by the Ministry.

His transformation and rebirth had been glorious. It was excruciating pain
to be torn limb from limb as his form shifted to one of a sizable dark grey
wolf with a thick white line down his back. The first moon had been the
roughest, but he embraced his new life and knew he was destined for
greatness beyond his dreams.

He had learned the ways of the pack, staying close to the Alpha as his
personal guard and rising through the ranks, challenging the other males for
food, mates, and superiority until there was no one left to challenge but the
Alpha himself.

It was an exhausting battle that left both severely injured, but the Alpha was
older and not as agile as he once was. A moment's weakness proved costly,
allowing him to sink his claws and teeth into the rough exterior of the
Alpha’s neck. He had tasted the blood, severed his previous leader's head
right off his limp body with sharpened teeth and spat it out while the
Alpha's mate, Mika, fell to her knees and howled for her loss while others
backed away and retreated in fear.

The loud howl echoed through the forest was enough to command the pack,
and even if they were unwilling, there was no disobeying the Alpha.

He had his way with Mika that night. It was a pure act of dominance against
Luna, who had once been a witch. He had long since desired the headstrong
beautiful woman who was a rose among a macabre garden of darkness.

Having sex in their wolf form was boundless and exhilarating. They made
rough yet passionate love, feeling the earth beneath their paws, and by the
end of their trysts, she was completely and utterly his, her former mate
forgotten.

Werewolf courtship, he learned, was vastly different from wizarding soul

bonding and much more complex. He had laid with Mika as a defiant act of
authority, but it had blossomed into much more. Though he had taken others
to bed when it suited him, to breed and add numbers to the pack, she would
remain his one true mate.

He had been content being away from the pureblood prejudices that dictated
most of his life. That was until their little haven was raided by Aurors of the
Romania Ministry on some trumped-up charge made by a local farmer that
his cattle had fallen prey to an unexplainable monster.

The confrontation was short but fierce, with many casualties on both sides.
It was a lie that cost many their lives and a betrayal he would not take lying
down. His inner demons and hunger for power from his former life had
risen to the surface, and the need to overpower those in charge took
precedence.

He rose through the ranks over the many years and now commanded one of
the largest packs to grace the earth in nearly four hundred years. As Alpha,
it was his duty to safeguard their way of life, and he had plans to bring them
out of the darkness and into the glorious light of acceptance.

Despite the war and so-called prejudices deemed by the Ministry being laid
to rest, he knew it was an unconcealed lie to appease the general public and
create trust in the newly appointed Ministry. Werewolves worldwide were
still treated like mongrel dogs and scum by the wizarding general public.
He wore many disguises, mostly the faces of Muggles he mutilated out of
necessity or sport. The advancements of the Polyjuice potion allowed him
the flexibility to roam around freely.

It was painful to be away from Mika, but the fight for the greater good
needed to continue. Their farewell had been difficult, but he had departed
for London with a final promise of eternity together. Using a series of
hidden passageways, he sought out his former allies, most of whom he
learnt were in Azkaban with their souls sucked out of them except for
Avery, Alecto and Amycus Carrow and Corban Yaxley. They were
permanent residents at Azkaban and still barely among the living.

It was then he made the wise decision to join the underground gambling
ring and fight club owned and hosted by the prominent members of the
wizarding community. They bore a distinctive grudge against the Ministry
but kept their opinions well hidden. He had stumbled upon the secret
society quite by chance while drinking at a rundown bar in Knockturn
Alley. A drunk patron boasted about the place and, eager for information, he
had piled the man with drink and coaxed him into revealing everything.

He was most intrigued by the fight club where the rich bid on fighters while
they tore each other apart without the aid of magic. A multitude of creatures
participated in the blood sport.

The front was misleading to many where the pillars of society mingled,
distinguished guests wore tuxedos, sipped expensive scotch, and puffed on
imported cigars while gambling. Behind closed doors, dignity was lost and
replaced by fists colliding with flesh and fresh blood being split. The victor
was paid handsomely, and the loser suffered the mocking and dejection that
came their way until the next match.

Untimely deaths happened but not often. Overall, it was a sickening

spectacle.

Access to the private organization named Sanguis, which was Latin for
bloodshed, carnage, power and might, was by invitation only. However,
passing Galleons in the right direction had secured his entry. Once he
revealed his true self to but a handful of trusted accomplices, word of a
prophecy coming true spread through the underground circuit like
fiendfyre.

He became well respected as a prominent and skilful Death Eater who

worked closely with Voldemort as part of his trusted inner circle. Now, he
brought justice and salvation to those who craved it. The members were
ecstatic at the mere mention of a war and more than willing to avenge their
fathers and stop the intermingling of bloodlines they believed deserved to
be pure. He called them Knights of Walpurgis, a name Voldemort had used
in the earlier days of conception. Galleons poured in as a show of goodwill
to the cause.

One man, in particular, caught his avid interest. He later learned that Avery's
eldest son, who attended Drumstrang, had returned, seeking justice for his
fallen once Death Eater father. The youth in his mid twenties was the
ringleader of the underground circuit, and unlike his father, he was a
powerful yet competent asset.

There had been a time when he shared those ideologies in his former life
and thought poorly of the beast he had become. He had taken much delight
in treating Fenrir Greyback as a lowly being not fit to wipe his feet on, but
how wrong he had been.

He had gathered a following among wizards by preaching his predecessor's

values and pureblood dominance, but those were outright lies to generate
funds and followers.

His loyalties lay firmly with his pack. Werewolves were a gift to be
cherished. They valued those closest to them, were loyal to their pack and
were certainly not a rabble of beasts without self-control or purpose.

He had taken a mark once to show loyalty to a misguided fool. Now the
barely visible mark on his neck was far more beneficial.

Along with his werewolf brothers and sisters, they would arise.

Epping Forest was a massive, sprawling area of woodland which straddled

the border between London and Essex. It was infamous among Muggles for
being somewhat known as a burial area for murder victims due to its
proximity to London. The thick mist that often settled over it aided its
morbid reputation.

A group of mature wizards and witches appeared on the borders and quickly
illuminated the tips of their wands. Despite the sun resting high in the sky,
their surroundings and thick brush and tall trees that covered the area before
them were gloomy and macabre. The forest was notorious for ghostly
sightings or contact from the other world, and Muggles, in general, avoided
the place like it contained the bubonic plague. It was the ideal place for a
werewolf pack to thrive undisturbed.

A foreboding feeling fell over the gathered group as the wind swirled
around them, bringing dead leaves and debris from the inner bowels of the
ancient forest. Hardly a creature was in sight, but that was not odd
considering the beasts that dwelled in the forest.

Michael sighed, moved his shoulders in small circles to calm himself and
thought about Brenda and their quick farewell embrace. He loved her
fiercely and could not wait to make her completely his.

From his place, Thomas stared into the gloomy interior of the forest with
narrowed eyes and felt a deep sense of unease. His stump itched
incessantly, and he absentmindedly scratched it with his good hand while
letting the many whispers that emitted from within the forest caress his ear.

The rustling of leaves invaded the peace from all sides.

Harry stood his ground without a smidge of fear. His heavy boot dug into
the moist earth to stake a claim. He stood close to the Minister and held his
wand ready if they were ambushed.

The uncertainty of the situation scraped his mind's inner walls, and he
looked around rapidly at the slightest sound. Ginny and James' happy faces
popped into his mind and almost caused him to buckle under the pressure of
the job. He was determined to return to his family safely.

Amelia closed her eyes, and the witch in her late thirties pocketed her wand.
She knew they would not be harmed, but still, her stomach jolted with
nervousness. It had been years since she last laid eyes on him, and she
could not help but wonder if he was as devilishly handsome as he had been
all those years ago.

With a firm grip on his wand, Kingsley regarded his team with a sense of
immense pride. He exhaled and saw two large shadows fall upon the
ground. They were being watched.

Thomas inhaled the pungent air and hissed, "We are not alone."

Kingsley held his head high and strode forward with a firm statement, "I do
not fear death. To my country and kin, I will remain loyal. Darkness is not
my enemy but my friend."
Harry and Thomas nodded in agreement and followed Kingsley with a
sense of determination, with Amelia and Michael cautiously trailing behind
them. Their robes billowed ominously in the harsh wind, with each
purposeful step adding to the ghoulish nature of their surroundings.

Two burly figures moved out of the shadows, made their presence known
and followed them closely as they entered the depths of the age-old forest.

One was heavy set with many scars running down his face and longish dirty
blonde hair who sniffed the air around Amelia longingly, causing her to
reach for her wand and Michael to pull her out of harm's way instinctively.
Still, he needn't have bothered since the wolf in question stiffened as if
petrified and moved well away from her. His Alpha had openly threatened
him not to touch the woman through their pack mind link.

The other werewolf was relatively young, wore his raven hair back in a
braided ponytail, and seemed less brutish than his eager companion. He
shielded his wand from prying eyes and concealed it within his robes. The
wand had chosen him when he came of age, and though he was destined on
another path, the ten inches of ash with Phoenix feather was his for keeping,
and no law would separate him from his beloved wand.

Michael felt the hairs on his neck stand on end as the werewolf in human
form walked behind him. He could smell the musty scent drifting off the
man in waves. It was strong and repugnant, but he stomached the repulsive
smell and whispered so only his companions could hear, "We need to leave.
This might be a trap."

A deep chuckle came from the werewolves behind them. Their acute
hearing had picked up what Michael said, and his poor choice of words
amused them.

Kingsley strongly disagreed, "No! We will not leave until I have got what I
came for." He did not bother to lower his voice but said for all to hear,
garnering a low growl of displeasure from one of the wolves that flanked
them.
They passed a babbling brook, and the abundantly dense covering of the
forest's plant life lessened as they came into a vast clearing. Many
makeshift huts and dwellings occupied the space filled with suspicious eyes
that fell upon the strangers in thick black coats sporting the Ministry of
Magic badge.

Snarls of distrust and howls of dissatisfaction surrounded them, but the

wolves at their back growled menacingly at anyone who dared to approach
the group. Michael plunged his hand into his robes and pulled out his wand
with trembling fingers, but Amelia shot him a look of disapproval and
wordlessly gestured for him to put it away.

They came to an abrupt halt as another slightly larger man with thick
brownish-black hair wearing a neat shirt and trousers approached them. He
was well-groomed, with a kind smile plastered onto his face.

"Good afternoon. Please follow me," he requested politely. He motioned for

them to follow him. Kingsley heeded the instruction with a distinctive nod
of his head. He and the others fell into step behind the man assigned to
greet them.

They passed skillfully built houses, and children played with wooden
renditions of Muggle toys such as trains and cars. Amelia felt her heart
clench at the happy sight. They appeared normal and nothing whatsoever
out of the ordinary.

A large house of sorts loomed over them ominously, blocking the shattered
rays of sun that managed to penetrate the thick canopy of trees. The solid
stone structure appeared to be ancient, and without a single word, the man
nodded at the burly sour-looking wolf standing guard and entered through
the door.

Kingsley hesitated at the entrance. Harry moved swiftly to his side and
asked in hushed tones, "Should we go in?" It would be an insult to the
Alphas if they did not accept their hospitality, but they had to consider their
safety.
The Minister nodded unsurely and addressed his loyal group of Aurors, "No
matter what happens. I'm proud to have served with you all." They were
horribly outnumbered; he knew this, and if the wolves decided to attack, the
chances of walking out alive were slim. He had led them on a possible
suicide mission.

Michael paled but gathered his inner strength and stepped through the
threshold without fear.

They entered a brightly lit room with candles and fine furnishings. A small
gathering of well-dressed werewolves occupied the sizable space, and all
turned towards the wizards and witches in their midst. It was not every day
they entertained the so-called Minister of Magic.

A long wooden table was covered with a crimson table runner decorated
with golden embroidery. The three mature werewolves who sat behind it
rose to their feet to greet the incoming group of people. Each was a
formidable opponent dressed in shades of black and grey, with white shirts
and long flowing robes that fell to their feet.

Except for one who opted for robes with a bit more flare. They were a
remarkable sight and nothing whatsoever like Fenrir Greyback, who they
knew and loathed.

Though they appeared young in appearance due to their heightened powers

of rejuvenation, in reality, they were nearly eighty years of age except for
Edward, who was in his late forties. In his earlier life, he had been an owner
of a profitable boutique that dealt exclusively in rare herbs that dwelled
deep in the forests under moss-covered rocks and were about to be married
when calamity struck on a poorly planned excursion on a full moon night.

Now, he hardly remembered being marked, but once he was able, he had
hunted down the beast that changed his life and ripped the creature’s heart
right out of its body and claimed his place in the pack before becoming
their Alpha. He left behind his beloved. There was not much choice in the
matter. She was an upcoming Auror with a bright future ahead of her, and
despite her pleas, he left her in the dead of night and never returned.
Harry looked around and was astonished by the clean surroundings inside
the house. He had never been inside a werewolf's dwelling before, even
when Kingsley and Hermione worked tirelessly to negotiate peace treaties.
It was certainly not as he had anticipated. He had expected vermin to run
rampant and filth to occupy the small living areas, but what shockingly
greeted him was an organised way of life with proper systems and hygiene
standards that mirrored their own.

Amelia's heart rate hastened as her gaze fell upon the tall, good-looking,
broad-shouldered Alpha standing to the left. His eyes found hers and
hungrily devoured her where she stood. His heat encompassed her, and a
groan left her slightly parted lips. She moved closer to Harry and stood
behind him to shield herself from the Alpha's penetrative glare.

The largest among the trio of Alphas raised his gold goblet of wine in toast
and enthused, "Shacklebolt!" The sheer arrogance of the werewolf in tacky
sequined robes suffocated them.

Kingsley forced a smile, stood by the chair meant for him to sit down and
said solemnly, "Ezra, it's been a while. I had hoped to meet under better
circumstances."

The blonde Alpha tore his gaze away from Amelia and gave the Minister his
undivided attention. His voice was rough and grated. "We expected you
sooner, Kingsley, but since you have arrived, we can speak freely." He sat
down before the others and almost lazily pointed to the empty chairs,
"Please be seated. We will begin shortly."

Kingsley pushed his heavy robe back and sat down on the chair he assumed
was allocated for him, and the others followed his lead. Michael lowered
himself down into the chair but kept his eyes solely on the three imposing
men studying their every movement.

"Edward, you are most kind," Amelia found herself saying while sitting
down and crossing her legs at the ankles in the most ladylike manner. A
satisfied and wolfish grin curved Edward's lips upwards, displaying his
sharpened canines, but that did not dampen that he was still a gorgeous
man.
He replied earnestly, "I am at your disposal, witch." A deep warning snarl
from a she-wolf among the crowd pierced the peace. Amelia’s astute eyes
searched the crowd for the source but came up empty. Her heart pounded
relentlessly in her ears.

Ezra continued to drink heavily, but he offered none to their guests. The last
Alpha ignored the rest, addressed Kingsley directly and spoke in a loud
authoritative tone, "Why have you called this meeting, wizard?"

“I need your help, old friend,” Kingsley stated boldly.

Cyrus regarded the Minister and mocked, “How can we be of service to the
great Minister of Magic?”

Kingsley brushed off the attempt to rile him up and proceeded, “A brutal
attack took place in Muggle London. Two Muggles were ripped apart, and a
woman was marked.”

“And you are absolutely certain it was the handy work of a werewolf?”
Ezra quipped and ordered more wine. A servant standing behind him
snapped to attention and rushed off to do his master’s bidding.

Harry cleared his throat and answered, “We looked through the woman’s
memories. There is no doubt that it was a werewolf. Have you heard of a
rogue in the area?”

“Ah, Mr Potter, welcome,” Ezra raised his goblet in greeting. Even among
other beings, he was well-known and somewhat respected.

Cyrus leaned back, got comfortable and smirked. He elucidated, “It was no
mere rogue. However, it is the beginning of something glorious.”

Michael stiffened at the meaning. The meeting had most definitely taken a
turn for the worst. His fingers itched to wrap around his wand, but, given
the circumstances, he thought against it and rightly so.

Her palms beaded sweat and Amelia stared unblinkingly yet accusingly at
Edward. However, he studiously avoided her gaze and concentrated on the
others. Kingsley paled but kept his wits about him enough to inquire, “I
don’t quite follow. Would you care to elaborate?” There was a distinctive
edge to his tone of voice.

“You are not a simple-minded fool, Kingsley!” Ezra snapped. His breath
reeked heavily of wine.

Kingsley ignored the drunken wretch, leaned forward, and came straight to
the point. He implored, "Cyrus, you are the oldest one here. If you were
unhappy with my terms, why didn't you come to me and express your
concerns? There is no need for all this."

Cyrus sneered, "We've been offered something better. The chance to take
our rightful place at the top." His wolf demanded to be released and teach
these insolent human beings a valuable lesson, but that wasn't the way.

"Who has offered? You owe me a proper explanation," Kingsley demanded

impatiently. This was an alarming revelation.

“I owe you nothing, wizard,” Cyrus fired without remorse. He would tear
this disrespectful human limb from limb if he did not mind his manners.
Regardless of who he was. It was of little consequence.

Ezra slammed his cup down hard on the table, causing its contents to spill
over. He demanded a refill before stating in perverse pleasure, "He was one
of you, but now he willingly walks among us, fights for us and will lead us
into a glorious new brotherhood."

Amelia gasped, and Thomas bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood.
Harry listened intently to the conversation, growing more concerned with
each passing word. His fingers unconsciously edged towards the wand
resting within his Auror robes.

Thomas studied the Alphas and could no longer hold his silence. He gritted
out, "Voldemort promised you similar things, and he didn't deliver. You are
making a significant mistake by listening to another power-hungry
clown." There was an inimitable hiss of disapproval from the group
monitoring the proceedings. They did not take kindly to being referred to as
incompetent fools.

Cyrus injected with purpose, "The Dark Lord was a wizard. He cared for
nothing but himself. He was a deluded maniac with no vision." A low growl
of agreement hummed through the crowd.

Harry offered with a heavy heart, "There must be something we can do to

reach a compromise." Ezra swallowed a gulp of wine and mused, "Yes!
Surrender the Ministry and embrace a magnificent new future."

Kingsley pounded the table hard with his fist without fear of retribution,
"Never!" Did they genuinely believe it was that simple? That they would
yield without a fight? The Auror in him sprang forth.

Edward, who had remained silent, raised with dripping sarcasm, "Why? Do
you not think us competent to run a nation?" A child dressed in blue
overalls ran across the room and jumped into his mother’s waiting arms. He
looked in the direction and said with a triumphant smile, "We look after our
own, tend to the sickly and nurture our young. We have built communities
more effective and loyal than yours."

Unable to keep his thoughts shielded for longer, Michael blurted out, "You
have no control over your actions."

Cyrus glared sternly, "There are ways around the full moon. Besides, we
have the right to embrace who we truly are."

Pushing long hair strands out of his face, Ezra spat viciously, "What gives
you the right to control us, young wizard?" The boy was clearly in his
twenties, and he could see he lacked the wisdom of his peers.

A deep, menacing growl echoed off the walls, and a few werewolves closed
in on them. Edward held them at bay with a dominating growl of his own
and warned, "This conversation is over. Leave whilst you still can."

Kingsley sprang to his feet, narrowed his eyes, and charged, "Do you dare
to threaten the Minister of Magic openly?"
Edward looked to keep the peace. His eyes moved over Amelia's anxious
form, "You have no authority here. I am doing you a kindness by allowing
you to leave." He cared nothing for the others but the woman in their group.

"How's your thirst, Thomas?" Ezra leered, dragging out his words to
emphasise his point.

Thomas was already on his feet. He took a defensive stance, and his eyes
darkened, "Fuck you!"

Ezra remained seated and seemingly unfazed by the Aurors' insulting retort.
Instead, he enlightened haughtily, "The hunger for blood always wins in the
end, my friend. Let us complete your transformation at the next full moon."

Thomas pulled out his wand so fast it was a blur and pointed the eleven-
inch wand made of birch and dragon heartstring squarely at Ezra's chest,
wiping the laughter right off his face, "Over my dead body."

Ezra shot to his feet, and his heavyset frame almost knocked back the table.
He crouched down low and snarled, "That can be easily arranged, old man."

Harry stepped in between the man and tried to diffuse the situation. He
hissed out of the corner of his mouth, "Stand down, Spencer."

Kingsley placed his hands on the table and leaned forward so he was face to
face with Cyrus and sneered, "It's war then."

Cyrus did not flinch. He simply brought his hands together until the
fingertips touched and said with a resounding firmness, "By the time the
master is through, there won't be a need for needless bloodshed. We have
united across countries and borders putting aside our many differences and
instincts to fight for the greater good of our species that you see fit to
eradicate."

"I have never…." Kingsley countered, but he was interrupted by an erupting

cheer from the bystanders, "We are the future!"

Ezra gritted out, "You have no control over us anymore."

Harry reminded them of what was at stake. He appealed, "You will break
the Statute of Secrecy and expose our world to Muggles."

Cyrus smiled sinisterly, "Your little laws mean nothing to us. We have our
orders, and we've been hiding in the shadows for too long."

He added with a certain level of disgust, "Muggles have used their barbaric
ways far worse than ours to rule and plague this earth with their filth."

"This isn't the way…." Kingsley sighed. He knew it was a lost cause. They
had already lost the argument before arrival. The pack leaders accepted his
invitation to bask in his failure and goad him into action. If he made one
wrong move, it would be their end.

Ezra said sternly. His voice was deep and rough like a wolf's bark, "There is
no other way, Shacklebolt." Edward slowly rose to his feet and held his
arms as if to include everyone and said, "Brother, sisters, let them pass. We
are not the mindless beasts they think we are." He needed to ensure their
safe passage so she would survive. His one true love was taken cruelly
away when fate intervened twenty years ago.

Kingsley tried one last time, "Edward, Ezra, Cyrus, we agreed…."

Cyrus raised a hand to stop him from progressing with what he assumed
was a well-rehearsed speech, "We did regretfully, and you have been far
more gracious than your predecessors, but though it was a valiant effort by
you and Miss Granger, it was futile just the same. We have chosen the way
forward. It is time for you to do the same."

Edward, however, was in two minds about the whole thing. His eyes never
left Amelia, and the gold band glistened around her finger that she
absentmindedly toyed with. Harry advised with a hint of desperation, "I
implore you to rethink your actions. This is not a war you can win."

"We will take that chance," Ezra fired back without hesitation.

Cyrus intervened, “Our fight is not just with your kind, but with Muggles as
well. We will strike down all who stand in our way.”
Ezra sneered, “Toppling of the Ministry of Magic will pave an easier path to
wage war on Muggles. Besides, Wizards and witches must be held
accountable for the centuries of abuse and neglect we have suffered at the
mercy of the all-mighty wand.” He despised the lot of them for the unlawful
murder of his mother. He thirsted for their blood and vengeance.

Having held her tongue after her first comment, Amelia made her presence
avidly known. Her eyes shined bright with rising anger, "Your
overconfidence will prove perilous to your health."

Edward nodded curtly in acknowledgement, "Always good to see you,

Amelia." He was the only Alpha without a mate. She blushed deeply and
averted her gaze.

Cyrus dismissed them with a wave of his hand, "Good day to you all."

Michael backed away cautiously, but Kingsley, Harry and Thomas turned
their backs on the pack leaders and walked out of the house without a
backwards glance. Amelia lingered and threw Edward one final look of
anguish before joining her fellow Aurors, who were almost halfway out of
the clearing.

"Kingsley…" Michael said slowly while willing his rapidly beating heart to
still, but the seething Minister kept his eyes on the trail and hissed, "Quiet. I
must think." He stepped on a dead branch, and the deafening crunch
sounded bleakly foreboding.

Their feet took them out of the forest, leaving behind the shadows, howling
winds and darkness behind.

The sun shone brightly upon them, and Kingsley abruptly grabbed Harry by
the shoulders and shook him, "You were right, Potter. Granger’s letter is
connected."

Thomas glanced over their shoulder to ensure they were not followed, held
his wand at the ready and said seriously, "Hermione could be in grave
danger."
"She will never agree to Auror protection," Harry sighed and pushed his
glasses further up his nose and informed. He had served as her bodyguard
years ago, and she had fought him every step of the way. Sometimes her
independence was tiresome.

Kingsley glared, "Tell her it's a direct order from me and assign Abbott and
Malfoy to her protection detail. I have little time or patience for any
childish outbursts." He needed to think straight and govern a nation and not
worry about his stubborn Undersecretary.

Michael injected after a moment's thought, "Malfoy has promising skills.

He performed remarkably well on his first mission to apprehend the potion
smuggler." He thought it was the right thing to do by giving credit where it
was due. Besides, it soothed his guilty consciousness. The ex-Slytherin had
moved with such ease it was easy to picture how he broke Terry's nose in
the altercation at the Leaky Cauldron.

Terry, he thought sadly. They desperately needed him back on his feet.

Kingsley disregarded the comment and instead assigned Michael a task,

"Speak to the smuggler. I'm curious to know why he's reluctant to lower his
Polyjuice potion supplies.”

"I'll bet my left nut that there's more to this than meets the eye," Michael
pounded his palm with his fist in frustration.

Kingsley rounded on Harry and instructed strictly, "I want Malfoy, Abbott,
Creevy and two others to handle other matters while everyone else does all
they can to find out who this mysterious leader is." He heaved an
exasperated sigh, "The situation is far worse than originally thought. A
werewolf uprising is deadlier than Death Eaters and a serial killer."

Amelia said slowly, dragging out her words, "There are no Death Eaters,
Kingsley. It's werewolves." Her voice cracked painfully on the last word.

"I disagree, Amelia. I think it's both. My gut tells me it's both." Thomas
weighed in. His gut feeling had not let him down since losing a valuable
limb.
Kingsley could barely contain his anger. He paced around creating foot
sized craters in the mud and said solemnly, "I have dedicated my career as
Minister of Magic to ensuring equality. All my efforts and Granger’s hard
work has been flushed down the toilet by another power-hungry tyrannical
bastard."

An uncomfortable silence engulfed them as each individual slipped into

their deep thoughts on the matter.

Harry glanced at his watch and groaned, "I need to get going. I'm supposed
to accompany Branson to break the news to the Muggle woman's
family." Without hesitation, Thomas pulled him back roughly and warned,
"Do not get emotionally involved, Potter. It will not work in your favour."

Harry brushed aside Thomas's hand and his advice and instead demanded,
"Bring Dorian in. His half-baked responses are not good enough. I'll have
his head if he fails to provide any valuable answers." He had no intention of
being a heartless bastard who was a slave to his job like Thomas Spencer
was. There was a certain amount of compassion they could spare for the
victims.

He sought the Minister's approval to leave, which came in the form of a

forced nod. Harry took out his wand and disapparated with one location in
mind.

Thomas looked over to where Amelia was staring into the forest in a daze.
She seemed less like herself and under some spell. He snapped her out of it
and questioned in concern, "Amelia? Are you alright?"

She blinked rapidly and answered in a dreamlike tone while rubbing her
arms to generate heat to warm herself, "Hmm, yes, just shaken up by the
events today." Thomas regarded her curiously but did not pursue and
disapparated right after Michael and Kingsley.

"Edward," Amelia almost whispered in agony before disappearing. Edward

stared at the ceiling in his lavishly furnished room, and an unmistakable
pain ripped through his once-human heart.
Attaching her new Cartier watch to her delicate wrist, Daphne walked into
her bedroom to find her husband sprawled across the bed seductively with
no shirt, his impressive body on display and a long-stemmed rose firmly
lodged between his teeth.

Daphne giggled and inquired innocently, "Blaise, aren't you running late for
work?"

He sat up, spat the rose out and shrugged, "I thought I'd take the day off and
spend it with you."

She closed the gap between them, kissed him lightly, and pouted, "I'm
certainly not complaining, but I have high tea with Tori and Tracey."

Astoria was head over heels in love with Draco, and Tracey wanted to
throttle her husband. Both women bore a grudge against Hermione even
though she was not consciously involved in either predicament.

Blaise grinned and kissed his wife passionately. They broke apart, and he
said, "Ah, well, don't cancel on my account. I will spend time together with
the children. Maybe take them out for ice cream."

Daphne frowned. She would rather know her husband’s whereabouts. "I
hope you have no further run-ins with ex-girlfriends in Diagon Alley." She
mused. It was a poor attempt at a joke by an insecure woman.

Blaise moved away and frowned, "Are you still on that? Darling, it was a
long time ago. There is absolutely nothing for you to feel anxious over."

"I know. It's just that I've always been a little jealous of Ginny," Daphne
reluctantly confided her secret of many years. It was hard not to be envious
of Ginny Weasley. The woman could do no wrong in Blaise's eyes, which
infuriated her at times.

"Still?" Blaise questioned while holding her by the shoulders and looking
deep into her beautiful blue eyes. Daphne brushed it aside and laughed
almost convincingly, "Don't be silly. I meant back at Hogwarts."
Blaise was not fooled by her attempt to throw him off. His wife was an
appalling liar, but he nodded in agreement and smiled to appease her, "Of
course, darling. Have fun. I'll see you later."

By the time Harry arrived at the Ministry, Alice was dressed in a new
summer dress and Branson was seated by her side, talking to her in hushed
reassuring tones. Doris stood on the side and watched the exchange with a
glum expression.

They looked up in surprise as Harry barged into the room and doubled over,
trying to catch his breath. "Sorry, I'm late." He gasped.

Branson got to his feet, helped Alice up and replied, "Not at all, Potter."

He requested from Alice, "Shall we?" She nodded and held back her
reservations. It was hardly prudent to hide away and hope her predicament
would disappear when she had an understanding family who depended on
her.

Alice supplied the address, and Branson politely offered his arm for her to
take. She took it reluctantly, and they disapparated at once. They arrived on
the steps of a rundown home with peeling paint and a rusty gate that opened
to a cobbled pathway that led to the door. The sudden jolt of apparation was
new to Alice, and she bent over the thriving Hosta bushes upon arrival and
vomited.

Her heaving caused a stir, and before long, the door opened, and a man of
average height, dressed in a woolly jumper and corduroy trousers, came out
in time to catch Branson rubbing Alice's back while she coated the plants
with her bile.

He threw Branson and Harry looks of pure suspicion and said softly in a
carrying voice, "Alice?"

The wizards stepped away from the woman who had somewhat recovered
and wiped her mouth with the silk handkerchief Branson had graciously
provided.
Alice smiled sheepishly at her tawny-haired husband, who pulled her
towards him, wrapped his arms around her and embraced her, "Alice!
Thank goodness. We've been worried sick." A child of no more than eight
ran outside and hugged Alice around the middle with a bright smile.

Harry felt his heart clench with overwhelming sadness. Thomas's words of
warning came back to haunt him—do not get emotionally involved, but
how could he not? He had failed this family by not protecting her.

The man barrelled into multiple explanations, "I went down to the police
station. The bloody sods were no help at all. I've been a frantic wreck
without you, darling."

Alice shuddered but kept still and quiet. They entered the house and were
greeted by a neat household with yellow painted walls, multiple framed
pictures of children, secondhand furniture and many statues and paintings
of Jesus Christ. It was abundantly clear that Alice and her family were
religious and not well off but made do with what they had.

A small girl of five came running down the stairs with a yellowish teddy
bear that bore a striking resemblance to Winnie the Pooh clutched tightly in
her hand and hurled herself at Alice with a loud, "Mummy!" Alice winced
yet hugged the child and smothered her youngest child with kisses despite
the excruciating pain in her shoulder and fought the tears that threatened to
spill over at any minute.

At that moment, Alice's husband realised something was wrong with his
wife. His eyes roved over her, and they took in the deep gashes down her
arms, the scratches littered across her face and the bandaged part of her
neck and shoulder.

He gasped and demanded an explanation, "My God, what's happened to

you?"

It was clear from his pained tone that he loved his wife dearly, but Harry
wondered if was it enough to withstand the alarming new development that
she was turning into a bloodthirsty Werewolf.
Since their arrival, Alice had remained quiet but chose at that moment to
vocalise her thoughts. She spoke to her husband calmly, "Mark, please, let's
sit down, and I'll explain everything."

Mark regarded the strange men standing in the middle of his living room
with distrust and rightly questioned, "Who are these people?" They were
oddly dressed and bore a seal of authority that was not familiar to him.

Alice sat down, patted the area next to her eagerly and implored, "Mark,
please, calm down." He heeded her request and bemused, "What's going
on?"

"Is that blood?" He asked in growing concern and shock as the crimson
liquid seeped through the bandage and trickled down her arm. Alice
mustered a smile and said to the elder child in a warm motherly
tone, "Phoebe, take your sister and go to your room, darling."

Phoebe was a capable child with golden locks and a beautiful smile. She
nodded meekly, "Okay, mummy." She gently took her younger sister by the
hand and led the reluctant toddler, who was keen on staying firmly with her
mother, upstairs.

Once the children were out of earshot, Harry made his presence known and
introduced himself and Branson to the thoroughly dishevelled and confused
man, "Mr Hartley, my name is Harry Potter, and this is Norris Branson. We
are from the Ministry of Magic. Your wife was attacked by a werewolf last
night, and she has been in our care since then."

Mark widened his eyes and almost laughed aloud. Instead, he bombarded
them with question after question, "You're from where? Attacked by what?
Are you having me on? Is this some kind of sick joke?"

Branson reached out in an effort to calm him down, "Mr Hartley, please let
us explain."

Mark looked about wildly for any hidden cameras and quipped, "Am I
going to appear on the telly?"
Alice reached over and squeezed her husband's hand. Her fingernails dug
into the sensitive skin of his palm. She pleaded desperately, "Darling, listen
to me. It's all true."

She choked back a sob, "I'm so sorry."

Mark stared into her face trying hard to comprehend the words that left her
lips, "A werewolf? Are you trying to say you will turn into some beast once
a month at the full moon like in a horror film?”

Harry injected soberly while Alice struggled to string coherent words, "Yes,
I’m afraid that’s exactly what we are trying to say.

Mark wasn’t a complete idiot. He was not easily convinced and scoffed, “I
don’t believe this nonsense. There is no such thing as real magic except the
type magicians use in shows, pulling a fucking rabbit out of a hat or deck of
cards out of his arse."

He argued frankly, "Do you honestly expect me to sit here and believe that
my wife of over ten years is now a bloody werewolf?"

"Well, not yet," Branson added glumly with a shrug.

Alice declared solemnly but fiercely, "Mark, look at me! This is where it bit
me, but it's me. I'm still your wife."

Mark bit his lip and shook his head in disbelief, "This is too much even to
understand. How am I expected to believe any of this?"

Branson had heard and witnessed enough of the man's denial. He exhaled,
pulled out his wand from his suit's breast pocket, and waved it fluidly over
the coffee table.

A steaming pot of tea, hand-painted cups, saucers and a delectable

chocolate cake with thick frosting appeared out of thin air and landed
gingerly on top of the table. His choice of magic was adept since he had
skipped lunch and was feeling somewhat peckish.
Mark bolted straight up and backed away in reasonable panic, "No! It's
impossible. This is some bloody illusion."

He pointed a quivering finger at Branson, glanced at Harry and Alice with

an unhinged glare in his eyes and thundered, "You're crazy! The lot of you.
Get out of my fucking house, you nutters!"

Branson poured himself a cup of tea, moved closer to Alice if Mark sought
to take out his frustrations on her and pleaded, "Calm yourself, Mr Hartley."
He sounded like a bleeding tape recorder.

Mark backed himself into a corner, slid to the ground and fought hard with
his inner self to control his emotions. Harry crouched down next to the
distraught husband and father and argued, "Your wife needs you."

Mark locked anguished eyes with Harry, and much was said between them
in one look. He nodded after a brief moment, rose on shaky legs and fell
into the nearest chair. Dejected with his head in his hands, he whispered in
unmasked pain, "I, erm, I need some time to wrap my head around all this."

Branson held out a cup of steaming hot tea and offered with a smile,
“Would you like some tea?” Mark gave him a lopsided grin and took the
beverage with trembling fingers, “Thank you.”

A distinctive sound of giggling from upstairs made everyone look in its

direction and caused Mark to question in alarm, "Is it safe for her to be
around the children?"

"I would never hurt them," Alice defended fiercely. She would sooner die
than harm her children.

Mark argued with good reason, "Not intentionally, but you wouldn't be able
to control yourself, right?" Harry paled. He distinctively recalled how
Remus Lupin turned on them without a second thought after turning into a
werewolf.

Branson countered with renewed determination, "Yes, of course, it is. It is

perfectly fine for her to be around the children. Alice only needs to visit us
each month without fail, and I promise she can live a normal life." Earlier,
he had handed over the necessary documents and had every intention of
dropping by for a quick check as the days rolled close to her transformation
date.

Mark stifled a laugh and retorted sarcastically, "A normal life? You've
walked in here and told me that my wife's turning into a werewolf and
magic exists. Normal isn't the word I'd use, mate."

Harry insisted, "She's still the same woman who loves you."

Mark moved closer to Alice and reached for her hand. He held on firmly
and replied, "And I love her." He took a deep breath and reassured his
sobbing wife, "We will get through this, Alice."

Alice said through the veil of tears that streamed down her face, "We can't
tell anyone about their world or my situation. They will obliviate our
memories and relocate us to an undisclosed location if we do."

Mark cupped her face, gazed upon her lovingly and mused, "Who in their
right bloody mind would believe us, love?"

Brenda caught sight of Kingsley Shacklebolt's swishing robes as he swiftly

appeared and retreated behind closed doors. She had strict instructions from
Hermione that she was to be informed the second he arrived.

Leaping from her seat, Brenda hurriedly walked into her boss's room.
Finding Hermione deep in thought, hunched over a long parchment with
quill in hand, she announced, "The Minister has returned from the meeting
with the Alphas, Hermione."

Hermione snapped to attention, "Good. Take any messages." She got to her
feet, slipped her feet into the heels she left discarded by the chair and
smoothed her skirt.

She strode with intent and purpose towards the Minister's office, knocked
on the door to announce her presence and walked in when Kingsley's deep
voice granted her entry.

"How did you go?" Hermione asked with bubbling curiosity. Judging by the
minister's furrowed brow and overall sour disposition, it was safe to assume
that the meeting had not gone as planned.

"Epping Forest? Why such a sinister location?" Hermione questioned with a

deep frown etched onto her face. It was a dark and dreary place that
Muggles and magical folk alike avoided unless necessary.

Kingsley narrowed his eyes and hissed, "Their sole purpose was to
intimidate us, Granger, but they could not be more wrong in their
assumption." He was a proud man and would not fall at their feet and
grovel. He would not bend to their will in a thousand years, even if it meant
his resignation and premature death.

He nursed a hefty drink, took a sip and sighed, "We arrived a while ago. I
was consulting with Thomas and Amelia."

Hermione could not hold back her eagerness to know what had transpired,
"What happened?"

"There isn't a word to describe it," Kingsley answered, his usually deep
voice subdued and laced with immense regret.

He summarized the events at the meeting and emphasised the shuddering

conclusion that they were again fighting to preserve their way of life.

"We helped them, Kingsley. Does that count for nothing?" Hermione
implored, feeling sick to her stomach and a sudden ache in her heart. They
had worked tirelessly to support a certain standard of living for werewolves,
even securing employment within the Ministry for deserving individuals.
Still, now it seemed like a waste of time.

Kingsley sighed, "Apparently not. We tried our best, Granger. Let us find
some peace in that and figure out the way forward."
Hermione nodded in agreement, straightened to show no weakness, and
inquired in concern, "I see. Are we at a point where we must alert the
public?" That fell under her domain.

Kingsley shook his head and explained his reason, "Not yet. I still have
hope that we can neutralise the situation. Leaders of the Magical realm
worldwide are arriving at seven pm to discuss this imminent threat."

Hermione gathered the gist of where the conversation was headed and
nodded in understanding, "I'll update the Prime Minister while you look
after things here." She had to be back from her meeting in time to greet
their distinguished guests.

Kingsley opened his mouth to warn her about the potential threat to her life,
but a stunning eagle Patronus from the President of the Magical Congress in
America distracted him.

Closing the door behind her, Hermione hastened her steps towards her
office with her mind in turmoil.

Neville carefully picked up a skimpy black piece of clothing Pansy had left
out on the bed and raised a curious brow, "Umm, Pansy, where is the other
half of this bathing suit?" He dangled the borderline indecent suit in front of
her face.

Pansy chuckled, "That's the whole suit, silly." She took it from his hands
and explained, "See? These are the strings that hold it together." The frown
on Neville's face deepened.

She turned her back to him, exposing creamy white flesh and declared, "I
want a glorious natural tan."

Neville grabbed the garment, tossed it aside and crossed his arms over his
chest. "You are not wearing this, Parkinson. It barely covers your breasts."
He said firmly.
Pansy dismissed his concerns as ridiculous and argued, "It's very
fashionable. It's what everyone is wearing in Milan, darling."

"Everyone in Milan is not my wife. I said no, Pansy, and I fucking mean it,"
Neville countered with an out-of-character fierceness.

Pansy was pleasantly surprised by her husband's controlling tone of voice

and his ability to wet her knickers with a few well-thought-out commanding
words.

She trailed her fingers up his torso and whispered seductively, "I love it
when you boss me around."

Neville smirked, picked up the scanty garment and demanded, "Wear it for
me."

Pansy did not need to tell twice. She unbuttoned her top and pushed it off
her shoulders, proceeding to put on the bikini top that hardly contained her
sizable bosom. She secured the strings at the back, closed the gap between
them and rasped, "I'm so hot for you right now."

Neville palmed her supple tits and felt their weight in each hand. He rolled
the pebbled nipples between his fingers and squeezed, garnering a
satisfying low moan from his beloved wife.

Pansy worked his belt and undid the stubborn button of his trousers. She
snaked down his body, pulled down his underpants, went on her knees and
progressed to suck him off while he grunted, rocked back and forth, and
fucked her mouth with perverse pleasure.

A miserable hour passed. Hermione thought of Draco and their heated

exchange in the cottage, but there were more pressing issues that demanded
her attention. Still, she couldn’t shake his beautiful face and enduring
strands of platinum blonde that fell over his forehead from her
consciousness.
Brenda had taken a late lunch break and disappeared with Michael. After
his ordeal at the packhouse, he needed his girlfriend's touch, feel and
comfort. There was a knock on the door, and a second later, it opened. With
his unkempt hair, Harry popped his head in and requested, "Can I come
in?"

Hermione smiled fondly, "Of course, Harry! I was just about to come to
meet you." That was a lie, and while she had meant to see him and put his
mind at ease, the task had completely slipped her mind.

Closing the door behind him, Harry walked in, laid down on the
comfortable brown leather sofa and closed his eyes.

"How are you handling everything? It’s a lot to take in on such short notice,
" Hermione queried while intently watching her best friend's behaviour. He
was undoubtedly disturbed by the events that were unfolding.

Harry responded grimly, "I've been better. I just returned from the home of
the woman who was attacked."

Hermione sighed, "That could not have been easy." She could not begin to
imagine what state the woman's mentality was.

"The husband is a wreck. Their happy family has been torn apart," Harry
gritted out. He felt like a completely useless sod.

There was no point in tiptoeing around the main topic at hand. Still,
Hermione maintained a level of professionalism and calmness, "Kingsley
told me the meeting with the Alphas went against us."

Harry affirmed, "We were lucky to leave with our heads intact."

His eyes snapped open, and he declared with uncertainty, "We have a
Werewolf rebellion on our hands, Hermione. A potential war if we cannot
reach a compromise."

Hermione nervously chewed on her bottom lip and nodded, "I gathered as
much from Kingsley's hurried explanation."
Throwing his legs off the sofa, Harry sat up and looked thoroughly
defeated, "I thought, I hoped all this would end with Voldemort. This is not
the future I wanted for my son or any child."

Hermione reached over and took his hand in hers and applied pressure, "I
know, Harry, and you've done your best. You cannot control the actions of
others." He held onto her hand, stared into her face, and delivered the
unfavourable news, "Hermione, you're in danger."

"What do you mean?" She posed with a quizzical raise of her brow. It was
not her life but Kingsley's they needed to worry about. Harry grew
impatient as he reminded, "That letter you received after the publication in
Witch Weekly Magazine."

Hermione scoffed, "That was by some fool pretending to be a Death Eater."

Harry vigorously shook his head, "No, it's all connected, don't you see?"

Hermione was not convinced, "Enlighten me, please."

Harry pointed out the facts that they knew so far, "Whoever is behind this
used to be a Death Eater, and now he's a werewolf. He has the support of
both sides, possibly."

Hermione brushed aside their ludicrous theory. Wizards would never

knowingly bend to the will of a werewolf. She firmly voiced her opinion,
"Impossible! Once the wizards and witches that serve him figure out that
he's a werewolf, they will drop him and their allegiance to his shoddy
cause."

With his head in his hands, Harry grabbed tufts of his hair and pulled hard,
"Still, that does not stop the more dangerous threat of the wolves." He took
her hands in his and pleaded, Lay low, please!" He further included the part
she loathed, "I'm assigning Hannah and Malfoy as your bodyguards,"

Harry saw her features contort, but before she could speak, he concluded
with a firm, "And before you say anything, please know it's a direct order
from the Minister."
"You can't be serious, Harry," Hermione admonished.

Harry was beginning to lose his patience, "Hermione, they see your
arrangement with Malfoy as a slap in the face, especially considering how
flattering he was in his replies about you in the article."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but Harry cut her short before any
words left her dry lips, "If it's their skills you are worried about, then don't.
Malfoy passed his first field assignment with flying colours, and Abbott has
more guts and balls than half the men on my team. Besides, Hannah will
take the lead on your protection detail."

She crossed her arms across her chest and pouted, "I do not doubt their
skills. I'm saying that I'm quite capable of fending for myself and that it's a
waste of resources when they could be doing something more with their
time."

Harry smiled and looked upon her fondly, "You are far too valuable for us
to jeopardise."

"But, I…," Hermione tried to make him see reason, but he interrupted with
a heartfelt request that made her insides ache, "Please, love! Do this for
me."

Hermione conceded defeat, hugged her best friend, and said, "I would do
anything for you, Harry."

She assured though she did not wholly believe it, "We will get through
this."

Auror training was over for the day, and Draco and Hannah spoke in great
detail about the potion Smuggler, Smith, and how daunting and lifeless
Azkaban was.

Draco knew he had to visit Smith and figure out what his words meant. Try
as he might, he could not shake the feeling of dread that consumed him.
Most of all, he was curious about the warning and the meaning behind
them.

Harry walked into the DMLE after his conversation with Hermione came to
an end and caught sight of Hannah and Malfoy sitting at their desks. He
beckoned them without explanation, "Malfoy, Abbott, my room. Now!"

Hannah caught the look of bewilderment Draco threw her way and
shrugged. She did not have a sodding clue as to what was going on, and
most of the other more senior Aurors remained mum when she asked.

Hannah swallowed the last bite of her sandwich as she entered Harry's
office and raised curiously, "What's up, boss? What's going on?"

Draco trailed behind her and stood at the back with his arms folded over his
well-defined chest, and waited for Potter to start speaking. Harry sat down,
took a few pictures out of a thick file and arranged them across his table so
Hannah and Draco could get a firsthand view of the brutal attack.

Hannah peered at the pictures and gasped. She covered her mouth with her
hand and shuddered. The images were disturbing and disgusting, with guts
and gore spewed across the hard floor and human remains of a gruesome
attack.

Taken back by Hannah's reaction to the pictures, Draco moved closer to get
a better look and truly wished he had not. Several pictures of the severed
remains of a man jumped right at him, and he was reminded of Fenrir
Greyback and the night he tore apart one of Manor's prized albino peacocks.
His father had been inconsolable but refrained from teaching Voldemort’s
dog a lesson.

Harry heaved a sigh and summarised, "Last night, a rogue werewolf killed
two Muggle men and marked a Muggle woman. It was not random. It was a
clear message. There is a potential werewolf uprising, and we suspect the
involvement of Death Eater sympathisers."

Hannah fell into an empty chair and pressed her lips down hard. After a
while, she asked, "How is this possible? They signed treaties, and we
agreed to their terms. What changed?"

"There are heeding the instructions of a new master. One who is stronger
and far more competent than Voldemort," Harry fumed.

Draco listened to each word Potter uttered with interest and concern. He
could not fathom the thought of another pointless tussle for power that
would uproot everyone's lives and throw them into anarchy.

Harry addressed him directly, "Hermione received a cryptic letter after the
article's publication, Malfoy.”

He stressed, “The letter bore the Dark Mark."

Draco took a step back at the revelation and stumbled. He paled, "That's
impossible." The faded snake on his left arm twitched.

"What?" Hannah chimed in alarm.

Harry fetched the letter out of his drawer, pushed it forward and instructed,
"Go on, have a read. You need to know what you are up against."

Draco grabbed the black paper and hurriedly read the words. His fingers
clutched the parchment with more force than necessary at specific points,
and he fought hard to subdue the anger rising in him. His eyes darkened
with unmistakable rage, "If they touch her, they'll answer directly to me."
The words describing the sexual exploits made him want to vomit in
disgust.

Hannah watched from her seat as Draco slowly balled his hands into fists
making the prominent chords of muscle on his forearm bulge and a
resplendent glow emit from within the closed fist. She had never seen such
a spectacular occurrence without the aid of a wand.

Harry frowned, "The DMLE isn't some fucking vigilante unit. If you want
to continue working for us, you best abide by our rules and regulations."

"Why wasn't I informed?" Draco demanded without thought and wondered

why Granger had not seen it fit to inform him. They had spent an enjoyable
time together just that morning. Surely, it was worth mentioning.

Harry leaned back, regarded his ex-rival intently and hissed, "I wasn't aware
that we were supposed to run things by you, Malfoy." The bloody nerve of
him. Had he forgotten that he was still a trainee?

Draco was not swayed and stated frankly with a hint of defiance, "If it
concerns Granger, then yes, I deserve to know since my interview caused
her to receive such threats."

Harry fired back and argued, "It is wholly her decision to divulge such
information, and for whatever reason, she decided to keep it from you. If
you have a bloody problem, I suggest you take it up with your fiancé."

A stillness surrounded them and spread to the corners of the room.

Draco bitterly realised he had let his emotions fuel his behaviour. He had
stepped out of place and expressed regret profusely, "I apologise for my
outburst. It was uncalled for, but it is because I’m worried about her,
Potter."

Harry eyed him sceptically, "Duly noted." He explained further, "We have
reason to believe her life might be in danger and that the smuggler you two
apprehended is involved in all this somehow. The both of you will work on
the Dollhouse Strangler case and double as her bodyguard. Malfoy, you are
still in training, so your involvement will be minimal, but I expect you to
give Hannah your full support."

Draco nodded in agreement and offered a tad bit too eagerly, "You have my
word that I will protect Granger with my life if necessary." He wished he
could take the words back the second they left his lips.

Harry grew uncomfortable at the declaration and hesitated, "Well, err, let's
hope it doesn't come to that."

Hannah rolled her eyes and mused, "That's so bloody dramatic. Besides,
you won't be doing much protecting because you need to finish the course
first."
Harry was grateful for Hannah's prompt interference and spoke directly
with her, "Abbott, take over the pictures and notes of the Dollhouse
Strangler from Thomas. He's going to have his hands full in the coming
days."

"Sure. I'll go meet him now, Potter," Hannah replied enthusiastically.

Harry pushed his glasses further up his nose and waved his hand casually,
"Dismissed."

The second they stepped out of Harry's office, Hannah was taking the piss.
She adopted a sugary sweet voice and teased, "I'll protect Granger with my
life. You are so pathetic."

Draco frowned at his partner, "It slipped out. But I owe her, Abbott." He
knew he sounded like some lovesick puppy, but that wasn't the case.

He walked away, leaving her to meet with Thomas. She raised a quizzical
brow, "Where are you going?"

Draco was already halfway across the department and on his way out. He
glanced over his shoulder and responded with a lop-sided grin, "To pay my
beloved a visit."

Hannah found Thomas shuffling through some old parchments while deep
in thought.

She cleared her throat and waited for him to look up, and once he did,
Hannah smiled, "Potter asked me to take over the Dollhouse case."

Thomas returned the smile, "Did he now? Well, you are the best bet to crack
this case wide open. Unfortunately, I won't be much help due to the current
situation."

Hannah frowned, "Is it bad, Spencer?"

Thomas was not one to lie or mislead people. He usually went ahead with
what he believed, "Yes, it’s bad, Abbott, but all is not lost. We have more
than a few tricks up our sleeve."

He pushed forward two lumpy files and a couple of vials of memories,

"Good luck."

"Thank you," Hannah replied politely, gathered the files, and returned to her
desk.

Hermione was busy preparing a brief to hand over to the Muggle Prime
Minister. She meticulously went over every detail, worried needlessly and
remained oblivious to the happenings outside her room.

Draco walked through the already open glass doors and caught sight of
Brenda drinking coffee looking glum and miserable. He spoke kindly,
hoping not to upset her further. "Hi, Brenda. Is she busy?"

She had arrived not twenty minutes ago from her late lunch with Michael.
He had, of course, told her what was going on, and she constantly worried
about his safety.

Brenda inconspicuously wiped away the tears, smiled and quipped to

hopefully lighten the mood, "When is she never not busy? Her schedule
would kill a lesser person."

Draco wondered why Brenda was upset and then remembered her boyfriend
was an Auror. Perhaps the two were connected.

He looked towards the closed door and requested, "I need to speak with her
urgently. Can you please check with her whether she will tolerate my
presence?"

"Of course, Draco. Have a seat," Brenda graciously offered and got to her
feet. Unlike Terry Boot and Ronald Weasley, who did not give any thought
to Hermione’s needs and barged into her office as they saw fit, Draco
Malfoy went about it in a decent fashion as a proper gentleman should and
that was a most satisfying character trait.

Hermione heard the door open, but she did not dare to look up. Instead, she
barked out an instruction whilst writing lengthy sentences on an already
crammed parchment, "Brenda, can you bring me last year's Thompson file
and ask Nancy for the rest of Kingsley’s brief. There's an important bit of
information I need from that."

Brenda agreed but informed with a smirk, "Sure, but first, you have a
visitor."

Hermione could not be bothered to entertain guests. There were more

critical issues at hand, and she spoke her mind, "I barely have time to
breathe rather than entertain unsolicited visits."

Still, her curiosity got the better of her. She looked up and inquired, "Who
is it?"

"It's Draco Malfoy," Brenda replied with an amused expression and smug
grin.

Hermione grew flustered at the mere mention of his name but attempted to
appear casual, "Oh, what does he want?" She knew precisely why he was
here. He would come in through the door and accuse her of keeping vital
information to herself.

Malfoy, along with Hannah, were to be her bodyguards. The very thought
made her lightheaded and caused her insides to knot unpleasantly.

Brenda chuckled, "Well, he'd hardly tell me, now, would he?"

Hermione scoffed, "There's no reason to be a prat. Send him in."

"Right away, Madam Undersecretary," Brenda quipped and curtsied before

leaving to get Draco. He walked in alone and stared at Hermione with her
hair let loose it tangled and wound its way down her back. Her sultry mewls
of want from earlier penetrated his troubled mind causing it to go blank of
all pertained thought.

She was barefoot and did not bother to doll herself up in his presence. It
was hardly necessary and not one of those days where one could afford to
get sidetracked, yet he stood rooted to his spot by the entrance watching her
every movement intently.

Hermione made the first move, "Good evening, Malfoy. What can I do for
you?"

Draco snapped clear out of the trance he had fallen prey to and gritted out in
annoyance, "Why didn't you tell me about the letter you received?" She had
plenty of opportunities to inform him but intentionally chose to keep it from
him, and he would not tolerate such conduct.

She grew uncomfortable, even though his presence radiated warmth. She
gravitated towards him without thought.

His tone was far from pleased, but serious concern laced each word, "Did
you not think that I deserved to know that you were being threatened? That
my little interview put your life in danger?"

Hermione giggled; it was a highly inappropriate reaction. His behaviour

was causing some startling emotions to stir within, and the best she could
do was laugh at him for portraying such alarming protectiveness. Having
him as a bodyguard was bound to be disastrous.

Her conduct aggravated him further. Was she laughing at him?

Draco snapped, wiping the smile off her face, "This is no laughing matter,
Granger."

Hermione shrugged nonchalantly, "Oh well, I've received plenty of threats

in the past. It's not a big deal."

Draco argued indefinitely, "It is undoubtedly a big deal. How could you
keep this from me?"
She teased smugly, "Calm yourself, Malfoy. My sudden death won't
dampen your spirits. It might help your cause of finding a bride more
suitable to your needs. Besides, it's not your place to save me."

There was the matter of Narcissa’s dinner and Sunday brunch at her
parents’ place to discuss with him, but it hardly seemed like the ideal time
to chat about personal agendas.

"It's Potter's job to look after you, isn't it? That's why you told him about the
letter and left me in the dark," Draco irritably stated the obvious.

Hermione replied with a roll of her eyes, "I didn't. He came across it quite
by chance when he stopped by my office."

This need to protect her as if she were a delicate flower was annoying.

Draco closed the gap between them while Hermione watched with slightly
parted lips anticipating his next move, and he did not disappoint. The sound
of his purposeful steps grew louder as he came close. She could smell the
overpowering fragrance of his aftershave, causing her to inhale the
masculine scent deeply.

He cupped her face with one hand, fisted her hair with the other and gazed
into her face.

His eyes roved over the contours of her delectable mouth, "Your death will
be a tragic loss to the wizarding world." Stubborn strands of her curls
wound themselves possessively around his long fingers. He crushed her lips
with his and sought the inner sweetness she offered so ardently. She
surrendered to his feverish ministrations. There was such an intensity about
him that caused her to resolve to crumble.

“I need you to be safe, Hermione,” Draco breathed between soft kisses. She
was taken aback by the sincerity and longing behind his words.

Hermione lost her footing, but he caught her around the waist and held her
close to his body as his tongue pushed against hers in a dominant race
against time. He would emerge victorious as he always did, but she would
fight him every step of the way, which was most exhilarating. He could feel
her fingernails scraping over his scalp and strands of hair slip through her
fingers as she responded eagerly to his demanding nature.

They reluctantly broke apart but held onto each other. Draco glanced over
his shoulder at the door and said with a frown, "Hannah will be by shortly.
If you need anything, give me your word that you will contact me." He
realised he sounded utterly desperate, but he did not care. Her safety was of
paramount importance to him.

Hermione kissed him lightly and gently stroked his face while he closed his
eyes and leaned into her soothing touch. She whispered so only he could
hear, "You have my word."

Draco said thoughtfully, "Perhaps it would be prudent for me to spend the

night at your flat."

"That's quite alright. I can manage," Hermione leaned back against the edge
of her desk and mused. He was not used to taking no for an answer and
insisted, "I'm fully aware you can, but it would put my mind at ease."

"I will sleep on the sofa," Draco added with an amused expression. They
were past sleeping on sofas even though he suggested it. He knew if he
spent the night at her flat, they would sleep in the same bed and engage in
coitus. There were worse ways to spend one's time, he supposed.

Hermione was not amused and made her thoughts quite vocal, "Harry was
quite clear that Hannah would be doing the needful. You need to focus on
passing the upcoming Auror trials, Malfoy." She scolded as if they were
about to sit for N.E.W.T.S and realised that Malfoy had not completed his
education at Hogwarts.

Draco swore loudly and tossed his wand onto the sofa in frustration,
"Fuck!"

"What?" Hermione questioned irritably. His abrupt cussing caused her to

jump a foot in the air for no reason.
He sighed in exasperation, "This is all my bloody fault. That fucking
interview."

Hermione came close again, placed her hand palm down on his chest, and
assured, "Relax! It's not the first time I've received these poorly thought-out
letters, and it most certainly won't be the last."

She smiled slightly, "I'm used to it."

He kept his forehead against hers and promised, "I swear, I won't let you
fall."

Hermione could not bring herself to move away from the circle of warmth
he projected but gathered the strength to ask, "Do you think going away is
wise?"

Draco replied thoughtfully, "Hmm, it is rather horrid timing, but will two
days make much difference?"

Hermione wasn’t too sure, "I don't know, Malfoy. I just feel like it's in poor
taste to leave Kingsley and Harry at a time like this."

He moved the pad of his thumb over her swollen bottom lip and rasped, "I
understand. If you choose not to go, I will support your decision and stay
behind myself."

Hermione refuted, "You shouldn’t have to miss out because of my work

obligations." Ron would have pitched a fit and accused her of always
putting her job first.

Draco was adamant, "Your work obligations tally with mine. I'm supposed
to be watching you, and I can hardly do that from Hawaii."

He made a valid point, "Besides, it would be prudent to whisk you away

from this madness for a while."

"I will not run away and hide from these bigoted arseholes," she stomped
her foot and replied harshly, fire burning in her amber eyes.
Draco sighed, "It would be abundantly clear that you are not running away,
Granger. Just think about it. I know Potter and Shacklebolt will
wholeheartedly welcome it. You mean a great deal to them."

It was hard to refuse him when he was so flattering and practical, "Mmm,
let me think about it."

Draco towered over her, placed a finger under her chin and tipped it, forcing
her to look directly into his smoky swirls of penetrating grey. His lips
curved upwards to form a smile, "Take your time."

Hermione bit her bottom lip and drawled huskily, "I have to meet the
Muggle Prime Minister. You should leave."

"Yes, I should," Draco whispered and captured her lips again in a heated
embrace. Her lips moulded perfectly to his, and they moved in unison,
relishing in the feel of each other and drowning in the forbidden emotions
of their forced union.

They heard Hannah's voice outside and broke apart before being interrupted
yet again. Draco ran his fingers over his kiss-swollen lips, exited the room
and ran right into Abbott.

Hannah grinned, "Are you about done? Get your arse to the library and
brush up on the theoretical part of training, Malfoy and stop canoodling
with our Undersecretary."

Brenda laughed aloud, and Draco frowned and pulled at his collar to hide
his discomfort and mortification at Hannah’s declaration.

Hermione came rushing out and blushed crimson, "Oh, Hannah! Did you
just arrive?”

Through hooded eyelids, she glanced at Draco and hesitated, “Umm,

Malfoy, you forgot this." She held out his wand. He took it from her petite
hand, taking care and time to brush his fingers along hers and causing her to
bestow him with a look of pure lust.
He regarded the women with a respectful nod, turned on his heel and fled
the area with his black robes billowing behind him before Abbott could
embarrass him further.

Hannah rocked on the balls of her feet and inquired, snapping Hermione out
of staring at Draco’s retreating figure, "So, Potter's told you all about it?"

Hermione looked her way and grimaced, "Unfortunately. Sorry to be a

bother."

Hannah grinned, "Not at all. I'll try not to get in the way."

Hermione sighed in exhaustion. It wasn't worth the fight, "It's honestly fine,
Hannah. Just go about it how you usually would."

Hannah nodded and awaited further instruction, to which Hermione retorted

with a slight smile, "I'll be ready to leave shortly."

"Oh, where are we off to then?" Hannah requested curiously.

Hermione appeased her curiosity with a brief answer, "Muggle London. We

have a meeting with the Prime Minister and head of MI5."
 Chapter 50
Chapter Notes

I truly hope everyone is well! We are hanging on despite my country's

dire situation.

My heartfelt gratitude to each of you who took the time to leave such
fantastic comments. They honestly make my day :)

Leaders from around the world gather to discuss the uprising. Michael
helps out Draco in Azkaban, and Hermione secures the Muggle Prime
Minister's help. I hope you like the leaders I have introduced. I am
pretty partial to Akari Sato. She's the Japanese representative.

Astoria has an odd fascination with snakes. This is a crucial point to

remember.

Sarah suffers a fate worse than death. She meets his mother, and it isn't
what she expected - Trigger warning - Violence/Non-consensual.

Darkness, love, tragedy and protectiveness run rampant in this chapter.

Enjoy! :)

Oh, I've stepped out of the Harry Potter books regarding Werewolves
and adapted a more general overlook.

Enjoy Chapter fifty.

Stay safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Astoria moved the heavy glass that trapped her beloved pet and laid it
gingerly down on the floor using her wand. She peered into the enchanted
tank with a lush forest-like setting and smiled as the beautiful, reticulated
python uncoiled from its place in the corner and poked its head out from
under the foliage.

It sensed its freedom was within grasp and sought to make the most use of
the minutes it was free of its cage, but a hand descended into the pit. As a
smooth hand wearing tasteful rings wrapped around thin fingers came
closer, its neck and head formed an S shape and readied itself to strike,
displaying a black forked tongue in warning.

Astoria was unfazed, she reached further, and the second her fingers closed
around the middle part of the patterned python's body, it instinctively
wound itself around her arm and tightened its grip. The reptile's valiant
effort didn't help its cause.

After a while, the python conceded defeat and gave itself over to its owner.
Astoria brought the snake up to eye level, gazed into one emerald, green
eye and smiled, "I wish you would trust me, darling. I mean you no harm."
She boldly stroked the scaly body with her free hand, and the reptile
seemed to enjoy the attention it received.

Years ago, she learned of her fate and stumbling upon a wounded rat snake
in the estate's many luscious gardens had transformed her into an avid snake
enthusiast. Over the years, she built herself a snake nursery, as she called it.
She acquired exotic yet deadly specimens from around the world and had
the more poisonous ones defanged to safeguard herself, except for a few
precious babies that she handled with extreme care.

One bite would kill her faster than any old blood curse. At times, when
depression encompassed her, she thought of letting one of her beloved pets
do the job. Still, lately after Draco’s promising words about her in the
article, all she seemed to do was daydream about countless possibilities of a
romance between them and the sheer magnitude of feelings he evoked in
her.

The python flattened its head and body and appeared calm as it slithered
over her palm and forearm, incessantly darting its tongue in and out to get a
better bearing of its surroundings.
"So precious," Astoria gushed over the snake that grew to an impressive
length of ten feet or more, but she had long since desired a King Cobra.
Even with the right connections and funds to purchase the magnificent King
of snakes, it still proved difficult.

Victoria Greengrass wasn't keen on her daughter's obsession with the

untamable and dangerous reptiles. Still, at her husband's insistence that they
provide Astoria with her heart desires, she had reluctantly agreed with one
condition—the snakes, no matter their level of toxicity, would not be
allowed out of their glass prisons or anywhere else near the Manor. Carrie
and Adam, her beloved grandchildren, visited often, and it wasn't a risk she
was willing to take.

She heard footsteps and the caretaker of her little snake serpentarium came
rushing around the corner. Astoria smiled as the slightly built Indian man
came closer. They employed the kind-tempered South Asian man in a white
turban and loose-fitting tunic because of his extensive knowledge of snake
handling and reptiles. He spoke to the creatures as if they were children and
looked after them as his offspring.

"Miss Astoria. Your sisters have arrived and anxiously await your
presence," Ramesh announced with a slight nod and heavily accented
English.

Astoria carefully handed the python resting on her arm to Ramesh and
smiled, displaying a dazzling set of white teeth, "Thank you so much for
rushing to tell me. You shouldn't have."

Ramesh blushed and returned the sizeable reptile to its makeshift home
made of impenetrable glass before wiping his hands on the back of his
black trousers. Taking out her wand, Astoria blew her precious pets a kiss,
muttered a single destination and waved her wand fluidly.

Daphne hugged her mother before she and Tracey exchanged air kisses.
They sat down on a newly purchased sofa, and a house-elf appeared with a
solid silver tray burdened with a large pot of tea and an assortment of
biscuits, sandwiches, and pieces of cake. The elf poured tea and politely
held a cup for Tracey to take. She took it graciously and asked her
stepmother, "Where is father?"

Victoria smiled, "At the office. You know him. He's a certified workaholic,
my dear." Tracey smiled and said nothing further.

Daphne interrupted, "Mother, I'll bring the children by on Sunday." It was a

day before they were to leave for Hawaii. She was still in two minds about
leaving her precious babies.

Victoria's smile widened, "Yes, darling. I've had the elves tend to the room.
I thought it would be prudent for them to share your old room for the
duration of their stay." She loved nothing more than spending time with her
grandchildren, especially listening to the many humorous anecdotes told by
her precious granddaughter Carrie.

"That's an excellent idea," Daphne beamed. Still, her heart ached at the
thought of being away from her child for nearly a week. She asked
unsurely, "Are you sure you can look after them?" They could be a handful,
and she was doubtful her mother could manage the hyperactive pair.

Victoria reassured, "Of course, I am. Besides, I have plenty of help. Tori
will be around mostly, and you know how much she loves the children."

"Yes, I do, and they love her to the moon and back," Daphne agreed and
stated in the same sentence. Her sister was remarkable with children, and a
twisted fate of circumstances robbed her of the chance to become a loving
mother. Having listened silently to the conversation, Tracey raised a curious
brow and inquired, "What's going on? Have I missed something?"

Daphne regarded her stepsister and answered, "Oh, I never got around to
telling you or did I? I don’t recall. Blaise and I are heading to Hawaii on
Monday for a well-earned vacation. I cannot remember the last time we
went anywhere alone."

"Can I tag along?" Tracey perked up and suggested a tad bit desperately. It
would be such a relief to get away from the obligations of her tiresome
marriage. Ron was persistent; she would have to give him that. He sent her
flowers, chocolates and small gifts, but what good were material things
when he wasn't willing to give their marriage a chance and instead spent the
majority of his time lusting over an ex-girlfriend?

Daphne hesitated and pointed out with valid reason, "Umm, the whole gang
is going, including Draco, and I doubt Ron would have a good time without
the company of his best friends even if Luna and Neville were there."

Tracey scoffed and hissed her displeasure, "Who said I'm bringing the
blubbering lout? If I'm coming, then I'm coming alone. Maybe I'll meet
someone utterly irresistible. Hawaii is truly breathtaking. I've been there
once after I fled to America."

Daphne couldn’t help but chuckle at Tracey’s choice of words. She was the
sister with a sense of humour.

Victoria massaged the bridge of her nose and injected with poise and
wisdom, "I do not think it is wise for you to have a holiday without your
husband."

Tracey scowled, "He's more like an absent roommate than a husband." She
was falling in love with Ron, which made the betrayal all the more painful,
but she wouldn't dare admit her feelings. She had far too much pride for
that.

Victoria sympathised, "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, darling." Tracey was, for
all intents and purposes, her daughter. Even though her conception resulted
from her husband's infidelity, she never held it against the child and
showered her with affection.

Tracey fought the tears that rose to rim her eyes and muttered, "He is
obsessed with Hermione." It wasn’t her being paranoid. She knew it to be
true from his behaviour and actions.

Daphne pursed her lips and advised sternly, "I told you it was a memory he
was holding onto."
Tracey argued, "Does that matter, Daph? He still loves her, and I'm the third
sodding wheel in this relationship."

Victoria questioned urgently, "And Miss Granger returns his affections?

"No, she does not!" Daphne countered firmly before Tracey could reply.

Astoria's timely arrival was the perfect excuse to divert the conversation
towards more positive things. She breezed in and smiled at the gathered
small group, "I am so sorry I'm late. Time got away from me."

"Where were you?" Tracey interrogated rather suspiciously. Astoria was

known to be tastefully promiscuous. However, Victoria frowned, "Playing
with your pet snakes again?" Her youngest daughter's fascination with the
reptiles baffled her.

Tracey shuddered as a shiver went down her spine, "Ugh, I don't understand
how you can stand to be around them." She distinctively recalled an
unfortunate incident where one of Astoria’s nontoxic pets had escaped its
glass bowl and slithered into her bathroom. She had spotted the tiny snake
on the tiled floor and screamed loud enough to raise the dead.

Daphne concurred, "Tracey is right, little sister. Don't they make your skin
crawl?"

They were sorted into Slytherin based on their character traits, but that
didn't mean they were required to embrace the reptiles. She had observed
her sister handling the snakes and was astonished to find the level of control
Astoria had over them. She wondered if Astoria was gifted in Parseltongue.

Astoria sat down, crossed her legs ever so elegantly and tossed her hair
back before answering, "Snakes are horribly misunderstood creatures. We
above all others should embrace them and defend their fearsome
reputation."

"Well, you do that while I grab a drink," Tracey said with dripping sarcasm.
The women laughed. Their peals of laughter rang through the Manor before
they settled down to discuss more serious matters.

In a secluded part of London.

The monster entered the dimly lit room and smiled almost angelically, "Are
you ready, my love?"

Sarah nodded timidly, "Yes."

He uncuffed her and helped her wash by sensually running a loofah over
her body. She feared he would force her to take him in her mouth and make
her swallow his semen. The very thought brought bile rushing to the
surface, but she swallowed it with great difficulty and appeared frail to
throw him off. He applied ointment to the bruised areas where the
handcuffs had dug into her skin with an affectionate promise, "Once we are
married, I swear, to take these off if you behave." She would rather die in
the small room chained to the bed than marry him.

He watched her greedily as she stepped into the dress he had bought her. It
was blood red and far too big for her, but that did not disappoint him. He
gazed upon her fondly, inspected her in the new dress, and motioned her to
turn around with his finger.

Sarah turned slowly while tugging at the dress nervously. Why did he have
to scrutinise her in this way? The sleeves fell off her gaunt frame and hung
low on her spindly arms. The weight loss was significant, but she supposed
he kept her that way to ensure control. He wore a dark blue suit for the
occasion and pulled his hair back into a short ponytail so the scarred side of
his face was visible in the dim light. Sarah fought the urge not to stare at the
monstrosity before her but had little choice but to do just that when he
spoke to her gently, "Beautiful. Mother will adore you."

He added bitterly, "She never thought a witch would love me and want to be
with me, but I proved her wrong, didn't I, pet?" Sarah panicked. What
would be an acceptable answer? She thought it best not to anger him and
kept her reply short and simple, "Yes."
Taking her by the hand, he slowly led her out, and Sarah followed along
much like a robot. They passed the old-fashioned furnishings and odd wall
hangings and came to a halt near a white-painted door.

The man stood outside and gathered his strength. He was almost giddy and
felt the need to explain his actions to Sarah, who continued to stare at her
bare feet. He had failed to provide her with adequate footwear to match the
dress, "I'm so nervous. I've never introduced a woman to my mother
before."

He didn't bother to knock before entering. The room was dark primarily and
smelled mouldy. The air was thick with unrest, suffocating Sarah. She
coughed to dislodge the discomfort in her throat, but the man seemed
entirely at ease with the surroundings. The only source of light came from
an ornate lampshade in the corner. A rocking chair was visible, and it was
abundantly clear an elderly woman occupied it. It was an almost cliche
setting, but the hairs on the back of Sarah's neck stood up in warning. The
whole situation seemed off.

"Mother," the flustered man let Sarah go while he spoke to his mother in a
quiet voice as if not to disturb the dead. His voice cracked, and it trembled
with unmistakable fear. Finally free of her restraints, Sarah's eyes darted to
the open door. Would she be able to escape, or should she die trying? But
why weren't her legs cooperating? Why weren't they moving when she
willed it?

His voice invaded her mind and bore into her despairing thoughts, "I would
like you to meet Sarah. She is the woman I told you about, mother. We are
in love, and we want your blessing to get married." Sarah stood rooted to
the spot, and when she did not move, he roughly grabbed her hand and
pulled her forward.

A well-preserved mummified body of an older woman with high

cheekbones, a greyish wig and carefully applied makeup greeted her at first
glance. The figure sat up straight with skeletal hands folded neatly on her
lap. Numerous rings adorned her abnormally bent fingers. In particular, one
heavy set ring with a coat of arms grabbed her attention.
Still, Sarah stared in shock, unable to comprehend the situation or tear her
gaze away from the oddity before her. The woman wore an elegant emerald
green dress with an exquisite diamond brooch pinned to her breast. The eye
sockets were empty, and gruesome black holes stood in their place. It was a
horrific yet pitiful sight.

Sarah screamed at first, but a hard slap across her face sent her spinning
across the room. She fell to the ground in pain and slowly crawled towards
the entrance hoping against hope for some miracle to save her. There was
no escape as he came towards her, stood over her with a murderous
expression and overpowered her quickly. He dragged her by the hair down
the corridor to her makeshift prison while she kicked, hollered and pleaded
to be released.

She heard his voice through a daze, "You will not disrespect my mother."
He effortlessly picked her up, dumped her unceremoniously on the bed and
tore off the dress, exposing her malnourished frame. What followed was a
brutal taking of her body without consent.

Sarah's mouth fell open as he repeatedly violated her, and a trickle of blood
wove its way down from the corner of her mouth, staining the bedsheets
under them.

"That wasn't nice, Sarah," The man rasped between powerful thrusts. He
was completely naked and bathed in sweat. His ponytail was loose, and hair
strands stuck haphazardly to his face as he continued his assault on the
unwilling woman underneath him.

She repeatedly begged, "I'm sorry, please, stop." The pain of being ripped
apart was unbearable. Her insides burned, and she pushed at his chest with
all her might. Yet, he ignored her pleas and continued his relentless assault.
His fingers closed around her throat, and he thought of taking her life for a
fleeting moment. It would be so easy, like snapping a toothpick, but the
sudden ache in his heart prompted him to stop. He hissed darkly, "You
ungrateful bitch. Mother was looking forward to meeting you."

Sarah wanted to spit in his face and scream, "She's a fucking doll, you sick
motherfucker," but instead, what came out was, "Stop! It hurts so much,"
she mumbled while fluttering between consciousness.

He beat her frail body ruthlessly but was careful not to break any bones that
would need a visit to the hospital. "You're going to give me a child. A
magical baby," He stated with a satisfied groan as he spilt his seed into her
broken and bruised body.

Sarah blacked out then and lay unconscious in a pool of blood.

Muggle Prime Minister's office - London

Hermione and Hannah stepped out of the massive fireplace in the Muggle
Prime Minister's office that served as the Floo network between their
worlds and greeted with a pleasant smile, "Good evening, Prime Minister."
She instructed Hannah to monitor the proceedings but not intervene in the
discussions. Hermione found the middle-aged man seated at his desk, going
through some papers deep in thought. He looked up when she stepped onto
the black and white patterned, woven carpet and smoothed and dusted her
outfit free of any rogue particles.

Muggle Prime Minister Owen Tony Dunbar was a competent man but also
one that buckled significantly under pressure. He took off his spectacles and
regarded the women who appeared in his room with a solemn expression, "I
was not expecting you, Hermione."

Hermione answered confidently, "Kingsley sent me in his stead. I hope that

won't be a problem." She was capable of handling matters just as well as
Kingsley.

Owen smiled warmly, got to his feet and adjusted his blazer before
responding, "Not at all. Given our last meeting, I can understand his
hesitation to meet." His eyes fell on the blonde-haired woman in pitch black
robes hovering in the background, and he wondered who she was. He had
dealt with Hermione in the past. Unlike her temperamental boss, he was
satisfied by her intelligence, quick problem-solving techniques, and ability
to keep her temper well under control.
Hermione did not take kindly to what Owen was insinuating. Was he
indirectly calling Kingsley a coward for sending her instead? She said
diplomatically, "On the contrary, I volunteered to come. He has his hands
full at the moment, and I am duty-bound to do all I can to help him."

The door to the office opened abruptly, and a tall man in a black suit and tie
walked in with a boyish yet roguish smile and gushed, "Hermione! I
thought I heard your voice."

"Evans, I didn't know you would be present," Hermione said with a blush
creeping up her cheeks. Bollocks. She had completely forgotten about him
and their short-lived romance.

Evans smirked, "If my presence makes you uncomfortable, I can leave." He

kept one hand on the door handle and offered an amused expression.

Hermione waved her hand dismissively and argued, "Not at all. By all
means, stay. Actually, I value your input." He was intelligent and offered
crucial advice. Evan closed the door and came towards the seating area
designated for meetings. Owen threw them sceptical glances and wondered
when they had gotten comfortable enough with each other to speak freely.
Pushing aside such crude thoughts, he pointed to the sofa and invited, "So,
please have a seat and enlighten us on the latest, Miss Granger."

Hermione sat down, crossed her legs at the ankles and came straight to the
point, "I'm afraid it's not good news, Prime Minister."

She continued grimly, "We have a Werewolf uprising on our hands, and
Magical leaders worldwide are expected to discuss this grave situation later
today. This situation is not isolated to England. The pack leaders spoke of a
worldwide movement, and we must proceed with extreme caution."

Owen wiped his profusely sweating brow with his handkerchief and grilled,
"How could this happen? I thought Kingsley had laws in place to prevent
such a calamity."

Hannah snorted loudly and injected, "That's an arrogant statement. Kingsley

is not to be blamed for these dire circumstances." Hermione wiped around
and shot Hannah a look of deep disapproval. While her declaration held
merit, they had to deal with the situation tactfully.

Evan and Owen turned toward Hannah and frowned. The MI5 agent sized
her up and inquired shrewdly with a raised brow, "And you are?" Hermione
glanced at Hannah over her shoulder and barrelled into introduction,
"Pardon my manners. This is Hannah Abbott. She is a dear friend and Auror
assigned to protect me."

Hannah gave a lop-sided grin and nodded in acknowledgement but said

nothing further to aggravate the state of affairs. Instead, she looked around
the tastefully decorated office and took in the many bits of Muggle history
and culture that adorned the walls and decorated the many shelves.

Evan ignored Hannah completely, leaned forward and pressed impatiently,

"Are you in danger?"

Hermione tried to laugh it off, "I received a few threats. It's nothing to take
seriously, but Kingsley thought otherwise, though that's a story for another
time."

She inclined and said calmly, "With all due respect, Prime Minister Dunbar,
they are after Muggles, not witches and wizards. Non-magical folk have
majority control over the planet, which is precisely what they are after. We
are doing you a kindness by forming the last line of defence and alliance
before they come for you in plain sight."

Her features hardened as she included without skipping a beat, "Once they
are done with you, they will turn on us and won't stop until they have full
control of the world. We cannot at all costs let that happen."

"What do you propose?" Evan asked. He had been listening intently up until
that moment.

Hermione urged with determination, "Your assistance in all matters

pertaining to this issue and, with your permission, Kingsley would like to
appoint an Auror to your personal security."
Kingsley had not suggested such a thing. It had come to her attention that
the Prime Minister's life could be in danger, and his untimely death would
put a severe dampener on things. She made the split-second authoritative
decision to assign an Auror to his security team as a show of goodwill. She
knew Kingsley would grudgingly agree with her decision.

Evan scowled quite unpleasantly, "My team is quite capable of protecting

the Prime Minister from a measly wolf, Miss Granger." Did she think he
was incapable? Her lack of confidence in him was disappointing.

His statement caught Hermione off guard and made Hannah glare sternly. It
wasn't in Evan's character to make such foolish comments. He had no
proper indication of what they were up against.

She exhaustedly regarded him and sighed, "I do not doubt that you are,
Evan, but this is not about ego. Your revolver will do nothing to stop a fully
grown werewolf unless you arm yourself with bullets coated with silver
nitrate."

That bit of information piqued his interest, "Silver nitrate?" He inquired

curiously.

Hermione fetched an average-sized bullet from her branded handbag and

placed it standing up on the table. The surrounding areas and images
reflected off the bullet's shiny surface.

She took in the perplexed looks of the men and started to elucidate, “This is
a solid silver bullet. It will penetrate the tough outer skin of a wolf and
explode upon contact causing the silver nitrate to enter directly into the
bloodstream and spread throughout the body, clogging it with poison. They
are unable to dig it out once it's in."

She included further clarification, "We found a shotgun is most effective at

delivering a lethal dose. We have a range of ammunition to suit all types of
firearms." The weapons specialists at the Ministry were exceptionally
gifted. This particular invention had been the brainchild of Theodore Nott,
who had developed it in the unlikely event they needed an edge over
werewolves with the firm promise that they would resort to it only if
necessary.

Evan carefully picked up the two-inch bullet for closer examination, "So
basically, it will fry them from within." The whole idea was fascinating.
Hermione stiffened but nodded in agreement and warned, "Exactly, but it is
to be used only under due stress. We do not want to give them any further
reasons to justify their cause."

Owen eyed the bullet in both interest and disgust and snapped, "This
problem is because of the horrendous treatment you people inflicted upon
the beasts, and now, we must all pay the price for it." His face fell in
despair, "Innocent children will be ripped apart and bleed dry to achieve
their goal."

Hannah could not hold back her retort, “Our people are not the only ones to
be blamed, Minister. Werewolves are simply tired of hiding their existence
and having their hunting grounds limited.”

Hermione flinched at the declaration, but Hannah spoke the harsh truth. She
argued with renewed determination, "That might be, Prime Minister, but it's
far too late to travel back centuries and right a very crucial wrong."

Evan exhaled and concurred, "Hermione is right, Owen. This is not the time
to be pointing fingers and bickering. We are in this together, and only
together can we beat this formidable threat." He made air quotes and
requested, with a deep frown forming on his face, "Who is this Auror?

She replied without much thought, "Michael Corner. He is a highly trained

Auror and has extensive knowledge about werewolves." Hannah coughed
and stared at the back of Hermione’s head in disbelief. Though Michael was
the ideal candidate for such an assignment, they needed him on the field
and not playing protector to a politician. Hermione hoped Kingsley would
not be too peeved by her bold decision.

Owens stared at Hermione intently and said firmly, "Dark times lie ahead,
and we best be prepared in all aspects. We will increase surveillance, and
special operative teams will monitor areas of interest and keep a watchful
eye over unscrupulous activities."

Hermione breathed a sigh of immense relief and vocalised her thoughts,

"Thank you, Prime Minister. I am glad to see that we are finally on the
same page." Mission accomplished, she thought with a slight smile.

Evan toyed with the bullet in the palm of his hand and studied it closely
before inquiring, "Where can we get these beauties?"

His interest in the unique bullet did not sit well with Hermione. It made her
increasingly uncomfortable, but she answered with a no-nonsense attitude,
"We will be providing you with the necessary ammunition, and Evan, I
must stress the fact that there will be no reproduction of this to be used in
Muggle warfare."

Evan reeled back from the warning but kept his reaction hidden and fired
back with more spite than initially intended, "You have my word,
Hermione. I am not an evil bastard."

Hermione nodded curtly in acknowledgement, "Good to know." After a

moment's silence, she added, "We will provide a few other additions such as
Peruvian instant darkness powder to aid a quick getaway." The darkness
powder designed by the Weasley twins created darkness when used,
allowing the user to escape unnoticed and unscathed in most instances.

Evan replied with a quick and decisive, "Thank you." He knew she was
giving them a much-needed advantage to even the playing field.

Seeing that she had said all she came prepared with, Hermione gracefully
rose to signify the end of the meeting, "I must take your leave, but we will
be in touch." She handed over a sizable coin and instructed, "In case of an
emergency, turn it over and press the button. We will be alerted
immediately." In the fifth year, she used a similar gimmick to pass messages
to Dumbledore's army.

The Prime Minister inspected the coin and bid her a fond farewell and left
the room. Once the door closed behind him, Evan moved closer and
muttered, "It's good to see you."

Hermione glanced over her shoulder to see if Hannah was out of earshot
and replied, "Likewise. It's, umm, been a while."

Evan sighed, "Yes, if I recall, we went out to dinner, and you never called
me back." Her rejection surprised him at first since they had an enjoyable
time, but he blamed it on the difference in backgrounds. She was a witch,
and he was a Muggle. It wasn’t the most probable match.

"I've been busy," Hermione replied weakly with a certain amount of guilt.
They had a pleasant evening. He was a kind, intelligent man, and she’d had
no plausible cause not to see him again, but for some reason, she had not
pursued a relationship with him. She had handled the situation tactlessly.
The least she could have done was tell him she wasn’t interested.

Evan teased, "It was over a year ago."

Hermione refuted, "I wasn't brushing you off, Evan." She was, but she had
no immediate desire to dent the man’s ego.

Evan was not convinced, but still, he grinned, "That's quite alright,
Hermione. I'm not everyone's cup of tea." His gaze shifted to the impressive
ring wrapped around her finger. It was hard to miss. He had spotted it the
second he walked into the room and muttered a halfhearted,
"Congratulations."

Hermione hadn't the faintest clue what he was on about, and she cocked her
head to the side and probed, "For what?"

"That," he said, pointing boldly to the glistening engagement ring that

shifted colour. She unconsciously shielded her hand from prying eyes and
mumbled, "Thank you."

Hannah coughed to make her presence known, and Owen had long since
left the room, leaving Evan in charge of seeing Hermione off.
He took her hand in his, brushed his thumb over her fingers soothingly and
said, "He's a lucky bloke." Hermione gently took her hand out of his grasp
and smiled slightly, "Well, good night. I guess I will see you soon."

Evan bent to kiss her lightly on the cheek, and Hannah rolled her eyes.
Granger was full of surprises.

They stepped into the Floo network, and Hermione hissed out of the corner
of her mouth, “Not a fucking word.” Hannah chuckled and whispered, “My
lips are sealed.” They disappeared in a puff of dark green smoke while Evan
watched intently.

Ministry of Magic

Kingsley worked fast. Time was of the essence. Nora, his assistant, and
Nancy, the competent receptionist, who oversaw the front, contacted
Ministers, Leaders and Presidents of Magic worldwide. They were due to
arrive via Portkey at any moment.

By the time Hermione arrived from the Prime Minister's office, washed the
tiredness of her face, applied a fresh layer of makeup and stepped out of the
bathroom, the necessary arrangements were already made and in place. She
snuck into the enormous meeting room and came to stand behind Harry,
who looked over the proceedings with a shrewd eye and nodded at Thomas
standing by the entrance.

An extended table made of solid deep brown mahogany sat proudly in the
centre of the room, surrounded by classic French-style regal chairs to seat
the many dignitaries. The substantial Ministry of Magic embossed emblem
in solid gold watched over them and threw shimmering light over the
proceedings.

The walls were adorned with priceless art pieces and tasteful portraits of
past Ministers of Magic who spoke to each other and humbly greeted the
many witches and wizards present. There were a few paintings of
remarkable witches and wizards such as Albus Dumbledore and famed
alchemist Nicolas Flamel hung on the white-painted partitions to signify
their importance and immense contribution to the wizarding world. Lastly, a
sizable pole bearing the Union Jack stood unmoving by the side, garnering
the least attention.

Aurors were positioned at crucial entry points and were vigilant of their
surroundings. An unprovoked attack at a gathering of this many world
leaders would prove disastrous. They had placed protective charms and
wards over the space that the slightest infringement would trigger.

Hermione smiled and squeezed Harry's arm to make her presence known.
He looked tired and drawn, but he smiled at her and sighed. Thomas moved
into the shadows and stood patiently at the back, expecting the influential
notables' arrival.

Kingsley glanced at his watch. It was five minutes to seven pm. He filled
the glass at his disposal with water using his wand to quench his thirst. His
throat was parched and in much need of liquid. He stared straight ahead at
the tall solid oak doors and impatiently waited for his distinguished guests
to arrive. He hoped they would listen to reason and side with him once he
presented the evidence. His eyes caught Hermione's and wordlessly
beckoned her to his side. She left Harry and went to stand by Kingsley.

He asked out of the corner of his mouth once she came closer, "Is
everything with the Muggle Prime Minister under control?" Hermione
nodded without hesitation and gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up, "Yes,
although I might have offered something we hadn't previously discussed."
Kingsley raised a brow, "And what might that be?" Hermione held her head
high and answered, "I volunteered Michael to watch over Owen. His life is
at risk, and if he succumbs to an assassination attempt, it will reflect on us
poorly."

She added sheepishly, "I hope I haven't angered you further." Kingsley
smiled, "You are brilliant. You know that?" He patted her heartily on the
back, "Good thinking, Granger. I wish I had thought of it." He returned his
gaze to the gigantic closed doors with solid gold-plated handles in
anticipation.
This was not a war he could win alone. He desperately needed the help of
the international community. It was their fight as much as his. Loud thuds
of landing from several Portkeys came from outside the room, causing
everyone to tense and stare at the source unblinkingly. They could not see
who had arrived, but the prominent leaders of the Wizarding world were led
through the doors and into the hall. Most offered polite greetings and
exchanged small talk with Kingsley and Hermione, who graciously came
forward to speak and receive them.

Stacy from Logistics, along with half of her team, navigated and showed
the many guests to their designated seats. They stood back with arms folded
neatly behind their backs and waited for the crowd to settle. Once everyone
was comfortably seated, Kingsley rose, and his imposing frame towered
over most. He threw his arms wide open and said in a magically magnified
voice that echoed off the walls, "Welcome!"

He sat back down and said in his deep voice laced with concern, "I wish the
circumstances for this meeting were better, but alas, it is not." There was a
collective uproar of different languages and questions directed at him. There
were translators working overtime to make sure everyone understood the
proceedings. Everyone in the meeting was sworn to secrecy. They could not
afford the press getting their grubby hands on the situation and running a
poorly thought-out article causing public unrest.

The Australian Minister spoke first and inquired thoughtfully, "Whatever is

the matter, Shacklebolt?" Peter Williams was a tall, slightly built gentleman
with startling blue eyes and dirty blonde hair. An irritated voice from down
the table rudely interjected, "Why have you summoned us on such short
notice?" The crude Romanian Minister, Darius Constantine, was not well-
liked due to his brazen comments and superior attitude. He was an average-
sized, light-skinned man with astute dark brown eyes, black wavy hair he
combed to the side, and a permanent scowl. One could say he was good-
looking in an unconventional way.

An elegantly dressed, tall, graceful woman in a stunning long flowing

midnight blue robe embroidered at the hem and sleeves spoke softly,
"Speak freely, Kingsley." The Japanese representative of the Royal family,
Akari Sato, was a highly respected member of the International community
due to her intelligence, humility and calm voice of reason.

The French Minister spoke over the chatter and flashed a dazzling smile at
Hermione, "I am quite eager to hear what you have to say, Shacklebolt."
Laurent Jean Pascal was a balding, stout man with large hands, a brilliant
set of white teeth and a charismatic personality. Even though he claimed to
be happily married, he had a reputation for being a womaniser, and he had
long since harboured a hidden desire for the unattainable British
Undersecretary.

Darius gritted out, "Get on with it." He had better things to do than swap
words with these leaders living in ignorant bliss.

The President of the Magical Congress of America made his presence

avidly known. He was a bear of a man who stood more than a foot taller
than the rest at an impressive height of six feet four inches. Travis Colson
Jackson was not a man to be trifled with. His demanding tone of voice cut
through the others' useless rabble like a double-edged blade, "Silence! Let
the man speak for Morgana's sake. Can we please maintain some
professionalism? Obviously, this is an important matter; otherwise, I don't
see why Kingsley would gather us all here on such short notice."

He addressed Kingsley directly, "Tell us what caused you to call this

meeting."

Kingsley spoke to the room in general and came straight to the point of the
congregation, "I have gathered everyone here to speak about a werewolf
uprising. It has become clear that a group of like-minded individuals plan to
overthrow Magical Ministries worldwide while attacking random Muggles
at large until we yield to their demands."

Darius snorted. This was considered an emergency? Back home, it was a

daily occurrence. These British and Americans always made a mountain out
of a molehill.

"Preposterous," Pascal added his poorly thought-out input. He detested

confrontation of any sort and preferred to indulge in a glass of red wine,
fine food and company. Preferably with a slim brunette with wild curls and
smooth skin.

Darius said arrogantly in a thick accent that made him hard to understand,
"This is not the first time they've waged war on us, and I daresay it will not
be the last. What makes this time any different? We have stopped them
before, and we can do it again."

Kingsley's patience snapped. He distributed the photographs of the fallen

victims around the large table. There were collective murmurs and gasps.
Some even gagged at the gruesome nature of the pictures.

In frustration, he brought his hand down hard on the table, "This isn't a
small group of desperate individuals trying out their luck. Their Alpha
King, whoever it is, has one single purpose. The annihilation of Muggles.
He has planned this attack for ten years and rallied werewolves across the
world under one banner."

Hermione concurred from her position next to Kingsley, "They pose a far
greater threat than dark wizards ever could."

"Alpha King? That is impossible. That title hasn't been bestowed upon a
werewolf since the vampire elders eradicated the Lycans in ancient times,"
Akari Sato exclaimed in calculated shock. Her soft silky tones demanded
answers.

Darius interrupted arrogantly, "Lycans no longer exist, and vampires dwell

in darkness and hardly ever make their presence known. They are a dying
breed."

Akari Sato made her annoyance unmistakably clear. Her eyes narrowed,
and she hissed in displeasure, "Know your facts before you speak so
foolishly.” Darius reeled back at the insult and opened his mouth to hurl a
retort, but Akari threw him a look of pure loathing that shut him up
momentarily.

She ignored the fuming man and continued, “Vampires do indeed keep to
themselves but do not make the mistake of thinking they are afraid or that
their numbers have lessened.

They choose to live in the mountains away from the chaos because it suits
them. We work closely with them when the need arises." She intentionally
ran her long fingers along the Samurai sword she kept by her side at all
times. It was more valuable to her than her wand.

Kingsley grew thoughtful and shrewdly requested, "Can we rely on them to

fight alongside us if needed?" Having supernatural beings on their side
would amount to an incomprehensible advantage, and it seemed as if Sato
was in their good graces. Vampires were scarce in Britain. They existed but
refused to show themselves, and since they caused no trouble, they were
left alone.

At first, Sato smiled slightly, she understood Kingsley’s eagerness, but after
a moment, she answered gravely, "They have a centuries-old blood feud
with werewolves. They should be fairly easy to convince, but their
involvement will require blood sacrifices. They would need a steady supply
of blood at their disposal if they were to go to war for us." There was a
disappointing reaction from the leaders. They did not see aligning
themselves with vampires to be the answer.

Travis lent a voice of reason, "Let's first discuss the matter at hand and
decide on a way forward. The vampires and blood sacrifices can be
discussed later."

Kingsley nodded in agreement and generally asked, "Have there been any
werewolf related Muggle deaths in your countries recently?"

There was an uncomfortable silence, and most heads of nations shook their
heads, but Pascal spoke out first, "Oui, six Muggles over four months. We
captured the culprit we thought was responsible but released him three days
later because there was no solid evidence to hold him.”

He became thoughtful, “There was a message written on the wall in blood.

If I recall, it simply read ‘A New World Order.’ Of course, we did not pay it
any mind thinking it was the work of some juvenile delinquents because it
seemed trivial at the time."
Travis glared sternly, "Trivial?? People have died, Pascal!" He was
astonished as to how the man was still in office. How could this dumbass
possibly be held responsible for running a nation and keeping its citizens
safe?

"Do not take that tone of voice with me, Jackson," Pascal fired back. Stupid
Americans always thought they were superior to everyone else—uncultured
swine.

Hermione heard enough. She was immensely disappointed by the words

uttered by either group and sought to be the mediating party, "Gentlemen,
please! This is not the time to bicker amongst ourselves."

The Romania Minister squirmed uncomfortably. They had always clashed

with werewolves, and unlike their neighbouring nations, they used deadly
force to subdue the vicious beasts that ran rampant across their lands. He
spat viciously, "We cannot negotiate with mindless creatures. They must be
stopped from spreading their disease." Shockingly, there was an uproar of
applause for the callous comment, and Hermione swapped a sad look with
Harry.

Armed with reasonable confidence, Darius pressed forward, "You’re

deluded if you believe that mindless creatures are capable of working
together and coordinating attacks. This effort will be unsuccessful. Their
campaign will fail." Though his Slovak accent was heavy, his English was
grammatically flawless.

"That might be, but we must investigate. We cannot sit by and hope for this
threat to disappear," Kingsley argued indefinitely.

Darius sneered, "We fought their kind for over six hundred years. I think I
know more than anyone here what we are up against." He had a valid point.
Romania had a thriving werewolf population that often clashed with
authorities.

Kingsley kept his composure intact and clarified, "With all due respect,
Constantine, you have not faced an Alpha like this one. We must proceed
with extreme caution." This Minister was beginning to get on his bloody
nerve. He had half a mind to hex the stubborn fool, but he needed the
arrogant fuckers valuable input.

Deciding it was perhaps in Romania's best interests to divulge sensitive

information, Darius exclaimed, "Over a year ago, we received intel of a
werewolf promoting propaganda through the underground network. We
tried many times to infiltrate the meetings, but it was impossible. Until six
months ago when we somehow managed to plant one of our men within the
group."

His tone of voice turned hostile and brittle, "A month ago, the information
stopped coming, and we received the severed head of our agent via rogue
owl post. His tongue had been cut out, and his eyes gouged, leaving empty
hollow sockets. The symbol of an entwined snake was seared into his
flesh." Pin-drop silence followed. It was a gesture of respect for the fallen
agent.

After an appropriate time had passed, Travis thundered, “What? Why is this
the first we are hearing of it?”

Darius regarded the American with caution and frustration. He did not need
to explain his actions and made his thoughts clear, “We did not think it was
necessary to share our problems with the world because, at one time or
another, we have all received warnings of an uprising.” Kingsley and the
rest had no choice but to agree. There was always a power-hungry being
trying to claim ownership.

First, it had been Grindelwald with his pureblood dominance and the fight
for the greater good. Although he had some strong selling points and
garnered a mass following, it took Albus Dumbledore to shatter his dreams
in all aspects. Then came Voldemort, a brilliant student with a bright future
had he chosen a path other than darkness and mayhem. But the bigger
picture remains that though these random individuals rose with intent and
determination to fuel their actions, they were also defeated, and good
triumphed over evil.

Travis said nothing further to antagonise the Romanian Minister. Instead, he

cleared his throat and announced, "We had three reported cases. The
werewolf responsible was caught in the act, and we have him in custody. It
would prove useful to question him. There were no messages on the walls
like in France, but the attack was similar." He pointed to a photograph
Kingsley had distributed earlier.

Kingsley included seriously, “Furthermore, it has come to our attention that

the Alpha used to be a wizard. We have reason to believe he is a fallen
Death Eater that evaded capture and for those of you who do not know what
a Death Eater is, let me enlighten you. A Death Eater is a loyal supporter of
Voldemort.”

There was a collective hiss from the gathered world leaders, and a
bombardment of comments followed. Not surprisingly but indirectly,
Voldemort was yet again the root cause of an uprising against the Ministry
of Magic. Kingsley felt a deep sense of responsibility for all that transpired.

In sheer disbelief, the Australian minister questioned, “This madman was

once a wizard?”

Kingsley took a deep breath and briefly explained their meeting with the
pack leaders. He summarised the conversation by leaving out the more
inconsequential parts.

Darius sneered, “Why did you not arrest these leaders?”

It wasn't Kingsley that answered, even though the accusation was directed
at him. Harry made his presence known and highlighted, “We were
outnumbered and lucky to leave with our heads attached. They have moved
on since then without a trace. Werewolves have a knack for hiding in plain
sight. They could be among us as we speak.”

The leaders looked at one another and grew exceedingly uncomfortable.

They had persons of interest that they felt played a vital role in this new
uprising, and each nation promised to dig deeper into the sources and
monitor such persons. Initially, Kingsley had hoped to contain the situation
in England, but he knew this was a worldwide rallying of Werewolves
under one leader, and it was a near-impossible task.
Akari Sato acknowledged Harry with a slight nod and smile.

Travis announced with unflattering resolve, “This situation is dire. We agree

with Kingsley that immediate action must be taken, and we will do
whatever is required to neutralise the situation.”

Kingsley nodded curtly in acknowledgement, “Thank you for your

unwavering support, Colson.”

Pascal got to his feet, puffed out his chest and announced dramatically,
“France will do its duty.”

Darius watched the situation unravel intently. Of course, he would do his

utmost to fight the werewolves. He had a personal debt to settle with the
beasts. The leaders of many other nations gave their approval, but only a
few voiced their opinion.

Akari Sato bowed to show respect and said with determination, “Japan
agrees. We will uphold the honour of our ancestors.”

The Australian Minister played absentmindedly with the large ring around
his pinky finger and silently bobbed his along with the others in agreement.

Kingsley included fiercely, "My priority is to unmask this so-called self-

proclaimed Alpha King and speak with him. Perhaps we can come to an
understanding and avoid needless bloodshed."

Travis concurred, "I second Shacklebolt's course of action." The others gave
their approval. After the meeting concluded, many dignitaries took their
leave except for a handful who lingered to have a prolonged discussion.
One such person was the French Minister.

Kingsley saw the man approach and warned Hermione, "Careful. The old
toad fancies you." Hermione chuckled and brushed it off as no more than
the amorous affections from a vicarious man.

The American President called Kingsley over, leaving Hermione alone to

deal with Pascal. He strolled over and smiled. Hermione grudgingly
returned the gesture but couldn't ignore him. Focusing on her hand, Pascal
kissed it gently, brushing his lips across her knuckles and drawling in his
thick French accent, "Such a beauty. In dark times, we only have a few
luxuries left."

Hermione took her hand out of his lecherous grasp, and before she could
reply, Pascal boldly demanded, "Why do you not visit me, mademoiselle?
You are always welcome in France."

Hannah sensed Hermione’s distress. She moved closer and couldn't help but
stifle a giggle at the brazen behaviour of the French politician. She was
enjoying her assignment enormously.

Malfoy Manor

Before dawn, Draco rose from his cross-legged position after an intense
bout of meditation and took a deep, cleansing breath. Sleep had not come
easily, and he had spent half the night tossing and turning while Smith's
words haunted him.

He had decided to visit Smith in Azkaban without informing Hannah and

coax some much-needed answers from the potion smuggling shop owner
before heading to work. Draco decided this course of action would not
interfere with his training.

It was early, and no creature stirred. Even Max was fast asleep inside his
mother’s suite. Using the silence to his advantage, Draco hurriedly pulled
on his Auror uniform, pinned the badge to his chest and stole out of the
Manor. Unfortunately, there was a being he had not accounted for, and
Dotty crossed his path on the way to the peacock shed.

She regarded him curiously, “Master Draco is up early today.” Even though
he was a habitual early riser, this hour was ungodly by even his standards.

"Oh, I have to rush into work because of an emergency," He lied

convincingly and wondered why he was lying in the first place and
sneaking off like he was doing something suspicious.
Dotty beamed, "Would Master like some breakfast before he leaves?"

Draco politely declined, "No, thank you. I will grab something at work."
The tiny elf scrunched up her nose and looked adequately insulted.

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

Ginny woke up to find her husband missing from their marital bed. It wasn't
unusual since Harry had barely slept a wink all night. She knew exactly
where she would find him.

Gathering the night robe from where she had left it the previous night, she
pulled it on, secured it tightly around her waist and left the sanctuary of
their bedroom. The stairs of Grimmauld Place creaked under her footsteps,
but they were not loud enough to wake James, who slumbered peacefully in
the adjoining room.

The light was on in the small study Harry maintained at home. The antique
cuckoo clock in the living made its existence well-known, and Ginny
glanced at the time. Five am. She pushed the door open and found her
husband bent over parchments with a crystal tumbler clutched in his hand.
From the nearly empty bottle close by, Harry had indulged far more in the
amber liquid than he was accustomed to.

Ginny leaned against the doorframe and asked, “Do you want to talk about
it?”

Harry looked up, caught his wife’s worried expression, and answered, “I'm
fine.” He knew the second the words left his mouth that Ginny would not
believe a word.

Ginny let her hair loose, sending the straight reddish strands cascading
down her back and strode into the room uninvited and questioned, “Have
you slept?”

Harry sighed, leaned back in his chair and slowly shook his head, “No.”
How could he sleep when all he saw when he closed his eyes was a
mountain of corpses? Men, women and children piled cruelly on top of each
other. They stared at him accusingly for not saving them from their
gruesome demise.

Ginny closed the distance between them, took the tumbler out of his hands
and drained the rest before setting it down on the desk.

She saw her husband watch her movements intently, and she gently brushed
back his hair off his forehead and kissed him full on the mouth. Harry
unleashed his pent-up frustration and aggression and held on tight to the
sweetness that was Ginny. He deepened the embrace, and before long, they
were naked and breathing heavily over each other.

Azkaban

Draco arrived at the infamous fortress. Heavy sordid winds beat around
him, and he pulled up the thick layered collar of his coat to weather the
harshness. High tidal waves from all sides clashed noisily with the high
stone walls surrounding the ominous island that housed Wizarding Britain's
criminals.

The blonde wizard stared at the narrow pathway ahead and took a deep
breath to calm his rapidly beating heart and the tumultuous thoughts that
ravaged his mind. He dreaded hearing his father’s voice again, but far more
critical matters needed to be addressed. His guilty conscience fuelled and
gave strength to the callous voices in his head.

A large beefy Auror put out a gorilla arm, stopped Draco at the entrance and
requested sternly, “Name and identification.” Evidently, good manners were
lost on the individuals standing guard at Azkaban. Perhaps being constantly
surrounded by such bleakness caused them to refrain from showing any
emotion or kindness.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy. Identification pin, 70269,” Draco recited effortlessly

and waited patiently to be let in as the Auror stared directly into his face and
scowled.
Draco stood his ground and refused to back down. Still, the Auror pressed
the tip of his wand into the neatly pinned badge on the front of his freshly
laundered Auror robes and said in a deep grated voice enough to make a
lesser man squirm, “A permanent Auror must accompany trainees.” He lost
interest and turned his back on Draco and almost moved away before he
could plead his case, but then a familiar voice cut through the eerie silence,
“He's with me, Jones.”

Jones held his wand at the ready, but the person walking toward them did
not slow down his steps, nor did he seem bothered by Jones’s hostile
behaviour. The sound of heavy boots squelching over puddles made it to the
sensitive shell of his ear, Draco turned on his heel to catch a glimpse of who
it was, and Michael Corner breezed past him, patted Jones on the chest with
a smirk and reassured, “Relax, big guy.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Michael acknowledged Draco and said firmly,
“Come on, Malfoy.” Jones eyed them suspiciously but refrained from
saying anything. Engaging in meaningless conversations was not one of his
strengths. Michael came by often, and if he vouched for the newbie, there
wouldn’t be a problem, and he would not get in trouble for breaking
protocol.

Draco nodded curtly and, without a further word, followed Michael inside.
The massive wooden doors closed behind with an audible thud, and they
were bathed in dim light and surrounded by the whisperings of the inmates
still among the living.

They rubbed their hands to generate heat and passed a few Aurors who
greeted Michael and bestowed sceptical looks upon Draco, but he brushed
them off and walked quietly in step with Michael. They came to a halt
outside a room, and Michael threw him a knowing glance and questioned,
“I presume you're here to meet Smith.”

Draco held his gaze and answered, “Yes, I am,” he added after a second’s
thought, “And err, thank you for what you did back there.” He pondered on
the man’s questionable actions.
Michael raised a quizzical brow and shrugged, “Hmm, no problem, I owe
you for what Terry did to you. I’m just wondering where the fuck Hannah
is.” It wasn’t like Abbott to let her trainee lose to wander about Azkaban.
He came to the crushing realisation that she probably had no idea what
Malfoy was up to but saved his judgment for later.

Draco replied without a moment's hesitation, “She’s guarding, Granger.”

The last thing he wanted was for others to think he was sneaking around
without Hannah’s permission. Granted, Abbott knew nothing of his visit,
mainly because he had simply not told her, but he didn't want word getting
out and Hannah getting into trouble over his irrational actions.

Michael bobbed his head in agreement, “Ah, of course. I had forgotten all
about that.” He pointed to the closed door and instructed, “Let me do the
talking. Understood?” Draco looked bemused but didn't bother to argue. He
pursed his lips and stood silently in the back.

The door opened before they could enter, and an elderly witch with a sour
expression and grim demeanour came out and scowled, “Corner! What can
we do for you this fine morning?” Her eyes drifted over to where Draco
was standing. He was inches taller than Michael and towered over the
slightly hunchbacked witch.

“Beatrice! Just the witch I was looking for. Might I add how lovely you
look this gloomy morning,” Michael exclaimed with faux politeness,
turning on the charm. The older witch was not amused and scoffed, “Get to
the point. I’ve got work to do.”

“Has the potions smuggler finished being processed?” He cagily asked.

Beatrice frowned and replied in an icy tone that mirrored her true feelings
about the new inmate, “Bloody ages ago. He was a difficult one. Nearly
took the eye of one of the men holding him,”

She added for good measure, “Nasty piece of work, that bastard.”

Michael glared sternly and gritted out, “We will be sure to teach him some
manners.”
He fought to regain his composure and requested, “I need to speak with
him.” Draco listened intently and wholeheartedly agreed with Michael’s
sentiment. It contradicted his Kung Fu teachings, but he couldn’t help but
feel anger for all that had transpired.

The words in the letter Granger received played obsessively in his mind.
Against his wishes, he pictured her helpless in a dark room devoid of light,
writhing in pain on a hard floor as a masked figure repeatedly violated her.
She reached out to him with tears streaming down her face and called out
his name to save her.

She breathed, “Draco.” It was more than he could bear. He had failed to
protect her once; he would not forsake her again.

Beatrice pointed out the way and shrugged, “You know the way, lad.”

Michael turned on his heel and motioned for Draco to follow him. They
strode further into the bowels of Azkaban. It got darker, and the flickering
light was barely enough to illuminate the way, but with the aid of their
wands and Michael’s guidance, they arrived at a cell block guarded by a
wizard and an average-sized Dementor.

It seemed to look past Michael and stared at Draco while hovering in the
background. One by one, the voices he had kept at bay rose to the surface
with a vengeance causing his breathing to hasten and his head to pound
relentlessly.

He saw Corner yelling, but it seemed to come from a distance. The room
began to spin dangerously, but the haziness cleared as the luminous figure
of a dolphin Patronus watched over his crumpled form. An angry voice
made its way to his ear, “Keep your fucking pet under control.”

Michael grabbed Draco by the shoulders and peered into his face, “Malfoy!
Can you hear me?”

Shit. The man looked ready to collapse, but surprisingly, Draco nodded his
head, gathered his bearings and said slowly, “Yes, I can hear you, Corner.”
He vividly recalled how he had continuously made fun of Potter because of
how Dementors affected him in their third year. Now his conduct sickened
him to the core. He understood why the cloaked figures affected Potter
worse than others. His breathing returned to normal, and the loud voices
pounding on the walls of his mind with their bare fists vanished into
nothingness. He had to condition his mind better to deal with the horrors of
Azkaban.

“Eat this,” Michael shoved a chocolate bar into his hands and instructed.
Draco tore off a piece and popped it into his mouth like he had done the
first time he visited with Hannah. Instant relief followed, and his nostrils
flared as he took deep breaths and exhaled. They leaned against the prison's
stone wall, and Michael hesitantly asked, “Are you sure you can handle this
today, mate?”

Draco pulled himself together, moved his shoulders and neck in small
circles to get the proper circulation going and confirmed, "Undoubtedly."

Michael had to give it to Malfoy. He was made of some tough stuff. When
he and Terry first became Aurors, they had thrown up and blacked out for
weeks every time they visited Azkaban. The nightmarish prison brought a
person’s worst fears to life.

Michael gestured silently to the Azkaban guard standing watch, and both
strode towards a heavily warded, locked door made of solid iron. The door
opened with an audible clunk, and a cloud of dust escaped. Draco
approached the room with caution, but Michael held him back and warned,
"You have fifteen minutes to speak to him, Malfoy. Do me a favour and try
not to bloody him up too bad."

Draco said, perplexed, "I only wish to speak to him. I'm not looking for any
physical altercations.” He meant his words and hoped nothing would
happen to alter them.

The lights in the room came on, and Draco was surprised to find a
makeshift bed that looked far from comfortable and a table that seemed
more suited for interrogation than anything else.
Out of the minimal bits of furniture in the windowless room, the chair
situated in the corner stood out like a sore thumb. It resembled an electric
chair Muggles used for executions. Manacles dangling from an ages-old
chain were attached to the armrests in this particular rendition. The chair
had seen its fair share of hardened criminals and brutal interrogations.

A man in a prison-assigned shirt and trousers lounged on the bed as if he

were on holiday. He casually disregarded the wizards entering his room and
only showed some emotion when he caught sight of the Dementor hovering
outside his room, eager and willing to feed on his wicked soul.

The guard hissed in irritation, "On your feet, scum." This precious gem was
a real treat. It took all his strength not to break the arsehole's neck. He
dragged the heavy chair and placed it in front of the prisoner.

Smith obliged with a snide comment, "What's got your knickers in a twist?"
He got to his feet and sat on the chair but kept his hands on his lap for the
time being.

Draco pointed to the rusted restraints and questioned, "Are those

necessary?" He was undoubtedly sure of overpowering and subduing Smith
if the need arose.

The guard frowned at the unwarranted question and snapped, "It's bloody
protocol. Fucking deal with it, princess."

Michael snorted, "You’re in a foul fucking mood."

"You try doing double shifts in this hell hole and then tell me whether I
should be blowing sunshine out of my arse," The guard gritted out and
pushed past Draco on his way out.

Smith took a deep breath as if he anticipated the discomfort he was about to

feel. The manacles sensed its captive. They could smell the fear and
desperation. Azkaban reeked of it.

They sprang to life as Smith grudgingly placed his wrists within the
macabre device's grasp and watched in horror as they clamped around his
wrists and dug into his flesh. Seconds were all it took them to close and
tighten uncomfortably.

Smith winced as a bolt of electricity shot through his weakened body. He

glared at Draco and sneered, "Took you long enough, boy. Curious about
the Master, are we?"

Michael handed over a personal file of the prisoner and reminded Draco
before stepping out of the cell, "Fifteen minutes, Malfoy. Nothing more or
less. Do I make myself clear?"

Draco kept his deep gaze on Smith but responded, "Crystal clear, Corner."
The sheer confidence in his tone had Michael second-guessing himself.
Could Malfoy be trusted with possibly the only witness they had to unmask
the mastermind behind the mayhem?

The door closed shut, and Malfoy and Smith disappeared from his sight. He
turned to the guard with a smile and offered, "Come on, mate. Let's get a
cup of tea." The Dementor watched over the cells until they returned, but it
stared ceaselessly at where Draco stood. It hungered for such powerful
emotions.

Pulling the file towards him, Draco flipped it open and grinned, "Griffin
Charles Montague. Any relation to Graham Montague?"

Griffin, a.k.a Smith, struggled against his shackles and leered, "The fucking
Queen is my mother." He spat onto the floor in disgust, "Graham. The little
shit is my nephew. Lily-livered bitch living the high life and forgetting the
old ways. I have no relationship with the lot of them."

Draco leaned forward and came straight to the point, "Explain your words
to me."

Griffin regarded him curiously and mused, "You don't look stupid…but I
could be wrong." He insisted and rejoiced, "You know exactly what I
meant. It's the second coming, Malfoy. He's already shown a keen interest
in you."
Draco clenched his teeth and spat out, "I will never blindly serve another
monster again." He would sooner die and be done with this miserable
existence than be used as a pawn to cause others grief and pain.

Griffin scowled, "You might not have a choice, traitor." He could not
understand why Malfoy was reluctant. It was the highest honour to be
chosen to serve the cause. It was their birthright to rule above others. Their
lineages could be traced back to the very conception of magic.

Draco shot back with every fibre of his being, "You will find that I'm not
easily intimidated." His fingers curled to make hardened fists, and the
magic that flowed within his veins hummed in agreement.

Griffin was undeterred and determined to change the young wizard's mind,
"He will bestow the greatest award upon you, Malfoy." The brat before him
was different from his father. Any simple-minded fool could see that at first
glance. In looks, they were similar but as different as night and day in all
other aspects.

Draco was adamant about finding out who this mysterious leader was. It
would be the key to unravelling the situation. He pointedly urged, "Who is
he? Do I know him?"

A devious grin curved Griffin's lips, and he plainly stated, "In a manner of
speaking, I suppose you do know him, but that's the golden question, isn't
it? The one that everyone is after, but you needn't bother. He will reveal
himself in the grandest of ways."

“You consider murder the grandest of ways?” Draco felt his resolve begin
to slip. There was so much he would be willing to tolerate.

Griffin tossed his head back in mock laughter, “Muggles! The bastards need
to be ruled. They crave chaos and carnage. They destroy all they touch. The
Master will tame the barbarians.”

"He will not succeed," Draco argued with considerable force, but Griffin
licked his lips and smiled condescendingly, "You've found yourself a little
wife, haven’t you? She's a stunner, that one, even if her blood isn't pure."
The pretty little young Undersecretary. She was every able-bodied, hot-
blooded wizard’s fantasy and a breath of fresh air after that Dolores
Umbridge broad. The nasty bitch.

Draco did not quite know what possessed him, but he could not control the
rage that spread through him with such intensity that it made his insides
burn. He lunged forward and grabbed the stunned prisoner by the grubby
collar of his regulation prison uniform with the intent of causing bodily
harm. Their faces were inches apart, and once Griffin got over the initial
shock, he laughed in a deranged way. His breath reeked, causing Draco to
grimace but not slacken his hold.

“Tell your Death Eater buddies to stay the fuck away from her,” Draco
narrowed his startling clear grey eyes and openly threatened.

“My Death Eater buddies? Why, you filthy fucking hypocrite,” Griffin
hurled accusingly, but his confidence waned. His gaze slowly shifted to
Draco’s left arm, where the Dark Mark was concealed under layers of
clothing.

Draco disregarded the attempt to rile him further and followed up with a
clear, precise warning, "I will kill every last one of you if she is hurt." That
last statement struck a distinctive chord with Griffin wiping the smug look
of superiority off his face. Malfoy's eyes shone with intent and purpose. The
man meant the words he uttered. Griffin flinched and grew exceedingly
nervous at being alone with this formidable man who would follow through
on his promise.

The door opened briskly, and Michael walked in with a cup of hot tea. His
eyes widened in shock at the sight before him. Griffin was leaning far back
in the chair, and Malfoy's fingers were grasping Griffin's collar with such
force his knuckles had whitened. He appeared ready to headbutt the man
square in the face. Michael was well aware of Malfoy's astounding recent
abilities, after seeing them with his own eyes.

Finally, Michael found his voice and bellowed, "What the hell is going
on!?" Draco reluctantly released Griffin, who coughed repeatedly and
looked beyond relieved to see Michael. The lesser of two evils as far as he
was concerned.

Draco pushed back his chair with such force it skidded back and toppled
over. He straightened to his full height, threw Griffin a final look of disgust
and informed a stunned unmoving Michael, "I was just leaving, Corner.
He's all yours."

Griffin found his voice and hissed bitterly, "He will come for me." His
confidence was staggering, considering his current predicament. The Master
would not forsake him to an early demise.

Draco stopped dead in his tracks, glanced over his shoulder and promised,
"And we will be waiting for him." He would do all within his power to
thwart this madman who thought himself above everyone else.

Michael laughed aloud and goaded, "Do you think he will risk his identity
and throw it all away to break free a lowly pathetic criminal like you?"
They exited the prison cell leaving behind the seething glaring man still
handcuffed to the chair. The interrogation was far from being over.

"Did you learn anything?" Michael questioned once they were alone. He
craved a cigarette, but smoking within Azkaban was highly prohibited.
Draco sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, "Nothing I didn't already
know. Although he did mention that the leader is known to me, but that's a
needle in a fucking haystack. It could be anyone I met in passing. Hundreds
came by to pay their respects to Voldemort."

Michael frowned and groaned in frustration, "Fuck! Hopefully, Potter can

crack him." He glanced at his watch and recommended with growing
concern, "You best get going, Malfoy."

Draco nodded curtly, "Thanks again, Corner."

Michael smiled slightly, "Not a problem."

Draco’s mind was in turmoil. Granger. His insides twisted unpleasantly, and
he began to formulate a plan to ensure her safety despite Hannah watching
over her. He was so caught up in his thoughts he didn't notice Harry coming
his way.

The head of the DMLE caught sight of the blonde, who seemed lost and
raised a sceptical brow. Draco snapped out of his internally raging thoughts
as Harry's stern voice sliced through them, "Malfoy! What brings you
here?"

Shit. Draco was caught red-handed but saw little reason in lying. Gathering
the right words, he stated the true intention of his visit, "I needed to speak
with Griffin Montague."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and inquired, "Regarding?" He was
curious about what business Malfoy had with a lowly potion smuggler.

Draco answered without much explanation, "A warning." He knew his half-
baked reply would infuriate Potter. It offered no explanation whatsoever.

Harry's patience snapped, and he scolded, "Stop talking in riddles, Malfoy,

and get to the fucking point."

Draco frowned but mentioned the root of the problem, "When we arrested
him, he mentioned something about their leader wanting to recruit me, and I
wanted to get to the bottom of what he meant."

Harry grew exceedingly curious, "Interesting." Thomas had mentioned

something similar after his last meeting with Dorian. It made perfect sense
that whoever it was, was trying to collect Malfoy.

Draco said solemnly, "No, Potter. There is nothing remotely interesting

about any of this."

Harry peeked a look at the time and cursed, "Shit. Let's talk more about this
later, Malfoy. Get your arse to training before Audrey has your head."

"On my way, Potter," Draco replied with a curt nod and quickened his step
as he hurried off towards the exit. Harry stared after the tall man in deep
thought. Malfoy had undoubtedly chosen the opportune time to return. He
wondered whether Draco would have returned if he knew what awaited
him.

Michael sent Brenda the text message he had been typing, pocketed the
phone and grinned as Harry came into view, "Morning, boss. Right on
time." That was a blatant lie. His superior was over an hour late and looked
utterly miserable.

Harry pulled out a sizable gold Galleon from his pocket and smirked
devilishly, "Good cop, bad cop?"

Michael rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation, "Fine. Toss the bloody
thing."

Harry tossed the coin high in the air and yelled before it came crashing
down, "Call it, Corner."

"Tails," Michael said without hesitation and frowned seconds later after the
coin landed on the dingy floor facing heads up. The embossed dragon
seemed to mock him, and Harry grinned broadly and pocketed the coin.

Michael groaned and cursed aloud, "Fuck! Every single time." He looked to
his side, cracked his knuckles, and asked Harry, "Are you ready?” Harry
smiled slightly, stepped aside and gestured politely, "After you."

Corner hyped himself up by taking deep breaths, burst into the cell
unannounced and thundered, "Who the fuck is this Master you keep
referring to?"

Griffin flattened himself against the back of the chair. He stiffened and
paled at being addressed in such an aggressive manner. Beads of sweat
coated his upper lip and forehead.

Harry followed Michael into the room with a casual yet uncaring attitude,
"We want to help you, Montague, unless you rather spend your miserable
existence here. I hear the food is spectacular, and the company is rather
charming, isn’t it?” Griffin paled further, and Harry homed in for the kill,
“But to help you, we need answers. Procedure and rot. I’m sure a smart man
like you can understand."

Griffin gathered some bravado and spat, "Fuck you! The Master will free us
all."

Michael kept his hand's palm down on the table, leaned forward and hissed,
"I want a fucking name." He enunciated each word enough to intimidate,
but Griffin grinned triumphantly and snarled, "I would rather die than
betray him." Michael believed him. The man was unquestionably loyal. He
would take the secret to the grave.

"That can be easily arranged, you twisted fuck," Michael warned

ominously. This waste of a human being did not deserve to live.

"Do you know what he is?" Harry leaned against the wall and questioned.
He hoped to sow seeds of doubt into Griffin's mind, but the corrupt man
surprised him, "You aren't listening to me. He's not a person. He's a God,
walking amongst mortals to free us from our burdens." He stared directly
into Harry's eyes and said slowly, dragging out his words, "I know exactly
what he is. He has promised to complete my transformation soon."

Merlin! This fool was beyond salvation.

Harry glared sternly but said nothing. Instead, he wordlessly instructed

Michael, who complied and pulled a sealed vial from inside his coat pocket.
The blood drained from Griffin's face. He was an experienced Potion
Master and knew precisely what the clear, odourless liquid that deceptively
resembled water sloshing about within the glass bottle was.

Veritaserum. It was a powerful truth serum that effectively enabled the

drinker to answer any question truthfully. It was a tricky potion to brew and
disastrously toxic if done incorrectly. Its use was strictly monitored and
regulated by the Ministry of Magic.

Griffin repeatedly objected, "No! It's against the law. You cannot force me
to drink it."
Michael threw his head back and laughed, "We are the law, you pitiful
fool." They had tried every technique in the book to get him to confess, but
none proved effective, leaving them to resort to drastic measures.

Harry took the vial from Michael's hand, held it close to Griffin's chapped
lips, and demanded, "Drink it." The man’s lips were pale, cracked, and
bloodless. Only a few drops were required for him to divulge his deepest
darkest secrets. The man stubbornly pressed his lips together, vigorously
shook his head and moved his face away to the best of his ability. "You will
have to force it down my throat." He spat viciously.

Michael smirked. He cracked his knuckles and moved closer with a sadistic
leer, "With pleasure."

Harry warned, "Be careful, Corner. You remember what happened to

Boris?" There was no Boris. He was a character they had invented to
frighten the prisoners.

"Ah, I never meant to take it that far, Potter. I swear I will be gentle this
time," Michael reassured with a slightly perverse smile.

Griffin stiffened, "Who the fuck is Boris? What did you do to him?" When
he received no answers, he screamed in panic, "Help me! Someone save
me. These fuckers are trying to murder me."

Michael grabbed his face with one hand, “Scream all you want. Nobody can
hear you.” His thumb and rest of the fingers dug into Griffin's either cheek
right below the cheekbones, causing him to widen his mouth involuntarily.
Even though the pain was excruciating, he struggled and pulled against the
restraints, but it was useless.

Harry dropped no more than three drops of Veritaserum onto Griffin's

tongue and instructed Michael to let go. He reluctantly did as ordered and
moved to one of the room's corners before he pounded the creep before him
into dust.

The minutes ticked by, and Harry asked his first question, "Who are you?"
Griffin answered like a well-trained parrot, "Griffin Sandar Montague."

Harry tried a more direct question since they were not there to find out the
man's favourite colour or food, "What is the true identity of the Alpha
King?"

Griffin laughed aloud and shrugged, "I do not know. I have seen him wear
many faces. Mostly faces of Muggles he has slaughtered. My job is to brew
him large batches of Polyjuice potion, so he can take any form he requires.
The Master is the King. He is my saviour."

Despite the man's boasting, he had no idea who the veiled leader was but
enjoyed stringing them along. They had hit another dead-end, but Griffin
seemed close to this self-proclaimed King. They asked a line of questions
that centred around the character they were after and came to a few valuable
conclusions regarding mannerisms and habits.

The potion’s effects began to wear off, and Griffin fought harder against
what compelled him to answer. He challenged his inner strength and
growled much like a wolf in defiance. Michael lost his cool, grabbed Griffin
by the neck and slammed him headfirst down onto the table. Harry
watched, horrified as the subtle sound of bones breaking filled the void. The
crack pierced the stillness macabrely.

"Where the fuck is your precious butcher now?" Michael’s voice cracked,
mirroring the anger and frustration that embodied him.

Harry pulled Michael back, pushed him up against the wall and
reprimanded, "Corner! Stand down!" Michael brought up his hands in
surrender and averted his gaze. Next, Harry approached Griffin with his
wand drawn and tried to assess the damage.

Breathing hard, Griffin straightened, spat out a mouthful of blood and

threatened, "You will regret that, you little bastard."
 Chapter 51
Chapter Notes

I truly hope everyone is well! We were under curfew following a few

unfavourable instances in the country, but we stand firm against
corruption.

My country, Sri Lanka 🇱🇰 will arise from this conflict unscathed and
more beautiful than ever.

My heartfelt gratitude to each of you who took the time to leave such
fantastic comments. They honestly make my day :)

Hermione challenges Draco to a duel. Yikes!

Hannah is fast becoming one of my absolute favourite characters to

write. She's just incredible.

More insight into the inner workings of the fight club

Enjoy Chapter fifty-one.

Stay safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

An audible knock on the door interrupted the heated discussion between

Kingsley and Hermione. The Minister looked towards the door and said in
his deep, forceful voice, "Come in." Hermione pushed her glasses further up
her nose and regarded the documents laid out in frustration.

Harry walked into the spacious room with Michael lagging behind him.
Their eyes fell on Hermione as she mumbled incoherently and ignored their
presence. Harry smiled slightly and spoke first, "Good morning, Kingsley,
Hermione. You wanted to have a word."
Hermione snapped out of the work-related daze she had slipped into and
greeted with a welcoming yet tired smile of her own, "Good morning,
Harry. Hope you are well, Michael."

Michael concealed a yawn, rocked on the balls of his feet, and replied with
less enthusiasm than usual, "Can't complain, Hermione. Thanks for asking."
There was plenty to complain about and much more to uncover, and it was
annoying to have limited answers. Fuck. He desperately needed a cigarette.

Hermione pointed to many papers scattered across Kingsley's table and

said, "We were going over subject profiles submitted by other nations." The
countries that answered Kingsley's plight for assistance worked fast in
getting across what they deemed helpful information.

Despite his arrogant disposition, the Romanian Minister Constantine had

been the most helpful, supplying pictures and information on vital persons.
Pascal, the lecherous French Minister, had been the least useful while
hinting that he would be more cooperative should Hermione visit France. A
notion Kingsley shut down right out of the gate.

She pulled a thick battered file crammed with papers towards her. It looked
like it had seen better days, "There's one Death Eater who escaped after the
battle, but could it be? I am almost certain he is dead." She didn't want to be
the bearer of bad news and utter his repulsive name.

"Antonin Dolohov," Harry's normally pleasant features twisted macabrely,

and he hissed the name in disgust. Kingsley frowned and made his
displeasure abundantly clear, "He was a formidable wizard. I shudder to
think how deadly he has become with his newfound skills. If it is indeed
him, I still have my doubts." Harry argued with good reason, "Dolohov fits
the bill, Kingsley. A fallen Death Eater who escaped persecution and fled
England. It makes perfect sense."

"Agreed, but let's wait for some hard evidence to present itself," The
Minister recommended. It wouldn't bode well if they made the wrong
assumptions and got everything backwards. Kingsley inquired, curious and
eager, "I trust you spoke with Griffin Montague." The appalling man was
key to unmasking the monster behind the attacks and rebellion.
Harry nodded but looked grim and highly disappointed, "We just returned
from Azkaban, but unfortunately, it was of no use since he doesn't know the
real face of the leader, only Polyjuiced versions he was permitted to see."

"Fuck," Kingsley swore in irritation. Could they not catch a bloody break?

Harry cracked his knuckles one by one and included solemnly, "Kingsley,
Griffin knew the man is a werewolf. He looked forward to being
transformed. If wizards even as lowly as Griffin Montague are volunteering
to be bitten and converted, that provides a serious problem." It could lead to
world dominance by Werewolves with no force alive to stop them. Wizards
turning into wolves would be equipped with wands, making them a
dangerous and nearly unbeatable threat.

Hermione grew wide-eyed and slightly nauseous at the alarming declaration

but offered her profound input, "The others following this madman might
disagree. I don't see them living as Werewolves. They have grown
accustomed to certain luxuries. Amenities, I am certain they will not forgo
to live in the woods."

Harry threw Hermione a disgruntled look and disputed, "You would be

surprised by how Werewolves nowadays live, Hermione. They have proper
housing equipped with all necessary requirements and properly functioning
systems." He recalled how meticulous and well-adjusted the packhouse had
been when they visited.

However, Kingsley insisted, "Still, there are plenty of luxuries the

pureblood families indulge in that cannot be replaced."

Michael coughed to make his presence known, and when all eyes fell on
him, he politely inquired, "You wanted to see me, Minister."

Hermione swapped an uncomfortable look with Kingsley and took a deep

breath. She started to slowly explain, "The Muggle Prime Minister is doing
all he can to his ability. We will assist however we can, which brings me to
the real reason for calling this brief meeting."
Harry crossed his arms over his chest and urged, "Go on. We are listening
intently, Madam Undersecretary." He couldn't wait to hear this. Sometimes
the liberties Hermione took without speaking about them beforehand
peeved him off. He detested being blindsided by her actions.

Hermione brought her face up, looked directly at Harry with confidence and
expressed, "As you know, the Prime Minister's life could be in grave
danger. It is in our best interest to protect him at all costs by working
alongside his capable security team led by MI5 agent Evan."

Michael peered at Harry, who seemed deep in thought. He wasn't keen on

the direction of the conversation and wondered if his boss shaded his
sentiment.

Hermione sat up straight and proclaimed openly, "I propose assigning

Michael to his security detail until we can ensure his safety and bring this
situation under control."

Michael was startled and visibly taken back. He purposely ignored

Hermione, addressed Kingsley directly and fired back with reasonable
justification, "What? No! With all due respect, Minister, I'm needed here."
Taken back by the untimely request, Harry concurred, "I agree with
Michael, Minister. He is far too valuable for us to spare at the moment. I
need my most experienced men on this case."

Hermione injected before the Minister responded and asserted, "Kingsley

had nothing to do with his appointment. If you have a problem with my
judgment, I suggest you speak to me about it and not him."

Michael glared sternly, and Kingsley sighed in exasperation, "I understand

your plight, Potter, but I agree one hundred per cent with Hermione's
decision. Do you have any indication of how the Prime Minister's death
would reflect on us?" He directed the question toward both men and waited
for a plausible answer.

Harry pursed his lips and fumed. He fought hard against giving Hermione a
piece of his mind. How dare she volunteer his Aurors without consulting
him?
Hermione argued, "We must play nice with others." Their survival
depended on it.

Harry retorted with a definite roll of his eyes, "I am not a politician,
Hermione." He followed it fiercely, "My sole concern is to catch these
arseholes before the bodies pile up."

Kingsley stepped in before the argument escalated and played mediator

between the best friends, "Hermione has a valid point, Potter. If Owen
succumbs to a magical assassination attempt, it will reflect poorly on us."

Michael spoke in a strained voice, "I did not become an Auror to look after
an insufferable Muggle politician." He regarded the group before him with
renewed purpose and claimed, "I knew what I wanted to do the second I
rescued that petrified first year the Carrows’ had chained up to torture." His
tone turned forlorn but angry, "As punishment for releasing the boy, I was
tortured daily for it with the Cruciatus Curse but still, I regretted nothing
and swore to myself to uphold honour and fight for those who couldn't by
serving justice."

He gritted out, "How exactly am I supposed to do that by babysitting the

Muggle Prime Minister?"

Hermione kept her composure and spoke calmly, "We know how much you
did to thwart the Carrows back at Hogwarts and how fearless you were in
defying them. That is precisely why we need one of our best men to stand
guard over the Prime Minister." She had heard from Neville how heroic
Michael's actions had been, considering he joined Dumbledore's Army
because Ginny insisted. They had been a couple, of sorts, and the
Ravenclaw was quite smitten with his Gryffindor girlfriend.

Kingsley interrupted with a firmness to his tone that wasn't to be taken

lightly, "Corner, you needn't follow him constantly. It is a temporary
assignment. You can report to the DMLE each day and follow up on
missions Potter assigns you, but your primary will be the protection of the
Muggle Prime Minister."
Michael frowned and looked to his boss for confirmation and guidance,
"What do you think, Potter?" Harry was his immediate boss, and the
decision lay primarily with him. If Potter agreed, he would have little
choice in the matter but to agree. They took a vow after completion of the
training program to uphold justice and adhere to the commands of the
current Minister of Magic.

Harry slipped off his glasses, massaged the bridge of his nose and sighed, "I
am not thrilled, but it makes sense, I suppose." He hated it when Hermione
was right. Of course, she was rarely wrong, but he loathed that her points
were valid and carried merit in this instance. The Muggle Prime Minister
needed to be protected to the best of their ability.

"Hermione, will you accompany us to the briefing?" Harry grudgingly

invited while Michael shot metaphorical daggers at the person he believed
was responsible for his current assignment.

Hermione ignored the seething man who disrespected her earlier. She
smiled warmly and agreed wholeheartedly, "Of course, I will. Let me know
whenever you are ready to leave. I will inform Owen and, um, Evan of our
arrival." She hesitated when mentioning Evan and hoped Hannah wouldn't
spill the beans on what transpired between them.

Kingsley grinned broadly, "It's settled then." It was a rare occurrence that
they came to a compromise without much fuss. Still, he was grateful for his
team's extended level of professionalism.

Michael gave a curt nod, "I will honour the Ministry of Magic's wishes."
They left Hermione and Kingsley behind and legged it purposely out of the
office. Though muffled by the thick carpet, the stomping of their heavy
boots still made a superior sound. The second the door closed, Michael was
at it. He gnashed out, causing his breathing to hasten and his palms to bead
sweat, "This is bullshit, Harry."

Harry nodded in agreement but looked to alleviate the annoyed man before
him, "I know, mate, but we have to keep him safe. We need him alive and
well until all this blows over."
Michael thought long and hard before answering, "I will do as you ask to
the best of my ability even though I'm not happy about it."

"How's Terry?" Harry neatly diverted the conversation with a raised brow.
With all that had been happening, he hadn't the time to pay Boot a
mandatory visit.

Michael sighed, "Good. Recovering. We could really use him at a time like
this." Terry was coming along but slowly. He seemed agitated and grilled
Michael for hours about any pending investigations.

Harry exhaled and said seriously, "Indeed, but his health is far more
important. I need him with his mind intact before going after these
lunatics." He pushed his slipping glasses further up his nose and requested,
"Anything on the Dollhouse Strangler?"

Michael shook his head despairingly, "Nothing. He's disappeared and gone
completely off the radar, but Hannah hasn't given up on the last victim.
She's pushing herself and Malfoy to crack the case."

Harry smiled slightly, "Good. None of us has given up on Sarah. I am

confident we will find her." His confidence hung by a very fine thread.

Michael said thoughtfully, "Maybe Thomas was right in assuming that the
killer has fallen in love with the victim. It would explain the lack of
activity."

Harry frowned, and although he wasn't entirely convinced, he was forced to

admit the theory made sense, "Maybe, but we cannot forsake Sarah to such
a gruesome fate." They would not abandon her.

Michael nodded vigorously. He was determined, and his tone mirrored his
exact feelings, "Definitely." He added with a disgusted leer, "All these
mysterious nutters. Where the fuck do they crawl out from?"

Harry stifled a laugh and shrugged, "I wish I knew, Corner."

Michael stopped in front of the glass doors that led to Hermione's office and
stared lovingly at Brenda. She was seated at her desk with her hair piled on
top of her head and hunched over parchments with a sour expression etched
on her otherwise pretty face. From where they stood, they could see she was
muttering to herself in frustration.

"Where are you headed?" Harry followed Michael's gaze and queried with
an amused expression. Young love, he thought fondly. Even though Corner
was his age, the man was only now looking to settle down.

Michael scratched the back of his neck and answered sheepishly, "I need to
speak to Brenda. I'll catch up with you later."

Hermione smiled slightly and stared at where Harry and Michael had stood
earlier, "Well, that went better than expected." Kingsley leaned back in his
chair and looked bemused, "Were you not at the same meeting, Granger?"
He grumbled, "They loathe the idea, and we've forced it upon them. I
honestly wish we could send someone else." That statement piqued her
interest. Hermione sat up straight and offered wholeheartedly, "You can
take Hannah off my security detail and assign her to Owen. I daresay she is
better than Michael."

Kingsley laughed and wagged a warning finger. "Nice try, but no! I need
you alive if we are to beat this threat." Granger was oblivious to how
important her position at the Ministry was.

Hermione sank back into the chair and pouted. It was worth a suggestion.
Kingsley sighed and confessed with a certain level of importance, "I'm
leaving for New York shortly to interrogate the werewolf in their custody.
Potter will remain to overlook operations here, and I expect you to watch
over everything else."

Hermione grew worried, but she put on a brave face and nodded. She got to
her feet and smoothed her new pleated skirt before responding, "Of course.
Be safe, Kingsley. It would put my mind at ease if Harry accompanied you.
Your life is at significant risk as well."
Kingsley threw his head back in sarcastic laughter. He composed himself
when he saw Hermione glaring a sizable hole in his head and quickly
responded, "I am more than capable of fending for myself." He plunged his
hand into his robes, pulled out a shiny black pistol, kept it carefully on the
table and grinned, "Besides, I always keep my gun right next to my wand."
Kingsley was a master marksman. Still, it bothered Hermione that their
Minister would be travelling without additional Auror protection.

Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Hannah breezed in, munching on a croissant and muttered cheerfully with

her mouth full of the flaky, buttery treat, "Good morning, Malfoy."

Draco had returned from Azkaban with his head swirling with unsettling
thoughts. Could Griffin's words be true? Would they come for him, and if
they did, how would he go about rejecting the offer whilst keeping
everyone he held dear safe from persecution? He paid Honeydukes a quick
visit. It was a necessary detour.

The shop was closed when he arrived, but he leaned against the purple-
painted wall and waited for it to open, which startled the witch tasked with
unlocking the shop when he approached her with the intent of buying
chocolate at such an early hour. She had eyed him suspiciously but then
recognised him as Draco Malfoy from Rita Skeeter's Witch Weekly
Magazine interview and grew even more flustered when he handed over a
sizable bar of one of their finest blends to purchase.

He had then arrived at the Ministry and gone for a bout of training but
excused himself to visit the men's room after an hour of warm-up exercises.
His feet had consciously or unconsciously carried him to Hannah's cluttered
desk. The guilt of withholding information tore at his insides, and he
desperately needed to get it off his chest. He sat down on her chair with his
head in his hands and waited for her to arrive.

Temporarily, he avoided eye contact, ran his long fingers through his hair
and said solemnly, "I need to confess something."
Hannah raised a sceptical brow and regarded the disturbed man before her
carefully, "Should I be sitting down for this?"

Draco didn't bother with an answer but blurted out the truth, "I met Smith
this morning."

The severity of his actions dawned on her. Hannah frowned, and her
ordinarily calm demeanour cracked, "Ah, and you saw the need to do this
without informing me? Why?" She had been kind and welcoming towards
him when none of the others hadn't bothered. They treated him worse than a
pile of dog shite they had trudged in.

Draco hung his head in shame and responded, "I didn't want to worry you
or concern you with my personal problems." He cared about her immensely
and did not want to drag her into the seemingly complicated situation. She
was one of the only people to treat and regard him as an equal, and if they
used or hurt her to get him to bend to their will, he would never be able to
forgive himself.

Hannah struggled to swallow the last bite of croissant since it had lost its
appeal. She held up her hand to silence him and reprimanded, "First, I am
your supervisor, not your sodding girlfriend, and second, I expect complete
honesty from my partner." She expected very little, but trust was an
absolute necessity. Draco looked away, ashamed of his actions and an
awkward stillness surrounded them.

A few miserable seconds passed before he shot to his feet, grabbed Hannah
by the shoulders and implored, "I know, and I'm sorry, Abbott. It won't
happen again." Hannah could see he was remorseful of his actions. Malfoy
had severe trust issues and protective instincts. Taking a deep breath to
compose her raging thoughts, Hannah responded, "I will let this one time
slide but make sure it doesn't happen again. I stuck my neck out for you,
and I deserve some respect."

"Duly noted," Draco said with a curt nod and boyishly handsome smile. He
relaxed, let Hannah go, stepped back and stared into her face. She was a
genuinely good person. This whole thing had been a horrible misjudgement
on his part, and it would be the last time he hid anything work-related from
his partner.

Hannah leaned against her desk and quizzed, "Did you at least get some
answers?" She wondered who helped him get into Azkaban. It was nearly
impossible without a permanent Auror.

Draco gritted out in annoyance, "Not much. A few cryptic questions more
than answers. The miscreant is known to me, so I guess I'm reduced to
watching my back and looking after those around me." He would never be
free of his past or the mistakes committed by his family.

Hannah pursed her lips for a fleeting moment and advised, "Well, make
sure you do and report back if any shady business creeps up." She clamped
him on the shoulder and reassured him, "You are my partner, Malfoy. I will
always have your back." It was a touching moment between two unlikely
individuals.

"Likewise," Draco replied without hesitation. Speaking of those around

him, he averted his gaze, cleared his throat and raised a question
offhandedly, "Erm, how is Granger? Where is she?"

Hannah punched his arm playfully and chuckled, "Hermione is fine. She's
with the Minister at the moment." Her answer appeased him. He shot her a
cheeky smile and turned on his heel to leave, "Good. I need to return to
training before Audrey launches a search party."

Hannah doubled over with laughter and replied through the compelling
giggles, "Yeah, go on! Get out of here before she has a bloody heart attack."
Audrey was not a woman to be trifled with; even the arrogant and
intimidating Thomas treated her with kid's gloves, but there was a whole
other reason for that.

Draco jogged away but turned around mid-jog and yelled, "Abbott?" Half
the DMLE turned his way and stared at him oddly. They couldn't fathom
what the fuss was about but were curious enough to stop what they were
doing to spy on the interaction between the young Aurors.
Hannah rolled her eyes and cried out in reply for all to hear, "What?"

"Catch!" Draco shouted and threw a gold paper-wrapped chocolate bar at

her. She caught it with ease and grinned broadly, "Did you think you could
bribe me with one of Honeydukes best chocolate bars?" He most certainly
could.

Draco winked, "Undoubtedly!" His father would be appalled by his brazen

behaviour.

Hannah shouted at the top of her voice, resulting in a few bystanders

frowning at her word choice, "Arse!" And followed up with a loud,
"Malfoy!?" Before he left the department entirely. Draco abruptly halted
and raised an amused brow in question, "Yes?"

Hannah hurriedly tore the expensive wrapper, took a hearty bite and almost
moaned. It was so bloody tasty. She waved the chocolate bar in the air and
grinned, "I forgive you!" The other Aurors in the vicinity shot them truly
perplexed looks and wondered about the level of intimacy behind their
friendship.

Draco waved his hand dismissively and with a final, "See you later,
partner." He exited the DMLE and headed straight to training.

Michael pushed open the door prompting Brenda to look up suddenly. He

greeted her enthusiastically, " Hello, my darling."

Brenda leapt out of her seat, surrounded him with warmth, and gushed,
"Michael, I've missed so much.”

Michael held on tight, never wanting to let go and breathed in her sweet,
scented hair. It smelled faintly of coconuts, "Let me hold you. I love you so
much."

"I love you too," Brenda returned his affections without a single second of
hesitation. She cupped his face and kissed him fervently.
Michael muttered bitterly between heated kisses, "I've been reassigned."

Brenda broke free from the embrace, much to Michael's disappointment.

She looked at him squarely and implored, "What's the matter? You don't
seem too happy about your new assignment." That was putting it mildly.
Michael sighed and explained resentfully, "I will be spending a considerable
amount of time in Muggle London."

"I don't follow," Brenda furrowed her brows and cocked her head to the side
in confusion.

Michael exhaled to compose himself and elucidated, "I have been assigned
to the Muggle Prime Minister's security detail, thanks largely to your boss."
The last words slipped out. He hadn't intended to sound nasty and
miserable.

Brenda held Hermione in the highest regard and made her thoughts
abundantly clear, "If Hermione was the one who suggested it, then it's
obviously important." She grew thoughtful and concerned, "Will you be
safe?" Brenda was all too aware of the risks and heartaches of being
involved with an Auror. Whenever Michael was sent on a mission, she
hardly slept a wink and was constantly on pins and needles awaiting his
return.

Michael should have known better than to complain about Hermione. He

answered his girlfriend's imploring question humorlessly, "I can never give
you a straight answer for that question, darling, but don't worry, I'll be
reporting to the DMLE each day."

Gathering her inner strength, Brenda stroked her boyfriend's cheek and
reminded, "Do you remember when you first asked me out? You were so
nervous because of the difference in our age."

Michael couldn't help but smile. He had been so worried about being
ridiculed that he had almost given up on pursuing a relationship with
Brenda. Thank Merlin he had the good sense to dismiss such absurd
thoughts, "I vividly recall, but it doesn't matter anymore because I'm crazy
about you."
Brenda nodded and smiled warmly, "Like the awkwardness in our early
days, this too shall pass, and we can move on with our lives, Michael."

"You are far more mature than me, my darling," Michael muttered after
gathering her in his arms. He was grateful that she had changed her hair
colour from red to vibrant shades of blue. She resembled a beautiful nymph.

Brenda asked eagerly, "Can we have dinner together?" They hadn't shared a
meal in a while and tonight seemed ideal to let the stress they were feeling
just melt away.

Michael gently ran his fingers through her hair and promised, "I wouldn't
miss it for the world. I'll try to make it home early." He would slip off
unnoticed and take a well-deserved night off.

Brenda kissed him lightly, and he leaned into her tender caresses, "I'll be
waiting for you."

Berlin, Germany

"How much is that vase?" Bernard inquired in admiration. The antique vase
was exquisite and one that Narcissa would thoroughly appreciate. He loved
to comb the streets when he visited foreign lands on business, and over the
years, he had acquired some rather exclusive items for Narcissa to add to
her vast collection. A collection Lucius started.

The antique store he frequented in Berlin, Germany, was a sight to behold.

It wasn't well known among the wizarding populace because the proprietor
catered to wizards and muggles alike, operating two different fronts to suit
his mixed clientele. However, the man who ran the shop housed some rare
gems that were considered priceless. Bernard's fascination with ancient
artefacts was a newly obtained passion learnt from Narcissa.

An unusual armour of sorts covered in a thick layer of dust hung in the

background and nearly out of sight. It offered adequate chest protection and
came complete with a wand holder, and it was evident to the trained eye
that it was crafted from the finest dragon skin.
Bernard narrowed his eyes in scrutiny and pointed to the back, "I would like
to look at that armour."

"Yes, of course, sir. It is made out of the toughest dragon skin. A Hungarian
Horntail that perished of old age. No blood was spilt to make this, and it is
rumoured the magnificent beast lived to be over a hundred." He
enlightened, hoping to impress and secure a sale. It was a common fact that
the skin grew leathery and stronger with each passing year and, depending
on the age, made the skin nearly impenetrable.

The dealer was thrilled that someone showed an interest in the remarkable
piece. It had cost him a fortune to buy, and he hadn't hesitated, thinking it
was a smart purchase that would turn a handsome profit but unfortunately,
no one seemed interested in the protective wear. It hung in his store for
years collecting dust and eating away at his profits.

He fetched it, blew the dust off and placed it gingerly on the glass-topped
table. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" He raved.

Bernard was inclined to agree, "Indeed. How much? I hope you’re aware, I
expect a hefty discount." The shiny scales that tightly overlapped were
luminescent but rough to the touch. It was in immaculate condition, and
Bernard knew Draco would genuinely appreciate and benefit from it,
considering his career path.

The shop owner recited off the top of his head, "The vase is ten thousand
Euros, and the armour is six thousand Euros. I will throw in a handsome
pair of gloves to match free of charge."

Bernard studied the armour and smirked. He wouldn't pay the asking price
and was known to be a keen bargainer, "I'll give you eight thousand Euros
for the vase and five thousand Euros for the dragon skin armour."

The man shook his head vigorously, causing his double chin to wobble,
"No! Herr Bernard, that is impossible."

Bernard sighed in faux disappointment, kept the gloves back on the table
and smiled politely, "I see we won't come to an agreement today. Thank you
for your time. I will see myself out." He purposely turned away from the
stunned owner and almost walked out of the shop. It was a tactic that
worked multiple times. A deep guttural voice made him stop, "You are a
hard man to say no to, sir."

With a triumphant grin, Bernard counted a stack of bills he took out of the
breast pocket of his jacket and neatly handed them over to the shopkeeper,
who beamed and counted the crisp bills while his assistant packed the items
with care. He said with a grateful smile, "Pleasure doing business with you,
Herr Bernard."

"Likewise. I am most pleased with my purchases." Bernard answered back

with a happy smile that emphasised his dimples.

The man bowed respectfully, "Good day, sir. We hope to see you again
soon." Bernard walked out and got into the waiting car to take him back to
the hotel before Portkeying back to London. His business matters were
complete. They had weaselled out the unscrupulous employee who
swindled a sizable fortune from the company and handed him over to the
authorities. He hadn't been gone long, but he missed Narcissa terribly.

Two days later.

Over the next few days, Draco and Hermione hardly saw each other except
in passing when they would stare at each other and be unable to look away
for a few fleeting moments. She would at times see him during the odd
instances he dropped by to have a quick word with Hannah about the
Dollhouse Strangler. He had been tasked with going over the pictures and
evidence with the hope of getting a new perspective on the case. They
would exchange meaningful glances if Hermione happened across them,
but generally, their respective jobs kept them constantly busy and apart.

Hermione came to the shuddering conclusion that she missed him and his
impromptu visits to her office. Malfoy was still an enigma she struggled to
understand. If you took away the unpleasantness of their youth, she could
see herself with him. He offered her a challenge, disregarded her Golden
girl status and treated her like an ordinary, flawed human being. Still,
unfortunately, he was Draco Lucius Malfoy, although she craved his
company among more pleasurable things.

On a particular instance across the crowded cafeteria, she witnessed the

visiting French Auror Michelle doing her utmost to spark an interest in him
by using whatever she had at her disposal. Still, shockingly Malfoy seemed
immune to her charms. He smiled politely, grabbed his sandwich, neatly
sidestepped her wandering hands and disappeared while Hannah scoffed
and took a large bite off her sandwich, "That woman is a pill. She just won't
take no for an answer." Michelle’s unashamed refusal to acknowledge
Draco’s lack of interest in her was pitiful and quite frankly disturbing on
some level.

Hermione delicately popped a crisp into her mouth and interrogated

casually, "Oh, so Malfoy has no interest in Michelle? Not that it's any of my
business."

Hannah regarded the semi-blushing Undersecretary and smirked, "You

really are in denial over your feelings for him, aren't you?"

Snappishly, Hermione stuffed her mouth with crisps and scowled, "I was
just curious. I have no such feelings for Malfoy."

Hannah dabbed the corners of her mouth with a serviette. She snorted, "I'll
admit Michelle is an attractive, talented woman, but unlike the others,
Malfoy is unattainable, but I daresay that makes him more desirable. You
know, like forbidden fruit or whatever."

Hermione grimaced at the comparison but smiled and ate her lunch in
silence. Her treacherous mind sang its delight at his blatant rejection of the
desirable French woman. She also heard Hannah constantly on the phone
with him. "Yes, Malfoy? Nothing has changed since the last time you
called. We are fine, and Granger is completely safe." There was a
distinguishable edge to Hannah’s tone of voice.

Hilarious circumstances happened when they visited the lady's room. While
relieving herself, she heard running water and Hannah's unmistakable voice
laced with annoyance, “Will you stop being a bloody pain in my arse? I'm
going to block your number if you keep pestering me. She is alive and well,
you bloody idiot. If she dies, I promise, you'll be the first to know." Hannah
had hung up and followed it up with a slew of curses in frustration.
Hermione pulled up her knickers and couldn't help but smile and ponder.
Did he genuinely care about her well-being, or was he simply taking his job
too seriously?

Their time apart wasn't due to her gruelling schedule but mostly his. The
Auror trails were drawing close, and much was yet to be learned and
fulfilled. Draco had little time to focus on anything else. He was sent more
frequently on raids, patrols and field assignments after Harry read Hannah's
detailed report and heard firsthand from Michael about his successful first
attempt than the others in his batch. It was also imperative that he
performed well under pressure and handled situations tactfully with
minimum damage.

Emily missed him and his valuable input terribly. Still, she was busy
preparing and mastering spells they had learned for the upcoming trials in
less than three weeks.

It was Friday, and Hermione drummed her fingernails on the desk and let
boredom settle in. Her meetings were done for the day, mountains of
paperwork were signed and filed, and she had entertained a fair share of
disgruntled wizards and witches with various problems, but it was far too
early to head home. Kingsley was still in New York, and due back soon,
Harry and his team were scouring the streets to find out more about the
mysterious leader. They had tons of witnesses and snitches placed by the
Ministry, but not a soul knew the so-called Alpha King's true identity.

She repeated in deep thought, "The man used to be a wizard but is now a
werewolf." It was mind-boggling, to say the least. Hermione was confident
it was a Death Eater who escaped imprisonment, and there was only one
that came to mind. Antonin Dolohov was the man who ended Remus
Lupin's life, but they had no hard evidence that he was this proclaimed king.
It was long since speculated that the notorious man had died but could it
be? Whoever it was had sowed the seeds of discord well.
Hermione heard Hannah and Brenda laughing and decided to check out the
commotion. Merlin knew she needed a distraction. She got to her feet,
slipped into her stylish new heels and strode out. The two women played a
lively game of Exploding Snap, and Brenda was losing rather badly. She
used colourful words to express her bitter disappointment and slammed the
remaining cards on the table.

Hannah gathered the scattered cards and chuckled, "Lighten up, love. You
can win the next round."

Brenda crossed her arms over her chest, sank into the chair and sulked, "I've
lost the last four fucking games."

Hannah shuffled the deck of cards without the aid of magic and teased,
"Language, Miss Moore. Soon to be Corner." That bit of news was new.
Hermione raised a quizzical brow, "Has he popped the question yet?" She
hoped that Brenda would confide in her before anyone else when he did.

Brenda shook her head and answered, "No, and I would rather wait another
year until all this shit goes away to settle down." Sitting at home alone,
wondering whether her husband would return in one or multiple pieces,
gave her constant nightmares. Despite Michael calling her mature, she
knew there was a lot more growing up she needed to do before walking
down the aisle.

Hannah dealt the cards and requested meekly, "Has he been to see Terry?"
Hermione stiffened at the mention of a man who declared his love the last
time they met.

Brenda glanced at Hermione anxiously and responded, "Yeah, a couple of

times. Michael said he's doing okay. Listening for once, and he’s taken to
reading."

Hannah raised a sceptical brow, "Reading? I've never seen Boot read." She
turned to her ex Hogwarts friend and consulted, "Have you, Hermione?"
The woman would know if Terry was a closet bookworm considering she
spent more time in the Hogwarts library than in the Gryffindor common
room.
Hermione grew thoughtful and tried to recall an instance where she saw
Terry in the library, but it evaded her completely. She shrugged in reply,
"No, I can't say that I have. Michael was the more studious one, but both
were quite good at potions." She cleared her throat and hesitated before
adding, "I've been meaning to visit him."

"Umm, do you think that's wise?" Brenda asked in concern. She didn't think
it was wise to poke the bear, and sometimes Hermione lacked subtly in
handling delicate matters.

Undeterred by the looks she received, Hermione insisted, "Probably not, but
I'm going to anyway. I care about him." She honestly did care about him.
Her feelings for Terry Boot were strictly platonic, and she desperately
wanted to salvage that part of their relationship.

Hannah weighed in, "He might not take the gesture kindly, Granger."
Hermione brushed aside the advice, "Terry would never hurt me." However,
Hannah wasn't easily discouraged, "I hope I won't be considered
presumptuous if I offer some advice." She knew Terry better than Hermione
and made her thoughts abundantly clear, "He won't hurt you in the right
state of mind, but at present, he's struggling." She wasn't keen on Hermione
adding her rejection of him to his suffering.

Eager to stir the conversation away from the current topic, Hermione
directed her next question at Brenda, "By the way, how is Michael handling
his new assignment?" The introduction had gone smoothly. Michael had
been somewhat polite, Evan had been grudgingly welcoming, and the Prime
Minister was immensely relieved.

Brenda faked a smile, kept Michael's true feelings on the matter to herself
and answered, "Well enough, I suppose. Although, he feels like it's a
monumental waste of his time." He had complained all night about how
utterly useless the Muggle Prime Minister appeared to be with his unhealthy
obsession with drinking coffee. She had shut him up by undressing him
slowly and taking his cock in her inviting mouth.

Hannah chuckled and included on cue, "He thinks the Prime Minister's a
certifiable idiot, but shockingly he likes Evan. I think they get along quite
well. They were having lunch together the last time we spoke." Michael
called her mostly when he wanted to vent. During Terry's absence, she had
taken his place as the indispensable best mate.

Hermione said without much thought, "Well, to be fair, Evan is quite

likeable. He's intelligent, charming and witty when he wants to be." Brenda
looked utterly bemused by her boss's favourable words regarding the MI5
agent, and Hannah winked knowingly, "Of course he is."

"Oh, shut it, Hannah," Hermione scolded and walked past them with one
specific destination in mind. At that exact moment, she impromptu decided
to overlook a training session of the new set of Aurors. It would be a
productive yet enjoyable way to pass the time. Hannah got to her feet, fixed
her ponytail, adjusted her Auror robes and raised in interest, "So, umm, are
we heading out?"

Hermione smiled innocently and offered no descriptive details for fear of

ridicule, "Follow me." Soon enough, Hannah would figure out their
destination and poke fun at her mercilessly. They exited the executive floor
and waited patiently for the old lift to appear. It didn't take long for the
rickety shaft to arrive and open its ancient doors. Stepping in first,
Hermione reached over and pressed the button to a floor Hannah knew
intimately. Instantly, Hannah stifled a laugh and probed with a raised brow
and expressive smirk, "The DMLE?" She couldn't help but ask with a smug
expression, "Missing a certain someone?" Malfoy had not been around
much in the last two days, and clearly, his absence was affecting Hermione,
though she would never openly admit it.

Hermione denied any accusation that she was even thinking about Malfoy,
"Absolutely not! Perhaps I want to meet Harry." It was a poor attempt to
divert the conversation and throw Hannah off.

They arrived at their desired floor. Hannah held the lift doors open for
Hermione to walk through first and followed her out with a distinctive roll
of her eyes, "Right. Potter is away, as you very well know." They walked
down the narrow corridor, and with each step, her smile widened into a
satisfied grin. She pointed ahead and bluntly declared, "And you’re heading
towards the training hall."
Glancing over her shoulder, Hermione caught sight of Hannah’s amused
expression. She shrugged casually and acknowledged innocently, "What? I
drop in sometimes to have a chat with Audrey." She popped in from time to
time to check on the proceedings even though it wasn't mandatory for her to
sit in on the classes, but no one besides Audrey would dare question her
actions.

Hannah walked alongside and smiled, "Your secrets are safe with me, love.
As your good friend and bodyguard, I am duty-bound to take them to the
grave." Hermione couldn't help but giggle at the honest statement.

They walked in companionable silence until Hannah thought it best to

inform Hermione of Malfoy's hidden affections, "You know, he is quite
taken with you and remarkably gifted. His abilities are far above an average
wizard. I've hardly ever seen anything like it." From her tone, it was
abundantly clear that she was impressed.

Hermione stiffened and quickened her step. She sighed in defeat and
enlightened her companion, "I know he's talented, but I'm not happy about
this match, Hannah. Even though we have the odd physical entanglement
now and then, it does not erase the crude comments that spewed out of his
mouth in Hogwarts."

Hannah bobbed her head in understanding, but she felt compelled to defend
her partner, "I know, but he's changed, Granger."

Hermione scoffed, "I'm not wholly convinced that he has." It was the truth.
A considerable, perhaps overly cautious part of her believed Malfoy to be
acting.

Hannah nudged her with a devilish smirk, "Does he know about Evan? I
know he's very aware of Terry."

Hermione became significantly cagey with her answer, "No! Besides,

there's nothing to know. It was before him, and well, I owe Draco nothing.
He is not my boyfriend!" If she honestly believed her bold words, why did
an overwhelming sense of guilt wash over her?
Having accomplished what she set out to do, Hannah retorted smugly,
"Don't bite my head off. It was just a question. Absolutely nothing to get so
defensive over."

"I am not getting defensive," Hermione hissed with her hands on her hips.
Unconsciously she had stopped right in front of the training hall. Hannah
looked up, read the sign and cautioned, "Oh, look, we've arrived. I doubt
Audrey will appreciate a grand entrance."

Hermione couldn't agree more. She nodded in and offered a more delicate
approach, "Duly noted. Let's sneak in and observe the proceedings." They
heard Audrey's carrying voice yelling at someone and calling them a
muttonhead. Suddenly, Hermione had second thoughts about the whole
thing. Judging by Audrey's tone, she seemed to be in a vile mood.

She looked to Hannah for guidance and said meekly, "Maybe we should
come back at a more suitable time."

Hannah grabbed her by her arm and firmly pulled her towards the door,
"Don't be a bloody wuss, Granger. We came all this way to see Malfoy, so
come on."

Hermione tried to break free from Hannah's grasp and insisted, "We didn't
come to see Malfoy. I'm keen about how the recruits are faring."

Hannah quipped, "Yeah, and pigs can fly. You're an appalling liar,
Hermione. I'm sure you've heard that before."

She had, and more times than she could count. They snuck into the class
thankfully undetected and watched the proceedings from the shadows of the
last row of seats with an eager and critical eye. Most were promising, but
some didn't match her standards, and then there was Malfoy. Despite
herself, Hermione was incredibly impressed by Draco's performance.
Initially, she had watched the others, but as the minutes ticked on, she gave
her full attention to the six-foot-two, platinum blonde accomplishing each
task with remarkable ease.
Audrey praised and then instructed, "Good job, everyone. Johnson, you
need to move faster, Creevy, nice form. Let's move on to Patronuses." There
was a distinct groan from the recruits, but a stern glare from Audrey was all
it took to shut them up and snap to attention, "I know some of you have
been struggling to produce a Corporeal Patronus, but I'm confident with
more practice you will be ready to face the trials." She turned to Draco,
beamed and invited, "If you would, Mr Malfoy." Hermione leaned forward
and watched intently. She was on the edge of her seat in anticipation.
Hannah enjoyed Hermione's reactions to Malfoy casting flawless spells.
She doubted the headstrong woman noticed the ohs and ah's that
unconsciously left her lips.

Draco strode forward with confidence, Emily gave him an encouraging

thumbs-up, and Dennis glared and sarcastically commented about being the
teacher's pet. Draco ignored the leering of the group of men and made his
way to the middle of the training mat. His larger-than-life Patronus required
space to breathe. He twirled his wand between his fingers and felt the magic
that flowed through him come forth to answer his bidding.

Closing his eyes, he stood perfectly still, channelled his positive emotions
and concentrated hard on the happiest memory. Not surprisingly, Granger's
infectious laughter rang through his head. His lips curved to form a sly yet
endearing smile as he settled on the day he slipped the engagement ring on
her finger, and as the memory took precedence, the correct incantation
rolled off his tongue, “Expecto Patronum.” A fully-fledged mighty dragon
Patronus shot out of his wand and soared high and close to the ceiling
before coming to his side. The class had seen it before, but it never ceased
to amaze them. It was translucently beautiful and menacing at the same
time. It hovered over Draco with its wings spread protectively and
disappeared in a wisp of silvery mist.

Audrey gushed, "Well, clearly, you will have no problem with this area of
the trial examination." Hermione couldn't contain herself. The stunning
Patronus had a profound impact on her.

She vividly recalled doing extensive research into different meanings of

Patronuses and why they differed from person to person after Harry
produced the legendary stag Patronus that saved them from the Dementors
in their third year. The dragon Patronus was considered rare and represented
an inner element, one that was prominent. The element could vary, but often
it was fire.

If Malfoy were skilled in elemental magic, he would be able to wield fire

with remarkable ease. Now wouldn't that be a sight to behold? Hermione
thought excitedly and remembered how he had glowed when Narcissa
collapsed. Could it be that Malfoy possessed a power unknown to him?

Strong passion and ambition burned within such a person, and fury like no
other rested within them. The description clawed its way to the surface from
the archives of her memory and thoroughly excited her. Each word
embodied him.

Hermione rose from her seat in the shadows and clapped loudly in
admiration. She was curious about what happy thought he resorted to when
producing a Patronus. It was widely known that branded Death Eaters could
not perform a Corporeal Patronus charm since they had no happy memories
to resort to, but that theory was inaccurate. Hannah sank lower into her seat
and wished she could silently disappear, but unfortunately, she couldn't.

Curious eyes turned to face Hermione, but she was obscured by the dim
light that fell at the back of the hall. Draco narrowed his eyes and tried to
get a glimpse of the uninvited person among them. Most of the trainees
muttered and gossiped among themselves.

Audrey felt her patience slip. She took out her wand and pointed it at the
shadows, "We have little time for games. Show yourself." Hannah paled,
pulled out her wand and readied herself for the unlikely instance she needed
to deflect a spell. Hermione ignored the warning and descended the stairs
gracefully. Her heels clicked against the wood floor purposely, and she
continued to clap in slow motion as she came down. Once she was within
earshot and visible to all these present, she marched up to Draco and
complimented, "Impressive, Malfoy."

His palms turned sweaty. She was the last person he expected to see but
gathering his hanging jaw off the floor, he maintained a high level of
professionalism and bowed to show the respect she deserved and responded
appropriately, "Thank you, Madam Undersecretary."

Audrey made her presence known, "Hermione, what brings you by? And
why were Abbott and you spying on my class in the name of Merlin?"
Hannah rushed into explanation and defended, "We were not spying.
Hermione was curious about how the newbies were fairing."

"I was speaking to Hermione, Hannah. If I want your opinion, I'll ask for
it," Audrey said in irritation. She didn't take lightly having her class
disrupted. Hannah frowned and opened her mouth to hurl a nasty retort, but
Hermione spoke diplomatically on their behalf, "I do apologise for the rude
interruption, but Hannah is right. I was curious to see if everyone is ready to
face their examinations."

She smiled sweetly at Audrey and hoped her following answer would
appease the peeved-off woman, "I thought you could help me brush up on
my defensive spells." Audrey almost laughed out loud at the attempt to get
into her good graces. She replied swiftly, "If I recall, you were quite
talented in that area, but you are welcome to observe, Hermione."

Draco watched the situation unravel with intense fascination. Granger had
come to him. The second he withdrew, albeit not intentionally, she had
sought him out, and something was unusually alluring about her actions.
Hannah threw him an amused look and rolled her eyes for further effect.

Hermione closed the distance between Malfoy and her and circled him
while he stood remarkably still with a perplexed look plastered onto his
face. What in the name of Salazar Slytherin was she playing at? The
dormant snake in him stirred, wanting to be let out to play. Still, she silently
moved around him, sizing him up and contemplating her next course of
action. Did he have to look so devastatingly attractive in the standard Auror
uniform?

Draco watched her movements intently, as did the others gathered around
him. Emily watched on curiously and was slightly afraid for him, but
Dennis and his friends openly showed their delight at the scrutiny.
Hermione twirled her wand, causing harmless sparks to fly out the end and
abruptly fired question after question at Draco. The sound of her stiletto
heels clicking against the polished floors entwined with her voice and filled
the space.

She demanded, "How are you with deflecting spells?"

Draco crossed his arms over his chest and answered swiftly, "Quite adept,
Madam Undersecretary."

Hermione bit her bottom lip and cross-examined, "What about protective
spells?"

Draco smirked smugly, "Exemplary." He included in a sarcastic undertone,

“I am capable of producing an adequate shield charm.”

Hermione stopped twirling her wand but continued to walk around him and
regarded his form with amusement, "I see."

She stopped in front of him, held her head high and smiled devilishly.
Draco raised a brow to wordlessly question her bizarre behaviour, but
Hermione ignored him and challenged, "I, Hermione Jean Granger,
challenge you, Draco Lucius Malfoy, to a one spell duel."

Pindrop silence ensued. Draco stared at his betrothed in a dazed state of

utter shock that made him glance at Audrey for answers, much like a small
boy looking to the strict teacher for guidance. The older woman was
transfixed on Granger's form, oddly enough, with a slight smile. Hannah
sighed at the unprecedented turn of events and massaged the bridge of her
nose in exasperation while the recruits stood perfectly still and hungrily
anticipated what would happen next.

Audrey found her voice first, and she stressed, "What?" She couldn’t help
but wonder if Granger was intoxicated or what reason prompted such
reckless conduct.

Hermione answered her question with a firm response, "What?" It wasn't

unheard of. Their final trials included a duel with a fellow, more
experienced Auror who wasn't their partner. If anything, she was giving
Malfoy an unfair edge over the rest of the recruits.

"What the fuck?" Draco finally found his voice and shot back in his sultry
voice of rugged steel. He seemed far from pleased. He had not banked on
duelling his fiancé as part of the Auror curriculum.

Audrey berated most severely, "Language, Mr Malfoy. I will not have you
disrespect our Undersecretary." She would tolerate the mild use of profanity
but not directed at higher-ranking officials. After all, Malfoy was still
nothing more than a trainee, a gifted recruit without a shadow of a doubt,
but it would not do to cross that fine line despite their relationship off
Ministry grounds.

Hermione leaned in closer, let the tip of her wand dig into the underside of
his jaw and drawled huskily, "Do you accept?" His strong cologne
encompassed her, and she felt herself lean into the masculine fragrance.
Everyone, including Hannah and Audrey, was on pins and needles awaiting
Draco’s answer. He was a proud man and could be counted on to accept
such a frivolous request.

Draco ignored the many spectators and his supervisor's strict warning. His
hand snaked around Hermione's waist letting his fingers dig into her skin
over the material of her cotton blouse. He pulled her closer and whispered
so only she could hear, "I accept. To the victor go the spoils." His husky
tones caressed the shell of her ear, causing her eyes to close and resolve to
crumble momentarily. God's, he smelt sinfully divine. He held her close to
him and continued to speak, "You smell intoxicating. I meant to stop by and
speak with you, but I've hardly seen my bed over the last two days. Are you
okay?"

"I'm fine, Malfoy. You needn't worry yourself over my well-being,"

Hermione snapped back to reality. She pushed him away and shied away
from his public displays of affection even though he held on tight and
blatantly refused to let go. She had vastly misjudged the situation and
wished she had gone home instead.
Appalled by the outrageous behaviour, Audrey yelled in utter disbelief, "Mr
Malfoy, unhand her this instant. She might be your fiancé, but she is the
Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic in this room, and you will treat her
with the utmost respect." Another murmur of scandalous comments
travelled through the room. Most of the men among the trainees were taken
aback by the simple yet earth-shattering revelation.

Draco reluctantly let Hermione go with a satisfied smirk and apologised

profusely, "My apologies, Miss Audrey." His lips curved to form an almost
indecent smile before addressing Hermione, "Please forgive my behaviour,
Madam Undersecretary. Your enchanting presence causes my mind to go
blank and unfavourable thoughts to cloud my judgement."

Audrey frowned at the brazen comment, and Hannah rolled her eyes and
shook her head slowly, "For Merlin's sake."

Hermione smiled almost innocently, "Your apology is accepted, Mr

Malfoy."

Draco cracked his knuckles, moved his neck in a circular motion to loosen
the built-up tension and mused, "Are you sure about this, Granger?"

"Your overconfidence will be your downfall, Malfoy," she retorted calmly

and proceeded to do a few light warmup exercises to loosen some rarely
used muscles.

Draco pointed to the crowd staring at them intently and quipped, "I don't
want to embarrass you in front of all these people." Hermione piled her hair
into an unruly large bun on top of her head, letting a few roguish strands
hug her face and grinned, "Do your worst, Malfoy. You forget Mad-Eye
Moody taught us some valuable lessons before he passed." They turned
their backs on each other and proceeded to take the customary ten steps
before facing each other once again to start the duel. Audrey threw
Hermione a look of caution as the young witch took measured steps away
from Malfoy.

Malfoy was her most promising student. Still, Hermione didn't seem
bothered by his skills. Instead, she brushed it off and stood at the other end
on slightly parted high-heeled feet, watching Draco’s every move like a
lioness stalking its prey. A fire was burning within her brown eyes,
informing him that she wasn’t to be toyed with. It all happened in a split
second.

Without prior warning, Draco wiped his trusty wand over his head and, for
the sake of the many assembled observers, bellowed, "Expelliarmus!" It
wasn't required, but he decided to make a spectacle out of the moment.

Hermione anticipated the spell he would use. She was undoubtedly sure;
that he wouldn't use anything drastic for fear of harming her. This was a
one-spell duel, and he had wasted his chance of gaining a significant
advantage. With one poorly chosen incantation, he had already lost.

She saw the red streak of light coming towards her at lightspeed.
Undeterred, she smiled. As the spell was inches from colliding with her
body, she bent backwards gracefully, flattening herself entirely to the
ground to avoid being hit, before raising the hand equipped with her wand
and shooting a spell at an utterly flabbergasted, momentarily stunned Draco
Malfoy.

"Incarcerous," Hermione whispered, and it was uttered so quietly that most

would have thought she was adept at using wandless magic.

Her bun came loose, sending her wild mess of curls flying in every
direction. The Incarcerous spell conjured thick ropes from seemingly thin
air and tangled themselves around Draco, who hadn't had the time to move
out of harm's way though he saw the ropes approach his person. He spun
through the air, crashed into a row of chairs and landed a few feet away
from the mat.

The spell packed quite a punch, and the ropes tightened around his torso,
pinning his wand hand to his side, rendering him completely useless. He
groaned and struggled in vain to escape the ropes' incessant grasp. Hannah's
mouth fell agape. She was trying hard not to laugh and failing miserably.
Malfoy's flabbergasted reaction to Hermione's flexibility was priceless.
There was a brief moment of awkward silence while everyone struggled to
grasp what happened, but a round of thunderous applause followed. Draco
attempted to stand, but his imposing frame toppled unceremoniously with
an audible thud. He heard the distinct yet familiar sound of heels
approaching and a figure with a smug expression looming over him with
hands on her slender hips and hair falling over her face while he thrashed
about like a fish out of water.

"To the victor go the spoils," Hermione reminded him triumphantly and
rasped, "I will hold you to that, Malfoy. Make no mistake." There was no
remorse or signs of regret in her tone or behaviour.

Audrey strode over and patted Hermione heartily on the back, "Nicely
done, Granger. You haven't lost your touch."

She smirked at Draco, still tossing and twisting in discomfort on the cold
hard floor, with a smidge of disappointment but did nothing to help him out
of his dilemma.

Hermione smiled and smoothed her trousers, "I haven't had fun like that in a
while." She eyed the man struggling on the floor for a few more measly
seconds and expertly moved her wand over him, causing the ropes to
disappear, allowing him space to move freely. A steady trickle of blood ran
down his arm from where the cord had cut into his flesh.

Her eyes caught sight of the blood, and she flinched. Hermione hadn't
meant for things to go far, but a duel was a duel, and she had drawn first
blood and emerged victoriously. Draco would be lying to himself if he said
his ego wasn't dented, but more importantly, when had Granger transformed
from a graceless twat into a flexible Goddess? She was exceptionally…
bendy.

He managed to get to his feet in time to catch a glimpse of Hermione

walking out of the hall without a backwards glance with her head held high
and sashaying those delectable hips. At the same time, Hannah dutifully
trailed behind with an entertained expression.
An embarrassed blush crept up his pale cheeks, and he rubbed his neck
where the rope cut into the sensitive expanse of his pale flesh, leaving an
angry red mark for everyone to see—a mark of defeat from an incredibly
capable witch.

Dennis Creevy leered, "Pathetic." Draco flinched but largely ignored the
taunting remarks and went back to training. Their little jokes hardly affected
him.

Audrey clapped her hands loudly to get everyone's attention, "Well, now
that we've had our fair share of drama for the day, let's go back to more
important things like conjuring a fully-fledged Patronus."

Club Sanguis

The shrouded man adorned his Chimera mask embedded with blood rubies
and strode confidently into the club wearing a newly acquired grey suit and
shorter haircut. It was not uncommon for patrons to wear masks while
frequenting the club. It helped keep their identity a mystery from wagging
tongues. Some individuals could not afford to be caught in a gambling den
despite the high status of the establishment. Resting in his breast pocket was
a new wand gifted to him by Julius Avery. It was the ultimate show of
goodwill and loyalty, but he refrained from using it until he was ready to
reveal his true self to the world.

He entered the bowels of the exclusive club flanked by Gregory Goyle and
Graham Montague. More than a club, it was an elite organisation of the
finest wizarding families and prominent, influential members of society.
Luxuriously embroidered gold and red draperies hung from the ceiling
down to the floor while tables to suit every gambler's fantasy were
positioned strategically from each other.

The area was carpeted in the grandest Persian materials. Smartly dressed
witches and wizards circled the guests catering to their every whim and
serving complimentary champagne of the highest quality to their esteemed
guests. Many lounged in their seats with piles of Galleons, Sickles and
Knuts stacked before them. The stakes were always high at club Sanguis.
They passed the more refined surroundings of elegantly dressed socialites
boasting finery and precious jewels. Most acknowledged Goyle and
Montague but nearly all hurled sceptical and judgmental glances at the
masked man standing among them with an arrogant air of confidence.

Dressed in the finest black dress robes, Julius came forward with a broad
welcoming smile, slicked-back hair and authoritative demeanour, but he
cowered in the Master's presence. Julius's companion for the night, a lovely
well-groomed witch, smiled nervously and disappeared. She was known to
all and joined a lively game of Blackjack at a table nearby.

"My Lord, please follow me," Julius bowed respectfully and gestured with
his hand. The Master visited the club often and took an avid interest in the
notoriously renowned underground fight club. A single word wasn't
exchanged as Julius led the illustrious group of well-dressed men across the
length of the massive hall and into the darkness of the more undesirable
side of Sanguis. The club's name was a stroke of genius. The Latin word
loosely translated into blood and carnage. Not everyone was privileged to
witness the brutality that occurred in the shadows.

The sturdy protectors standing guard over the only entrance with their arms
crossed over their defined pectoral muscles snapped to attention at the
approaching group. Julius waved his hand wordlessly, dismissing them to
the side, pulled out his wand and uttered a single entry word. Each day the
password changed, and those who deserved to know were informed through
a sealed letter that appeared on their doorstep each morning. It was
enchanted, so only the member could see its true intent. To others, it seemed
to be a Muggle leaflet spreading useless propaganda.

Pushing the heavy metal door open, Julius stepped aside and let his Master
enter first, followed closely by Goyle and Montague. What greeted them
was a steel cage large enough to accommodate a pair of giants, and the
spacious arena was filled with what looked remarkably like soft pearls of
sea sand. A loud uproar of cheers filled the air as the spectators cheered on
their favourite combatants. Their dignity forgotten, they tossed Galleons in
the air and thundered jubilantly as the contestants continued to attack each
other with severe blows. It was predominantly male, but a few witches
yelled at the fighters and relished in the brutal act of flesh colliding with
flesh.

The use of cocaine was abundant and plain to see. Nearly every table had
neat strips laid out for consumption, which caused the Alpha King to frown
deeply. He did not encourage the use of drugs and had little patience for
those who partook. He never indulged in illegal Muggle substances, even as
a wizard. There was no predicting the aftereffects of such a potent drug.
Julius sensed his Master's disapproval and made a serious mental note to
restrict the use of drugs on his premises. He needed the Master's
unwavering support to accomplish his ultimate goal and would do anything
to achieve it.

Julius led the quiet but observant leader up a flight of stairs into a carpeted,
glass-enclosed VIP section and offered the masked man the most
prestigious seat in the house. They were served the finest scotch and treated
like visiting royalty. The Alpha King was impressed by his surroundings but
more so by the fighting taking place in the arena. The two massive beasts
battled incessantly, snarling and throwing each other against the metal bars
making it rattle and threaten to come loose. The deafening growls and
groans of the competitors surrounded them, and his inner wolf ached to be
let free to compete. It had been a while since he indulged in one-on-one,
hand-to-hand combat without the aid of magic. It was exhilarating to take a
life using one's bare hands.

Tonight's unlucky competitors were a dimwitted green-tinged troll and a

half-giant with bulging biceps, a long beard, and a braided ponytail. The
troll stumbled as a powerful uppercut from the half-giant caught him by
surprise. He spat out a mouthful of blood and swung his hands
maddeningly, hoping to make contact, but his opponent was quick on his
feet and landed a devastating blow to the head, sending the troll straight to
the floor.

There was a hiss of disapproval from the spectators that bid good money on
him to win, but he paled in comparison to the sheer strength demonstrated
by his opponent. He lay unconscious in a pool of his blood while the half-
giant celebrated his victory by pounding his chest and yelling incoherent
words that sounded distinctively Russian. He wasn't without injury, there
were nasty deep gashes down his front and back, but he was in considerably
better shape than the heavy-breathing, seemingly lifeless creature on the
floor.

An elaborately dressed wizard in sequined robes stepped reluctantly into the

ring, and his magnified voice reached the corners of the makeshift arena,
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner! The still undefeated champion,
The Wolf, Boris Volkov." Thunderous applause followed, and multiple
wizards rushed in to tend to the fallen troll and clear the area for the next
battle.

Goyle grabbed the rounded arse of a passing server girl and leered as she
moved away from his touch in disgust and discomfort and scurried away
from the large man, terrified. Julius would not tolerate such transparently
obnoxious behaviour. He grabbed Goyles wrist, twisted it backwards and
warned, "We must not touch what doesn't belong to us, Goyle. You will
treat my staff with respect or risk having your privileges revoked and balls
chopped off." He applied pressure and hissed menacingly, "Do I make
myself clear?"

With some difficulty, Goyle broke free from the painful hold and snarled,
"Abundantly.” He insisted crudely, “I like a woman to keep me company
while I watch the festivities." He was double his size at Hogwarts, with
thick hairy arms, broad shoulders and a thirst for causing others pain. He
could undoubtedly hold his own if it came down to a fight, but Julius Avery
was not a man to be bullied or taken lightly. It was rumoured the man
practised with the fighters and was considered a tough opponent.

Julius made his displeasure evident by sneering, "Then I suggest you bring
your wife the next time I extend an invitation. If there is a next time."
Montague held his tongue. The handsome wizard laughed mockingly and
sipped his scotch, savouring the smoky aftertaste. Next, two battle-worn
bare-chested wizards wearing silk boxing shorts and hands wrapped in
layers of tape and thin gauze strode into the ring of sorts and awaited
further instruction. They enthusiastically acknowledged the crowd chanting
their names, and did a few quick air punches. Still, it was abundantly clear
that they lacked formal training and solely depended on their basic skills to
stay alive. Each bore the serial mark of its owner.
A series of numbers were seared into the skin of their neck to signify
ownership. Fighters were branded like cattle for slaughter, except the
animals’ demise was much more humane. Human trafficking among the
elite was well concealed but rampant. None escaped their bittersweet
sentence, and though the DMLE had their suspicions long before Harry
took up the position, they had no hard evidence to make the complaint stick.
Most were petrified of speaking out since retribution would be swift and
unjust.

The blood sport emerged a few years after Voldemorts well deserved
demise. It had started small but expanded exponentially over the years to
include proper tournaments, and the reigning champion Boris Volkov was
of Russian descent and unbeatable. His half-giant blood made him a
formidable eight-foot-two opponent with bulging muscular forearms and a
passable IQ. Bouts featuring him hardly went two rounds, and he was
known for viciously beating his opponents unconscious. The beast enjoyed
the carnage he brought forth. Recruits were often orphans or unruly
individuals with no purpose and a hunger for blood. There were plenty if
you knew where to look.

The fights were not limited to England. Once Avery took over, he expanded
the operation across continents and competitors from across the globe
competed in the illegal sport. The winners were rewarded handsomely
while the losers were put through vicarious training if there was still
potential, sold to the highest bidder or discarded to fend for themselves in
what was adequately named Death Match. The owners cared little and
treated them as possessions to discard once they fulfilled their purpose, and
untimely deaths happened often. It was unrefined Muggle street fighting at
its very best, and the widely proclaimed Alpha King ignored the petty
ramblings of his followers and stared intently at the men fighting for their
lives and the spectators that thrived on it. He was reminded of the gladiators
in the colosseum who risked their lives to entertain and satisfy the Roman
Emperor and mob. The smell of fresh blood being spilt and bones breaking
made it to his nose and fine hearing. He inhaled deeply and relished its
pungent odour.
However, he took great interest in the fighters. If they showed such
promising potential in human form, they would make powerful and
formidable werewolves. He was always on the lookout for worthy recruits
to add to his pack. It suited his plans for world dominance. His strength lay
in numbers and, most importantly, skill.

A satisfied "Ahh" left his almost wolfish lips. His tongue moved over his
teeth greedily in anxious anticipation.

"My Lord?" Avery questioned at once, sensing his Master's discomfort. On

most days, he wished he had his father by his side. It was a minor miracle
that Senior Avery’s mind was still intact, considering the monsters that
lurked within Azkaban. Julius vowed to free his ageing father from his
gruesome fate. It was that single thought that fuelled his determination.

The distinct sound of bones breaking made it to their sensitive hearing, and
an uproar of cries filled the volatile space. A splatter of hot blood coated the
cage walls, and some seeped through the cracks in the glass, but no one
bothered to stop the bout. They watched in intense fascination as the
fighters pounded each other into an unrecognisable mess of blood and gore.

Hermione sat up straight atop her duvet with one leg tucked under and
stared at the sparkling ring on her finger. It shifted colour and turned
turquoise to accommodate her faltering mood. She was tired and wore
unflattering cotton knickers and a figure-hugging strappy top to suit the
weather. It was a humid night, unlike the rest, and she dressed skimpily to
allow her body to breathe and not drown in sweat.

It was half past two AM, and she had been woken from a seemingly
peaceful slumber by the cackling cunt that took up permanent residence in
her head.

Bellatrix chuckled, "We need to talk, Mudblood." Her voice was magnified
and echoed.

Hermione held on to her head and gritted out in annoyance, "Fuck off, you
mad bitch." She didn't need her mind playing games on her during these
trying times.

The once-dark witch gushed, "I know you miss me. After all, I am your
voice of reason."

Hermione refuted, "You are nothing but a dead nuisance. Leave me alone."
Surprisingly Bellatrix's presence was oddly mellow and entirely out of
character.

Bellatrix cackled. Her high-pitched deranged laughter was irritating, but it

bounced off the walls of Hermione's fragile mind, "You know you're not
worthy of him." This again? Would she not fucking let up?

Hermione quipped with dripping sarcasm, "These repetitive words of yours

are getting rather tiresome." She felt like she was talking to the Muggle
therapist who diagnosed her with acute PTSD.

Was there such a thing as acute PTSD? After much research, Hermione
concluded it existed and that it could last for a period of six months or more
in more drastic cases. It was nearly ten years since she first heard Bellatrix's
tormenting voice in her head. It was safe to say that she was well past acute
PTSD. Her alter ego was capable of overpowering and snuffing the life out
of her on a whim.

Bellatrix sneered while dancing as a child would around the seemingly

empty space Hermione imagined, "Nonetheless, it is the truth, you filthy
whore." Hermione wondered if her fine upbringing did not involve dance
lessons.

A dangerous thought planted itself deep in her mind. Hermione's features

contorted unpleasantly, and the true sinister nature of her thoughts clouded
her amber eyes. She leered, "Watch me make your darling nephew my
bitch. I will make him love me before we are through. Consider it a
payment for maiming me." She pointed to her arm where healed yet carved
deep gashes were visible and snarled, "This word gives me strength. I'm
proud to be a Mudblood."
Bellatrix grew wide-eyed and panicked, "Draco will see right through your
antics. He's not a fool like Weasley or Potter."

Hermione threw her head back in maniacal laughter, and she sounded
distinctively like the deceased witch who sliced the hated word into her
arm, "Don't you see, Bellatrix? Malfoy deserves to be humiliated and
belittled as he did me. I will make his nightmares a reality and remind him
of how utterly useless he is."

Bellatrix laughed sinisterly, "You are quite devious to use love as a tool for
humiliation. I almost wish you were pureblood. What a glorious Slytherin
you would have been!"

Slytherin? What was happening? Hermione shook herself awake and found
that she was sitting upright with no recollection of getting into that position.
Her lips trembled, and she took deep breaths to calm herself and her rapidly
beating heart. It was the dormant, more damaged part of her psyche
speaking out.

The dangerous part she kept hidden from the world but never in a million
years would she knowingly trick Malfoy into a loving relationship only to
sever their connection once it fulfilled her purpose. Despite how utterly
tempting it was to dole out a dose of his own medicine, she wouldn't sink to
his previous level of horridness, or would she?

Her head fell into her hands in despair, and manicured nails scraped her
scalp as they searched for an answer and ran through her knotted hair. The
ring turned black, mirroring her mixed dark feelings and thoughts. The
beautiful piece of jewellery Malfoy presented her with emitted a solid green
light that encased her and washed over her soothingly, almost forbidding
her thoughts of possibly hurting their rightful owner.
 Chapter 52
Chapter Notes

A HUGE THANK YOU to everyone who posted a review and

everyone following! It means so much! :)

This is a fun chapter based on friendship, banter and fun—trigger

warning for the bit about Sarah and The Dollhouse Strangler. Things
have taken a drastic turn where their story is concerned.

I do love exploring the thoughts and situations of the side characters.

In my opinion, it adds a certain value to the story, and it's always great
to read about how everyone is dealing with each situation.

Please read and review. I love reading reviews because it helps

motivate my writing, while other reviews help me become a better
writer.

Enjoy Chapter Fifty-two!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me. It helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Saturday - Shopping with Ginny and a much-needed girls' night out

amidst the chaos.

Hermione bundled up and weathered the coldness that seeped through her
many layers of clothing. The seasons were changing and heading towards a
brutal winter.

Hannah moved behind a large potted plant Ginny kept on the side as a poor
attempt at decoration. Leaning against the wall, she pulled out a box of
matches, striking the longish red-tipped wooden stick twice before she
succeeded in lighting the cigarette that nestled snugly between her lips.
"You know that's bad for you," Hermione peered at her friend puffing away
without a care in the world through the gaps in the plant's leaves and
scolded her with a frown forming on her face.

Deliberately, Hannah took a deep drag and skillfully blew smoke rings. She
grinned and looked upon her nicotine buddy in fascination and fondness,
"So I've been told."

Hermione knew a lost cause when she saw one. She scoffed, purposely
ignored her bodyguard and knocked on the door, but it swung open,
creaking as it did.

Taking out her wand, Hermione strode confidently yet cautiously, leaving
the door open if she needed to make a quick exit. She hung up her coat
before proceeding down the hallway. Harry would never leave the door
open haphazardly.

It was unusually quiet, but without halting, she walked the length of the
corridor that led to the sizable kitchen and sighed in immense relief as her
beloved best friend’s unkempt black locks greeted her. Harry looked up
from the paper he was reading and smiled warmly.

Throwing her arms open wide in a grand gesture, Hermione announced,

“I'm here as commanded.” She glanced over her shoulder and questioned,
“Why was the front door open?”

“Good morning. You look lovely," Harry put down the Quibbler and
beckoned her in. He slapped his forehead, “Shit. I let the owl out and forgot
to close it, I guess.”

He looked about and inquired with a raised brow, "Where's Abbott? You
haven't dismissed her, have you?" Not that she had the authority to override
Kingsley’s orders, but he wouldn't put it past Hermione to try.

Hermione frowned and grumbled, “Relax. She’s outside having a quick

smoke. Does she have to be here? It's Saturday. Give her one day off at
least, Potter.”
Taking a sip of his tea, Harry shook his head and countered, “No! Would
you rather I send Malfoy instead?”

A look of mock contempt caused Hermione’s pleasant features to contort.

She hissed in a menacing undertone, “I hate you.” Harry chuckled, “You
love me, Granger. You know very well I’m doing this for your own good.”

Hermione waved her hand dismissively, Yeah, I know!”

She looked around the seemingly empty kitchen and inquired, “Where's
your better half? She wanted to go shopping, and when I called earlier, she
was getting ready.” They had planned this shopping excursion days ago.
When she had called Ginny, it was clear from her tone that she was looking
forward to spending a few hours away from the responsibilities of being a
wife and mother, even though her tone held a well-concealed level of
hesitancy.

Harry bit into a sizable piece of jam-smeared toast and managed to say
between mouthfuls, “Ginny's upstairs. She's writing instructions on how I
should look after my son.” He added the last part with obvious humorous
resentment.

Hermione plopped herself down on the nearest chair and giggled, “Yeah,
that makes perfect sense. You are about as useless as a garden gnome.”

Harry cried in outrage at the blatant accusation that he could not look after
his son, “Steady on! I can look after James perfectly fine on my own.” That
wasn't entirely true. Since he was old enough to communicate, he could
handle Teddy on his own, but James wasn't quite there yet, and it terrified
him to be left unsupervised with his son.

“What time is Molly coming over?” Hermione asked with a thoroughly

amused expression.

Slamming the paper down on the table, Harry gave Hermione his undivided
attention and quipped with dripping sarcasm, “I resent that you think I'm
incapable.” He cleared his throat, averted his gaze and admitted sheepishly,
"Ahem, she should be here shortly."
Hermione shook her head and laughed aloud. She helped herself to a piece
of toast and smeared it generously with a helping of Ginny's homemade
strawberry jam.

There was a loud thud and the sound of heavy boots echoing through the
passageway. Hannah poked her head into the kitchen and grinned, “Good
morning, boss.” She had visited Grimmauld Place once many years ago.

It had been Harry’s birthday if she recalled correctly. Her memories of that
particular night were hazy, considering she had gotten horribly drunk, and
Michael and Terry had seen her back to her place and tucked her into bed.
Good blokes.

She stepped onto the wooden floor, looked around and took in the many
framed family pictures and a large portrait with a gold-plated thick frame
and curtain covering whoever was depicted. It piqued her interest.

Harry followed her glance and barrelled into explanation, “That's Sirius
Black's darling mother. She's a nasty piece of work and loves to impart her
wisdom on bloody purity on our guests.”

He threw the painting a pure look of loathing, “The permanent sticking

charm is impenetrable. The old bag ensured she would remain on the wall
for many years to come.” When they first moved in, they tried everything to
have it removed or subdued, but unfortunately, nothing worked, and at odd
moments, the stubborn woman would scream bloody murder and hurl
insults at whoever was closest.

Hannah nearly tiptoed after hearing the explanation, soundlessly pulled a

chair out and whispered before sitting down, “Ah, I'll be sure to keep it
down, boss.” Hermione stifled a laugh, “You needn't walk around eggshells.
If we’re lucky, she's fast asleep or visiting another portrait.”

Harry nodded in agreement, sat up straight and instructed candidly,

“Hannah, you can drop the boss bit. We were friends before colleagues.” He
gestured to the mountain of toast and many choices of spreads ranging from
jam and marmalade to slightly melted butter and invited, “Do you want
some breakfast?”
Hannah perked up and accepted wholeheartedly, “Aye. I could go for a cup
of tea and a slice of buttered toast.” She pointed to Hermione and quipped,
"This one's fridge is bare. Honestly, there's nothing in it except for ice."

Hermione was indignant. She defended fiercely, “That's a bloody lie. I have
food.” She was lying through her teeth. Her fridge and cupboard were bare
of any nutritious food and essentials. To be fair, she hadn't planned on
entertaining a houseguest. That had been thrust upon her against her will.

“Ramen noodles do not count as food, Hermione.” Hannah countered with a

distinctive snicker.

Hermione opened her mouth to stress her point further, but the old dormant
hearth came to life, and Molly Weasley stepped out of the fireplace, dusted
her floral orange print gown and beamed at them. She was red in the face,
and instantly her motherly warmth spread to the corners of the room.

Molly wiped her sweat-coated brow and dropped her large, heavy tote
handbag on the table. It landed with a loud clunk, sending specks of dust
into the air and making the contents within rattle audibly.

She turned her attention to Hermione and gushed, “Hermione! How are
you, darling?”

Hermione sprang to her feet, hugged Molly tightly, and replied

enthusiastically, “Good thanks, Molly and yourself?” She realised that she
missed the Weasley matriarch and her encouraging words and infectious
smile.

Having Molly as a mother-in-law was possibly the one regret she⁷

harboured about her break-up with Ron. Not that Narcissa would be any
less of a wonderful mother-in-law. The thought entered her mind without
hesitation, and she couldn't help but smile at the recollection of Malfoy and
his love for his mother.

Molly frowned at the nearly empty pot of tea and took it upon herself to fill
it up. She pulled out her wand and waved it over the empty cups, and within
mere seconds steady spirals of steam wound their way towards the ceiling.
She smiled fondly at Hermione and replied with a hand on her back,
“Growing old, my dear. The aches and pains have become frequent.” She
gave the neglected Quibbler on the table a nod of approval and said in
contempt, “I'm glad to see you haven't let the vultures from The Prophet
bring you down.”

She carried empty plates to the sink and informed with a smug expression,
“I gave a piece of my mind to the Prophet’s newspaper seller. You know, the
one stationed near that fancy Italian coffee place.” It was a pure coincidence
that she and Andromeda had run into the stand, and it was pretty
unfortunate for the young man handling it.

Molly let out a hearty chuckle, “Scared the poor boy out of his wits.” She
was exceedingly pleased with her actions of publically voicing her opinion.

Hannah bobbed her head in agreement and bestowed a look of awe upon
Molly. The words slipped out before she could stop them, “Good on you,
Mrs Weasley. Bloody bastards at the Prophet have no moral or ethical
values.” Hannah knew Molly Weasley as a legend. The fierce mother and
housewife had single-handedly defeated one of the most dangerous witches
to grace their generation, Bellatrix LeStrange.

Molly focused on the pretty blonde newcomer among them and said, “Oh,
hello, dear. I don't believe we've met.” However, the young witch looked
familiar, but Molly struggled to put a name to the face.

Hannah grew exceedingly nervous at being spoken to directly and choked

on the gulp of tea she had taken. Molly patted her gently on the back, and
Hannah surfaced, spluttering yet unscathed and embarrassed by her
childlike behaviour.

“You've met Hannah, Molly, but years ago when we were just children,”
Harry offered after Hannah gathered herself to resume breakfast. Molly
grew thoughtful and smiled, “Perhaps. Welcome, dear. Would you like
another cup of tea?”

“Yes, please,” Hannah replied with a warm smile. Hermione held the warm
cup of tea with both hands, stared into the contents and said solemnly, “You
shouldn't have bothered yourself with my nonsense, Molly.”

Molly argued pointedly, “Nonsense? I think not. You are every bit my
daughter, Hermione and don't you forget it in a hurry. I will not tolerate
such abuse against you.” She would always consider Hermione a vital part
of the family and treated her very much as a second daughter.

Initially, the breakup had dented her fragile heart since she had long
sheltered a desire to have Hermione as a beloved daughter-in-law. Still, she
understood why they went their separate ways, and despite all that had
transpired, she was forced to admit Tracey was a decent match for Ron even
though he was yet to realise it himself. She hoped he would before it was
too late.

Hermione choked back a sob and struggled to string coherent words

together without sounding like a sap, but before she could, Molly smiled
rather devilishly and teased, “Draco had some decent things to say about
you.”

Hannah snorted and ignored the look of mortification that spread hastily
across Hermione’s face.

She groaned, her head in her hands, "You read the interview too?" Harry
pursed his lips and refrained from sharing his thoughts.

Amused by Hermione's reaction Molly chuckled and then became serious,

“Of course, I did! He's grown into quite the lad. His answers were pleasing
but also rather shocking.” She subscribed and read Witch Weekly magazine
without fail and, in this particular instance, had read Draco’s answers twice
before she proceeded to analyse them.

The last thing she wanted was for Hermione to be hoodwinked and
heartbroken. She came to the shuddering conclusion that his answers
seemed genuine.

Ginny emerged wearing a flattering pair of tight jeans and a purple silk
shirt, a stark yet empowering contrast against her hair. She held onto
James's hand as she led the toddler into the kitchen and mused, "That's
because he's falling in love with our Golden Girl."

By gagging, Harry made his presence known, "I've just had my breakfast. I
doubt Malfoy is capable of loving anyone but himself. The git." He patted
James fondly on the head while the child took a seat and awaited his
morning fruit and oats. Ginny gave Molly a quick peck on the cheek,
poured fresh milk into a tall glass and refuted, “That's seventeen-year-old
you talking, Harry. The man seems reformed.”

Molly walked over to James and hugged him tight, “Oh, my little
munchkin. Look how much you’ve grown.” Ginny rolled her eyes, “Mum,
let's not be dramatic. You saw him recently.” Molly ignored her only
daughter and continued to smother her grandchild with kisses while he
giggled uncontrollably.

Clearly, Harry was not done expressing his opinion, and his harsh comment
cut through the joyous moment, “Seeing is believing, and I will reserve my
judgement for later. Men like Malfoy don't just up and change, Ginny.
Arrogance and deadly intent run through his veins.”

Hannah felt compelled to defend Malfoy, “That's all a bit harsh, don't you
think, Harry?” True, he was her partner, and she trusted him but most
importantly, she could feel and see a considerable difference in him. Does
his past unequivocally define a man? In Malfoy’s case, everyone simply
assumed the worst of him because of his former conceited self, but the
Draco she knew was a considerate human being willing to lend a helping
hand to those in need.

Hermione avoided eye contact and played with her fingers nervously. The
pad of her thumb moved in a soothing motion over her engagement ring.
She wasn't keen on the conversation but couldn't hold back the contempt
that laced her words, “Harry is right, Hannah. You don't know the half of
our morbid past with Malfoy.” She made air quotes and quipped
sarcastically, "The so-called Slytherin Prince." What an utterly pathetic
name. His actions were anything but princely, even if his face suited the
part.
“People are capable of change, and it would be in everyone's best interests
if you two came to terms with that,” Molly advised firmly with a slight
smile. Her statement made Harry stiffen and uncomfortable, but it was not
enough for him to change his opinion. Meanwhile, Hermione grew
conflicted and gazed intently at her engagement ring. Could Molly be right?

Ignoring the two best friends who shared a popular opinion about Malfoy,
no doubt Ginny spotted Hannah and squealed in delight, “Hannah! It's been
forever!” Hannah got to her feet, hugged Ginny and raved, “It has been
ages.” Her eyes roved over the pretty woman before her with flowing red
hair and gushed, “You look lovely, Ginny. It's good to see you again.”

Ginny smiled, “Um, likewise.” She pointed to Hermione hovering in the

background by the sink and asked, “Will you be joining us?”

Hannah sat back down, resumed eating her half-eaten plate of scrambled
eggs Molly had graciously prepared and chuckled, “Yeah, Granger and I are
joined at the hip these days.” Now there was an image to garner the interest
of most men, and she wasn’t wrong since Harry turned beet red as impure
thoughts invaded his mind against his wishes, and he coughed loudly to
hide his obvious discomfort.

“It hasn’t been half bad,” Hermione admitted with a slight smile while
wiping her wet hands on a dish rag that rested on top of the table. Hannah
slapped her knee and laughed aloud as the memory of Draco flopping about
like a fish on the Auror training floor came to mind, “Aye! She floored
Malfoy in Auror training yesterday. That was epic.”

Hermione paled and threw Hannah a look of loathing. Bloody bigmouth!

Did she have to announce it to the world?

Harry spilt his tea down the front of his shirt and cried in disbelief,
“What!?” Molly rushed to her son-in-law’s aid and helped him clean the
mess while Ginny glanced curiously at Hermione, fuming and refusing to
acknowledge the many eyes on her and encouraged Hannah, “Go on! Tell
us what happened.”
Molly placed a bowl of cut fruit in front of James and asked with interest,
“That sounds rather interesting.” Hermione rolled her eyes and gave James
her undivided attention. He was oblivious to the commotion and the only
one with a good head resting on his shoulders.

Hannah ignored Hermione and the dirty looks and informed the group, keen
on hearing what happened, “She challenged Malfoy to a duel.”

Ginny gasped and poked Hermione in the arm, “You did not!” However,
Harry found nothing amusing about the situation and scolded, “What were
you thinking?”

Hermione tossed a juicy piece of apple into her mouth and scoffed, “I
clearly wasn't.” Merlin knew she hadn’t planned on challenging him to
anything. It just sort of happened in the heat of the moment. She wasn’t one
to admit it out loud, but the fact that she could overpower Malfoy was
immensely satisfying.

Hannah grew wide-eyed with excitement and raved, “She was incredible.
She shot an Incarcerous at him, and the idiot stood there like a doe caught
in headlights. It was hilarious.”

“He was bleeding, Hannah,” Hermione said with a deep frown. She hadn’t
intended to hurt him. Besides, it was barely a scratch. He would
undoubtedly live. It was nothing for one to lose sleep over though she
pondered on it and wondered if he was astronomically livid with her.

Hannah grew equally serious and argued, “Oh, he’ll live, Granger. He's my
partner, and surprisingly, I'm fond of his blonde arse, but the cocky git
deserved it. He wasn't expecting something like that from you, but you
taught him a lesson he won't forget in a hurry.” She chuckled and added in a
carrying voice, “And when you bent backwards to avoid his spell. Oh
Merlin, his face!”

Ginny listened intently to Hannah from the sidelines but kept her gaze on
Hermione. Her fidgety body language spoke volumes about her true
feelings on the matter.
Harry was not subtle in his approach and made his displeasure abundantly
clear, “Backwards? What the hell were you doing at Auror training?”

Ginny finally spoke up with a raised quizzical brow, “I thought Malfoy was
gifted?”

Unexpectedly, Hermione answered without hesitation, “He is rather

talented. Draco held back Ginny. It wouldn't have looked good if he
accidentally murdered me.” She had witnessed his skills, and despite
herself, Hermione was forced to admit that Malfoy was indeed talented and
would make a fine addition to the team of highly trained Aurors.

She covered Harry's resting hand on the table with hers and smiled, “I let
my personal feelings on the matter cloud my judgement. You were right to
hire him, Harry.”

Hannah maintained, “Bollocks. He wasn't holding back, Granger. You were

the better duelist.”

Harry couldn’t help the smug retort that effortlessly left his lips, “It's going
to be awkward seeing him after that, won't it?” If he knew anything about
Malfoy, it was that he was a proud man and being defeated by a person he
considered beneath him in the past would put a sizable dent in his ego.

Ginny saw the opportune moment to voice her raging inner thoughts. Over
the last few days, she had been plagued with severe doubts about their
upcoming trip to Hawaii, “I don't think going away in this current situation
is wise, Harry. There's a rogue werewolf and serial killer wreaking havoc,
and you have so much on your plate. It would be incredibly selfish of me to
leave you to look after James.”

Harry reassured, “It's two days, Gin. I'm sure it'll be fine. You need this
break.” Molly nodded in agreement, “Listen to Harry, love. Besides, I will
watch James at the Burrow while Harry is at work, and I plan on asking
Andromeda to bring Teddy around. The children will have a lovely time.
You needn’t worry yourself.” She grabbed Ginny by the shoulders, softened
her gaze and insisted, “Go. You used to travel with Harpies frequently back
in the day.”
“That was different, mum,” Ginny answered, gazing at James lovingly.
Sure, back then, she had travelled almost every month for away games and
had a jolly time with her teammates. It seemed as if a lifetime had passed
since then. Even though she got complimentary tickets to every match, she
could never bring herself to go for fear of missing her old life too much.

Hermione swapped a look of concern with Ginny and included, “Ginny has
a point, Harry. I've been giving it a lot of thought, and it might be best to
skip this one. It's not mandatory. We can always go some other time.
Hopefully, after this madness, you can join by then.”

Harry rolled his eyes at the stubbornness and argued, “Not you too. The
best thing for you is to be away from England. Besides, Malfoy is going
along, so you'll be well protected.” Hannah, who listened intently, asked
suddenly, “Why does he get to go to Hawaii?” She felt it was rather unfair
that Malfoy was being sent on his protection detail to an exotic destination
while she dogged around boring old London.

Harry shifted in his seat uncomfortably and answered somewhat meekly,

“Well, it was a Slytherin proposed trip. Malfoy has little choice but to go
unless I refuse to grant him leave, and even I’m not that cruel.” He grew
thoughtful and requested, “I am sorry, Hannah, but do you want to go?” It
honestly slipped his mind that Hannah would want to accompany Hermione
to Hawaii because of Malfoy’s imminent presence.

Hannah thought long and hard and concluded that her presence might not
be tolerated, so she did the most logical thing and refused, “It sounds grand
to holiday at the Ministry’s expense, but I don't want to be a third sodding
wheel.” It sounded like a proper couples retreat, and she wondered what
possessed Ginny to agree to go.

Right on cue, Ginny injected with a firm, “Nonsense, you can hang about
with me, Hannah.” Hermione smiled, “And me. Come on. It’ll be fun,
Abbott.” Ginny teased, “Not if Malfoy has anything to say about it.”

Harry scolded, “Can we not speak further about Draco Malfoy?”

Hannah shook her head and added thoughtfully, “You lot go ahead. I can
use the time to go over the Dollhouse Strangler case. I know there's
something there, and I've missed it.” Her words mirrored her frustration
over the case. She was sure the answer was staring at them in the face, but
the trick was to find it, and Hannah was determined to locate Sarah with her
pulse intact.

Harry declared, “It's settled,” Molly concurred and put Ginny’s mind at
ease, “Don't worry, darling. We will just fine, won't we, James?” James
nodded in agreement and stuffed finely sliced pieces of succulent pear into
his mouth.

“But…” Hermione started to say.

Harry was having none of it, “But nothing. It's just for the weekend, don't
make me go to Kingsley. The Minister is returning later, and you needn't
bother pleading your case.”

She further pleaded, “Don't you need my help?” They required every skilled
witch and wizard within the Ministry to pull their weight, and she could
hardly do that while sipping Pina Coladas and tanning on the warm sandy
beaches of Hawaii.

Harry smiled slightly and responded, “You are doing more than your share
of work, Hermione. Besides, with the current threat on your life, you can
hardly walk into Knockturn Alley and start speaking to shady buggers. We
need you safe and sound.”

There was a distinctive edge to his voice that made Hermione

uncomfortable. She moodily sank lower in her chair and mused, “I could if
I wanted to.”

Ginny pulled out a neatly written list on a piece of parchment from the back
pocket of her jeans and held it out for Molly to take. Molly stared at the
paper perplexed, and Ginny explained calmly, “Okay, mum. Here's a list of
things to do with James while I'm out.”
Molly bemused, “Blimey! I've raised seven fairly good children, including
Charlie, Ron and the twins, and I won't be needing the likes of this.” She
snatched the paper from Ginny’s hand, tore it in half and tossed the
shredded remnants into the bin before shooting a look of disapproval at
Ginny. She hurriedly picked James up and carried him off to the next room.

Ginny sprang into action. She had misjudged the situation. What was she
thinking, handing instructions to her mother? It called for an early demise.
She grabbed Hermione’s arm and pulled her towards the exit with a
panicked, “Let's leave, shall we?”

Hermione stifled a laugh but let herself be dragged, and Hannah followed
close behind before Molly came around to yell at them. She stuffed her face
with the remaining toast and called out, “See you later, Harry.”

The three women walked hurriedly down the street taking care not to bump
into Muggles. Once they rounded the corner, Ginny relaxed and took a few
deep breaths to calm her rattled nerves. Before they left, her mother's
murderous expression was enough to send a shiver down her spine.

Hermione teased, “Do you have a death wish, Ginny? What possessed you
to present parental instructions to Molly?”

Ginny shrugged and laughed heartily, “Obviously, I was thinking through

my arse.”

Hannah stifled a laugh and asked with a raised brow, “Where do you ladies
want to go first?”

In a secluded part of London away from prying eyes.

The sadist breezed into the room in high spirits, “Good morning, my
darling. What a fabulous morning, don't you think?” Sarah could barely see
out of her swollen, bruised eyes, but she managed a crooked smile. After
the disastrous incident of meeting his mummified mother, he punished her
by forcing himself upon her countless times and emptying his vile seed into
her body with the high hopes of impregnating her.
What would happen if he succeeded? She could never love or care for a
child conceived by such malicious intent. Would he force her to give birth
at home or risk visiting St Mungos? Home births could result in a multitude
of complications and perhaps in a twisted way that would bode well for her,
and she could escape his monstrous clutches. She would greet death with
open arms and leave this cruel world behind.

He carried a tray burdened with a largish bowl filled to the brim with a hot
substance and a plate with a few buns. She could tell from the aromatic
smell that it was a broth of some kind—her daily nourishment. Sarah bit the
insides of her cheek, held back the tears and hoped her parents were well,
but she knew they wouldn't stop looking for her. At least with her
foreseeable death, they would be able to have some closure.

The man moved the longish hair strands out of his face exposing his
grotesque scar, and beamed, except the happiness never quite reached his
eyes, “Mother forgives you. She would like me to tell you that she finds you
very pretty.” He forced her to sit up despite the pain and continued to feed
her soup. It tasted awful and lacked salt, but he overlooked her face twisted
in disgust.

Sarah muttered half-heartedly, "Thank you." She did so to appease him

since her body couldn't go through another night of abuse. He would kill
her by forcing his antics on her by prolonging the inevitable to suit his
unhealthy infatuation. The man tried to smile and appeared remorseful for
his actions. He had sworn never to hurt those who mattered to him as his
mother did, and in a twisted fate of circumstances, he had turned out much
worse than her, but at least he was sorry and wanted nothing more than to
make amends.

Besides, it was her damn fault. He would not have beaten her if she hadn't
screamed and embarrassed him in front of his mother. He kept aside the
bowl of soup, pulled out a black velvet box and smiled, "I have something
for you." It was meant as a grand gesture, but the woman he presented it to
was stark naked with visible bruises littered across her body and bloodshot
eyes, and what looked remarkably like the remnants of dried semen on the
inward skin of her thighs.
He fought the bile that rose and composed himself by looking away for a
few minutes. Closing his eyes, he thought back to the beauty she was before
he abducted her and willed his raging thoughts to settle. Once he composed
himself, he turned to face Sarah lying in a fetal position looking at him
through pained eyes. He opened the box and revealed an exquisite diamond
ring. There wasn't a need to propose. He knew she would say yes. They
were destined to be together until their dying days.

It was a sizable jewel, and Sarah was shocked he could afford one. She had
always assumed him to be poor and squandering away in poverty, judging
by his mediocre fashion sense and surroundings. Every bit of furniture
around them was weathered and outdated, yet he maintained a clean home
except where she was concerned.

His voice bore into her thoughts as he answered the questions she was
thinking. He took the ring out, and it sparkled as the light bounced off its
clear-cut surface, “It belonged to my mother. She insisted I give it to you.
We were well off, you know? My father was quite wealthy, and so was my
mother. Until my father kicked her out and treated her like scum, she never
got over his treatment of her, and she had no choice but to sell her valuables
and move into this dump.” He recalled a time they lived in splendour in the
capital of Russia.

He knew his father was an important man from a young age but a scoundrel
and womaniser who tormented his mother for sport and pleasure. He saw an
assortment of women parade around the mansion, and most would sneer at
him, put on their thick fur coats and leave, never to be seen again. When his
magical abilities failed to manifest, his mother took to drinking, and his
father beat and belittled them whenever he saw fit.

He looked around the room, and his good eye took in the peeling paint and
dampness, “This house was gifted to her by parents who considered her a
great disappointment because of her failed marriage but mainly because
of…me. They hated me on sight.” In anger, he knocked a cracked vase to
the floor and snarled, “The bastards never gave me a chance. They turned
my mother against me and made me into a monster. The sacred twenty-
eight! I hate the lot of them.”
Unable to move, Sarah watched the drastic personality change of her
abductor in both fear and sadness. Undoubtedly, he had suffered at the
hands of his loved ones. He started to walk towards her, and she lay
perfectly still, closed her eyes and surrendered to whatever horror that
would follow. What happened next surprised her. She felt his hand move
gently over her hair, but still, she kept her eyes closed, but when he sat
down on the soiled bed and took her hand in his, she bolted up and tried to
pry her hand away from his grasp for fear he would break her fingers.

Unfazed by her sudden movements to get away, he took her left hand,
isolated her ring finger, slowly slipped on the ring and gushed, “It looks
good on you, darling.” He kissed her hand, cupped her face and said with
enough emotional conviction, “I love you, Sarah.”

She looked into his eyes. One was burnt away, but you could see the outline
of a chocolate brown iris moving within. His good eye watched her reaction
intently. Sarah stared at the unwanted ring in disgust and fascination and
replied in compulsion, "I love you too." She realised she had no idea what
his name was.

He touched a purplish angry bruise and mumbled, “How are you feeling?
He could bring barely bring himself to look at her. His handy work was a
crushing reality of the pain he had inflicted upon her—a woman he
apparently loved.

Sarah shied away from his touch, whimpered, contorted with the jolts of
pain shooting through her legs and croaked, “Tired.” His features softened,
and he requested shyly, “Would you like to watch a movie?”

Hardly able to believe the words he uttered, she whispered, her words
barely audible, “What?” He smiled innocently like an excited teenager and
said, “I picked up a movie. It's got rave reviews.” He spoke to her so
casually and innocently despite being battered, shackled and naked on a
dirty bed with his release spread across her thighs. She was getting
whiplash by his many mood swings and personalities, but for the oddest
reason of seeming normal, Sarah found herself agreeing, “I would like to
watch a movie.”
The man was pleased by her obedience and smiled broadly, “Wonderful. I’ll
go get it.” He turned to leave, but her bare body distracted him and caused
him to frown, “I think it's time to wear clothes. I can't have my fiancé naked
and catching the eye of every pervert on the streets.” It was an ironic choice
of word. Pervert. It suited him well.

After fetching a long baggy white t-shirt and a pair of underwear that he
had outgrown, he returned. Sarah tried to sit up, but her movements were
restricted by the hated handcuff that held her in place. Her self-proclaimed
fiancé saw her plight and rushed to her assistance, but before he unchained
her, he gave a dire warning, “There is a more painful experience than death,
my love. Try to escape, and I will introduce you to a wonderful new world.
Nod if you understand me, darling.” Sarah trembled and nodded slowly. He
gave a toothy grin, “Good girl. Now hold still.”

Taking the key out of his pocket, he wedged it into the tight keyhole and
gave it a firm wiggle before the lock snapped, and the handcuffs fell off her
person and onto the bed. Sarah shot it a look of disgust as if she was
regarding a living being and blamed it for her imprisonment. Perhaps, she,
too, was losing her mind. He helped her into the simple garments and
declared sheepishly, “I will buy you some flattering clothes.” He knew her
to be a stylish woman, and it was imperative that she remained happy with
him after their marriage.

Sarah tugged at the shirt and struggled to stay on her feet. They hurt far too
much. Her knees gave out, and she collapsed, but a pair of strong hands
caught her and saved her from perhaps a nasty fall. Not that it mattered, she
was an unrecognisable mess.

He led her into the living room towards an old-fashioned bluish sofa that
belonged in the sixties and forced her to sit down. Her heart fluttered, and
her eyes memorised the neat surroundings and lingered on the door that
undoubtedly led outside. She was distracted by an overflowing bowl of
popcorn, and its smell made her unconsciously swallow her spit greedily.

The man approached a modest television set and battered VHS player and
popped the cassette into the rectangular space allocated for it. It felt surreal
to be playing the perfect couple when the harsh reality of her abduction
weighed down on her at every waking moment. It was a minor miracle that
she could stomach his presence.

The TV came to life, and Sarah jolted and stared hard as the picture came to
life and scenes moved in front of them. She shielded her eyes at first
because the brightness hurt her sensitive corneas, but the man coaxed her
into watching by offering her buttered popcorn, which she devoured by the
handful and savoured the salty taste. She heeded his advice and gave in for
a measly hour.

It was an intense American psychological horror where a young F.B.I cadet

must receive the help of an incarcerated and manipulative cannibal killer to
help catch another serial killer, a madman who skins his victims. His choice
of film was almost poetic.

They settled on the sofa and ardently watched The Silence of the Lambs.

After much deliberation and arguing, they finally decided on a suitable

destination.

Hermione, Ginny and Hannah were seated at a popular Muggle fast food
eatery scrutinising the menu to order burgers, chocolate shakes and fries.
They would partake in oodles of greasy food without a care. On the sly,
Ginny had always been partial to American food though she would never
admit it out loud for fear of ridicule from her patriotic brothers.

The food arrived, and Ginny grabbed the monster burger with both hands,
causing the contents to drip down her fingers. She took a large bite and
sighed in satisfaction, “It's been yonks since I had a proper burger.”

Hannah followed suit. She licked the sauce that clung to her fingers and
said between hearty mouthfuls, “This is so bloody good. How much do I
owe you, Hermione?”

“It's my treat. After swallowing a mouthful, “You’ve made this protection

thing bearable and fun,” Hermione answered. She delicately popped a
couple of french fries into her mouth and munched on them happily.
Indulging in comfort food was blissful at the opportune moment.

Hannah smiled gratefully and replied, “Glad to hear it.” She picked up an
oddly shaped circle smothered in grease, looked through the gaping hole at
her friends and questioned, “What are these?”

Ginny was far too preoccupied with enjoying her meal, leaving Hermione
to answer with an amused expression, “Those are onion rings.” Hannah
raised a curious brow, bit into the ring and gasped as the flavours exploded
in her mouth. She felt compelled to say, “Muggles are ingenious creatures.”

“I'm worried about, Harry,” Ginny’s solemn declaration cut through the
loud chatting of Muggles, slurps and chomping of food like a double-edged
dagger.

Hannah swallowed hard and nodded in agreement, “He's hanging in there,

but it's a lot for one person to process.” She was highly impressed by how
well Potter was handling the crushing pressure. It was enough to make a
weaker man snap in half and be admitted to the psychiatric wing at St
Mungo's.

Hermione elucidated, “We are flying in the dark, Ginny. Two horrific cases
with absolutely no idea who is behind them. It's maddening.” Despite
Harry’s insistence that they go to Hawaii and that all will be well, the trip's
timing was horrible. A nagging guilty pull at her conscience prevented her
from yielding to Kingsley’s and Harry’s instructions.

Ginny drank her chocolate shake in silence. Still, she wasn't convinced that
going on holiday was the right thing to do, but for the moment, she let
sleeping dogs lie and decided to play it by ear.

Malfoy Manor

After a vigorous training and study session with Emily, Draco marched up
the stairs that led to Malfoy Manor. At the same time, Audrey loomed over
them, barking instructions and constantly reminding them of their
upcoming Auror trials. He had left the Manor at the break of dawn and
dragged his feet across the lavishly carpeted foyer, and fell into the first seat
in exhaustion.

Massaging his temples to rid himself of a pending headache, Draco paid no

attention to the sound of muffled footsteps approaching him and the
concerned voice, “Master Draco! Are you feeling ill, sir? Shall Dotty fix
you some breakfast?”

Draco rubbed his eyes to chase away the grogginess and gave the elf staring
at him in concern, a lopsided grin, “A bucket of coffee would be welcome.”
He desperately needed caffeine. Dotty tried to grasp the concept of a bucket
of coffee. She had never catered to such an odd request before and
vocalised her thoughts, “A bucket, sir?” Draco chuckled slightly, “It was a
poor attempt at humour, I’m afraid. A cup of coffee will do.” The elf’s
features relaxed, and she bowed, “I will bring it at once.” She went to
disapparate, but Draco stopped her, “Where is my mother?”

“Madam left for the day with Sir Bernard. He returned from Germany,”
Dotty dutifully informed. She vividly recalled her mistress speaking with
Master Bernard and expressing concern over her son’s well-being and how
she needed to speak to him about a dinner with Miss Hermione’s parents.

Still, she said nothing since it wasn't her place to divulge such sensitive
information unless instructed. Draco failed to hide his disappointment. He
hadn't laid eyes on his mother or spoken to her in days. His training
schedule kept him out at all hours of the night, and he mostly returned to
the Manor in the wee hours of the morning to have a quick shower and
change of clothes.

The timings were such that he hadn't crossed paths with his beloved mother
but made a mental note to make it up to her in the weeks following the
Auror trials. He was confident of passing, except the potion brewing part of
the examination gave him cause for concern. In his younger days, he was
quite an exemplary potioneer.

Though his fellows at Hogwarts thought it was Snape’s favouritism that

secured his high grades, only he knew the gruelling hours he spent over
texts in the shadows of the library and dungeon, hoping to outscore
Granger. A feat he never managed to accomplish despite his many efforts.

Draco got to his feet and headed toward his room. His mother was out for
the day, and Audrey had graciously excused them from further training and
trusted them to self-study. He was undoubtedly grateful for the break. He
lazily dragged his feet up the stairs while yawning out of pure exhaustion.

Once in his room, he glanced longingly at the bed and decided to rest his
eyes. His request for coffee was forgotten, and fully clothed in his Auror
garb, Draco laid down on the soft bedding and closed his eyes for what he
hoped was a second. Before long, he fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

After their hearty meal of burgers and shakes and possibly after Hannah’s
third serving of onion rings, the women walked along the streets of Muggle
London. They had a merry time as they took in the many shops that boasted
exquisitely elegant gowns fit for a princess, among other things mere
commoners would require.

They turned plenty of heads. Many men and women admired the feisty
freckled redhead, the astute woman with wild curls adorning her face and
full lips that were sensually painted blood red, and the pretty blond wearing
black leather pants and a long greyish coat with a pulled-up high ponytail
and minimum makeup. They had blossomed into empowering young
women since their awkward days at Hogwarts, except for Ginny.

Even at school, Ginny Weasley was an attractive girl that garnered much
attention from the boys and jealousy from the girls, but nothing unfazed
Ginny and none would dare mess with her for fear of being on the receiving
end of her infamous Bat Bogey hexes.

Ginny, Hermione, and Hannah spoke among themselves while window

shopping and strode confidently without acknowledging the many
flirtatious glances that came their way.

No. 12 Grimmauld Place

Hours passed, and Harry put down the pictures and character profiles of
suspected Werewolves the Romanian Minister Darius had sent and
massaged the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He truly hoped Kingsley
was having better luck in America.

A thousand unanswered questions ran rampant through his exhausted brain.

What would happen once they unmasked this Alpha King? How would they
even formulate a plan to subdue the uprising before hundreds of innocent
lives were lost?

Happy laughter from outside the small office he maintained at home made
him look up and unconsciously smile. He had been cooped up and so
obsessed with the many unsolved cases he had forgotten about James and
Molly. A surge of guilt washed over him, and he pushed aside the pictures,
got to his feet and left the room in search of the beautiful laughter he had
heard before.

He found the source in the living room where Molly was reading James a
story in the most playful way with the wondrous aid of magic. She changed
her voice to suit the characters and made them come alive, and Harry
stared, enthralled by his beloved son's amazed, widened eyes. A child's
innocence was parallel to none. He moved silently into the room and sat
down cross-legged next to James.

At first, James was so engrossed in his grandmother's avid storytelling that

he hardly noticed his father, but once he did, he hopped onto Harry’s lap,
threw his arms around his father's neck and hugged him tightly. Harry
tightened the embrace, never wanting to let go of the moment. Molly smiled
at the tender moment before her but, undeterred, carried on with the
exciting story of Babbitty Rabbitty and her Crackling Stump.

"That's a cute blouse, Ginny. You should definitely buy it," Hermione
encouraged after Ginny emerged from the changing room in a flattering
light blue sleeveless top that hugged her figure in the right places. Hannah
was again smoking in some dark alley away from prying eyes.
Ginny admired herself in the floor-length mirror of the store and frowned,
"Hmm…." Her mind was an unsettling mess of random thoughts and
scenarios that could occur during her absence. She would never be able to
forgive herself if something happened to Harry while she was away having
a jolly time.

The guilt was beginning to tear her apart. What sort of wife leaves her
husband while he sacrifices himself to save people and create a better
world?! Merlin, she was a proper selfish bitch.

Hermione sensed something was amiss and gently probed, "What's the
matter, love?"

Ginny didn't bother beating around the bush. She blurted out the truth of
what was formulating in her head, "I don't want to leave James and Harry at
a time like this."

Hermione could sympathise with Ginny’s plight and understand to some

extent how harrowing it would be to leave behind someone you loved while
knowing the dangers they would face. She sighed, "I know what you mean.
I tried to get out of it, too, but he wouldn't hear a word against it. Well, you
were there, Ginny. You heard him.” She added without hesitation, “James
will have a ball with Teddy, and there isn't a person that is more qualified to
look after him than Molly.”

Hannah emerged with a black t-shirt and matching cargo trousers to try on
and offered her input, "Well, Harry will feel better if you go, Ginny." She
had heard Ginny's heartfelt declaration while waiting outside the rows of
changing rooms and thought it best to offer her valuable advice.

Ginny raised a curious brow and questioned, "What do you mean?"

Hermione listened intently. She was curious about Hannah's thoughts on the
matter.

Hannah frowned and tactfully explained, "If you decide to stay back, Harry
will feel worse about how his job restricts his movements and yours."
Hermione was impressed, "That is a valid point, Abbott."

Still, Ginny wasn't wholly convinced, "I know, Hannah. He needs me

around to calm him down on challenging days."

Hannah shrugged in reply. She wasn't going to add anything further, but
Hermione exhaled and insisted, "Ginny, Hannah is right. It's for two nights,
and Molly is watching James. Besides, what could possibly happen in such
a short time?"

Ginny thought miserably about many things, and she was sure Hermione
would share her sentiment despite her bold statement, but her mother was
right. She desperately needed a break.

Grabbing Hermione’s arm with newfound enthusiasm, Ginny dragged her

best friend towards the lingerie department with famous last words, "It's
settled. Come on!" Hannah chuckled, tucked the clothes under her arm and
followed the two women.

"Hello, darling!" Blaise said while loosening his tie and walking into the
bedroom suite he shared with his lovely wife. With some difficulty, Daphne
pushed down the neatly folded clothes that rested on top and closed the
suitcase's lid, which she had up on the bed. She wiped her brow and
exhaled, “Phew! That took longer than I anticipated.” She had spent the
entire morning packing the children's clothes and the afternoon packing for
Hawaii.

She had silently sobbed over Adam’s snitch-printed pyjamas and Carrie’s
pink princess-cut dress. Leaving her babies behind left a gaping void in her
heart. Blaise gave a nod of understanding and smiled at the mother of his
children. Daphne was elegant and timeless, and he loved her fiercely. A
small girl bursting with insecurities lurked underneath the glamour, and his
job was to provide her with a haven.

Daphne rattled off, “I have packed the basics, darling. Is there anything
more you would like to add?” Blaise had little patience for weeding through
his enormous cupboard in search of clothing items he would require.
Besides, he trusted his wife’s judgement and capabilities. If any items were
missed, he would resort to purchasing them in Honolulu or have the
competent concierge at The Ritz-Carlton Residences fetch them for him.

Pansy had owled each of them a detailed itinerary with the name of the
five-star hotel they would be staying at, nothing but the finest for
Parkinson. The cost of a room per night was enough to feed a small family,
and when Blaise pointed it out, Daphne broke down in laughter and agreed.
The parchment also included flight details and a footnote in red that simply
stated– Please do not be tardy. Any excuses for late arrivals will not be
tolerated.

Blaise did not take lightly to the instructions and he disliked being treated
as if they were toddlers, and sought to give Pansy a piece of his mind. Still,
Daphne stopped him and reminded him how Pansy had always been bossy
and opinionated. Secretly, Blaise pitied Longbottom. The man had his
hands full with catering to the obnoxious requests of a demanding witch.

He chuckled to himself, kissed Daphne on the cheek and walked into the
ensuite for a much-needed shower. He intended to spend every waking
minute of the weekend with his children before departing Monday morning.

Ginny raised a brow and said with a devilish glint in her eyes, “That's an,
umm, daring bikini.” She shot Hermione an amused expression as her best
friend admired herself in a skimpy blood-red string bikini that barely
covered her voluptuous breasts and other private parts.

Turning her back to the mirror, Hermione glanced over her shoulder at her
reflection and critically analysed her body and garment clinging to her like
a second skin. She was immensely satisfied by how the material hugged her
figure, accentuating her flattering assets. Her eyes fell on her rounded, firm
buttocks, and she secretly thanked the workout routine she had discovered
in her youth. She faced the floor-length mirror in the changing room head-
on, adjusted her perky bosom, stood with her hands on her hips, and cocked
her head to the side, “I wanted to try something different.”
Ginny grinned rather triumphantly, “I will win the bet, Hermione. You have
no chance!” Hermione looked stunning and insatiable. Malfoy would have
to work hard not to jump her in Hawaii. He would take one at her in this
bikini and fall at her feet in lust.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione pointedly argued, “It's just a bikini. Aren't you
reading too much into this?” Hannah swallowed hard. Her eyes roved over
Hermione’s bikini-clad body in appreciation. She gathered her faltering
composure and asked with a raised brow, “What's going on?”

“Hermione and I have an ongoing bet,” Ginny quipped while Hermione

frowned, walked back into the changing room and closed the door behind
her, and proceeded to change out of the bikini. She would buy the flattering
swimwear, and despite herself, her treacherous mind wondered obsessively
if Malfoy would appreciate her choice of swimming attire or think her a
desperate tart for trying too hard. Hermione settled that the bikini made her
feel great, confident, and sexy, which was all a woman needed.

Hannah could hardly conceal her curiosity, “Oh?”

Ginny smirked, dropped her voice to avoid being heard by others and
explained, “One hundred Galleons that she will sleep with Malfoy before
the trip ends.” She was undoubtedly sure she would emerge victorious.
Even if Hermione adamantly denied having romantic feelings for Malfoy,
she was well aware of the sexual attraction between the two.

“I'll take that bet,” Hannah announced after processing Ginny's information.
It was bound to happen and moreover in a fairytale setting vastly different
from London.

Fully dressed, Hermione, threw the door open and scolded, “Hannah!”

Hannah grinned sheepishly and shrugged, “What? I could do with the extra
money.”

Hermione balled up the bikini. It fit snugly in the palm of her hand and
stormed away with the final abhorring words, “You guys are the absolute
worst.” Hannah and Ginny high-fived laughed aloud and followed the
irritated woman.

They spent the rest of the afternoon snacking, shopping for clothes,
swimwear and numerous other things that one would require in an exotic
land. When their extensive shopping expedition ended, the sun had begun to
set, leaving a magnificent hue of oranges painted across the sky and the air
turned chilly and crisp.

Despite her friends ' encouraging words and logic, Ginny was still in two
minds about leaving her beloved family.

Luna struggled but pulled up a tight bodycon dress as Theo came tearing
into the room and bellowed, "Have you seen my swimming trunks?! You
know, the black one with flames?!" He impatiently asked while turning the
place over with his wand. Cupboard doors and drawers flew open, and their
contents spilt in a messy heap to the floor, but Luna paid no mind to the
wheezing about objects that narrowly missed her head nor her husband's
childish grumbling as he tore apart the bedroom searching for his beloved
shorts.

“Are you packing already?” Luna inquired while attaching an earring she
had made to a delicate earlobe. Lately, she had thoughts of starting her
unique jewellery line. While being editor-in-chief of The Quibbler was
rewarding and enjoyable, she ached for another productive outlet to express
her creativity.

Theo continued the search and answered impatiently, “Of course, I want to
make sure I pack everything.” He packed the essentials and a few extra
knick knacks in case of emergencies. Luna applied a layer of lip gloss and
chuckled, “There are a few days left, darling. You mustn't get paranoid.”

Theo was beside himself and cried out in disbelief, “A few days!?”
According to Pansy, we leave on Monday at noon, and she was pretty
adamant that we not be late.” He recalled the stupid letter with instructions
and frowned. Hopefully, Pansy wouldn't be an overbearing cow in Hawaii.
Theo abandoned his task of locating his trunks, rubbed his belly and
grimaced, “I wish we Portkeyed. Muggle transport gives me indigestion.”

Luna glanced at her husband through the mirror and teased, “You're being
dramatic, darling.” A memory of Theo howling in pain came to mind, and
she instructed sternly, “Make sure you pack suntan lotion. You know how
easily you burn.”

“That incident on the beach does not count,” Theo grumbled and proceeded
to pout like a child. There had been a humiliating incident when he
disregarded Luna’s wise advice about applying sun tan lotion on a trip to
the beach. Having laid down under the hot sun and fallen asleep, he had
woken and was so badly burnt he could hardly move without screaming in
pain.

Luna wagged a warning finger, “Yes, it most certainly does.” Theo

grudgingly bobbed his head in agreement and mumbled, “I packed a case of
the fucking cream.” Satisfied by his compliance, Luna pulled down her
dress and twirled, "So, how do I look?" She wore a halter figure-hugging
dress in a subdued shade of yellow.

Theo smiled and gathered her lovingly in his arms, "You are as bright as the
sun. Gorgeous as always, my love." Her choice of clothing wasn't his taste,
but it made her happy, and that was all that mattered. Somehow it suited her
quirky personality. He had never known and relished in the sweetness and
innocence Luna projected.

Luna broke from the embrace and left the room only to return five minutes
later with the swimming trunks Theo had been keenly looking for. She gave
him a happy grin, “I left it to dry in the other room.”

Theo’s face split in half with a boyish grin. He looked around the room at
the monumental mess he created and frowned, “I wish you had told me
before I tore the place apart.” There were clothes and accessories in every
corner and bed. Luna simply smiled and waved her wand around the room.
Ties, knickers, shirts, and many other things returned to their rightful place,
and the room returned to its former pristine state.
Theo eyed Luna’s sashaying hips as she crossed the room to her dressing
table and interrogated, “So, are you sure no blokes are joining?” Luna threw
him an amused look from her seated position and mused, “Yes, of course.
It's ladies' night.”

However, Theo wasn't wholly convinced and happy with the situation,
“Hmm, be careful and don't let any stupid Muggles hit on you.” He had
severe abandonment issues that stemmed from his younger years, and even
though he was convinced Luna loved him unconditionally, he had a
recurring nightmare that she left him.

Luna was well aware of her husband's many insecurities and replied,
“You're cute when you get jealous. I love you, Theo. Nothing and no one
will ever change that.” Theo was pleased by the answer.

He quickly kissed her pale blonde locks and wondered if his mates were
free for a drink but left Luna to finish getting dressed in peace and resumed
packing. He knew from past experiences that his beloved wife would
require another full hour before she stepped out of the door. It was a ritual.

They piled into the Leaky Cauldron laden with bags and plopped
themselves down on the first available table in exhaustion. Ginny had gone
a little overboard and purchased more than her budget permitted. Not that
Harry ever questioned, or they were ever short on Galleons thanks to
Harry’s inheritance, but still, it was reckless spending.

Hermione looked around and smiled. The place was bustling, and soft
music drifted over them pleasantly. She asked the others, “Do you want to
get a drink?”

Ginny bit her bottom lip and replied earnestly, “Most definitely. Harry is not
expecting me back anytime soon. Besides, Mum will have James down for
the night in a bit.” She giggled, “I'm free from my motherly and wifely
duties for the night.”

Hannah gave an encouraging thumbs up and pounded the table in delight,

“That’s the spirit!”
Hermione urged, “What about you, Hannah? Fancy a pint?”

Hannah shook her head, straightened and politely declined, “I'm on duty,
Madam Undersecretary. I cannot indulge in any substance that would hinder
my judgement or reflexes.”

Hermione nodded and offered candidly, “A fresh juice?” She was impressed
by Abbott's dedication to the job.

Hannah grimaced and replied sarcastically, “That would be lovely.”

Ginny flagged down a waitress who immediately grew flustered by the

illustrious group she had to serve. It was her second day on the job, and she
prayed to Merlin to help her make it through the night without breaking
glass. Ginny rattled off their order and gave the young witch, who took
down the order, an encouraging smile. The poor girl paled and hurried off in
the direction of the bar to place their order.

Hannah leaned back and got comfortable. She scanned the area for any
unscrupulous characters and glared at anyone who got too close to their
table. Ginny swayed to the music and informed the group, “Oh, I invited
Luna. It's been bloody ages since we saw her last, and she's been dying to
get out for a bit.” Hermione perked up instantly, “That's brilliant. I can’t
wait to see her.” Ginny grew thoughtful, “Nott and her have been trying to
get pregnant, and I think it's taking a toll on both. The poor darling.”

Their drinks arrived along with an array of mouthwatering side dishes such
as chicken wings, crisps, garlic bread, and cut-up fried sausages drizzled
with a raunchy hot sauce. Hermione took her tumbler of scotch with a
splash of soda and two ice cubes, and Ginny took her drink of firewhiskey
with a lime wedge and a single ice cube. Hannah stared miserably at the tall
glass of orange juice with half an orange slice artistically stuck on the
sugar-coated rim of the glass.

Annoyed by the monstrosity before her, she muttered, “Bloody

marvellous.” Hermione and Ginny burst out laughing but raised their
glasses in a memorable toast.
The second Luna left to meet the others, Theo grabbed his mobile and
phoned Blaise, who had put the children to sleep after an enjoyable day
together and was now in his study signing off on a new shipment of
brooms.

He answered and chirped, “Ah, good evening, mate. What's going on?”

Theo didn't bother much with pleasantries. He came straight to the point,
“Drop by for a drink.”

Blaise glanced at the papers lying across his desk and sighed. A drink and
chat sounded utterly tempting. He pushed back the chair. It scrapped loudly
against the hardwood floors and gave into temptation, “See you in a bit,
Nott.”

Theo hung up and called Draco. The rings went on endlessly, and Theo
wondered if Draco was otherwise occupied. Impatiently he held onto the
phone and willed his friend to answer. When the line connected, his plea
was answered, and an extremely groggy Draco Malfoy answered the phone
with a sleepy, disoriented, “Hello.”

Theo grinned and practically shouted into the phone, “Asleep at this hour?
You lazy fucking git!”

Draco buried his head further into the luxurious bedding and held the phone
away. He cracked his eyes open and was surprised to find the steady beams
of moonlight streaming through the window and illuminating the room. The
cup of coffee he requested hours ago rested on the table beside his bed. It
was ice cold and covered with a saucer.

Clearly, Dotty had not seen fit to wake him and evidently, his mother had
not returned from her day outing with Bernard. He struggled but sat up
straight and tried to gather his bearings. He had slept half the day away. The
exhaustion and sleepiness nights had finally caught up with him, but he felt
renewed after proper rest. He heard a muffled mumbling that sounded
remarkably like Theo’s voice.
He searched for the source and found it coming out of his mobile phone
buried under the sheets. Bringing it up to his ear, Draco listened to the
colourful slew of words Theo was known for using and then spoke, “What
do you want, Theo?”

Theo scowled, “If his highness isn't too busy to mingle with the
commoners, I would like to invite him for a drink at my house.” Draco
chuckled, “His highness would be happy to oblige the Jester’s request by
dropping in for a quick one. Theo opened his mouth to hurl an insult, but
Draco hastily beat him to it, “I will be there in an hour.” He cut the line
without waiting for Theo’s impatient reply, tossed the phone away and
strode into the bathroom with the sole intent of having a leisurely shower.

Bernard poured a glass of red wine into an exquisite hand-blown wine glass
and handed it to Narcissa. They had returned from their short trip to the
countryside and sat by a roaring fire in Bernard's study indulging in cheese
and other delicacies.

Narcissa took the glass but appeared far away and disturbed. Bernard had
noticed his beloved’s odd behaviour and thought to ask, “A Knut for your
thoughts, my love.” Narcissa snapped out of the daze and blushed at her
rudeness, “Forgive me. I haven't seen Draco in days. I was wondering if all
was well with him. I didn't want to smother him by calling and sending
owls.”

It all made sense. “Ah, he’s got his Auror trials coming up, hasn’t he?”
Bernard inquired curiously, followed it up with a softened expression and
advice, “Well, an Auror is hardly home. It’s not an easy life nor a life for the
faint-hearted.” He patted Narcissa’s hand and reassured her, “I am certain
he is fine.”

“I suppose your right and I’m being paranoid,” Narcissa responded with a
slight smile. Bernard had an infectious calm demeanour, and being in his
presence instantly put her at ease. She had been trying to speak to Draco
since her luncheon with Hermione.
There hadn't been a spare moment to inform him about inviting the
Grangers for dinner at the Malfoy. Bernard agreed that it was a wise
decision and one that would show that their intentions were pure and noble.
It was imperative that Hermiones, mother, father and grandmother feel
welcome and have their minds put at ease that their daughter would be
loved and cared for.

Bernard left the room and returned with an elaborately wrapped box. He
clicked his heels together and presented it to a stunned Narcissa, who took
it with trembling fingers and a curious expression. He always brought back
stunning art pieces from his many travels, and she was anxious to see what
lay within.

Taking out her wand, she tapped it once and whispered an incantation the
box melted away into nothingness, revealing a magnificent antique vase
that must have cost a small fortune. She had seen a similar one in an ancient
text but couldn't be sure if it was the same one or a replica.

“Oh, Bernard, it’s beautiful,” Narcissa gushed and carefully turned the vase
at angles to get a better look, and Bernard beamed, “I knew the moment I
laid eyes on it that I had to acquire it.”

He included, “I picked up a little something for Draco. It will prove useful

in his line of work.”

Narcissa smiled, rose gracefully and kissed Bernard lightly on the lips. He
was the one she should have married, but Lucius, much like Draco, was
dashing and hard to resist, and she did love him fiercely for a time. Bernard
graciously offered his arm, which Narcissa took without hesitation. They
left the tastefully furnished study and retired to the foyer where a light
dinner was served, followed by a lively game of wizards chess.

Draco ran his fingers through his hair, and the wet strands fell haphazardly
across his forehead, adding to his appeal.

He arrived at Nott Manor and knocked on the door. An elderly wizard in a

smart suit opened the heavy door after a brief moment, invited Draco in,
and wordlessly led the way. If Draco remembered correctly, Theo had a
female house-elf, but Nott Senior had struck down the elf in a fit of rage
and forced Theo to bury the mutilated body. The loss of the elf, who had
been a comforting friend amidst the darkness had been a crushing blow to a
lonely boy who feared his father.

Draco heard the deep voices engaged in a lively conversation from a room
with its door open. He walked into the room that doubled as Theo’s
workspace and asked the men enjoying a drink in his absence, “What's all
this? Where's Lovegood?”

Theo and Blaise got to their feet and greeted their old friend. Theo
answered, “She's out with the Weasley and Granger.” That piqued Draco’s
interest. He raised a curious brow and asked, “Granger?”

Theo chuckled and made air quotes, "Ladies' night." He walked across the
room to the fully stocked bar, poured Draco two fingers' worth of Laphroaig
Single Malt Scotch matured for thirty years, and added a single ice cube.
The aromatic notes gave off a pungent smell of ripe tropical fruits, toasted
macadamia nuts, and vanilla cream. It also served tantalising smoke, lime,
sea salt, and mild chilli hints for the palate. Then, the finish boasted of
antique leather, and green tobacco leaves taste.

He handed the drink to his friend and mused, “Didn't she tell you?”

Draco took the drink and scowled, “It might come as a surprise to you, but
Granger is not my girlfriend and is in no way obligated to inform me of her
whereabouts.” Yet, the corner of his eye twitched in anticipation. A simple
text message to say that she was headed out would have sufficed.

Theo said with a distinctive roll of his eyes, “Must you get anal about it.”
Obviously, the topic concerning Granger was to be addressed lightly around
Malfoy, he thought. It was hard to place where his affections lay.

Blaise patted Draco heartily on the back and bellowed teasingly, “Ah, a
celebrity is among us!” He fawned over his best mate and gushed, “May I
have your autograph?”
Draco glared sternly, “Shut it, Blaise!” His mate had read Skeeter’s
interview, but they hadn't met after for them to discuss it in detail. Their
respective schedules kept them busy, which was one of the reasons they
jumped at the opportunity to meet even on such short notice. They could
bond in Hawaii, but discussing the more serious things with their respective
spouses and Granger would be a near-impossible task.

“What are you on about?” Theo was bemused. He had evidently missed
something important.

Blaise laughed aloud, “Theo, you must be living under a rock”. Theo
scowled, “Fine. Whatever. Just fucking tell me.” Blaise chuckled, “Did you
not see the tell-all interview in Witch Weekly Magazine?”

Draco groaned and threw Blaise a deep look of frustration.

Theo shrugged, “No, I didn't. I don't subscribe to that garbage, and neither
does Luna.” His magazines consisted mainly of scientific journals. He kept
a keen eye on new inventions and advancements in potions and alchemy.
Baseless gossip never appealed to him.

While Blaise did not read the primarily women's magazine, Daphne did,
and he had walked in on Astoria, showing her sister a passage in the
interview dedicated primarily to her. Astoria had interpreted Draco’s words
to mean something entirely different from what he truly intended.

Blaise winked and elucidated, “Well, let me enlighten you then.” He gave
Theo a summarised version of the interview, and Theo gasped in shock at
the right places and showed the proper amount of enthusiasm where it was
required. Draco pursed his lips and listened intently without uttering a
word. Theo slapped his knee and mocked, “You dished out the dirt!” He
shook his head in disbelief. According to Blaise, most of the answers were
exceedingly personal, “No fucking way! Why did you do it?”

“I did it for Granger,” Draco replied without any unwillingness on his part.
His answer was unpretentious, and to the point, but of course, it failed to
appease the curiosity of the men before him. Blaise frowned, “That explains
nothing.”
Draco took a deep breath, and his drink's distinct smell of vanilla took up
permanent residence in his nostrils. His ordinarily handsome features
contorted unpleasantly, and he said with little room for argument, “Skeeter
would have continued to throw mud on Hermione’s character if I didn't.”

Theo leaned forward and insisted, “So, you gallantly rode in on a

magnificent black horse and sacrificed yourself to save her?” The Malfoy
he grew up with wouldn't have given another’s suffering a second thought.
Sure, they had all changed post-war, but this man before him was
unfathomable. He didn't quite know what to make of it.

“I did what I must to protect her,” Draco said, amused by Theo’s

comparison.

Theo puckered his lips and made kissy noises like some adolescent boy
after learning about his mate’s first kiss and teased mercilessly, “Aww, he
sounds pitiful.”

Draco lunged forward with a loud proclamation, “Arsehole!” but Theo

managed to escape his grasp.

Blaise offered thoughtfully, “I think you did the right thing, Draco. It's a
good start to show Granger that you have indeed changed and hold her in
the highest regard.” Surely she would have softened towards him.

He swiftly remembered Astoria and warned, “Be aware. You might have put
your foot in your mouth by adding some adoring details when describing
your relationship with Astoria. She thinks you love her.”

Draco sighed and sank further into the comfortable chair. He cared for
Astoria as a friend. Why was that so difficult for her to grasp? Despite her
illness, she was an intelligent woman or had her mind slipped so far off the
perimeters of normal that she couldn't differentiate between fact or fiction?
It was entirely plausible that she interpreted conversations and statements to
suit her.

Ignoring the tense issue brewing, Theo snickered, “You're going to jump
Granger’s bones in Hawaii, aren't you? Because if you don't, somebody else
might.” Hermione was an attractive, intelligent woman with authority, and
any man would give his left ball to have her show them an iota of interest.

Draco narrowed his eyes. The apparent swirls of perfect grey darkened,
“Whoever can try, but I assure you they won't get far.”

Blaise raised his glass with a hearty grin, “I’ll drink to that!” They clicked
glasses in celebration of a possibly memorable trip.

After Luna joined them at the Leaky Cauldron, they hugged and exchanged
gossip, and whatever was going on in each other’s life while Hannah
diligently watched the group. At one point, she noticed a shady but
attractive man who seemed to be alone, nursing a hefty scotch and staring at
them unblinkingly. She stared right back without breaking eye contact
enough to make the man uncomfortable and promptly leave.

Hannah had no idea she had just met the infamous Dorian Blackwood under
one of his many disguises.

After another two rounds of drinks, Luna insisted they go by a Muggle

nightclub she passed often and thought looked interesting. Luna’s take on
interesting and theirs were vastly different, but the night was still young,
and they were adults who could afford to take a risk or two. Ginny was
initially reluctant, but Hermione was more than willing, and Hannah
wholeheartedly encouraged the decision. The man at the bar unsettled her,
and she wanted to head out of magical territory. They were too well known
in the magic community and could be seen coming from a mile away. They
stuffed their shopping bags into Hermione’s beaded purse with the
expandable charm that she always kept with her, paid for the drinks even
though Tom, the innkeeper, insisted it was on the house and left the familiar
pub.

For once, Luna’s idea of an interesting place was tallied with others. A
server wearing tight black trousers, a buttoned-up white shirt and a black
bowtie approached them the second they entered and led them to a table in
the corner, which considerably drowned out the loud flow of techno music.
A couple of tequila shot rounds later, they talked about Hogwarts and how
incredibly fun Hawaii would be. Luna rattled off some bizarre facts about
Honolulu and how she was confident her child would be conceived under
the rays of the Hawaiian sun. Hannah sighed and wished she could down a
shot. It would have made Luna’s antics much more hilariously entertaining.

Luna sensed her friend's plight and inconspicuously nudged her, “Have a
drink, Hannah?”

Hannah refused and stated, “I can't drink on duty, but by all means, get
shitfaced.”

Ginny downed another shot, slammed the small empty glass on the table
and questioned, “What's all this about you not talking to my stupid
brother?” She had avoided the topic all day and thought the best time to
breach the subject was when their inhibitions were low, and tongues
wagged loosely.

Hermione frowned. She did not need a reminder of what transpired in her
office on that fateful day, “I'm sure Harry's told you all about it.”

Ginny affirmed, “He did. They both did, and I gave them a piece of my
mind and told them to leave you alone and mind their fucking business.”

Hermione downed a shot, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and
exclaimed, “Oh, did they tell you the part where Ron basically called me a
desperate slut?”

Ginny scoffed, “Not in so many words, but I gathered he might have.

Honestly, why didn't you tell him to fuck off? You always let him off so
easily.”

Hermione stared into the bottom of her empty glass and defended her
actions, “I know, but you also know how he gets? All puffy-faced and
emotional. It's like dealing with a broken up teenage girl. I hate handling his
drama.” Luna giggled, and Hannah couldn't help the laughter that bubbled
to the surface.
Ginny nodded in agreement and said with a hint of disappointment, “Harry
should have known better. Anyways, I ripped them a new one. They
understand a bit better now.”

"Thanks," Hermione moodily muttered while tossing stale chips into her
mouth. Ginny leaned forward and almost whispered, “So, were you really
snogging Malfoy inside your office in broad daylight?”

Hannah rolled her eyes, “You two need to get a room, Granger.”

Hermione blushed, “Well, it's not the first time, and I'm almost certain it
won't be the last.”

Luna gushed, "That's a beautiful ring, Hermione." Hermione mumbled a

quick thank you and moved her hand off the table.

Ginny smirked, “Hermione, just sleep with Malfoy and get it over with
before it does your head in.”

Hermione was taken aback by the brazen comment and refuted it with
humour, “Ginny! One does not simply jump into bed with a man. I am a
lady.”

“Oh, what a load of crock,” Luna injected with a high-pitched giggle, and
the women burst into laughter.

However, once the laughter died down, Ginny declared, "I know you see
the arrogant pointy faced git when you look at him at times, but could we
hypothetically assume he's changed."

Hannah agreed wholeheartedly and added her input with a mischievous

wink, "You might be pleasantly surprised." Unconsciously, she had become
Malfoy's spokesperson.

Hermione mused, “Aren't you going to tell me off for wanting to shag the
enemy as your brother did?” She wore her hair loose, and curly strands
cupped her face endearingly.
“My brother is an idiot,” Ginny said superbly disdainfully and followed up
quickly, “You're a big girl, and who you sleep with is hardly anyone's
business, even if it is Malfoy. Just promise me you'll be careful.” Her last
words were said with genuine concern.

Hermione scrunched up her nose to show her obvious displeasure and

argued, “I'm not going to get heartbroken if that's what you mean.” Ginny
smiled slightly and countered, “Hermione, you love fiercely. I don't want to
see you get hurt if he doesn't reciprocate your feelings.”

She followed through with a sly smirk, “However, judging by his answers
in Witch Weekly Magazine, I'd say he's well on his way to falling head over
heels in love with you.

Hermione visibly cringed. Merlin, forbid. She couldn't fathom a lovesick

Draco Malfoy. How would one go about approaching such an atrocity?

“Do you want to sleep with him, Granger?” Hannah asked curiously with
raised eyebrows. She patiently awaited the answer.

Hermione hesitated, but she was among friends and clarified her thoughts
on the subject, “Well, I, umm…I've made it abundantly clear that I welcome
it, but he doesn't seem to want to sleep with me.” There was a distinctive
edge and resentment to the tone she hadn't planned on.

Luna listened intently while sucking her concoction of vodka cranberry

through a straw.

Hermione shrugged, “He touches me and kisses me senseless, but he

brushes it off when it comes to sex.” She vividly recalled his fingers
invading her most private place. It was intense and insanely erotic.
Hermione shuddered as the memory took precedence and grabbed tufts of
her hair. She groaned, “Argh, It's quite frustrating.”

“Yeah, I can bloody imagine,” Hannah said in complete agreement. What

was Malfoy playing at? Perhaps, he was gay. It was a farfetched theory but
one they could seriously consider. Hannah refrained from mentioning it in
fear that any unwarranted questions regarding her sexuality would arise.
Ginny said thoughtfully, “Maybe he's insecure.” Most men had a tough time
accepting a strong woman in bed. It was quite probable that Malfoy, like
any other Alpha male, was intimidated by Hermione’s presence and
occupation. Still, it seemed unlikely since he held up his own and went toe
to toe with her while others shied away from the challenge.

“Insecure about what?” Hermione questioned passionately. Her tone of

voice mirrored her feelings on the matter. Despite his apparent personality
change, he had not once stepped lightly around her. Quite the contrary, he
instilled himself in her life, causing her to question every minor detail she
secretly harboured about him.

Ginny shrugged, “I don't know, but maybe since it's you, he would prefer to
tread lightly.” She downed another tequila shot, hooked her pinky finger
and quipped, “Or perhaps he's got a small cock.”

That seemed like a plausible explanation, but Hermione shot it down right
out of the gate, “Hmm, somehow, I doubt that very much.” Of course, she
hadn't seen his appendage, but she had felt his hardened length press into
her numerous times. From that, she came to a reasonably fair assumption
that Draco Malfoy had a decent-sized penis. Not monstrous, but
manageable.

“Then why the hesitation?” Hannah addressed. She was exceedingly

curious as to why Malfoy would refuse to sleep with Granger. She had
plenty of attributes he valued in a woman. The Algorithm did not match
them up based on a whim. Hermione drained her drink and hissed, “Maybe
he still thinks I'm unworthy to bump uglies with?” She proposed and waited
for feedback.

Hannah cried indignantly over the music, “Come off it!” Ginny frowned,
“Definitely not!” Luna chimed in with her whimsically low voice of reason,
“I think Draco is waiting for the perfect moment.”

Luna could be counted on to offer a reason no one previously thought of,

and more often than not, she was right on the money. It seemed like a
ludicrous notion that Malfoy was biding his time and waiting for the
opportune time to claim her, hopefully, savagely. Still, none had a
reasonable rebuttal, and each fell into silence and pondered their thoughts.

Hermione swiftly dismissed the conversation, “Besides, we have far more

important things to concentrate on than having sex.” It made for good
banter over a couple of drinks with the girls, but the situation was grave.
She kept her morbid thoughts to herself and refrained from putting a severe
damper on the evening.

A smartly dressed server approached them, carefully balancing a tray of

four Long Island ice teas. He set the drinks down, smiled broadly and with
remarkable ease and pointed to the bar where a party of four Muggle men
sat on high stools nursing amber-coloured concoctions and said, “Courtesy
of the gentlemen at the bar.”

Luna glanced their way and smiled warmly. She wasn't being flirtatious but
polite. She was wonderfully unaware of social norms.

Ginny scolded, “Don't encourage them,” but it was too late.

Luna took a tall glass, raised it high, and mouthed, “Thank you.” She had
the uncanny ability to befriend anyone willing. The men grinned
confidently but made no real effort to approach them, and Ginny breathed a
sigh of relief. Hermione reached for a complimentary drink, but Hannah
shot her a look of warning. They had no clue who the men were, and they
could easily be disguised Death Eaters looking to abduct Hermione or cause
her bodily harm.

Hermione withdrew her hand and swapped a look of understanding with

Hannah. She felt a vibration within her bag and knew at once it was her
mobile. Fetching it, she squinted in the dim light to better look at the name
and exclaimed, “Oh, my mum’s calling.”

She excused herself and connected the call while moving through the crowd
of clubbers, moving enthusiastically to the music towards the exit. Still,
even in the narrow dark passageway, the sound of music was prominent but
barely.
“Hello, darling!” Julia chirped, but Hermione pressed the phone to her ear
and almost yelled, “Mum! Hang on! I can barely hear you.” She moved
further away from the entrance and almost onto the nearly deserted London
street. Julia informed and shouted, “I'm just ringing to remind you about
brunch tomorrow.” Hermione could hardly hear anything except the word
brunch, and it struck a chord but not a definitive one. She replied, “What?
Brunch?”

Richard wandered into the kitchen searching for a beer and questioned with
a raised brow, “Why are you yelling, Jules?” Julia covered the phone's
mouthpiece and offered a hurried explanation, “Hermione is at a club. She
can't hear me, darling.”

“At a nightclub? What is she doing at a club?” Richard hissed while

viciously popping the seal on a cool Budweiser. The aluminium can took
the brunt of his frustrations.

Julia struggled to hear her daughter and impatiently silenced her

overprotective husband, “Shush!” Hermione was a grown woman and free
to come and go as she pleased but unfortunately, Richard forever treated her
like the precious child he accompanied to ballet rehearsals.

Richard was indignant, “Don't you shush me. I want to know what my
daughter is doing in a sleazy club?” Julia rolled her eyes and moved further
away from her husband, and when she heard Hermione clearly, she smiled,
“Ah, yes, darling. Much better. Can you bring around two boxes of
strawberries with you tomorrow?”

Hermione struggled to keep her composure and appear normal and not half
drunk. She hoped to keep it together while speaking to her mother, “Of
course, mum. I've got to run. Give my love to dad and nana.” She hung up,
smacked her forehead and groaned. Shit. She had forgotten all about
brunch, and what was worse, she had neglected to mention it to Malfoy.

Hannah leaned against the wall and smoked a cigarette awaiting her return.

Hermione breezed past her and went straight to the bar while Hannah
hurriedly stubbed the cigarette and followed her. Without much thought to
the consequences, Hermione ordered a round of shots with the firm
instruction to the bartender that they keep coming until she requested.

Hannah watched her protection assignment down two consecutive shots in

rapid succession and raised in concern, “Haven't you had enough?”

Hermione signalled for another and slowly shook her head, “Not nearly.”
Alcohol helped calm her rattled nerves to inform Malfoy about brunch.

An hour went by, and it was nearing two am. The atmosphere intensified
with pumping beats, and they danced mainly with each other and had a
grand time when it dawned on Hermione that she had forgotten to call
Malfoy again. She pulled out her phone from the tight back pocket of her
jeans and groaned. It was such an ungodly time to ring someone, but it had
to be done, and she was pleasantly high and feeling good about herself.

Hermione left Luna and Ginny dancing on the floor and headed towards the
ladies' room. She stumbled, and a man standing close by saved her from a
nasty fall. She reconsigned him as one of the men that bought them drinks
earlier.

He smiled and held onto her arm for longer than needed and opened his
mouth to speak when Hannah appeared out of nowhere and interrupted,
“Are you alright?”

Hermione smiled graciously and thanked her mysterious saviour. He didn't

skip a beat by offering a leering smirk and replied, “It was my pleasure.”

Once they were out of earshot, Hannah hissed, “What the hell are you
doing?” Hermione grinned sheepishly as they entered the ladies' bathroom
and answered, “I need to call Draco.”

Hannah was floored by her reply but didn't question further and waited for
the situation to unravel. Hermione stared at the numbered keys on her
mobile for a fleeting moment, and having located the desired contact, she
pressed it and waited hopefully for the person on the other end to answer.
Sure enough, after a few mere rings, his deep sultry voice came through and
enveloped the shell of her ear, “This is a pleasant surprise. I'll admit I've
missed your dulcet tones.”

Hermione pushed her hair back with her free hand, bit her lip and rasped,
“Mmm, I miss you far more than you know.” That sounded wrong on many
levels, and she wished she hadn't thought of his fingers bringing her to
orgasm.

Hannah snorted and, with some difficulty, managed to suppress her snarky
comments.

Draco sat up straight and keenly hung onto her every word, “Care to
elaborate, Granger? I’m all ears.” The mention of her name was enough for
Theo to snap to attention, and he moved closer despite Draco’s wordless
look of warning to stay away.

Hermione was too far gone to exchange pleasantries and slurred, "Your
presence at the Granger household tomorrow is mandatory."

Ginny and Luna chose that exact moment to come stumbling in. They held
onto each other and giggled uncontrollably. Draco heard the commotion and
smirked, “Granger, are you drunk?”

Hermione dismissed his question, “Of course not! Ginny, Tell him I'm not
drunk.” She held out the phone, and Ginny spoke directly into it, “She's not,
but she is tipsy, Malfoy. Stop treating her like a child.”

“Where are you?” Draco swallowed the laughter that bubbled to the surface
and tried a more direct question. There was no doubt in his mind that all of
them were smashed, and he wondered if Hannah was too.

Hermione chuckled and whispered, “Shh, it's a secret.” The barely

conscious part of the brain screamed in protest at her attempt at flirtatious
answers.

His protective instincts rose to the surface, and he insisted, “Let me come
get you. It might not be safe, and you could easily splinch yourself if you
disapparate in your current inhibited state.”
Theo had listened for long enough and weighed in, "What the fuck is going
on?" His palms were a sweaty mess. Was Luna drunk? Hundreds of
questions spun together to form disastrous scenarios, and he struggled to
control his imagination from playing cruel tricks on him.

Hermione gushed, “Awww, you would do that? For me?”

Luna combed her hair back and secured it in a ponytail while Ginny entered
an empty stall to relieve herself. Hannah leaned against a porcelain sink
with an amused expression and wondered if Hermione would remember
any of this in the morning.

Draco got to his feet and said sternly, “Yes, I would, without hesitation.
Send me the address.”

Hermione tutted, “Oh, I don't think so. Besides, it's girls' nights out, and
Hannah is right here.” She managed to put the call on speaker and
instructed with a smug grin, “Say hello, Hannah.”

Hannah sighed and replied with less enthusiasm and apparent tiredness,
“Wotcher, Malfoy." They left the sanctuary of the toilet with the call still
intact, and Draco’s irritated voice came through, “Stop mucking about,
woman.” He was rapidly losing his patience over her seemingly reckless
behaviour. Ginny and Luna returned to their table and chatted animatedly
among themselves.

Hermione took the call off speaker mode and hissed, “Who stuck a wand up
your arse?” Despite her drunkenness, she did not appreciate being told off
like some wayward teenager who wasn't in control.

The deep voice of an eager man made it to Draco’s sensitive hearing,

"Come on, love. Let me buy you a drink. I'm Steven, by the way."

Who the fuck? An unsettling feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Why
was his vision clouded in red? Calm yourself and act maturely, he silently
berated himself.
It was the man from earlier. Evidently, the tosser had been hanging around,
possibly waiting for a second chance with Hermione or was there a more
sinister intent behind his actions?

Hannah glared but got pushed to the side by a group of girls who looked
like they had one too many.

Still fuming at Malfoy’s ridiculous behaviour, Hermione eyed the man and
decided she liked his choice of the shirt but nothing else.

Despite her drunken state, she was acutely aware that her intended was still
on the line and annoyed.

She laughed flirtatiously and batted her long eyelashes, "Sure, darling, I
would love to have a drink with you!" The man radiated happiness at
having accomplished his goal.

Hermione excused herself for a moment and spoke directly into the phone
with a less than pleased tone of voice, "See you tomorrow at eleven am. Oh,
and remind me to buy strawberries."

Draco was beside himself and exceedingly frustrated by her brazen

behaviour and declared in a voice that was not to be trifled with, "Do not
entertain him, Granger. I fucking mean it!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Relax, Draco! Don't be such a killjoy." A

masculine scent invaded her personal space. The smell was repulsive and
almost made her vomit.

"Who's Draco?" The Muggle man probed curiously while slipping a hand
around her waist.

Hermione attempted to move away, grinned slyly and stated the truth, "My
gorgeous fiancé."

Draco couldn't help but smile, and then the sudden realisation of another
man wanting to spend time in her company made him deeply frown.
The determined man caught sight of the impressive ring and tried to
persuade, "Ah, how about we forget about him tonight, love? You and I can
have a little fun." He could pocket the ring and sell it for a sizable fortune if
all else failed.

Draco fumed, "Granger! Are you there? Answer me!" His free hand balled
into a hardened fist, and he mustered all his self-control not to put it through
Theo’s antique mirror.

Blaise sensed something was wrong and tried to be the voice of reason,
"Hang up the phone, mate."

Hannah emerged from the side with a deep frown of disapproval etched
onto her face. Without hesitation, she pushed the man's hand off Hermione’s
person before she could and shoved him back with a dire warning, "Don't
touch her."

Don't touch her? What? When had it escalated into touching? Draco was
livid. His hold on the phone tightened, and his patience hung by a very fine
thread.

Reluctantly, the man fell back and sneered, "Mind your own business." This
no-good bitch was thwarting his plans.

Hannah stood her ground, sized up the pitiful Muggle, cocked her head to
the side and smirked, "Make me."

Hermione kept her eyes on the man seeking an altercation with Hannah and
spoke calmly into the phone, "Good night, Draco." Her bad idea to rile up
Malfoy had backfired and put Hannah at risk.

Draco insisted with more force than necessary, but his plea fell on deaf ears,
"Granger, don't you dare hang up," Blast, the line went dead, and Draco
stared at the black screen with his heart pounding in his ears.

Theo caught sight of his friend’s anxious face and demanded in an elevated
state of panic, "Where are they?"
Hermione closed the gap between Hannah and her and stood by her side.
She faced the man, shot him a deep look of repulsion and said icily, "Listen
to me, sport, we won't be having any fun tonight, so kindly keep your hands
to yourself and fuck off." A heavyset bouncer with a commanding presence
arrived at that precise moment, towered over them and inquired, "Is he
bothering you, miss?"

Hermione tapped her chin in mock thought and mused, "Are you bothering
us?" The man shook his head so vigorously it appeared to come off. He
paled and backed away ultimately.

Blaise grabbed Theo by the shoulders and urged, "Relax, Theo! Breathe."
Theo broke free from the hold, grabbed his wand and insisted, "We should
go find them. They could be in trouble."

Abandoning his wand, he tried calling Luna, but the rings went on endlessly
with no favourable result. It remained unanswered even after many tries.
Theo grumbled and paced around the room while Blaise refilled his glass
with scotch and took a swig.

Finally, Draco found his voice and thundered, "For fucks sake! Will you
shut up? They’re fine!" He stormed out of the Manor without a backwards
glance and into the shabbily maintained gardens.

Clearly, Lovegood and Theo were not fans of gardening. A thick layer of
mist had settled over the ground, reflecting his mood and unnerving
thoughts.

Draco looked to the heavens and demanded answers. Of course, none came,
but it was worth a try. He sat on a nearby bench, closed his eyes for a
fleeting moment and sighed. It dawned on him that there was one person he
could call to make sure Granger and the rest were still among the living. He
was fully aware that he was being overly dramatic, but Granger had brought
this upon herself by behaving like an adolescent.

He hurriedly called the person, and the call connected after a few rings. He
could hear the loud music thumping, but he drowned it out and focused,
“Hannah?”
Hanah replied right off the bat, “She's fine! I'm watching her like a hawk.”
She was in no mood to entertain the many qualms of a jealous fiance. Her
bed or Hermione’s somewhat comfortable couch beckoned her, and it was
almost time to call it a night.

Draco exhaled. His breathing evened, and his conduct turned professional,
“Good! Do you need any help?” Hannah snorted and quipped with dripping
sarcasm, “Yeah, maybe to carry their drunken asses home.” He couldn't
help but ask. It ate away at his brain the more he tried to disregard it,
“Who's the bloke?”

Hannah spoke loudly enough to be heard. She glanced at Hermione and

smirked, “Some moronic Muggle she's dancing with. He’s not bad looking,
but don't worry your pretty little head. It's harmless for the moment.”

Draco stiffened and hissed most unpleasantly, “I am not worried about her
shacking up with some random idiot she has taken a five-minute fancy to.
It's my job to care for her wellbeing and yours.” Hannah chuckled, “Ah, I
am so relieved you feel that way because I wasn't sure whether to tell you or
not that they are snogging on the dance floor.” She added dramatically for
more effect, “Oh, and now he's grabbing her bum.”

There was only so much he could let slide before the anger he kept at bay
consumed him. He inquired in a dangerously low voice, “Where are you?”
Hannah stifled a laugh and put him out of his misery, “Sucker. I had no clue
you were this gullible, Malfoy.”

Draco fumed, and rightly so. This was hardly the time to play ludicrous
games when there was a potential threat to Granger’s life, “I do not find this
amusing, Abbott. That man could be anyone, and Granger could be in grave
danger.”

“Are you questioning my abilities to protect Hermione?” Hannah fired back

without remorse. She would have to remind her trainee Auror partner, who
was in charge, and the more experienced one. Her track record with cases
was second to none, and she had yet to come across a mission that got the
better of her.
Draco regretted his choice of words and attitude. In exasperation, he
massaged the bridge of his prominent nose and replied, “Of course not.”
For all intents and purposes, Hannah was his friend and his superior. It was
best not to let his feelings for Granger and suppressed emotions interfere
with his job, judgment, and, most importantly, his relationship with Abbott.

Hannah scoffed, “Then calm your jealous arse down. I will make sure your
girlfriend gets home safely with her knickers intact.”

Draco gritted out, “She is not my sodding girlfriend.”

Hannah was tired of dealing with such childish behaviour and made it a
point to vocalise her thoughts, “You're a bigger idiot than she is! Good
night, Malfoy.” She cut the line without waiting for a reply which she was
sure would have been carefully constructed and annoying.

Ginny laughed and sipped a glass of water, “Good one, Hannah.” She
couldn't recall the last time she stayed out past twelve, and though her legs
hurt and her mouth tasted vile, she had a great time with a bunch of
fabulous women.

Luna held onto her phone and reassured her husband that she was well and
in one piece. Theo had finally got through to his wife and begged her to
come home this instant. It was a request Luna denied but promised to be
along shortly.

Hermione smiled slightly and asked, “I resent that last comment, but why
did you lie to him, Hannah?”

Hannah nudged her and chuckled, “I'm sober. Let me have some fun, you
drunk wretch.”
 Chapter 53
Chapter Summary

To all the comments:- Thank you so much for the delightful feedback,
I live for it! :)

I know the slow burn is frustrating, but I do have to bring in that

tension. Please do bear with me :)

Draco's shares his insecurities about sex with Hermione, and Kingsley
and Harry meet with Dorian.

Enjoy Chapter Fifty-Three!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

The Ministry of Magic

Kingsley returned from his official trip to New York and remained in the
office nursing a tumbler of aged scotch until he gathered his scattered and
disturbed thoughts. His mind was a jumbled mess of facts and missing
information, and he couldn’t be trusted not to take out his many frustrations
on his beloved wife. Maureen was an understanding woman, but it wasn’t
fair to burden her with issues pertaining to his job.

He pulled the photographs he brought back with him closer and stared at the
stills. The bold word revolution painted on the wall with the victim’s thick
blood seemed to mock him. The still fresh blood trickled down the
curvature of the letter formation, dripping down the filthy wall. Kingsley
ruffled through the other pictures and pulled out two more identical ones
from Romania and France. The threatening word remained the same but in
the respective native tongue.
Revoluţie

Révolution

Mutilated corpses with scattered limbs and guts spilling onto the dirty street
stood out. The photographer had done his job remarkably well by capturing
the situation's essence.

Kingsley sighed, took a sip of the smoky amber liquid that lay undisturbed
in the crystal tumbler, and a surge of rage overpowered him at the
helplessness of the situation. He threw the glass across the room in
frustration, which shattered into many irreparable pieces as it collided with
the wall.

Breathing hard, Kingsley leaned back into his chair and shut his eyes in a
futile attempt to compose himself. Darkness surrounded him and pulled him
into its warm embrace.

Avery Manor. Formally rundown but restored to its former glory by

the last remaining heir.

Julius straightened his jacket and led the scarred yet tall, striking raven-
haired man down a lavishly carpeted hallway. They passed many exquisite
paintings and draperies suited to Avery’s high standard of living. He
stopped at the door in solid oak, pushed the doors open wide, and stood to
the side as the heavy booted man strode past him into the room.

Avery Senior had little faith in Albus Dumbledore as headmaster of

Hogwarts and therefore decided to send his only child and heir to
Durmstrang to be educated under former Death Eater and friend Igor
Karkaroff. Of course, the boy visited every holiday; it was a joyous time for
father and son. They shared a close bond, unlike the others who had
strained relationships with their offspring, where most sought approval over
love.

Julius didn’t have to strive much to prove his worth and garner favour. He
was popular as a Brit among predominantly international students from all
regions of Europe, a natural-born athlete and exceptionally gifted at
transfiguration. He received some backlash for his father’s involvement
with Death Eaters.

Still, by the time Voldemort had risen once again, he was finished with
Durmstrang, and despite his wishes to return to London and fight at his
father’s side, his pleas were ignored, and he was firmly instructed to go to
Moscow and finish his further training.

He distinctively recalled his mother’s letter informing him of his father’s

imprisonment. It had been a dark period, and he had returned with haste but
in vain. His father was sentenced to life in Azkaban for his malicious deeds
or so deemed by the bastards in the Wizengamot. There wasn’t a bloody
thing he could do. Helplessly at his mother’s insistence and father’s advice
from behind the cold bars of Azkaban, with a heavy heart, he returned to
Russia to complete his further education in curse-breaking.

Though he left, he vowed to return, free his father, and wage war on all
those responsible for their suffering. His mother became a ghost of her
former self that drifted aimlessly through the Manor. She passed peacefully
in her sleep a couple of years down the line, and before she succumbed to
her untimely fate, she would whisper his father’s evil doings and beg a
faceless entity for mercy.

His mother’s ramblings meant nothing. Julius was convinced his father was
a great man, and he sought tirelessly to overturn the injustice done to him.
That particular thought drove him to pursue the inner workings of Club
Sanguis.

Formerly, it had been a profitless hideout for pureblood individuals holding

high societal ranks. Still, once Julius instilled himself within the network of
macabre characters led by former Voldemort sympathisers Gregory Goyle
and, to a lesser extent Graham Montague, and once he had proven himself
worthy, taking over the operation had been relatively easy.

Goyle wasn’t a shrewd businessman, and Montague couldn’t be bothered to

see the true potential of the gold mine they sat on. Goyle squandered away
his father’s accumulated wealth and his wife’s large dowry. In return, he
treated her like scum and as his breeding machine. He fathered five children
who, by the grace of God, looked like their mother and nothing whatsoever
like the beefy purple-faced brutish man.

Julius was intelligent and trained in combat and duelling at Durmstrang,

who sought to arm their students with various skills before leaving their
establishment. Goyle had little choice but to hand over the reins, step down
and watch disdainfully as he was usurped. Under Avery’s strict control, the
club and activities flourished, and soon it became known worldwide as an
allegedly reputed institution.

He wasn’t known to be a caring soul, and none would dare cross him. To
add to his dangerous appeal, he commissioned the finest artist to tattoo a
monstrous Basilisk that entwined its way down the entire length of his left
arm. It was a fitting tribute to Salazar Slytherin and his predecessor Lord
Voldemort. He had been spared the Dark Mark, but this was a more
prominent offering of his loyalty.

Julius asked with a slight smile, “My Lord, is the room to your liking?”

The man looked around, impressed by the four-poster bed, antique

furnishings and dormant fireplace. He nodded curtly, “Thank you for
showing me such hospitality, Julius. Your father would be proud.”

Julius beamed but kept his emotions under control, “Thank you, sir. You
honour me with your presence and kind words. My sole wish besides
furthering the cause is to have my father by my side once more.”

The shrouded leader agreed without hesitation, “Unlike the others, your
father was a component duelist. It was a shame Voldemort never regarded
him highly. He only bestowed much of his graciousness over Bellatrix and
Lucius.”

He scoffed, “What a bitter disappointment they turned out to be.”

Rodolphus Lestrange was an understanding man to knowingly let his wife
whore herself to Voldemort. A scandalous rumour that Bella was pregnant
with Voldemort's child caused an irreparable rift between the couple.
However, it became baseless gossip since the eldest Black sister showed no
signs of conception.

Julius graciously bowed in respect, “Certainly, my Lord. My father would

serve you well.”

The master, weary of the conversation, dismissed his lieutenant, “He would
be true. Let us discuss the path to his freedom later. I wish to retire.” It
hadn’t been easy winning over Julius Avery, who had disregarded him
without a second glance and nearly ended his life with the flick of his wand.

Unfortunately, he had to reveal his true self to gain the young wizard's trust,
among others. He knew Julius had his plan and was a much more
formidable wizard than his father before, despite his hope to rescue him. He
knew without a doubt the man would never be the same again. No one left
Azkaban with their mind intact.

Julius grew remorseful of his words about his father and apologised
profusely, “Of course, my Lord. Forgive my impertinence.”

A sudden wave of unease embodied the masked man who hid behind his
Chimera mask. He missed the underground network of dark passageways
and dungeons of the Mansion. It suited his disposition well.

He waved his hand dismissively, “Leave me. I must speak with my brothers
in Romania, France and Japan.” Julius watched the man in a crisp suit,
unable to move a muscle at the sudden belligerent dismissal. Still, without
taking offence, the leader smiled, “One day, I expect you to be at my side
and lead the way forward when I am unable.”

Julius bowed reverently and slowly backed out of the room. He knew what
a gruesome monster the Master was; when the time was right, he would
volunteer to be bitten if it helped free his father.

Malfoy Manor
Having slept fretfully, Draco was up in a few measly hours after leaving
Theo’s following his annoying conversation with Hannah. He trained
vigorously to fill the void.

Would Granger truly sleep with some random stranger she met at a club?
Surely, she would not. He was a dignified prude with his archaic ideologies,
but he dismissed his behaviour as being justified.

The heavyset punching bag took the brunt of his frustration. His hard
punches collided noisily with the rough outer material, and it swung
dangerously, threatening to come loose, but that did little to deter his savage
attack. Draco punched it repeatedly as a faceless man causing Granger to
moan sinfully invaded his mind. His swings grew more frequent, and he
kept going until sweat coated the expanse of his back, and his knuckles
swelled from the torment he inflicted upon them. Max raised his head,
whimpered from the corner and eyed his Master in concern.

“Fuck this,” Draco swore under his breath. He had been pushing himself on
an empty stomach to the brink of demise for hours on end. A quick glance
at the clock informed him it was a little past nine am, Granger would
probably be asleep, but he decided he didn’t particularly care if she was. He
needed to lash out and unburden himself.

He stopped at the floor-length mirror in the bathroom and scrutinised the

angry red bruise glorifying the side of his neck. An unforgettable present
from his intended when she floored him during her little demonstration at
Auror training. It had probably spread through the DMLE, and he was most
likely the laughingstock of the entire department. It didn’t matter much
considering Hermione Granger was responsible, a perfect little swot.

After a lengthy shower that washed out the sweat from his workout, Draco
pulled on a white button-down shirt with a high collar to hide the vicious
mark and blue jeans. Pleased by his appearance, he looked at the clock once
more, quarter past ten.

Leaving the comfort and sanctuary of his room, Draco strode straight to
where his mother kept an impressive collection of vintage bottles of wine in
a decorated cupboard in the foyer. He half expected to find Narcissa reading
a book, but silence greeted him occasionally punctured by Max’s exciting
whimpers and soft growls. The growing dog never left Draco’s side, and he
ruffled its fur and bestowed a look of pure adoration over the German
shepherd.

Throwing the cupboard open, Draco rubbed his chin in thought as he

surveyed the labelled bottles, and a few days-old stubble felt rough on his
fingers. He made a mental note to shave but momentarily disregarded it and
surveyed the neatly arranged bottles of wine that would cost a small
fortune.

Knowing Mr Granger was a wine connoisseur was a significant advantage.

After substantial consideration, he picked up a 1937 Domaine de la
Romanee-Conti Grand Cru. It was an expensive blend but left him terribly
wanting. Draco resumed his search, and hidden in the back was a treasure
he wasn’t sure his mother would easily part with but putting caution to the
wind, he slipped the rare bottle of Romanée-Conti 1945 into the deep
pocket of his black trench coat.

Making sure not to make a sound and awaken half the Manor, he closed the
cabinet doors and walked away, purposefully grabbing a green apple on his
way out. He bit into the juicy flesh and devoured the fruit whole in a few
bites.

He reached his favourite apparition point by the marble fountain watched

by angels and pulled out his wand to disapparate when out of the corner of
his eye he saw Dotty approaching as he disappeared. Max followed Dotty
closely, running towards him as fast as her tiny feet would carry her, flailing
her arms about urgently, but it was too late.

Draco landed near a deserted alleyway away from nosy Muggles and
wandering eyes. Dotty’s conduct perturbed him, but whatever it was would
have to wait. He dusted himself off, stepped onto the busy pedestrian
sidewalk, and kept his face downcast despite the appreciative glances
coming his way. A child eating a strawberry ice cream jolted his memory,
and Granger’s drunken words about reminding her to buy the succulent fruit
came crashing back.
Thankfully, a modern farmers market was within sight, and Draco joined
the swarm of Muggles looking for fresh produce, and he wasn’t
disappointed.

Two stalls down, he came across the plumpest red strawberries he had ever
seen. He tossed one into his mouth and savoured the taste, and without
bargaining, he bought three boxes of fruit from the kind older woman who
ran the stand. She was all smiles at making a large sale and promptly
packed the trays into a bag and handed it over, which Draco took with a
grateful smile.

Running his long fingers through his platinum blonde locks, Draco whistled
softly as he walked along the cobbled street toward Granger’s modest flat
complex. It wasn’t early by any standards, and he abandoned the lift, jogged
up the stairs, and came across Hannah leaning against the wall outside
Granger’s flat, smoking a cigarette and drinking coffee out of a tall plastic
cup.

Hannah caught sight of the smartly dressed man heading her way and
grinned. She would’ve bet good money that Malfoy would turn up.

Draco wasted no time. As he got closer, he pointed to her foul tip, little
nicotine buddy and frowned, “You know that causes cancer, right?! I
thought you were smarter than that.” Hannah rolled her eyes. He struck a
chord and was far better than Hermione at guilting her about her addiction.

Hannah stubbed the cigarette and scoffed, “Argh, please don’t get all
fatherly on me.” She attempted a tired smile, “Thank Merlin, you’re here. I
need to fucking sleep.”

Draco took in the dark circles, and unkempt hair and teased with a slight
smile curving his lips, “You look cheerful.”

Hannah held onto him and exhaled, “I’m fucking dead on my feet. I haven’t
partied with Weasley and Granger before. I have got to admit I’m
impressed.” Indeed, she was. After Malfoy’s call, they had done two more
rounds of shots and left.
Hannah was positive, that Luna had a hollow leg because, despite the
numerous tequila shots, the woman remained composed and on her feet.
Ginny had been a riot, cursing and singing off-key at the top of her lungs,
leaving Hermione with little choice but to intervene. She covered her best
friend’s mouth with her hand while giggling uncontrollably. They had seen
Ginny to Grimmauld Place before returning home.

Draco brushed a piece of greasy hair off Hannah’s face and said firmly,
“Well, she’s in safe hands. You can leave.” He was afraid his partner would
collapse out of sheer exhaustion.

Hannah yawned and didn’t bother to conceal her gaping mouth. She
inconspicuously glanced at the closed door and said groggily, “Don’t make
too much noise. That Muggle bloke from the club spent the night, and they
were bloody loud doing whatever they were doing in the bedroom. I hardly
slept a wink.”

Draco felt a raging surge of anger. His hands balled into fists, and his
features contorted unpleasantly as he hissed, “What?” Somebody was going
to die, but he wasn’t quite sure who. He battled internally. Calm yourself.
This isn’t the way! What is the matter with you?

Hannah let out a tired chuckle and rubbed her eyes to chase away the
sleepiness, “You’re lucky, Malfoy. Granger sounds pretty good in the
sack.”

“How could you let this happen, Hannah?” Draco accused outwardly, after
failing miserably to keep his temper intact.

Back in China, he had such control over his emotions and feelings. After a
few weeks with Granger and all his hard work to control his inner self fell
apart.

Hannah shrugged, “It’s not my place to dictate her life, Malfoy.” She poked
him in the chest with a knowing smirk, “Granger has needs, Malfoy. Needs
you aren’t satisfying, apparently.” Draco blushed crimson and raised a
questioning brow. What was that supposed to mean? Whatever it was
sounded insulting. He was ignorant of the fact that women shared their
feelings with friends.

Draco ignored the brazen comment, cracked his knuckles and gritted out,
“You might want to stick around, Abbott. I make no promises to behave as a
gentleman should.” He was going to unceremoniously toss the stupid
wanker out on his arse and throttle Granger for behaving like a tart.

Hannah stopped Draco from storming into Hermione’s flat by grabbing his
arm and bursting out laughing, “The look on your face is priceless.” The
hilarity of the situation caused her to double over with laughter and hold
onto her sides.

“You’re a cunt,” Draco said with a deep frown. The realisation that he had
been played was bittersweet. On the one hand, he was immensely relieved
that Granger had not shared her bed, and on the other hand, he was
exceedingly annoyed with Abbott for angering him with falsehoods that led
to him behaving like a jealous moron.

Hannah composed herself, ignored the icy glare of her partner, patted him
heartedly on the back and exclaimed, “Oh, well! I’m off to get some shut-
eye. I’ll take her off your hands in a few hours.”

She added for good measure with a smug smirk, “Have a good day,
Malfoy.”

Draco turned his back on her and flipped her off before entering the flat
with Hannah’s tired laughter ringing in his ear.

The living area was empty, and he assumed Granger was either asleep or in
the bathroom. He hung up his coat with more force than necessary, left the
bag of strawberries on the table, walked towards the room, and made his
presence known before entering, “I'm coming in, Granger. I hope you are
decent." Draco heard a muffled reply, and without waiting for further
clarification or invitation, he pushed the door open and marched in. The
state she was in was the complete opposite of decent.
Hermione drowsily sat up wearing nothing but a pair of flattering silk
knickers and a fluffy white bathrobe to cover her nakedness. She massaged
her throbbing temples and yawned. Draco stilled and froze by the entrance
as her breasts pulled tight and rode up as she inhaled. He got a glimpse of
rosy-tipped nipples and matching areola, which was enough to send his
dormant hormones into a frenzy.

He swallowed the lump that formed and tried a direct question, "Did you
have a pleasant evening?" Unfortunately, despite warning himself to control
his feelings, they got the better of him, and the resentment he harboured
was apparent.

Hermione closed her eyes, massaged her throbbing temples, and whispered,
"Please speak softly and yes, I did." It wasn't a lie. She had a marvellous
time and was now paying the price with a dreadful headache and hangover.

Draco positioned himself by the door, narrowed his eyes and murmured, "I
heard you made a new friend." Fuck subtly. He was going to give her a
piece of his mind. There was an imminent threat on her life, and that sleazy
Muggle could have easily been a Death Eater in disguise.

Hermione smiled despite the pain in her head and nodded in agreement,
"Ah, yes, Steven was charming and such a gentleman." She stretched the
truth to provoke a reaction from the fuming blonde man standing in her
room. Why must Hannah have all the fun?

"Good for you," Draco spat in contempt and followed it up with a stern, "I
told you to be careful. He could've been anyone." An unsupervised night
around town under the current circumstances was a terrible idea, even if
Hannah was in attendance.

Hermione tried hard not to laugh at how genuinely upset Malfoy appeared
and reasoned, "There was no cause for concern. It was a bit of innocent fun.
Besides, Hannah was right there."

Draco refuted harshly, "Must you behave so poorly, Granger?" Innocent bit
of fun? Was she barking mad? Her little escapade could have resulted in
death.
"He was nice," Hermione said with a definite roll of her eyes and a casual
shrug. Was Malfoy's anger centred around his job, or was it something else
entirely? She couldn't help but wonder, and even in her hangover state, she
leaned towards his empowering smell and presence. What was that earthy
cologne he used? She wanted to drown in it.

Nice? Draco was utterly livid, "I don't fucking care!!" He yelled, forgetting
her earlier request to keep his voice down.

Grabbing the sides of her head, Hermione grimaced and pleaded, "Argh,
stop yelling. I have a splitting headache."

With a significant roll of his eyes, Draco left the room abruptly and went
into the kitchen, searching for the hangover cure he was sure she kept
handy. He was familiar with the surroundings after having stayed over to
look after her numerous times. In next to no time, he located the small vial,
stormed back into the room and impatiently held it out for her to take. She
acted like an impudent child, and her reckless conduct irritated him.

Hermione sighed, took the opened bottle and drained the contents. The
effects were instantaneous.

A warm flutter spread to the corners of her body, and the earlier feeling of a
dead cat on her tongue and excruciating headache vanished into
nothingness. She opened her eyes a new person and leapt out of bed, still
wearing the robe that barely concealed her body.

She did a few warm-up exercises while Draco watched her movements
intently and said with a cheery disposition, "Ah, much better. Thank you,
Malfoy."

Draco mumbled a halfhearted, "You're welcome." He was still waiting for a

viable excuse for her behaviour at the nightclub.

Hermione cocked her head to the side and queried rather innocently, "What
time is it?"
Draco found it hard to tear his gaze away from the wild dark down tussles
that framed her face, but reluctantly, he glanced at his watch and informed,
"Quarter to eleven."

"And why are you here?" Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and
asked with the quizzical raise of a perfectly shaped brow.

Draco frowned. Obviously, she had forgotten about visiting her parents. He
elucidated with smug superiority and an alluring grin, "I thought you would
want to head to brunch together, but I can meet you there if you wish."

Hermione slapped her forehead and groaned, "Oh, fuck! Brunch, of course."
She would have traded anything to forgo brunch, slip under her sheets with
Malfoy, preferably next to her and drift off into dreamless slumber, but it
was far too late to cancel without hearing an earful from her temperamental
father.

"Seriously? How could you forget?" Draco scolded with a disapproving

shake of his head. Even though her manner annoyed him, he preferred
scatterbrained Granger over the one that analysed every microscopic detail.

Hermione bent to touch her toes and defended her actions fiercely, "I was so
intoxicated I would've forgotten my name."

Draco observed her trying tirelessly to touch her toes without bending her
knees and stifled a laugh. Instead, he scoffed, "But not the name of the man
who kept you company."

Hermione was beside herself. How dare he act this way? Was he looking for
an apology?

She had gone out with friends and not for some bloody shagfest, and even if
she had slept with Steven, it wouldn't have been any of Malfoy's business.
His incessant questioning and schoolboy-like behaviour started getting on
her nerves. Ron had similar traits, which caused them to go their separate
ways, and she truly hoped Malfoy would refrain from being a tremendous
pain in her arse.
Draco noticed the shift in his fiancé's disposition and sought to set the
record straight, "Look, I'm not trying to tell you what to do, Granger. These
are uncertain times, and you could have been in danger." He knew a woman
like Granger would not take kindly to possessiveness, but in this instance,
she left little choice.

Hermione heaved a sigh and muttered a quick, "Fine. Whatever," before

turning away to search for clothes. She was suddenly acutely aware that she
was naked as a gust of cool wind swept through the room. The coolness
seeped into her skin and awakened the fine hairs on her neck.

An awkward silence engulfed them as one stood unmoving while the other
frantically scanned the surroundings for a shred of clothing. The realisation
that something might have transpired between the Muggle and her came to
Draco's mind as he recalled Hannah's dire warning, "Don't touch her."

It made sense to clarify what happened for the sake of his sanity, but since
when did his saneness rely on Granger's activities? He was sailing into
uncharted waters without a hope in the world.

Draco cleared his throat and interrogated, "Did he touch you?"

Hermione stopped searching for clothes, stared into his handsome face with
an amused expression, and contemplated an answer. She regarded him
curiously, "Elaborate what you mean." Her response was unsatisfactory and
caused Draco to frown deeply.

He closed the gap between them in two strides and retorted, "What are you
playing at? Did he touch you, Granger? Intimately like this…." He ran the
somewhat rough pad of his thumb along her bottom lip and waited
impatiently for a suitable explanation.

Moving away from his manly fragrance and scorching touch that left her
without any intelligent thoughts, Hermione stood still before she snapped
out of the daze, licked her bottom lip and glared sternly, "Even if he did, it's
none of your business, Malfoy."
Draco boldly gestured to the exquisite ring wrapped around her finger and
insisted, "The ring disagrees." The precious stone had turned a flattering
shade of pale red, and he knew it meant its allegiance was solely to him. To
the best of her ability, Narcissa had briefly explained the many mysterious
functions of the ring and what the colours depicted. Having worn the
beautiful heirloom for nearly a lifetime offered her some insight into its
workings.

Hermione made her thoughts on the matter abundantly clear, "Please don't
delude yourself. I do not appreciate outbursts of jealousy. We are not
obligated to one another." It was the bitter truth despite the sexual attraction
to each other, which could be easily dismissed if she put her mind to it, or
so she thought.

Draco's eyes roved over her body at an antagonising slow pace. He smirked
in reply, "Perhaps you should change unless you plan on wearing a sexy
bathrobe that hardly covers your bits to your parents." He found her
behaviour highly amusing, but her harsh words dented his heart a smidge.

Hermione secured the robe around her more evenly and openly scowled,
"Grow up, Malfoy. Go into the living room and amuse yourself while I get
ready." Refusing to entertain her request, Draco stood his ground and
queried, "Did you decide about Hawaii?"

She supposed there was plenty to discuss. They hadn't spoken about
anything in detail especially not about their upcoming trip. Deciding that
now was a better time than ever, Hermione replied with a certain level of
hesitation, "I spoke to Harry. He insisted that I go to Hawaii."

Draco spied something silky under the cupboard. He picked up a discarded

green thong off the floor, regarded it curiously and chuckled, "I hate to say I
told you so." He knew without a doubt that Potter would insist she leave.
Hermione was woefully unaware of how much the Ministry of Magic
valued her.

Hermione grew bored of his overbearing behaviour and hissed, "Then don't,
Malfoy. I still think it's a terrible idea, but let's go." There, it was done and
dusted. They would go to Honolulu and try not to succumb to the crackling
sexual tension that embodied them.

"Good. You won't regret it," Draco guaranteed. It would be an excellent

opportunity to break down barriers and be vulnerable in each other's
presence. He wanted Granger to confide in him and forgive and forget his
past unpleasantness.

Hermione was already regretting it. She offered good-naturedly, "I will
authorise a Portkey. We can meet here Friday morning and be whisked
away. I'll inform Ginny…."

Draco interrupted with a quizzical raise of his brow, "Ginny? As in Ginny

Weasley?" Surely, he was mistaken.

Hermione had the good grace to look mildly ashamed. She tucked a tendril
of hair behind her ear and said in a carrying tone, "Oh, did I fail to mention
Ginny will be joining?"

Draco exhaled and nodded curtly, "Yes, as a matter of fact, you did."

It hadn't occurred to Hermione to ask for permission. After all, she wasn't
the initiator of the said trip, and it dawned on her that inviting another
without running it by Malfoy might have been in poor taste.

Bollocks. She had undoubtedly done the unthinkable without a second

thought to anyone's feelings. Still, unfortunately, it was far too late to go
back on her word and cancel plans with Ginny without looking like an utter
sodding shit. Hoping for the best, Hermione inquired timidly, "Is it a
problem?" Silently, she scolded herself for not thinking things through.

Draco shook his head and smiled reassuringly, "Relax. It's not a problem in
the slightest." He understood her reasons for wanting her best friend to
accompany her but wished she had informed him of her decision. Blaise
and Daphne came to mind, and he hoped there wouldn't be any unnecessary
complications between the couples.
Hermione relaxed slightly and diverted the conversation, "I thought of
informing my parents about dinner at the Manor over brunch." Draco
stiffened. He was unaware of any dinner at the Manor and bemused, "What
dinner?"

She assumed Narcissa would have spoken to him about it, but clearly, she
was greatly mistaken. Hermione chewed on her lip nervously and clarified,
"Narcissa thought it prudent to host dinner for my parents at the Manor
before we left for Hawaii. As a gesture of goodwill."

Draco grew wide-eyed with reasonable shock, "Why is this the first time
I've heard of this?" He then recalled Dotty flagging him down before he left
and wondered if there was a connection between the two. It had been days
since he had seen his mother, and he had left Dotty without a backwards
glance since he was sure it wasn't urgent. Evidently, he was mistaken.

"Narcissa suggested it. I thought she might have mentioned it," Hermione
offered further insight into the matter. Draco frowned and replied
thoughtfully, "I've hardly been home. I'll speak to her later, I suppose. I
have no objections; however, I would appreciate due warning next
time." He was exceedingly fond of the Grangers and thought inviting them
to dinner was a brilliant idea.

Hermione nodded in agreement. She was blindsiding him with a ton of

information, and it hardly seemed fair. However, there was a matter of great
importance and one that Kingsley mentioned on the sly or slipped into the
conversation when she least expected it.

"Um, we need to set a date," Hermione averted her gaze and said. She felt
incredibly shy at the moment and couldn't bring herself to look at him
directly. His mystic eyes roving over her face searching for answers threw
her off balance and caused her breathing to hasten.

Draco became rigid and replied without hesitation, "How about two weeks
after we return?" This particular topic was something her parents were
bound to touch on, and it made perfect sense to speak about it before it was
addressed over Nana Granger's gorgeous apple pie.
Hermione scrunched her nose and questioned, "Why does it have to be two
weeks? There's nothing to plan but turn up at Ministry, and we already work
there, so it's no hassle whatsoever."

Though Draco wasn't convinced, he asked sceptically, "Are you absolutely

sure you don't want a function?"

Hermione answered without a hint of hesitation, "Positive! I will not change

my mind." She would not celebrate a union that was forced upon her. They
had stolen her right to choose a spouse, but she would exercise whatever
liberty she had left by not having a function.

Draco sighed. His mother and hers would be sorely disappointed, but
Narcissa wasn't the type to take things lying down. He was convinced the
matter was far from being over.

He shrugged to show indifference and suggested casually, "We could hop

over to Las Vegas and get married at one of those shoddy chapels by an
Elvis Presley impersonator." It seemed ideal, less bothersome, and a
fantastic story to tell others one day.

Hermione's mouth fell agape. She shot down the idea with a significant
amount of disgust, "Let's maintain some class, please." Draco regarded her
with an amused expression and quipped, "Oh, of course! Getting hitched at
the Ministry oozes class, doesn't it?"

"Must you be incorrigible, Malfoy?" Hermione said superbly disdainfully,

and Draco countered with equal valour, "Must you be difficult, Granger?"
Their banter was undoubtedly becoming.

The seconds ticked by relentlessly, and Hermione toyed with the string of
her robe and asked curiously, "Who's your witness?" Draco answered
without pause, "Blaise. And yours?" Theo would not take kindly to his
decision and would proceed to throw a childish tantrum.

Hermione replied thoughtfully, "Harry, but I haven't asked him yet." She
had initially thought Ginny would be better suited since it was Malfoy but
then remembered Harry worked with them. It would be less of a bother and
perfectly executed.

Draco slyly suggested with comical intent, "Why don't you ask Weasley to
be your witness?" Hermione piled her hair on top of her head and replied
sarcastically, "Very funny, you prat." He smiled slightly and caught her
observing him through the mirror with a mischievous smirk.

In an instant, their guard dropped, and hidden feelings and sexual tension
they tried tirelessly to keep at bay swallowed them whole. Draco gravitated
closer and inhaled deeply, "Your fragrance is intoxicating." She smelled
faintly of lavender and roses.

Hermione thanked Merlin for the fleeting thought that led to having a
leisurely shower right after returning from the club. The smell of smoke and
booze had clung to her clothes and hair, and she diligently shampooed her
hair twice to get the dreadful smell out.

Boldly, she stepped into the circle of warmth he projected and roughly
pulled down the collar covering the wound on his neck. Though slightly
cautious, he let her do as she pleased. Hermione moved the soft tips of her
fingers over the angry bruise and drawled somewhat seductively, "Does it
hurt?"

Draco sneered, moved away a tad and gritted out, "Does it matter? Please
don't act as if you care for my benefit. We are beyond such niceness."

"Mmm..." Hermione breathed. She went on tiptoes, kissed the reddened

mark, and tried to replace it with her own by gently suckling on his pale
skin using her lips and tongue.

Draco's eyes fluttered shut, and a satisfying guttural groan left his lips as he
surrendered to her diligent ministrations.

Satisfied by her work of branding him, Hermione whispered into the shell
of his ear, "Does that feel better?"
Draco swallowed hard and replied huskily, "Mmm, yes." He cupped her
face, and while she leaned eagerly into his tender touch, he crushed her lips
with his. Not realising her robe had conveniently come apart, Hermione
pressed herself against him wantonly and moaned between heated kisses.

Draco slipped his hands inside the robe and felt the flushed bare skin of her
waist burn against his touch. His fingers dug in, and he held her firmly to
him as he backed her towards the moderately sized bed with light blue
bedding. His tongue explored the expanse of her mouth, and she returned
his fervent dominance by twirling her tongue around his and moulding her
lips perfectly to his.

The back of her legs hit the side of her bed. They lost balance and toppled
onto the comfortable sheets. She was almost naked underneath him with
only a pair of knickers covering her decency, but neither seemed bothered.

Hermione undid the buttons of his shirt and ran her fingernails up and down
his torso while he licked a stripe down her neck and pried her legs apart
with his knee. Sounds of pleasure from both of them bounced off the walls
of the tiny space, and it urged them forward to complete the act that would
make them whole.

His hand moved on their accord to cup a breast. He kneaded the soft flesh
and pinched the nipple before taking the pebbled nub between his lips.
Hermione arched her back and mewled as the tip of his insistent tongue
danced an enticing pattern around her fully aroused nipple. Wetness
accumulated between her thighs and dampened her knickers.

Draco swirled his tongue around the nipple and gently grazed it with his
teeth, garnering a low contented moan from the witch writhing under him
while his free hand massaged the other breast and pinched the rock-hard
nipple. All feelings headed south, and his cock sprang to life and threatened
to rip through his jeans.

Burying his head in the crook of her neck, he pulled at her skin with his
teeth, the same as she did him and demanded in a voice that was clearly not
his own, "Do you like that, Granger?" Hermione threw her head back, and
her toes curled as the renewed sensations he evoked overpowered her.
She breathed, "Yes."

Taking his hand off her bosom, she guided it between her legs and pressed
it to the dampened material. Draco shielded her laced-covered cunt with his
hand and moved the tip of his middle finger along her material-protected
slit soothingly before slipping it under the fabric and feeling her arousal
greet him.

He repeatedly claimed her lips and rasped, "You're dripping, my love." His
solitary finger exploring her inner folds was heavenly, but she preferred to
be impaled by his cock. Hermione could feel his stiff shaft over the rough
jeans material press into her body.

She struggled but sat up with some difficulty while Draco continued to
caress her. When he felt she was ready, he slipped the finger into the tight
passage of her vagina. Hermione locked hooded eyes with him, parted her
lips, and gasped at the welcome intrusion. Her inner walls contracted
around his digit and held him tightly in place.

Draco was lost, but a nagging inner voice and feeling kept eating away at
his consciousness, and his hardness slipped. He withdrew his hand and
abruptly shot to his feet. Sweat dripped down his back and disappeared into
the crevice of his buttocks.

Hermione used the distraction to sit up. She reached for him and pulled him
towards her by the loops on his jeans. His crotch was eye level with her,
and she bit her bottom lip and grinned devilishly, "To the victor, go the
spoils." She was going to have sex with former nemesis Draco Malfoy, and
there wasn't a soul alive to stop them.

She went to pull down the zip slowly, but Draco took a small step back,
looked down his nose at her, and said reluctantly, "You could have asked for
anything, and I would've handed it over with no questions asked. Are you
sure you want to waste it?"

He swallowed hard, and when she didn't reply, he pointedly glanced at his
watch before saying, "Besides, it's getting late. We mustn't be late." The
intensity of the situation caused his insecurities to flair and his confidence
to wane drastically, making his cock lose its hardness. He wasn't ready to do
this and disappoint her.

Hermione openly dismissed his comment and reached for him again,
"There's plenty of time, Draco." His short statement made her second guess
herself and feel inadequate, but he slipped away and replied shakily, "Not
really, it's nearly twelve, and I'd rather not get on your father's bad side."

Falling back onto the bed, Hermione propped herself up on her elbows and
made her frustrations avidly known, "Why do you always do that?" She
wanted answers.

His behaviour was getting tiresome; if he wasn't willing to have sex, then
she could drop the subject and look elsewhere to satisfy her needs. Plenty of
perfectly good-looking intelligent men were more than willing to do the
deed without expectations.

Draco knew precisely what she was after, but instead, he asked faux
innocently, "I don't follow." Hermione sprang to her feet in anger. His
refusal of her was humiliating and stubborn tears of frustration almost spilt
over.

She accused harshly and rightly so, "We snog each other senseless, but
when it comes down to fucking, you back off." She didn't care to refrain
from using colourful phrases to describe their dilemma.

Hermione demanded through clenched teeth, "I want to know why,

Malfoy."

Draco flinched as her words cut through him. He could see the hurt in her
beautiful eyes, and that wasn't his intention, "I, erm. Well, we shouldn't. Not
like this." He stumbled over his words and sounded utterly unconvincing.

Hermione was livid, "What do you mean?" She could hardly wait to hear
his reasoning.

"It doesn't feel right," Draco argued in a futile attempt to obscure his
insecurities. He could practically sense Granger's anger rise with each
passing second.

Hermione cried in outrage, "What!?" This was absurd. It felt plenty right to
her. Not a moment ago, he had his finger buried up her cunt. Was he
fucking saving himself?

She brazenly pointed to the bed and insisted, "It felt plenty right when you
were on top of me just now." Moving closer, Hermione shamelessly cupped
his package while he went rigid but didn't dare to move a muscle.

Her hand barely covered his hardened appendage. It throbbed and pulsated
against her hand. She came to the shuddering conclusion that Draco Malfoy
had a decent-sized cock even though he wasn't wholly aroused.

She accused without a shred of mercy, "You want this." Her breasts pushed
up against his chest, and Draco's breathing elevated. He locked imploring
eyes with the persistent woman giving him her undivided attention, and
drawled in a jagged voice of steel, "Of course, I want this."

Hermione immensely enjoyed his discomfort, but she tried a more direct
question. A question that constantly swirled around her mind eating into her
insecurities, "Do I disgust you?"

Draco could understand why she would need to ask such a pointless
question. He was well aware that it was his doing. Pushing his still-aroused
cock further into the palm of her hand, he boldly argued, "Does that answer
you're ridiculous question?"

Hermione ran her manicured fingers up and down his sheathed dick, looked
him directly in the eyes and challenged, "Then why don't you? What's
holding you back?"

She applied pressure, and Draco paled, but Hermione smiled and haughtily
added with dripping sarcasm, "Are you mortified by the concept of sticking
it into a Mudblood?" She waited anxiously for his answer.

Draco flinched and hissed in abhorrence, "Do not use that disgusting word
in my presence." He followed through with a heartfelt, genuine question,
"And do you still think I am so shallow?" Indeed, she now thought
differently. He wanted to claim and give her what they badly wanted, but he
needed more time to prepare himself mentally.

Slowly, Hermione kept snaking her fingers up and down his penis and
admitted, "I quite frankly do not know what to think." She didn't know what
to make of his behaviour except to merit it to his guilty conscience because
of her unworthy blood status.

Closing his eyes, Draco exhaled, his breathing laboured as he struggled to

keep his primaeval instincts under control and said in a dangerously low
voice, "Stop touching my cock, Granger." Hermione smirked and pouted
her lips, "But, I quite like touching your cock, Malfoy." Gathering his
willpower, he moved away and put some distance between them.

Hermione chuckled but kept her true feelings hidden. She walked over to
the dresser in search of some proper underwear and shed further light on the
distasteful state of affairs, "Well, Draco, in the past, you have refused to
touch me for fear of soiling yourself with my filth."

Draco grew tired of her referencing the past and gritted out, "That's in the
past and irrelevant. It's got nothing to do with it. I desire you far more than
you know."

"Then what's stopping you?" Hermione cocked her head to the side and
implored. He was yet to provide a satisfactory answer.

Draco sighed, "I…." Perhaps it would be in their best interest to simply

address the facts and avoid the apparent misunderstanding that seemed to be
happening.

Hermione sensed his difficulty and hesitation to divulge sensitive

information and reassured him, "Draco, you can tell me. I won't judge. I
swear it, and …."

She was interrupted when he blurted out unceremoniously, "I haven't had
sex since I left England."
What the blooming fuck? Out of all the possible explanations, she would
have never picked that one. No wonder he was tripping over himself and
acting dodgy about the whole thing. It made sense, Hermione supposed. He
had performance anxiety. The once well-known shag was scared of not
living up to his reputation or was it a poorly disguised cover-up to hide his
real intentions.

"Oh…" the single damaging word left her lips without much thought.
Hermione came to the shuddering conclusion that she was more sexually
experienced than Draco Malfoy. In the weirdest of ways, it did not sit right
with her but gave her a surging sense of perverse dominance.

Draco frowned. His evident displeasure was etched onto his appealing
features, "That's not a good oh, is it?" Salazar, she probably thought he was
completely mental and horrid in bed. His anxieties returned, and he did
what breathing exercises he learned to push them away.

Hermione defended her poorly timed words and stated plainly what she
believed to be the truth, "It's a surprised one. I thought you might have or
would have at least with Astoria after your return."

Draco explained his actions further with a hint of remorse and solemnly, "I
kept myself celibate out of choice not because of the lack of opportunities,
and Astoria's mind is fragile. She would misinterpret intimacy as a sign of
rekindling our relationship."

Plenty of women in the village were willing to accommodate him if he

wished, but it never took precedence over the real reason he was there.
During his time at the Shaolin Temple, he practised the ways of Buddhism
and lived as a monk though he was never officially ordained.

Hermione composed herself and shoved the bubbling anger that rose back
to the pits from whence it came. Her bitter thoughts ran rampant. Oh, he
wanted to sleep with Greengrass but was concerned about driving her off
the edge. Bloody marvellous. She fought the urge to fling a pillow at his
very handsome head.
She raised a questioning brow, "Are you a monk?" Maybe he was and
couldn't be tempted, and she would be damned to the bowels of hell for
trying to seduce a man of religion.

Draco threw his arms open and showed his vulnerable self. He mused with
a slight smirk, "Do I look like a monk?"

"I had to ask. It's rather odd," Hermione answered callously with a casual
shrug.

Draco was perplexed by her assumption, "Why? Because I preferred to stay

away from physical entanglements? I had many things to accomplish, and
sex wasn't on my list of priorities." He hesitated and became cagey with the
latter part of his answer, "Besides, I haven't looked at another woman
since…."

Hermione grew exceedingly curious and queried impatiently, "Since what?"

There was little point in denying the truth. Draco took a deep breath and
confessed, "Well, since we become somewhat intimate. Believe it or not,
you are all I think about and not always sexually. I worry about your safety.
These are uncertain times, and your association with me has put you in
grave danger."

Merlin, that's a lot of well-rehearsed bull.

Hermione swallowed her annoyance and declared, "I'm fine, Malfoy. See?
Not a scratch on my body." She unashamedly showed him her nakedness,
and surprisingly he didn't flinch but stared at her body in fascination,
moving his astute eyes over her imperfections. She had faint stretch marks
and several scars.

Her body had been through its fair share of battles, and it didn't bother her
to show him her true self. The pendant and chain he gifted sat snugly
nestled between the valley of her breasts, and a prominent scar ran down
the side of her thigh. No one escaped the Battle of Hogwarts without a
souvenir.
She said bitterly, "Despite all I've accomplished, I'm still considered
unworthy by most." His rejection of her only solidified the notion.

Draco moved closer, ran his middle finger down the healed scar and felt her
breathing hasten. He secured the robe around her voluptuous body,
reluctantly stepped away and responded appropriately, "You are a
remarkable witch."

Hermione scoffed, "You didn't always think so."

Draco argued indefinitely, "My opinion of you changed years ago, but
would you have believed it if I said it back then?" Many a night, he would
wander onto the many terraces of the temple and stare into the starry sky
free of air pollution and think about his ill-treatment of Granger and how
someday he would make amends for his distasteful behaviour.

Of course, Hermione knew none of that except what she was familiar with.
She answered thoughtfully, "Probably not. I hardly believe it now." Taking
her hands in his, he lightly brushed her knuckles with an endearing kiss and
promised, "I swear on my honour to keep you safe."

Hermione froze momentarily and stared at the platinum blonde head bent
before her. It was hard to come to terms with the fact that it was Malfoy
showing her such attention. After a while, she pulled her hands free from
his grasp and sighed, "Umm, yes, well, we should leave, I suppose. It's
getting late."

Draco cupped her face and pleaded for her to understand his predicament
somehow, "Granger, have patience. When we do, it will be quite an
unforgettable experience." It was a somewhat cocky statement, but one he
believed would transpire.

Somehow, she doubted it.

Patience? Merlin! He made her sound like a desperate tart with an insatiable
itch to scratch.
She averted her penetrative gaze and answered with a quick nod, "I
understand, Malfoy."

Draco wasn't convinced. Granger was such an appalling liar. He raised a

questioning brow and coaxed, "Do you?"

Hermione rummaged through her drawers in search of a bra, it wasn't an

urgent need, but she desperately needed to focus on something. She found a
silk bra and pulled it out before answering truthfully, "Not remotely, but I'm
not going to force myself on you." She did not need to inflict herself upon a
man who was not ready or, worse, not attracted to her.

Draco pursed his lips and grew annoyed by her answer and reaction. He had
been frank, and she was unwilling to give him the benefit of the doubt,
"You've taken what I've said out of context. That's not it at all."

Hermione shrugged and almost shoved him out of the room, "If you say so.
Give me a few to get ready."

Draco backed away from the door before Hermione closed it, "Of course.
I'll be right here."

She leaned against the door and willed her rapidly beating heart to still. This
was an unprecedented turn of events, and Hermione was forced to admit
that Luna had been right in her assumption that Malfoy was indeed waiting
for the opportune moment to have sex. She heard his heavy footsteps
heading towards the living room.

Dorian happily greeted the men approaching his booth, "Good afternoon,
gentlemen." He was on his second helping of vanilla ice cream smothered
in chocolate sauce with a generous helping of peanuts.

Kingsley was in no mood for polite pleasantries. He glanced at the vibrant

colours embellishing the ice cream parlour and said in annoyance, "Cut the
bullshit, Blackwood. We called this meeting days ago." Thomas had
tirelessly tried to set up a meeting, but Dorian remained elusive, making
excuses and blaming it on the situation.
Dorian tried to appease the Minister of Magic with genuine concern, "I
cannot meet at the drop of her hat. There is a process, mate." He stuck his
spoon into the bowl of melting ice cream and looked forlorn, "I'm sorry
about the Muggles. I had no idea he was planning an attack."

He spat contemptuously, "The dodgy fuck keeps the important stuff to

himself."

Kingsley leaned forward and hissed, "Did you fucking know he was a
werewolf?" A bubbly waitress in a red and white uniform approached them
and keenly inquired about their order. Harry scanned through the menu and
swiftly ordered a banana split with only chocolate ice cream; Kingsley
followed with a slice of ice cream cake topped with oodles of whipped
cream. The server took the order down and went on her merry way.

Dorian licked his spoon clean and looked thoughtful, "I had my suspicions,
but he masks his scent, not his accent. I've heard it before, but I must
confirm it's him." The heavy accent was familiar, but it had been nearly a
decade since he last heard it. It was imperative to tread lightly and not
arouse suspicion.

"Is it Dolohov?" Harry asked impatiently. It would help their case to put a
name to a face, even one as revolting as Antonin Dolohov. The Romanian
butcher, as he was fondly referred to back in the day. He was a merciless
fiend who murdered any in his path. Harry thought sadly of Teddy.

Dorian shook his head and gritted in frustration, "I can't be sure, but the
bastard sounds damn near close enough."

"He's waging war against Muggles and us," Kingsley expressed great
concern. His confidence waned as reports of attacks from across the world
made it to his table and ear. The full moon had become their greatest
adversary as the attacks happened in wolf form.

Dorian declared solemnly, "It's a war he will most likely win, Minister."
What good was a wand when surrounded by werewolves? Sure, it would
help take down one, maybe two, or three if you were lucky, but it would
only be a matter of time.
Harry, who had been keeping a close eye on the surroundings, snapped to
attention, "Not whilst we draw breath."

Dorian leaned forward, dropped his voice and stated the obvious facts for
his declaration, "His pack is over four thousand strong. It's unheard of that
so many wolves can live harmoniously, but he's achieved the impossible.
They want what you are unwilling to give." It was a remarkable feat.
Werewolves lived somewhat harmoniously within a pack, but the
intermingling of groups had always been disastrous except for now.

He critically eyed Harry in his all-black ensemble and said knowingly, "You
lot stand in their way of war against the Muggles."

Harry was beside himself with anger, "We stand in the way because it's
fucking wrong." He was careful not to be overheard by the bunch of
Muggles that occupied the wooden table next to them. There was no
opportunity to cast a spell over them to safeguard their words.

Dorian scoffed openly and sneered, "Not to the thousands of werewolves

worldwide. Wizards dug their graves by treating our lot poorly. We are
always misjudged and treated like dogs." His words held a certain degree of
resentment and poorly disguised contempt.

"Having a change of heart?" Kingsley inquired with a sceptical raised brow.

He had been listening intently to Dorian's inspirational words. Bringing his
hands together, he asked the most obvious question that was imperative to
their cause, "And where do your loyalties lie?"

Dorian stuffed his face with a spoonful of vanilla ice cream and leered, "He
promises freedom, but at what cost? The term freedom is subjective. I
fought for a cause once and lost everything I held dear. I will not make that
same mistake again, and I trust you will not go back on your word." Few
knew about his pregnant mate. In a rage over his disobedience, Voldemort
had forced him to watch as he struck her down with one spell and laughed
over his grief.

Monsters such as Voldemort and his followers lacked empathy. Kingsley

and his lot, for whatever reason, were approachable and willing to listen to
reason. They used deadly force when necessary but not out of pleasure and
cruel intent.

Harry was insulted and demanded, "Have I ever?" He was a man of his
word and would remain so until his last breath.

Dorian muttered, "No." He wondered where Thomas was. It was

implausible the veteran would miss out on the meeting, but Thomas had
bigger fish to fry. He was tailing Julius Avery's every movement.

Kingsley gritted out, "We need to find a weakness. Something to cripple

him." The waitress returned with their order and threw him a look of
caution before setting down their bowls filled to the brim with homemade
ice cream. It looked and smelled delicious.

Dorian grew weary of the Minister's behaviour, "He has none. You would
be wasting your time. Focus on countering the attack that's headed in our
direction. As they have united worldwide, you will have to follow their
lead. It's the only way."

Kingsley knew Blackwood spoke the truth. Still, it irked him that they
depended heavily on his intel. He never fully trusted the man willing to spy
on his kind and aid in their possible demise.

"I heard about your meeting with Ezra, Cyrus and Edward," Dorian chimed
in. Word had reached him of their unsuccessful attempt to sway three of the
most prominent pack leaders in Europe.

Harry frowned, "It did not go as planned." It couldn't have gone any worse.
It was a devastating blow to their cause to lose their support.

Dorian said thoughtfully, "Edward isn't keen on going to war. He does so to

appease the others and ensure his pack's survival. Ezra and Cyrus will fight
to the bitter end." Alpha Edward was a complicated soul, and unlike the
other Alphas, he never exercised his right over women. He remained
without a mate despite many she-wolves' attempts to seduce him. He relied
heavily on his breeders to add numbers to the pack. It was long since
rumoured that he was married when he was human and still undyingly
loved his human mate.

Kingsley ate a spoonful of delicious soft-serve ice cream and stressed, "We
need an inside man."

"What am I chopped liver?" Dorian cried indignantly. Hadn't he risked his

life for the cause?

Kingsley rolled his eyes and stated, "A wizard, Dorian."

A sly smirk curved Dorian's lips, "He's keen on the Malfoy brat."

Kingsley replied eagerly, "I know! Thomas mentioned it."

Dorian injected a casual, devil-may-care shrug, "Maybe the pampered prat

is the key?"

Harry shook his head and voiced his thoughts, "I highly doubt it. Lucius's
name is in the mud. Malfoy is almost an Auror and engaged to Granger.
They won't trust him."

Dorian was sceptical and countered, "If he plays his part convincingly, they
will."

"No! It's too much of a risk," Harry shot down the idea with good reason.

However, Dorian was persistent. He pressed forward, "Take it from me.

He's looking to add Malfoy to his collection of wealthy wizards." After a
moment's thought, he included, "Malfoy is the wealthiest among the lot and
will be the crowning jewel of his collection."

Harry refused to entertain such a presumptuous notion, "Malfoy is still a

trainee. The man just returned from a ten-year hiatus. Let's find another
way."

Kingsley said in deep thought, "He might be willing to do it." It was safe to
assume that Malfoy was looking to redeem himself and replace his past
malicious deeds with good ones.
Still, Harry adamantly refused, "It's got nothing to do with that. He's not
ready mentally or physically to go up against an uprising or face the
demons of his past."

Kingsley was taken aback by Potter's blatant dismissal of what seemed like
a viable plan and made his thoughts vocal with a raised curious brow,
"Since when do you give a shit about Malfoy?" The ice cream in his bowl
melted to form a light coat, and he was in two minds about ordering another
helping.

Harry took a deep breath and explained his main reason for hesitation, "He's
set to marry Hermione. I won't put her in harm's way." Malfoy's
involvement would automatically open Hermione's life to speculation and
put a sizable target on her back.

Dorian whistled and became thoughtful. Kingsley agreed with Potter's

reasoning and stared into his empty bowl. After a few moments of awkward
silence, Dorian suggested, "Plant someone within the club. Julius Avery
overlooks everything. The pompous prat is well respected and thought
highly of by the Master."

Kingsley gritted out in frustration, "It's not that easy! We've tried for years."

Harry offered profound insight, "Avery’s been to see his father in Azkaban
again. That's four times this month.” They kept a close eye on the imposing
man’s comings and goings. He became a person of interest long before the
Alpha King reared his ugly head.

“What does he do during the visits?” Dorian grilled curiously. Julius Avery
was ruthless and dangerous. The man had a mean streak that was not to be
trifled with. Not much unsettled Dorian, but the taciturnity in Julius’s cobalt
blue eyes sent a shiver down his once-human spine. The man was charming
and had a way with the ladies. They gravitated towards the tall, well-
groomed wizard who seemed eager to please.

Harry answered solemnly, “The guards tell me that he mumbles

incoherently and promises to have his sentence overturned while Avery
stares into space. He leaves with the same promise each time.” The man
clearly thought highly of his Death Eater father. Love was a powerful
emotion; Harry knew this to be true from experience.

While sipping black coffee, Dorian asked, “Are we having him followed?”

Harry nodded curtly and frowned, “Yes, but a fat lot of good it's doing. He
flipped off the Auror assigned to monitor his whereabouts yesterday.” He
refrained from mentioning that Thomas was hot on trial and yet to be
noticed. The seasoned Auror had the uncanny ability to blend into
surroundings and appear incognito.

Dorian cursed aloud, “Fuck.” Muggles at the following table anxiously

glanced over their shoulders at the commotion, and Harry offered a hurried
apology and glared at Dorian for making a scene.

Undeterred, Dorian addressed Kingsley directly, “I keep telling you,

Minister. These aren't a bunch of morons. They have a solid plan. He's sown
a neat web of lies. Both sides believe him.”

He asked eagerly, “Can't you arrest the blokes I unmasked?”

Kingsley slowly shook his head and explained, “Not without putting you in
grave danger and compromising our position. Besides, it will be your word
against there's, and you're supposed to be fucking dead, mate.” He included,
“However, we are having them followed. If they step a toe out of line, we
will not hesitate to arrest them for the slightest infringement.”

Dorian chuckled and stirred more sugar into the bitter black concoction,
“McLaggen got his pureblood arse handed to him at the last meeting.

Harry said in utter disbelief, “I cannot believe Cormac would stoop this
low. Why would he do this?” McLaggen epitomised the most damaging
aspects of the stereotypical Gryffindor characteristics as aggressive,
arrogant, and self-righteous. Though brave, he was foolhardy rather than
self-sacrificing.

He was also arrogant and pushy and felt a strong sense of entitlement.
Regardless of his negative traits, Cormac proved himself quite brave and
righteous, willingly joining his allies in the Battle of Hogwarts. Ron and
Hermione, who had a brief fling with Cormac, had nothing positive to say
but what drove a man to join a cause he loathed and fought against? It was
mind-boggling, to say the least. Perhaps, he could be swayed.

Dorian hissed in disgust, “He's an arrogant git, and his punishment was well
deserved. Goyle and he sent Granger some warning letter, and the Master
was displeased by their actions.”

“That motherfucker….” The words slipped out of Harry’s mouth before he

could swallow them. So, they were responsible for Hermione's threat, not to
mention the detailed sexual exploits. The concern he felt earlier doubled
and intensified. It was abundantly clear the men had some sick infatuation
with Hermione, and that obsession could prove fatal. Hopefully, it was the
impulsive ramblings of a few frustrated men.

Dorian gritted out, “Goyle is a nasty piece of work. He's brutal and enjoys
causing pain. The bastard reminds me of Fenrir.” He cracked a smile and
said, “I saw a bunch of women living it up last night. Granger and a foxy
redhead were among the illustrious group.”

Harry stiffened, and his features contorted unpleasantly at the crude

comment, “That redhead is my wife, arsehole.”

Dorian was slightly taken back. Potter was a pleasant-looking bloke, while
the redhead was an untamed beauty. He declared with an amused
expression, “You did good, Potter.” Kingsley averted his gaze and stifled a
laugh. At the same time, Harry sulked and deviated the conversation back
towards the grave issue: "We should relook at old files and testimonies
against Voldemort.”

Dorian lost his patience and snapped, “Stop mentioning that fucking
arsehole. He couldn't overcome a few students and take over a bloody
school. He was as useless as my great aunt Gertrude; God bless her soul.”

Kingsley sneered, “You served him….”

Dorian grew resentful and reminded harshly, “I served my Alpha. You know
very well that we are unable to disobey our maker.” He included some
information he had previously forgotten to mention, “He's named the group
the Knights of Walpurgis.”

Harry looked perplexed. However, Kingsley was well aware of the origin of
the name and mused, “How original.” He dropped his voice an octave and
spoke, “You need to confirm that the Alpha King is Dolohov. Do whatever
you have to.” Dorian became serious and nodded in reply.

Kingsley rose to signify the meeting was over. He dropped a fifty-pound

note onto the table and instructed with a slight smile, "Keep in touch,
Blackwood." The meeting hadn’t yielded any new information, which
infuriated Kingsley, but that was hardly Dorian’s fault. For him to learn
more, he had to gain the leader's trust, and such an endeavour took time.

If they could prove the shrouded figure behind the killings was Dolohov, it
would be reasonably easy to arrest him as a fugitive who evaded capture,
but until they were sure, nothing could be done. Besides, capturing Dolohov
wouldn’t be enough. They needed to shut down the entire operation.

Dorian's mouth curved upwards to form a wolfish grin, "You know where to
find me. Tell the old man I sent my regards."

Harry replied with a distinctive roll of his eyes and sarcasm, "Thomas will
be thrilled." He followed Kingsley out, and the harsh rays of sunlight
greeted them when they stepped out of the air-conditioned parlour.

Hermione tiptoed around the room after a bath leaving a trail of water in her
wake. While having a shower, she had thought obsessively about Malfoy’s
confession, which rattled her nerves. She hadn't expected something so
remotely uncomplicated as a reason for his refusal to avoid having sex.

Ten years for a man in his prime to swear off the physical act of coitus was
somewhat surprising. Moreover, when it was Draco Malfoy. Sure, she had
heard the many stories and Pansy's boasting about Malfoy's promiscuous
activities, but they were merely young adults. What did they know about
sex? Let alone good sex.

Malfoy could have been a terrible shag, but with nothing to compare it to,
he would've automatically received praise from inexperienced girls who
held him in high regard.

She shook her head in frustration, causing her wet curls to bounce, sending
water droplets in all directions before reaching for her wand, waving it over
the room, and uttering a single word to clear the mess she made.

Hermione fetched a flattering black dress from the cupboard, matching

lingerie, and shoes. Her nipples were sore and irritable as the lace of her bra
came in contact. She flinched but undeterred, secured it, pulled up the pair
of knickers and stepped into the dress.

Glancing over her shoulder, Hermione frowned, "Bollocks." She reached

back, grabbed hold of the zip and struggled to pull it up. She successfully
pulled it above her arse and midway but failed to secure it at the top. She
twisted and turned but to no avail. Without a clear picture, her wand and
magical abilities were utterly useless.

Hermione stared at her reflection and concluded that she would require her
fiancé's help. Slipping into her open-toed heels, she attached a pair of
earrings to each earlobe, grabbed her bag, threw the door open and walked
into the living room where Draco was reading a book about Ida B. Wells, an
autobiography. What a fascinating and strong woman! He couldn't fathom
being racially discriminated against based on one's skin colour, even though
he had faced plenty of judgement at the temple. Master Chun had shielded
him from the harsh comments and treated him no differently.

It was the first time he had felt utterly out of place and awkward but was it
so different from the blood purity nonsense that dictated his former life? It
made sense that Hermione would have it in her library.

So, engrossed in the book, he hardly noticed the woman before him trying
to grab his attention.
Hermione cleared her throat to make her presence known, and once Draco
tore himself away from the book and looked her way, she sheepishly
requested, "Ahem, can you zip me up?"

Draco closed the book with an audible thud and surveyed the delectable
creature requesting his help. A smug grin curved the corner of his mouth.
He got to his feet and obliged, "With pleasure."

Moving closer, Hermione turned her back to him, pushed her hair out of the
way and stood extremely still until he finished what was required of him.

Still, it was taking longer than anticipated. She felt his fingers trailing the
length of exposed skin on her slightly freckled back, and his deep sultry
voice washed over the sensitive shell of her ear, "You have the softest
skin."

Hermione closed her eyes for a fleeting moment and enjoyed the dancing
caress of his fingertips. After he secured the zip at the top, she flipped her
hair and scolded, "If you aren't going to sleep with me, Malfoy, I would
appreciate it if you didn't turn me on or touch me so sensually."

Draco sighed, but he was seething within, "Granger, I never said I wasn't
going to have sex with you. I just want the moment to be perfect."

Hermione pulled at the hem of her dress and mocked, "You sound like a
blushing virgin, Malfoy." She walked towards the main door without so
much as a thank you. Draco picked up the bag of strawberries he had left on
the counter and followed closely, making a mental note to finish reading the
autobiography of Ida B. Wells when time permitted.

He pulled on his coat, grabbed her jacket and held it out for her to slip into,
which she graciously did, but Draco scowled, "Excuse me for being a
gentleman."

Hermione turned in his arms and looked at him squarely in the face with a
roaring fire burning in the very core of her being. Draco took an involuntary
step back and almost toppled over the umbrella stand.
Hermione dragged out her words, "I am not looking for a gentleman,
Malfoy. I want someone to have the fucking balls to take me where I stand
brutally and hard while making me scream and writhe in pleasure."

She frowned, and a flicker of disappointment flashed across her eyes, "I
thought you would be that man, but obviously, I was wrong."

Draco swallowed hard as she leaned flush against him and sank her teeth
into his bottom lip hard enough to draw a few drops of blood.

He recognised the rusty metallic taste of blood invading his mouth but
stared down at her, enthralled by the fluttering of eyelashes and heavy
breathing. Draco took Hermione's hand and squeezed hard, "Take us there,
Granger." She would undoubtedly regret her words in the weeks to come.
 Chapter 54
Chapter Notes

To all the comments:- Thank you so much for the lovely feedback. I
love them all! :)

Narcissa can barely hold back her emotions and looks to Bernard for
comfort.

Sarah plots to kill her torturer.

Brunch takes an exciting turn inside Hermione's old room.

Enjoy Chapter Fifty-Four!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Malfoy Manor

"Dotty?" Narcissa called out as she stormed into Malfoy Manor, having
returned early from her short stay at Bernard's. Max greeted her upon entry
and jumped on her, and demanded attention.

Dotty dropped the feather duster in her grasp as the dulcet tones of the Lady
of the Manor made it to her fine hearing. She rushed into the foyer as fast as
her little feet would carry her and spotted her mistress impatiently pacing
around the room.

Taking a deep breath, the tiny elf timidly approached Narcissa and
squeaked, "Yes, madam?

Narcissa turned around and inquired with her hands on her hip, "Where is
my son?" She had left early, hoping to have a late breakfast with Draco, but
he didn't seem to be at home.

Dotty shifted her feet nervously and answered meekly, "Oh, umm, he left,
mistress."

Narcissa felt her composure slip and frustration cloud her senses. She
demanded, "Did you not receive my owl?"

Dotty cowered and barrelled into explanation, "I did, mistress, but master
Malfoy left before I could inform him of your wishes." She had done all she
could to stop him from leaving.

Narcissa sighed and soothingly spoke to Dotty, "That's alright. It's not your
fault, dear."

The elf visibly relaxed and apologised, "Dotty is sorry, but master Draco
seemed to be in a hurry."

Narcissa grew thoughtful and curious. Where would Draco rush off to on a
Sunday? Perhaps, he had more Auror training or could it be something else
entirely?

Bernard strode in with the Daily Prophet tucked neatly under his arm and
raised a questioning brow, "What's the matter, Narcissa?" He could hear her
from the other room and couldn't help but wonder what the commotion was.

Narcissa choked back a sob, "I haven't seen nor spoken to my son in days. I
have much to share with him." Mainly about the dinner with Hermione's
parents and what they should do to make them feel welcome. Her
insecurities that he would leave and never return clawed their way to the
surface, and the fear of losing her treasured child paralysed her with dread.

Placing the newspaper on the ornate table, Bernard closed the gap between
them and spoke to his beloved gently, "Patience, my darling. Draco has a
considerable amount of things to deal with at the moment." After a moment,
he smiled slightly and quipped, "The lad will show up at some time, and
you can speak to him to your heart's content."
Narcissa frowned at the hint of teasing in his tone and deliberately accused,
"Do you think I smother him?" She saw nothing remotely amusing about
the situation.

Bernard defended without a moment's pause, "Heavens no!" However, he

thought it best to explain and offer some practical insight, "But, I must
stress that he is no longer the boy who left. He's grown into a remarkable
adult with a solid view of life."

Narcissa listened intently and replied with mild contempt, "And I had
absolutely nothing to do with him becoming a good person. Under my care,
he was arrogant, conceited and generally unpleasant." That wasn't entirely
true. Draco had always remained a good and loyal son despite his many
faults and downfalls.

Bernard argued with good reason, "Under Lucius, you mean? Cissy, my
love, Draco would hardly be the man he is today if it wasn't for you."

Narcissa refuted, "I failed as a mother to protect him from so much." At the
first sign of trouble, she should have taken Draco and fled England away
from the darkness and death.

Bernard cupped her face and implored, "You had little choice in the matter.
You did the best you could."

The tears she struggled to hold back streamed down her cheeks, "My best
wasn't good enough! Everyone has a choice, Bernard, but I blindly
supported my husband's tolerance of a deranged madman. It's a small
miracle Hermione can stomach being in my presence. By all rights, she
should despise me."

His heart broke at the honest declaration. Bernard pulled Narcissa into a
bone-crushing hug and pleaded, "Hush now! I refuse to hear another word.
Miss Granger cares for you very much, as does Draco."

Narcissa let her guard down, held onto Bernard and sobbed for a great
many things and suffering over the years.
The Dollhouse Strangler's humble abode

Steady beams of sunlight fought their way through the tinted glass of the
one window in the room and greedily licked the floor where they landed.
Sarah turned on her side, hugged her legs to her chest, and pulled down the
material of the t-shirt to cover her exposed behind.

The monster hadn't ripped the cloth off her body and violated her. They had
watched the movie in companionable silence, and once it was over, he led
her back to the room, handcuffed her to the bed to secure her imprisonment
and gently kissed her before retiring without another word.

Shocked by his actions, Sarah stared at the closed door in anticipation, half
expecting him to barge in and rape her brutally in celebration of their
morbid engagement but not a creature stirred. After an hour of staring into
nothingness and expecting the worst, Sarah felt her eyelids droop and sleep
consume her.

The warmness from the sun that fell upon her cheek prompted her to wake.
Rays of sunshine danced across the sizeable diamond in her possession.
Though groggy with sleepiness, Sarah stared at the ring in fascination as it
threw a myriad of colours onto the grey-painted walls surrounding her. It
was an exquisite piece of jewellery that weighed her down far more than
her restraints. She fought the urge to tear it off her finger and chuck it, but
she was no mere simpleton.

Sarah knew if she did something drastic, it would result in dire

consequences. He was treating her differently, allowing her some liberties,
and now was not the time to act out.

She had to swallow the hatred, repulsion and fear and gain his trust. At the
opportune moment, she would stick a knife in his throat without hesitation
and relish watching him as he faded. She sighed in exhilaration, and her lips
curved slightly upwards to form a genuine smile.

No. 12 Grimmauld Place

"Good morning, Sunshine," Harry greeted Ginny with a vial of hangover
potion and a mug of strong coffee.

Harry smirked, "Fun night?" She had fallen on top of him once she returned
and passed out fully clothed, reeking of alcohol and cigarette smoke.

Ginny struggled to sit up, but once she did, she heard loud happy voices,
"Who is that?"

Harry smiled, "Teddy is keeping James company, and Ron is watching over
them."

"Oh, fuck my life, Sunday lunch…." Ginny groaned and attempted to stand
up.

Harry pushed her back down and reassured her, "Relax. I cancelled it, but I
didn't have the heart to tell Teddy." He softened his tone, "You know how
much he loves these gatherings."

Ginny acknowledged with a loving yet sleepy smile, "I know, and I adore
having him."

"Why is Ron here? Is he hoping to meet Hermione?" Ginny asked with a

raised brow. Her brother was obviously trying to make amends.

Harry nodded, "Pretty much." He sympathised with Ron's plight but more
so with Hermione.

"Idiot," Ginny said superbly disdainfully.

Harry snorted and then said, "Go back to sleep. We've got the children
under control."

It was an offer Ginny would not easily refuse. She slipped back under the
covers and drifted off.

Brunch
After Draco's request that Hermione disapparate them to her parents' abode,
they appeared by her beloved swing in the modest garden surrounded by the
overwhelming fragrance of roses.

The landing wasn't as smooth as Hermione hoped, and they stumbled, but
Draco caught her around the waist and held her firmly to him before her
heels gave out, and she fell on top of the cut grass.

With the sun high in the sky, despite the changing seasons and unmistakable
cool breeze that engulfed them, Hermione was forced to admit that Draco
looked rather angelic with his pale skin and blonde locks blowing in the
wind.

His eyes bore into hers, and for a fleeting second, she lost herself in them
before clearing her throat, "Umm, we've arrived. You can let go, Malfoy."

Draco ignored her request and, in its place, implored, "Are you still upset
with me?" Considering the minimal time passed since his declaration, it was
a pointless question.

Hermione tried to wriggle free, but she was pressed to his chest with no
space to move easily. However, she rolled her eyes and scoffed, "Over your
refusal to have sex with me? Hardly. Please get over yourself, Malfoy." She
wanted to scream and punch his face; of course, I'm mad, you insensitive
lout.

Draco exhaled in frustration, "Granger…." How was he going to make this

stubborn mule understand his predicament? Her intelligence was above par,
but perhaps her sensitivity to the situation clouded her judgement.

Hermione injected rudely, "No, I don't want to hear any more excuses." She
locked eyes with him and scoffed, "I don't get you, Malfoy."

Draco raised a brow perplexedly, "What do you mean?" He blinked,

confused by her statement.

Hermione reminded him with smug satisfaction, "Before we agreed to get

married for Narcissa's sake, you wanted to whisk me away for a night,
remember?" Oh, he remembered that night. All too well.

Before his mother had a heart attack and the day after, Draco recalled
suggesting they share one night of unbridled passion. A suggestion Granger
had agreed to and then disregarded after they made the weighty decision to
wed.

Gathering his inner courage, he reluctantly agreed, "Yes, I remember." This

horrible misunderstanding was mainly his fault.

"What changed?" Hermione gritted out. It was a perfectly acceptable

question. She was tirelessly trying to figure him out.

Draco struggled to find a good reason. Perhaps there weren't any, "I,
umm,...." He failed miserably to string words together to form a plausible
explanation.

Hermione interrupted callously, "Forget it. There are plenty of others who
are more than willing to satisfy my needs." That was stretching the truth.
The one man she would consider and tolerate beside Malfoy was
institutionalised thanks to her.

Draco frowned and deliberately pulled her, if possible, closer so she could
feel the elevated pounding of his heart against her flattened palm on his
chest.

Unable to control herself, Hermione's fingernails dug deep into the soft
fabric of his shirt as she hissed cautiously, "Let me go. My parents are
waiting."

Draco smiled, and Hermione saw the corner of his mouth lift upwards in a
signature smirk.

He drawled almost sensually, "All in good time." His eyes roved over her
face and settled on her nose, and Hermione grew self-conscious about his
actions. What was he playing at?
Her nose wasn't her most pleasing attribute, and though she struggled in
vain to free herself from his suffocating hold, Draco held on for a bit longer
and whispered, "The sunlight does your freckles justice." He touched the
tiny point of her nose with the tip of his long finger and teased, "Like little
drops of chocolate. It's quite cute, Granger."

Hermione scrunched up her nose and huffed, "Right. Thank you for the
compliment. Now, if you are quite done with commenting on my
features…." She pointed to the house with her free hand and insisted, "Shall
we?"

Draco stifled a laugh, let her go and graciously obliged, "Certainly."

"Prat," Hermione mumbled while smoothing her dress and walking through
the garden her parents painstakingly maintained. The grass-covered ground
wasn't even, and she wobbled on her heels despite her best efforts to remain
graceful. She heard a distinct snort and snarky comment, "Would you like
me to carry you?"

Glancing over her shoulder at the man trailing behind her with a smug
expression, Hermione threw him a dirty look and scowled, "No, thank you.
I can manage perfectly well on my own."

Draco rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to retort, but the glass doors
that led to the kitchen slid open, and Julia Granger walked out with a happy
smile and warm greeting, "My darlings, how wonderful to see you."

"Mum!" Hermione gushed, and mother and daughter exchanged a quick,

tight hug and air kisses. Draco came forward, and Julia pulled him into a
warm hug that caused his cheeks to redden.

A stern elderly voice came from the kitchen, "Well, it's about time the two
of you arrived. Your father's stomach has been growling for the past hour."

"Let's not exaggerate, mum." Richard Granger made his presence known
with a distinctive tone of displeasure.
Hermione rushed into the neat kitchen space and threw her arms around her
beloved grandmother, "Nana!" She inhaled the deep scent of jasmine talcum
powder and sighed in contentment. Since she was a child, the smell almost
always put her at ease and instantly calmed her rattled nerves.

Phyllis Granger gushed, "I've missed you, love." She hugged her
granddaughter before looking past and turning her attention to the tall man
hovering in the background, bestowing a look of adoration over them.

"How lovely to see you again, Draco," Phyllis greeted with a motherly
smile.

Draco smiled broadly and slightly bowed in respect, "The pleasure is all
mine."

Hermione kissed her father's cheek, and Richard smiled and playfully
ruffled his daughter's hair while she protested and purposely moved out of
the way. Meanwhile, Phyllis approached the nervous man, took his hands in
hers and mumbled candidly so only he would hear, "Relax. You've already
won over my son."

"Thank you for having me," Draco muttered, suddenly overcome with
emotion. He had never known the love of grandparents, and at that moment,
he envied Granger.

Phyllis patted his arm and insisted, "Think nothing of it and get used to it."
Despite Hermione's many reservations about her fiancé, Phyllis trusted the
once arrogant youth. He had such determination lurking underneath that it
was hard for anyone to miss, except maybe Hermione. She wanted to
believe the worst, so she did because it made more sense for her to hate the
man than like him.

Julia smiled and radiated warmth. She gently nudged Draco forward,
"Come! Would you like a cup of coffee?"

Richard came up from behind, clamped Draco on the shoulder and declared,
"Ah, I think something a bit stronger might do the trick, Jules."
That declaration spurred Draco into action. He plunged his hand into the
deep pockets of his coat and pulled out the rare bottle of wine that Narcissa
would hopefully not miss and the boxes of fresh strawberries still in its
plastic bag.

Hermione stared at the plastic bag dangling from his hand in disbelief, but
before she could voice her thoughts, Julia injected, "Oh! You brought the
strawberries. Thank you, sweetheart." She lovingly pinched Hermione's
cheek as she passed and headed towards Draco.

Julia unburdened him by taking the bag and shot Hermione a cheeky grin,
"To be honest, I thought you'd forget, considering where you were when I
called." Hermione averted her gaze, blushed and muttered her confession
out of the corner of her mouth, "I did forget."

"Ah, then we owe Draco our thanks," Julia responded amusedly. Richard
frowned and addressed Hermione with a warning tone, "We will speak of
your outings later."

Hermione said with a definite roll of her eyes, "Spare me the lecture, dad.
I'm a grown woman who can do as she pleases."

"Oh, is that so?" Richard mused with dripping sarcasm but having heard
enough, Draco thought it best to save Granger before she uttered another
ridiculous remark. He stepped in between father and daughter to block
Richard's path and shoved the bottle of wine into the older man's hands to
distract him from scolding his offspring.

Caught completely by surprise, Richard almost dropped the bottle of red

burgundy, and Draco sighed a breath of relief when his would-be father-in-
law neatly grabbed the bottle by the neck and saved it from a gruesome
death.

With a raised quizzical brow, Richard lifted the bottle for closer
examination and gasped. Hermione peered over Draco's shoulder, caught
sight of the slightly worn-out label and widened her eyes in surprise.
His hold on the bottle tightened, and Richard stumbled over his words,
"Romanée-Conti 1945."

Draco glanced over his shoulder and caught Granger staring at him in
calculated shock. The red wine bottle was unique and one of the most costly
among rare blends.

Hermione mouthed, "Thank you."

Her eyes went to her father cradling the bottle like a newborn. After a few
moments of silence, Richard composed himself and expressed with
profound gratitude, "A vintage bottle of wine. Thank you, son. How about
we open this beauty and let it breathe?" He didn't want to open it. He truly
wanted to lock it inside his cabinet and throw away the key, but that would
be terrible manners.

"Mr Granger, why don't you save it for a special occasion? We can always
have something else," Draco suggested and hoped nobody would take
offence. It was abundantly clear that Richard treasured the gift.

"Sounds good to me, dad," Hermione concurred, and Richard

wholeheartedly agreed and inwardly rejoiced, "Of course. I will come back
with another, more suitable bottle for us to enjoy."

Hermione whacked Draco on the arm when her father left the room and
scolded, "Are you mental? Do you have any idea how expensive that bottle
is?" She was aware of how wealthy the Malfoys were but could Draco be so
woefully unaware of expenses?

Julia watched her husband scurry off in search of a suitable replacement and
smiled gratefully, "That was nice of you, son."

Draco frowned at Hermione and retorted, "I am well aware of the cost, and
you shouldn't bother yourself with minor details."

He returned Julia's kindness, "I am happy to oblige. A bottle of that stature

deserves a happy home."
Hermione was livid, minor details indeed. She rolled her eyes and snorted,
"Narcissa is going to Avada you."

Phyllis wasn't familiar with the strange word and quizzed with a raised
brow, "Excuse me?" Draco nor Hermione got the opportunity to answer
since Richard reentered with a bottle of red wine.

He beamed at Draco and invited, "Join me."

That was more than what Draco bargained for at the moment. He swapped a
look of concern with Hermione, who merely showed her indifference with a
casual shrug and followed her mother and grandmother over to the table
laden with mouthwatering dishes of potato salad, roast chicken, plump
sausages and an array of delectable salads along with freshly baked bread
rolls.

Richard led Draco to the fully functional bar he had built himself. In the
bright light, Draco could truly appreciate the craftsmanship. The last time
he shared a drink with his future father-in-law had been on the day they
met, surrounded by dim lights, and unfortunately, the details of the bar were
obscured. He was reminded of the talented carpenters in Henan, Province.
The artistry and dedication that went into creating such unique works of art
could not be matched by the Western world.

Draco remembered a particular moment during his fourth year at the

Shaolin Temple. The door to one of the smaller halls had suffered wear and
tear over the years. Master Chun had trusted him to get it fixed and returned
to the temple without delay.

Transporting the door had been no mere feat. It was nearly nine feet in
height, but with great difficulty, Draco arrived at the shop with deep cuts on
his hands from dismantling. The carpenter regarded him with suspicion and
made his displeasure of a foreigner handling such a precious artefact
evident. He spoke rudely but accepted the order. He and his ancestors
before him had served the temple for generations.

Despite the man's crude behaviour, Draco maintained a level of respect and
decency and handed him the note Chun had provided. The master probably
anticipated that his disciple would run into discriminatory conduct. Still, the
man read the letter, spat onto the street and scowled. He had some of his
assistants lug the door into the workshop before starting work.

While watching the man work, Draco forgot about his brash attitude and
marvelled at his hands' slow, precise movements as they glided almost
sensually over the wood. He noticed the equipment was traditional and
perfectly in sync with the woodworker who wielded them with such
immense passion.

The loud sound of a cork popping tore Draco out of the daydream he had
slipped into, and he blinked a few times to gather his bearings. Richard
eyed him suspiciously, fetched two wine glasses, poured in the burgundy
liquid and handed one over the counter to Draco, who took it graciously
with a quick thank you and waited for further instruction.

Hermione sat at the table, popped a piece of finely sliced cucumber into her
mouth and raved, "Everything smells amazing, mum."

Julia added salt and a dollop of butter to the mashed potatoes and smiled,
"Thank you, darling. I'm so glad Draco and you could make it."

Phyllis helped herself to a glass of wine and offered Hermione one, but she
promptly refused, and Julia chuckled. The wise old Granger matriarch
questioned, "How are Draco and you fairing?"

Hermione sighed, "Good, considering the circumstances." She was tempted

to divulge the latest development. Dear Nana, Malfoy refuses to sleep with
me. The brief reckless thought disappeared as soon as good sense kicked
in.

Julia weighed in, "You seem much more at ease in his presence."

Hermione reached over and helped herself to a bread roll. She was
ravenous. Still, she shrugged and answered with her mouth full, "I guess."

Hoping to lighten the mood, Julia asked with a mischievous grin, "Are you
looking forward to your little trip to Hawaii? It's next week, isn't it?"
Hermione swallowed hard and cringed, yet she replied with adequate
enthusiasm, "Yes, it is. I am looking forward to it, I suppose. It will be good
to clear the air and relax for a few days."

Phyllis studied her granddaughter's body language, which struck her as odd.
She gave voice to her thoughts, "You look perturbed." Hermione wasn't
particularly gifted at hiding her true self. Still, no one besides Malfoy knew
of the cackling dark witch that lived rent-free in her mind.

Hermione responded cagily, "Hmm, oh, I'm not. Well, sort of." She didn't
want to lie since a large part of her was looking forward to the trip, but the
grave issues at hand kept tunnelling into her thoughts.

Phyllis raised a curious brow, clearly awaiting a further explanation, and

Hermione obliged while moodily touching her engagement ring, "Work is
hectic. We have significant issues to deal with and little to no answers on
how to go about them."

Julia cut the edges off the roast beef sandwiches and checked on the quiche
before replying solemnly, "I'm sorry to hear that, darling. The Magical
world always seems rather complex." There were plenty of times Julia
wished her daughter was spared magical abilities.

Hermione took a deep breath and insisted, "Mum, I need to place some
protective enchantments over the house. It's for your own good, and don't
worry, and it won't interfere with your day-to-day activities. It's purely for
your safety and my peace of mind."

Julia frowned deeply, and Phyllis seemed less than pleased as she scooped
out the perfectly done scrambled eggs with bacon bits onto a plate.

Hermione ignored her grandmother's stern glare and spoke directly to her
mother in an authoritative tone, "And mum? Please don't tell dad. I really
cannot handle any added stress." Her dad would grill her endlessly about
matters he did not understand, leading to a needless argument she intended
to avoid at any cost.
Phyllis reprimanded most severely, "I do not appreciate that tone,
Hermione."

Hermione instantly regretted her tone of voice and apologised profusely,

"Im sorry, Nana. I just don't want dad to worry." It was a half-truth, and she
wanted to avoid confrontation above all else.

Julia pressed urgently, "Hermione, what's all this about? I'm more worried
about your safety than ours." She didn't object to placing protective charms
around their home as long as they would have their child and memories
intact.

Hermione cut up a few button mushrooms to be sauteed with more force

than necessary and reassured with a slight smile, "I'm fine, mum. I promise.
It's complicated, and I swear I'll explain everything soon, but I need to do
this for now." She carefully placed the knife on the cutting board and pulled
out her wand from the handbag.

She got to her feet, closed her eyes and moved the wand in a complex
pattern while muttering an ancient language. A gust of wind blew through
the kitchen, causing the pages of the recipe books to flip rapidly on their
own accord, and as Hermione's voice intensified, the swirling of wind
around the space became more prominent, and Phyllis and Julia stood
rooted to the spot and swapped looks of concern but said nothing. They
would go into details later.

Once Hermione was satisfied that she had placed the spells successfully,
she collapsed onto the chair and drank a full glass of water to quench her
sudden thirst. Protective spells were draining but required immense
concentration and dedication to master. There were plenty of incidents
where the spell caster had suffered terrible nose bleeds and temporary
paralysis because of poorly performed enchantments.

Draco felt the shift in the surroundings, and he stiffened. He placed his
drink on the counter and looked towards the kitchen in a panic, but nothing
seemed amiss. Vaguely, he could make out Granger hunched over the table
through the sliding glass door that separated them. He assumed with the
current threat to her life that she was ensuring her family's safety by placing
protective spells and shield charms on the house and its occupants.

Oblivious to the situation, Richard poured himself another glass of wine. It

was his third glass and Draco's second. Once the wizard was sure his future
wife and protection detail were not in imminent danger, he picked up the
glass and drained the rich liquid in one go.

Richard cleared his throat and inquired in an effort to start up a

conversation, "How is work?"

Draco ran his fingers through his hair, and even though he gave the man
before him his undivided attention, his eyes kept darting towards the
kitchen. Only once he heard Granger's unmistakable laughter did he relax
somewhat and answer, "Hectic. I'm finishing the final stages of training,
and the Auror trials are coming up in less than two weeks."

According to their earlier discussions, Richard concluded that Auror simply

meant policeman or man of authority in layman's terms. He was impressed
and approved of his future son-in-law's career path as long as his precious
daughter would not be left a widow at a young age.

Next, he asked the most obvious question, "Have you and Hermione set a
date?"

Draco almost choked on his drink but kept his wits about him and replied,
"Not indefinitely, but yes, we have an inclination of when we will take our
vows." It was a vague and unsatisfactory answer, but Richard didn't pry.
Instead, he inquired with a smirk, "Is she still being pig-headed about the
ceremony?"

"Yes, she is, I'm afraid," Draco responded with a lopsided grin and thought
of his poor mother and her wish to have an extravagant wedding for her
only son.

Richard chuckled, but there was a sense of pride in his words, "She's my
daughter. Once I set myself on a course, I will not deviate unless some
calamity befalls me." The wine loosened his tongue, and he enjoyed
conversing with Malfoy.

Draco smiled slightly, yet his eyes sparkled with admiration, "Hermione is
more passionate about a cause than any person I know, and yes, she is
stubborn, but that's what makes her stand above the rest."

Eager to stir the conversation away from their upcoming nuptials, Draco
asked a more general question that could prompt many answers: "How is
everything else since we last met?"

Richard helped himself to another glass of wine and shrugged, "We hardly
lead interesting lives. My favourite football team, Liverpool, is on top of the
league, so there's that, but work is dull as ditchwater."

He sighed in exhaustion, "I want to chuck it all in at times and retire, but
I'm not a man to sit on my arse watching telly all day."

Draco gave a curt nod in agreement, "I understand, Mr Granger. You would
get on well with my stepfather." He referred to Bernard as his stepfather
even though he wasn't, not yet at least, but that didn't stop him from
considering the kind, astute man as a father figure. He was undoubtedly
sure that Richard and Bernard would get on exceptionally well. They were
so similar in disposition.

Richard questioned with a sceptical brow, "Did you accompany her to the
nightclub?"

Draco straightened and shook his head, "Sadly, I did not. It was an all-ladies
outing." His tone mirrored his displeasure, and Richard noticed the shift in
attitude. The elderly man gave his opinion, "I see. I also worry about her
when she's out and about at late hours."

"I share your sentiment," Draco agreed without hesitation. He behaved like
a child denied a treat and hated himself for it.

Richard included thoughtfully with a touch of sadness, "Hermione hasn't

always had the easiest time making friends. She can be intense and tab bit
bossy, but underneath all that is a heart of gold and a sharp mind." Her
incredible knowledge of everything around them often put off the local
school's children. They couldn't keep up, so they avoided her and excluded
her from playtime.

Even though it affected her, she never complained and found refuge in
reading about distant lands and faraway places with magical beings and
knights in shining armour. Ironically, she found her proper place in a hidden
world that brought the stories she read to life.

Draco smiled. It was genuine and heartfelt, "I'm aware, sir. Hermione
doesn't intimidate me. I quite enjoy our banter." He enjoyed a whole
multitude of things where Granger was concerned, and frankly, most were
too indecent to utter, especially not to her father.

The glass door slid open, and Julia popped her head out and insisted,
"Come in. You've indulged far too much, Richard. Besides, brunch is
served." A mouthwatering aroma drifted towards them and swallowed them,
triggering Draco's insides to knot painfully in hunger.

Richard carried his half-empty glass, as did Draco, and both followed Julia
towards the dining table laden with cooked meat, plenty of baked goodies
and fresh salads.

Hermione glanced at Draco as he came to stand by her side, his breath

smelled faintly of wine, but his presence made her uncomfortable. It was a
feeling she would have to put up it.

Draco let his eyes move over the dishes in appreciation. He beamed at Julia
and raved, "Everything looks wonderful, Mrs Granger." He was used to
lavish dishes and extravagant food items but never ones that were a labour
of love. Back at the Manor, the elves did the cooking, and his mother
hardly, if never, stepped foot in the kitchen. Such was her upbringing.

There was a richness that a homecooked meal possessed that could not be
matched. Draco wondered if Granger would cook for him once they were
married, whether they would cook together and create passionate memories
among the pot, pans and utensils.
Richard smiled graciously at his wife of many years and praised, "Draco is
spot on, love. You have truly outdone yourself."

Julia blushed and requested, "Please call me Julia, Draco. Will you do us
the honour of playing a song afterwards?"

Draco clicked his heels together and bowed respectfully, "If that is your
wish, I will be happy to oblige."

Phyllis pulled back a chair and sat down with a laugh, "My knees are shot.
Please have a seat, everyone." The sound of chairs being pulled out
drowned out the concern in Draco's voice as he moved close to Hermione,
pulled out the chair for her to sit and whispered, "Are you alright?"

Hermione sat down, shot him a puzzled look and responded, "Yes, im fine.
Why do you ask?"

Draco followed suit and answered out of the corner of his mouth, "You
placed protective spells around the house."

Hermione grabbed the napkin off the table, laid it on her lap with more
force than necessary, and gritted out, "I did. I will not let some misguided
lunatic threaten or harm my parents. I took drastic measures when
Voldermort was hunting us."

"What do you mean?" Draco questioned impatiently. He had no idea about

what she spoke, but it sounded significant and painful.

Hermione was sure she had divulged one of her greatest regrets, and she
voiced her unsure thoughts, "Have I not mentioned it?"

"Not that I recall," Draco replied, his interest piqued, and he couldn't help
but wonder what drastic measures Granger had taken to safeguard her
parents. He imagined a frightened Hermione Granger confiding her feelings
in Weasley and Potter.

Hermione averted her gaze and muttered, "Let's talk about this later,
Malfoy,"
Julia looked around the table anxiously and invited, "Please, tuck in."

The sound of food being served and the scraping of knives and forks against
white China plates filled the space as everyone began to eat their meal in
companionable silence.

A few moments passed, and Hermione swallowed the buttery chicken in her
mouth, relished the taste and addressed the room in general, "Umm,
Narcissa, that is Draco's mother has invited everyone for dinner at the
Malfoy Manor."

Julia beamed at the bit of welcome information and spoke directly to Draco,
who had paled and continued to eat his portion of frittata, "Oh, how
wonderful. We finally get to meet your mother."

Draco dabbed the corners of his mouth with the napkin and lied
convincingly, "Yes, she is looking forward to it." He didn't know his
mother's true thoughts on the matter and decided a small white lie would
benefit all.

Phyllis forked a tender piece of meat and inquired curiously, "When is it,
dear?" She was already thinking about which dress to wear.

Hermione chewed slowly in thought and replied, "On Wednesday. Say

about sevenish?" That seemed about right. It would allow for plenty of time
for everyone to converse and exchange pleasantries.

Although, she secretly hoped they wouldn't get on too well, only be cordial
enough to tolerate each other's presence.

Richard helped himself to a spoonful of potato salad and asked a vital

question, "How will we get there? I assume we won't be able to reach it the
Muggle way." He leaned back and eagerly awaited an answer.

Draco nodded and offered a reasonable explanation, "Well, no, the Manor is
concealed from prying eyes. Only magical folk and beings can see it."
Hermione added further insight into the matter, "We will side along
apparate with each of you and Narcissa, or Draco will adjust the wards to
accommodate strangers."

"We aren't strangers, darling," Phyllis injected, almost insulted by the

implication.

Hermione smiled slightly and answered, "To Malfoy Manor, you are,
Nana."

Such an odd statement threw off Richard. He voiced his thoughts, "You
speak of this Mansion as if it were a living organism."

Draco cleared his throat and sought to set the record straight, "The Manor is
quite old, but I guarantee it is not alive." Malfoy Manor was nearly seven
hundred years old, and despite the many evil deeds that occurred over the
years within the walls, it remained ghostless and somewhat livable. The
architecture and surrounding gardens were breathtaking, and his ancestors
had exquisite taste among more distasteful attributes.

Julia loved antiquity and learning about fascinating historical periods. She
dabbled in reading ancient texts in her spare time. She smiled warmly and
enthused, "Sounds interesting."

Phyllis casually asked while buttering a roll, "Have you two set a wedding
date?"

"Umm, yes, as a matter of fact, we have," Hermione answered meekly. She

had wanted to stir clear of the topic of marriage. Clearly, her family had
other ideas. Taking a deep breath, Hermione readied herself mentally for the
interrogation that was headed their way.

Richard asked with dripping sarcasm, "Marvellous. When is it? Are we

invited to witness you show up in a fancy pantsuit to sign the marriage
licence?" He was still livid over Hermione's selfish decision not to hold a
function.

Unfazed by his future father in laws tone of displeasure, Draco kept his
composure and replied pointedly, "Probably two weeks after we return from
Hawaii."

Hermione nodded but included additional information, "It will be after

Malfoy's Auror examination. Our marriage would be an unwelcome
distraction when he needs all of his free time to dedicate to studying."

Draco glanced sideways at the woman sitting next to him and argued, "I am
well prepared for the trials, Granger." Her lack of confidence in him was
insulting and, quite frankly, disturbing. He wondered if it had anything to
do with the outcome of their duel.

Hermione countered, "You have a rare talent, Malfoy, but the trials are not
to be taken lightly," Next, she regarded her father and expressed sternly,
"And Daddy, please. I told you there will be no wedding."

Richard cut up a piece of chicken furiously and frowned, "Yes, I remember.

It's enough to make me boke."

Hoping to lighten the mood and deviate the conversation, Julia took it upon
herself to do so and politely offered, "Draco, please help yourself to more
chicken."

"Umm, thank you, Mrs Granger," Draco accepted the dish she held for him
to take with a smile and served himself an additional piece of chicken
breast. The meat was tender and delicious, and he had no problem having a
second helping.

Before digging in, Draco looked down the table and spoke directly to the
man seated at the head of the table, "Mr Granger, Hermione feels very
strongly about this, and I support her reasoning. I don't wish to disagree
with you, sir, but in this one instance, I am forced to support my fiancé's
decision."

Hermione nearly dropped her knife and fork and choked on her food. She
gawked at the blonde man sitting firmly by her side in disbelief. He had
been doing so well with her dad, but surprisingly, Richard grinned and said
after a seconds pause, "A wise decision to agree with your fiancé."
He added with a wink and amused expression, "It's not the correct one, but
a wise one just the same."

Draco grinned but kept his mouth wisely shut and resumed his meal. He
could feel Granger's eyes on him. She seemed grateful, or was it something
else? He refused to look at her and give in to temptation. Instead, he
focused on finishing the tasty meal before him. Think of the chicken,
Draco. He silently commanded himself.

His moment of peace was shattered when he felt a foreign body move over
his socks and up his trouser leg. Once it came in contact with his skin, it
was reasonably easy to deduce what was creeping up his leg. He felt petite
toes and the soft brush of moisturised skin. He was right. Granger was
grateful that he defended her beliefs, perhaps a bit too much.

Ignoring her ministrations, Draco wiped off the thin layer of sweat that
coated his upper lip, kept his eyes firmly on the peas and carrot that
decorated his plate and discreetly moved his leg out of reach. What in the
name of Salazar Slytherin was she doing? Had Granger lost all good sense?
Her father was right there, and the man was certainly no idiot.

Hermione enjoyed Malfoy's discomfort. She rubbed the back of her neck
and moved her chair closer to his. She took care to be as quiet as possible,
but her parents and grandmother were engaged in a lively conversation
about politics and wouldn't have noticed if she snogged Draco over the
gravy boat.

She felt around under the table until her fingers touched Draco's thigh. He
didn't disappoint with his reaction. He stiffened, almost dropped his utensils
and went as rigid as a board but continued to ignore her and piled his plate
high with more vegetables. Hermione trailed her hand slowly up his thigh
and towards the inner region. Draco exhaled, shifted in his seat, finally
acknowledged her, and shot her a warning look.

Still undeterred, Hermione moved her persistent fingers towards his crotch,
and before Draco could utter a word of protest, she cupped his flaccid
appendage. The sudden action caused him to clamp his thighs shut, trapping
her hand in between.
Hermione let out a strangled "Ow" before withdrawing her hand and
massaging the fingers from where his hardened thighs had crushed them.
Draco coughed loudly to hide his discomfort, and Julia turned his way and
asked in concern, "Are you okay, Draco? Would you like some water?"

Draco shook his head and assured, "No, erm, I'm fine. A piece of bread
went down the wrong way." It was a poorly thought excuse since there
wasn't a sign of bread on his plate.

Hermione reached over and made a false spectacle of being a doting fiancé.
She tutted and then carefully dabbed his face with her napkin before
cocking her head to the side and regarding him with humour, "Hmm, be
careful, darling."

Draco pursed his lips while observing her little display and gritted out, "I'll
keep that in mind, Granger." She would pay dearly for her little exhibition.

Hermione used the same napkin to dab the corner of her mouth delicately
and exclaimed slightly snobbishly, "Oh Merlin, if I have one more bite, I
will surely explode, mum."

Draco concurred with a happy smile, "I agree. I can barely move." He
played along, but his mind was busy trying to devise a suitable punishment
for Granger's indecent behaviour.

Phyllis snorted and wagged a warning finger, "I will have none of that. I
have slaved for hours over my trifle, and I expect each one of you to have a
hefty serving." Ah, so that was what the strawberries were for, Hermione
thought candidly and replied, "Of course, Nana. A meal is never complete
without stuffing our faces with a dessert you've made."

Draco was forced to agree and confess, "I have an out-of-control sweet
tooth." He was pretty partial to trifles, but chocolate would be his first
mistress.

Phyllis shooed them away with the rapid wave of her slightly gnarled
hands, "Well, off with the lot of you. There's still a bit more to do." Richard
grudgingly got to his feet and followed the others to the living room.
Julie caught hold of Draco's arm and requested, "Draco, would you mind
playing us a song to pass the time?" It would certainly set the mood for
coffee and fruit trifle later. Besides, the young man played so beautifully
that she took immense pleasure in listening to him serenade them with a
heartbreaking ballad.

Ever the gentleman, Draco took Julia's hand in his and placed a soft kiss on
it before replying, "I would be honoured." Hermione watched intently as the
man she was forced to marry mingled with her family and won them over
with the slightest smile and action. If only it were that easy for her.

Hermione excused herself, not that anyone would notice her absence. She
slipped away and went up the stairs as Draco sat down at the piano, opened
the flap and cracked his knuckles.

She stole into her childhood room and breathed a sigh of relief. It was a
risky stunt she had pulled at the dinner table, especially with her
grandmother breathing down her neck. Nothing escaped Phyllis Granger.

Yet, she was surprised by Draco's refusal to acknowledge it or pull her aside
and reprimand her severely for behaving poorly. With those thoughts in
mind, her feet carried her to the bathroom, and Hermione stared at her
reflection. She could hear Malfoy tickling ivories. He certainly had a way
with the prestigious instrument.

The melody broke her heart and slowly mended it. It made her feel hot,
bothered and overly emotional for unknown reasons. Hermione took her
time in the bathroom, leaned against the sink, and random thoughts about
her life popped up. After a few moments, the music stopped, followed by
faint applause, and then it grew unnervingly quiet.

She heard the distinct sound of heavy footsteps enter the room, but since
she was still in the bathroom behind a closed door, Hermione didn't have
the faintest clue who it was. In a panic, she threw the door open in time to
catch Malfoy locking the door. The audible click snapping the locking
mechanism in place made her cringe, and a sudden burst of excitement
rendered her speechless with anticipation.
Draco narrowed his gaze and drawled, "Did you think your behaviour
wouldn't have consequences?" Hermione scanned the area for all possible
means of escape, but Malfoy blocked the only one and, like a complete
idiot, she had left her wand downstairs in her bag.

Instead of succumbing to the circumstances, she put on a brave face and

scoffed, "Oh please, I'm quivering in my three-inch heels. Move!"

Closing the gap between them in less than three strides, Draco grabbed
Hermione by the shoulders, pinned her to the nearest wall, and claimed her
lips savagely. His advances hurt, his teeth grazed her skin, and his tongue
forced entry to explore the expanse of her mouth.

Yet, her mind went blank, and Hermione weakly protested. Her words were
strangled and lacked conviction, "Draco, stop. My parents…." His insistent
lips moulding perfectly to hers muffled her words as he staked a claim with
a searing passionate kiss.

With one hand, he took hold of her slender wrists, pinned her hands over
her head, stared into her flushed face, and kiss swollen lips. Her breathing
hastened, and her chest rose and fell with the raging hormones tearing
through her body. With his free hand, Draco slid his hand underneath the
dress and covered her cunt with his large hand. The material that protected
her most intimate place was flimsy, and she could feel the heat from his
palm seep into her skin.

Draco licked his bottom lip, his eyes sparkled with sinister intent, and
Hermione warned, "Don't you dare, Malfoy." She knew what he planned on
doing, and this was hardly the place, but he wasn't bothered, nor did he
listen to a word she said.

Instead, Draco grinned, kissed her gently and whispered, "Evanesco." He

only had to think about it, and it would be as he wished, but to say it was
rewarding.

His fingers met bare skin and slight wetness, and Hermione squirmed. She
threw her head back, closed her eyes and moaned. It was music to his ears.
The erotic softness of her voice caused blood to rush South in appreciation
of the insatiable woman in his arms.

He licked the shell of her ear with the tip of his tongue, bit down on the
earlobe that held a fancy earring and rasped, "Silencio."

Draco pushed her further up against the wall, trapped her with his imposing
frame, peppered her neck with wet kisses, and pleaded with husky tones of
pure lust, "Scream to your heart's content. I want to hear you, Granger." He
withdrew his hand from her pelvic region, brought it up between them to
his face, and inhaled deeply, "You smell sinful. I wonder if you taste the
same."

Without further warning, Draco let go of her hands, and they clumsily fell
to her sides. He kissed past her stomach over the material of her dress until
he kneeled in front of her. With slightly trembling fingers, Draco pushed up
the skirt of her dress until it bunched around her waist and came face to face
with her exposed vagina. He sensed her arousal. She smelled ravishing.

Hermione's fingers moved on their own accord and found themselves in his
hair. Her fingers grasped the platinum blonde locks as he ran the tips of his
fingers from her stomach down to her core. The short fingernails left a
discreet caressing path of fiery intemperance down her abdomen. His breath
hitched, and Draco swallowed as he saw the glistening wetness that would
eventually welcome him behind their closed quarters back at the cottage for
the duration of their marriage.

Try as he might, Draco couldn't resist any longer. It had been years since he
performed oral sex. He pressed his lips clumsily to her most intimate place
and eagerly ran his tongue slowly along the slit before placing a soft kiss on
the top of her fleshy pussy lips.

Hermione gasped, but no distinguishable words followed. Her fingers

tightened in his hair as she watched him intently. He stared back, not
breaking eye contact—his intensity burning into her soul.

Tearing himself away from her glistening core, Draco ran his lips along the
smooth skin of her inner thigh, placing airy kisses that made the skin tingle
and pulsate. Turning his attention to the other, he relentlessly ensured no
area of her body went untouched. While sucking on the delicate skin on her
inner thigh, he slowly inserted a finger into her tightness and was greeted
by a bit of friction that disappeared as her body responded to his digit
moving within her.

Hermione did not expect that. Before long, she was dripping and moving
her hips back and forth. She moaned aloud at the intrusion but welcomed
his finger working inside of her. One finger became two as he continued his
slow assault of widening her and preparing her for what would ultimately
follow.

Draco withdrew his digits, and his long fingers grasped her buttocks. His
fingers dug into the delicate flesh, and she leaned in keenly. Gently he
swiped his tongue across her hairless pussy, he was rewarded with instant
gratification as her fingers tightened their hold on his hair, and a low mewl
of want left her lips.

Hermione maintained herself since their trysts were random, and she didn't
want to be caught unprepared.

He could not wait to taste and gorge on her. His gaze shifted to her mound.
He gently spread her labia with his fingers and paused to appreciate the
gorgeous blush before moving his tongue skillfully inside the pink folds,
licking the soft flesh before sucking on her swollen clitoris.

Hermione lost her footing, pressed her back harder into the wall and cried
out. Oh, fucking hell!

What was he doing? She sincerely hoped he wouldn't stop. She felt every
probe and stroke of his tongue as he relentlessly ate her out. It was surreal
to have Draco Malfoys face buried between her thighs. His unique blonde
hair tickled the underside of her belly, and she brushed the strands back and
held them in place with her fingers while he persistently licked the expanse
of her lady garden.

It was an exhilarating feeling to be tonguing Hermione Granger's cunt. The

Wizarding World's Golden Girls juices dripping down his chin was
erotically damaging. Somehow, he knew she would taste tantalising. The
forbidden ones always did.

She was lost. All thoughts of her dreaded upcoming nuptials to a man she
previously loathed vanished. The only thing to remain was the same man
before her, bringing her to the crucial point of no return she ardently craved.
Only Draco Malfoy could give her that blissful release.

He withdrew his tongue, and she let out a strangled whimper. Draco
smirked against her smooth thigh.

The woman was undeniably flexible. She effortlessly placed a leg on his
shoulder, spreading her thighs for better access. Oh, how he welcomed it.
Grabbing his head, Hermione boldly pushed it flush against her wet folds.
He lapped her juices willingly, wanting to taste her forever, but his
throbbing erection threatened to rip through his trousers. It was getting
fucking unbearable, but not before he gave his witch the release she
ardently chased after.

Her clit was a swollen mass of pleasure. Draco pressed his tongue hard on it
and sucked on her pulsating womanhood. Again and again, he felt her
squirm. He fingered her heat, provoking it further. She was so close.

Hermione felt a warmness accumulate behind her navel as she hovered on

the cusp of orgasm. She let out a loud groan as the intricately spun bundle
of compressed tension shattered within her.

"Draco!" Hermione cried, not caring who heard her. She buckled under the
weight of her release. His name rolled off her tongue effortlessly. Wave
upon wave of unbridled passion was unleashed inside her as an earth-
shattering orgasm tore throughout her body. Her slick fluids dripped down
his lips and chin.

Still, Draco didn't stop until his witch was utterly spent. Pushing his tongue
further, he fucked her tight little hole with it until her orgasm ceased.

"I can't wait. I want more…," Hermione whimpered as his tongue darted in
and out of her cunt. It weakened her, and Draco saw her fall. He caught her
and deeply kissed her full on the mouth, letting her taste herself.

He loved her taste. It was pure and untainted.

Hermione regained her composure and keenly clung to him, returning his
kisses while undoing the button of his tailored trousers.

"Patience, my little dove," Draco reluctantly pushed her hand away and
promised, but her patience was non-existent. She wanted to push him down
on the bed, onto her sunflower-patterned bedspread, straddle him and fuck
him without abandon.

Draco grabbed a handful of Hermione's hair, roughly pulled her head back
and gazed into her flushed face, "Don't ever underestimate me." His low
dominating tone sent shivers down her spine and her eyes clouded with
unmistakable hunger for a man she vowed to loathe. He ran his thumb
along her bottom lip, but Hermione took it between her lips and sucked on
the tip.

Burying his head in the crook of her neck, he laid a trail of kisses down the
smooth skin and grinned, "We best join your family before your father
comes barging in through that door and shoots me in the face for violating
his picture-perfect daughter."

Hermione laughed and mused, "Am I turning you on, Malfoy?" Considering
the impressive tent in his trousers, it was a borderline ridiculous question,
but one that Hermione felt validated in asking. Perhaps, to appease her ego
and insecurities.

It was a modest home, but sound travelled fast, and the odd moving of
furniture and noises made Julia and Richard look up at the ceiling in the
direction of their daughter's old room, but Phyllis warned her son with a
slightly knowing smirk, "Let them be, Richard."

Richard frowned with disgust, "Ugh, stop it, mum." He would give the
couple ten minutes before fetching them for dessert. Julia giggled and
washed the strawberries that would be used to garnish the trifle.
Using the back of his hand, Draco caressed Hermione's cheek and quipped,
"Didn't have you pegged for a tease, Granger."

Hermione looked at him through hooded lids and drawled in a seductive

low tone, "I don't like you."

His eyes fluttered shut, and Draco brazenly licked his lips and mocked,
"Clearly." His lips still held a hint of her orgasmic fluids, but he wouldn't
forget the taste or smell in a hurry. It reminded him faintly of rose and
honeysuckle, probably from the body wash she used.

Oblivious to his thoughts, Hermione cocked her head to the side and said in
a mild authoritative voice, "In fact, I can't stand to be around you."

Draco nodded in agreement, "Of course. I can hardly bear to be around you
either, Granger." The blatant lie was worth it. Her face twisted unpleasantly,
and she simmered in frustration. Granger could dish it out when it pleased
her but couldn't take the abuse directed at her.

Hermione fought the urge to hurl an insult. Instead, she kept calm and
grudgingly stated, "But, unfortunately, I find myself in a difficult position
because I am very attracted to you sexually as any woman would be, I
suppose."

Draco couldn't help the smug smile that split his face in half, "I'll remember
that."

Hermione wasn't overly fond of his relaxed behaviour and argued, "You
know very little about me. I'm not the same bookworm from Hogwarts."
Even at school, she had a wild side that was well concealed from her peers
and professors. She had done plenty of rebellious stunts at school, including
setting Severus Snape's cloak on fire, forming an illegal Defence Against
the Dark Arts class and trapping Rita Skeeter inside a jar for her unethical
journalism.

Draco said thoughtfully, " You punched me in the face, Granger. Don't think
I've forgotten that."
"Ah, yes. That felt so good," Hermione thought back and confessed happily.
It had felt good, and Merlin knew the pointy-nosed arrogant Slytherin
deserved it.

Draco smiled slightly and agreed, "I deserved it."

Hermione agreed wholeheartedly, "You did." If it weren't for the Time-

Turner and Dumbledore, Buckbeak would be dead thanks to Malfoy's
deliberate lies about the proud Hippogriff.

Draco raised a brow and probed, "Whatever happened to that Hippogriff?"

He had no knowledge about the Time Turner and that, in one reality,
Buckbeak had indeed been executed on a trumped-up charge based on his
words.

Hermione summarised with a heavy heart, the mention of Sirius Black

made her highly emotional, "Oh, he lived with Sirius, but, umm, after he
passed, Harry inherited Buckbeak, and he's now living out the rest of his
days with Hagrid at Hogwarts."

Draco sighed, "Ah, that's good to know." He recalled his father's harsh
words and fury at being hoodwinked by the lowly Hogwarts Gamekeeper
Hagrid. He averted his gaze and started to add more detail to the
story, "Buckbeak trusted me enough to let me touch him, but I insulted him
without just cause or a thought to the consequences. Perhaps, I goaded him
into attacking me to teach Hagrid a lesson."

Hermione looked positively disgusted by his revelation. She took a step

back and her features twisted in contempt as the events from that fateful day
came crashing back to her. How could someone be so cruel?

Draco pleaded desperately, "But I swear to you, I'm not that same slick-
haired git." He hoped against hope that she would believe him and offer
him the benefit of the doubt though he didn't deserve it. At least he was
trying to rectify and atone for his past misdeeds.

Hermione couldn't help but stare at the man before her. She was perplexed
by his behaviour and confused by the words he uttered. They sounded
genuine, he seemed to mean what he was saying, and his actions certainly
proved he had changed. Still, why did she fear having feelings for him? Was
it largely to do with public opinion and how she would be perceived? Did it
matter? She liked Malfoy. Was that such a heinous oddity?

Closing the distance between them, Draco took advantage of her hesitation.
He pulled her to him and, placing firm hands on her buttocks, he lifted her,
and she wrapped her legs around his tight waist and held onto his broad
shoulders. He fiercely claimed her lips, and Hermione responded
appropriately as he slammed her into the wall causing the nearest hung
picture to fall to the floor and glass to shatter.

They broke apart and surveyed the damage. Shit. Draco exhaled and moved
his hand over the broken glass, and the frame mended itself while Hermione
hurriedly rummaged through her drawers for underwear. Luckily, she found
one buried at the back, and though it was from her time at school, it fit
perfectly except on the rear.

She pulled it up, secured it around her waist and piled her unruly curls on
top of her head when they heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, they
exchanged a look of panic, and once Hermione was decent, Draco wiped
his mouth with an embroidered handkerchief he kept handy and threw open
the door before Richard knocked.

Richard was about to knock, but instead, he withdrew his hand and raised a
sceptical brow, "Mum asked me to fetch you both for dessert." Hermione
hovered in the background, looking flustered and nervous.

"My apologies, Mr Granger. The time got away from us," Draco apologised
profusely and glanced over his shoulder at Hermione, who had turned beet
red and tried to hide her face from her father. It was a valiant effort but in
vain since Richard knew they had been up to something, but he purposely
ignored the obvious and said soberly, "Come on."

Julia and Phyllis were already enjoying a portion of trifle served with
oodles of whipped cream and strawberries. With a hand at Hermione's back,
Draco navigated her into the kitchen despite her protests, and they helped
themselves to the gorgeously layered trifle with fresh fruit.
"Mmm, nice and juicy," Draco lucidly commented on the layers of
succulent peaches that comprised seventy per cent of the trifle. Hermione
glared sternly at the double innuendo he dared to utter. He got a bit of
cream on his pinky finger and suggestively licked it off with a wink and
roguish smirk.

Hermione said with a definite roll of her eyes, "Pillock." She scooped a
hefty portion into a glass bowl and left the kitchen sanctuary with her
intended in tow.

They returned to the living room and purposely sat away from each other.
Hermione sat down and shifted her bottom to get comfortable, and when
she looked up, she caught Malfoy staring at her with an indicative yet
amused expression. He stuck the teaspoon with a generous helping of the
whipped cream into his mouth and licked it clean.

Hermione frowned, literally gobbled the rest of her dessert, shot to her feet
with the empty bowl firmly in her grasp and announced abruptly, "Well, this
has been lovely, but we must be going."

"Oh? What's the hurry, darling?" Phyllis asked with keen interest.

Draco shrugged and responded casually, "I have nothing pressing to return
to."

Hermione smiled for the sake of her parents and gritted out, "Of course you
do. You have to study."

"Ah, yes, but that can wait, Granger," Draco mused and immensely enjoyed
Granger's discomfort.

Hermione insisted in a no-nonsense voice, "You really shouldn't neglect

your studies, Malfoy."

"Leave the poor boy alone, Hermione," Phyllis instructed sternly.

Hermione frowned and snapped for good measure, "Fine! Have it your way,
but don't come crying to me if you fail!" She took her empty bowl to the
kitchen, dumped it into the sink and held onto the side of the counter to
calm herself by taking deep breaths.

Draco had watched Granger leave in a huff. He sighed, rose from his seat
and spoke to the older Grangers calmly, "Hermione is right. I must get back
to the books. Thank you for inviting me."

Richard got to his feet and patted Draco heartedly on the back, "It was good
having you."

Phyllis and Julia headed towards the kitchen and found Hermione muttering
to herself and washing the mountain of pots and pans with her bare hands
without the aid of magic. Draco moved closer until his front pressed into
her back and muttered, "We can leave, Granger. As always, you are right."

The fine hairs on her neck came alive at his closeness. Hermione swallowed
hard, washed the soapy foam off her hands, slowly turned the tap off and
turned around to find her entire family staring at her with candid yet
meaningful expressions etched onto their face.

Julia came closer and handed her a towel to wipe her hands. Hermione
graciously took it and smiled.

They exchanged a fond farewell, and instead of heading to the garden to

disapparate, Hermione dragged Draco towards the main door. He let
himself be led but asked curiously, "Where are we going?"

Hermione grinned, "To the supermarket. There's one around the corner."

After a brisk walk, they arrived at a moderately stocked supermarket

bustling with people. Plenty of Muggle women regarded Draco flirtatiously
and batted their eyelids provocatively, hoping he would speak to them and
ask for a number, but he only had eyes for his witch, who seemed to be
fuming over the unwarranted attention he received. Even though plenty of
men considered her attractive, she was blissfully ignorant of the attention
she received.
With hands in his pockets, Draco rocked on the balls of his feet and asked,
"What's all this for?"

Hermione frowned, "Your sodding partner keeps complaining that I have no

food at my flat, and since she's with me every waking second, I have no
choice but to feed her."

Draco chuckled, "Well, she's not wrong, Granger." Abbott was entirely in
the right. Granger had nothing that constituted remotely as healthy food at
her flat.

Hermione pointed to the neat row of trolleys and instructed with a deep
frown, "Just shut up, Malfoy, and grab that trolley." Draco stifled a laugh
and obliged. He pushed the cart while Hermione placed essential items
inside it. So engrossed in the objects, she rounded a corner looking for salad
dressing and found herself to be alone.

Wondering where Draco was, Hermione retraced her steps and found him
deep in conversation with a buxom blonde, flipping her hair and laughing.
Hermione grinned devilishly and reached for a bag of dried prunes that
were thankfully in the same aisle. Armed with the packet, she marched up
to her fiancé and spoke sweetly, "Oh, forgive my intrusion, but darling,
umm, will these help your little potty problem? It's been days, and I'm
getting worried by the sounds you make in the toilet."

Draco stiffened and stared at the bag of prunes in embarrassment, with a

blush creeping up his cheeks. The blonde grimaced and hurried off in the
opposite direction. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest while
watching the woman practically run away from them and grinned, "Well,
that was fun." She weighed the packet in both hands and smiled
triumphantly.

"That wasn't necessary, Granger," Draco scolded and suggested with a

touch of vindictive pleasure, "I think Weasley will benefit from these since
he seems to have a permanent stick up his arse."

Hermione became cagey. She tossed the bag of prunes aside and muttered,
"I wouldn't know since I haven't spoken to him in days." Not for lack of
trying on his part, Ron called at odd hours and messaged constantly, but she
wasn't in the right mindset to forgive his harsh words. Ron's heart was in the
right place. It was his mind that was everywhere else.

"Ah…" Draco acknowledged and refrained from making any crude,

mocking remarks. It was plain from Granger's face that the incident had
greatly upset her, and he had no intention of adding fuel to her suffering.

They went through the many aisles, and with Draco's recommendations,
Hermione purchased enough fruits, vegetables and junk food to appease
Abbott's ravenous appetite, but Hermione couldn't help but notice how
much Draco knew about his Auror partner's likes and dislikes.

Burdened with numerous plastic shopping bags hanging from their wrists,
Draco and Hermione exited the supermarket and walked a short distance to
what seemed like a public lavatory. They needed a discreet location void of
surveillance cameras to disapparate.

Draco pushed the door open and scrunched his nose as the strong urine
smell hit him. Hermione followed close behind and almost gagged at the
putrid smell. She coughed and criticised, "Merlin! This place is revolting."
She didn't bother waiting for Draco's opinion. With some difficulty, she
balanced the bags, took hold of his hand and disapparated them away. They
landed on the plush white carpet in the flat and took a deep breath of fresh
air.

Hermione dropped Draco's hand and strode towards the kitchen to keep the
bags. Her wrists ached from the weight of the groceries. He followed suit,
dumped his load on the counter and said in his usually sultry voice,
"Hannah is probably outside. I'll take my leave."

Grabbing the bags one by one, Hermione put away the groceries while
Draco helped himself to a glass of water and said with a slight smile, "I had
fun today."

Draco returned the smile and replied earnestly, "So did I." Hermione took
off her coat and heels, glanced over her shoulder and caught Draco staring
at her unwaveringly. She brazenly let her hair down, causing the
disobedient curls to fall down her back and face. She bit her bottom lip for
good measure and threw him the most flirtatious of looks before heading
barefoot into her room.

Maybe Granger was right. What was with his obsessive need for everything
to be perfect when he took her to bed? So, what if it was clumsy and
awkward at first? He would learn how to please her and bring her to a
shuddering orgasm as he did earlier.

It hardly mattered back at Hogwarts. All discreet locations away from

prying eyes had been fair game, and spur-of-the-moment feelings had
dictated his libido. Even when it came to Renee, of course, she took the
upper hand, being older, but he never refused and claimed her in a sizable
broom closet of Malfoy Manor, his bedroom, among other more
inappropriate places that would have Dotty and his mother reeling back in
shock and horror.

There was a particular thrill to it, but why in the name of Salazar did he
refrain from acting on his primaeval instincts around Granger? He knew she
loathed being treated like a delicate glass flower, which wasn't his intention.
If anything, he wanted to shatter the illusion and make her truly his.

He could still smell her, taste her, and he wanted more of the
bittersweetness. He took a few steps towards the bedroom, intent on making
his many desires and dreams about her a reality but a hard knock on the
front door sliced through the act of his hardening cock painfully. He
stopped mid-task, turned on his heel and threw the door open.

Looking fresh in laundered robes, Hannah grinned, "Did you have a good
time?"

Draco frowned to clarify his displeasure and raised a sceptical brow, "You
have impeccable timing. How did you know we were back?"

Hannah regarded him with a sour expression, "I have placed charms around
her flat, so I'm alerted when she leaves or arrives, rookie." She emphasised
the last word, so it struck a chord with him.
Draco took the hint, "Ah…." He was pushing it with Hannah and needed to
stop before she hopped on the Malfoy is an arrogant wanker bandwagon.

Hannah looked him over and teased, "You look flustered. What ruffled your
feathers, peacock?"

Draco faked a laugh and insisted, "Well, next time, wait till I drop you an
owl or text message before you arrive."

Hannah scoffed, "Oh, I'm sorry if my job cut into your shagging time.
Would you like me to leave?"

Draco intentionally looked towards Hermione's room and sighed, "No. The
moments passed." It was a glorious moment of self-confidence before
Hannah interrupted.

Hannah patted Draco on the shoulder and offered candidly, "Next time,
hang a bloody tie on the door, and I'll take a long walk while you…," she
made a crude gesture with her hands and supplied, "handle your business."

Draco hissed in annoyance, "That sounds wrong, and this isn't Hogwarts.
Granger is not some random girl I want to fuck. She's….."

Hannah pouted and interrupted, "Special? The one?"

Draco rolled his eyes, "Fuck off, Abbott." Thwarted again, and just when he
made up his mind to go ahead with it. He walked past Hannah into the
hallway, and she asked with a raised brow, "Leaving so soon, Malfoy?"

Refusing to take the bait, Draco bowed as a gentleman would and

answered, "Good day. Let me know if you need anything." Hannah laughed
and closed the door, but another opened from within the flat, and Hermione
walked out in a baggy t-shirt and comfortable cotton shorts. She spotted
Hannah, and disappointment consumed her, but she swallowed it and put on
a happy smile, "Ah, Hannah, I didn't know you arrived."

Hannah nodded and looked mildly embarrassed, "Yeah, a few minutes

ago."
"Malfoy left, I presume," Hermione asked casually, but her voice cracked,
and it wasn't missed by Hannah, who took it upon herself to apologise,
"Yes. Erm, look, I'm sorry if I interrupted you two."

Hermione grabbed a bottle of water from the kitchen and reassured, "You
didn't."

Hannah bemused, "He hinted otherwise."

Hermione waved aside the comment and acted unbothered by the

unfavourable turn of events, "Don't worry about it. Nothing happened."
Maybe it would have if Abbott hadn't interrupted, but now, she would never
know.

She headed toward her room and informed, "I'm going to take a nap. Im
knackered. The fridge is fully stocked, so help yourself."

Hannah gave an enthusiastic thumbs up, "Thanks. I'll watch a bit of telly."
She plopped down on the sofa and switched on the television.

Hermione fell onto her bed, closed her eyes and reminisced Malfoy's tongue
at her fragile core. For someone with limited experience, he knew exactly
how much pressure to apply. Oh, Merlin, it felt deliriously good. The man
was skilled in the fine art of foreplay. It was her favourite part, and she
craved more.
 Chapter 55
Chapter Notes

To all the comments:- Thank you so much for the lovely feedback. I
love them all! :)

A steamy session inside the DMLE Potions room.

Hermione confides in Ginny about Draco's lack of sexual expertise.

The gang leaves for Hawaii, and Theo is terrified of flying.

Astoria and Tracey babysit Daphne's children. Its harder than they
thought.

Enjoy Chapter Fifty-Five!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Romanian Ministry of Magic

Darius Constantine, the Romanian Minister of Magic, stood by the window

in his office wearing dark grey robes and a grim expression. Surrounded by
dim light, he stared into the vast grounds that enveloped the ancestral
building.

He heard the door opening and heavy footsteps hurrying in his direction.
Still, Darius kept his focus on the dark grounds and swaying branches of
trees that always looked more sinister by night.

The footsteps came to a halt, and Darius heard the panting and heavy
breathing of his right-hand man, Stefan Andrei. Clearly, the man had run the
whole way.
Darius exhaled to even his breathing, calmed his rattled thoughts, and asked
in a morbid tone, "How many?" The men spoke in Romanian.

Stefan could barely keep the agony he was feeling hidden. He replied
solemnly, "Only five have returned, sir."

Darius closed his eyes and let the disastrous news sink in. His fingers
gripped the windowsill with more force than necessary as a surge of pure
anger rose to the surface.

Opening his eyes, he turned around and demanded, "We sent nearly twenty
men. How is it that only five have returned?" It was a small comfort that the
men and women they employed for their defence department were
unattached without the responsibilities of a family. They were married to
the job, plain and simple.

Stefan pursed his lips and fought the urge to hurl an unforgiving insult. His
boss's arrogance was unprecedented. He explained the events that occurred
to the best of his knowledge, as it was reported to him by a saviour of the
savage attack, "They were outnumbered, Darius. There is little they could
have done against reckless brute strength. Even without their wolf, they are
still powerful."

"Bastards. May their wicked souls rot in hell," Darius exclaimed, his voice
shaking with unmistakable rage. He had buried more than his share of
brethren thanks to the creatures that plagued their lives.

Stefan hissed ominously, "Yes." The wolves had plagued their lands for
centuries, but they were never this bold except when the Lycan lords of old
ruled over certain territories.

A sudden thought came to mind, and Darius questioned in alarm, "Where

are the bodies of the deceased?"

Stefan slowly shook his head while nervously playing with the sleeve of his
black jacket, "None have been returned."
Darius swallowed the bile that steadily rose and inquired morbidly, "Have
they been taken prisoner? Are there any demands for their release?"

Stefan gritted out in disgust, "None. We have no way of knowing if they are
prisoners or if they will be turned into werewolves at the next full moon." It
was common practice. Werewolves turned those they thought would
strengthen the pack and sentenced the rest to a life of servitude.

Though they were regarded as enslaved people, prisoners were not ill-
treated and were often clothed, fed and provided comfortable housing. Still,
the wizarding populace could not see past the stigma that being a werewolf
presented. They feared the unknown beyond anything else.

Darius walked over to his large desk and spat out the words, "I rather they
die than suffer such a gruesome fate."

Stefan pleaded, almost begging, "We need help from other nations. Put
aside your pride, Darius and ask them for help." He had lost two dear
friends in the latest raid. How many more lives would need to be sacrificed
before their Minister saw reason and put aside his foolish pride?

Darius brought his hand hard on the table, sending its contents skating to
the floor and defended his actions, "Silence. I will do what is best for my
people. Besides, I have provided Kingsley with vital information."

Stefan grew wide-eyed in disbelief and stated firmly, "You have kept the
truth about our struggle with werewolves a secret from the world. You fed
them but bits of it that beg a million questions."

Undeterred, Darius insisted, "I told them what they needed to know.
Nothing more or less."

Stefan wasn't having it, and he made his thoughts quite vocal, "They have
weapons that can defeat them. Bullets coated in silver, among other things
they would gladly share if they knew the truth about our situation."

Putting caution to the wind, he included bitterly, dragging out his words to
solidify his point, “Your subjects cannot pay for your arrogance.”
Darius argued with good reason, "You think I do this on purpose? If I let
Kingsley and his lot help us, we will be indebted to them for the rest of our
lives. We will have to bend to their will and serve them like dogs."

A helping hand from the more powerful nations came with strings attached.
Romania had looked after its matters without interference nor help from the
outside world, but they had never before faced a formidable threat similar to
one that the Alpha King brought to their doorstep.

Stefan disagreed and tried his best to convince the man who looked utterly
defeated despite his tough exterior, “That is not true, Darius. I have met
with Kingsley Shacklebolt, he is a brave and just man.”

Ignoring his advisor and friend, Darius addressed the most obvious
question, “Was the Alpha among them?” He knew the answer would not be
satisfactory. If they had caught the Alpha or a glimpse of him, Stefan would
be breaking the seal on a matured bottle of scotch.

On cue, Stefan answered, his tone mirrored his restlessness, “No, he's still
in England, as our Intel revealed.”

Darius sat down and raised a brow, “Recruiting animals to his cause?”

Stefan followed suit and nodded in agreement, “Yes, and collecting money.
He needs funds to feed his army and keep them motivated.”

After a moment's silence, he added, “The massacre of non-magical beings is

almost daily. We are under much stress from the President to stop these
acts.” He recalled the tense meeting and shouting match from the last
session. It took all his self-control not to whip out his wand and hex the
pompous man who ruled over the Muggles.

Darius heaved a heavy sigh, “If only we could. Non-magical humans are a
pitiful lot. Always whining and complaining about something and relying
on others to bail them out.”

He asked thoughtfully, "Can we confirm it is Antonin Dolohov?"

In annoyance, Stefan shrugged and gritted out, "We can't be sure. His
appearance changes, and he's no longer the man who served Voldemort, but
it's clear his base is here even though he's primarily in England to secure
funding."

Darius toyed with the heavy ring on his pinky finger that bore the seal of his
ancestors and scowled, "The wizards in London are wealthy. He's playing a
smart game by gaining enough trust for them to part with their riches.
Bloody fools."

Leaning forward, Stefan tried once more to be the voice of reason, "We
cannot win this war. We must unite as the beasts have." It pained him to
admit the bitter truth, but to lose more men would be a loss they could not
bear.

With a heavy heart, Stefan added further insight: "They have captured the
forest. We cannot penetrate the boundaries or their defences." The forest
had remained unoccupied for centuries. It was an unequivocal slap in the
face to have its sacred ground defiled by mindless mutts.

He hung his head and muttered, "It's a grave, helpless situation."

Surprisingly, Darius smiled slightly, it wasn't happy, but profoundly sad, yet
certain hope lingered: "It is never lost as long as there is someone left to
fight for the greater good."

Darius knew it was a pointless question but one he had to ask for the sake
of procedure, "Are they willing to negotiate?"

Stefan sneered, "No! They expect complete obedience and the annihilation,
or turning, of Muggles into werewolves."

"Simple," Darius responded with a sarcastic quip and mild snarl. He averted
his gaze and requested, "Arrange a private meeting with Shacklebolt."

Satisfied that he had made some progress, Stefan sprang to his feet and
nodded enthusiastically, "Right away, sir."
Darius stared at his reflection in the carved floor-length mirror and hissed,
"They have won a small victory tonight. Let them bask in their glory. I will
rip the corrupted heart out of the so-called werewolf King and feed it to my
dogs."

Draco left Hermione's flat and appeared near the fountain and took a while
to gaze upon the serene baby face of the angel custodian that sat on top.

He momentarily let his thoughts drift towards Granger and their shared
moment in her old bedroom. Even in his youth, he had enjoyed the fine art
of foreplay. He knew it was essential to make the woman feel good, to even
beg for it.

Renee being older, had taught him well by letting him practice on her. She
would guide and instruct him on where to apply pressure and where to let
his gifted tongue stake claim. He was immensely grateful to the piano
instructor's daughter.

Taking a deep breath of fresh air, Draco jogged up the stairs that led to the
terrace and almost ran into Dotty. The flustered House elf squeaked and
almost fell back in fear.

Draco spoke calmly with a charming smile, "Dotty, why did you try to stop
me from leaving? I'm sorry, but I was late for an appointment."

Dotty gathered herself and barrelled into an explanation, "Oh, good, the
master is home. Madam is waiting for you in the foyer with Master
Bernard."

She pulled at her dress, hid a feather duster and took off with Draco
following close behind, "Ah, she's returned."

Dotty looked over her shoulder and nodded rapidly, "Yes, sir. Please follow
Dotty." They entered the foyer, where Narcissa and Bernard were seated
and conversing.
Draco strode in and asked with a curious raise of his brow, "Mother, is
everything alright?" Max rose from his place by the fireplace and ran
towards Draco at breakneck speed before jumping on him and demanding
his full attention.

With a smile, Draco complied by ruffling the German shepherd's fur and
stroking his head until satisfied. Max was growing rapidly and resembled
an arctic wolf.

Narcissa stopped mid-sentence and turned towards the sound of her beloved
son's voice. She smiled brightly, "Oh, Draco. How lovely to see you."

Seeing him alive and well was her reason for living.

Bernard smiled, got to his feet and offered his hand, "How are you, son?"

After learning of his family's possible connection to the Dollhouse

Strangler, he felt a smidge of guilt in Draco’s presence for withholding
information. Still, until there was something more solid to share, Bernard
refrained from mentioning anything.

Draco took the extended hand in a firm shake and replied, "Quite busy. The
Auror trials are around the corner." Despite Granger's constant nagging that
he study at every possible moment, he was confident that he would pass
with flying colours.

"Your absence is understandable," Bernard responded appropriately with

understanding.

Narcissa rolled her eyes, though her strict upbringing forbade her from
resorting to such crude behaviour.

She ignored Bernard and inquired a tad bit firmly in her motherly tone,
"Where did you rush off to in the morning? I sent word for you to wait till I
returned."

Draco sat down and offered a viable explanation for his actions, "I left
before Dotty could speak to me." Dotty sighed a breath of relief.
Narcissa frowned to make her displeasure evident, "I'm aware. What was so
pressing that it required your presence? Was it a Ministry matter?"

Draco refuted, "Hardly. I accompanied Granger to her parents for Sunday

brunch."

Narcissa smiled and teased, "My, that's twice in a row you've been invited.
Things are looking up, I see."

Unconsciously, Draco licked his bottom lip and recalled Granger's most
intimate place spread out for him to devour. It was a highly inappropriate
image to conjure while speaking to his mother.

He pushed aside the erotic images clouding his vision and ability to speak
and agreed wholeheartedly, "I suppose they are. The older Grangers are
both warm and welcoming." The youngest was an insatiable thorn in the
flesh.

"They sound delightful," Narcissa said with a twinkle in her eyes. She had
always hoped for pleasing in-laws.

She cleared her throat and inquired sheepishly, "Did Hermione mention
anything at all about her parents joining us for dinner this coming
Wednesday?"

Draco frowned, his features contorted unpleasantly, "As a matter of fact,

she did in passing. Why did you not inform me?"

Narcissa scoffed, "You've hardly been home."

Draco argued pointedly, "Mother, you could have owled and left a message.
I don't particularly care for being blindsided by Granger."

Conceding defeat, Narcissa insisted, "I know, and I'm sorry, but I wanted to
speak with you rather than put my thoughts and desires into a letter."

An endearing smile split Draco’s handsome face in half. He informed

happily, "Anyways, no harm came of it. The Grangers are looking forward
to it. Phyllis Granger, Hermione's grandmother, will also join us."
Narcissa replied enthusiastically, "Ah, Hermione's famous grandmother. I
look most forward to meeting her."

She tapped her chin in deep thought and asked thoughtfully, "What do you
suggest we prepare for dinner?" She hadn't the faintest idea about the
Grangers' palette, except they enjoyed fine wine.

Maybe Hermione could be persuaded to offer some insight into what food
to prepare, Narcissa thought wisely.

Draco chuckled and insisted, "Mother, I leave you to it. You have hosted
plenty of events that have been the talk of the town, and this shouldn't be
any different."

"This isn't a charity event or ball, but a meal to welcome the union of two
families," Narcissa argued fiercely.

Draco laughed, "I highly doubt I can add any valuable input to menu items
and so on." He purposely skimmed over the union of two families part.
Granger did not share that sentiment.

Bernard vocalised his opinion and hoped it was enough to save Draco from
his mother's clutches, "Draco is right, Narcissa. I'm sure it will be a
splendid gathering of like-minded individuals who want the best for their
children."

Momentarily putting a pin on the subject of menus, Narcissa inquired rather

timidly and out of character, "You will join, won't you?"

Bernard hesitated, "I, umm, don't think my presence will be required." He

wanted to join the proceedings and get to know the Grangers, but it was
hardly his place to force an invitation.

Narcissa wouldn't hear another word and urged, "Nonsense. I insist you
attend, Bernard." She reached over, covered his hand with hers and gave it a
reassuring squeeze.
Draco gave voice to his opinion. He injected adamantly, "Mother is
absolutely right. You are a vital part of this family, and we will be honoured
by your presence."

Overcome with emotion, Bernard held his tongue while Draco included
with a slight smile, "Besides, I have spoken about you at great length to
Granger's father, Richard."

Bernard looked at the young wizard before him in admiration and gave a
grateful nod of acknowledgement, "Thank you, Draco. I wouldn't miss it for
the world."

"That's the spirit," Narcissa chimed in and instructed Dotty to brew a fresh
pot of tea and serve it with chocolate cake and almond biscuits.

Narcissa regarded her son reading the morning paper and mused, "Now,
let's address the matter of my missing bottle of vintage wine."

Draco looked up from the printed words of the Daily Prophet and cleared
his throat nervously, "Oh, erm, I'm sure you misplaced it."

"I doubt it," Narcissa answered with a somewhat out-of-character sly grin.

Draco kept the paper aside, got to his feet and announced somewhat
abruptly, "Well, I need to brush up on my potion brewing skills. It's the one
section of the examination that worries me."

There were plenty of new potions with more potent results to learn, and
although he knew how to prepare most, the latest invention of an advanced
concoction of Dittany required the highest skill and concentration.

Bernard watched Draco leave and battled internally about whether he

should share the little information he had on the murderer or whether it
would help.

Luna poked her head inside the bright orange suitcase they had packed and
exclaimed, "Theo, have you packed your entire wardrobe?"
Theo answered firmly, "I want to be well prepared." He was not misguided
by the fact that he had indeed packed probably a year's worth of clothes.

Luna raised a brow, "Don't you think you're being paranoid, darling? There
are enough clothes in here to clothe an army."

Theo argued stubbornly, "What does it matter? The enchantment I placed on

the walk-in closet inside our suitcase allows me to take as much as I need."

Luna nodded reluctantly, "Yes, true, but it's unnecessary." There were shirts
in various colours as far as the eye could see. Still, she knew Theo was a
gifted wizard, but the enchantments he had placed on their luggage were
beyond impressive.

Theo smiled slightly and quipped, "Oh really? Then why do I see a wide
range of bathing suits and various dresses?" He wasn't the only one that
packed more clothes than necessary. His wife was just as guilty.

Luna defended her actions by saying, "A woman must always be

prepared."

Theo crossed his arms over his chest and scoffed, "Well, that's sexist. I have
a great fashion sense and would rather over-prepare than be without a
proper shirt for a particular occasion."

Throwing her hands up in defeat, Luna cried aloud, "Fine! You win."

Theo dropped a quick kiss on her cheek and chuckled, "Thank you, my
darling."

Luna bestowed a look of pure love upon her husband and said, "Dinner will
be ready in ten minutes."

"Wonderful. I'm famished," Theo perked up and rubbed his belly. He

retreated to his private study and looked over the plans of his latest
invention.

They hadn't spoken about babies and getting pregnant in days, choosing to
talk about Hawaii instead and how much fun it would be.
Monday Morning

Harry hunched over his desk, deep in thought as he went over the mountain
of papers and unsolved Muggle murders that werewolves could have
committed. It would give him a rough idea of when the slow plan for
werewolf domination originated.

A troubled couple approached Auror Amelia and requested to see Harry

Potter, Head of the DMLE.

Harry heard the distinctive knock, but without paying it much attention, he
called out an instruction, "Come in!" Hopefully, the person on the other side
of the door heard him.

The door opened a crack, and Amelia informed in hushed tones, "You have
visitors, Harry." She walked into the room looking upset and cautious.

Harry took in her odd behaviour and raised a quizzical brow, "Who is it?"
Hardly anything fazed Amelia; like Thomas, she was dedicated and
specialised in werewolves.

Amelia answered with a heavy heart, "It's the abducted woman's parents."
She had lost a loved one years ago. Even though he was among the living,
he was more beast than human, but the pain of losing him never lessened. It
festered and consumed her heart, making it nearly impossible to love again.

Harry leaned back in his plush chair and massaged the bridge of his nose in
exasperation, "Oh, joy. Don't keep them waiting any longer. Please send
them in."

Amelia opened the door and stood to the side before graciously requesting,
"Mr and Mrs Duncan, please come in. Mr Potter will see you now."

Harry smiled politely and shot to his feet, "Thank you, Amelia. You may
leave." His clumsiness caused a file to fall to the floor and contents and
gruesome pictures to scatter across the floor
He hurriedly dropped to his knees, picked up the contents and locked them
away in his desk. A solemn-looking elderly couple came towards him
apologetically, "We are sorry to barge in on you like this unannounced, but
we couldn't sit by quietly any longer." The older woman with grey streaks
adorning her full head of hair seemed on the verge of breaking down
completely. She choked back an audible sob and waited for Harry to
answer.

Harry gestured to the empty seats before him and invited, "Please have a
seat. Of course, I completely understand. My doors are always open to
you."

The couple sat down, and Mr Duncan, Sarah's father, asked with a tense
edge to his voice, "Umm, has there been any progress?"

Harry dreaded the question, mainly because he had no satisfactory answer.

He gathered his composure and replied solemnly, "We have an entire team
dedicated to finding her." It was by no means a direct answer to the
question he was presented with.

Mrs Duncan inquired in a trembling voice. She feared the truth, "Do you
think she's alive?" She dabbed the corners of her crinkled eyes with a
handkerchief, kept her hands on her lap and grasped the lace material with
more force than she seemed capable.

Harry softened his gaze and answered with confidence, "Yes. I have every
reason to believe Sarah is alive."

Mrs Duncan sobbed. Tears of frustration slid down her face as she cried,
"Oh, Sarah. I cannot imagine the suffering he must be putting her through."
She desperately wanted her child back. They were good, kind people who
did not deserve such torment.

Mr Duncan took his wife's hand and gently patted it while speaking to
Harry, "Sarah was always headstrong, even when she was a little girl.
Tough as nails, if anyone can survive this ordeal, it will be her." His
confidence hung by a thread, but hope was all he had left. He needed to
believe his daughter was alive and not lying in some ditch somewhere.
Harry was overly sympathetic to their plight, "I wish I had better news." He
truly wished he did and wanted nothing more than to catch the sadistic
maniac.

Mrs Duncan composed herself and replied somewhat gratefully though

there was irritation, "We know you are doing your best, Mr Potter."

Harry couldn't bring himself to look directly at the couple before him.
Instead, he smiled slightly and said, "Please call me Harry." He felt his
insides knot unpleasantly, he wasn't doing his best, and it gutted him.

"That bastard deserves to rot in hell," Mr Duncan grit out in anger.

Harry gave a curt nod of agreement, "I understand how you feel." He didn't.
How could he know what it was like to have a child abducted? The very
thought gave him nightmares.

Mr Duncan glared sternly and called Harry out of his prior statement, "Do
you, Potter? Has anyone kidnapped your child?" He didn't wish the pain he
was feeling upon his enemy.

"Stuart!" Mrs Duncan scolded and sought to make peace. They were
hurting, but Harry Potter was the one man who could grab their daughter
from the clutches of the Dollhouse Strangler and bring her back to them.

Mr Duncan's face fell in despair, and he apologised profusely, "Bah, my

apologies. My mind is not straight. We haven't slept or eaten since she
disappeared."

He closed his eyes, and a single tear slid down his reddened cheek as he
spoke in absolute agony, "The light in our lives has gone out. Our sanity is
hanging by a thread."

Harry opened his mouth to offer words of comfort, but a hard knock on the
door drowned out his words. He internally rejoiced at the interruption and
hurriedly called out, "Come in!"
The door opened swiftly, and Draco strode in confidently, "Potter, do you
have a minute…" his words came to an abrupt halt as his eyes took in the
distraught couple and Potter's look of helplessness.

Draco stopped mid-stride, surveyed the seemingly tense situation and

apologised for his intrusion, "I'm sorry. I didn't know you had company. I'll
come back later. "

Harry concurred, "Yeah, that would be best, Malfoy." Draco almost turned
on his heel to leave when the scrapping of chairs and a woman's shaky
voice made it to his ear, "No, that's quite alright. We've taken enough of
your time."

Harry opened the drawer and pulled out a laminated black business card
with bold silver lettering, and held it out for Mr Duncan to take. He was the
closest, after all, "This is my personal number. If you need to contact me,
please do not hesitate."

Mr Duncan took it but closed his hands around Harry's and pleaded
desperately, "Thank you, Harry. Please, I beg you, bring my daughter
home."

Harry promised with every fibre of his being, "You have my word that I
will do everything In my power to make it a reality."

Mr and Mrs Duncan passed Draco and headed slowly towards the door.
Once there, they held the door open, threw Harry one last look of
desperation and reluctantly walked out.

The door shut behind them, and Draco inquired cautiously yet curiously,
"Bad timing?"

Harry sighed, "Good, actually. I was running out of things to say. Those
were the victim's parents." There was reluctance and pain when mentioning
them. He felt like an utter failure for not finding their daughter and bringing
the sadistic monster responsible to justice.
Draco understood immediately. He nodded in acknowledgement and said
with renewed determination, "Ah, I've been looking at the pictures and the
notes. The killer is intelligent enough to scrub the women down and leave
them naked, but his calling card intrigues me. There's something there,
Potter. I know there is. Nobody uses a wand and owl without some
significance."

Harry purposely looked at the scattered pieces of parchment that littered his
table and frowned, "Yeah, well, with a werewolf uprising and limited
resources, the Dollhouse Strangler has caught a lucky break." He ground
out in annoyance, "But how am I supposed to inform grieving parents that
we are no closer to catching the killer than we were at the start?"

Draco listened intently but thought it wise to keep his mouth shut. Potter
seemed to need to unload whatever burden he was carrying. On cue, Harry
hissed, "My best men and women are searching the streets for any illicit
activities related to this so-called Révolution."

Taking a step forward, Draco reassured, "We've fought madmen before,

Potter. Good always has a way of coming on top."

Harry looked up slowly and made eye contact. He raised a cynical brow,
"We? Stretching the truth, aren't we?" It was a cheap shot, but the truth
nonetheless.

Draco answered grimly, "I'm well aware of my poor choices, but I am

trying to do the right thing and atone for my past mistakes. I know you find
that hard to believe."

Sitting back down, Harry regarded the tall blonde and hastily inquired,
"What do you want, Malfoy?"

Draco came straight to the point without beating around the bush, "I need a
couple of days off."

Harry wasn't surprised by the request, yet he asked the obvious, "Hawaii?"
Draco nodded, "Umm, yes." Surely Potter knew of the trip since his wife
was accompanying them.

Harry waved his hand dismissively and granted permission without a

second thought but with a slight warning. "Take it. I just hope it won't
interfere with your Auror trials."

Draco chuckled, "Not with Granger breathing down my neck to study." He

couldn't help his reaction and hoped Potter wouldn't take offence.

On the contrary, Harry laughed aloud and reminisced fondly, "Ah, she won't
let up until you pass with flying colours. Try studying with her, it was a
nightmare but, mind you, we learnt loads, and she helped with our
assignments. Ron's more than mine. Anyway, she means well.

Draco was well aware of Granger's good intentions. He agreed and stated,
"I know she does, but I'm confident about the trials." He refrained from
asking further about the letter Granger received. Potter seemed to have
enough on his plate at the moment.

Harry said thoughtfully, "I suppose you are. You were many things,
Malfoy, but a mediocre wizard was never one of them."

He included after a brief moment, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I recall you
getting pretty decent grades. I think Hermione mentioned it once, but I
never paid much attention to it."

Draco concurred with a few insights, "I lost my way the first few years.
Father was livid, but afterwards, I was second only to Granger. A fact that
greatly irritated me." He recalled his father's hard slap across his face,
sending him spiralling halfway across the room. It was the last time he
performed poorly at school.

Harry said in a no-nonsense tone, "Always be aware of your surroundings.

It's not a holiday. You are to protect Hermione by any means necessary."

Draco gave a curt nod of acknowledgement, "Duly noted, Potter. She is safe
with me." He would safeguard Granger and return her safely to England if it
was the last thing he did.

"On a side note, keep an eye on Ginny too," Harry pulled at his collar and
added sheepishly. It wasn't on the agenda, but an extra set of eyes on his
wife could hardly hurt.

Draco stifled the laughter that bubbled to the surface and heeded his boss's
instructions, "Ah, I'll do my best."

"Dismissed," Harry said and returned to the reports on past unsolved

murders. He fought the urge to share the origin of Hermione’s letter. It was
too soon to trust Malfoy since Goyle had been a best friend.

Draco exited the room and felt a vibration emitting from his pocket. He
plunged his hand in, pulled out his mobile, clicked the button and kept it to
his ear.

"Draco?" Blaise's deep voice came through from the other end.

Draco responded, "Blaise, what's going on, mate?"

Blaise explained why he had called, "We are about to leave. See you on
Friday."

The fact that his friends were leaving days ahead of him had completely
slipped Draco’s mind.

He frowned and replied, "Of course. I'm looking forward to it."

An irritated, slightly hoarse voice could be heard, "These Muggles smell

horrid. Can't we Portkey?"

Pansy scolded, "Shut it, Theo, and behave yourself. I swear you act like
such a child."

Draco chuckled, "Do I hear Theo's dulcet tones?" His friend had unresolved
issues regarding public spaces and germs. Back at Hogwarts, Theo would
scourgify the toilet seat multiple times before sitting down to do his
business.
Blaise rolled his eyes, "His germophobia is rearing its ugly head."

Theo queried impatiently, "Is that Draco?"

Blaise answered reluctantly, "It is."

Theo grabbed the phone and spoke into it urgently, "Chuck your fucking job
and join us right now."

Draco mused, "Have an enjoyable time. I'll bring a bottle of scotch with me
on Friday."

Blaise took back his phone, smacked Theo on the back of his head for good
measure and spoke to Draco, "See you, mate."

Draco smiled and replied, "Have a safe flight, Blaise." Part of him wished
he was leaving with them, but unlike them, he had a job to think about, a
position that mattered greatly to him and, to a lesser extent, Granger to
consider.

He ignored Michelle, who was trying to grab his attention and headed
directly towards Hannah, who was munching on a greasy sandwich.

Ministry of Magic healing facility

Hermione walked into the white-washed building and hesitantly approached

the receptionist. The place was spotless, and everything seemed to be in
place.

The woman who handled the front caught sight of Hermione entering the
building. A wilting plant caught her avid attention, and she shot a quick
spell at it to rejuvenate and appear healthy and well without anyone being
the wiser.

She got to her feet, plastered a welcoming smile, and greeted

enthusiastically, "Good morning, Madam Undersecretary."
Hermione smiled slightly, dropped her voice an octave and muttered,
"Please. You don't need to do that. This is an unofficial visit." She had
somehow convinced Hannah to take a long walk despite the many warnings
that her presence would not be welcome.

"Of course, Miss Granger. What can I do for you?" The woman offered
eagerly. She was curious as to why the Undersecretary visited. Was she
seeking help for some addiction, or could it be to see a patient? The latter
seemed most probable.

Hermione cleared her throat and politely requested, "I am here to see Terry
Boot."

The woman smiled and hailed a Mediwitch with a single press of a button.
A woman in a pearly white uniform and neat bonnet came around the
corner, stood by Hermione and awaited further instruction. She had a calm,
motherly demeanour like the Ministry of Magic’s own Matron, Doris.

"Please take Miss Granger to see Terry Boot. Room 205," The receptionist
instructed with a happy disposition.

The Mediwitch led Hermione down a surgical clean passageway while

making small talk, "Terry is a lovely boy. He's a bit cranky but such a good
soul."

Hermione kept her mouth shut and intently watched patients playing cards,
taking medication and talking to their designated counsellors.

"Is he a friend?" The Mediwitch asked Hermione with the curiosity and
innocence of a child.

Hermione smiled and replied, "Yes, I suppose he is." They stopped by a

mustard-coloured door, and over it hung room number 205 in brass.

"Well, here we are," the Mediwitch informed Hermione and followed up

with a quick, "I trust you can find your way back, dear?"
Hermione nodded, and once, the older woman disappeared from her line of
sight. She took a deep breath to calm her rattled nerves and knocked on the
door.

Terry's unmistakable rough voice came from within, "Yeah, come in."
Hermione momentarily froze, but gathering her bravado, she turned the
knob and opened the door to find Terry wearing a Ministry-issued blue
uniform and lying on a comfortable makeshift bed with one hand behind his
head and reading a book.

The book obscured the view of his visitor. He brought it down, caught sight
of the familiar face and stared in calculated shock. She was the last person
he was expecting.

Terry sat up and found his voice while Hermione nervously scanned the
surroundings. He hissed in a low warning tone, "I don't want to see you,
Granger."

Getting to his feet, he towered over Hermione. Terry was tall, not Draco
Malfoy tall, but more than the average height.

He fixed her with a deep look of loathing, or was it pain and scowled, "You
have some fucking nerve." Granger had bigger balls than most men, he
would give her that much credit.

At first, Hermione took in the stack of books and notepads and gave the
perturbed man in the room her undivided attention. Holding her head up
high, she said calmly, "Please, Terry, sit down. I did what I thought was
best for you."

Terry narrowed his eyes and advanced, causing Hermione to back away
from the door in alarm until her back hit the wall.

He was inches away from her body, and when he raised his hand to strike,
Hermione closed her eyes and moved her head out of harm's way, but
instead of causing her bodily harm, Terry punched the wall instead and
yelled, "You put me in here to avenge your fucking boyfriend." Flecks of
spit randomly flew out of his mouth. He was frothing mad.
Hermione trembled but gathered her strength and fired back, "Of course
not. You needed help. I wasn't about to sit twiddling my thumbs while you
were so obviously ill." She wondered if anyone outside had heard his
outburst.

Terry regretted his actions. He had not intended to frighten the woman he
was desperately in love with. He spoke slowly, almost pleading, "I'm not
going to hurt you. I could never harm you." However, he wanted her to
leave and made his desires vocal, "Say what you came to say and leave."

Hermione swallowed hard and inquired, "How are you?" It wasn't the
smartest of questions, and apparently, Terry felt the same way since he
started to laugh somewhat maniacally and gritted out, "How the fuck do I
look?"

Full of determination, Hermione disregarded his behaviour, moved towards

the small table crammed with books and replied, "You look like you're
healing."

She slowly pulled back a wooden chair and requested, "Please can we sit
down."

Terry sighed, pulled out a chair and sat down. He ran his fingers through his
long hair and mused, "I've been clean for almost two weeks. It's doing my
head in, but reading helps me escape from what a loser I am."

Hermione lowered herself onto the seat and argued pointedly, "You are not
a loser, Terry. Far from it. We all have demons that we deal with in one way
or another."

Terry rolled his eyes and openly mocked, "Maybe for us mere mortals, but
certainly not you."

Hermione exhaled. If only he knew about the cackling cunt that skipped
around her mind, "You would be wrong in your assumption, Terry."

She kept her hands on the table, the engagement ring in plain sight. Terry
gazed at it, and his features twisted unpleasantly. He was instantly reminded
of her relationship with Malfoy. Still, he reached over, took her hands in his,
drew small circles over her skin with his thumb, and said, "You did the right
thing by suspending me and chucking me in the loony bin."

Hermione frowned, "It's a facility, not a loony bin, Terry. Be respectful."

Terry kissed the tips of Hermione's manicured fingers and gushed, "I've
missed you." The books helped, but so did her face. He dreamt of her often,
and his feelings grew exponentially.

"Listen, about what I said the last time we spoke…." Terry started to speak,
he needed her to understand that he didn't confess his love in the heat of the
moment, but Hermione injected, "Don't stress about it. Let's talk about that
after you come out. Concentrate all of your energy towards becoming
better."

Terry hung his head as her words sunk in, saying, "I've said this before back
at school, but you did belong in Ravenclaw." He knew without a shadow of
a doubt that she was right.

Hermione smiled, "I ended up in the right house." She couldn't imagine
being in a house other than Gryffindor. Her eyes roved over Terry. He didn't
look his best, but there was life and determination in his eyes, which gave
her hope that he would recover fully.

"The DMLE needs you," Hermione said truthfully. Terry was a talented and
hardworking Auror, and Harry needed him in his ranks. After a moment's
silence, she included, "There's so much happening."

Terry nodded, "Yeah, so I've heard. Michael told me bits, but I can't do
much from here."

Hermione glanced at her watch; it was a quarter to eleven Am. Where had
the time gone? She wanted to spend more time with Terry and ask him
about his treatment and programme, but unfortunately, her schedule would
not allow such a luxury.
Terry noticed her shift in mood and questioned, "You have to leave, don't
you?" She had barely spent fifteen minutes with him.

Hermione sighed in exasperation, "Yes, I do. I have an appointment at

eleven thirty." The downside of her job. Never-ending meetings and
ungrateful characters always seemed to want more than she was able to
give.

Terry leaned back in the chair and smiled, "That's okay, I understand. I
never thought you would come by."

Hermione argued, "Why wouldn't I? I meant to come by sooner." That was

the truth, but her cowardice at how he would react kept her away.

"Will you visit again?" Terry asked eagerly. He truly hoped she would.

Hermione smiled and promised, "Yes, I most certainly will."

Terry cocked his head to the side and quipped sarcastically, "And is Malfoy
okay with it?"

Hermione hissed in frustration, "I don't give a rats arse about what Malfoy
thinks." Her actions and decisions were her own, Malfoy was forced upon
her, and she wouldn't live her life by his rules. Just the mere thought of
having to listen to him made her angry.

She locked eyes with Terry and insisted, "I will see you soon."

Terry grinned, "And I'll be here waiting, Hermione."

Hermione took her hands out of his grasp, even if he let go reluctantly. They
both got to their feet, and when she closed the gap to give him a quick hug,
he cupped her face and lightly brushed his lips with hers.

His lips were chapped and rough, but that wasn't what caused Hermione to
freeze. She stiffened, and a bold word lit up inside her mind like a beacon.

Malfoy!
Terry seemed puzzled by her reaction and bestowed a look of curiosity upon
her. Hermione awkwardly stepped back and stumbled. She smiled as she
left the room, hurrying down the passageways and outside to where Hannah
was waiting.

Hannah stubbed out a cigarette and raised a brow, "How did it go?"

Hermione brushed back her hair and showed indifference, "Better than I
anticipated."

Hannah wasn't wholly convinced, "Are you sure?" She could easily see
through Hermione's lies.

"Of course! Come on, we have work to do," Hermione firmly said and
tucked a tendril of loose hair behind her ear.

Hannah grinned broadly, "I want to grab a slice of cake first." She had
already had breakfast but craved something sweet.

Hermione critically ran her eyes over Hannah's slender figure and asked
with dripping sarcasm, "Where do you put it all?"

Hannah laughed aloud and shrugged, "I have a hearty appetite and a fast
metabolism."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Fine. I could do with a cup of black coffee
myself."

They entered a cafe on Diagon Alley. It was relatively new and had a few
popular Muggle brews and an array of delectable chocolate treats and
cakes.

Hannah wasted no time ordering a double fudge cake with an extra helping
of vanilla ice cream.

At their table by the window, Hermione moodily stirred a single spoonful of

sugar into the black coffee. It was bittersweet, like Malfoy, she thought
suddenly.
A tall unknown blonde man walked by and disappeared into the crowd;
Hermione straightened and scanned the throngs of people. She was sure it
was Draco.

"It's not him," Hannah said while munching happily on the three-layered
moist cake.

Hermione openly scowled but said nothing in defence. She drank the
scalding cup of coffee and burnt her tongue in the process.

The gang were getting ready for a 17 Hour flight, with one stopover in
Los Angeles.

After navigating through customs and immigration, the illustrious group

was escorted onto the plane and led to the first-class cabin.

Theo visibly relaxed as the luxurious setting greeted him as they did the
rest, except he was more vocal about his feelings.

He sank into his seat and breathed an immense sigh of relief, "Now, these
seats are comfortable."

Luna handed over her bright pink bag to the steward, who graciously took it
from her and stowed it in an overhead locker before promptly returning
with glasses of champagne and roasted peanuts.

Theo took his flute and clinked his glass with Luna, who was too interested
in looking out the window to pay her husband any attention.

Daphne leaned back into the seat and relaxed, "Mmm, these seats are
divine. Beats travelling by Portkey."

Blaise tapped his fingers on the armrest and nodded in agreement, "Flying
first class does have its perks." They didn't travel much by aeroplane,
preferring to use Magical modes of transportation than Muggle, but in this
instance, Pansy had insisted.
Daphne glanced over her shoulder at Pansy, and Neville locked in a
passionate embrace and giggled, "Pansy always did have a certain flair
about how she did things."

Blaise tossed a few peanuts into his mouth and held out a champagne flute
for his wife to take, she did, and they clicked glasses and shared a sweet
kiss.

Daphne's voice cracked as she asked, "Do you think the children are fine?"

Blaise reassured, “Of course, darling." His tone lacked conviction, but
Daphne didn't notice. He thought back to the emotional parting between
mother and son. Adam had thrown a proper tantrum, holding onto his
mother, but Astoria had managed to calm him down by promising a bowl of
ice cream. Surprisingly, Carrie had pouted and refused to speak but
withheld the waterworks, and Tracey had taken her to the swimming pool.

The Captain's reassuring voice came over the speaker. He spoke briefly
about the altitude and time of arrival, among other things that hardly anyone
listened to.

The plane took off, and once the seat belt sign was turned off, Theo resorted
to a bit of light reading while Luna slept. A gaudy bright yellow sleep mask
covered her eyes, and she snored lightly.

Theo lazily flipped through a magazine and instructions on how to react

during an emergency. His breathing hastened, and he requested a scotch and
downed it in one.

As the hours rolled by, a bought of slight turbulence made the plane drop a
few feet from its current altitude, but despite the Captain's reassuring words
to the passengers that all was well, Theo held onto the armrests of his seat
tight and prayed to Merlin. Luna slept through the entire ordeal, blissfully
ignorant of her husband's panic attack.

It was going to be a long flight. Theo knew they should have Portkeyed.
Most employees had left for the night, but Hermione was still working. She
had other matters pending besides the Dollhouse Strangler and a potential
werewolf uprising to handle before leaving for Hawaii.

Disgruntled witches and wizards needed their petty issues regarding land,
new legislation and renewal of documents to be processed. If she had to
read through another document on boundary fences, she would scream.

Purposely pushing aside the documents scattered haphazardly across her

desk, Hermione took off her glasses, massaged the bridge of her nose and
sighed with exhaustion.

She wondered if Harry was around. A quick glance at the clock told her it
was after work hours but not astronomically late.

Hermione wandered into the DMLE in search of Harry. He mainly worked

late, and she craved an intellectual conversation.

A few Aurors greeted her, but Harry’s room remained shrouded in darkness,
a clear sign that he had left for the night or was away following up on a
lead.

As Hermione was about to leave, a tall, distinguished figure with unique

blonde hair wandered into another room carrying a beaker of a pinkish
substance and mumbling incoherently to himself. She was unmistakably
sure it was Malfoy this time, her heart skipped a beat, and she scolded
herself for reacting in such a childish manner.

What was Malfoy still doing here? Studying, perhaps?

It dawned on her that he had come out of the potions room and headed
towards the room that housed the supplies cabinet. Curious, Hermione
quietly walked in and found the place deserted except for a cauldron on a
slow boil with an odourless concoction simmering inside.

The long wooden table that held cauldrons of all sizes was placed so that it
faced a large blackboard, leaving anybody seated there unable to see who
entered.
Hermione peered into the cauldron and frowned. From the appearance of
the potion, Malfoy seemed to be brewing an advanced version of a Draught
of Living Death, a potent sleeping draught, sending the drinker into a
deathlike slumber, but it wasn't quite right.

However, the colour threw her off. It wasn't pale pink as it should be.
Hermione took hold of the ladle and slowly stirred. She had hardly
completed an oscillation when a large hand with a signet ring on his pinky
finger and a black bead bracelet on his wrist covered her hand completely
with his and applied enough pressure to make her stop stirring.

Hermione felt his warmth and his front press into her back. When had he
entered? She hadn't heard a sound.

The protruding buttons of his uniform dug into the flesh of her back
uncomfortably. Of course, he easily towered over her, but with such ease,
he bent to her level and whispered in her ear, "You're doing it wrong."

An involuntary shudder snaked down her spine, and Hermione meekly

argued, "I doubt that."

Draco rasped, "Like this." He moved her petite hand in a figure-eight

pattern and added an extra ingredient, a vial of salamander blood, with his
free hand. The concoction turned bright red and shimmered in the dim
light.

Hermione didn't have the faintest clue what she was helping create.

His peppermint-smelling breath fell on the shell of her ear, causing her
knees to weaken and her voice to crack, "What is this?"

Draco explained slowly, his sultry tones invading the peace, "It's a newer
variation of Wiggenweld but more powerful."

Hermione was utterly taken aback. She had gotten the potions mixed up.
How horribly embarrassing. Granted, it had been a few years since she had
to brew up anything other than a hangover potion, but to be bested by
Malfoy was mortifying.
Draco ignored the waves of disappointment emitting from his fiancé. He
snaked a hand around her waist, held on tightly, inhaled the sweet scent of
her hair and rasped, "Working late?"

Snapping back to her senses, Hermione scoffed, "Clearly."

Refusing to let the other go, they stirred the potion without pause. Draco
gently bit her earlobe and mused with a teasing tone, "Why are you down
here? Did you miss me?" Against his better judgement, his heart soared at
the revelation that she might have sought him out after what transpired at
brunch.

The tip of his nose digging into the sensitive skin behind her ear was
ticklish, and Hermione couldn't suppress a girlish giggle that tore out her
mouth.

She gathered her wits, kept her eyes on the bright red potion in the cauldron
and replied scornfully, "In your dreams, I had no idea you would still be
here. I came by to see Harry…."

Draco interrupted with smug superiority, "And you saw me and couldn't
help but wonder what I was doing. Isn't that why you're in here, meddling
with my assignment?" Granger was never any good at minding her own
business.

Hermione let go of the handle and turned in his arms, intent on giving him a
piece of her mind, but she found herself trapped between the table and his
broad chest.

Merlin, his hypnotic eyes. Why did she lose herself in them?

She defended her actions fiercely, "I was not meddling. I was trying to
rectify it."

Draco smirked, "You almost ruined it."

Hermione bit her bottom lip and looked mildly ashamed, but Draco tipped
her chin, forcing her to look at him and whispered sensually, "You cannot
help but gravitate toward me. You might call it curiosity, but I call it a
passionate yearning you cannot escape."

Swallowing the lump that formed in her throat, Hermione muttered, "I was
trying to help."

Their lips were almost touching, and Draco grinned, "Thank you for your
diligence, Madam Undersecretary."

Without prior warning, he buried his face in the crook of her neck and
kissed the tender pulse point causing Hermione to throw her head back and
sigh in contentment. Her fingers wound themselves keenly around strands
of his platinum-blonde locks.

Yes! Her internal thoughts screamed in jubilation. She pressed flush against
him and surrendered to his ministrations. There was particular erotica that
came from being intimate in one's workplace.

His fingers trailed down the unbuttoned, exposed front of her shirt. Draco
whispered almost in agony, "Why do you seek me out, Granger?" His voice
was heavy with want.

Even though she wasn't quite sure anymore, Hermione replied with the
truth, "I came to meet with Harry."

Draco sighed and argued validly, "Yet, you're in my arms." Could her
subconscious mind have led her to him?

He kissed the luscious corner of her mouth and declared, "I meant to stop
by in the morning."

Hermione closed her eyes and responded meekly while eagerly waiting for
him to claim her lips, "Ah, you don't need to drop by to keep me company."
She was defiant to the bitter end.

He brought out the pendant and chain she wore. The jade glistened in the
darkness, and the silver dragon protecting its precious jewel shone against
the dim light.
Draco weighed the pendant in his palm and said, "I'm glad to see you're still
wearing this."

Hermione raised a questioning brow and asked, "It's beautiful. Why

wouldn't I?" He had asked her this before with the same tone of surprise.

Draco let the pendant go and returned it to its rightful place between the
valley of her full bosoms. He peered into the cauldron and shrugged,
"Because I gave it to you."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest when she was sure he would not
pursue her any further and argued, "That doesn't change the fact that it is a
stunning and meaningful work of art."

"It is beautiful but pales compared to you," Draco teased, and Hermione
frowned, "My apologies for disturbing you. You should get back to work."
She wasn't what you would label beautiful, attractive and sexy even, in a
naughty librarian sort of way but hardly beautiful.

Draco looked at Hermione through hooded eyes and responded, "I welcome
a distraction in your form."

He asked pointedly, "Where's Hannah?"

Hermione picked up a jar with a floating crocodile heart and answered,

"She's upstairs with her nose buried in files. She hardly needs to follow me
about the Ministry of Magic."

Draco became serious, his voice mirroring his impatience and annoyance,
"Ah, any leads on who sent the letters?"

Hermione slowly shook her head, "Not that I'm aware of." Harry hadn't
divulged anything. It seemed a trivial matter considering everything else
that was happening around them.

Returning the jar of slimy fluid to its rightful place, Hermione backed away
towards the entrance and said, "Well, goodnight, Malfoy."
Draco lazily regarded her while leaning against the sturdy table with his
feet crossed at the ankles, hands in his pockets and a satisfied smirk on his
face.

Hermione was entirely drawn to the rogue strand of pale blonde hair that
fell carelessly over his forehead.

He drawled, "Have a good one, Granger. I'll see you soon."

She couldn't help but ponder but left without another word.

Hermione returned to her office with wobbly legs and heart pounding in her
ears. She grabbed her glasses, stuffed them into her handbag and headed out
the door.

Ginny. She needed Ginny. They hadn't spoken since parting ways after
clubbing, and she desperately needed to talk with her auburn-haired best
friend about the reason behind Malfoy's hesitation to have sex.

Minutes later, Hermione was standing outside No 12 Grimmauld Place. A

sudden streak of lightning illuminated the skies, and a deafening rumble of
thunder closely followed it.

Hermione knocked on the door and prayed that Ginny would open the door
before she got drenched in the imminent downpour.

Sure enough, a few seconds passed before Ginny, dressed in a pair of

joggers and Holyhead Harpies hoodie, opened the door while scratching her
head.

She seemed happy to see Hermione. A bright smile split her pretty face,
"Ah, what brings you by?" It was unlike Hermione to appear out of the blue
without so much an owl or phone call, and Ginny immediately tensed as a
thousand possible scenarios flashed before her eyes.

What if something had happened to Harry? Oh Merlin, please let him be

safe. Ginny felt her palms bead sweat and breathing hasten. She stared at
Hermione as if she were a ghost.
Hermione overlooked her friend's shift in mood and instead sarcastically
replied while taking off her coat, "Can't I stop by to check up on you?"

Ginny relaxed and breathed a huge sigh of relief. She regained her
composure and mused, "Well, obviously you can, but it's unlike you to
come by on a weekday. Isn't the big family dinner tomorrow?"

Hermione had blabbed about the dinner in her drunken state and revealed
her many anxieties about the family meeting.

Hermione took off her shoes, massaged a foot and shook her head, "No, it's
on Wednesday."

She rolled her eyes and muttered sarcastically, "And I'm looking so forward
to it, I can barely contain my excitement, but that's not the reason behind
my visit."

They walked to the kitchen, and Ginny raised interestedly, "Hmm, I see.
What's the matter?"

Hermione plopped down on the small wooden chair and frowned, "I don't
know where to begin."

Ginny grilled, "Has it got something to do with Malfoy?"

Hermione scowled, "Every little thing seems to involve him these days."

Ginny walked over to the cabinet, glanced over her shoulder and invited,
"Wine?"

Hermione agreed wholeheartedly, "Yes, please."

She inquired after a moment's silence, "Where's Harry?"

Ginny busied herself with taking two wine glasses and a bottle of burgundy
from the top self. She brought them over to the table and shrugged before
replying, "Working late as usual. He's got a lot on his plate these days."
"Don't I know it," Hermione offered moodily. Her earlier assumption that
Harry was out following a lead was justified.

Ginny sat down, poured two glasses, pushed one towards Hermione and
raised, "Well, what's got your knickers in a bunch?"

They clinked glasses, and Hermione tried to explain without sounding too
much of a desperate tart, "Umm, Malfoy and I spoke about the no sex thing.
To be fair, I spoke, and he got bloody awkward before blurting out the
truth."

That bit of information piqued Ginny's keen interest, "The truth? Whatever
does that mean?"

Hermione took a deep breath and exhaled before stating the truth Draco had
confided in her, "Malfoy has not had sex since he left London."

Ginny's jaw dropped, and all she managed to get out was a surprised,
"Oh…."

Hermione said candidly, "My reaction exactly." She stifled a laugh. Ginny's
utter look of disbelief was hilarious. If only Malfoy could see her, he would
die of embarrassment.

Finally coming to her senses, Ginny laughed aloud, "Come off it,
Hermione. Maybe he's lying. He has to be."

However, Hermione remained serious and stated plainly, "He has no reason
to fib, Ginny. It does make sense since he was at a Monastery. There likely
weren't many opportunities."

"I guess," Ginny said thoughtfully. She fetched a cheese platter for them to
share.

Hermione explained further that she had researched the matter, "Buddhist
monks are celibate, and even though Malfoy wasn't one, he lived as one for
nearly ten years."
Ginny grew rather wide-eyed with disbelief, "Ten years without any action!
The poor, deprived man." She could not believe Draco Malfoy had
practised abstinence. It made zero sense.

Hermione grabbed the sides of her head and groaned, "It's doing my head
in."

Ginny was perplexed by Hermione's disappointment, "Why? Are you

concerned he won't be able to perform?" She knew Hermione wasn't
opposed to sleeping with Malfoy, they had even bet on it, but her reaction
went beyond any minor physical attraction.

Hermione realised she wasn't coming off too well and sought to rectify the
situation tout suite, "Maybe. What if the sex is lousy?" It was a genuine
concern.

However, Ginny was crafty. She popped a bite-sized piece of cheese into
her mouth, savoured the taste and inquired casually, "Does it matter if the
sex is lousy?"

Hermione let down her guard and argued, "Of course, it matters."

Still, Ginny kept up her facade of indifference and insisted, "Why is it so

important? Aren't you planning on divorcing him after the mandatory three
years?"

She added with interest, "Besides, you can have a lover to cater to your
needs or refrain from sex. It's frowned upon but not illegal, am I right?"

Hermione frowned and leaned back in the chair. She shook her head after a
brief moment's thought, "It's not in me to cheat but to refrain from sex? For
three years?"

Ginny asked pointedly, "When was the last time you had sex?" She knew
Hermione was going through a dry spell. Thanks to Ron and her job, men in
general (besides Terry Boot) treated her like a fragile rose to be kept on a
glass-encased pedestal.
Hermione munched on one of the larger pieces of cheese and nodded
miserably in agreement, "Point taken, but I can't be an unfaithful wife. It
will hurt my public image."

Ginny took a sip of wine, rolled her eyes for good measure and quipped,
"Goodness, we can't possibly have that."

"It's no laughing matter, Ginny," Hermione scolded while surveying the

remaining contents of her glass. She found nothing amusing about the
situation.

Ginny pointed out, as she had many times in the past, "You care too much
about others' opinions."

Hermione argued with good reason, "I'm the Undersecretary. I have to set a
positive example." She regularly got letters from young women with
admiring words and asking for advice about their aspiring careers.
Occasionally a pre-teen would write to her asking for relationship advice or
help with a situation at Hogwarts.

Ginny countered with an amused expression, "Why don't you first give
Malfoy the benefit of the doubt before labelling the man as an
unsatisfactory shag."

Hermione was about to retort when a voice they knew filled the space and
travelled towards them from the living room, "Ginny! Are you home?"

"Oh Merlin, is that Ron?" Hermione hissed. Bollocks. She wasn't done
avoiding him.

Ginny frowned and muttered in mild annoyance, "I believe so. What the
heck is he doing here?"

Hermione almost rose to her feet and abruptly announced, "I'm leaving."

Ginny stopped her from getting up, forcibly pushing her back into her seat.
She lectured, "Sit down. You will do no such thing."
However, Ginny pushed back her chair, rose to her feet and quipped, “To be
continued, that is unless you want to ask Ron his opinion?”

Hermione’s features contorted unpleasantly, “You're a sadist, you know

that?”

Ginny smirked, “It's one of my many pleasing attributes.”

She ignored the revolted look Hermione bestowed upon her and called out
loud enough for her brother to hear, "In here, Ron."

They heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. It grew more

prominent as he got closer. Ron emerged wearing a casual blue button-
down shirt and jeans and carrying a bag of what looked unmistakably like
sweets, "Ah, I brought over some candy for Jam….."

He abruptly stopped when he spotted his ex-girlfriend sitting at the kitchen

table with his sister. A strangled, surprised, "Oh!" Left his lips.

Hermione downed her glass of wine and waved unenthusiastically, "Hello,

Ron."

Ron gave a lopsided grin but didn't reply. Instead, he turned to Ginny and
said, "I didn't know you had company." It sounded mildly accusatory.

Ginny was having none of it, and she scolded, "Well, you would have if you
contacted me before appearing unannounced."

A blush stained Ron's cheeks, and he muttered miserably, "Right, my

apologies. I'll, umm, leave then."

Ginny rolled her eyes and scolded the duo for acting so poorly, "Oh, for
Merlin's sake. Will you two stop behaving like bloody children?"

She pointed to an empty seat and firmly instructed, "Sit down. I'll check on
James and make some tea."

Ron knew better than to argue and kick up a fuss. He sat down and silently
regarded the woman sitting next to him, who seemed to be studiously
ignoring him. After a few moments, he couldn't bear the silence any longer
and asked, "So, err, how have you been?"

Hermione refilled her glass of wine and answered, "Good. Busy, but can't
complain much." Instead, she couldn't bring herself to look at him and
concentrated on the burgundy liquid sloshing about inside her glass.

Ron curtly nodded, "Ah, yeah, Kingsley requested an early shipment of

Peruvian darkness powder."

Hermione held her tongue and merely concurred, "Yes, I know. I was the
one who suggested it."

Ron was hurt by her behaviour and asked, "Why didn't you contact me
about the order yourself?"

Finally, Hermione acknowledged her ex-boyfriend and hissed her

displeasure, "Please don't act naive, Ron. You know very well why I've
been avoiding you."

Ron hoped to keep his temper under control, but he would never be able to
unsee Malfoy fondling the woman who was supposed to be his wife. He
pushed aside the lewd images and gritted out in frustration, "I'm sorry,
Hermione. Seeing you with him is, err, difficult for me. Especially the
touchy bits, it's hard to imagine you with anyone but mostly with Malfoy."

Hermione abundantly clarified her opinion: "It's none of your business, and
Malfoy and I aren't a couple."

Ron wasn't too happy about her attitude and made it a point to get the
message across, "He's vile and disgusting. He hated us, you above all. How
can you stomach him touching you so intimately?"

Hermione felt her temper rise. His conduct was tiresome: "I don't need to
explain my actions to you."

"I'm just worried about you, Hermione," Ron said, hoping to appease her.
Hermione sighed, "I know, but I'm a big girl capable of making my own
decisions even if they are bad sometimes."

Ron looked ashamed and remorseful, "I'm sorry for what I said. I never
meant it."

Smiling slightly, Hermione replied, "I know you didn't, but it hurt my
feelings, Ron." She knew Ron's bark was worse than his bite, but that didn't
give him the right to regard her as an evil whore for being sexually attracted
to Malfoy.

Ron looked downcast and confessed, "I know, and I wish I could take back
what I said."

"You need to let this go, Ron," Hermione advised sternly.

Still, Ron refused but came to a compromise, "I can never come to terms
with you agreeing to marry him, but I will, however, pretend like that part
of your life doesn't exist."

Hermione exhaled, "It doesn't work that way, Ronald." This back and
forth annoyed her.

“Please, Hermione. I can't change the way I feel overnight. I need more
time.” He didn't need more time. He only said that to appease Hermione. It
would never happen.

Hermione conceded defeat and said with a definite roll of her eyes, “Fine,
whatever. Take all the time you want.”

Throwing caution to the wind, Ron reached over and covered Hermione's
hand with his. He was grateful that though she shot him a mild look of
surprise, she didn't withdraw her hand, which made him feel worse about
the situation.

He was careful not to touch the hand with the exquisite engagement ring
that had shifted colour to pale pink. He squeezed her hand and asked
sheepishly, “Friends?”
Hermione couldn't help but smile, “Always.” She wished she could harbour
a grudge against him for an infinite amount of time, but this was Ron, he
was childish, immature and right git, but he was also charming, brave and
passionate.

Ron reached into the bag he brought along with him, pulled out two
chocolate bars and offered, "Do you want some chocolate?"

“Yes, please,” Hermione agreed wholeheartedly and took the chocolate

eagerly.

She tore off the wrapper, bit into the sugary goodness and asked, “So, how's
Tracey?”

Ron paled but answered positively, “Oh, she's good.” He vividly recalled
their strained marriage and how at present, his wife was giving him the cold
shoulder. She barely spoke two words to him and slept in an entirely
separate room. They lived together mostly like unfriendly roommates
because they had to and divorce was off the table until the mandatory three
years unless Tracey could prove that Ron was physically abusive towards
her.

Ginny reentered with bowls of cashews and grapes and asked, “Have you
two settled your differences? Because if you haven't, that simply won't do.”

Ron opened his mouth to retort while Hermione continued siping the wine
without making eye contact. Still, Ginny placed the bowls on the table,
interrupted her brother and hurled sharply, “Ron, who Hermione sleeps
with, is none of your business, so for everyone's sake, grow up and be a
good husband to Tracey because Merlin knows she's been extremely patient
with your temperamental arse.

“Tracey is overreacting,” Ron defended weakly. He ignored the stern glares

the women shot his way and stuffed his face with cashews.

Ginny scoffed, “That's utter shite. Let me elucidate. Dear stupid brother, no
woman likes her husband lusting after an ex.” Hermione flinched and
shifted uncomfortably. She wasn't particularly keen about the direction the
conversation was headed.

Ron argued defiantly, “I'm not lusting after anyone. I am concerned. There
is a difference.”

Hermione spoke up and pleaded, “Can we please speak of anything else?”

Ginny understood Hermione's plight and redirected the conversation toward

one of Ron’s favourite topics, food. She spoke somewhat directly to her
youngest brother and asked, “Whatever it is doesn't matter. Are you staying
for dinner?”

Ron replied with a profound air of cockiness, “Depends on what you're

making.”

Ginny recited what was on the menu for the night and mused, “Roast beef
sandwiches and chips. Does that please your highness?”

Ron patted his belly enthusiastically and nodded vigorously, “Count me in.”

Ginny raised a curious brow, “Hermione?”

Hermione muttered, “Yeah, sure.” A sudden thought about whether Malfoy

had dinner popped into her mind, and she shooed it away. It wasn't her
business or concern whether he ate or not. Her behaviour was completely
inappropriate.

It dawned on Ginny that Hannah hadn't accompanied Hermione, and she

was curious as to why, “By the way, Where's Hannah?”

Hermione searched the bowl for the largest cashew and responded,
concentrating on her task, “She's off for a few hours running some errands.”

Ginny grilled, “And Harry is okay with that?” She was confident her
husband had no idea about Hannah taking time off her protection detail to
run personal errands.
Hermione smirked, “What he doesn't know won't hurt him.” She hoped
Ginny wouldn't spill the beans and jeopardise Hannah’s job. She
backtracked her words and stated, “She should be back shortly. It's not like
she went on holiday.”

As if on cue, the doorbell rang, and the sound carried to all corners of the
house's first floor.

Hermione breathed a sigh of immense relief and said, “Speak of the devil.”
Ginny retained an amused expression and went to let Hannah inside. They
returned shortly, and Hermione greeted the second Hannah entered wearing
her signature Auror uniform, “Evening, Abbott.”

Hannah looked around the table, smiled in greeting and apologised, “Sorry
about that. I had to meet Corner and pick up a pack of smokes quickly.” She
hadn't met Michael, but it always sounded important when someone met
with a colleague, especially in their line of work. It could mean the
difference between life and death.

Hermione quipped, “No harm, no foul. I'm still in one piece.”

Ginny asked Hannah genuinely, “Do you want a sandwich?”

Hannah sat down and accepted the offer eagerly, “I won't say no to that.”
She caught sight of Ron looking sulky and in deep thought. She patted him
heartedly on the back, “Ron! Didn't see you there. How are you?”

Ron snapped to attention and answered without much enthusiasm, “I'm

good.”

He added curiously, “Hermione, why do you have Auror protection?” When

they were dating, he recalled the odd instance when Harry would assign an
Auror to tail her when her life was threatened.

Hermione waved aside his question with a candid reply, “Oh, just a silly
precaution.”
Hannah chimed in, “Yeah, she's the Undersecretary. Kingsley thought it's
best to have his right-hand woman well protected.” It wasn't a complete lie.
Kingsley valued Hermione’s safety perhaps above his own.

Ron wasn't convinced and asked in alarm, “What's going on?” He looked to
Ginny for answers, but she shrugged and shrewdly stole away from the
group to start making sandwiches.

Hermione massaged her temples and responded tiredly, “I'm not at liberty to
share, Ron. Sorry.”

However, Ron failed to get the hint and pressed undeterred, “Why? I bet
Harry will tell me.”

Once again, Hermione grew tired of his overbearing attitude and sought to
put him in his rightful place and discourage any further questions, “Well,
you are welcome to try your luck, but this is Ministry business and not for
civilian ears.”

Ron pursed his lips and let her statement sink in. it stung that she was
treating him like some outsider when he could've been an Auror if he hadn’t
wanted to help George with the shop. Taking a deep breath, Ron retorted,
“Right. I understand but promise me you'll be safe.”

At that precise moment, an owl soared through the window, distracting

them all and landed on the counter next to where Ginny was cutting the
crusts off several slices of bread. It was a large barn owl who puffed out its
chest and hooted importantly to gain Ginny’s attention.

The thick ivory-coloured letter bore the wax seal of Hogwarts, and the
familiar reminder piqued everyone's interest.

Ron was the first to ask, “What's going on?” He wondered why he suddenly
felt uninformed and entirely out of the loop.

Ginny gingerly took the letter from the owl's beak and tossed it a sizable
treat. It hooted once more in gratitude and flew out the same window.
Wiping her hands on the dishcloth, Ginny flipped over the letter, read the
recipient, and announced for all to hear, “Ah, it's from Madame Hooch.”

She ripped apart the envelope, hurriedly read the contents and frowned, “Oh
dear.”

Hermione inquired at once, “What's the matter?” She hoped it had nothing
to do with Hagrid.

Ginny sighed and explained, “She's taken a tumble during practice and
wants me to teach the children while she's on the mend.”

Ron’s eyes sparkled in interest. He asked abruptly, “When is it?”

Ginny read the letter once again and replied, “This Thursday.”

It was the day before they left for Hawaii. Hermione worried that Ginny
might suffer some godawful injury that would prevent her from going.
Pushing aside such negative thoughts, she encouraged, “Well, that shouldn't
be too strenuous.”

Ginny tossed aside the letter and nodded in agreement, “Yeah, it sounds like
fun. I haven't gone by Hogwarts since the last time she asked me to stop by
to train some first years. Besides, it'll be lovely to visit Hagrid.”

Ron’s earlier enthusiasm plummeted, “Blimey, that does sound like fun, but
unfortunately, I've got a large shipment of bloody Skiving Snack boxes
arriving, and George is away with Angelina on holiday.” He sounded utterly
miserable.

Hermione sat up straight, glanced at Hannah and smiled broadly, “We’ll go

with you, Ginny. It's been absolutely yonks since I visited Hogwarts, and
quite frankly, a visit to Hagrid is overdue.” She had been meaning to go by,
but something or other crept up and stopped her from visiting their dear
friend.

“Brilliant. It's settled then,” Ginny raved.

Ginny and Hermione burst into song, “Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty
Hogwarts, Teach us something, please…..”

Immediately, Ron covered his ears and said disdainfully, “Argh, the
conception of that song is probably Dumbledore's darkest hour.”

Greengrass Manor

Astoria put aside Adam’s folded clothes and asked Tracey, who entered the
room, “Are they asleep?”

Tracey collapsed into a chair and sighed deeply, “Yes. Finally.”

She raised a brow in question, “Did Daphne call again?”

Astoria shook her head, sending her long black hair cascading down her
back in elegant ripples, “No, she must be somewhere over the Atlantic by
now, but honestly, I don't know how she does it. I'm exhausted.”

Tracey tiredly waved her wand and offered, “Wine?”

Astoria refused, “I doubt that's wise while babysitting.” She didn't think it
was prudent to partake while looking after the children.

Tracey had second thoughts but argued weakly with a plausible explanation,
“A glass of wine won't hurt. Besides, I instructed Charles to keep an eye on
the naughty scamps.”

Astoria took her stance and refused to budge from it. She replied, “Help
yourself, Trace. I need to check on my beauties before retiring for the
night.”

Tracey grimaced, “Again with the snakes. You need a healthier hobby and
cuter pets.”

Blowing a kiss at her beloved step-sister, Astoria disapparated with a quick,

“Be back soon.”
She arrived on the other side of the grounds and illuminated her wand. It
was darker than a whale's belly, and Astoria wondered where her snake
handler had gone. She called out his name, “Ramesh?”

The Indian man dressed in white emerged out of the thick brush with an
adolescent cobra in his grasp and replied with a happy smile, “Yes, Miss?”
He waved his wand with his free hand and muttered a spell that caused the
serpentarium to flood with light.

Ignoring the poisonous reptile he held firmly, Astoria inquired about one of
her latest additions, “Has the green boa constrictor finally eaten? It's been
days, and he's not touched his food.”

Ramesh returned the cobra to its rightful place and smiled, “Don't worry,
madame. I fed him some fresh chicken. He took to it instantly.”

Astoria was beyond grateful, “Thank you, Ramesh.” She had made the right
choice in hearing the skilled man. His expertise in handling dangerous
reptiles was unprecedented.

Reaching into an enclosure, she picked up a California King snake which

was wholly harmless but exquisite. It lazily slithered down her arm,
allowing its black and white patterned tail to coil around her jewelled
fingers.

After a brief moment of admiring one of her most beautiful specimens,

Astoria bid Ramesh goodnight and returned to find Tracey cradling Adam,
reading him a story. At the same time, he snuggled into the crook of her arm
and yawned with a thumb firmly planted inside his mouth.

Astoria sighed. It was going to be a long week before Daphne returned.

 Chapter 56
Chapter Notes

To all the comments:- Thank you so much for the lovely feedback. I
love them all! :)

The gang arrives in Hawaii, and they love it already.

Some sweet bonding between Draco and Hermione over delectable

dishes of sushi.

Sarah learns more about her captor. Trigger warning.

Tracey and Ron have a heated argument.

Draco has a surprise visitor.

Enjoy Chapter Fifty-Six!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Waikiki Beach, Marriott Resort and Spa, Honolulu, Hawaii

After checking into their respective rooms, Pansy strolled over to the
expansive glass separating them from the sun's warm rays. She
commissioned the finest suite at the Waikiki Beach, Marriott Resort and
Spa, nothing but the very best for Mrs Longbottom.

She peered out, and her eager eyes fell on the beautiful stretch of beach and
clear blue ocean that lay before them infinitely.

Surrounded by the comfort of air-conditioning, Pansy sighed, "The room is

simply amazing, and look at that view…." She pointed toward the sea in
awe.

They were given a traditional Hawaiian welcome. Lovely ladies dressed in

authentic attire presented each with an elaborate necklace of sweet-smelling
flowers. At the same time, a gentle breeze blew through the lobby bringing
with it the unfamiliar smell of salt air.

It was indeed a breathtaking setting. The group was far too pale for lack of
exposure to the sun, while everyone around them was a gorgeous bronze
with bright, happy smiles displaying flawless white teeth.

Such a welcoming sight filled them to the brim with happiness.

Theo had nearly bent over in half to accommodate the short woman, who
held onto the wreath with both hands and looked at him as if he were a
giant. Embarrassed, Theo blushed and closed his eyes until she was done
placing the ring of flowers around his neck.

Keeping her eyes on the scenic view, Pansy remembered Draco’s request
when they spoke days earlier and questioned, "Neville, dear, did you book
the rooms Draco requested?"

Neville waved his wand over the brown suitcase, and it flipped open,
presenting his neatly folded clothes and black swimming shorts. He pulled
out a light blue linen shirt, smiled at his wife, and responded, "Yes, two
deluxe rooms. Unfortunately, there weren't any rooms available on the same
floor."

"Oh?" Pansy pouted in disappointment. She had it in her head that they
would occupy an entire hotel floor and have an endless party till all hours of
the night.

Neville smiled with an air of reassurance, "Malfoy is on level three." That

was just a floor above them. It wasn't like he was on the other side of the
hotel.

Pansy accepted thoughtfully, "Ah, that isn't bad, but I do admit, it's rather
strange that they are not sharing a room."
Neville enlightened evenly, "Well, they aren't a conventional couple, Pans.
I'm shocked Hermione agreed to come in the first place." He had been
momentarily stunned when Pansy confided that Hermione would be joining
the trip. It was a pleasant surprise, of course, but unusual.

"I suppose you have a point," Pansy settled without much hesitation.
Neville had a solid point. It was somewhat surprising Granger gave in to
Draco’s request, but she knew from experience that he could be charming
when the need arose.

Pansy became dreamy-eyed and overcome with emotion, "But maybe they
will learn to love each other as we did."

Neville chuckled, "Hermione isn't nearly as forgiving as I am. Besides, her

history with Malfoy isn't exactly pleasant." Saying their past was
uncomplicated was an understatement. They hated each other's guts, plain
and simple.

Pansy could hardly disagree. She had been there and contributed to that
hate, but things were different now, and she made her feelings abundantly
clear, "Yes, darling, but Draco’s different now." He truly was. At times even
she had a tough time coming to terms with his drastic personality change.

Hardly convinced, Neville simply shrugged, "Hmm, maybe, but it's going to
take a while to undo the horridness he inflicted upon her." He couldn't quite
imagine Hermione being intimate with Malfoy in a proper state of mind.
The very image made him want to vomit his lunch.

Pansy sighed, "True." She took her husband's hand and all but dragged him
towards the extensive windows and raved, "Now, let's stop talking about
them and focus on this stunning destination."

Neville couldn't help but agree at the beautiful sight before him. Taking a
deep breath, he uttered, "Pictures don't do it justice."

Pansy put her arms around him and snuggled before praising, "Thank you
for bringing me here. It's gorgeous." She couldn't have wished for a better
husband than Neville. He put all her expectations to shame by doing far
more than she could possibly imagine.

Letting go of her husband, she surveyed her whitish hands and arms and
grinned, "I plan on getting nice and tan." She couldn't wait to lounge in the
sun and feel the warm rays of the sun fall on her body.

Neville couldn't help but smile at her childlike excitement and said, "You
deserve a break. Working with your father isn't easy, and my grandmother
can be a handful."

Pansy laughed softly, "Daddy is an old bear. Your grandmother, on the other
hand, is unpredictable, but I think she's warming up to me." Their last
encounter made Pansy hopeful of bridging the massive gap with Augusta
Longbottom.

"She knows you love me," Neville reacted confidently. His grandmother
wasn't pleased with Pansy as his wife, but fairly grudgingly, she respected
her for being headstrong and opinionated.

Pansy kissed Neville gently and gushed, "I do love you, Longbottom." She
did love him with all her heart.

She suddenly remembered another being she held dearly, her costly Persian
cat, "Do you think Augusta has tossed out Caramel? She hates my baby."

Neville laughed aloud but regretted his actions since Pansy seemed
genuinely concerned. He cleared his throat and comforted, "I gave the
house elf strict instructions to not let Caramel out of sight."

Pansy breathed an immense sigh of relief, "Thank you, my love." She

slipped on thick black framed Chanel sunglasses and enthused, "How about
we change and go exploring?" I can practically feel Theo’s hyperactivity
seeping into our room through the walls."

Neville chuckled and headed towards the bathroom while Pansy searched
for an appropriate shirt and shorts.
In the comfort of his room, Theo was beside himself with excitement.
Dignity forgotten, he pressed his face to the glass and gawked at the ocean
sprawled before them for as far as the eye could see.

Luna came out of the bathroom, looking paler than usual, and sat gingerly
on the bed. She regarded her husband's childish excited behaviour with an
amused expression and reminded, "Please apply sunblock, my love."

Theo brushed her warning aside and said confidently, "I'm fine. I'll place a
charm over myself. I am quite smart, you know?"

Pulling a pillow close to her, Luna smiled lovingly and teased, "Sometimes
too much for your own good."

She looked out the window and cautioned, "Please, darling, the sun looks
lethal." Hawaii was gorgeous. Sun-kissed beaches and bright blue skies.

Theo pulled out a white shirt and suggested eagerly, "I promise I'll put some
on later. Shall we grab the rest of the gang and go sightseeing?" He couldn't
wait to start exploring, but something about his wife's odd behaviour threw
him off. She wasn't her usual quirky self, and it bothered him.

Luna hugged the pillow to her chest and yawned pointedly, "I'm a little
worn out, darling. It was a rather long flight."

Theo raised a questioning brow, "You slept through the entire trip, Luna."
He wasn't exaggerating. She had only awakened during meals and
proceeded to shovel food into her mouth rapidly and again woken at their
transit stop in Los Angeles.

"I'm just a little tired," Luna replied in exhaustion while she got between the
sheets and closed her eyes in contentment.

Theo was no fool. Despite his immature nature, he was pretty intelligent
and knew when something was amiss. Closing the distance between them,
he sat on the bed, touched Luna's forehead to ensure she wasn't running a
temperature and implored, "Hmm, are you sure you're okay?"
Trip be damned, he would swim back to England if Luna was ill and
wanted to head home. He suggested wholeheartedly, "I can stay back, and
we can order room service."

"No, my love. I will be fine," Luna assured after she opened her eyes and
saw him looking at her in deep concern with a frown forming on his face.

Sensing her husband's hesitation, she insisted, "You carry on, love. I'll catch
up."

Theo was still in two minds about leaving, but Luna urged him to go and
reminded him, "Oh and remember, no magic, so leave your wand behind."

Eyeing his beloved wand resting on the table, Theo moped and made his
displeasure apparent, "That's the only fucked up part about this holiday." He
detested having to hide the fact that he was a wizard.

Luna mustered a genuine smile, "Have fun. I'll see you later."

With a heavy heart, Theo pulled on the white shirt and shot his wife a sad
look before leaving their room's luxury.

Not a second passed as Luna pushed back the duvet and made a mad dash
to the bathroom. She almost fell to her knees and violently threw up,
colouring the porcelain white inside the commode with vomit.

Luna was pregnant, but after finding out, she decided to keep it from Theo
until they returned to England. She had only found out two days ago, and it
gutted her to keep such joyous news from her husband, but she had her
reasons.

Despite them speaking about having a child, she knew Theo wasn't a
hundred per cent onboard, and because of his strained relationship with his
father, he had plenty of reservations. Most importantly, she kept it from him
for the moment for fear of putting a damper on the trip. He had been
looking forward to it for weeks.
Blaise pulled the black t-shirt he was wearing over his head, tossed it onto
the bed and hugged Daphne from behind before peppering her neck with
kisses. His lips met the cool steel of the necklace she wore. It was an
anniversary gift, and a beautiful family picture was inside the locket.

"Mm, breathtaking, isn't it?" Daphne said in satisfaction. She closed her
eyes, mewled and focused on her husband's eager hands roaming under her
silk blouse.

Blaise couldn't agree more. This destination holiday had the makings for a
memorable trip. He turned his wife around and claimed her lips in a searing
kiss, and Daphne keenly returned his enthusiasm.

A loud knock at the door pierced the passionate moment, and the couple
broke unwillingly apart and stared at the door as if it had done them a great
injustice.

The banging intensified, and before Blaise could open the door, Theos
dulcet tones came from outside, "Open the door, mate. Pansy and
Longbottom are already at the bar."

Blaise threw his head back in frustration and groaned, "I knew we should've
gotten rooms on separate floors. He is not going to give us a moment's
peace."

Daphne giggled and adjusted her silk blouse, "Don't be horrid." She liked
Theo and considered him highly entertaining. He was the sort of person
who could make a trip worthwhile.

Blaise grudgingly walked towards the door, dragging his feet and taking his
time. He looked over his shoulder at his wife opening a suitcase and
grumbled, "We might as well have brought along the children."

"Blaise!" Daphne scolded and pulled out a sleeveless sky-blue cotton dress
and matching sandals.

Blaise threw the door open violently and gritted out in unmistakable
irritation, "What do you want, Nott?"
Theo ignored the annoyed bare-bodied man and insisted, "Put a shirt on.
Let's go grab a drink." He pushed past Blaise, strode confidently into the
room, and flashed a boyish smile at Daphne.

Blaise followed the tall man into the middle of the room and mused,
"Where's Luna? Did you finally manage to drive her away?" It took a
special someone to put up with Theo and his antics.

Taking an apple out of the fruit basket, Theo bit into it and replied with
reduced enthusiasm, "Hilarious. She's resting." Luna’s overall demeanour
worried him, and he made a mental note to speak to the concierge about
arranging a visit with the hotel's in-house doctor.

Blaise queried with a definite sarcastic roll of his eyes, "And didn't you
think we might be doing the same?" It was a long, draining flight, and while
the place was spectacular, he was dead on his feet and could do with a nap.

However, Theo felt nothing and bounced about like a gangly rabbit. He
wiped the sweet nectar off the corner of his mouth and frowned, "Don't be
an arsehole. Come on!"

Daphne picked up a wide-brimmed sun hat and beamed, "Well, I'm game. A
drink sounds wonderful after over seventeen hours on a plane."

"That's the spirit, Daph," Theo applauded, picked up the shirt Daph laid on
the bed for Blaise and tossed it at the olive-skinned man, who caught it with
ease and slipped into it with a defeated and exhausted sigh, "Fine. Let's
go."

Ron watched as Tracey entered the common area of their flat. She wore a
flattering white blouse, grey trousers, and hair pulled back into a neat tight
ponytail.

She ignored his existence and instead searched frantically for probably her
phone or wand. It had been days since they had a civilised conversation, but
after her disappearing act last night, he felt compelled to say something.
Clearing his throat, Ron gulped coffee and spoke, "I didn't hear you come In
last night." Despite each being confined to their rooms and not talking
much, Ron only got a good night's rest once Tracey was home safe and
sound.

Tracey stopped what she was doing, crossed her arms over her chest and
regarded the man before her sceptically, "I wasn't aware that you were
keeping tabs on my comings and goings."

Ron frowned. The tips of his ears turned bright red, "You hadn't returned by
one am. I was worried. I called you multiple times." He said somewhat
pained, "Hate me all you want but please, let me know you're safe."

His behaviour surprised her. He sounded almost genuine. Yet, she scoffed,
"You don't need to concern yourself about me." She was tempted to hurl an
unforgivable insult but held her tongue.

Ron narrowed his eyes and questioned, except it sounded more like a
demand than a request, "Why didn't you answer your phone?"

Tracey regarded him squarely and, on purpose, responded cagily, "I was
with a friend." Her answer was vague enough to spark interest. She had
been with Astoria, baby Adam and Carrie. Ron had no idea she was
babysitting Daphne’s children.

A deep frown formed on Ron's face. He was visibly dissatisfied with her
answer, and even though he struggled to keep his temper at bay, he failed
miserably, "A friend? Past midnight?"

Ignoring his seething glare, Tracey resumed the search for her phone and
replied without a clue of interest, "Yes."

Her indifference was causing some strong reactions to rush to the surface,
and against his better judgement, Ron gnashed out, "Are you having an
affair?"

A sarcastic hearty laugh filled the space, Tracey's usually pretty features
twisted unpleasantly, "That's bloody rich. What if I am?" How dare he ask
such unjust questions when it was he who was moping about thinking about
his ex-girlfriend?

Ron hissed in his most menacing manner, "I forbid it." He wasn't helping
his cause by appearing to be a controlling git. There was no justification for
Tracey to take a lover. True, he cared deeply about Hermione and behaved
erratically with things regarding her, but they weren’t having an affair.

Tracey straightened, looked him in the eyes and smiled, almost devilishly,
"Oh, do you? Well, you're right. I've decided to take a lover for the duration
of this miserable marriage." Saying the last bits out loud hurt her. She was
unhappy because she cared about her husband and possibly even loved him.

Ron reeled back in disbelief. She was lying. There was no other plausible
explanation. He muttered in doubt, "What? I don't believe you."

Tracey knew her emotions were dedicating her actions. She insisted harshly,
"Go cry to Hermione. Don't wait up for me and don't call. You have no right
after the way you've treated me." That was a bit unfair since he had not ill-
treated her, but the emotional scarring he caused was enough.

Ron cried in outrage, "Like bloody hell. You are my wife, and I care greatly
about you and this marriage."

Having finally located her phone inside her bag, Tracey groaned in
frustration at her stupidity, but she heard his heartfelt words, and instead of
appeasing her, they had the reverse effect.

She fired at him without remorse, "You have a lousy way of showing it.
Goodbye."

Ron swallowed his pride and pleaded, "Tracey, please, I thought we could
have breakfast together and talk."

Tracey eyed the table for the first time, and her eyes fell on the eggs,
sausage and toast plates. Her heart clenched at the gesture, but she wouldn't
give in so quickly, "Please don't force yourself to tolerate my presence,
Ronald. Have a good day."
Ron was surprised by the ache in his chest as he watched her leave, closing
the door behind her with an audible bang. He wondered if he was having a
heart attack or simply mind-numbingly jealous.

Secluded part of London

The man rolled off Sarah and stared at the ceiling with a happy grin
plastered across his face.

Sarah turned away, grasped her soiled bedding and pulled at her restraint.
He still kept her chained like some animal while he violated her. She
thought he would allow her some freedom after the so-called engagement
and movie.

He cupped a supple breast, pinched the nipple and drawled, "Are you
hungry, my dear?" She had the most voluptuous bosom. It filled the palm of
his hand, and he fought the urge to suckle on the rosy pert nipple. His
mother had refused to breastfeed him, but he would take what was rightly
his birthright from Sarah.

"No," Sarah answered meekly. She couldn't possibly keep down any food
after having sex with the repulsive creature. She wondered how at his age,
he managed to stay virile. He was clearly in his late forties.

The monster moved his hand down her body, caressed her flat stomach, and
gushed, "When you're pregnant, you will need your strength, my darling."
He had given his plan some thought and sought to get married at a Muggle
registry office. Any two bums off the road could be persuaded with money
to stand as witnesses. She would deliver their child at the nearest hospital,
and they would live happily ever after.

He imagined a little boy or girl with magical abilities. A child that would
call him father and how he would bestow the affection denied to him on his
offspring. He would love his child unconditionally.

Unable to keep his excitement hidden, he placed a slobbery kiss onto

Sarah's chapped lips and gushed lovingly, "You will be a wonderful
mother."

Sarah fought the tears that threatened to spill over her cheeks. She pursed
her trembling lips and said nothing.

Oblivious to her discomfort, her torturer spoke calmly with enthusiasm, "If
you promise to behave, we can go into Muggle London and pick up some
appropriate clothes."

Sarah grew wide-eyed but hid her excitement well. It wouldn't work in her
favour if he sensed her eagerness. She saw a way to escape his clutches, but
it was vital she played her cards right and remained submissive until the
opportune moment.

"If you think it is necessary," She replied without enthusiasm.

He grinned like a Cheshire cat, "I do, darling. We must keep your beautiful
body hidden from the world. It is mine to view and enjoy." Her obedience
and compliance to his plans pleased him.

Sarah swallowed her disgust for him and forced a smile before lying
convincingly, "I am yours to do as you please." Enjoy it while you can, you
sick fuck. I will kill you with my bare hands before this ordeal is over, her
internal monologue raged.

She inquired without skipping a beat, eager to stir the conversation away
and satisfy her curiosity, "The others, what did you do to them?"

The man stiffened and battled internally whether he could divulge the
details, but they were about to become man and wife. He couldn't keep
secrets from her. Besides, he hadn't done anything wrong.

He took a deep breath and said slowly but confidently, "They hated me,
like my mother. I did them kindness by sparing them years of pain at the
hands of ungrateful men. I couldn't keep them with me when you were the
one I truly wanted. It would have been cruel."
Sarah knew he killed them, but his last words made her feel guilty. Was
their death somehow her fault?

She heard the screams through the cracks over the weeks that stretched into
months. Yet how was it possible that he roamed free? Of course, she had no
way of knowing how precisely clean he had been while disposing of the
bodies without a shred of evidence.

He was smart. No fibres and no fluids were left on the women. The papers
and Aurors labelled the cause of death as asphyxiation by strangulation, but
only he knew it was true passion that killed them.

He gave Sarah his undivided attention. His good eye sparkled with undying
affection, "I loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you. How passionate
you looked while helping witches at Madame Malkins."

His attitude turned shady, "But Sarah, I disapproved of your nightly

activities in Muggle London. It was unbecoming behaviour of an elegant
lady."

She was a wild one, unlike the rest.

He was a purist. Modifications infuriated him, that's why he chose untainted

women, and he was lucky to deflower the first two victims. Still, Sarah and
the one before were not virgins, and though it infuriated him, he didn't let it
cloud his primary purpose.

Oh, how they screamed as he entered them repeatedly. He hated his pathetic
face. His mother had altered his appearance, and there was no pardoning
such an atrocity. She had paid in spades for what she did, but it wasn't
enough.

He had no intention of being careful with Sarah as he had been with the
rest. She was his intended. His future wife and he wanted her to reek of
him.

Sarah shuddered. A shiver went down her spine as she recalled her
handsome casual boyfriend and her friends. She had an enjoyable life until
it was snatched cruelly away from her by a sex-crazed monster who alleged
he was in love with her.

He hissed ominously, "Lovely girl like you had no place clubbing and
behaving like a whore. I watched you for days, but you didn't give me a
second glance."

Instantly, his demeanour changed, and Sarah panicked. Oh Merlin, what

had she done? He became angry, grabbed her face and forced her to look at
him and his grotesque scar.

She started to cry and wriggle free from his grasp, but he moved closer, so
his breath ghosted over the sensitive skin of her cheek and rasped, "You
love looking at me now, don't you?"

Without waiting for an answer, he kissed her hard, bit her lip savagely and
licked up the blood that rushed to the surface. Sarah gasped for breath, but
he was just getting started. Prying her legs apart, he pushed his cock into
her bruised, throbbing vagina and fucked her brutally.

Sarah went rigid and numb. Shouldn't she be used to his treatment by now?
Evidently, she wasn't. Biting the inside of her cheek, she laid still and let
him finish. A strangulated groan left her lips.

Hopefully, he would let her use the bathroom to relieve and cleanse herself
from his filth, but the following words out of his mouth chilled her to the
bone.

"Look at me. Tell me you love me, mother."

Ministry Of Magic - Tuesday Morning

Hermione tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear and rose as the door
opened and Hannah walked in. It was half past ten, but she had an
important meeting with the Muggle Prime Minister. She smiled warmly in
greeting, "Oh, good morning, Hannah. Are you ready to leave?"
Hannah looked undeniably guilty but delivered the news with an amused
expression, "Actually, I came by to tell you that Malfoy will accompany
you. I have an urgent meeting with Harry."

Hermione frowned and made her displeasure abundantly clear, "What?

Why?"

Hannah shrugged casually and smirked, "I'm sorry, Hermione. Boss's

orders. I'll see you later."

Draco swept into the room with a slight smile and cocky greeting, "Good
morning, Madam Undersecretary. You look lovely. Green brings out the
seriousness in your eyes."

Oh, bloody marvellous. He had heard her childish outburst.

Hermione smoothed her skirt though it was unnecessary and attempted to

be polite to a certain degree, "Malfoy, what a, umm, pleasant
surprise." Being around him would require every bit of professionalism and
self-discipline she could muster.

Hannah rolled her eyes and punched Draco playfully on the arm as she
strode out with her Auror robes billowing behind her.

Hermione was sure she heard Hannah whisper something candid to Malfoy
because his lips curved upwards to form a sensual smile, and he tugged on
her ponytail teasingly, but she couldn't quite hear what was exchanged from
where she was standing.

Well, Hannah and Malfoy seemed to be getting along splendidly.

Draco closed the door behind him and regarded the attractive woman in a
tight black pencil skirt, green blouse and high heels. He would never have
pegged Granger as the type of woman to wear such uncomfortable-looking
footwear, but clearly, he was mistaken.

He stepped closer and self-assuredly bent to brush her lips with his when
Hermione leaned back, away from his touch and stopped him from
progressing by covering his mouth with her petite hand

She scolded, "What do you think you're doing?"

Draco straightened and asked, perplexed, "I thought that was fairly obvious,
Granger."

Hermione calmly explained, yet in a tone of smug superiority, "Well, you're

on duty, so walk behind me, stay out of my way and pretend like you don't
exist."

Draco exclaimed with a definite roll of his eyes, "It's going to be a fun day,
isn't it?"

"Oh, loads," Hermione quipped sarcastically.

He ran his fingers through his hair and grinned, "I look forward to
following you."

Hermione blushed and insisted, "That's not necessary." She hated the whole
bodyguard experience, Hannah made it tolerable, and Malfoy made it
uncomfortable because of the crackling sexual tension that encompassed
them.

Draco smirked and said with alluring conviction, "I meant as a courtesy. I
will do my utmost to keep you from falling in love with me." He enjoyed
teasing Granger. Her reactions were entirely predictable.

On cue, Hermione scoffed, playing right into his hands, "Don't flatter
yourself, Malfoy. I could never feel anything more than a sexual stirring
towards you." Liar, liar knickers on fire.

Draco stifled a laugh, "So you keep saying."

He let his eyes roam over her form unashamedly before stating in a dark
undertone, "While we are on the topic, that is a very tight skirt that leaves
nothing to imagination. Must you wear it?" He could see the outline of her
thong, and while he enjoyed it, perhaps behind the closed doors of their
bedroom, he wasn't keen on others ogling her bottom.
Hermione instinctively covered her buttocks with her hands and
admonished, "Stop looking at my arse, you incorrigible lout."

Draco glared sternly, "I was simply stating the obvious." Whatever was she
thinking wearing something so tight and somewhat revealing?

Regarding the prudish blonde, Hermione scowled, "I'm perfectly capable of

picking out my clothes without your opinion." Who the ruddy hell did he
think he was?

Undeterred by her obvious distaste for his opinion, Draco crossed his arms
over his chest and argued relentlessly, "I know exactly how other men
think, and unless you want to appear in their sexual fantasies, you will
change into something more appropriate."

Hermione did not take kindly to his demanding manner or dominating

nature. She would not simply yield to the unjustified whims of a man, "I
will? Are you commanding me?"

Draco shrugged and answered evenly, "If that's how you see it." He wasn't
trying to dictate her clothing choices, but her skirt was highly inappropriate
in how it hugged her backside and thighs.

Holding her head high, Hermione refuted and blatantly refused to give in,
"Not all men are sexual deviants. Kindly refrain from speaking your mind
so frankly."

They stared at each other, too stubborn and pigheaded to look away first.
Ultimately, Draco knew he was fighting a losing battle. What did he care if
she wanted to flaunt her arse?

"Have it your way then, Granger," Draco said, conceding defeat. Her
absolute tenacity to have it her was staggering and highly annoying.

Hermione smiled smugly, "Thank you." It was a small victory, yet she felt
self-conscious about her attire after his criticism. Malfoy wasn't some idiot.
His words held some merit.
Draco's sultry voice invaded her thoughts, "Did my mother contact you?"
He knew she would have to discuss the much-anticipated dinner and
possibly the menu.

Hermione snapped to attention and replied sharply, "Yes, she did. Dinner is
at promptly seven pm."

That morning, Narcissa had called at quarter past six am and rattled off
something about a lean and tender filet mignon, mildly spicy seafood
risotto, skewed grilled prawns and citrus-infused seabass with garlic lemon
butter sauce and incessantly questioned whether her parents had any food
allergies or specific preferences.

She had almost had a heart attack when Hermione quite seriously
mentioned her parents and grandmother were strict vegetarians and would
not touch meat nor be around it.

Narcissa gasped and blamed her son for a good five minutes for not telling
her before Hermione chuckled, rubbed the sleepiness off her eyes and
groggily confessed she was joking. Although, she had thoroughly enjoyed
Narcissa going off on Malfoy.

Draco regarded her worried expression and questioned, "Are you alright?
You don't seem enthusiastic about dinner."

Hermione sighed, "Well, I had hoped we would get married and divorced
without the hassle and fuss of family meetings, dinners etc., but your family
and mine seem to have other ideas, and I am completely overruled."

She added solemnly, "I don't want anyone to get hurt." A crushing surge of
emotions rose to the surface and threatened to drown her in them.

Draco closed the gap between them, peered into her distraught face and
reassured, "Must you overthink matters. It will be fine. I'll be over at six pm
to escort your parents and grandmother to the Manor."

"That sounds like a good plan," Hermione retorted. She bit her tongue and
inwardly thought, plans can easily change.
Ignoring her earlier instructions to remain professional, Draco ran a long
finger down the soft skin of her cheek and drawled huskily, "Have you
thought about me since brunch? Is that why you visited me last night?"

Hermione's breathing elevated, she bit her lip, and his soft caresses almost
caused her to shut her eyes and surrender. Still, she defended, "I told you I
came to meet Harry. You just happened to be there, and I haven't given
much thought to what transpired at brunch. I've had plenty of pressing
matters to attend to."

The truth was she thought of his gorgeous head buried between her thighs
often since it happened, and each time a bolt of electricity shot up her spine
and her clitoris throbbed.

Draco ran the pad of his thumb along her plump bottom lip and fought the
urge to sink his teeth into it. He tipped her chin and teased brazenly, "Such
an appalling liar. I've thought about you and how your face looks when you
orgasm, especially while lying alone in my bed at night." Her flushed face
framed by messy hair tassels was an image he wouldn't forget in a hurry.

Hermione didn't dare to back down. She cocked her head to the side and
mused, "It's only been a day, Malfoy."

"Hmm, true, but I want more," Draco rasped and pressed his body flush
against hers before edging his fingers up under the thin material of her skirt
with one destination in mind. The sensual act caused Hermione to hold onto
him for fear of falling.

She straightened, pushed him away and said unconvincingly, "I, well, erm,
we should get going. The Muggle Prime Minister is waiting for me."

Draco stood aside and bowed graciously, "After you, Madam

Undersecretary."

"Turn around," Hermione instructed firmly.

It seemed ridiculous to toss him out when he had seen her partially naked
and had his tongue buried deep inside her most private place.
Draco raised a quizzical brow, "Why?" She was clearly up to something.

Hermione twirled her finger midair and made her wishes abundantly clear,
"Do as you are told, Malfoy."

Rolling his eyes, Draco turned his back on her and impatiently waited for
whatever she was doing to pass.

Pulling out her wand, Hermione muttered a simple transfiguration spell

while moving the beloved stick of vine wood over the bottom half of her
outfit. The tight skirt disappeared only to be replaced by stylish trousers to
match the blouse and heels

Once satisfied with her appearance, Hermione triumphantly said, "You can
turn around, Malfoy. I'm done."

"What is the meaning of these tiresome games you play, Granger?" Draco
started to say as he turned around and stopped mid-sentence after seeing the
trousers that now covered her previously exposed legs.

As his eyes travelled over the black material wrapped snugly around her
shapely legs, he couldn't help but grin and radiate smugness.

Hermione loathed the look on his face. She wagged a warning finger, "Not
another fucking word."

A sly smirk lifted the corner of Draco’s mouth as he drawled, "I wouldn't
dream of it."

Hermione pushed past him, grabbed a handful of Floo powder and stepped
into the large fireplace built to accommodate a large adult.

She hastily instructed when he didn't attempt to move towards her, "Well,
come on, Malfoy. We haven't got all day."

Lazily, Draco approached the fireplace and took his place by her side. He
deliberately put his arm around her waist and brought her closer, much to
her dismay. He particularly hated travelling by the Floo network. It gave
him a stomach ache, and the smell of the powder was repulsive.
Hermione unclenched her fist, and the powder fell to the ground as she
clearly said the name of their destination. They disappeared in a puff of
emerald-green smoke.

Draco stepped out of the fireplace first, his breakfast churning in his
stomach. He dusted the remaining specks of powder off his Auror robes and
smiled slightly at the man coming towards them with a surprised expression
etched onto his face.

Hermione stood at the back and sealed the Floo network behind them. She
was in no mood for untimely interruptions; besides, as a rule, they closed
the right of way after using it for fear of others abusing the passageway to
cause or inflict harm on the Muggle Prime Minister.

Michael's face relaxed. A week's worth of stubble adorned his face,

"Malfoy. Where's Abbott?" He asked rather interestedly.

Looking presentable in a black suit, crisp white shirt and blue tie, MI5
Special agent Evan Blair approached the group and requested with a grin,
"Yeah! Where's the spirited lass? She's got excellent banter."

Malfoy addressed the man's query, "Abbott is with Harry Potter for the first
part of the day."

Evan nodded in acknowledgement but kept his astute eyes trained on the
newcomer, who was a foot taller than him with hardened eyes and an air of
inimitable confidence.

He spoke directly to Draco, "I don't believe we've met."

Hermione stood by Draco, made her presence known and cordially

introduced, "This is MI5 Agent and head of the Prime Minister's staff, Mr
Evan Blair."

Hermione smiled slightly, "Evan, meet Draco Malfoy. Auror in training.

He's one of our most promising recruits."
Draco extended his hand in greeting, which Evan took without hesitation in
a hardened grip hoping to intimidate but unfortunately didn't have the
desired effect.

Evan said with forced politeness, "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Draco replied with equal civility. He could immediately sense

Evan was not a fool. The man seemed to know his job and was probably
quite adept at it.

Turning his focus to the only woman in the room, Evan smiled broadly,
"Always a pleasure, Hermione."

Draco mused, "Interesting." His deduction was only heard by Hermione,

who discreetly elbowed him in the ribs before moving towards the Prime
Minister.

Owen Dunbar wasn't particularly bothered by the new face among them and
addressed the young Undersecretary, "We welcome these little updates,
Hermione. Have you apprehended the main culprit?"

He motioned for everyone to sit down, pushed his gold-rimmed spectacles

further up his nose, and gave their magical counterparts his diligent
attention.

Hermione sat down and replied solemnly, "I'm afraid not, Minister.
However, we are working towards uncovering several leads."

Owen sighed in exasperation, "Ah, that's disappointing."

Evan injected, hoping to take the heat off Hermione, "The Prime Minister
was being followed. Corner and I arrested the suspects and took them into
custody."

Michael nodded in agreement and added firmly, "We have secured them in
a closed cell."

Owen voiced his opinion, "They look completely normal. If they passed
you on the street, you wouldn't pay them any mind."
"I agree with the Prime Minister," Evan chimed in. The werewolves in their
custody were young and unable to shift shape as they wished. They would
rely on the full moon to reveal their true self.

Michael gritted out, "Trust me, Evan, there's nothing remotely normal about
them."

Evan said in an impressed voice, "They are a loyal bunch. They wouldn't
crack under the most strenuous questioning."

"Have you used excessive force?" Hermione probed. She needed more
details. The diplomatic side of her screamed in protest.

Evan glared. He didn't take kindly to what she referred to and fired back
without a smidge of remorse, "Only when needed, Granger. We need to
break them."

Hermione argued pointedly, "Do you honestly believe a bunch of lowly

individuals can offer you anything on the leader?"

Evan pursed his lips in thought, but when he opened his mouth to offer a
sensible retort, he was interrupted by Draco, "The Alpha will confide his
plans to his inner circle and no one else. If he is indeed a fallen Death Eater,
he will follow a few of Voldemort's mannerisms." He had stood quietly,
heeding Granger's warning by blending into the background and mimicking
a piece of furniture, but enough was enough.

"You've given it some thought," Evan replied sceptically. This new addition
to Hermione's security detail intrigued him. Something was mudding the
waters that he couldn't put his finger on.

Draco gave his answer a brief moment's thought and confessed, "I used to
be one. I know how they think." Voldemort trusted no one with his hidden
desires and proper plans except perhaps Bellatrix, considering their sick,
twisted relationship.

As the words flew out his mouth, Hermione closed her eyes and massaged
the bridge of her nose in exasperation, and Michael stiffened. Why would
Malfoy even think it was acceptable to mention his dark past? Especially
among people who still feared Voldemort.

Evan raised a brow and asked suspiciously, "A werewolf?" Did they have a
tame wolf amongst them?

Owen threw Draco a look of pure mistrust and sank further into his chair to
appear less of a target.

Draco stepped forward and revealed the bitter truth, "No, I was a Death
Eater."

Owen's jaw dropped to the floor, and Evan narrowed his eyes and almost
reached for his handgun, but Michael attempted to calm the tense situation,
"Evan, stand down, mate. You don't know the whole story. Malfoy is one of
us, and I will stake my reputation on it."

Draco couldn't help but feel newfound respect for Corner. He had made the
stupid decision to offer too much information to strangers prompting
Michael to defend him.

Hermione barrelled into explanation, "Mr Malfoy was forced into

compliance by Voldemort who compromised the safety of his mother to
ensure obedience."

Unconvinced and thoroughly mortified, Evan questioned Hermione in

genuine concern, "You have a known Death Eater on your protection
detail?" It sounded accusatory above all else.

Hermione was growing tired of everyone's behaviour. She would have a

strict word with Malfoy after the meeting, but for now, she spoke to
everyone in general, "Draco was cleared of all charges against him when we
were seventeen. Mr Malfoy's past is highly irrelevant to the current
situation."

Michael nodded in complete agreement, "Granger is right. Let's get back on

track."
Evan threw Draco a look of disapproval and pulled out a mugshot of one of
the men they arrested from a file, placed it on the table and jabbed at it with
his finger repeatedly before practically hissing, "I feel this one will confess.
He's been whimpering in his cell and calling out to an invisible entity."

Hermione stared at the picture. The assailant looked young and afraid. Even
if they were on opposite sides of the law, she felt a smidge of sympathy and
informed in a low yet carrying voice, "They need raw meat to sustain them,
or they will die, slowly and painfully."

"I'll have the chef whip up a selection," Evan scowled. He couldn't

comprehend how Hermione could feel sorry for these creatures who
maimed and mutilated without a second thought.

Owen frowned. He didn't say much, fearing he would sound ridiculous, but
he agreed wholeheartedly with Evan.

Hermione tried to reason with her difficult, opinionated audience, "Evan,

put your arrogance aside and think clearly. You need to gain their trust, and
this is certainly not the way to do that."

Evan was a man who hardly allowed his emotions to dictate his actions but
seeing the bloody remains from the attacks and consoling affected families
drastically changed his opinion.

He replied bitterly, "Don't tell me to treat them kindly, Hermione. I have

grieving families ripped apart by their actions. I don't have the luxury of
being civil to a bunch of murderers."

Draco wasn't keen on the MI5 agent's unhinged tone of voice. There was a
harshness directed towards Granger that he simply could not allow.
Stepping forward, he warned in a consistent style that wasn't meant to be
threatening but was, "Lower your tone, mate. She means well."

Evan wasn't about to sit idly by while some hotheaded novice instructed
him on how to conduct himself. He surveyed Draco and fired
unapologetically, "Mind your own business. Nobody asked your opinion."
Draco kept his wits about him and quipped, "She is my business." Evan,
mate, you don't know the half of it, he thought candidly. Draco realised he
respected the senior, more experienced agent despite getting off on the
wrong foot.

"Enough!" Hermione intervened and shot Draco a dire look of warning.

Once again, Micheal came to the rescue, "Blair, mate, you know Granger
has a valid point. We can unlock more if we show these bastards some
compassion, even if it's fake."

Owen concurred, "It might be wise to listen to Miss Granger. After all, she
has more experience dealing with monsters than we do."

Hermione didn't particularly care for the Prime Minister's choice of words,
yet she held her tongue, not wanting to aggravate the situation and reacted
fiercely, "You would be wrong not to heed my words, Evan. I am not the
enemy."

Evan softened his gaze and replied, "No, you are much more."

Michael distinctively rolled his eyes and looked at Draco to catch his
reaction, but surprisingly the platinum blonde stared intently at Evan but
didn't appear to be angry or out of sorts.

Hermione exhaled and addressed the men in the room beside the Prime
Minister, "I would like a few private moments with the Minister. The rest of
you, leave." She instructed in a no-nonsense tone of voice.

Disregarding her instruction, Draco moved closer to stand behind her seated
form and said decisively, "My orders are to remain by your side at all times,
and I'm sorry, but you do not have the authority to override them and
dismiss me so easily."

Hermione fumed and internally raged. I'm going to kill Hannah and then
Harry.
When neither Evan nor Michael made any real effort to leave, Owen offered
with a reassuring smile, "Speak freely, Miss Granger. You are among
friends."

Hermione exclaimed, overruled and against her wishes, "You force my

hand."

Owen raised a brow, and like the others, he leaned forward and keenly
waited for the Undersecretary to begin speaking.

Hermione cleared her throat, ignored the rest and asked Owen directly, "The
Minister of Magic would like to know how Michael has been performing on
this assignment."

"What?" Michael asked in utter surprise. What the hell was going on?

Hermione shot him an annoyed look, "You asked to stay, Corner."

Michael shifted uncomfortably in his seat and pulled at his collar. He

should've listened to Hermione and left when she instructed.

Even though he was taken aback by the untimely question, Owen answered
without hesitation, "Well, I certainly have no complaints. He has been a
valuable addition to my staff, and I will be sad to see him go when the time
comes."

Michael almost blushed but managed a grateful reply, "Prime Minister,

thank you for those kind words of confidence."

Having secured a satisfactory answer to her question, Hermione abruptly

got to her feet and announced, "Thank you for your time, gentlemen. We
will take our leave."

"Until we meet again. Hopefully, you will bring better news next time,"
Owen replied, somewhat mildly frustrated.

Hermione smiled, "I certainly hope so, Prime Minister." The doddering old
sod. She was glad to have ended the meeting since her patience was
wearing thin.
Evan and Owen nodded curtly before exiting the room leaving the one
witch and two wizards alone to talk amongst themselves.

Michael rounded on Hermione the second the door closed, "What was that
all about, Hermione?"

Hermione beamed, "Harry has put in a good word for you." They had been
studying Corner and his dedication to the job for months.

"For what exactly?" Michael asked curiously. He hadn't the faintest clue.

Hermione stated the obvious, "You are being considered for a promotion."
How was it possible that he hadn't caught on? Maybe Corner wasn't as
sharp as they gave him credit.

Michael was shocked by the revelation, and it was apparent from the look
on his face, "Oh, I'm a little surprised, but what about Terry?"

Hermione became cagey with her reply, "Terry is not a candidate, Micheal.
That's fairly obvious." The little stunt they pulled on Malfoy almost took
Michael out of the running. Still, Terry's addiction to cocaine and erratic
behaviour while under the influence earned him demerits on his permanent
record.

Michael sighed. He rubbed the back of his neck and retorted, "I suppose.
We joined together, and it will be awful if I get a sodding promotion and he
doesn't."

Hermione felt her heart clench. She genuinely felt horrible for Michael and
his predicament. The two men were close, much like Harry and Ron.

She touched his arm and said with understanding, "You're afraid to leave
him behind."

"He's my best mate," Michael confessed with pain lacing each word. Boot
was more than a friend. He was a brother, partner and confidante. Since the
beginning of Hogwarts, the two had been inseparable.
Hermione inconspicuously eyed Malfoy out of the corner of her eye,
dropped her voice low and hesitantly inquired, "Erm, have you been to see
him?"

Draco pretended not to hear, but his fine hearing picked up the finer details
of the conversation against his wishes.

Michael answered at once, "Of course!"

He raised a sceptical brow in question, "Have you?" Surely, she hadn't after
what transpired between them and especially not after she had him
committed.

Hermione hesitated but responded truthfully, "I did." She wondered if

Malfoy heard and whether the news would upset him, but he remained
emotionless and focused on the surroundings. Besides, she was free to visit
with whomever she pleased and hardly needed his permission.

Draco heard word for word, and though her intentions were well intended,
he couldn't help but feel the serpent's angry, jealous head that lay dormant
in the dark pits of his being rear its ugly head.

Michael insisted, oblivious to the eavesdropping former Slytherin, "And

how did he take it? You two didn't exactly part on the best of terms." He
glanced at Draco obediently standing a few feet away from them by the
fireplace for good measure.

Hermione recalled the brief encounter and unexpected kiss.

She lied somewhat convincingly, "He took it well enough."

Michael breathed a sigh of relief but issued a dire warning, "I don't want
you messing with his head. He's doing okay, mending. Terry doesn't need
distractions."

The uncharacteristic raised voice caused Draco to glance in their direction

and move swiftly to Hermione's side.
However, Hermione stood her ground firmly and regarded Michael head-
on, "Believe it or not, Corner, I have Terry's best interests at heart."

Michael ran his fingers through his hair and frowned, "I'm sorry, I know
you do. It pains me to see him suffering." Merlin, he craved a cigarette.

Momentarily forgetting the company he was in, Michael pressed forward, "I
told him, over and over, to get you out of his head, but no, he insisted that
you felt the same way."

Hermione flinched. The words Michael uttered hurt. Maybe she had led
Terry on and unknowingly given him hope that someday they would be a
couple.

Meanwhile, Draco stiffened. This conversation was starting to make him

exceedingly uncomfortable and try as he might, he couldn't shake the
feeling.

An awkward silence engulfed them, and Hermione sensed the shift in

Malfoy's deposition. She calmly said, "We best get going, Michael and keep
up the good work."

Without warning, Draco closed his fingers around Hermione's right upper
arm, and despite the scorching look she gave him to unhand her at once, he
frogmarched her towards the large fireplace.

Michael watched them with an amused expression as Draco grabbed a

handful of Floo powder with his free hand and threw it to the ground with
more force than necessary.

They disappeared in an elaborate puff of emerald smoke.

Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office

"John?" Arthur Weasley tried to snap his subordinate out of the daydream
he had slipped into.
Perkins rolled his eyes and tossed a ball of rolled-up paper at John's head. It
hit him on the back and had the desired effect because John snapped out of
the daze and looked ashamed of his behaviour.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Perkins asked irritably.

Rearranging the parchments around him into relevant piles, John avoided
eye contact and busied himself. He thought about her constantly.

Arthur smiled, "Everything okay, lad?"

"Yes, sorry, did you want something?" John asked in a flustered state.

Perkins scowled, "The file, you stupid bloody tit." He couldn't understand
why Arthur kept around the useless sack of shite.

"That is enough, Perkins!" Arthur cautioned.

John almost tripped over his feet in his haste to hand the file to Arthur. He
apologised profusely, "I'm sorry, Arthur. It won't happen again."

Arthur took the file with a slight sincere smile, "No harm done, son." He
liked John and wanted to get to know him better, but unfortunately, the shy
man remained a recluse.

John returned to the files on his desk and began reading the latest Misuse of
Muggle Artefacts case and committing the information to memory.

Perkins shook his head, stuck his quill into the almost empty ink bottle and
muttered under his breath, "Nutjob."

Draco let go of Hermione's arm the second they arrived inside her office.
He stepped out of the fireplace, dusted the remaining particles off his robes
and mused, "Well, that was entertaining."

Hermione glared sternly, "Don't ever manhandle me." She rubbed the place
on her arm his fingers had dug into and grimaced. It hadn't hurt, he had
been careful of that, but his treatment of her made her feel like some
impudent misbehaving child that needed correcting.

Draco glanced over his shoulder in time to catch her blowing air down her
blouse because the messy Floo powder had gotten into nooks and cracks for
which it was not intended.

He grinned knowingly, "Ever? That's disappointing."

Pushing past him, Hermione marched over to her desk and reprimanded,
"You know perfectly well what I mean." She poured herself a glass of cool
water and drained it.

"I regret my behaviour," Draco apologised while closing the distance

between them.

Hermione argued pointedly, "You undermined my authority." It had been

embarrassing to be put in place by a recruit.

Draco countered effortlessly, "I was doing my job." His instructions were to
remain by her side at all times. Potter was his boss, not her, and he intended
to follow through on orders.

Hermione studied Malfoy for a brief moment and asked in outrage, "What
the hell were you thinking bringing up the whole Death Eater thing?"

"Not my smartest moment," Draco adjusted the collar of his jacket and
admitted sheepishly. He could not fathom what propelled him to blurt out
the truth about his previous occupation so bluntly.

Hermione added salt to the wound without consideration, "It is by far the
stupidest thing you have done, Malfoy, and that includes trying to poison
Dumbledore."

Draco paled if that was even possible. He didn't like being reminded of his
past misdeeds. Still, he embraced his mistakes and made his thoughts
abundantly clear, "Duly noted, but I will not hide my past. I was taught that
embracing it will set you free."
Hermione seethed, "Your temple teachings won't work in the Ministry of
Magic, Draco. This is politics." He had much to learn about placating
politicians and knowing what to say without offence. You couldn’t just
speak your mind in the political circuit. She had learnt that the hard way.

They stood in silence. There wasn't much to say. Draco awaited further
instruction when a silent growl from her stomach reminded Hermione that
she had skipped breakfast in her haste to arrive on time.

She thought it best to push aside the unpleasantness and redirect their
attention towards something meaningful.

"I'm hungry. Shall we grab an early lunch?" Hermione asked before

reaching to grab her handbag.

Draco smirked and put forth a splendid suggestion, "Chinese?" He knew

from past experience that she was partial to the tasty cuisine.

Hermione tapped her chin in thought, contemplated what she had a craving
for, and answered after a brief moment, "No, I am in the mood for some
sushi. There's a great place around the corner."

Draco boldly teased, "Are you asking me out to lunch, Granger?" He was
toying with a lioness and enjoyed every eventful moment of it.

Her earlier anger evaporated as a sense of playful banter presented itself.

Hermione tilted her head and quipped good-humoredly, "No, but you are
paying."

A hearty laugh escaped Draco’s lips, "I'm almost certain you earn more than
me. I'm nothing but a lowly bodyguard." He was wealthy, which was
common knowledge, but he did not earn a Galleon in the Malfoy vault at
Gringotts. Although his wages weren't impressive, job satisfaction made
him pull on the suit daily.

Hermione rolled her eyes and replied disdainfully, "Fine! I'll pay if you're
going to moan and whine about it." She figured he wouldn't have any
Muggle money with him.
"I wouldn't dream of letting you settle the bill," Draco said, leaving no room
for argument. It would be an insult of the highest sort, and he regretted
goading her into such a statement.

Grabbing the sleeve of his Auror jacket, Hermione pulled him towards the
door, "Come on, let's go. I'm starving." He was impossible to move on her
own, but thankfully he allowed himself to be dragged without fuss.

They breezed past Brenda, who flashed a bright smile of approval at them.
She dreamily thought of Michael and what she would cook for dinner
before returning to filing the many papers scattered across her desk.

It was a chilly afternoon, and having forgotten her jacket in the office,
Hermione hugged herself as she stepped onto the crowded street with many
Muggles going about their business. She felt a firm hand on her back, and
warmness seep through the material of her blouse. The pleasing sensation
infused her skin and coated her whole with toasty warmth.

Having accomplished what he sought out to do, Draco dropped his hand to
Hermione's waist and kept it there while she navigated them through the
hustle and bustle of passers-by to the restaurant that was within sight.

A smartly dressed, mature Japanese man opened the door with a gracious
bow and enthusiastic greeting, "Good afternoon! Do you have a
reservation?"

"Oh, I'm afraid not,” Hermione responded, looking uncertain.

The Manager checked the large book before him and reassured her, “It is
okay, Madame. We have plenty of tables available.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and requested with a timid coy smile,
“Umm, can we be seated in a private room?"

Draco was surprised by her request. He raised a curious brow, but

Hermione didn't see. She was too busy admiring the miniature garden,
blooming yet trimmed Cherry Blossom bonsai tree and beautiful Koi fish
swimming peacefully in the pond.
The kind man smiled, "Of course, Miss. Please follow me." He picked up
two hard-covered menus and gestured for them to follow him.

Draco looked around in keen interest as he followed the Manager. He was

impressed by the interior decoration. Whoever had seen to the designs knew
what they were doing.

Pastel shades of white, red and pink adorned the seating areas they passed,
and elaborate hand-painted pictures of Geisha girls, golden Koi fish and a
large black and white depiction of a fierce Samurai warrior hang on the
entire wall to the left.

The restaurant was busy, and they were lucky to get seating without a
reservation. The manager stopped by a sliding door, smiled politely and
requested, "Please, take off your shoes." It was common practice. Carpeting
and shampooing cost a small fortune.

Hermione delicately slipped out of her high heels and bent to pick them up.
Draco was used to being barefoot. He spent the entirety of his time at the
Shaolin Temple without shoes. He took them off without hassle and pushed
them to the side with a black socked foot.

Pleased by their willingness to follow instructions without fuss, the

manager slid the doors open, revealing a comfortable private dining area.

What greeted them was a Zashiki, a traditional Japanese restaurant seating

arrangement featuring a low table set on tatami flooring that was elegant
and decorated with unique Japanese flower arrangements to offer a
luxurious dining experience.

Hermione entered, followed closely by Draco. It was such an intimate

setting that he couldn't help but ponder why Granger would opt to be
completely alone with him unless public sexual acts excited her.

The manager invited with a twinkle in his eyes, "Would you like to order
Sake?"
Draco respectfully refused, "No, thank you." However, Hermione remained
silent. She was in two minds, but it was the middle of the day, and there was
a ton of work to get done. She sensibly decided against it and took the
menu's from the man's hand.

He closed the door behind them and left them in peace to go over the menu.
Draco sat cross-legged on a comfortable cushion and waited for Hermione
to follow suit. She sat across from him, and once she was comfortable, he
said in an enthralling manner, "Ah, this is a nice place. Quite authentic."

Hermione blushed for whatever reason and nodded in reply, "Hmm."

Merlin, she had lost the ability to speak.

Draco regarded the squirming woman and mocked playfully, "Why the
privacy? Are you embarrassed to be seen with me, or perhaps it's something
more?" He slowly extended his folded leg to brush up against hers under
the low table.

Hermione couldn’t help the girlish giggle that left her lips.

She moved slightly away and murmured, "Stop it. And, no, I am not
embarrassed to be seen with you."

Tucking a loose curl behind her ear, she added hesitantly, "I just thought it
would be nice to be alone."

Draco looked around intentionally and concurred, "And I agree. This is

much more pleasant than sitting in the outer areas." She had undoubtedly
made the right decision.

They scanned the menu and ordered an array of items to share themselves.
Surprisingly their tastes and likes were extraordinarily similar. Hermione
recalled dining out with Ron. It was an absolute nightmare because they
could never agree on the items to order and always ended up with a
mountain of uneaten food to take home.

A waiter knocked loudly before entering. He diligently took their order and
rushed out without uttering another word.
They sat silently, each caught up in their thoughts until Draco shattered the
peace by asking, "Did you date Evan?" It seemed like an interesting topic to
touch on.

Hermione stiffened and cleared her throat before answering, "In a manner
of speaking. It was one date, and I never called him back."

Draco chuckled, "You seem to be leaving a trail of broken hearts." He

dropped his tone an octave to a dangerous husky low and included, "But
rest assured, I will kill him if he touches you again."

"What?" Hermione cried in outrage. She couldn't believe her ears, yet
something ignited within her and clawed its way to the surface.

Draco surrendered before she hexed him, bringing his hands up in defence,
"It was a joke, Granger. Relax!" He leaned forward to smell her perfume
and drawled, "But, your eyes did light up at my mock display of
possessiveness. Do you enjoy it?"

Why did he have to notice every little thing? It was infuriating.

Hermione laughed nervously and fired back, "Don't be repulsive."

“Do you care about him?” Draco asked and watched her face closely. He
was curious as to how she would react.

Hermione sighed, “He’s a colleague. Nothing more or less, Malfoy.”

The waiter and a helper brought their order, carefully placed the delicately
arranged plates of food and fled again, hoping they hadn't interrupted. Most
couples occupying private rooms were often snogging or feeding each other
bits of sashimi.

The area filled with a delicious smell causing Hermione's stomach to knot
with increased hunger pangs. Using her fingers, she picked up a tightly
packed avocado roll and quickly tossed it into her mouth.

Draco drank water to lubricate his parched throat and insisted, "Truthfully,
Evan seems like a very well put-together bloke."
He inquired curiously, "What happened?" He could understand why she
ended things with Weasley, but Evan was an intellectual equal, it seemed
odd.

Hermione eyed the crispy crab rolls with a drizzle of spicy mayonnaise
sauce, a fusion dish and shrugged in reply, "Nothing happened, Malfoy. We
didn't have chemistry or a spark between us." At least on her part. It took
some doing to get her hot and bothered under the collar, and somehow the
man in her company managed it without so much as lifting a finger.

Taking his polished wooden chopsticks, Draco expertly picked up a mix of

different sushi rolls, placed them gingerly on his plate and encouraged,
"Well, if you ever want to date him in the future, you have my blessing. He
can keep up with you, look after you and certainly put you in your place."
His heart didn't agree with the words that seamlessly left his mouth because
the magic in his blood boiled in retribution.

The uncomfortable feeling almost made him drop his chopsticks, but he
merely passed it off as nothing more than slight discomfort when Hermione
looked at him weirdly and asked in concern, "Are you alright?"

Draco nodded and drank a full glass of water to tame the burning sensation
reaching his throat.

Hermione scoffed, "I'm glad you approve, but I'm not some invalid that
requires a man to look after my needs."

"Some needs, you mean," Draco muttered rather mischievously while

munching on a delicious sushi roll. The delicate meat sandwiched between
rice and seaweed was incredibly tasty.

Hermione menacingly pointed the sharp end of her fork at him and issued a
dire warning, "Shut up and eat your salmon roll."

Draco eyed her critically, "Please tell me you're not going to use a fork to
eat sushi?"
Hermione purposely stuck her fork into the nearest crab roll and argued,
"What? I haven't mastered the use of chopsticks." It wasn't some
extraordinary life skill she required daily.

Unlike him, Draco snorted, but it suited the situation: "Yes, I recall from the
time we had Chinese at your flat."

"That feels like months ago," Hermione munched slowly, savouring the
taste and said thoughtfully.

Draco adeptly picked up another roll, carefully dipped it into the soya sauce
and wasabi mix and shrugged, "Hardly." He ate the piece whole, and the
flavours exploded in his mouth.

Hermione quipped, "Yeah, barely a month or so since you waltzed back into
our lives and wreaked havoc." He had sent her life spiralling out of control
and evoked complicated feelings that even she didn't know she possessed.

Draco grew reminiscent, "My Master Chun used to say, everything happens
for a reason though it might not seem so at that exact moment."

"He sounds like a wise man," Hermione replied in interest. She wanted to
meet this Master.

Draco gave a curt nod in agreement, "He is." He learned so much from
Chun, not only about Kung Fu but life in general. The Master had such a
proficient way of teaching. He was hailed as one of the finest instructors to
grace the Shaolin Temple.

Abandoning the fork, Hermione used her fingers to pick up a plump, tightly
wrapped salmon roll and inquired nosily before popping it into her mouth,
"Do you miss them? Your life there?"

Draco laid his chopsticks neatly on his plate and thought about her question.
It was an easy one to answer, "Yes, I do. It was calm and peaceful, but I
miss the gentle breeze surrounding you early in the morning while watching
the sunrise. There is nothing that can remotely compare in London." In his
first weeks at the temple, he had woken early each morning to witness the
beautiful sight.

"Do you want to go back?" Hermione queried somewhat anxiously. What if

he did? Where would that leave her? In peace, perhaps.

Draco smiled slightly, "At times, but I will visit." He averted his gaze and
invited wholeheartedly, "I would like you to accompany me when I do."

His request caught her a touch off guard, but Hermione perked up, "Hmm, I
might take you up on that. I've read much about China but never had the
chance to visit, even diplomatically." It was a country rich in culture and
history.

"Diplomatically?" Draco questioned with the rise of a quizzical brow.

Licking some sauce off her fingers, Hermione nodded, "Yeah, I take the odd
tour abroad in Kingsley's stead. Some leaders prefer my voice of reason to
the Minister’s demanding nature." The French Minister Pascal, for example,
requested her specifically. The vile old toad.

She confided dreamily, "I last visited Austria. It's a lovely country but dull.
It wasn't for me." However, it might have been enjoyable with a special
somebody. It was such a picturesque and romantic nation.

Draco asked in interest, "I see. Did you visit the museums?" He was almost
one hundred per cent certain she did.

Hermione regarded his question with an amused expression before

answering, "I always do. It's the high point of my trip."

"Of course. I should've known better," Draco said with a knowing grin
while reaching over the salmon rolls to pick another crab roll. It didn’t take
a genius to conclude Granger was a museum-goer and avid history
enthusiast.

Hermione knew he meditated. He had offered to help her chase away the
nightmares by claiming the soothing technique worked wonders for him.
She was curious about its workings and sought to clear her doubts, "Does
meditation help? I've read about its healing properties."

Draco munched on a fresh piece of Nigirisushi and elucidated, "If it is done

correctly, yes, it helps. I was a wreck when I arrived at the footsteps of the
Monastery. It was quite by chance I found such a place even existed."

What? Hermione's internal thoughts screamed. Still, she kept her voice even
and probed, "How so? Care to elaborate."

Draco exhaled and began to explain, "During our imprisonment, someone

had left behind books about Kung fu and the Shaolin Temple in one of the
rooms, and I strangely felt instantly drawn to them."

Hermione found the occurrence downright bizarre, "That is odd. Who

would have access to such material? More importantly, who did they belong
to?" She was reminded of Harry’s mysterious potions book that belonged to
the Half-blood Prince, who ironically turned out to be Severus Snape.

Draco shrugged, "Your guess is as good as mine, Granger. There was no

name or scribbling on the pages." Whoever the books belonged to treated
them with the utmost care. The pages were worn with use but not abused.

He explained further without pause, "After reading through the text, I

decided that if I were acquitted, I would seek refuge at the Shaolin Temple.
Honestly, it was a fool's dream. I never thought I would have the strength to
carry it forth."

"Yet, it became an eventuality," Hermione said with profound wisdom. His

time away had miraculously changed him or brought out his true self. It was
hard to say just yet.

Clearly, he was not done telling his story. Maybe it felt good to unburden
himself, and Hermione certainly didn't mind. She listened intently to every
word he said, "It was a decision I took with a heavy heart, knowing I would
have to leave mother behind, but one I do not regret in the slightest. She
understood my actions at the time far better than I did."
"Narcissa is quite perceptive," Hermione said fondly.

Draco continued solemnly, "I needed discipline, focus, purpose and a way
to chase away the nightmares. Voldemort made me torture innocents.
Whenever my eyes closed, I would hear their pleas and cries for help." He
vividly recalled the begging and pleading.

Hermione swallowed hard and injected gravely, "I know what you mean."
An involuntary shudder shook her as old memories came back to haunt her.

Draco picked up another salmon roll, paused halfway to his mouth and
grilled, "Have you had any nightmares recently?" The concern in his tone
was evident.

"No, thankfully, I haven't," Hermione replied at once. She was spared

Bellatrix's taunting because her mind was preoccupied with work, among
other things. Besides, the dark witch crept up on her when least expected.

Draco reached over the plates of food and covered her hand with his. You
could barely see hers under the vastness of his palm, "My offer to help you
conquer them and rid yourself of the burden is still open, Granger."

"Please, let me do this for you," he implored desperately.

Hermione felt a tightness in her heart and an overwhelming burst of

emotion towards Malfoy.

She composed herself and replied warmly, "I appreciate it, and thank you
for opening up past wounds to help me see reason. I know it's not the
easiest thing to do."

Looking at him evenly, she included prudently, "As for helping me deal
with my nightmares, perhaps after we are married and living under one
roof."

Taking his hand back, Draco smiled, "Well, that makes sense, I suppose."

He admitted his true feelings without fear of ridicule, "I need you to know
that I feel comfortable revealing my dark past to you." He had never been
the type to confide his true feelings to anyone, but Granger seemed
approachable and understanding for some reason, having suffered a similar
fate.

"I feel the same way," Hermione put her pride aside and confessed. If he
could be open without prejudice, so could she.

They exchanged meaningful glances, and Draco was utterly tempted to call
in sick at that second, whisk Granger off to the nearest hotel and surrender
himself to her completely. It wasn't about the physical act but coming
together and understanding mutual suffering. At that moment, he realised he
was ready to have sex. It was the right time.

On cue, Hermione bluntly stated, "You have a talented tongue." It was

highly inappropriate, but since they confessed feelings, she might as well
add what happened at her parent's brunch to the blend.

Bloody hell. Could the woman read his mind? She wasn't using
Legilimency. He would've felt her presence inside his head if she was.

Draco almost spat out the chewed-up food. Instead, he wiped his mouth,
cleared his throat, swallowed the lump that formed and mused, "Oh, umm,
thank you?" How does one react to such a bold statement? It baffled him.

Evidently, she was just getting started. Hermione pressed forward quite
adamantly, "For a man who kept it in his trousers for nearly ten years. How
is it that you are so good at that?"

Salazar! What the fuck?

If cards on the table honesty were what Granger was after, then he, Malfoy,
would gladly oblige. Draco sat up straight and smirked, "I had a good
teacher."

"Excuse me?" Hermione probed. She was sure she heard him wrong. Did
the man say teacher?
Draco sighed and explained his puzzling words, "My piano instructor had a
daughter. She was a few years my senior and French. Renee left England
after Snatchers murdered her father."

"Oh, how horrifying," Hermione gasped.

Draco averted his gaze with a frown, "I haven't seen her since." He hadn't
thought about Renee in years.

Hermione widened her eyes with realisation, "Merlin! Was she your first?"

Draco declared amusedly, "That is quite personal, Granger. I wouldn't dare

ask you such an inappropriate question."

Hermione rolled her eyes and sarcastically quipped, "You wouldn't ask
because it's so obvious." Everyone in the wizarding world knew she had
lost her virginity to Ron. It had been sweet and tender, exactly how it was
supposed to be for first-timers.

She leaned forward and insisted, "So, was this Renee your first? Go on,
Malfoy, cough it up." It certainly sounded like it. An older woman, and a
younger man, sounded like a rip-off from Mrs Robinson.

Draco pursed his lips and wondered if he needed to answer, but knowing
Granger, she would never let up until he did. He took a deep breath and
confessed, "Yes, she was, you nosy Parker. Happy now?"

Hermione grinned, "How did it happen? Did she seduce you?" She had no
clue why it was essential or fascinating, but she wanted to know more about
Malfoy being deflowered. It was rightly pathetic.

Draco didn't quite like what Granger was instigating and made his thoughts
vocal, "She wasn't some woman in her thirties. I was fifteen, and she was
seventeen."

"Oh, interesting," Hermione said thoughtfully with a devilish grin. She was
acutely aware that she was older than him.
Looking superbly disdainful, Draco reluctantly confided, "Well, if you must
know, it was during the summer holidays, my parents were away at some
function, and Renee invited herself over as she often did."

Hermione stuffed her mouth with the last remaining tuna roll and listened
intently.

Draco stared into the distance as he recalled the lewd details of that fateful
night, "We had bottles of Firewhiskey, and one thing led to another, and
before we knew it, my trousers were around my ankles, and she was on top
of me. I will never forget her face as she bounced off my….."

Hermione nearly choked on her food. That bit was more than she bargained
for, "Argh, stop! That is way too much information."

"You did ask," Draco quipped and bit into a Dorayaki they ordered earlier
for dessert when the waiter arrived with water bottles.

Hermione frowned and made her displeasure apparent, "I didn't ask what
position you were in."

Draco chuckled, "I must admit that I bragged about it for a year. Losing it to
an older girl is every teenage boy's wet dream." The boys in Slytherin had
been green with envy, but unlike most of them, he was blessed with good
looks and the ability to pleasure a woman.

"Was it special?" Hermione grilled without a faint hint of subtly. For a girl,
it was that special day you give something precious to a loved one, but what
was it like for a man such as Malfoy?

Draco laughed. He couldn’t help himself; it was a drunken mistake, "Well,

it was special because it was my first time, I suppose. But we've been doing
other stuff for ages, just not the main deed."

"Weren't you a bit young?" Hermione queried, pretty judgemental.

Draco ignored her and answered truthfully, "Not really. Renee knew exactly
what she wanted and how to get it out of me. I simply implemented her
teachings on other girls, and voilà!" Renee taught him to use his tongue to
his advantage using slow strokes and gentle caresses.

Hermione scrunched up her nose and wondered what kind of girl Renee
was. She grilled nosily, "But wasn't she upset?" Teenage girls weren't big on
sharing boys they were intimate with.

"About?" Draco raised a questioning brow. He wasn't quite sure to what

Granger was referring.

She lowered her voice and muttered, "You sleeping with others."

Draco stifled a laugh, "Oh, we weren't exclusive. It was a bit of fun,

Granger. If Renee was jealous, she never exhibited any signs of it and thank
Salazar for that."

He studied the woman before him and asked frankly, "Why the sudden
interest in my past sex life?"

Hermione blushed and defended her line of questioning, "No interest. I was
just curious."

Licking his luscious bottom lip, Draco drawled huskily, "Hmm, if you say
so, Ma Cherie."

Hermione blushed, "Right, well, erm, we best head back to work." She
pushed the warmth that crept up her thighs away. Not here and certainly not
now.

Draco rested his hand on his stomach and grumbled, "Yes, let's. I can barely
move. I hardly eat so much."

A timid knock on the door interrupted them. It was the server from before.
He walked in and inquired politely, "Can I get you anything else?"

Hermione shook her head and requested, "Please bring us the bill."

The man bowed and exited. He returned shortly with a black cover with a
white receipt inside, which Draco took from his hand, fished out a credit
card, and presented it to the waiter.

Hermione argued, "Let me pay, Malfoy." She tried to stop him, but he was
having none of it and held the cover out of her reach.

Draco refused sternly, "Don't be difficult, Granger. This is where I put my

foot down. Besides, Bernard gave me a credit card, and this seems like the
opportune moment to break it in."

After settling the bill, they rose from their seated positions, and Hermione
nearly lost balance as the blood circulation to her legs had been minimal
after sitting cross-legged for over an hour, but of course, it had little to no
effect on Draco.

They thanked the man in charge for the delicious food and pleasant
experience and headed out.

Once out on the street, Draco asked, "Has Potter found out who sent you the
letter?"

Hermione looked mildly ashamed, "I haven't spoken to him about it." The
matter of the letter had slipped her mind.

Draco frowned, "Right. I've got a good mind to ask him about it." How
could she act so casually towards a threat to her life?

Without waiting for permission, he took her hand in his, and she let him as
they crossed the street and walked along the cobbled pathway towards the
concealed Ministry of Magic.

They made a striking couple, and many heads turned to catch a second
glance as they passed busy Ministry workers and visitors.

The scrutinising looks made Hermione self-conscious, but undiscouraged

Draco didn't pay attention to anyone and refused to let go of her hand as he
led her across the bustling Ministry floor and towards the lift.

Still, hand in hand, they stepped into the rickety old lift, and Hermione used
her free hand to press the desired floor. The coolness of his ancestral ring
pressed into her skin. She noticed the engagement ring on her finger was a
stunning shade of sparkling white.

They found Hannah sitting on top of Brenda's desk, caught up in a lively

conversation.

At that moment, Hermione dropped Draco’s hand but not before Brenda
and Hannah caught a glimpse.

Hannah hopped off the table and grinned, "Well, if it isn't my two favourite
lovebirds."

"Shove it, Hannah," Hermione retorted while Brenda giggled in the

background.

Draco ignored Hermione completely and spoke directly to his partner,

"Have you been waiting long?"

Hannah brushed a few dust particles off his coat and shrugged, "Not much,
Brenda, was enlightening me on the process of dying one's hair blue."

"Oh, I hadn't noticed," Draco replied and stared at the striking head of blue
hair on Brenda. It was pretty in an unconventional sort of way. The shades,
in particular, were quite lovely.

Brenda explained why she made the drastic change, "Michael blew a fuse
after the whole redhead thing, so I changed it."

Hermione stared Brenda down with hands on her hip and scolded, "And
with good reason, Brenda. You went missing when a serial killer going after
redheads is on the loose." She recalled how upset everyone had been and
how Malfoy had comforted her with his lips.

Hannah pushed Draco nearly out the glass doors, "Well, off with you. I can
look after our darling Madam Undersecretary."

Draco almost stumbled but regained his balance and frowned. He had
nothing pressing to return to except Auror training.
Hannah slapped her forehead and barrelled into explanation, "Bollocks. I
almost forgot, Draco. You have a visitor."

Draco was sceptical, "Did they say who?" Unless his mother or Bernard
decided to visit him, he was at a loss of who else it could be.

"Astoria Greengrass," Hannah recited.

Draco's features twisted, "Oh, that's surprising. I wonder what she wants."

Hermione scoffed, "You mean besides the obvious." She hadn't meant to
sound so incredibly petty.

Draco nodded curtly, "I'll take my leave."

Hermione quipped, "Yes, run along to your little girlfriend." Hannah and
Brenda held back laughter and pretended to be doing something else.

"You are incredibly immature at times," Draco fired back a reasonable

retort. Granger's behaviour was childish at best.

He left the women to stare after his retreating figure. His black robes
billowed behind him for good measure adding to his dramatic exit.

Hermione rounded on Hannah, "Did she say what she wanted?"

"Who?" Hannah asked, perplexed.

Hermione cried in outrage, "Greengrass, you annoying twat."

Hannah chuckled, "Steady on. There is no bloody need for name-calling,

and no, Astoria didn't say."

Storming into her office, Hermione dumped her handbag on her desk with a
loud thud, sat down and aggressively pulled parchments towards her that
required her attention and signature.

Hannah watched in silence as the sheer force of the quill brutalised each
parchment. She cleared her throat and said, "Assuming I'm right, as I am on
most occasions, I would say you're jealous, Hermione."

Hermione dotted an i with excessive force and gritted out, "That is

preposterous. I most certainly am not."

Hannah rolled her eyes in exasperation and insisted, "Fine! Live in denial,
but reality or Malfoy will bite you in the arse eventually."

An image of Malfoy kneading her arse cheeks came to mind, and Hermione
exhaled before replying stubbornly, "That's revolting, and it won't, because
the reality is that I'm not jelly."

Hannah grew dreamy-eyed, "She's gorgeous though, isn't she? All curves,
long hair and oozing elegance. I don't remember her at Hogwarts much, to
be honest."

Hermione frowned and spat, "Why don't you date her if you think she's so
fucking perfect?"

Hannah shifted uncomfortably, "What? Oh, umm, no. She's not my type,
too classy, and I doubt she's Malfoy's type. He needs a woman with
substance, not some made-up doll." She truly hoped Hermione did not
suspect she was gay.

"I'm pulling your leg, Abbott," Hermione quipped, pulling another long
piece of parchment towards her.

She spoke while making notes on the pages, "Also, Malfoys preferences
where women are concerned are not my business. He is well within his
right to court Greengrass if he wishes."

Hannah did not pursue it. Instead, she inquired with sincere interest, "Right.
Of course. So, what did I miss?"

Hermione looked up from the papers and frowned, "Nothing much. Oh,
Evans and Malfoy almost got into it. Michael defused the situation."

"I left your side for a few hours, and this is what I return to?" Hannah
exclaimed candidly.
Hermione scowled, "Oh, sod off."

Hannah came closer and made a show of delivering the next bit of
seemingly exciting news.

She was practically giddy, "Well, you best get used to Malfoy tailing your
behind because Harry’s put him on your security detail on Thursday while I
go through Thomas's extensive collection of notes on the Dollhouse
Strangler."

Hermione digested the information, leaned back in her chair and massaged
the bridge of her nose in exasperation. Why was Harry determined to make
her life difficult? Besides a possible fistfight and disclosed past details of
his Death Eater association, Malfoy was a competent bodyguard.

It dawned on Hermione, "What about Hogwarts?" They were to visit their

old school with Ginny on Thursday.

Hannah sighed. She seemed genuinely upset, "Looks like Malfoy gets the
fun assignments while I'm stuck with utterly eye-gouging boring ones." She
felt some resentment towards the Hawaii trip.

Hermione asked thoughtfully, "Won't Audrey be pissed that he's missing

lessons?"

Audrey would never allow such leeway with any other student, so what
made Malfoy so special? Clearly, he had a specific skill set, but the strict
instructor was a stickler for the rules and hardly ever bent them to
accommodate others.

Hannah raved mockingly, "I've never seen Audrey this taken by a recruit.
Malfoy is the Auror golden boy in her eyes, and she is convinced he will
pass the trials with flying colours despite missing a few lessons."

Hermione said with a definite roll of her eyes, "How thrilling for him." She
wondered how his meeting with Astoria Greengrass was fairing.
 Chapter 57
Chapter Notes

To all the comments:- Thank you so much for the lovely feedback. I
love every single word :)

I want to apologise for the delay in updating the story. MBA

Assignments are crippling, Lol, but please know that I will never
abandon this story because I've already written it through. Please do
not mind the delays! Much love!

Enjoy Chapter Fifty-Seven!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Knockturn Alley

Thomas rounded the corner, pulled up the collar of his jacket, and entered
the bowels of Knockturn Alley.

He followed his target closely, down a winding staircase and over a

rundown pavement with chipped tiles into a forbidding part of the alley,
which even the foulest of beasts tended to avoid like the bubonic plague.
Yet, the man he was following seemed entirely at ease.

Thomas couldn’t help but ponder what a man of Avery’s supposed status
was doing in such an undesirable part of town. Even with his involvement
with werewolves, it was an unlikely meeting place since disease ran
rampant in the sewers.

A man resembling a mountain troll tore out of the nearest building in a

drunken stupor spewing blood, Thomas sidestepped the bungling oaf, but
his momentary loss of focus caused his target to slip from right between his
fingers.

Cursing the man doubled over and vomiting blood, Thomas stepped over
the crimson sick that coated the floor and hurried off in the direction he last
saw Julius Avery.

He needn’t have bothered since he came across a clearing with a single

dead tree in the courtyard, surrounded by unscrupulous beings going about
their business; they paid no mind to him. Perhaps their reaction would be
entirely different if they knew he was an Auror.

A well-built man in a tailored jacket lit a thin cigarette, held it tenderly

between his fingers, and leaned against the grimy wall of a nearby rundown
building. It was as if the wizarding world and authorities had forgotten such
a place existed.

He took a deep drag and blew smoke towards the heavens before speaking
directly to Thomas in a tone laced with smugness, “Your good, old man. I
didn’t catch on for days.”

Thomas stiffened but didn’t dare to look away nor break eye contact. He
stared at the seemingly young wizard with a determined look in his eyes.

He was caught. After over two decades as a decorated Auror, he had never
been seen tailing someone. Disappointment clawed at the inner walls of his
belly. Maybe it was a sign to retire while on top, especially from fieldwork
and resort to consulting when Potter required.

Julius took another deep drag from his cigarette and drawled, “I’ve heard
stories about you and Mad-Eye Moody.” They were legendary. Despite
being on opposite sides of a war, Julius respected the man before him.
Thomas Spencer had earned his place in history as one of the greats.

Thomas smirked, “All good, I hope.” The cocky fuck had made him out.
That was simply unacceptable. Avery wasn’t to be underestimated.
Julius sneered, “Oh, yes. My father, in particular, was fond of Mad-Eye. His
passing was…tragic.” As Thomas's face contorted in anger, he dragged the
last words in sheer delight.

Thomas felt his blood boil, but he kept his composure and issued a dire
warning, “Watch it, young blood.” Alastor Moody had given much of
himself to the cause, not figuratively. He often missed his mentor and good
friend, but in their line of work, it didn’t pay to form bonds with colleagues
who could die the next day.

Except for Audrey, his treacherous mind thought at once. She would always
be the exception to the rule.

Julius’s harsh voice bore into his thoughts, and Thomas snapped back to
attention at the carefully crafted words, “What can I do for a fine gentleman
of the DMLE?”

Avery looked around and added with a sly smirk, “I wouldn’t have expected
to find an Auror of your repute down here. What would people think? They
might come under the false impression that you were up to no good.” Not
all Aurors, despite their high status, were honourable.

“Ah, I’m not privy to another’s assumptions,” Thomas replied icily. The
fingers on his remaining hand twitched with the bitter need to grasp his
wand, but he couldn’t afford to act foolishly.

Avery took a long drag, stared at the orange tip in the darkness, and asked
carefully, “Did you receive my donation?” It paid to have Galleons passed
to the right places. The world spun on corruption and power, and he wanted
his share.

Thomas blinked rapidly and tried to comprehend what the man meant
before gritting out, “I don’t look into those matters. The DMLE thanks you
for your kindness, but we don’t accept bribes.”

Julius leered. He enjoyed himself immensely, “You’re strict by the book,

aren’t you, old man? It’s a pity they all aren’t like you.” An addict, a
womaniser, a high-ranking Ministry official with a tendency to fondle
underage witches, and the occasional wizard in his office. It paid to have
enough dirt to blackmail at the opportune moment. His father would be
proud of him.

Taking a step forward, Thomas glared sternly and demanded, “What the
hell are you trying to say, Avery? Have you got Aurors on your fucking
payroll?” It wasn’t unheard of in dark times. Voldemort had many, but most
were under the Imperius curse or claiming to be to escape persecution.

A knowing smirk curved Julius Avery’s somewhat pinkish lips into a

devious grin, “Discretion is key, Spencer.”

“Tell me!” Thomas snapped and took a further threatening step forward. He
would beat the truth out of the smug prat. Unwillingly or not, Avery had let
slip some vital information.

They would have to severely look into their own house, flush out the rats,
and hang the bastards by their balls.

Avery threw the cigarette stub to the ground, stomped on it with more force
than necessary, and hissed forebodingly, “Why the fuck are you following
me?”

Thomas merely shrugged and grinned in reply, “You’re a person of

interest.”

Julius laughed. It was low but dramatically filled the space, “Really?
Follow me to my girlfriend’s. I promise to put on a marvellous show.”

“That’s a nasty cut,” Thomas pointed out.

He had been observing the man’s appearance and the congealed blood on
his lip and cheek stood out even in the dreadful darkness surrounding them.

Julius gingerly touched the hardened blood that filled the crevice of the
deep gash down his right cheek. He brushed aside the comment and replied
with a wolfish grin, “Ah, nothing but a scratch. Boys will be boys.”
Thomas inquired, hoping to goad the temperamental wizard into divulging
more, “How's your father, Avery?"

If Julius was calm before, his demeanour turned drastically towards the
worst, and he snarled, "Don't you dare ask about him."

Thomas merely smirked and continued, "Oh, and why is that? He was a
right piece of shit."

"Thank you for that enlightening revelation," Julius replied through

clenched teeth. He fought an internal battle to remain calm and not thrash
the Auror before him into an unrecognisable bundle of blood and gore.

Thomas ignored the warning tone and heavy breathing of the man standing
a few feet away from him and insisted, “He is a lost cause, Julius. His mind
is gone. You don't have to do this!”

Perhaps, there was some good in Julius Avery. Maybe the young wizard
could be convinced to abandon his foolish plan and join a far better cause.

Julius looked around pointedly and shot back with dripping sarcasm, “Do
what? Right now, I'm having a smoke and chatting with the likes of you. Is
that a crime?” He lit another cigarette, brought it to his lips, and let the
inhaled smoke pass through his nostrils, sulling the air around them.

“The lives of thousands are at stake,” Thomas argued adamantly. If only he

could make Avery see reason. He didn't seem to be a simpleton. The man
had accomplished much after returning to England from his studies abroad.

Julius remained unconvinced and undeterred, “I have no idea what you’re

on about, Thomas.” Did the older man think he could be persuaded? He
would no sooner die than betray his father.

Thomas hissed in frustration, “You can't save your father.”

A slither of sunlight made its presence known, but it was momentary as it

was once again swallowed up by the darkness that plagued the area they
were standing in.
“Say whatever you like, Spencer,” Julius gritted out. The conversation was
beginning to bore and immensely anger him.

He narrowed his eyes and openly threatened before Thomas could refute,
“He will be free soon, and I will cut off your tongue and feed it to my owl.
She's a rare breed from Romania.”

A gift from his master to reward his obedience and securing of Galleons
towards the cause. A glorious future lay ahead, and he would be at the helm
with his father and their glorious new leader.

Thomas was hardly intimidated. He had faced far worse adversaries than
Julius Avery. He laughed in the face of the wizard attempting to stare him
down and mused, “Threatening a senior Auror. I could arrest you.”

Julius expertly flicked the lit halfway-burnt cigarette. It flew through the air
and landed near Thomas’s foot. He smiled almost devilishly and countered,
“Yeah, but you won't. Now, if you will excuse me, it isn't polite to keep a
lady waiting.”

Thomas stepped on the cigarette crushing it to bits under his boot, and
sneered, “By all means.”

Department of Magical Law Enforcement

His mind riddled with uncertain thoughts, Draco pushed the thick glass
doors that led into the DMLE and caught sight of Astoria Greengrass at
once. He took a few minutes to study her and reached no satisfactory
conclusion.

She sat perfectly still with her shapely legs crossed at the ankles and tucked
elegantly underneath the chair. A few male Aurors passing by did a
doubletake and regarded the timeless beauty with long straight black hair
and fashionable black dress with high appreciation.

“Tori?” Draco said in a carrying voice to validate that it was indeed her.
Astoria looked up and smiled brightly. She got to her feet and came closer,
“Hello, Draco.”

Draco returned the smile but asked curiously, “Umm, what brings you by?”

It was undoubtedly a plausible question. It wasn't every day that Astoria

Greengrass waltzed into the DMLE to see him. He hoped his interview
hadn't prompted it.

Astoria calmly explained, “My mother took Daphne's children to Diagon

Alley, and I thought of paying you a quick visit. Besides, I haven't seen you
in a while, and I thought we could catch up away from the Manor and
maybe have lunch together.” Her reason to see him was undeniably a
friendly gesture, at least for the time being.

Draco reluctantly confessed but refrained from mentioning with you, “Oh, I
had lunch already, I'm afraid, but we can have coffee if that's alright with
you?” He had a few minutes of his break to spare.

Astoria perked up and replied graciously, “That would be lovely, darling.”

She took hold of his arm despite him not offering it to her, but he didn't
attempt to move away from her gentle touch.

They walked through the usually busy Ministry floor, and Draco couldn't
help but look around for any signs of Hermione. It would be unfortunate to
be caught in such a compromising situation, especially after such an
enlightening lunch together.

Draco attempted to make small talk as they stepped onto the street,
searching for the nearest decent coffee shop, “Ah, the children are with your
mother while Blaise and Daphne are away, I gather.” He hoped they would
happen upon a shop not far from the Ministry.

Astoria nodded slightly in reply and summarised, “Yes, they deserve a

break. Daph is a very present parent, but they needed some alone time as a
couple.”
“Yes, of course. I understand,” Draco agreed almost at once. He was still
coming to terms with Blaise being a father. It was terrific but surprising.

He felt a sharp tug on his sleeve. Turning to the source, he raised a

questioning brow. Still, Astoria giggled and pointed to the warm, cosy-
looking cafe that seemed to serve an alarming number of couples clutching
mugs of coffee and looking utterly dreamy-eyed.

It wasn't remotely what he had in mind, but with little time at his disposal,
he brushed aside his insecurities and adhered to the strong will of the
woman in his company.

A bell chimed as they opened the door and a woman in her late thirties
appeared almost instantly, smiled brightly, and exclaimed, “My, what a
lovely couple. Please follow me, dear.”

Draco couldn't help but roll his eyes, but Astoria was thrilled to be
acknowledged as a couple. Her fingers dug further into his arm, and she
leaned against his sturdy frame while they followed the proprietor to a
wooden table.

Once there, Draco managed to break free from Astoria’s hold under the
guise of pulling out the chair for her. His behaviour pleased her, and she
gushed, “Such a gentleman.”

Before the server could walk away, Astoria recited the order, “Two black
coffees, please. One with two spoonfuls of sugar and the other completely
without. Also, bring us a slice of that gorgeous chocolate cake on display.
My friend here has a sweet tooth.”

She glanced at Draco and smiled knowingly. His likes and dislikes were
etched into her mind, and she would never forget what pleased him for the
rest of her days.

The motherly-looking woman jotted down the order and replied with a
slight wink, “Be back shortly, lovelies.” Draco knew she meant well, but
her overly cheerful disposition was beginning to get on his very last nerve.
Mustering his sensible inner self, Draco cleared his throat, gave the
beautiful woman before him his undivided attention, and inquired, “So,
what can I do for you?”

Astoria stopped scrutinising the barely visible stains on the napkin, stared
into his eyes, and responded quite seriously, “Must I have an ulterior motive
for visiting a man I hold dear?”

Draco backtracked his words and refuted, "Well, no, but why here? You
could come by the Manor at any time your heart desires."

Astoria averted her gaze and answered somewhat coldly, causing the
displeasure in her voice to be abundantly clear, "I didn't want to upset your
mother. I doubt Narcissa is pleased with me, and I didn't want to aggravate
the situation. I respect her opinion far too much." Also, Narcissa Black's
loving nature towards Hermione Granger was a severe cause for concern.

Attempting to keep the peace, Draco kindly offered, "Astoria, my mother

doesn't think ill of you. Quite the contrary, she regards you with fondness."
She didn't at the moment, but why divulge a hateful truth and hurt a woman
who had but a few good years to live?

Taking a deep breath, Astoria diverted the conversation entirely away from
the unpleasantness between Narcissa and herself.

She smiled and asked genuinely, "How are you, Draco?"

Draco shrugged and summarised his days, "I've been busy with Auror
training." He counted the days till the trials. It would be one less thing to
worry about constantly.

Astoria boldly reached over, ran her fingers down the long black sleeve of
his Auror uniform, and raved, "I must say the outfit becomes you. You look
devilishly handsome."

"That's kind of you to say," Draco responded huskily, hoping no one

unexpectedly saw the blush that stained his cheeks. He withdrew his arm
and kept it at a safe distance.
Their order arrived, and they thanked the server and took hold of the bright
pink mugs with scalding coffee within. Draco grimaced at the fluorescent
colour and wondered if he should request another cup more suited to his
profile and tastes.

Astoria let the warmth seep into her skin. She sneaked a few meaningful
glances at the fidgety man before her, looking at his mug with a frown on
his face.

Locating her courage, she took a deep breath and said, slowly puncturing
the silence that encompassed them, "I, erm, read the interview in Witch
Weekly Magazine."

Draco stiffened and answered in exasperation, "You and every other woman
in the wizarding world." Fuck. So, this little impromptu visit was about the
bloody interview.

He ran his fingers through his hair, an enduring habit, and parted his lips to
speak, "Listen, Astoria….," but she interrupted him, and said calmly, "You
were very flattering towards Hermione."

Once again, Draco tried to get a word in edgewise but failed miserably,
"I…."

Undeterred, Astoria said with unconcealed glee, "But she wasn't the only
one you complimented. I read your words about me. They filled me with
such happiness, Draco."

Bollocks.

She sighed and looked at him miserably, "Was I so different back then?"

Unable to come up with a reasonable retort, Draco gulped coffee and

muttered, "Not much. You laughed more, if I recall." She had been more
cheerful, especially around him or when they were fooling around in the
Slytherin common room.
Astoria looked forlorn. Her usually pretty features twisted, and words of
contempt flew out of her soft lips, "I wish I wasn't born with this curse. It
was never my burden to bear. There's so much I want to do with my life."

Draco could hear the anguish behind her tormented words. He tried his best
to reassure her, "I know, darling, but life isn't always fair. We make do with
what has been dealt to the best of our ability."

She pointed to a family going about their business and insisted with painful
resolve, "I want to get married, have a family, and see my child go off to
Hogwarts."

An abrupt sarcastic laugh left her silken tongue before including, "I want to
have breakfast in bed with my husband, arrange Sunday brunch and have
Christmas Dinner. Is that too much to ask?"

Halfheartedly, Draco reached over, covered her trembling hand with his,
and insisted, "You can still do those things, Astoria." He truly hoped she
wouldn't start crying in public. The people around them would surely blame
him without just cause.

Her voice cracked, and she held back the tears that were sure to fall, "Not
with a death sentence hanging over my head. I envy Daph at times. Please
don't get me wrong, I love my sister and her family, but at times I can't help
but feel resentful."

Draco nodded in understanding, "We all die at some point, and I can
understand why you would feel a certain amount of resentment towards the
situation. Besides, it's normal to feel the way you do. You're human, Tori."
Why did she always cry in his presence?

Astoria lovingly stared at the large hand on top of hers and argued, "I know,
but it isn't expected. In my case, we cannot know when the blood curse will
manifest and consume me. I've read ancient texts and every witch or wizard
infected with this predicament succumbed to it before the age of thirty-
five."
Draco was taken aback by her extensive knowledge about her dilemma,
more so that there were documented cases. He wanted to give her hope and
offered profound insight, "You must not focus all your energy on impending
doom."

He fondly yet sadly recalled, "When I was training in China, there were
plenty of Muggles with terminal illnesses that came to the temple, some as
young as twelve, but their courage and tenacity to do all they could before
passing was inspirational." Along with Suri and Master Chun, they cared
for no less than twelve children of various ages seeking refuge and peace of
mind in their final days.

Astoria took a delicate sip of tea and hissed, "Nobody wants to be with a
dying woman."

Draco countered with good reason, "That's not in the least bit true. You are
a beautiful, intelligent woman, and any man would be lucky to share his life
with you." He meant his words. She needed to believe in herself and not
focus wholly on her grim future.

Astoria's eyes clouded over with the immense longing she felt for Draco.
Before she could bite her tongue, words of passion spewed out against her
better judgement, "I waited for you to return for so long, and now that you
have, I've lost you before we could begin."

Draco held back an exhausted sigh, let go of her hand, and stated tactfully,
"Astoria, I meant what I said in the interview, but you mustn't take it out of
context. I do care about you but as a dear and cherished friend."

He insisted, "I cannot offer you anything more presently." How could he
when he was an engaged man to a former nemesis? A hated counterpart
with who he had spent an enjoyable afternoon.

Astoria breathed, “I just want you in my life, Draco, for however long that
might be. As a friend or…lover, it doesn't matter as long as I can be around
you.”
Draco exhaled. He honestly didn't want to give her false hope, but what
could he do but somehow soothe her, “I can do that for as long as you
need.” As a friend, he would be by her side whenever required. Hopefully,
she wouldn't use his weakness to her advantage in a rouse to keep him
constantly by her side.

Sticking her fork into the large piece of cake on the plate between them,
Astoria broke off a tiny bit and, in the most lady-like manner possible,
popped it into her mouth and instantly closed her eyes as the rich chocolate
frosting collided with her tongue.

She murmured, it was a sensual sound, and Draco couldn't help but gaze
upon his companion sceptically, “This chocolate cake is divine. Here, have
a taste.”

Without waiting for an invitation or prior warning, Astoria broke off a

larger piece of the cake using the fork she used and force-fed the piece to
Draco, who momentarily froze as the silver spoon hit his front teeth.

He grudgingly allowed the intrusion and replied without much enthusiasm,

“Yes, it's delicious.”

Astoria licked her lips and asked openly, “Are you looking forward to
Hawaii?” She had travelled the world, but somehow the exotic destination
had evaded her travel plans.

Deciding that the chocolate cake was indeed worth his time, Draco picked
up his spoon and dug into the rich frosting before shrugging, “Not
particularly.”

In reality, he was looking forward to it. It would be a place away from

England, and he assumed Granger would be much more approachable away
from the burden of maintaining her image.

Astoria expressed happily, “I've heard such wonderful things about Hawaii.
Daphne rang yesterday and then again today. She's having a marvellous
time.”
Draco stiffened. Was she hinting that he invite her along? Wouldn't that be
interesting, but there was only one witch with whom he intended to make
amends.

He acted indifferently, “I've not given it much thought, but I suppose it will
be scenic.”

Astoria knew the answer to her query, yet it didn't stop her from prying, “Is
Hermione accompanying you?” Hearing the response from her beloved’s
lips would shatter her fragile heart, but she had to be competent in acquiring
his interest.

Behaving like a jealous girlfriend would not get her very far with a man like
Draco Malfoy. After all, who knew him better than she, inside and out? She
fondly recalled the birthmark on his thigh, inches away from his cock.

Oblivious to Astoria’s thoughts, Draco cleared his throat and answered

truthfully, “She is, but strictly as a friend.” Did he still truly believe Granger
was merely just a friend? Yes, he did. True, he wanted her sexually, but
nothing beyond that enticed him.

Astoria swallowed the bile that rose in her throat and offered with the
greatest difficulty, “It will be the perfect opportunity for both of you to get
to know each other.”

Indeed, they would realise how horribly incompatible they were and resort
to avoiding each other for the duration of their forced union.

Yet, she kept her opinion well-hidden and advised, “Put aside the ugliness
of the past and get reacquainted, you know, that sort of thing.”

Draco was adamant about stirring the conversation in another direction.

Astoria’s bizarre statements made him feel exceedingly uneasy. He said
firmly, “We shouldn't speak of Granger.”

Unwilling to yield, Astoria pushed adamantly forward with her somewhat

intrusive questions, “Have you set a date for the wedding?”
Draco stared at the woman, searching his face for answers, and decided to
humour her, “Not a definite one.” What was she playing at?

As if reading his mind, Astoria explained the reason for the numerous
questions, “I would like us to be friends, Draco. There is no need to act
awkward whenever I mention Hermione Granger. I know your loyalties to
her are forced.”

They aren't forced, Astoria. I want to protect Granger, among other more
recent developments. Draco thought defiantly but kept his mouth shut and
nodded in reply.

He tossed the last piece of cake into his mouth, leaving a few crumbs on the
plate, purposely got to his feet and announced firmly but politely, “This has
been enlightening, but I must return to Auror training. I hope you will
permit me to escort you to a suitable apparition location.”

Unfazed by his abruptness, Astoria rose elegantly and replied, “That would
be nice. Thank you.”

Draco nodded curtly at the woman who served them as they passed her.
They maintained silence until entering the Ministry and arriving promptly
at one of the dozen or so approved points of apparition.

Astoria smiled slightly and kissed Draco gently on the lips, “I hope I get to
see you soon, Draco.”

He felt her lean further to deepen the embrace, but he took a voluntary step
back and watched as she disappeared from sight.

His lips were set a blaze from either an allergic reaction to Astoria’s lipstick
or from the scorching guilt he felt for betraying Granger. He returned to the
training session flabbergasted and worried and took out his frustrations on
his unsuspecting training partner Emily.

“Um, it's none of my business, but you've got red lipstick smeared across
your lips,” Emily pointed out candidly, trying her best to remain
professional. He was so pale; the red was a stark contrast against his skin.
Embarrassed by the revelation, Draco groaned and wiped his mouth with
the back of his sleeve but not before he saw a shadow of a disgruntled
figure and tousled brown hair disappear from the gallery.

Could it have been Granger? No, she had far more critical things to do than
sit in on another Auror training class and spy on him.

Pushing the disturbing thoughts to the far reaches of his mind, he

concentrated on the present and harsh words Audrey was directing at them.
After training, Draco retired to the DMLE’s extensive study room and
started brewing potions until he was utterly spent.

Avery Mansion

The Alpha King descended and bestowed a look of fondness upon the
gathered werewolves in his midst. He held his wand with a gloved hand and
let it slip through his fingers but never dropped it.

A large man in black robes with scars running down his face followed
closely but didn't utter a word except scrutinise those in their presence. His
behaviour clearly showed that he trusted no one but his leader.

The masked king greeted Edward, Cyrus and Ezra, who fell to their knees
in respect. Still ignoring the formidable men kneeling before him, the man
spread his arms wide and enthused, "My brothers."

They answered in unison; like a chorus, their reply chimed and filled the
space, "Alpha." The single word summarised the entirety of the situation.

The Alpha spoke loudly enough to be heard, "Please, there are no titles
here. We are equals. Get up!" Edward and Cyrus got to their feet easily, but
Ezra struggled. He cursed his fondness for wine and addiction to the rich
liquid that had him bumbling about like a newborn calf.

Even though the Alpha noticed Ezra's slight drunkenness, he kept his
thoughts shielded for the time being. There would be plenty of time to
reprimand those under his command once he came out of the shadows and
took his rightful place as the Lord of the world.

He proudly pointed to an area behind him. There was nothing but darkness
to the human eye, "This is Yohan. He arrived from Romania this morning.
He is my most trusted beta."

The imposing man stepped out of the shadows and nodded curtly. He spoke
in a deep low voice enough to send shivers down the bravest man's spine,
"The Romanian Ministry is crumbling, Alpha. Constantine is desperate."

A grin of sheer satisfaction curved the Alpha's lips upwards, "He might be
desperate, but he's no idiot."

Yohan nodded in agreement, "He arrived in London a few hours ago." They
had been following Constantine for months, waiting in the shadows for the
opportune moment to strike.

"Leave him be. It will not work in our favour to murder him on English
soil. Let him speak with Kingsley Shacklebolt and request help," the Alpha
instructed, leaving no room for argument.

Yohan pursed his lips but didn't chase an argument. Instead, he walked
behind his precious leader to where the other select few were seated. No
wizards attended the proceedings. They weren't privileged to hear the true
nature of events and agenda.

The Alpha tore the mask off his face and slammed it on the table. He had a
few wrinkles, and his hair was streaked with visible strands of grey, but his
ancestral blood ensued his charismatic good looks remained intact.

He looked around at the eager faces and drank in the powerful presence that
emitted from them before settling down to discuss the grave and promising
issues at hand.

Edward took a deep breath and attempted to concentrate on the

proceedings. After he met Amelia, his loyalty to the Alpha's cause hung by a
thread. He loved her still. Always.
Ministry Of Magic

Hermione drummed her fingernails on the desk as she went through another
tediously long parchment but truthfully, the words bled into each other
because she wasn't concentrating.

Who cared about license renewals to look after Flobberworms? She

grimaced as she recalled Hagrid’s lessons about the dull creatures.

Deciding she had enough for the day, Hermione pushed the sheets of
parchment away and sighed. Brenda was long gone, and by the darkness
that swallowed half of her office, it was clear it was at least past seven pm.

She had expected a visit from Malfoy. Her insides churned unpleasantly at
the thought of him being intimate with Astoria Greengrass.

No, Hermione. It is none of your business, she scolded herself, pushed the
chair back with excessive force and decided to pay Kingsley a quick visit.

The light shining under the Minister's door and occasional curse words
reassured her that he was working late like her. This would be the opportune
moment to inform him about her short trip to Hawaii and Portkey she had
commissioned.

Hermione knocked on the old door to make her presence known, and
without waiting for a response, she slightly opened the door, poked her head
in and inquired in a tired tone of voice, "Are you busy?"

Kingsley looked up from the ledger he was writing in and smiled at his
Undersecretary. He put aside the quill he was using, leaned back in his
oversized comfortable chair and said, "Never for you. What's on your mind,
Hermione?"

"I met with Owen," Hermione stated as she walked in. Her eyes fell on the
half-empty tumbler of scotch. Kingsley seemed to be drowning his sorrows
by indulging in a little nightcap.
The Minister caught her looking. He waved his wand and muttered an
incantation, causing the crystal decanter and empty glass from the minibar
to float towards them. When it was close enough, he grabbed the bottle by
the neck and used his wand to set down the glass.

Kingsley pulled out the wooden cork, deeply inhaled the pungent odour and
poured three fingers' worth into the empty glass. The liquid circled upon
itself like a mini tsunami before resting at the bottom, awaiting
consumption.

He pushed the glass towards Hermione and raised a curious brow, "Ah, how
is the Muggle Prime Minister?"

Hermione gratefully took the glass of scotch and raised it in his direction,
"Cheers."

She took a sip and instantly felt her insides burn with intense heat. It was
good scotch. Kingsley took another sip and savoured the smoky aftertaste.

Eyeing the amber liquid in his tumbler that gave him such relief, Kingsley
elucidated, "The bottle of scotch was a gift from Pascal. I cannot stand the
slimy wretch, but he has impeccable taste."

Hermione stifled a laugh. The French Minister was a harmless character.

She took another sip, letting her taste buds become accustomed to the
richness and responded, "Owen is coping surprisingly well under the
circumstances."

She paused for exaggerated effect and included somewhat gravely, "He was
targeted. Michael and Evan apprehended the suspects."

Still, Kingsley didn't seem too put off, perhaps because he had seen and
experienced worse. He sighed in exasperation, "Ah, that's good news. It was
only a matter of time before they sent someone. Did they get anything out
of the suspects?"

Hermione shook her head and answered in frustration, "Not yet, but it's a
matter of time before one snaps and confesses what little they know."
The Minister appeared exhausted by the situation. He had leaders from
around the world breathing down his neck for answers since the so-called
Alpha stemmed from Voldemort.

Sensing his reluctance and hatred towards the topic at hand, Hermione
diverted the conversation towards something else, “I, erm, spoke to Owen
about Michael.”

That bit of information piqued Kingsley’s interest, and he pressed, “And?”

Hermione smiled, “He had nothing but positive things to say.” Without
skipping, she added, “Michael deserves this promotion, Kingsley.” Her
thoughts went to their earlier discussion and Corner’s hesitation to accept a
promotion while Terry was fighting to overcome the addiction he had
unfortunately succumbed to.

Terry, she thought despondently. He looked so frail but still, a hardness and
fire burned in the dept of his eyes. She saw flashes of it as he kissed her
when she visited him. His intense feelings for her were genuine. Any blind
fool could see that.

The Minister averted his gaze and said thoughtfully, “Hmm, I haven't
decided, but I will soon.” Corner had undoubtedly put in the hours and
proven himself to be a worthy asset as an Auror, but something was
missing, and Kingsley couldn't quite put his finger on it.

He drained his drink and questioned when Hermione nursed her drink,
“Anything else?”

Hermione took a sip, cleared her throat and exclaimed without hesitation, “I
asked Argus to arrange a Portkey for me to travel to Hawaii on Friday.” She
left out the part about Malfoy accompanying her.

“A leave of absence?” Kingsley inquired with a curious raise of his brow.

Hermione grinned and retorted sarcastically, “Hardly. Gone on Friday, back

on Sunday. I'll be back to work first thing Monday morning.”
Kingsley grinned, “I see. Not much of a holiday.” He couldn't recall the last
time Hermione took a vacation. She deserved to have some fun, act her age
and let go of the burden she seemed to carry about on her shoulders.

“It's a few days to lay about in the sun,” Hermione replied with somewhat
of a happy smirk.

The Minister nodded in agreement, “You have my approval for the

Portkey.”

She was surprised he didn't pry. Perhaps he knew more about the trip than
he let on.

Hermione finished her drink, set the tumbler down on the table and inquired
curiously, “Did Harry mention anything about the lewd letter I received?”

Kingsley sighed, “We know who sent it. I'm surprised he didn't tell you, but
he has been rather occupied.” Potter was burdened with a significant
amount of responsibility. The wizarding world's safety depended on him;
from experience, he knew Harry took the failures to heart. The man wanted
to save everyone; unfortunately, that wasn't always possible despite their
many efforts to keep the peace.

“I haven't seen him. Who was it?” Hermione asked in frustration. She
should've been the first to know.

Kingsley thought hard and used his words effectively, “Well, it's not one
person.” He paused before stating the names, “Goyle and Cormac.”

Hermione grew wide-eyed with disbelief, “What? McLaggen? I don't

believe it. He was one of us.” It was impossible. Sure, they had a brief fling
that was done to make Ron jealous, not her finest moment, but it had
happened, and she regretted it, but a Death Eater? No! It was a preposterous
notion.

Her mind rejected the mention of Goyle. It was repulsive.

Kingsley wasn't swayed by her blatant refusal to believe the facts. He
offered further insight, “I've heard his father has been unnecessarily tough
on him. Maybe that's got something to do with his sudden change of heart.”

Shaking her head, Hermione argued, "I don't believe it. Cormac is many
things, but a Death Eater is simply not one of them. There's more to this.”
She had a sound mind to speak to McLaggen and get to the bottom of
everything.

Maybe he was being blackmailed or threatened? It wouldn't be the first time

Voldemort's lot retorted to heinous tactics to recruit members to their brutal
cause. Malfoy invaded her mind, and his smouldering gaze made her
incapable of rational thoughts. Again, her mind drifted to his outing with
the youngest Greengrass sister.

Bah! Get a hold of yourself, woman, Hermione internally battled. She

gathered her professionalism and insisted, “And why haven't they been
arrested?” It was a good question as any, except it sounded accusatory. As
prominent members of the wizarding community, their arrest would surely
make the front page of the Daily Prophet.

Kingsley raised his voice, enough for Hermione to take notice and regret
her earlier tone, “And blow the entire operation? There is much at stake. We
have bigger fish to fry, Hermione.”

He softened his expression and included thoughtfully, “Rest assured, these

little minnows will pay dearly for what they sent you but at the precise
time.”

Hermione mustered a smile and requested hopefully, “Now that we know

who is responsible, can you put an end to my security detail?”

Kingsley grinned, “Not yet.” He mused, “Rest assured, nobody threatens

my Undersecretary and gets away with it.”

Hermione couldn't help but feel grateful. She got to her feet and replied,
“Thank you, and goodnight, Kingsley.”
While walking towards the door, she glanced over her shoulder and
quipped, “Go home and give Maureen my love.”

She could practically hear a tub of chocolate chip ice cream and oodles of
whipped cream calling her name.

Honolulu, Hawaii

It was barely nine am, and after a night of rest, the group gathered in the
main dining hall for some much-needed breakfast before sightseeing and
lounging in the pool. Pansy had insisted they take in some of the local
sights and try the cuisine.

Luna stared at the plate of scrambled eggs in front of her and swallowed the
bile that rose. The smell alone was revolting. She gingerly pushed it aside
and settled on a nearly burnt slice of toast and a few pieces of cut fruit to
appease her hunger.

Theo wolfed down a pancake smothered in maple syrup and gazed at his
wife in concern. She almost always had a healthy appetite; eggs were
among her favourite foods. He helped himself to plump sausages and
offered her some, who visibly gagged and shook her head.

No one noticed her odd behaviour except Daphne, who peeled an orange
and pushed the plate of succulent fruit towards her with an encouraging and
knowing smile. Luna took it gratefully and savoured the tangy taste that
erupted in her mouth.

Pansy flagged down a passing waiter and ordered a mimosa. She asked the
group in general, “Would anyone like one as well?”

Blaise rolled his eyes and returned to cutting pieces of French toast into
comfortable bite-sized pieces, but Daphne enthused, “Me, please.”

Theo looked at Luna and mumbled, “Do you want one?” He knew she was
partial to the concoction, but she refused and looked ready to bawl her eyes
out. Pushing back the chair, Luna excused herself and fled the dining area
while everyone stared after her momentarily.

Pansy exchanged a look with Neville, who shrugged but seemed quite
concerned. Theo shot to his feet, abandoned his breakfast and went to
follow his wife when Daphne spoke up, and said soothingly and
wisely, “She needs to be alone, Theo. Give her some time to calm herself.”

Clearly, not a soul agreed with her, but they looked upon her sceptically as
she ate the rest of her breakfast in silence in a calm manner. Theo disagreed,
but Daphne hardly gave terrible advice. He reluctantly heeded her words,
sat back down and wondered what was happening.

After breakfast, they made their way to their respective rooms to pick up
their appropriate belongings to head out exploring. Theo had long since lost
his appetite. He glumly made it to the room, intent on finding out what was
wrong with Luna and walked in to find her wearing a red summer dress and
homemade sandals with a bright smile plastered on her face.

He was faced with a different person. Gone was the weepy mess from
breakfast, and before him was the Luna Lovegood, whom he knew and
adored. Not wanting to ruin the moment with needless questions, Theo took
hold of his quirky wife's hand, and they happily headed out the door.

The Facility

Joyce frowned as Michael appeared.

She stated sternly, "Visiting hours are over, Corner." She was in her early
sixties and in charge of the night shift at the facility. She ran a tight ship
with zero tolerance for nonsense.

Michael grinned sheepishly, "I know, but I need to see him." He missed
Terry. They were partners, and this whole promotion business was doing his
head in.
Joyce couldn't help but smile at the young wizard. Michael was about her
son's age. She sighed and conceded defeat, "I'm going to lose my job
because of you."

Michael exclaimed in shock, "A valuable public servant such as yourself?

Not a chance."

He smiled genuinely and included, "Besides, I will never let that happen."

Joyce chuckled, "Flattery will get you everywhere, love." She pushed a
notebook towards him and waited for him to put down his name and time of
visit.

While doing the needful, Michael inquired, "Is he awake?" He had blown
off dinner plans with Brenda to visit his best mate. She had taken it
reasonably well or pretended to, at least.

"He usually is," Joyce replied rather sadly. The other patients were usually
down for the night by at least midnight, but not Terry Boot. He stayed
awake until the morning's wee hours, letting exhaustion claim him
indefinitely.

Michael frowned. He incessantly told himself that Terry would make a full
recovery and adorn the Auror cloak and badge after the mandatory one
month had passed.

Joyce put away the book, glanced over her shoulder and stated, "Well, you
know the way."

"Thank you," Michael gave a quick nod of appreciation before walking

down the hallway.

Joyce called out, "One hour, Corner. Wrap it up before you get us both in
hot water."

Michael flashed a bright smile, "You have my word."

He whistled to himself, a popular Muggle song Evan often played when

they were tailing the Muggle Prime Minister.
The light underneath the door told him that Joyce was right in her
assumption that Terry was awake. Michael knocked to make his presence
known and stood back when he heard a chair scraping against the floor and
footsteps headed his way.

Terry threw the door open, his appearance was worn with the comings of a
beard and unkempt hair, but the smile he bestowed upon his best friend was
genuine, "What brings you by at this rather ungodly hour?"

Michael pushed past him into the room, collapsed onto a chair and
exclaimed, "We need you, mate." He sounded dramatic and distraught.

Calmly, Terry closed the door behind him and regarded Michael with an
amused expression, "I'm not done with the program."

Michael confessed what had been weighing down on him, "It's weird to be
constantly around Potter when I know I've snogged his wife."

"That was fucking ages ago," Terry countered with an audible snort. He
took the seat across and raised a curious brow. From all their years of being
friends, Terry knew when Michael needed someone to talk to, and his
young girlfriend couldn't fill that void.

Michael insisted, "I know, but I really cared for Ginny before she dumped
me for being a tactless moron because she was a better Quidditch player
than me." He had been blindly jealous of her skills on the pitch that far
outweighed his that he behaved like a boorish lout and said some rather
unkind words.

Terry couldn't help but laugh. It was ages ago. How could it possibly still
bother Michael unless he still carried a torch for Ginny Weasley, which was
an improbable assumption at best?

He voiced his opinion bluntly, "I doubt it matters to Potter. He's obviously
over it."

Michael argued, "So am I, of course. It's just weird at times."

He added after a second's thought, "Anyways, I've been assigned to guard
the useless Muggle Prime Minister." He couldn’t fathom what possessed
him to mention Ginny and their past relationship. It was a bizarre
revelation.

"That sounds marvellous," Terry quipped sarcastically while leaning back

into the rigid wooden back support of the chair. He stretched his legs out
and sought to get comfortable

Michael said with a distinctive roll of his eyes, "He's a moron, but a nice
enough bloke. He is jumpy, though. Scared of his bloody shadow, the MI5
Agent Evans has a good head on his shoulders."

Terry mused, "Should I be jealous that you've found a partner to replace

me?"

"Fuck off!" Michael answered without a single moment's hesitation.

He looked over his friend's slightly gaunt frame and frowned, "You've lost
weight."

"It's the diet, I suppose," Terry answered with a shrug. The food was
pleasant enough, but he could hardly keep down a few spoonfuls. Anything
beyond that had him throwing up every last morsel into the commode.

Michael raised a quizzical brow, "I heard Hermione paid you a little visit."

A sly smirk split Terry's tired face in half, "Hmm, yes. She couldn't stay
away." Merlin, he wanted her. Badly. Everything about her appealed to him.
He overlooked the fact that she had thrown him into the loony bin.

Michael wasn't thrilled by Terry's tone or body language and cautioned,

"Mate, let it go." The last thing he wanted was to see Terry get heartbroken
once again.

"Not yet," Terry insisted defiantly.

Michael divulged, hoping to discourage his headstrong friend, "She's with

Malfoy." The two weren't a conventional couple, but it was abundantly clear
from how they moved around each other that something was blossoming.

Terry refused to believe a word of it and gritted out in frustration, "Oh

yeah? Then why did she kiss me?" He could still feel the soft caresses of
her lips under his. She hadn't responded as eagerly as he did, but he was
sure she felt something.

Michael grew wide-eyed with disbelief. What sort of game was Hermione
playing? She wasn't a cruel person or one to string along a man under false
pretences. He could only imagine that Terry had greatly misunderstood the
situation and twisted it to feed his infatuation.

Terry further added in a low yet determined tone, "I'm not giving up on
Hermione Granger. Not yet, at least."

Michael opened his mouth to retort, but Terry cut him off and pressed, "Tell
me about the cases."

Thinking it might not be the opportune time to mention the promotion,

Michael settled down and spoke at great length and detail about the pending
investigations and his reason for being on the Muggle Prime Minister's
security detail.

The Next Morning

Draco spent the night at the DMLE. Emily and a few others, including
Dennis Creevey, had grudgingly joined him for a late-night session of
potion brewing and studying theory, but they had left close to dawn seeking
the comfort of their beds.

His mind and body were exhausted, and he had a long day ahead, especially
with the dinner at Malfoy Manor with the Grangers. He needed his wits
about him to get through the night without incident.

Harsh rays of sunlight streamed through the windows and invaded his path.
He breathed a sigh of relief and dragged his feet. He caught sight of his
reflection and frowned. Prominent dark circles rimmed his startling eyes,
and his hair was a complete knotted mess.

Concealing a yawn with the back of his hand, Draco decided he needed a
long leisurely shower and a few hours of proper rest before he could
properly function. He wondered if it would be prudent to drop by Granger’s
office and bid her good morning before heading home.

It wasn't early by any means, nearly ten am. The floors were bustling with
Ministry workers arriving to start their day. Draco exited the DMLE and
took the flight of stairs instead of waiting for the lift. He arrived at the
ground floor and almost collided with a mountain of a man with a little
neck, who instantly flexed his muscles as if ready for confrontation.

The man looked at Draco in mild irritation and sneered, "Well, if it isn't
Draco fucking Malfoy!"

Draco knew the deep, grating voice. He had heard it every day while at
Hogwarts. They were bound to cross paths eventually.

Taking a step back, Draco studied the heavily tattooed formidable man and
greeted somewhat icily, "Goyle." He bore no grudge against his former
friend and housemate, but the same couldn't be said about the man glaring
daggers at him.

Goyle snarled, "I heard you were back from hiding." He scrutinised
Malfoy's form. The man seemed changed from their younger arrogant days.
There was a specific difference that he couldn't quite put his chubby finger
on, but he intended to find out what it was.

Draco took the insulting comment with a grain of salt and simply smiled
before replying, "I wasn't in hiding."

Goyle leered. His teeth were treacherously yellow, "You always were a bit
of a cowardly git, Malfoy." He purposely goaded, wholeheartedly
welcoming an altercation.
Tempting as it was, Draco refused to take the bait. Instead, he chose to be
the bigger man and nodded curtly with a swift, seemingly polite response,
"It was good seeing you, Goyle."

Clearly, Goyle was not done with bringing up the past. It was evident from
his tone that he held some profound resentment. He spat out the words, "If
it weren't for Crabbe and me, you would've been pounded to death by the
rest daily."

It pained him to mention their fallen friend. Malfoy was to blame for
Crabbe's death. If he hadn't foolhardily led them into the Room of
Requirement in search of Potter, Crabbe wouldn't have resorted to using
Fiendfyre and been engulfed by the uncontrollable flames and centuries-old
possessions.

Draco straightened, stared the fuming man dead in the eyes and nodded
curtly, "I thank you for your service." It was a lowly dig and reminder of
how the two dimwitted boys had been nothing more than his bodyguards
during their school days.

Goyle gritted out, “Imagine my surprise at learning you had returned. Not a
hello or owl to touch base with an old friend. I suppose you've met with
Nott and Zabini.”

“I have,” Draco confessed without holding back.

Goyle’s face contorted unpleasantly as he spat out his displeasure, “I'm

quite insulted by your behaviour, Malfoy.”

Draco couldn't care less about the man's feelings. He quite frankly wanted
nothing to do with the former Slytherin, yet, he offered somewhat of an
apology, “Well, I apologise if I offended you. It wasn't my intention.”

Goyle scratched his chin and smirked in an alluring fashion before asking,
“How's your little fiancé?”

A brief moment of awkward silence engulfed them, but Draco managed a

cagey reply, “She’s fine.” He felt the little hairs on the back of his neck
come alive with unrest. Goyle’s interest in Granger set off numerous alarm
bells. His whole demeanour changed from uninterested to actively aware in
a matter of mere seconds.

Oblivious to Draco’s shift in mood, Goyle insisted in a tone of unconcealed

pleasure, “She's turned into quite the looker, hasn't she?” He saw her
occasionally, but of course, the Gryffindor swot paid him no attention. She
would feel differently if she knew what hung between his legs.

Draco pursed his lips and contemplated his answer. He truly wished to
roundhouse kick Gregory Goyle in the head and knock him out.

Goyle laughed outright, "She was right eyesore back at Hogwarts. Do you
remember, Malfoy?"

Draco exhaled. Calm yourself, think of the temple, remember your

teachings, and do not give in to anger and temptation, but Goyle’s lewd
comments drilled into his mind, causing his newfound resolve to crumble
around him.

Goyle straightened so that he was a foot or so taller than Draco and

scowled, "Lucius would turn in his filthy grave if he knew his precious son
was slumming it with a Mudblood."

Before Draco could contain himself, his hands balled into hardened fists.
He hissed darkly, "My father was an egotistical maniac who brought
nothing but pain and misery to anyone who remotely loved him."

Taking a bold step closer, he issued a dire warning, "And refrain from
mentioning my future bride."

Goyle refused to back down, even though he was taken aback by Malfoy's
out-of-character bravado. He puffed his chest out, stood his ground and
countered somewhat menacingly, "Or what?"

Draco smiled rather serenely and said with enough conviction to cause
Goyle to take an involuntary step back, "Clearly, we've both changed,
Goyle. I doubt you want to find out just how much."
Goyle repeatedly poked Draco’s Auror badge and hissed, causing flecks of
spit to leave his fleshy lips, "I'll see you around, Malfoy." He turned on his
heel and fled before things accelerated beyond control.

"What did Goyle want?" Harry asked as he came rushing towards Draco
like a raging bull intent on causing bodily harm.

Draco intently watched Goyle’s retreating figure. The man's robes trailed
behind him as he walked hurriedly away. Turning to face the impatient head
Auror, he answered as calmly as possible while trying to maintain an even
tone, "Nothing of importance. Some things never change." Goyle had
become worse, he was a rotten child, and obviously, his bullying ways had
only manifested over time.

Harry concurred, his nostrils flaring, "Indeed." He wished he could toss

Gregory Goyle into Azkaban and be done with it, but unfortunately, there
were more prominent targets to uncover and arrest.

"The bloody bastard. He's got some nerve turning up here, after…." Harry
trailed off once he realised he was not alone and that Malfoy was studying
his behaviour with a raised quizzical brow and perplexed expression.

Draco regarded his former nemesis evenly and openly questioned, "Is there
something you wish to share, Potter?" He could feel the uncertainty and
hesitation radiating off Potter.

Harry battled with his internal thoughts. Did he trust Draco Malfoy? The
answer was a resounding no, but on the very edges of that very prominent
no was a silver lining of hope that maybe Malfoy was a changed man.

Deciding to take a leap of faith, Harry decided he would confide the truth to
Malfoy and let whatever consequences that follow happen.

"Goyle and McLaggen sent Hermione the letter," Harry almost hissed out
the repulsive truth. He was still coming to terms with the disturbing fact
that Cormac was indeed loyal to an ex-Death Eater and werewolf.
Draco couldn't believe his ears. The culprit had been in their presence, out
in plain sight, and most maddeningly, they had let the arsehole go.

He had to control his impulses not to grab Potter by his jacket and shake
him like a ragdoll. Instead, he glared sternly and demanded, "Why in the
name of Salazar is that monstrosity not under arrest?"

Harry gritted out in frustration, "If we arrest them, our informant's life will
be in great danger." He was indubitably sure that Dorian Blackwood would
prefer not to be labelled as a traitor and suffer a gruesome death.

"You're gambling with Granger's life, Potter," Draco accused without much
thought to his harsh words. Had he known, he would've gladly plummeted
Goyle and thrown his repulsive arse in prison.

Harry narrowed his eyes, the green in them barely visible, "Don't you dare
assume to know anything or pretend to care about her wellbeing suddenly. I
will never put Hermione in harm's way, is that fucking clear, Malfoy?"

Draco wasn't convinced, but he reluctantly agreed with dripping sarcasm,

"Crystal." He understood the importance of the mission to unmask higher
authorities who pose a threat, but Goyle could act impulsively and, on a
whim, abduct Granger and do the unthinkable. The man was a certifiable
moron with no conscience—a dangerous combination.

Her broken, violated, and bloodied body came to mind as it had before, and
in that horrible moment, he was forced to close his eyes and exhale deeply
to chase away the dark thoughts.

"Did you just arrive?" Harry asked sceptically. He was prying into the man's
whereabouts without a justifiable cause.

Draco attempted to run his fingers through his blonde locks and answered,
suddenly overcome with exhaustion, "No, I spent the night studying in the
potions room.

A thought came to mind. Draco cleared his throat and humbly requested, "I
was wondering whether I would be permitted to take the day off."
Harry wasn't nearly convinced, "With your trials drawing close, do you
think it's wise?" Wasn't it enough that he was heading off to Hawaii a week
or so before the Auror examinations?

"I must attend a family dinner where my presence is mandatory," Draco

mused. His absence would cause Granger and his mother to hunt him down
and Avada him without remorse.

After a moment's thought, he divulged, "Hermione and her parents are

coming over to the Manor for dinner."

The news was vaguely familiar. Perhaps Ginny had mentioned it in passing,
but if their parents were meeting, it was certainly going beyond the
marriage law and heading towards unknown territory.

Harry couldn't help but wonder how Hermione felt about all this. He had
not gotten an opportunity to chat with her, and it seemed overdue,
especially with her friendship with Ron being on the rocks.

Regarding Malfoy, who was apparently waiting for an answer, Harry gave
in to his reasonable request and offered some solid advice candidly, "Right.
Well, you best fix yourself up. You look like utter shite, Malfoy."

Draco frowned as Potter stifled a laugh, boarded the lift and disappeared as
the doors closed.
 Chapter 58
Chapter Summary

To all the comments:- Thank you so much for the amazing feedback. I
live for it! :)

I know I'm taking longer than usual to update. I hope I make up for the
wait by supplying long chapters! :)

Harry takes Hermione out for lunch.

Hermione and Draco get ready for dinner.

Daphne learns of Luna's bundle of joy.

Teddy looks super forward to spending the weekend with Harry.

Enjoy Chapter Fifty-Eight!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

The Shaolin Temple, China.

The sun had barely risen, but Master Chun was awake before the crack of
dawn. It had rained the night before, and as a ritual, he swept the fallen
leaves that greeted him every morning outside his room.

It was therapeutic, and the slow motion of raking leaves satisfied his mind.
Once content with his handiwork and neat area, Chun put aside the broom
and headed towards the training hall to commence his morning routine. In
nearly 50 years, he had not missed a day of training and heavy meditation.
He was always alone; the others saw fit to wake up after sunrise, and the
ones that did generally stayed away from the main training hall. Without
much care, Chun pushed open the heavy doors to the training hall and felt a
presence. Not wanting to alarm the intruder or frighten the culprit, the
experienced Master moved closer to the man, covered entirely in white.

Still, the build and shape were not consistent with a man. This wasn't an
intruder looking to plunder the riches of the temple but a lost soul seeking
solace.

Perplexed by her odd behaviour, Chun suspiciously inquired once he was

sure of who it was, "Suri, is that you?" He opted to speak to her in English.
Since Draco's departure, he hardly got a moment to practise his speech in a
foreign tongue, and only Suri, besides the Abbott, could keep a
conversation going.

Suri turned around and appeared momentarily embarrassed but flustered.

She kept her eyes downcast and replied meekly, "Yes, Master Chun, I didn't
see you."

Chun took in the long staff she held firmly and asked with a sceptically
raised brow, "You're here early, dear." She had been spending more time at
the temple than usual, and he couldn't help but wonder why that was.

Suri cleared her throat and gave her answer some thought, "Yes, I couldn't
sleep. I was, umm, practising." She glanced meaningfully yet intentionally
at the long staff adorned with red-dyed feathers at the top.

Chun was hardly convinced. The young woman was talented but barely
practised with the sturdy wooden pole and seldom with a sword, except
with Draco.

It dawned on him why she had arrived early, and her choice of weapon
became blatantly obvious. He asked with a slight fond smile, "Hmm, I've
known you since you were a child, Suri, but I have never trained you to
handle a staff."
Suri looked deeply embarrassed. Her pale cheeks reddened, and she placed
the staff back in its original place and faced her Master. She recited the
truth, confirming Chun's assumption, "Oh, umm, Draco used this often."
Unintentionally, her voice cracked when uttering the name.

Chun smiled knowingly and offered, "Ah, you miss him." He was fully
aware of the pretty girl's infatuation with his former disciple, but
impressively Draco had kept her at arm's length and behaved as a
gentleman should.

Suri hardly saw reason to lie. It would have been futile since Master Chun
would see right through them.

She confessed with an aching heart, "Yes, I do, very much."

Suri followed her heartfelt declaration with a genuine apology, "I’m sorry,
Master.” She knew her feelings were wrong and misguided. Draco wasn’t
one of them. Her father had taken it upon himself to remind her at every
opportunity

Chun exhaled and comforted, “There’s nothing to apologise for. I am aware

of your feelings for him.” He admitted with a fond smile, “I miss him too.
He was like a son to me.”

Suri voiced what she had been meaning to ask for days, but the opportunity
never presented itself, “Do you think he’s okay? He hasn’t written to you,
has he?” Her eagerness for answers emitted off her in waves, and Chun
couldn’t help but sympathise.

Master Chun’s features relaxed, and a fond smile curved his lips, “Not yet,
but I trust he will soon enough. It takes time to settle into a new life. He’s
been away from England for a long time.”

Suri nodded in understanding but couldn’t keep herself from expressing

genuine concern, “I hope he’s well.”

Discarding her last statement, Chun became somewhat serious and

instructed in an authoritative tone, “You should go home, Suri. Your parents
will be looking for you.” Her parents were good people and wanted what
was best for their children.

Suri obeyed without question; such was her upbringing, “Yes, Master.” She
had left her home's suffocating confinement so early to escape her
pressuring parents, who insisted she marry the nobleman’s son as
promised.

Even though her intended husband was a kind-hearted, generous man, it

would be a marriage of convenience because she truly loved another.

Master Chun watched Suri wipe a tear that rolled down her cheek as she
fled the training hall in despair.

Teddy sat cross-legged on his bed in pale blue pyjamas while he awaited his
grandmother to return with a glass of milk.

Sure enough, Andromeda strode in with a covered, tall glass of milk and
beamed at her beloved grandchild. How much he resembled Nymphadora.

The similarities between the two brought forward the tears she held back,
but she swallowed her emotions, placed the glass on the nightstand and sat
on the snitch-printed bedspread next to Teddy.

She patted his head and enthused, “So, I have a wonderful surprise for
you.”

Teddy took the glass of milk, drank a bit, wiped his mouth with the back of
his sleeve and asked impatiently with the pure innocence of a child, “What
is it, gran?”

Andromeda smiled warmly, “How would you like to spend the weekend
with Uncle Harry and grandma Molly?”

The genuine happiness that radiated off the small boy was infectious. His
hair turned purple, and he beamed, “Really?”
“Yes, really,” Andromeda concurred. She couldn't help but smile broadly.

Teddy tilted his head to the side and became rather serious, “But, if I leave
for the weekend, won’t you be alone?” The boy was wise beyond his
years and cared fiercely about his grandmother.

Barely controlling her emotions, Andromeda gathered her grandson in her

arms and cradled him, “My dear boy, I will be just fine.”

Teddy felt excited about spending the weekend with Uncle Harry, yet, could
he possibly leave his grandmother alone? She was all he truly had.

Andromeda let go and peered into Teddy’s anxious face, “It’s settled,
darling. You will have a marvellous time. Besides, I will be there most of
the time.” In reality, she couldn’t bare to be apart, and she secretly dreaded
the day Teddy received his Hogwarts acceptance letter.

Teddy drained the glass of milk and gushed, “Thank you, gran.” He
couldn’t wait to try out Aunt Ginny’s broom. It was wicked fast, and he
loved flying above all other things.

The Ministry of Magic

The first half of Wednesday was thankfully slow, and the usual
troublemakers had not seen fit to make an appearance. Thank Merlin for
that.

In deep thought, Hermione drummed her fingernails on the desk and

pondered. She had expected a visit from her forced fiancé to go over their
evening plans, but he didn’t show, and his lack of attention concerned her.

Could Astoria Greengrass’s little impromptu visit cause problems?

Hermione was so caught up in her petty thoughts that she hardly heard the
knock on the door nor its opening, but the voice that spoke snapped her out
of the trance.
“Let's get some bloody lunch. We need to talk," Harry strode in and
instructed somewhat authoritatively, leaving no room for argument.

Hermione shot to her feet as if on autopilot, grabbed her handbag and

joined her best friend by the door. This was precisely what she needed to
clear her head and perhaps share her thoughts and get some perspective into
this whole dinner matter. Although, Harry might not be the best person to
speak to about Malfoy.

"How have you been?" Harry asked curiously, breaking the seemingly
awkward silence that engulfed them as they walked.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the pathetic attempt to make conversation. She
playfully shoved Harry and quipped, "You absolute donkey."

Harry smiled and stuffed his hands inside his coat pockets while leading
them out onto the busy streets packed to the brim with Londoners going
about their business.

Their feet took them to a place they frequented often. It was a wizarding
Italian restaurant that catered to Muggles and magical folk with an
outstanding reputation for having the best prawn ravioli in the city.

The plump, well-dressed manager rushed in their direction and proceeded to

fuss over them when they entered. It was always a special occasion when
the saviour of the wizarding world paid them a visit.

"Ah, good afternoon, Alberto," Harry warmly greeted the enthusiastic man
while slipping out of his heavy Auror coat.

Alberto beamed. It was an honour to serve the Chosen One and the Golden
girl, "Welcome, Mr Potter and Miss Granger. Will the usual table suffice?"

"Yes, please," Hermione concurred and followed Alberto, who eagerly led
the way.

The restaurant was modestly decorated, but the Michelin-star quality food
had patrons rushing to the spectacular restaurant and getting a reservation
was nearly impossible.

Once seated, Hermione instantly ordered a cornerstone of Italian cuisine,

lasagne. The freshly baked dish was made of rich layers of fresh pasta
covered in béchamel sauce and the famous ragù bolognese.

Harry opted for a risotto Alla Milanese. The tasty dish was freshly prepared
with white wine, Parmesan cheese, and saffron to give its exact yellow
colour. He was pretty partial to Italian cuisine.

Neither Harry nor Hermione required the menu. They knew it by heart from
visiting the restaurant over a dozen times. Alberto took down the order,
informed the kitchen and chef of the celebrity among them and returned
with a complimentary bottle of red wine.

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look of uncertainty as the man holding

the bottle hovered, impatiently waiting for an answer. Not wanting to
appear rude and ungrateful, Hermione graciously accepted, "Thank you,
Alberto. This gift is most generous."

Alberto chuckled, "Think nothing of it." He bowed slightly and left the
friends in peace to dig into a bowl of freshly baked bread that smelled
absolutely divine.

Once alone, Hermione addressed the elephant in the room, "Why didn't you
tell me? I deserved to know." She wanted a plausible explanation as to why
she had been kept in the dark over the matter of the letter.

Harry frowned. He buttered a piece of bread and sighed, "I know, and I'm
sorry, but I just haven’t had the time to get around to anything, I know that’s
no bloody excuse, and I’m sorry, love.”

He further explained, hoping to rectify his mistake, “It's hardly something

you owl, text message or say over the phone." He had expected to bring it
up over lunch, but she had beaten him to it.

"I suppose I understand. I still can't believe Mclaggen is involved in all this
madness. It seems surreal," Hermione revealed, somewhat upset by the
situation.

Harry gritted out, "He's an idiot, and people do stupid things when
threatened or caged. I guess we will find out in time when we arrest him."
He bit into the bread and savoured the taste of garlicky butter.

Hermione was taken aback and perplexed. She recalled Kingsley’s words
and said, "Kingsley was rather clear that no arrest would be made until after
whoever is behind these attacks is caught or revealed."

"That's correct. Arresting Goyle and McLaggen would put our informant's
life in grave danger, and at this moment, he's all we've got and much too
valuable to risk," Harry replied, confirming the Minister’s plan of action.

Harry looked at his friend and felt a wave of guilt wash over him, "I hope
you understand." She had every right to demand they arrest the disgusting
bastards responsible for sending such a pathetic letter.

However, Hermione nodded in agreement, "I understand." She knew what

they were up against, and she had no intention of doing anything to
jeopardise the investigation.

Still, she thought for a minute and requested, "Can you take off the security
detail?" It was hardly necessary since Goyle and Cormac would not attempt
to harm her in public.

"No," Harry said with resounding firmness that left practically no room for
argument and followed it up with a quick explanation for Hannah's absence,
"Abbott's with Thomas going over the whole Dollhouse Strangler case. The
maniac has ceased all activity." Another torn in his side.

He smiled slightly, "I told her I was taking you out to lunch and that her
presence wasn't required."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Great." Though she put on a brave face and
faced the situation with her head held high, she couldn't shake the uneasy
feeling Goyle's involvement brought about in the pit of her being.
He hadn't frightened her in Hogwarts, but now, he was a mountain of a man
who could severely damage her if he wished. The dreadful thought sent a
shiver down her spine.

Harry caught sight of the shudder and raised a questioning brow. He

couldn't help but ponder what caused Hermione to react in such a manner.

Trying to deviate the conversation towards more amusing matters, Harry

candidly brought up Draco’s request for leave, "Malfoy asked for a holiday
to get dolled up for a family dinner. I'm surprised you didn't skip work,
considering the night you have coming up."

He teased her with good intentions, but the idea of Hermione’s parents
visiting Malfoy Manor gave him the creeps.

Hermione grew wide-eyed in disbelief, "Malfoy told you about dinner?"

Harry shrugged, "Well, I wasn't aware it was a secret, but he did volunteer
the information on his own."

He quipped, "Getting rather serious, aren't we? Especially for a ministry-

appointed marriage." The words left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"It is not my decision, I'm afraid. Narcissa and my parents are quite
determined to make this union as uncomfortable as possible," Hermione
gritted out in annoyance.

Harry offered a sympathetic look and exclaimed, "I suppose they want
what's best for you both. Your parents, in particular, are oblivious to our
horrid past with Draco Malfoy."

"I don't know quite what to make of him, Harry. He's like an entirely
different person," Hermione confessed with a heavy heart. She was utterly
conflicted and at war with her inner self.

Harry scowled but grudgingly agreed, "Yes, he is different, but every snake
sheds its skin. I will reserve my judgment of Draco Malfoy for later." It
would take him a lot more time to come to terms with Malfoy’s redemption
arc.

Their food arrived before Hermione could form a reply. The delicious
aroma was enough to send their hunger pangs into a frenzy and make them
forget Malfoy momentarily.

Hermione dug into her piping hot lasagne and first broke off a small piece
to taste. Harry used her distraction to his advantage and offered some
sensible advice, "Attend dinner with an open mind. You might be pleasantly
surprised by the outcome."

"I suppose," Hermione answered but barely since her mouth was full. She
wasn't convinced. The night ahead left her anxious and highly nervous.

They spoke of a great many things after, including visiting Hagrid at

Hogwarts the next day and Harry's disappointment in being unable to tag
along. Harry candidly depicted Ginny's childlike excitement about Hawaii
and fondly mentioned how his weekend plans included Teddy.

Hermione beamed as she always did whenever Teddy was mentioned. She
loved the little boy with all her heart and wished there were more hours in
the day to spend with him.

Harry took a large mouthful of risotto and briefly spoke about Ron and how
he desperately wanted to make amends for his crude behaviour and
insensitive words.

Truthfully, Hermione hadn't spared Ron a second thought in days. Her mind
was turning to mush since Malfoy's return.

It was an enjoyable lunch, yet, the meal she devoured with gusto at the start
turned to ashes in her mouth as the minutes ticked by, bringing her closer to
the evening plans.

Hermione pushed her plate aside and didn’t pursue it further, and Harry shot
her a look of concern but offered no words of comfort. It was hard for him
to remain optimistic and say anything remotely encouraging because it was
Malfoy.

Hawaii

The couples sat around the table under the moonlight and stars and
thoroughly and rather drunkenly enjoyed the fantastic luau, except for
Luna. She had retired for the night after an exhausting day of sightseeing
and exploring local culture and cuisine. Theo had insisted she stay, but she
desperately needed to put her feet up and relax for a bit.

Hawaii was truly breathtaking, and thankfully, Luna had managed to hold
her own and enjoy the sights without the feeling of nausea holding her at
ransom. Near a particularly quaint boutique store, Daphne had come from
behind and whispered so nobody else would hear, "How far along are you,
darling?"

Luna's grip on the sunhat she was holding and contemplating to buy
tightened. A surge of emotions washed over her as she muttered in a weak
voice, "Six weeks."

Daphne gushed, "That's wonderful, darling."

Luna panicked. She grabbed hold of Daphne's hand and pleaded, "Please!
You can't tell Theo."

"You have my word," Daphne promised with a warm smile.

She winked, "I'll cover for you until you're ready to share this joyous
news."

Luna chewed on her bottom lip and asked timidly, "Do you think he will be
pleased?"

Daphne caught Blaise and Theo joking, laughing aloud, and nodded, "Theo
will be overjoyed."
Her face fell in sadness at once, and she enlightened, "The Slytherin boys
never had the best father figures."

Luna listened intently while Daphne continued, "Blaise never knew his
father. In many ways, after watching his friends suffer at the hands of their
fathers, he was glad not to know.”

Daphne unconsciously touched her flat stomach and said, “When I became
pregnant with Carrie, I was ecstatic, but he questioned himself constantly.
Still, after her birth, he's been the most doting father." She happily
concluded her little story, with tears blurring her vision.

Oh, how much she missed her sweet children. She spoke to them daily, and
Astoria and Tracey seemed to be doing a great job of looking after them.

Luna wiped the rogue tear that slid down her cheek with the back of her
hand and smiled gratefully, "Thank you, Daph."

Daphne took Luna's hand, and hand in hand, they walked among the
handcrafted wear and beautiful homemade jewellery that piqued Luna's
interest prompting her to buy a few items.

After lunch with Harry, Hermione decided she had enough work, and the
wine they consumed over the meal settled nicely. She wanted a few
luxurious hours to herself to prepare mentally for the evening.

However, Hannah was waiting for her as she returned to fetch her coat and
glasses that she had carelessly left on her desk. Abbott was great fun, but on
a day like this, Hermione truly craved solitude.

"Ah, how was lunch?" Hannah asked with an amused expression.

Harry grinned, "Entertaining as always. I'm a barrel of laughs."

Brenda snorted at the comment, and everyone stared at her for a fleeting
moment. She coughed to hide her reaction.
"However, I think dinner at Malfoy Manor will be much more entertaining,"
Harry divulged with a slight smile. He wasn't overly enthusiastic over it for
obvious reasons but took his leave without uttering a further word.

Hermione groaned and massaged her temples. Oh, not a headache, not
today. Come on!

"Are you alright, Hermione? You look rather pale," Hannah inquired after
peering into her friend's face in genuine concern.

Hermione pulled on her coat and attempted to smile, "I'm fine, honestly.
Let's call it a day, shall we?"

Hannah teased with a wink, "Ah, heading off early to doll yourself up
before the big night?"

Hermione frowned, "Don't be silly. I am tired and want to relax. Is that a

crime?"

Brenda listened to the conversation and chuckled, "Not at all." She added
with a cheeky grin as Hermione and Hannah passed her desk, "Have a fun
night."

Stopping in her tracks, Hermione groaned. Did everyone know about the
infamous dinner? She knew why she dreaded it but what was everyone's
problem? Parents of would-be couples met often. Why was this so bloody
different?

Oh, that's right, he's a one-time pureblood fanatic and absolute tosser who
loathed her, and she was a Muggleborn witch who gleefully punched him
for being a pointy-nosed little smug bastard.

Hannah was acutely aware Hermione needed space, and they maintained a
companionable silence throughout the trip to her flat. Malfoy had let slip
about the dinner during a conversation, but oddly he seemed rather thrilled
by the prospect of his mother meeting Hermione's family.
They entered the flat. Hermione kicked off her shoes and headed towards
the bedroom. She glanced over her shoulder and said, "There should be
some non-alcoholic grape wine in the fridge. Help yourself to the cheese."

Hannah grinned, "Thanks." She went in search of food. The meeting with
Thomas had run later than anticipated, and she had skipped lunch. It was an
occupational hazard. The thought of the session left a bitter taste in her
mouth. They were no closer to catching the murdering maniac than when
they first started, and to make matters worse, the sadistic man had
disappeared without so much as a trace.

Having located the non-alcoholic beverage, she was tempted to indulge in

the red wine bottle next to it, but with a heavy heart, Hannah took out the
bottle and cheese intended for her and closed the fridge door in frustration.

Hermione changed into shorts and a simple shirt and glanced at the clock,
quarter past three. There was ample time for her to get ready. Perhaps a nap
would be wise, she thought to herself.

Deciding it sounded perfect, Hermione threw back the duvet and slid under
the heavy material. She sighed in comfort and shut her eyes. Before long,
she was fast asleep.

Kingsley looked down the red-carpeted hallway expecting to find some

dodgy being spying on him, but all seemed well. He gave Harry a nod of
approval and knocked on the white-painted door with gold outlining to
symbolise the hotel's prominent stature.

They heard the scurrying of feet from inside the room. Both men exchanged
looks of caution and kept their wands at the ready, but the door opened, and
Constantine, the Romanian Minister of Magic, greeted them solemnly,
"Kingsley, it was good of you to come. Please come in." Gone was the
arrogance. It was replaced by the sheer will and determination to save his
people.

Harry and Kingsley walked into the suite of the Ritz Carlton, London and
stood on the plush carpet awaiting further instruction.
A man dressed in dark blue robes, with his hair combed to the side,
approached them with a slight smile and offered kindly, "Please, make
yourself comfortable. Sit."

Harry wasn't keen on complying, but he followed Shacklebolt's lead and sat
down on the chintz armchairs made available for them.

Constantine snapped his fingers, and refreshments were served almost

instantly. Only once the server placed the steaming pot of tea on the glass
table did he sit down to address his guests.

He hung his head and thought long and hard about what he would say. After
a few moments of awkward silence, he gritted out, "Romania needs your
assistance. My people are suffering. My men are dying." There was a
genuineness to his tone that struck a chord with Kingsley.

Swallowing his pride, Constantine grudgingly expressed, "I need your

help."

Kingsley and Harry listened intently and drank in the cry for help. It was
inevitable, and had Constantine not been so pigheaded, the lives of
hundreds of his men could have been spared.

Leaning forward, Kingsley poured himself a cup of tea, leaned back and
silently watched the spirals of steam disappear into nothingness.

Constantine narrowed his eyes and impatiently studied the imposing olive-
skinned man who sipped his tea without care. Harry shifted nervously in his
seat, hoping Kingsley would speak soon or offer assistance.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Kingsley spoke, his deep voice
commanding authority, "I thought you would never ask. The British
Ministry of Magic is at your service."

Constantine visibly relaxed, the twitch in his right eye ceased immediately,
and a sense of relief washed over him. Yet, he felt like an utter failure for
being unable to solve the problem on his own as his predecessors had, but
none had faced such a dangerous advisory as the Alpha King.
"Tell me everything," Kingsley encouraged, and Constantine held nothing
back. He divulged everything of importance, including the threat to his life
and how the enemy was advancing with force and determination.

Kingsley listened, his temper rising with every word Constantine uttered. If
Romania fell, it would spell disaster for the rest of the world. They had
hoped to coexist with werewolves and build relationships, but if they were
adamant about world domination and violence, so be it.

Hermione's flat

Hermione struggled to find a few peaceful hours of sleep, and when she
heard the faint but deranged cackling of Bellatrix take precedence, she
forced herself awake, sat up and rubbed the sleepiness out of her eyes. Not
today, bitch.

Hermione drew a long breath and let it out as she realised she was taking
her parents to socialise and have dinner at a location where she had been
tormented and branded.

Again, the unfairness of the situation rose in the form of bile in her mouth.

No, you will not entertain such thoughts tonight, she stubbornly told
herself. Besides, the area of the Manor, stained by her blood and occupied
mainly by Voldemort, was magically concealed by Narcissa or refurbished
beyond recognition. In all their time together, neither party ever mentioned
that dreadful night.

The flat was quiet, and Hermione thought it odd. Usually, the sound of the
telly could be heard when Hannah was around, but it was unnervingly
silent.

Grabbing her wand, Hermione stole out of her room and found Hannah
sprawled across the sofa, fast asleep. A tub of half-eaten chocolate chip ice
cream melted away, and beads of condensation edged towards the surface of
the newly polished wooden table.
Hermione fought the urge to laugh. Instead, she picked up the tub, returned
it to its rightful place in the freezer and made a beeline for the bathroom,
taking care not to wake her bodyguard from a seemingly deep sleep.

After letting the water run to fill the tub, Hermione added some sweet-
smelling bath salts and, using her hand, mixed it in well with the lukewarm
water. She had a few measly hours to kill before making herself
presentable.

She let the salts settle before discarding her clothes and slipping into the
luxurious comfort of the bath she had drawn for herself. At that moment,
nothing existed but the soapy texture caressing her skin and warmth seeping
into the pores of her skin.

Hermione threw her head back, rested it on the smooth surface of the edge
and groaned in pure exhilaration.

Malfoy Manor

Draco awoke from a deep slumber. He could barely remember reaching his
room, but he vaguely recalled Dotty offering him a spot of breakfast, which
he had obviously refused. He had fallen asleep in nothing more than a pair
of black cotton boxers.

It took him a while to gather his bearings. These Auror trials were
excruciating, more than the actual job. He sat on the edge of the bed, ran
his long fingers through his hair and groggily glanced at the large antique
clock that had hung for generations in his room.

It dawned on him that Granger and her parents were expected for dinner in
a matter of hours, and he had to shower, get dressed and show up at their
home to escort them back to the Manor.

Fuck. He should've gotten up hours ago and mediated to calm his inner
raging thoughts of causing Gregory Goyle bodily harm. The bastard had
some nerve waltzing into the Ministry of Magic after sending Granger such
a disgusting letter.
There was hardly time for idle thought. Draco got to his feet, did some
much-needed exercises to get the blood circulating and rushed into the
bathroom. He caught sight of his reflection, and the unkempt sight did not
please him.

He reeked. Potter was absolutely right. He looked and smelled like shite.

Hermione's flat

Hannah turned over in her sleep and fell right off the sofa. She cursed out
loud on impact and struggled to sit up. She desperately needed to relieve
herself, the bloody non-alcoholic grape wine had filled her bladder to the
brim, and she was about to piss herself.

Without much thought, she rushed into the bathroom, but unfortunately, it
was occupied, and the occupant made her presence abundantly clear in a
loud voice, “Hannah! What the hell are you doing?”

Not one for explanations, Hannah ignored the naked woman in the tub and
went straight for the commode with an apologetic, “I'm sorry, Granger, but I
need to fucking go.”

Meanwhile, Hermione couldn't believe the awkward situation but calmly

summoned the robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door with her
wand. She reluctantly got out of the tub, exposing herself completely to the
other woman before slipping into the robe and leaving with the sounds of
Hannah desperately trying to pull down her trousers.

She closed the door behind her and stood patiently outside with soap suds
stuck to her hair and body until Hannah finished. The scenario was quite
hilarious and unprecedented.

Seconds later, Hannah emerged looking sheepish and embarrassed, “Um,

I'm really sorry about that, Hermione.”

Hermione couldn't help but snort. She replied with a good-natured smile,
“Are you done? Because I need to shower and get ready for this sodding
dinner.”

Hannah hurriedly moved out of the way and grinned, “All yours.” She
walked towards the living room, blinked rapidly and tried to forget the
luscious image of Hermione's curvy naked behind.

After a quick shower, Hermione returned to the privacy of her room and
locked the door behind her to avoid any untimely intrusions. She marched
over to her cupboard full of clothes. She threw the doors open and surveyed
the many dresses and tasteful outfits that hung in a neat row.

What to wear? Something classy, of course, but daring and sexy? No, of
course not. Her parents and his would be in attendance. If only she could
find that perfect balance, and voilà, the suitable dress caught her attention.

Taking the dress out carefully, Hermione laid it on the bed and scrutinised
it. It was an emerald green raw silk dress with long sleeves and a moderate
neckline that hugged her figure in the right places, and fell to her knees.

Quite frankly, she had forgotten about its existence. If memory served her
correctly, she had bought the dress while on a diplomatic tour of Italy. The
dress matched perfectly with her beautiful engagement ring. She supposed
it was fitting.

She fished out a black lacy thong, brought it up her legs and secured it at
the right place before gingerly picking up the dress and slipping into it. The
material moulded flawlessly to her figure, and she helped it further by
smoothening it with the palm of her hand. She brought the jade pendant,
and chain Malfoy gifted to the front and gazed at it in fascination.

Once satisfied that the outfit was a perfect choice, Hermione searched for
the heels to match the dress. It was her favourite part.

Placing the four-inch black open-toe heels by the foot of the bed, Hermione
sat at the dressing table and applied a simple layer of makeup. Her fingers
trembled as they closed around the eyeliner pencil. Still, she managed to
apply it expertly and finished off the look with a nude shade of lipstick.
Not bothering to style her hair, she let it sit naturally, wild, unbridled and
free. The unruly curls twisted and wound their way down her back and
framed her face gloriously. It added that extra touch of sexiness she was
hoping for.

Hermione looked in her jewellery box until she located the velvet box. She
opened it, took out tiny yet flattering diamond earrings her grandmother
gifted her on her sixteenth birthday and attached them to each ear.

Getting to her feet, she looked at herself in the floor-length mirror she had
installed and hardly recognised the woman staring back at her, oozing with
confidence and grace though she felt a jumpy wreck at the moment. The
engagement ring glowed brightly as if showing its approval, and Hermione
was distracted by its beauty.

She spoke to it gently, “You approve of this match, don’t you?” Generations
of Malfoy wives had worn the ring, but none with her linage, yet, the
exquisite piece of jewellery responded positively towards her.

It was pretty baffling but damagingly pleasing at the same time. She was at
a complete loss for words.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione walked into the living room to inform
Hannah it was time to leave. The plan was to meet Malfoy at her parents'
house and go to Malfoy Manor.

Hannah caught sight of Hermione, gave an approving nod and smiled

devilishly, “Malfoy is going to have a hard time keeping his hands to
himself.”

Hermione appreciated the compliment. She sat down carefully so as not to

wrinkle her dress and sighed, “This is happening, isn't it, Hannah?” It felt
slightly odd to speak about her feelings with someone other than Harry or
Ginny, but Hannah had proven herself to be a loyal and considerate friend.

Hannah smiled and did her best to reassure the worried woman sitting next
to her, “Yes, it is, but it doesn't have to be all bad, Granger.” She truly
believed Malfoy was the one for Hermione. The Algorithm was math in its
purest form mixed with complex magic and not to be taken lightly.

She included thoughtfully, “Malfoy is different. At least, I think he is, but I

understand what you’re feeling. I get that he was beyond horrid to you, but
give him a chance to make amends. He might surprise you.”

Hermione closed her eyes and let Hannah’s words sink in. They held
profound meaning and merit.

Malfoy Manor

Draco slowly slipped into the new Versace slim-fit shirt and buttoned
himself up. Once done, he ran his fingers gently across the black beaded
bracelet on his wrist and tucked it neatly out of sight from prying eyes. He
wondered how everyone at the temple was fairing and made a mental note
to write to them as soon as possible.

He wore a new suit, an all-black ensemble complete with a black tie and
white gold cufflinks. His platinum locks were longer. He brushed them
back, the strands tickling his forehead and smiled at his reflection. Gone
were the sleepiness and dark circles around his eyes. He smelled manly and
enticing.

Draco knew he looked different from his younger years. The jaw was more
prominent, his skinny seeker frame had filled out with the right amount of
muscle, and he was inches taller than his former teenage self.

The slick-haired git he had once been was but a mere memory of a more
unpleasant time. Still, Draco couldn't help but think of how his former
arrogant self would taunt the man he was now.

He was getting dressed and ready to escort Hermione Granger's parents to

dinner. His younger self would have laughed in his face, belittled him and
refused to entertain such a preposterous notion of fraternising with
Muggleborns.
Salazar, he had been such a fucking prick.

Draco held his wand at the ready, left the sanctuary of his room, and walked
down the hallway until he was at the top of the stairs. Pointing his wand
towards the ceiling, he concentrated hard and recited the ancient words his
mother taught him. The wards placed upon Malfoy Manor adjusted for the
night to permit visitors from outside their realm to enter.

Satisfied by his handiwork, Draco glanced at the clock; it was a quarter to

six pm. He quickly jogged down the stairs and heard his mother's voice
coming from the foyer. He entered the area and found her conversing with
Bernard, with Max resting next to her foot. The eager German Shepherd ran
up to Draco and demanded affection.

While patting the dog on the head, Draco grinned, “Good evening.” He was
careful not to get Max’s saliva on his new suit.

Bernard raised his crystal tumbler of scotch in Draco’s direction and mused,
“Ah, everyone's present and accounted for.” He was smartly dressed in a
classic black suit making him appear sophisticated and worldly.

Narcissa scolded, “Oh, hush, Bernard. Now is not the time for poorly
thought-out jokes.”

Draco kissed his mother on the cheek and gushed, “Mother, you look
lovely.” She wore a high-neck, floor-length dress in a flattering shade of
fuchsia and a string of priceless pearls and matching earrings.

Narcissa smiled, yet her voice cracked, which was rather out of character,
“Thank you, darling, but I must admit that I am anxious about meeting our
future in-laws. Hopefully, we won't offend them by doing something they
deem out of place.”

Draco looked around pointedly. The Manor was spotless, with beautiful
Venetian glassware proudly on display. He advised somewhat firmly,
“Relax, mother. Everything looks perfect.”
He followed up with an amused expression, exchanging a look with the
older gentleman in the room, “Bernard, will you tell her to calm down?”

Bernard downed his scotch and chuckled, “She’s not the only one shitting
bricks, mate.”

Narcissa scolded, “Bernard!” Max jumped onto the older man's lap and
tried to lick his face.

Draco could hardly hold back the laughter. Still, out of the corner of his left
eye, he noticed a shy creature hiding behind his mother's chair and
complimented without hesitation, “Dotty, don't you look pretty? Is that a
new dress?”

Dotty emerged from behind wearing a lovely bright yellow silk dress and
new, slightly heeled shoes. She smiled broadly and bowed, “Yes, sir.” She
resembled a miniature sun rushing about the place. Draco couldn't help but
wonder how the Grangers would react to Dotty.

It was getting late, and he was needed elsewhere. Turning to give his
mother his full attention, he explained briefly, “I will take your leave and
return shortly with the Grangers.”

“Of course, son,” Bernard answered first and poured himself two fingers'
worth of scotch. He was somewhat feeling edgy himself. Even though he
had been around plenty of Muggles, it was still nerve-wracking to meet
Hermione Granger’s parents and grandmother. Sure, they sounded lovely,
but what if all this was a bit much for them?

“Draco?” Narcissa addressed her only son before he left. Her tone of voice
held a profound amount of unmistakable emotion.

Draco stopped dead in his tracks and inquired with interest, “Yes, mother?”
He had seen her terrified, defiant, and helpless, but never this anxious and
flustered.

Narcissa almost whispered painstakingly, “I love you.”

Draco returned to his mother's side, went down on one knee, took her hands
in his and gently brushed her fingers with an affectionate kiss.

He responded adequately, “As I love you. Please try to calm yourself.

Honestly, I've never seen you so overexcited. Granger's parents are humble,
down-to-earth, good people.”

Narcissa cupped her beloved son’s face and nodded slowly, “Yes, I know.”
She had entertained Ministers, tyrants, merciless fiends and dignitaries but
never felt this uneasy over a function.

Bernard handed Narcissa a glass of wine and instructed while Draco got to
his feet and hurriedly left the Manor with Max trailing after him, “Drink
this, darling. It will appease your rattled nerves.”

Having arrived early, Hermione introduced Hannah to her parents, and

before long they were getting along famously. Her mother complimented
her on how lovely she looked, and her grandmother agreed wholeheartedly.
The atmosphere was pleasing, but she desperately needed to be alone.

Hermione headed to her old room and locked herself inside. She sat on the
bed, took a deep, cleansing breath and looked around. So much had
changed.

Her roaming eyes fell on the worn Gryfindor scarf hanging from the floor
lamp, old school tie and numerous pictures from Hogwarts. Using her
wand, Hermione summoned a framed photograph of Ron, Harry, Ginny and
herself from their fourth year, if she wasn't mistaken. Taking the wooden
frame in her hands, she peered lovingly at the moving, laughing, joyful
younger version of herself and felt her heartache.

She left the picture on her bed, walked over to the window that gave a
spectacular view of the garden and stared into the distance in deep thought.

Draco appeared near Julia Granger's famous red rose bushes. The sun was
setting, and the sky was streaked with orange and reddish hues.
Hermione's breath hitched as she saw Malfoy approach from her bedroom
window. All six feet two inches of him were clad in black.

The many garden lights illuminated his pathway, yet his eyes shone with
undeterred purpose as he strode towards them with a panther-like stride,
looking utterly magnificent. Hermione’s heart pounded with every forceful
step he took.

She could see him smile broadly, and Hermione assumed her parents or
grandmother were the reason, but she was wrong; it was Hannah. They
seemed to exchange innocent air kisses, and Malfoy playfully, as always,
tugged on Hannah’s ponytail. Hermione craned her neck to see more, but
they disappeared from her view once they entered the house.

Draco entered through the wide back entrance into the kitchen with Hannah
in tow. Julia and Phyllis greeted him at once, but his fiance seemed to be
missing. It wasn't like Granger to receive him with open arms and
enthusiasm, yet, he expected to be present when he arrived.

Phyllis looked at her watch and said happily, “Ah, Draco, right on time.”
She wore a two-piece salmon pink suit with a gorgeous rose brooch pinned
to the front.

Julia smiled warmly and gushed, “Good evening, son. My, don't you look
dashing.” She looked stunning in a long black dress with simple white gold
jewellery and light makeup.

Richard appeared out of nowhere and greeted, “Good evening, my boy.” He

looked rather spirited in a dark grey suit and shirt to match.

Hannah hovered in the background and shot Draco amused glances. Now
that he was present, Hermione was in good hands, and she could take her
leave, but only after everyone left. She desperately wanted to see Malfoy’s
reaction to Hermione’s outfit.

Draco nodded slightly and exclaimed, “Good evening, Mrs Granger, and
might I add how lovely you look.” Hannah rolled her eyes at the utterly
pathetic display of good manners and swallowed the snort that almost broke
free.

Julia reminded gently, “You must learn to call me Julia.”

Phyllis cleared her throat and adjusted her jacket. Draco hurriedly paid a
compliment to the Granger Matriarch, “And Nana, you are a vision in
pink.” He laid it on thick. Upsetting Grandma Granger would not bode well
for him in the future.

Phyllis chuckled, “What a load of codswallop, but aren't you a

gentleman?”

Richard was thoroughly sick of the exaggerated slew of compliments and

whatnot.

He truly hoped Malfoy would not bestow some ludicrous praise on him, and
before he could, Richard voiced his opinion laced with sarcasm, “Yes, yes,
he's got impeccable manners. Shall we get going?”

“Richard!” Julia scolded. Her husband had clearly left his manners
elsewhere. Hannah chuckled from her place by the kitchen sink and stuck
her tongue out at Draco, who took it with good humour and laughed at
himself, but where was Granger? He needed to see her.

Hermione heard the voices and took several deep breaths to calm herself.
It's just dinner, she repeated to herself, but her fingers trembled with
overwhelming anxiety.

As she came down the stairs, the sound of her heels colliding with the
wooden floors alerted everyone to her presence, and they looked in her
direction.

Draco couldn't help but stare. His eyes unashamedly and eagerly roved over
every inch of her in high appreciation before settling on her face. Without
much thought, he automatically moved closer and offered his hand for her
to take the second she reached the bottom step.
Hermione didn't hesitate, she accepted his gesture, but once she did, Draco
led her away from the group of people, who were watching them intently
and peered into her face.

She was paler than usual and shaking somewhat. Her behaviour and
appearance prompted him to ask in concern, “Are you alright, Granger?”
What was the cause of such panic?

Unable to string coherent words together, Hermione nodded. She was

having a mild panic attack.

Draco wasn't entirely convinced. He was no simpleton. Holding her close,

he moved them further away and muttered so only she could hear, “You’re
trembling.”

Hermione mumbled, “I'm fine.” She was far from fine, but she was an adult,
not some teenage girl, and she would pull herself together and get through
the night with grace and poise.

Draco took out his wand and gently tapped his tie with the tip. The colour
changed from black to one that matched the exact shade of her dress.

He smirked in an effort to lighten the mood and mused, “That's better, isn't
it?”

His Windsor knot was crooked, and despite her flustered state, Hermione
couldn't help but adjust it, “Yes, much better.” She inhaled deeply. That
smell. His smell. Him. All of him.

Her fingers lingered for a second or so longer on his person. She felt
something for him despite herself. It scared her far more than anything she
had experienced.

Despite their audience, Draco couldn't hold his tongue nor control the
raging hormones that sprang to life around Granger. He kissed her hand and
confessed almost painfully, “You’re beautiful.”
Hermione blushed. She looked directly into his mesmerising eyes and
argued, defiant to the end, “Stop saying that. You used to think I was the
dirtiest creature. Someone unworthy to be touched by you.”

Ignoring the comments, Draco brazenly yet gently cupped her face and
embraced her deeply in full view of her family. He whispered between
kisses, “Let the past go, Granger. I would gladly spend days touching every
inch of you." Thankfully, they weren’t within earshot of her parents.
However, everyone could get a glimpse of what they were doing.

Surprising everyone and more so herself, Hermione let herself be ravaged

in full view of her family.

She didn't hesitate to hold onto him and moulded her lips perfectly to his. It
was exactly what she needed to calm her rattled nerves. She needed to
drown in his possessive kisses and feel his teeth sink into her bottom lip.

His fingers moved into her hair as he explored the expanse of her mouth
with his tongue. After a few moments, he muttered desperately, “Learn to
take a compliment, Granger." She was largely shielded from the rest by his
broad form.

Hannah rolled her eyes and fought the urge to remind the embracing couple
that they weren't alone, but Richard beat her to it. He loudly cleared his
throat, causing Julia to frown.

Her husband was such an insensitive lout. Her daughter was finally letting
her guard down and exploring the possibilities of a relationship, or so she
thought.

Julia knew there was some unpleasantness between the two in the past, but
she also truly believed they could overcome and give their marriage a
proper try.

The couple reluctantly broke apart as if brought back to reality by some

invisible entity. Hermione turned away in embarrassment and touched her
kiss-swollen lips.
Draco somewhat grudgingly moved away, straightened to his full height
and said in a partly carrying voice, “Right. Of course. We best get a move
on.”

Hermione gathered her composure and replied with a shy smile, “Yes, I
suppose. We mustn't be tardy.”

Draco smiled and politely offered, “I will escort your mother and
grandmother.”

“I will bring dad,” Hermione added with a genuine smile. She wasn't blind.
He was different. It was as if he had changed entirely, but could it be too
good to be true? He could hurt her far worse than anyone else.

Draco boldly tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear and instructed gently,
“Meet me near the fountain.” Why did she look so vulnerable yet enticing?

Hermione nodded in agreement, bit her bottom lip and answered, “Yes, I
will.” Why did he have to look so sinful? He was making her want things.
Forbidden things that would be frowned upon and considered inappropriate
of an Undersecretary.

Closing the gap between himself and the older Granger ladies, Draco
offered his arm to both and invited, “If you would do me the honour.”
Phyllis held on tight and pondered if her fragile heart could withstand
whatever was about to happen.

Hannah was still hanging around drinking in the drama, and Draco spoke
directly to her, “See you tomorrow, Abbott.”

He led the relatively nervous ladies into the garden. They held onto him
tightly, making him slightly wince, but he offered words of reassurance,
"You're in safe hands."

Draco closed his eyes and concentrated hard on the destination. Within
seconds the familiar feeling of apparation encompassed him and the ladies
holding onto him for dear life. They disappeared into the night without
leaving a trace.
Hermione watched Draco leave with her mother and grandmother with
mixed feelings. They trusted him. Why couldn't she?

She sighed, slowly approached Hannah and smiled, “Thank you for the
advice, Hannah.” She somewhat trusted her old friend's judgment. Besides,
Hannah and Malfoy seemed to be getting quite close from their behaviour.

Hannah winked and grinned mischievously, “Have a good night.” With

those famous last words, she waved her wand and disapparated with a loud
crack.

Richard held out his arm and gushed, “Come on, princess.” He examined
his daughter's face and became worried, “You seem a bit out of sorts.”

Hermione took his arm and confessed, “I guess I am a little nervous.”

Richard patted her hand resting on his forearm and teased, “I didn't know
you and Draco were an item.”

Hermione blushed and had the grace to look mildly ashamed, “Oh, the kiss?
No, we aren't. I really don't know what we are, but I know I don't feel
anything romantic towards him.”

Richard let out a hearty chuckle, “You sure fooled me.”

Hermione tried to defend her words and actions, but she hardly got anything
out, “But, I….”

Richard interrupted with words of pure assurance, “It'll be alright, love. I'm
always here to support you.” His hold on her arm tightened to solidify his
words of protectiveness. A father's love knows no bounds. He would do
everything in his power to protect her.

Hermione took out her wand, kissed her father on the cheek and replied
before they disapparated, “I know, dad. I love you.”

In another part of London

Sarah stood under the shower. She let the water wash away the filth of a
man who violated her repeatedly.

It would be over soon, she stubbornly told herself. It was the sheer will to
survive that kept her sanity intact.

She cleaned herself thoroughly since it was a special occasion. He was

taking her into Muggle London to buy some clothes and things as
promised.

The monster had drummed it into her head while he raped her that any
disobedient behaviour would be met with dire circumstances. She had to be
vigilant and make her move at the opportune moment.
 Chapter 59
Chapter Notes

To all the comments:- I'm so humbled! Thank you from the bottom of
my heart!

HAPPY NEW YEAR, ALL!

Goodness, what a tiring and stressful December.

Please accept my sincerest apologies for the delay, but please know
that this fic will never be abandoned.

I hope everyone enjoys the update!

Much love to all!

Enjoy Chapter Fifty-Nine!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

DMLE

Hannah was in no mood to return to an empty flat. She envied Granger and
Malfoy's situation. Sure, they loathed each other, or so they led on, but at
least they had each other. It had been years since she had a relationship.
Random hookups could hardly be considered relationships, mainly in the
Muggle world.

The Algorithm hadn't seen fit to pair her up with anyone, well, at least not
yet. It was only a matter of time before she was, and while she looked
forward to finding out who her soul mate was, Hannah dreaded the
judgment that would come once her preferences were made known.
The DMLE was empty except for a few, mainly recruits. Hannah
recognised Dennis Creevy and the pretty girl next to him. She couldn't help
but wonder who that was. The girl seemed too sweet and innocent to be an
Auror.

Shrugging the feeling off, Hannah scanned the area for Thomas, he usually
worked late, but unfortunately, he was nowhere in sight. She supposed he
was with Potter and Kingsley trying desperately to figure out who the
leader of the werewolf uprising was.

The Dollhouse Strangler case was hers to obsess over and, by extension,
Malfoy's since they were partners. Hannah sat at her desk, pulled a thick
envelope towards her, and put her feet up.

Her heavy boots landed on the table with a loud thud, and the undone laces
fell haphazardly. She took out the blowup pictures of the angelic dead
women she had looked over a hundred times and proceeded to scrutinise
them.

Her eyes landed on the pendant. Something was distinctively familiar about
them, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

Malfoy Manor

Draco arrived first, with Phyllis and Julia holding onto him for dear life.
Both had their eyes shut and lips pursed.

They appeared as planned by the cupid fountain. The women let go of the
young man who had helped them travel utilising magic and slowly opened
their eyes.

It was apparent by their expressions that they were taken aback by what
greeted them. Malfoy Manor stood majestically, firm and proud. The Manor
was lit up much like a fairytale castle. Narcissa had made sure to fully use
the extensive lighting system the Manor was fitted with.
The ancestral home stood out against the bleak background gloriously. It
was a beautiful home once the darkness that coloured its walls faded away.

"Oh my," the words of awe left Julia's lips while her eyes took in the
surroundings. She had gathered by Draco's poise and upbringing that he
came from a well-to-do family, but what lay before her was beyond
comprehension. The captivating scent of red roses hung abundantly, pulling
her into its velvety embrace. Before her were immaculately maintained
gardens as far as the eye could see.

Phyllis stood silently by Draco's side, flabbergasted and perplexed by her

surroundings. Her lack of vocal banter prompted Draco to inquire in
concern, "Nana, are you quite alright?" He stared into her mesmerised face
and prayed to Merlin for signs of life. If he had unfortunately caused
Granger's grandmother to fall ill, it would certainly spell disaster for the
evening.

He gently touched the wise older woman's arm, and Phyllis snapped to
attention, "Yes, dear boy. I'm well." Far from it, she had expected a modest
home but certainly nothing of this grandeur.

She adjusted her salmon pink jacket and stated plainly, "That is certainly an
interesting way to travel."

Meanwhile, Julia had moved away from them and gravitated towards the
most luscious row of rose bushes she had ever seen. Her fingertips moved
on their own accord over the flourishing blossoms.

"How beautiful," she muttered to no one in particular. The sun was setting,
leaving a gorgeous orangish hue in its wake. The changing colours truly
complimented the Manor adding to its imposing, regal status.

Draco glanced over his shoulder and then stared at the angel guarding the
fountain with furrowed brows as if to ask the statue where Granger was.
Momentary disturbing thoughts fluttered within his mind. Could she and
her father have been attacked? Had some calamity befallen them? Was that
the reason they were late?
Had Goyle kidnapped her? The very thought was enough to spur him into
action. He reached for his wand but barely had time to wrap his fingers
around it since, with a loud crack Hermione appeared with a visibly
mortified Richard Granger.

Richard broke free from his daughter's protective hold the second their feet
touched solid ground. He doubled over and fought the bile that rose in his
throat. Clearly, apparation did not agree with him.

Hermione patted her father tenderly on the back and asked in growing
concern, "Merlin, dad are you okay? Are you hurt?"

Draco hurried over, glanced at Richard, trying desperately to gather his

bearings and fixed Hermione with a stern look.

"Why are you late?" He questioned in an authoritative tone while ignoring

his future father-in-law, who was pale and quite frankly looked ready to
vomit.

Hermione reluctantly tore her gaze away from her father and frowned at the
imposing man standing before her.

She scoffed openly, the annoyance apparent in her voice, "Dad and I had a
little chat. Besides, don't you think you're overreacting, Malfoy? It's hardly
been fifteen minutes."

Draco scolded, making his displeasure quite evident, "The time is

irrelevant. I am responsible for your well-being. If anything happened to
you, I…."

Hermione interrupted rather rudely, hoping to lighten the situation, "You

would have a tedious amount of paperwork." She was getting tired of
everyone treating her like some damsel in distress. She was sure she could
handle herself well in a confrontation.

Draco wasn't amused. Once again, he tried to get his thoughts across, but in
vain, "I'm glad you find this amusing, but…."
Hermione argued pointedly, "You might find it hard to believe, Malfoy, but
I am quite capable of looking after myself." She had accomplished far more
than the people assigned to protect her.

"I never said you weren't capable," Draco replied with a heavy sigh. The
woman was as stubborn as a mule.

Hermione frowned and gritted out, "Your actions imply otherwise." He

would trust her to be left alone for a few measly minutes if he genuinely
believed she could manage herself.

Richard let out a strangled groan causing the arguing couple to look towards
him in concern. Had he splinched himself? But he was only along for the
ride; Hermione needed to maintain absolute focus to teleport.

Draco peered into the older man's face and addressed his headstrong fiance,
"Granger, perhaps you can lecture me later. Your father seems to need our
assistance."

Hermione gave her father her undivided attention and inquired impatiently,
"Oh, Merlin, daddy! Would you like some water? Are you hurt?" He was
pretty pale, and she was alarmed by his behaviour. He was hardly ever
squirmish, and she wondered what she could do to ease the motion
sickness, so to speak.

Embarrassed by his weakness, Richard declared from his bent position over
Narcissa's prized hydrangea bushes, "No, darling, I'm fine now." He pushed
aside the feeling of unease and mustered his strength.

He straightened, took a deep breath and quipped, "I think I'll drive next
time. Bloody uncomfortable way to travel."

Hermione let out a sigh of relief and mused, "You get used to it."

"Shall we, sir?" Draco pointed to the scarcely visible marble stairway in the
distance and offered politely once he was certain Richard was out of danger
and that it was nothing more than a momentary setback.
Richard grinned and nodded enthusiastically, "Yes, let's."

After a brief moment, he added sheepishly, "Sorry about that."

"It's a common side effect of apparation, Mr Granger," Draco assured with a

slight smile. He had experienced and seen far worse.

Richard muttered a few incoherent words, saw the Manor and surrounding
gardens clearly for the first time, and took an involuntary step back.

He could make out his wife walking among the many splendid rose bushes,
apparently in a daze and oblivious to his earlier suffering. At the same time,
his mother stared unblinkingly at a majestic white peacock that made its
presence known as the moon took its rightful place in the sky, signifying
another glorious day had almost passed.

They had peacocks as pets. Who besides someone incredibly wealthy would
have such exotic companions?

The slivery beams fell upon the delicate feathers of the beautiful creature,
making them appear utterly magnificent.

Draco left his future father-in-law to these thoughts and approached the
Granger Matriarch, who the rare birds enthralled.

He offered his arm for her to take, smiled and offered a truthful explanation,
"The birds were my father's prized possession." Lucius had doted on the
birds more than his son, causing a rift between the unsuspecting birds and
him. As a child, Draco would throw rocks at the birds out of spite, and it
went on for months until Lucius punished him severely after the old
gamekeeper told on him.

Phyllis took the strong arm presented to her and replied, "They are
absolutely stunning. I don't think I've ever seen a white peacock before."
With those last words, they strolled towards the imposing Manor that would
be their host for the evening.
Draco was highly aware of the Grangers' reaction to Malfoy Manor. It made
him a bit self-conscious.

The Manor had that effect on people, wizards and Muggles alike. He never
truly appreciated his ancestral home, perhaps due to the dark history and
misdeeds that occurred for centuries behind the walls.

True, his mother had painted over and refurbished, washing away the sinful
acts, and magically concealed their former dining room and foyer where
Granger had been mercilessly tormented. However, the Manor was still
built to house Pureblood witches and wizards. No Muggle had set foot in
the Manor until now.

Finally, Julia tore herself away from the gardens, waved at Richard and
Hermione trailing behind deep in conversation and joined Draco and Phyllis
by the flight of marble stairs leading to the entrance.

She couldn't keep the excitement out of her voice, "These gardens are
exquisite, Draco. Your mother must love them dearly."

Draco smiled, "Indeed, she does. She always considered the roses her
daughters and lavished them with every botanical luxury."

Hermione took her awestruck father's hand and gave it a slight tug.

Richard let himself be led and asked animatedly, "Is Malfoy nobility?" It
would certainly explain the Palace-like Manor and extensive surrounding
gardens.

Hermione simply shrugged and stared curiously at the back of Draco's head
while he spoke with her mother and grandmother.

She gave her reply some thought and answered, "Well, I suppose he is in
the wizarding world."

Richard chuckled, "A little heads-up would've been nice, darling."

He pointed towards the brightly lit-up Manor and elaborated, "I mean, look
at this place." He didn't particularly care about Malfoy's wealth, but
knowing his daughter would probably want for nothing during their
arranged marriage was comforting.

Hermione showed indifference and insisted, "It never crossed my mind. I

don't see him as any different than you or me." Frankly, she saw them as
better than Draco Malfoy. A person's actions defined them, not the number
of Galleons in their pocket.

She had never been intimidated by Malfoy's wealth, even though he took
every opportunity to rub his status in their faces. However, Ron always took
it to heart even though he showed indifference to the hurtful comments.

Julia, Phyllis and Draco reached the top of the stairs. He politely excused
himself and approached the tall mahogany doors with gold-plated handles
and carved serpents that guarded the entrance discouraging any unwanted
visitors from breaching the interior.

Draco thought it best to knock and announce their arrival more formally. He
ignored the heavy brass knocker, made a prominent fist and knocked on the
fine wood. The sound of his knuckles colliding with the old door reached
the foyer where Narcissa, Bernard and Dotty eagerly awaited their arrival.

Narcissa sighed and then took a deep breath to calm her nerves before
getting to her feet. Besides Andromeda and Sirius, she would be the first in
her family to entertain Muggles. She wanted nothing more than for the
evening to progress without complications.

Earlier that day, before Bernard arrived, Narcissa had visited her departed
husband's portrait in the room Draco had banished him to. Of course,
Lucius could not be swayed to accept Hermione as their daughter-in-law.
Even in death, he remained a bigoted senseless fool.

He had unjustly raved about unholy unions and the tarnishing of a bloodline
that had been pure for centuries and accused Narcissa and Bernard of
encouraging such a repulsive coupling, promptly causing Narcissa to end
the pointless conversation and walk out of the room in a huff.
Bernard grew thoughtful as he downed his scotch and followed suit. He
never had qualms about befriending Muggles even though his parents
forbade him.

Dotty smoothened her dress and wiped the nervous sweat gathered on her
large forehead while struggling to hold an overly eager Max by the collar.

Placing a comforting hand on Narcissa's back, Bernard smiled reassuringly

as she turned to look at him. They exchanged a look of fondness and made
the short walk to the main door.

Draco wondered what was taking Dotty so long to open the doors since it
was getting frightfully chilly. He moved closer to Hermione, sought out her
hand and gave it a slight squeeze causing her to look at him with her molten
caramel-brown eyes in a somewhat pleading manner.

Salazar, she was enticing, even when vulnerable. He had to fight hard not to
give in to his carnal desires.

Finally, the large doors parted, and Narcissa glided forward with a
welcoming smile, aristocratic grace, and self-confidence. With a hand in his
pocket, Bernard trailed behind his beloved with a broad grin and pleasant
demeanour.

Narcissa parted her lips to speak, but Dotty's helpless cries cut through the
silence, "Naughty doggy. Max! Come back here!" The sounds of her little
heels colliding with the tiled floor echoed as she got closer to the gathered
group.

Max appeared with Dotty hot on his heels. Still, the German Shepherd
could not be restrained. He ran straight to Draco, jumped on him,
demanding attention, and then caught sight of Hermione and pounced on
her, causing her to almost buckle under the weight. Undeterred, Max
relentlessly tried to place slobbery kisses on her face.

Hermione couldn't help but giggle and try to push the massive dog off her.
He seemed to have grown overnight.
Stunned into silence, the rest of the group stared at the affectionate
exchange between the two.

"I missed you too, darling," Hermione laughed as she attempted to push the
dog off her before he truly ruined her dress and makeup.

Draco frowned and let out a low whistle of warning before Narcissa could
intervene, which caused Max to back away from Hermione at once. The
dog whimpered and hung his head in shame but kept his eyes on his master
as he slowly moved closer to his mistress.

Julia was mesmerised by the creature and made her thoughts quite vocal,
"Oh, how precious."

Richard chimed in to back up his wife's statement, "He's a beaut!" He had a

soft spot for animals since his youth, and before pursuing a career in
dentistry, he had wanted to try his hand out at veterinary, but it hadn't
worked out.

He studied the dog and asked thoughtfully, "Is he half-wolf?"

Draco answered though he wasn't an expert on the subject since his mother
had adopted Max while he was away, "Not that we are aware of, Mr
Granger." Max was large for his age and breed, but as far as they knew, he
was a purebred German Shepherd that had been abandoned outside the
Manor.

Bernard threw the now obedient dog beside Narcissa a fond look and said,
"Behave yourself, Max."

Narcissa absentmindedly stroked Max's head before good manners

compelled her to act accordingly.

She said in a pleasant, caring manner, "Welcome! It is an absolute pleasure

to meet you finally. I have heard so much about everyone." She concluded
by exchanging a meaningful glance with her son.
Julia stepped forward and concurred wholeheartedly, "The pleasure is all
ours, Mrs Malfoy." She couldn't help but admire Narcissa's gown. It was
elegant and gorgeous.

Narcissa blushed, but it was hidden well by the foundation she had applied
earlier. She moved closer to Julia and insisted politely, "Please, you must
call me Narcissa."

Draco cleared his throat and made the necessary introductions, "Let me
introduce Hermione's family." He could practically hear Granger
hyperventilating beside him, but thankfully she maintained her composure
and suffered in silence.

He gestured towards the group he accompanied and announced, "Mr

Richard Granger, Mrs Julia Granger and the charming Mrs Phyllis
Granger."

Phyllis swatted Draco with her embroidered handkerchief and bestowed an

affectionate smile upon the sly ice blonde.

Hermione took the opportunity to make her presence known and added
fondly, with a rather shaky tone of voice, "My father, mother and
grandmother." Obviously.

Narcissa beamed, "How lovely." She closed the gap between Hermione and
her, hugged the nervous younger witch tightly and whispered in her ear,
"Calm yourself, darling."

Before Hermione could form a sensible reply, Narcissa let go and

graciously addressed her guests, "I am, as you know, Narcissa, and this is
my, umm....." She hesitated while introducing Bernard. They were far too
old to refer to their significant other as a boyfriend or girlfriend.

Without skipping a beat, Bernard came up behind Narcissa, flashed a

charming smile and bowed slightly, "Fiancé, Bernard Moore." Formerly
Flint, but no one besides Narcissa needed to know that. He wasn't
particularly proud of his ancestry.
Hermione widened her eyes and stared at Draco in disbelief. How did she
not know Bernard popped the question?

Narcissa caught her stunned contemplation and seemed embarrassed by

Bernard's revelation since a formal proposal hadn't been made, but she was
thankful he introduced himself as her intended. It certainly made sense to
label their relationship to discourage meaningless gossip.

Richard said to everyone, "It's good to meet you." He was surprised by his
mother's bashful behaviour. She hadn't uttered a word since meeting the
boy's family, but the night was still young.

"Please come this way," Bernard pointed to the inside of Malfoy Manor.
Crystal chandeliers and numerous glass lamps illuminated the pathway.

Dotty came forward into full view and offered, "Yes, please follow me."

Richard couldn't help but stare at the odd-looking yet sweet being who
smiled happily at them.

Julia was equally surprised and couldn't help the wonder her face portrayed.
They had seen numerous magical beings while helping Hermione shop in
Diagon Alley in her younger years, but having one address them was
somewhat surprising.

Phyllis was most intrigued by the polite elf in front of them and replied with
the proper enthusiasm while trying to conceal her surprise, "Why, thank
you…." She had previously remained silent because she was coming to
terms with Hermione's world of magic and wonder.

Hermione gushed, "This is Dotty, Nana. She is an absolutely amazing chef."

She knew the elf adored praise and took every opportunity to compliment
the helpful and lovable creature.

Dotty beamed, "Thank you, miss Hermione." Everyone, including Narcissa,

Bernard and Draco, followed the tiny elf as she led them to the foyer.
Narcissa fell in step with Julia and said, "I can't tell you how much we've
been looking forward to this evening." She thought it best to try and bond
with Hermione's mother and grandmother, and hopefully, Bernard would be
able to get along with Richard.

Julia smiled shyly, "Likewise. Thank you for your kind invitation." She
couldn't help but instantly like Narcissa.

"It is our pleasure," Narcissa replied without hesitation.

They passed countless priceless paintings and ornaments. On more than one
occasion, Richard stopped to admire a rare artwork that caught his eye and
Bernard couldn't help but notice the man's keenness.

Draco and Hermione walked behind everyone and maintained a

companionable silence. He was tempted to hold her hand but thought
against it, but involuntarily she moved closer to him, and he was immersed
in her sweet fragrance.

They entered the extravagant foyer, and once everyone was seated, Dotty
bowed respectfully and took her leave, only to return a few minutes later
with an assortment of hors d'oeuvres and a special bottle of the finest
champagne.

A smartly dressed elf appeared with a loud crack causing Phyllis to clutch at
her chest and Richard to gasp and almost mutter a curse. Unlike Dotty, the
male elf dressed in a miniature tuxedo completely ignored the guests but
expertly opened the champagne bottle and poured the bubbly liquid into six
crystal flutes sprinkled with edible flakes of gold.

He placed them neatly on a silver tray and firmly instructed Dotty to serve
it without further adieu because champagne was best served chilled. He
bowed so low his large nose grazed the floor.

Narcissa smiled and said gratefully, "Thank you, Jojo."

Jojo acknowledged his mistress and disappeared without uttering a word

while Dotty carefully balanced the tray and served the guests first.
In a musical voice, Narcissa raised her glass high, saying, "A toast to the
couple."

The Grangers were happy to oblige, except Hermione, of course.

Draco glanced at his miserable fiancé and spoke gently to his headstrong,
somewhat opinionated mother, "Mother, that isn't necessary."

A meek voice lacking conviction cut through the tension before Narcissa
could form an adequate reply, "It's fine."

Narcissa smiled at her future daughter-in-law, "Thank you, Hermione."

Everyone raised their glasses, some more enthusiastic than others and a
lovely toast to a promising future were made.

While the others sipped their drink and savoured the rich liquid, Hermione
regarded everyone somewhat solemnly and threw it back before requesting
another from Dotty before anyone truly noticed.

Phyllis held onto her champagne flute and said with a hint of admiration,
"You have a lovely home, Narcissa."

"It's stunning, especially the gardens," Julia chimed in. She could still smell
the fresh scent of roses and freshly mowed grass.

Narcissa smiled and answered, "Thank you. The Manor belonged to my late
husband." She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips. It wasn't
prudent to mention Lucius in any context or invite an opening to any
prodding about him.

Clearly, Draco, Hermione and Bernard felt the same since they stiffened
and averted each other's gaze purposely.

Phyllis was no fool, she caught on pretty quickly, and she was certain there
was more to the boy's father than they led on.

However, she let it slide and replied, "Oh, I see."

DMLE

Hannah stuck her hand into a large bag of crisps and pulled out a handful of
cheesy potato flakes that were among her favourite. She had her nose buried
in photos of the second victim, and she almost missed the owl that flew past
her and settled itself on the perch intended for them.

The sizeable tawny barn owl seemed wiser than its years, having loyally
served the DMLE for nearly three years. It looked about, and after sensing
that no one was paying attention, it let out a loud hoot.

Finally, having heard the bird's desperate plea to be acknowledged, Hannah

licked her fingers, discarded the empty packet of crisps, got to her feet and
approached the bird. It eagerly held out the letter in its beak for her to take.

Hannah took the letter and, while opening it, said with a cheeky grin,
"What's ruffled your feathers, Barnaby?"

Barnaby drank water, let out another seemingly loud hoot and took off.

Hannah read the letter, her eyes widening with excitement with each
passing word. This was precisely what they needed—a mistake.

She pulled out her phone to call Malfoy but realised that he was at a family
dinner with Hermione sunk it, and she cursed out aloud, "Fuck." She
needed backup, and Malfoy had specific talents that would've come in
handy while apprehending the culprit, but she couldn't disturb him and
would have to do without him.

Ignoring protocol to inform Harry or Thomas, Hannah grabbed her coat and
hurried towards the nearest apparation point.

She closed her eyes and almost whispered, "Hogsmeade."

Malfoy Manor
An awkward silence gripped the proceedings. Both parties battled tirelessly
to bring up topics that weren't offensive but interesting enough to keep the
conversation flowing.

Hermione stared into her champagne flute and gold flakes clinging onto the
side of the glass, and she fought the urge to pick them off with her finger.

Instead, she chewed on her bottom lip nervously and wished someone
would speak. Draco sensed her anxiety; he reached over and squeezed her
hand. She let him because the warmth from his fingers pressed against hers
was welcoming.

They exchanged a look of concern, contemplating how to break the ice

when Bernard loudly cleared his throat and offhandedly mentioned the
latest Liverpool-Arsenal football encounter.

Narcissa stared at him in alarm, but she didn't need to since Bernard's
attempt to find common ground was a long shot but a smashing hit.

Richard grinned and could hardly hold back his thoughts on the matter. He
began to loosen up and chatted animatedly yet fondly about Steven
Gerrard.

While Quidditch would remain his first love, football and a good game of
rugby were among Bernard's favourites, and he took in a game when time
permitted. He had been a fan of Liverpool for over a decade after taking in
a random match shown on an old television at a local pub.

He was thrilled to find Richard was a fan. It was indeed a small world.

Ignoring the women, they started to speak in great detail about football,
prompting Narcissa to gain the confidence to speak more extensively about
gardening and tending to her precious roses. Bernard had done the trick by
speaking of shared interests.

Julia was delighted to speak about the various varieties of roses that
Narcissa painstakingly grew. Meanwhile, Phyllis listened intently to the
conversation while occasionally indulging in the delicious hors d'oeuvres
Dotty had specially prepared for the occasion.

Draco leaned over to Hermione and rasped, his voice caressing the inner
shell of her ear, causing her to shudder, "Relax, Granger."

Hermione exhaled, ignored the husky tones of the man next to her and
wondered why she was panicking. It worked well for her if their families
didn't get along. It would make the divorce that much easier on everyone,
but seeing everyone getting along made her slightly giddy with happiness.
She felt more like herself.

Richard let out a hearty chuckle, and Bernard rose to his feet and invited,
"Perhaps you would care for something stronger before dinner."

"Indeed," Richard agreed and happily addressed Draco, "Join us, my boy."

Draco nodded politely in reply, he wasn't keen on leaving Granger, but he

could hardly refuse a request made by his future father-in-law. As he got to
his feet and adjusted his dinner jacket, he could feel Granger's eyes boring
into the back of his head, but he ignored her and followed the others out of
the foyer.

The men retired to the study previously occupied by Lucius. Bernard

fetched a handcrafted cigar box with embossed gold lettering and an air of
mystique and placed it on the antique desk.

Richard was busy admiring the leatherbound books and paintings,

especially one that looked remarkably like a genuine Picasso, but he
couldn't be sure.

"Name your poison, my good man," Bernard asked cheerfully. Richard

seemed to be a man with refined tastebuds.

Richard grinned, "Whiskey, neat with two cubes."

Bernard expertly took hold of the expensive bottle of scotch, pulled out the
cork of the decanter and let the aged beverage breathe.
He inhaled deeply, letting the intense fragrance tickle his nostrils and
smirked at the young man accompanying them before asking, "Draco, what
would you prefer?"

Draco kept his eyes on Richard, looking through the glass cabinets of
ancient artefacts in awe. He hoped no perilous objects were on display that
would give insight into his family's rather illustrious past.

However, he smiled and replied, "I'll have the same, please." Salazar knew
he needed a drink to steady his nerves. Master Chun would have been
horribly disappointed that he was resorting to alcohol and not meditation to
calm his inner thoughts and insecurities.

Bernard chuckled, "Excellent." He poured another two fingers' worth of

whiskey into a tumbler and set it down as Richard walked towards him,
slightly shaking his head with an expression of complete bewilderment.

He eagerly took the delicate crystal tumbler that Bernard gently moved in
his direction, stared into the contents and uttered, "Fascinating."

Bernard offered Draco his glass, and once the young wizard took it, he
raised his glass and said with a cheeky grin, "Cheers."

"Cheers, Mate," Richard acknowledged with a smile and took a sip of the
amber liquid. It laid a trail of fire down his throat, and a sensation of
overwhelming satisfaction engulfed him. A steady warmth spread from his
core to the very tips of his fingers.

Bernard licked his bottom lip, savouring the richness and inquired with a
sceptical raise of his brow, "What's fascinating?

Richard took another sip and replied earnestly, "This world. It's brilliant."
He was beginning to appreciate it truly.

Draco listened intently but didn't dare interrupt the conversation between
the men. He sat by the fireplace and watched on with interest.
Bernard chuckled, "Ah, that's a matter of opinion. It's mostly complicated."
While he was grateful for being born a wizard, he couldn't help but feel
some resentment towards the overbearing responsibilities of keeping up
appearances.

"I suppose," Richard concurred with an understanding nod.

He asked curiously, "Do you spend much time in our world?"

Bernard smiled and replied truthfully, "I do." Not much since Narcissa
came back into his life. However, he still met many clients pertaining to
business in the Muggle world.

Richard asked rather thoughtfully, "Forgive my intrusion, but what is it you

do, Bernard?" He was curious about wizarding jobs and wondered what the
wealthy wizard did to make a living.

Bernard took out his wand, causing Richard to take an involuntary step
back and Draco to narrow his eyes and question Bernard's intentions.

However, Bernard fluidly moved his wand, muttered an incantation and

seemingly out of thin air, a magnificent multiple-floored structure appeared
and floated before their eyes. Richard was enthralled and couldn't help but
step closer to admire the phenomenon.

Bernard said with pride, "I work in engineering and construction. We do

projects all around the world."

He turned the floating structure to a more flattering angle with a flick of his
wand and explained, "We did this little beauty for a German Heiress. She
was most pleased with the outcome."

The structure dissolved, leaving but a few specks of sparkly dust.

Richard drained his drink and said, "I have a dental practice." His
profession seemed utterly dull in comparison, except for the time that boy
bit his finger and required stitches.
Yet, he added fondly, "I hoped Hermione would follow in our footsteps one
day, but she was always destined for more extraordinary things."

Bernard refilled Richard's glass and nodded wholeheartedly in agreement,

"Hermione is an exceptional witch, don't you agree, Draco?"

The question caught Draco entirely off guard, and he almost choked on his
drink but composed himself to answer without a shred of hesitation,
"Without a doubt." However, he couldn't help but wonder how Granger was
handling herself. The woman looked ready to combust at the slightest
infringement.

Richard smiled. He was happy with Malfoy's overall attitude towards

Hermione.

Malfoy Manor

Dotty served another round of champagne, and Julia gushed, "At my

insistence, Draco played the piano for us the other day. It is rare to see a
boy his age play so beautifully."

Narcissa beamed, "Oh yes, he learned at a young age."

She included with a slight scowl, "I insisted he take lessons. If it were up to
his father, he would've had the boy practising Quidditch at every waking
moment." She had absentmindedly mentioned Lucius once again.

Narcissa saw Phyllis and Julia swap a perplexed look and felt compelled to
explain, "Quidditch is a wizarding sport played on broomsticks." If
anything, the explanation caused more questions, but Julia kept silent and
made a mental note to ask Hermione about it later.

"I would've loved to have hosted the wedding on the grounds of the manor,"
Narcissa suggested rather cunningly. She was curious about how
Hermione's parents handled the no-ceremony part of the marriage.
Hermione stiffened. Oh, hell, here were go, she thought. It was bound to
come up, but she hadn't expected to be blindsided. Narcissa had picked her
moment perfectly without Draco's presence to stop her from her stubborn
conquest of having a wedding.

Julia raved, "What a wonderful idea, Narcissa. It would be so beautiful with

all the flowers and clear skies."

She added with a girlish overexcited giggle, "Magical, one might say."

Hermione rolled her eyes inconspicuously and felt her blood freeze as her
grandmother's stern voice made it to her ear, "That's all well and good, but
this one here is adamant about not having any ceremony."

Narcissa almost hissed her displeasure, "Yes, I'm well aware of Hermione's
stance on the matter."

Hermione paled, abruptly shot to her feet and excused herself without
offering a plausible explanation. She hurried her footsteps and headed
towards the upper floor without a backwards glance.

"I apologise, Narcissa," Julia offered politely, a bit embarrassed by her

daughter's crude behaviour and followed it up with a solemn expression,
"Hermione is quite stubborn, and I'm afraid she's made up her mind."

Phyllis nodded in agreement but offered wisely, "I know my granddaughter,

and it's unlikely she will bend on this matter. However, even though we
would love to make an occasion out of it, I feel some of her points not to
have a function are somewhat justified considering the nature of their
union."

While Narcissa did not agree entirely, she was forced to admit Phyllis's
words held merit. Besides, better than the Grangers, she knew first-hand
about Hermione's unpleasant history with Draco and other more deranged
family members.

Narcissa sighed, "I trust she will feel differently with time." She left the
matter at that and diverted the conversation towards more positive aspects,
like budding a whole new variety of orchids.

Hogsmeade

Hannah appeared near the Hogs Head Inn. She glanced at the worn-out
wooden sign that hung over the door, which advertised a severed head of a
wild boar dripping blood onto a white cloth.

The establishment was owned by Aberforth Dumbledore and was notorious

for its low prices and shady clientele, at least in contrast to the Three
Broomsticks further down the street. However, in comparison, the Hogs
Head was a good place for an Auror to frequent in disguise. It was an
excellent resource for obtaining information on sensitive matters.

Still, unfortunately even the daily patrons were yet to find possible leads on
the Dollhouse Strangler. The bastard was a complete mystery.

Hannah walked past the Hogs Head; the inn didn't interest her. She had a far
more important matter to attend to at The Three Broomsticks. Two drunken
wizards drunken slurred lewd comments as she passed, but Hannah ignored
the arseholes and refused to give them any satisfaction.

The volume of the conversation and music emanating from The Three
Broomsticks drowned out the heavy thud her boots made when they came
in contact with the cobbled stones that paved the street and increased as
Hannah approached the entrance and drew closer. Hogwarts students
frequented the popular inn, which was typically bright, warm, crowded, and
slightly smoky but clean and welcoming.

Hannah wiped her feet on the sturdy rug kept ready for use and went inside.
The place was fairly crowded, but that was common for the famous
establishment. She caught sight of Rosmerta nervously moving about
behind the bar while keeping her eyes locked on a couple in the corner.

The attractive, curvy barmaid had aged gracefully, but a look of deep
concern and anxiety replaced her usual cheerful deposition. Hannah
marched to the bar with a single intention in mind.
She refrained from the usual pleasantries and came straight to the point,
"Where is he, Rosmerta?"

Rosmerta wasted no time pointing out the suspect, "That's him."

Hannah cocked her head to the side and critically studied the man trying to
chat up a woman.

The man didn't fit their profile, but they knew precious little about him
since there were no witnesses or survivors.

She muttered to no one in particular, "Not what I expected, but they never
are, end of the day."

Rosmerta pleaded almost desperately, "Take him away, Auror Abbott. He's
scaring away my customers."

"With pleasure," Hannah answered with an air of reassurance. She tucked a

piece of blonde hair behind her ear and made her way towards the man and
woman conversing in the corner.

She came up from behind and said loudly enough to be heard clearly over
the noise, "Hi!"

The man heard her and turned to acknowledge her from his seated position.
He looked her up and down and sneered, "Excuse us, but this is a private
conversation." In other words, fuck off, blondie, before I hurt you, but
Hannah was hardly intimidated.

The woman he was with kept moving her chair away from him and seemed
utterly petrified. She seemed glad for the interruption, and Hannah first
noticed the beautiful full head of red hair she wore in a high ponytail.

Hannah gave the slimy goon her undivided attention and grinned, "Not
anymore." She pointed to her Auror badge and took great satisfaction in
watching the man's face whiten with possible fear. She instructed the scared
woman to leave, and with a look of immense relief, the redhead scrambled
away and left without so much as another glance.
He recovered from his initial shock, gave a leering toothy grin, gestured to
Rosmerta with his chin and inquired, "Did the bitch behind the counter call
you?"

Hannah didn't bother to divulge and give in to the man's demands. She
simply took a mere step back to give him some space and ordered, "On
your feet. Come on, let's go."

The man refused to budge and instead proceeded to argue, "On what charge,
blondie?"

"For being a public nuisance, among other things," Hannah hissed. She was
getting tired of the git's brazen attitude. She put her hand under his arm and
attempted to haul him unceremoniously to his feet.

Unfortunately for him, she was stronger than she looked and effortlessly
succeeded in dragging him up, but he went to pull away and almost toppled
to the ground. A stillness settled over the pub, and pin-drop silence followed
as the patrons watched the heated exchange.

Embarrassed by the unwanted attention, he cried indignantly, "Don't

fucking touch me, bitch." The nasty word slipped out against his better
judgment, and he instantly regretted it even though she deserved it.

He noticed a slight rip on his shirt caused by his doing and snarled, "Mind
the shirt."

Hannah quite smugly pulled out a pair of handcuffs, dangled it in front of

his face, and announced louder than necessary, "Let's add verbally abusing
an Auror to the charge, shall we?"

The man thought about his position, decided he had gone about it horribly,
and sought to make amends. He brought his hands up in defeat and said
slowly, "Look, I'm sorry, eh? We seem to have gotten off on the wrong
foot."

Hannah cuffed the man and smirked as she led him away, and once outside,
she asked, "What's your name, stud?"
Hawaii

As the landline near the bed started to ring, Daphne walked into the hotel
suite with Blaise trailing after her, still clad in shorts. She closed the
distance quickly and answered the ringing annoyance with a sweet and
welcoming "Hello."

Blaise shouted out as he entered the ensuite, "Tell Theo to fucking piss off. I
need a break from his antics."

Clearly, the voice on the other end was not Theo because Daphne's
demeanour went from chirpy and upbeat to extremely concerned, yet she
took a deep breath and advised, "Calm down, Tracey."

Blaise came back out, took in his wife's grave expression and asked,
"What's the matter, darling?"

Daphne ignored him for a moment as she intently listened to Tracey.

Once Tracey concluded her explanation, Daphne cried out, "What? Oh no!"

Panicked and horrified, Blaise injected urgently, "What's going on?" Please
don't let it be the children. He would never forgive himself for leaving
them.

Tracey pleaded, almost in tears, "He's completely fine but crying and asking
for his mummy. We've done everything possible. I'm so sorry, Daph." She
felt awful. Astoria was supposed to be watching him, but the little rascal
had given her the slip and gotten away while her back was turned.

Daphne took a deep breath, exhaled and regained her composure, "At least
he's out of danger."

She uttered the following words with a heavy heart, but her little boy
needed her, and there was no compromise, "I'll be home soon."
Blaise grew wide-eyed, regarded his wife with surprise and wordlessly
mouthed, "What the fuck?"

Guilt ate away at Tracey, Daphne had trusted them to look after her
children, and they had failed.

She asked meekly, "Are you sure?" Adam would not stop crying, and not
his big sister, bowls of ice cream or new toys could sway the stubborn
toddler.

"One hundred per cent," Daphne replied without hesitation. Adam was so
attached to her, and it was primarily her fault that he needed her for
everything, but what could she do? He was still her baby. She supposed that
Carrie had always been more independent, even at a younger age, but Adam
was more fragile.

Blaise pounced on her impatiently when she hung up, saying, "What's
happened?"

Daphne merely smiled, "Adam's snuck a peanut butter cookie from the jar."

Blaise closed his eyes as the news sunk in and said, "Shit! We should leave
right away." He knew about his son's deadly peanut allergy and how
extremely fussy he got when sick.

Daphne tried to defuse the situation, "No, darling. He's fine, just being a
grumpy Gus."

She added while pulling her clothes out of the cupboard and tossing them
onto the bed, "You stay. I'll go and sort out everything."

Blaise argued with a definite roll of his eyes, "I see these fuckers daily,
Daph. I'm coming with you, and that's final." It would be horribly selfish of
him to let her go alone.

Daphne closed the gap between them, cupped his face and said lovingly,
"Blaise, my love, Draco is coming over on Friday, and I'm absolutely
certain he's looking forward to having some fun."
She added rather candidly, "We simply cannot leave him to the mercy of
Theo and Pansy. That poor man will greatly suffer."

Blaise chuckled, "Well, that's true, but,....."

Daphne insisted, leaving no further room for argument, "But nothing. I

want you to stay. Besides, be thankful we got a few days of fun. Also, it's
just another two days, and you'll return to your daddy duties before you
know it."

"I love you," Blaise gathered his wife in his arms and murmured huskily
against the smooth skin of her neck.

While pulling her husband close, Daphne muttered, "I love you more."

She broke free from the embrace and questioned, "Do you think we could
arrange an emergency Portkey?"

Blaise answered thoughtfully, "It shouldn't be a problem. Let's have a word

with Nott."
 Chapter 60
Chapter Summary

To all the comments:- I'm so thrilled and saddened by some, but thank
you from the bottom of my heart!

Please accept my sincerest apologies for the delay in updates. I am

working on a movie which is quite time-consuming, plus an MBA.
There need to be more hours in the day!

The dinner continues

Thomas reassures Hannah

The Alpha King shows a keen interest in Draco.

The Strangler has some daring plans of his own.

I hope everyone enjoys the update!

Much love to all!

Enjoy Chapter Sixty!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Hannah kept an ironclad grip on the man she had just arrested at the Three
Broomsticks even though they had arrived at the Department of Magical
Law Enforcement.
The floor was completely deserted, and the lack of people further alarmed
the man in custody. He didn't trust the crazy blonde who held onto him
tightly enough to stop the blood flow in his arm.

Without hesitation, Hannah ushered the squirming man into the closest
interrogation room and only let go of his arm once she forced him to sit in
the old wooden chair.

He hesitated but realised his efforts were futile and thought it best to do as
commanded.

Hannah slammed the door shut, causing the man to jump slightly. Oh,
Merlin, she was going to chop off his precious balls and feed them to him.

She turned on him and hissed, "I believe I asked you a question."

The man in custody squeaked. His previous arrogance evaporated, "Jenkins.

Rodney Jenkins." This situation was different from how he expected his
Wednesday night to go. Sure, he enjoyed a bit of role play but certainly not
the real thing.

Hannah pulled back the available chair for the interrogator, sat down
unceremoniously, and smirked, "Pleased to make your acquaintance." She
craved a cigarette, but there was a no-smoking policy within the walls of
the DMLE that everyone grudgingly obeyed.

Rodney was sceptical. He eyed the magical handcuffs digging into his flesh
and frowned, "I can't say I'm thrilled." The night would have definitely
gone off better if he had acted discreetly.

Hannah leaned forward and snarled, "Like treating women like garbage, do
you?" Unconsciously her fingers curled to form a hard fist. One wrong
answer from the prick, and she would take immense pleasure in knocking
out his two front teeth.

Rodney forgot his place and let his true nature shine through. It would
prove to be a costly mistake.
He sneered, "Women like to be dominated. Even you, blondie."

The crude statement was enough to spur Hannah into action. She sprang to
her feet, dug her fingers into the now petrified man's arm, and goaded, "Go
on then, give it a go. I fucking dare you."

"Ow, you're hurting me," Rodney almost whined, hating himself for being
such a bloody coward.

Hannah applied more pressure and answered, "Good." She wanted to cause
the bastard pain. The women he brutalised and murdered would never be
able to speak for themselves, but she would do the honour on their behalf. It
was the least she could do.

She whipped out her wand and pressed the tip into the man's stomach,
instantly causing him extreme discomfort. He started to whimper, pleading
out of fear for his life.

Malfoy Manor

Since Draco could not add any helpful information nor anything of value to
the conversation between Bernard and Richard, who barely acknowledged
his existence, he politely excused himself. He returned to where they had
left the ladies speaking of roses and gardening.

At once, he noticed Hermione's absence, which slightly alarmed him. The

woman was a nervous wreck, but for a moment, he took in the ladies from
vastly different backgrounds speaking and laughing, which warmed his
heart.

He would've never thought his mother capable of conversing so freely with

Muggles, but to witness such an occasion filled him with renewed hope for
a better future.

He cleared his throat, and once the chatter stopped and older women gave
him their undivided attention, Draco inquired with a slight smile, "Where is
Hermione?"
Surprisingly, Julia answered, "The wedding topic came up, and I'm afraid
she fled."

Phyllis sighed, "Indeed. I hope the poor dear is alright."

Narcissa added with a slightly amused expression but quite knowingly, "I
think you will find her in the library, Draco."

"Thank you, mother," Draco replied politely and turned on his heel to
search for his fiancé, but his future mother-in-law's voice intervened, "Is
Richard talking Bernard's ear off?"

Narcissa couldn't help but laugh, and Draco answered, "They are getting
along quite well."

Phyllis weighed in with a fond smile, "That's good. My son loves football,
and I'm glad he's found someone to share his interests with."

Draco nodded in agreement and quickly left before he could get pulled into
another conversation. He took the stairs and followed the familiar pathway
that had led him countless times to the famous Malfoy library in his youth.

He pushed the doors open, and sure enough, Hermione Granger, former
Gryffindor prude, was seated in one of the plush chairs with a thick leather-
bound open on her lap. So engrossed in the text, she hardly noticed him
enter.

Draco mused, "I thought I might find you here. Although I must confess,
my mother suggested where you might be hiding."

With some difficulty, Hermione closed the large book, slowly looked up,
and locked eyes with her curious fiancé.

She adopted a rather callous attitude and argued, "I'm not hiding. I, umm,
escaped before I got roped into an unwarranted explanation."

Draco closed the distance between them and requested, "Hmm, again, I
must ask, are you absolutely certain you do not want a function?" He caught
a glimpse of what she was reading. It was one of the many detailed books
about Malfoy ancestry. It was obvious she had barely skimmed the surface
of his illustrious background.

All at once, Hermione sprang to her feet, the book fell to the floor with a
loud thud, but the sound of her raised voice drowned it out, "Yes! It's not
just about you, Malfoy. It's largely to do with sparing the Ministry the
satisfaction of their ridiculous actions."

She scoffed, "Forcing people into a loveless marriage is barbaric." She paid
no attention to the ancient manuscript lying by her feet.

Draco bent to pick up the leather-bound book and studied the cover. The
silver lettering glowed and became prominent.

He placed it on a nearby table and quipped, "So you keep saying, but alright
if you feel this strongly about it." Quite frankly, he failed to see how a small
ceremony would get in the way of her ideologies since it would be done to
appease their parents.

Hermione felt ashamed that she had failed to pick up the book she had
dropped. She chewed on her bottom lip nervously and asked somewhat
timidly, "How's everything going downstairs?"

With hands in his pockets, Draco turned to face her and grinned, "Bernard
and your father have become best mates, and the ladies seem to be getting
along famously."

"Great," Hermione muttered, a frown forming on her face. She honestly

wondered if she would've been happier if everyone had loathed each other
and the evening had ended in disaster.

Draco shrugged, "So, they're getting along. It shouldn't bother you this
much." He thought it was brilliant that everyone could put aside their
differences and share a meal and insightful conversation.

His joy was short-lived because his fiance insisted with sheer
determination, "But don't you see? Once we divorce, their connection will
be severed."
"It doesn't have to be," Draco argued. They would be divorced, not dead.
Plenty of divorced couples maintained healthy relationships with their ex-
in-laws.

Hermione was having none of it, and she pointed out the most obvious fact,
"My family are Muggles, Malfoy." Why was he acting like everything was
normal? It was maddening at times to tolerate his profound personality
change when she had basically grown up with him looking down on people
like her.

Draco massaged the bridge of his nose in exasperation and countered with
renewed determination, "I'm aware, Granger, and I'm telling you, it doesn't
matter to me." What would it take to convince her that he was a changed
man? The woman was far too stubborn for her own good.

She stared at him for a moment, searching his eyes, studying his body
language for a sign of dishonesty, but she was sorely disappointed. He was
strikingly handsome.

Hermione turned away and went to stand by the window. She stared into the
gardens sprawled before them and said, "Well, that's convenient for the
moment."

Her voice cracked before she could control it, and words laced with
unmistakable pain left her lips, "I had to take drastic measures to ensure my
family's safety when Voldemort almost took over."

Her words piqued Draco's interest. Perhaps there was more behind her
defiant behaviour.

He ran his fingers through his hair and probed, hoping for a satisfactory
answer, "What do you mean?"

Hermione kept her gaze firmly locked on the swaying branches of the trees
and almost whispered in agony, "I hated having to do it, but what choice did
I have? I almost lost them for good." She closed her eyes, and a solitary tear
slid down her cheek. It had been the single most difficult decision of her
life, and she doubted that she would ever be presented with something so
gut-wrenching again.

Draco couldn't hold back his impatience. He was desperate to know what
she was referring to and demanded, "Granger, what are you on about? Tell
me!"

Taking a deep breath, Hermione explained without holding back the

circumstances leading up to her choice to obliviate her parents and the
events that followed afterwards.

After tracking them down in Australia, Hermione discovered her parents

living a content, happy life without knowing they had a daughter. It broke
her heart, and for a while, she even considered leaving them to live out the
remainder of their lives in ignorant bliss, but she needed them far more than
they did her.

She remembered that day like yesterday; they had no idea who she was, and
it had taken a great deal of convincing over weeks to prove to them that she
was their daughter. Her mother had touched her cheek, causing Hermione to
break down and sob inconsolably while Ron hovered in the background,
trying his utmost to comfort her.

After restoring their memories, her father seemed to take it the hardest that
his daughter, at the time of her greatest need, didn't allow him to help her
cause or be there for her if needed. It was his job to protect her, and she had
robbed him of the opportunity.

Not that he would've been a helpful asset against witches and wizards with
powers beyond his comprehension, but he was her father. If anything,
unconditional love could be most powerful.

Hermione wiped the tears that fell as the memories of a more painful time
washed over her.

She muttered, unable to say aloud, "My mother suffered the most while her
memories were being restored."
Hermione paused briefly before adding, "My father never left her side…it
was painful to watch." She was grateful to Ron. He had accompanied her
and reassured her with words of comfort throughout the ordeal. It had been
a harrowing experience.

Draco listened intently with pursed lips. He didn't dare interrupt with the
million and one questions that crept up in his mind. Despite the sad
circumstances, he couldn't help but marvel at Granger's ability to master
complex spells at such a young age. She truly was a remarkable witch.

The whole time Hermione recited the events, she did not turn around to face
him. Instead, she kept her eyes on the darkness and inhabited gardens. She
couldn't bear to let him see her at her most vulnerable.

Closing the gap between them in two mere strides, Draco put his hands on
her and gently turned her around to face him. She didn't resist but let him do
as he wished.

His astute eyes moved slowly over her face and took in the red-rimmed
eyes and quivering bottom lip, and at once, he felt his rapidly beating heart
slam against his ribcage. Was it possible to experience such a mixture of
complex emotions simultaneously? Apparently, around Granger, it was.

He felt unworthy to speak in her presence, he had no idea how much she
had sacrificed, but he understood the necessity and suffering. He had
handed Voldemort his soul on a platter to save his beloved mother from a
fate worse than death. He had done all he did to save his family from
destruction by a madman.

Oh, he understood Granger's pain and gut-wrenching agony.

Draco cupped Hermione's petite face, and instantly she closed her eyes and
leaned into his soothing touch. His fingers coming in contact with her skin
was inexplicably pleasing.

His husky tones invaded the shell of her ear, "I cannot begin to imagine the
pain you must have gone through." He pretended not to know. They had
both suffered, but, most importantly, they had survived and risen out of the
ashes of despair as better people.

Hermione broke free from his captivating hold and answered, "It was
necessary. Voldemort would have tortured them without a second thought to
get information." She took the book she had borrowed earlier from the table
Malfoy had laid it on and sought to return it to its rightful place.

She stood between two rows of tall bookshelves and unsuccessfully

attempted to push the book back to where it was before. Unfortunately, it
was a valiant but futile effort since her wand rested on the chair she was
seated in earlier.

Draco followed her and watched her hilarious attempts with an amused
expression before yanking the book out of her hands and effortlessly
wedging it between an autobiography of his grandfather Abraxas Malfoy
and an introduction into the formation of Malfoy Manor along with its
illustrious history of housing pureblood wizards and witches.

He dusted his hands and raised a questioning eyebrow, "All's well that ends
well?"

Hermione was sceptical, "I don't see this ending well." She was referring to
their forced union.

A glint of devilish intent flashed across Draco's eyes. His eyes roved over
her body.

He rasped, "Hmm, we seem to be doing alright at the moment."

Hermione stiffened, she caught onto his change in demeanour, and while
her heart skipped a beat with anticipation every time he flirted with her, this
was certainly not the time to get sidetracked.

Unconcerned and determined to live in the moment, Draco backed

Hermione towards the tall rows of books. Her back hit a row of books, and
the spines dug into her back somewhat uncomfortably, but she hardly
noticed and focused on the man leaning over her to probably whisper
something scandalous in her ear.

His sultry words ghosted over the sensitive skin of her ear, "You look
ravishing."

Hermione swallowed hard and said unconvincingly, "Yes, well, umm, we

best return."

Draco smirked. He straightened, gathered himself, and mused, "As you

wish." He truly enjoyed getting under Granger's skin. Seeing her flustered
was quite amusing, but he had to be careful not to go overboard with the
teasing. In Hawaii, he planned on taking things forward sexually.

Hermione cleared her throat and said cheekily, "Stop trying to turn me on
when you have no intention of taking things forward." She knew she had
taken it too far when his features contorted unpleasantly.

Draco frowned. Her frank words dented his ego.

Abandoning his earlier resolve, he grabbed her by the arms and pushed her
up against the shelf. He ignored her look of utter bewilderment, bypassed
her luscious lips, buried his face in the crook of her neck, and placed
feathery kisses upon her heated skin.

He seductively rasped while moving his hand around her waist, holding her
captive, "I could take you surrounded by all these books and smell of
parchment."

"Let me go, Malfoy," Hermione breathed as her eyes fluttered shut, and she
almost gave into his diligent ministrations.

Draco stopped at once and backed away. He would never force his
intentions on a woman.

Hermione grinned as she picked up her wand, "And keep your cheesy lines
to yourself." It was all she could mutter to keep her shaky knees intact
instead of falling into his arms and letting him have his way with her.
They left the library and walked alongside each other in companionable
silence. Each caught up in their thoughts.

Draco was still reeling from the revelation that Granger had wiped her
parents' memories to spare them from uncertain doom. He stole a glance
and felt grateful that she trusted him somewhat to confide such a painful
moment. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if any nightmares had plagued
her recently.

As they grew closer to the foyer, the sounds of their parent's voices became
clear. Bernard and Richard had rejoined the ladies, and everyone seemed to
be engaged in a lively conversation.

Bernard caught sight of the young couple first and asked in an amused tone,
"Where did you two run off to?"

Without skipping a beat, Draco answered before Hermione could come up

with a plausible explanation, "We paid a quick visit to the library."

Hermione blushed and avoided eye contact with any elders, even though
her mother and grandmother looked concerned. She sat beside her father,
crossed her legs at the ankles, and pretended to listen to Narcissa speaking
passionately about a new variant of black roses she had managed to
cultivate.

Dotty chose this precise moment to arrive and announce, "Dinner is

served."

"Ah, thank you, Dotty," Narcissa acknowledged with a slight smile.

Bernard patted his stomach and said before getting to his feet, "Good. I'm
starving."

Richard chuckled and followed suit prompting the rest to rise and head
towards the elaborate dining room of Malfoy Manor. Phyllis took her
granddaughter's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Hermione couldn't
help but smile. A simple gesture from her grandmother was enough to chase
away her anxieties and give her confidence.
They entered the brightly lit spacious room, decorated with centuries-old
paintings and a prominent crystal chandelier hanging over the expansive
dining table built to seat twenty people.

The Grangers were in awe of their surroundings but waited for further
instruction on seating patiently.

Draco smiled and addressed the concern politely, "Please, sit wherever you
like. There are no fixed seating arrangements as such."

Richard took the seat across from Bernard, while Narcissa, as usual, sat at
the head of the table, and Draco sat to her right. Hermione thought it best to
sit beside him, causing her mother and grandmother to sit near her father.

Once everyone was seated and comfortable, Dotty exchanged a look with
Narcissa, and upon her mistress's approval, the tiny elf snapped her long
fingers. Seemingly out of nowhere, platters of food and baskets of freshly
baked bread appeared, and the area was instantly engulfed in a
mouthwatering aroma.

The Grangers swapped looks of utter bewilderment and stared unblinkingly

at the deliciously prepared food that appeared.

Bernard felt a pang of hunger pinch his insides, and he reached for a buttery
bread roll but withdrew his hand after catching Narcissa's stern expression.

She ignored him and invited their guests, "Please help yourselves."

Sensing her family's hesitation, Hermione made the first move and reached
for the seafood salad. She had dined with the Malfoys plenty of times and
knew without a shadow of a doubt that the food would be outstanding.

The sound of dishes exchanging hands and cutlery scraping against fine
porcelain filled the space as everyone served themselves a portion of the
delicious meal Dotty and the other elves had painstakingly prepared.

After taking a mouthful of fragrant rice, Julia voiced her thoughts,

"Everything is delicious."
"Compliments to the chef," Richard chimed in while cutting into a tender
piece of chicken.

Dotty blushed crimson and moved into the shadows. She took great pride in
cooking.

A companionable silence largely followed the meal as everyone enjoyed the

hearty meal of seafood and chicken, mainly Bernard, who wasn't keen on
seafood.

Narcissa delicately sliced a prawn in half, pierced it with a silver fork, and
popped it into her mouth. She closed her eyes in contentment as the
flavours from the dish exploded in her mouth. The evening was progressing
well.

She almost innocently addressed Hermione, "I am aware of your feelings

regarding a wedding, but would it be too forward of me to suggest a modest
gathering of friends to celebrate the occasion?"

Hermione swallowed the piece of bread she was munching on and turned to
stare at Narcissa. She was put on the spot and did not appreciate it in the
slightest.

Draco dabbed the corners of his mouth with the napkin and shot his mother
a warning look that he hoped would discourage her from pursuing the
matter.

Narcissa was stubborn, and while she would insist on a function later, she
decided the current path would not yield different results than she wanted.
Before any of the Grangers could weigh in and make the whole situation
unbearable for Granger, Draco skillfully diverted the conversation towards
the cottage renovations.

Draco deliberately inquired curiously, "Mother, how are the cottage

renovations coming along? I haven't had the time to look into it."

Narcissa nodded, "Ah, yes, it's coming along nicely. Hermione, darling, you
must take a look and ensure everything is done to your liking and
specifications."

Immensely grateful to Draco for stirring the conversation in another

direction, Hermione smiled in reply, "I trust your judgment."

Narcissa replied candidly, "I appreciate the vote of confidence. However, I

worry that my tastes might be old-fashioned."

"Not at all. I rather like old-fashioned," Hermione agreed wholeheartedly.

She didn't care much for modern fittings and preferred an olden touch.

Although Richard helped himself to another serving of assorted food, he

intently listened to the conversation.

While cutting into a juicy chicken breast, he said rather offhandedly,

"Coming back to Narcissa's point about a function, I agree that an intimate
gathering of close relatives and friends is perfectly acceptable."

Hermione paled. She knew her father's thoughts on the matter, and while
her mother could be swayed to agree with her points, her father held onto
his opinion no matter what.

Draco sighed in exasperation, so much for trying to divert the conversation.

Phyllis spoke up, and her tone made it clear that she wasn't to be trifled
with, "I think the matter of a wedding can be discussed some other time."
She was annoyed with her son and slightly at Narcissa. They kept on
pushing a matter that Hermione had valid reasons to avoid.

She spread her arms wide and exclaimed in the most motherly manner she
could muster, "Let us enjoy this delicious food and each other's company."

"But mum…," Richard interrupted, embarrassed that his mother treated him
like a toddler in the presence of strangers but then Julia injected a touch
sternly, "We will discuss this later." She didn't appreciate her husband's bold
declaration. This was hardly the time and place to discuss their difference in
opinions.
Overpowered by the women in his family, Richard grew irritated at being
dismissed so easily. He swapped a look with Narcissa and resumed eating
his meal in silence.

Hermione visibly relaxed, accidentally brushing her hand against Draco's

thigh under the table, causing him to glance her way with an amused
expression.

She blushed and apologised profusely, "Sorry, I didn't mean…."

Draco smirked. He leaned closer so only she could hear and drawled, "Calm
yourself. I'm perfectly at ease with a slow burn, Granger."

"Speak for yourself, Malfoy," Hermione fired back with a distinctive roll of
her eyes.

Draco raised an eyebrow, "I didn't quite catch that last bit."

Hermione couldn't help but giggle, "Oh, nothing." She avoided eye contact
and munched on the remaining bits of grilled fish on her plate.

The early incident was almost forgotten, and everyone made an extra effort
to make polite dinner conversation.

DMLE

After a few hours of questioning, Rodney was exhausted, hungry, and at his
wit's end, but the blonde bitch keeping him captive was still at it. Wasn't the
cunt tired or thirsty, at the very least?

Unable to bear it any longer, he bellowed, "What the hell is going on!?"

Hannah leered, "Like torture and rape?" She was tired of this bloody halfwit
claiming to be innocent. Maybe he was, but he certainly didn't seem
intelligent enough to be the Dollhouse Strangler.

Rodney was stunned by the question. He denied the heinous accusation

without hesitation, "Fuck! No way, woman." He liked it rough in bed, but
nothing out of the ordinary and nothing weird.

"Are you the Dollhouse Strangler?" Hannah demanded. She thought a direct
question would rattle his feathers and make him confess.

Rodney stared at her without blinking and spat out, "Fuck you, I'm not
some bloody lunatic." He had read about the sick bastard in the papers. He
was many things, but a freak was hardly one of them.

Hannah gritted out, "You like redheads, don't you?"

While struggling to keep his composure, he reluctantly admitted, "Yeah, I

like myself a bit of fire, love. That ain't no crime." He sincerely hoped his
answer would not incriminate him further.

Hannah leaned forward, her face inches away from his, and snarled, "I've
been waiting for this moment for months." It was all she thought about,
bringing the murdering psychopath to justice.

Beads of sweat coated Rodney's upper lip and forehead. He was seriously
beginning to panic and stuttered, "W..w..what?"

Hannah felt the anger she held at bay empower her. She lunged forward,
grabbed the petrified man by the collar, and yelled, "You sick bastard.
Where is Sarah!?"

"Who the fuck is Sarah?" Rodney asked in fear. He was about to shit in his
trousers.

Hannah slapped him hard across the face and hissed, "The woman you
kidnapped."

Rodney spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor and pleaded, "Look, this is a
horrible fucking misunderstanding. I have kidnapped no one. Some fucking
uptight bird I hit on called you lot."

"Convenient," Hannah laughed maniacally, further alarming the man in her

custody.
Rodney started begging, "I swear it on my mother's grave, I haven't
kidnapped anyone. Please, let me go."

Hannah pulled out her wand and threatened, "Tell that to the Dementors!"

Rodney paled. The very life in him left his body, and he protested, "What?
No!"

"Shut your mouth!" Hannah cried angrily and raised her hand to strike the
pathetic man before her, but the door burst open. Thomas strode in
confidently, and his eyes took in the intense situation.

Thomas sighed and spoke softly to his prodigy, "Hannah."

Though she didn't believe it, she pointed at Rodney and said confidently,
"We caught him, Spencer."

Thomas placed his hand on Hannah's shoulder and replied solemnly, "It's
not him, love." He had been alerted to her actions by Potter, who insisted he
look into the matter to ensure she was safe and sound.

Hannah shook her head and argued, "Of course it is. He can take us to
Sarah." She wanted to believe that the man in the room with them was the
Dollhouse Strangler, and despite the evidence showing otherwise, she
refused to accept it.

Thomas looked at Rodney with disgust and answered, "He's a pathetic

human being, but he's not the Strangler."

Hannah knew it was the truth, yet she questioned her superior, "How can
you be so sure?"

"Look at him, Abbott. He's not smart enough," Thomas replied without
batting an eyelash.

Rodney finally seemed to comprehend what was going on and gritted out,
"Who are you calling pathetic, mate?" Where does this limbless fuck get off
calling him pathetic?
Thomas fixed him with a look and quipped, "Took you long enough,
arsehole."

He went around the desk, causing Rodney to struggle in his seat, but he was
handcuffed, limiting any movement.

Thomas wasted no time with unwanted pleasantries. He openly threatened,

"Listen to me, you piece of shite. If I see you so much as harass another
woman, I will make fucking sure you never see the light of day."

Taking out his wand, Thomas waved it over the handcuffs, and they
snapped open, releasing Rodney from imprisonment. The man rubbed his
wrists and shot Hannah a nasty look. He wanted to lodge a complaint
against the bitch for using excessive force during questioning but thought
against it.

Thomas could gather what was going on inside Rodney's head. Hannah had
overstepped her authority but it was a one-off scenario.

He pulled the man to his feet and shoved him out of the door with a dire
warning, "Get the fuck out of my sight."

Rodney scrambled away with a meek, "Yes, sir." Without a backwards

glance, he hurried his footsteps and left the DMLE and Ministry of Magic
shortly afterwards.

Thomas approached the young witch seething with anger and said her name
softly, "Hannah."

Hannah brushed it aside, "Just leave me alone." She let her emotions dictate
her actions, which was unacceptable behaviour.

"We will get him," Thomas insisted, yet his words lacked conviction.

It had been a while since the last victim was discovered, but after extensive
research into the backgrounds of the dead women, he discovered that each
belonged to a Hogwarts house.
Sarah, the latest victim, was a past Gryffindor prefect. The killer was
obsessed with magical things, which was a significant clue. Hopefully,
more indications would present themselves leading to a much-needed
arrest.

Thomas had many theories as to who it might be. He was convinced it was
a squib or perhaps an undetected Muggle who bore a grudge.

Hannah gritted out in annoyance, "When? Once another body turns up?"
She was seething and didn't mean to take out her frustrations on Thomas,
but it was maddening to sit about twiddling one's thumbs while Sarah's life
was in imminent danger.

Thomas let her sarcastic query slide and instead asked with a raise of a
curious brow, "Where's Malfoy? Aren't you two joined at the hip lately?"

"He's with Granger," Hannah blurted out without much thought to her
answer.

Thomas chucked, "Ah, an unlikely romance."

Hannah snorted, "Don't let Granger hear you call it that." She knew
Hermione would throw an unwarranted fit.

Thomas nodded in understanding. He respected Granger and her work

ethic.

He became rather serious after a moment, "Look, Abbott, we will catch this
bastard."

Hannah took a deep breath and answered, "I know. I'm just frustrated."

Thomas pulled a stack of files from inside his Auror robes and dumped
them on the table.

Hannah raised a brow, picked up the file on top, and asked curiously, "What
are those?"
Thomas hissed, making his distaste for the matter evident, "More werewolf-
related murders in America and France have popped up."

His following words were laced with a certain level of smugness, "The
Romanian Minister is seeking refuge in England for the time being."

Hannah flipped through the file's contents and asked, "How come?"

Thomas gritted out, "He was wrong in his assumption that he could fight off
hundreds of werewolves without the help of other nations." In his opinion,
Constantine was an arrogant arsehole who stood by and did nothing while
his men were slaughtered.

He sighed, "Arrogance usually comes at a heavy price, and Constantine has

learnt his lesson at the sacrifice of his men."

Hannah's pretty features contorted unpleasantly, "Is it bad?"

Thomas nodded solemnly and explained further, "It is bad in Romania, but
they've always had issues with wolves. It goes back over seven hundred
years when the Lycan lords craved world domination, but the vampire
elders put them in their rightful place."

He chuckled before adding, "Six feet under." He had a dark sense of

humour, but Audrey found him mildly amusing.

Hannah replied thoughtfully, "I've read about the tales in the DMLE
archives. I found them quite interesting."

Thomas included with some positivity, "The other nations are safe for the
moment as long as we contain it." The Alpha king was in for a rude
awakening. They would contain this threat if it were the last thing they
did.

Hannah frowned, "You make them sound like a disease. They only want
equal rights." She sympathised with werewolves. Their kind had been
treated horribly and persecuted throughout the years, and perhaps they were
justified in their desire to acquire power by force.
Thomas scowled, "Indeed, you're right. They want equal rights, but at what
cost?" Hannah was young, she hadn't seen much, and on the other hand, he
had seen ample. These youngsters sought to find the good in every being,
but unfortunately, sometimes none existed, and the consequences were
death and disaster.

"Anything I can do?" Hannah asked somewhat sheepishly. She realised her
earlier statement was highly controversial at best and one that Thomas
would not easily tolerate. Her eyes went to his missing limb, and she deeply
regretted her immature words.

Thomas pulled the chair close, sat down, and replied without bothering to
look up, "Go home. Get some sleep."

Hannah sighed, "Aye. Goodnight, Thomas." She had maybe a hour to

herself before heading over to Hermione's.

Thomas mustered a smile, "Have a good one, Hannah." He was almost

certain this so-called Alpha King was Antonin Dolohov, but he needed
Dorian’s confirmation.

Malfoy Manor

After dessert was served and everyone had their fill of chocolate mousse
and scrumptious red velvet cake, they returned to the foyer again. Dotty
served coffee for the ladies who sat by the fireplace and brandy for the
gentlemen who decided to stretch their legs and wandered onto the terrace
overlooking the impressive gardens the Manor boasted.

Draco leaned against the marble railing and looked to the skies. It was a
clear, rather beautiful night, and plenty of stars were visible. He pondered
for a moment about his future with Hermione Granger. They had the
potential for a bright future, but only if they allowed it to take its natural
course.

Bernard reached into his breast pocket for his cigar case. He opened the
sterling silver case and offered Richard a fine Cuban cigar. The brand name,
Partagas, was printed on the gold and red slightly embossed label.

Richard took one, but Draco refused. The older men puffed on the cigars
causing the air around them to become intense with an earthy smokiness
that Draco didn't particularly care for, but oblivious and unaffected, Richard
and Bernard exchanged humorous banter.

Hermione drank a glass of wine and then another while silently watching
the ladies around her speak of many things that were thankfully unrelated to
her. She felt a steady buzz, glanced at her watch, and almost gasped. It was
quarter past ten pm.

She cleared her throat and said calmly so as not to draw too much attention
to herself, "It's getting quite late."

Phyllis acknowledged her granddaughter's words and smiled, "Yes, I

suppose it is, but time flies when having fun."

"I couldn't agree more," Narcissa replied fondly. The gathering had gone far
better than she could have hoped.

Julia swapped a look with Hermione and gushed, "This has been a
wonderful evening."

Bernard, Richard, and Draco chose that moment to enter and couldn't help
but overhear the conversation.

Richard grinned, "Indeed. Thank you for your generous hospitality."

Narcissa replied graciously, "Please. It was our pleasure. I trust you will
visit again soon?"

Julia replied enthusiastically, "Yes, definitely."

Phyllis chimed in, "We must have Bernard and you over for dinner."

Richard nodded in agreement, "That's a splendid idea, mum."

"I look most forward to it," Narcissa gushed. She never set foot inside a
proper Muggle abode.

Hermione grew distant and faded into the background.

Narcissa turned her attention towards her beloved son. He was hovering
behind the others, towering over them and stealing glances at his fiancé.

She requested with a sly smile, "Draco, will you see them safely home?"

Draco snapped to attention and immediately replied, almost falling over his
short answer, "Yes, mother."

Bernard clamped his hand firmly onto Richard's shoulder and said happily,
"Mate, we can catch the Liverpool game next week."

Richard beamed, "That sounds brilliant."

"I'll ring you with the details," Bernard offered without hesitation.

While walking to the exit, Julia exclaimed, "Thank you, Narcissa. You've
raised a good man."

Hermione felt her insides churn unpleasantly. The feeling was followed by
the sudden rapid beating of her heart. She stared at the back of Draco's head
as he escorted her grandmother while speaking in hushed tones.

They seemed to be having a private conversation, but Draco glanced over

his shoulder and caught her staring at him. At that moment, Hermione could
not look away, so she held his gaze and challenged him to look away first,
which he did since they set foot outside the Manor and stood at the top of
the stairs that led to the point of apparation.

Everyone came to a halt, and Narcissa said wholeheartedly, "It was lovely
to meet you all."

Julia smiled warmly, "The feeling is mutual."

Hermione stepped forward, hugged Narcissa tightly, and whispered, "Thank
you."

"You are most welcome, my dear. I wish you smiled more," Narcissa
replied softly. She was extremely fond of her would-be daughter-in-law.
They had bonded during Draco's absence, and she treasured Hermione's
willingness to look past her involvement with Voldemort. If only she
extended that same courtesy to her son.

The silvery beams of moonlight fell over the gardens before them, and
oddly the pathways were illuminated by a fluorescent glow which made
navigating in the dark much simpler.

Before they walked down the stairs, Julia thanked Dotty for such a lovely
meal, prompting Richard and Phyllis to do the same. The elf blushed and
curtsied in reply, almost tripping in the process. She liked Miss Granger's
family.

With a final bid of farewell, they walked silently to the fountain. A few
white peacocks came into view and strutted majestically, enticing them with
their beautiful feathers.

Narcissa watched as her guests disappeared and breathed a sigh of immense

relief, "Well, that certainly went better than I expected. They seem to
genuinely like Draco."

Bernard came closer, put his arm around her slender waist and praised,
"Yes, they do. Still, you were wonderful, my darling."

"I think you deserve most of the credit, Bernard. It was awkward there for a
moment," Narcissa smiled and confessed.

Bernard chuckled, "I am the life and soul of any party."

Narcissa's laughter followed them inside the Manor, and once inside, Max
came running up to his mistress and demanded her undivided attention.
Draco fell into step behind Hermione, and it dawned on her, "Where’s
Max?” The German Shepherd had been missing from the proceedings after
the initial greeting. Usually, Narcissa let the dog have the run of the place.

Draco shrugged and replied thoughtfully, “I assume he's in one of the

rooms. Mother might have thought it prudent since the rascal can
sometimes be a bit temperamental.”

“Ah,” Hermione responded while maintaining a healthy distance between

them. Even with her heels, he still towered over her. She glanced sideways
and caught sight of a few strands of his platinum blonde locks blowing
slightly in the wind.

Draco caught her gaze and smiled. He ran his long fingers through his hair
and mused, “Same arrangement as before, or would you like me to bring
your father?

Hermione lost her step and chuckled nervously, “Umm, no, it's fine.” She
couldn't quite imagine her father holding onto Malfoy.

Once they reached the point of apparation, Draco politely instructed Phyllis
and Julia to take his arm. At the same time, Hermione laced her fingers
through her father's fingers and shot him a reassuring smile, “Close your
eyes, dad and concentrate on the rose garden at home. It will make you feel
better.”

Richard frowned, “If you say so, princess.”

They appeared almost together by the lush rose bushes that Julia
painstakingly looked after, and this time, Richard was more himself.

He landed firmly on his feet and laughed, “That did the trick, Hermione.”

Hermione giggled. At the sight of her house, she felt a weight off her
shoulders and relaxed somewhat.

Julia insisted, “Come, Draco. Have a cup of coffee.”

Draco followed her to the back entrance with a quick but polite “Thank
you.”

Phyllis sat down, slipped out of her heels, and massaged her feet, “That’s
much better.”

Richard plopped himself down on a chair, stretched his legs, and chuckled,
“That was fun, wasn't it?”

Julia was busy making coffee and setting out the cups, but she glanced over
her shoulder and replied warmly, “It truly was.”

She addressed Draco, “Your mother is lovely.”

“Bernard is bloody marvellous,” Richard included rather happily.

Hermione silently helped her mother plate biscuits and poured creamy milk
into a large jug.

Julia nudged and inquired cheekily, “Darling, would you like one? Perhaps
it will help you sober up.” She had noticed her daughter have more than her
fair share of wine over dinner and after.

Hermione placed the plate of biscuits on the table with more force than
necessary and argued, “I am not drunk.” She rolled her eyes to show her
annoyance clearly.

Phyllis snorted, “If you say so.”

Richard frowned and stated frankly while taking the mug of coffee his wife
handed him, “We did notice the glasses of wine you kept knocking back.”

Draco chuckled, graciously took the cup Julia held out for him, and
wordlessly sipped on the coffee. His reaction garnered him a dirty look
from Hermione, who did not take kindly to being ridiculed.

She took advantage of the opportunity and announced rather haughtily,

“Well, I've got an early morning, and it's best I get a move on. I'm
accompanying Ginny to Hogwarts in the morning.”
With some difficulty, Draco finished the steaming hot coffee in record time,
sprang to his feet, and insisted, “I'll see you home.” He had thought Granger
would spend the night at her parents, but clearly, he was mistaken.

Hermione dismissed him without a second thought, “That's not necessary,

Malfoy.” Hannah would do the needful.

Expecting her answer, Draco took satisfaction in reminding her, “You are
under Auror protection, and it is my job to accompany you.”

Hermione almost hissed, “I can manage.” The arsehole had her there. For a
moment, she had forgotten all about her stupid protection detail.

Draco firmly stood his ground, “It is not a request, Granger.” If she forced
his hand, he would pick her up, toss her over his shoulder, and apparate. He
had plenty of experience lugging heavy sacks of rice, flour, and vegetables
back at the temple.

Hermione conceded defeat and gritted out, “Fine. Whatever. If you insist
upon making things difficult.” If she resisted too much, Malfoy could not be
trusted not to do something dramatic, even in front of her parents.

Julia watched the interaction with an amused expression. Still, she asked
curiously, “Will we see you both before you leave for Hawaii?”

Hermione shook her head, “Unlikely, mum.” They were leaving on Friday,
and there was simply no time to spare.

Richard crossed his arms over his chest and demanded jokingly, “You best
bring us back some souvenirs.”

Hermione kissed the top of her father's head and replied, “Of course, dad.”

Julia gushed, “Well, have a good trip, and be safe.”

Phyllis said with a mischievous grin, “Be good.”

“Nana!” Hermione cried out in embarrassment but quickly kissed her

grandmother's forehead.
Draco straightened and blushed crimson. He was only partially used to
elders speaking their minds so freely and frankly.

Nevertheless, he gave a slight nod and said, “Goodnight. Thank you for the
coffee.”

To everyone's surprise, Richard acknowledged Draco’s words, “Goodnight,

son. I suppose we will see you soon.”

Draco smiled in reply, “Yes.”

It was a short and sweet answer and one he was forced to give since
Granger had seen fit to leave him with her parents and walk into the garden,
but unfortunately for her, he caught up, grabbed her by the wrist and turned
her roughly around to face him.

He smirked and asked with dripping sarcasm, “Are you trying to get rid of
me, Granger?”

Hermione smiled innocently and answered, “Whatever gave you that idea,
Malfoy? You seemed perfectly happy conversing with my parents that I
didn't have the heart to interrupt.”

His lips curved upwards, and Hermione felt the familiar sensation of
apparation overpower her; within seconds, they disappeared and recklessly
appeared outside the door of her flat.

Hermione broke free from Draco’s hold and scolded, “Have you lost your
puny mind? We could've been seen.”

Draco ignored her ranting and lazily leaned with his back against the wall
and hands in his pockets. He waited patiently for her to unlock the door
using the rusty keys or magic.

Unable to help herself, Hermione did a double take, and her earlier
frustration evaporated into nothingness. However, it was replaced with lust
and an insatiable desire to be ravaged by the man before her.
Against her better judgment, she found herself asking, “You can come in if
you like.” Idiot. This would not end well. Of that, she was entirely sure. She
opened the door and hurriedly walked in.

Draco stood at the entrance, not daring to enter, and openly teased, “Do you
think that's wise?” He was glad she asked since, underneath the pretence of
being her bodyguard, he had an ulterior motive of spending some alone
time with her.

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Grow up, Malfoy.” She left the door open,
walked into the kitchen, and headed straight for the overhead cabinets. After
throwing the small door open, she pulled out a bottle of Firewhiskey.

Draco closed the door behind him and followed his intended into the small
kitchen space. He saw her reaching to get glasses from the topmost shelf
and questioned in a disapproving tone, “Hmm, don't you think you've had
enough?”

Defiantly, Hermione poured herself a glass and responded, “Not nearly.”

She tossed back the shot and licked her lips, "Ah."

She held the bottle by its neck, eyed its contents, and said mockingly,
“Would you like a glass? Or are you too noble to get sloshed?”

Draco mused, “Don't tempt me, Granger.” It was far too late for that. Her
every movement enticed him and caused his self-resolve to crumble around
him.

Hermione giggled, “Live a little, you uptight tool.” Was she unconsciously
trying to loosen him up?

Draco sighed and gave in, “Fine. You win.”

Hermione grinned triumphantly, “That's the spirit.” She poured about one
finger's worth of the amber liquid into a tumbler and slid it across the
counter to him.
He grabbed it effortlessly, downed the alcohol, and said curiously, “You
seem more like yourself.”

Hermione shrugged. The dinner was over, it had gone well, and she had no
intention of reliving it but felt compelled to ask, “Did you expect them to
get on so well?” She took the bottle and her glass and retired to the sofa in
the living room, with Draco following close behind. It was a more
comfortable arrangement for drinking.

Draco smiled and replied, “Your parents and grandmother are easy to like,
Granger.” He watched intently as she discarded her shoes and curled up on
the sofa.

Hermione quickly pointed out, “So are Narcissa and Bernard.” She moved
her shoulders in small circles. They hurt for some odd reason.

Draco sat down next to her, poured himself another drink and said
solemnly, “That wasn't always the case. Well, to be fair, Bernard was never
an issue, he mingles with Muggles, but for my mother, it was an entirely
new experience.”

Hermione was quick to defend Narcissa, “She handled herself quite well.”

Draco couldn't help but smile, “She seemed happy. That's all I've ever
wanted for her.”

A long pause later and Draco mumbled, “Happiness.” He licked his lips
before leaning back into the comfort of the sofa.

Hermione leaned forward and whispered huskily, “She is happy, Draco.

You’re a good son.”

Their lips were inches apart, and it seemed the most natural, logical thing to
do. Her intoxicating smell surrounded him whole and clouded his senses.

Salazar, she was the most utterly tempting woman he had ever laid eyes on.

He claimed her lips hard and fast, and she responded fervently by cupping
his face and pulling him closer to her aroused body. Their lips moulded
perfectly together in fiery abandonment. Cushions fell to the ground as their
movements became urgent.

Draco drawled between heated eager kisses, “Granger….”

Hermione responded between kisses, “Draco….” She straddled him

effortlessly, causing a rip in the tight dress as it rode up her thighs, and she
got comfortable being on top of him, but it didn't matter. They were lost at
the moment.

Her tongue entwined with his, and he pushed against hers as he explored
the expanse of whiskey-tasting mouth.

Draco moved his fingers up the exposed flesh of her thighs, leaving a trail
of goosebumps and fire in its wake.

His husky tones of sexual arousal caressed the inner shell of her sensitive
ear, “You feel incredible.”

Hermione returned his enthusiasm by slightly grinding on his aroused

appendage. She could feel his erection through his trousers, digging into the
lace of her panties.

Breathless, she whispered, “Says the man who hasn't touched a woman in
nearly a decade.”

With his lips pressed to the base of her throat, Draco rasped, “I want to
savour every inch of you.” He pushed aside his insecurities and came to a
firm decision. It was the opportune moment to have sex with Granger and
satisfy their painful yearning.

However, the woman ardently giving herself to him had other plans.
Despite his deep guttural groan of protest, she got off him and stood before
him with her hands on her hips and a satisfied expression.

Hermione pulled her hair back into a loose bun and smirked, “Hmm, I think
you should leave. We have an early morning and no time for distractions.”
Let's see how he liked being rejected. It was incredibly petty, and she was
sure to regret it, but for now, it felt necessary.

It took Draco a short while to gather his bearings and come to terms with
what was happening, but it wasn't in him to pressure a woman into sleeping
with him.

Still sporting an erection, he composed himself, got to his feet and

challenged with a slightly cocky grin, “Who's unwilling to take things
forward now?”

Without a further word, Hermione walked over to the main door, threw it
open and smiled sweetly, “Good night, Malfoy.” Hannah would be along
shortly to take over the night shift.

Draco followed her but stood by the entrance without leaving. He needed a
few minutes for his hard-on to subside. Currently, it pressed uncomfortably
against his trousers, threatening to burst through. He truly hoped Abbott
wouldn't turn up unannounced.

He turned to face her and smiled, displaying his almost perfect teeth, “It
was a good night.” His words had hidden meanings but not enough to rattle
Hermione's feathers.

She couldn't help but agree and include, “Yes, it was perfect. I'll see you
tomorrow.”

He bent to kiss her cheek but got her lips instead, and it was as if nothing
else existed but them.

Draco deepened the embrace and muttered incoherently, “Yes. Tomorrow.

Hogwarts.” He dreaded it since his parting from the famous school was less
than civil.

Hermione mumbled against his soft lips, “Mmm, Hogwarts.” Stop it, her
mind screamed, but she just couldn't.
Her arms encircled his neck while kissing passionately. He almost lifted her
off the ground and pinned her to the sturdy door that opened the way to her
flat. Silence followed, punctured only by the subtle sounds of moans
emitting from Hermione as she surrendered to him.

An annoyed voice cut through the moment like a double-edged dagger,

“Whiskers! Where's that ruddy cat gotten off to? Oh…” She stopped and
stared wide-eyed at the couple engaged in an indecent act for all to see.
Young people these days had no respect for the sanctity of privacy.

Hermione broke free from the embrace and pushed Draco away before
greeting her nosy but friendly elderly neighbour, “Good evening, Gladys.”

Gladys grinned, “Hermione.”

Draco smiled at Gladys and decided to make himself scarce.

He cleared his throat, gazed deeply into Hermione’s eyes and said, “I'll see
you tomorrow, bright and early.”

Hermione moved her fingertips over her kiss-swollen lips and muttered,
“Uh-huh.”

Draco hurried down the corridor and the flight of stairs while texting
Hannah and leaving Hermione to converse and help Gladys locate her
missing feline companion.

Club Sanguis

Avery's knee collided with the man's jaw, shattering it to pieces. A

strangulated groan left the defeated man's lips. Julius released his victim
from the hold, and the unknown man fell to the ground and fluttered
between consciousness.

A loyal lackey sprinted up to the metal barriers of the arena and said, almost
out of breath, “The master is waiting for you.” It was apparent from the
man's tone that he was terrified.
Julius wiped the blood off his fingers and glared, “Why wasn't I informed at
once?” He ignored and stepped over the man whimpering on the ground at
his feet. The man spat out a mouthful of blood but was offered no medical
attention or a second glance.

The lackey glanced over his shoulder, dropped his voice and muttered, “He
appears out of nowhere and gives me the willies.”

Julius exited the arena discarding his blood-soaked hand wrapping. He

strolled towards his faithful minion, whose features contorted with fear and
grabbed the petrified man by the shirt and snarled, “Never insult the Master
in my presence.”

The man nodded vigorously and closed his eyes, expecting the inevitable
beating he was about to receive. Still, Julius let go and instructed another
standing close by to attend to the fallen, bleeding man in the fighting arena.

The lackey breathed a massive sigh of relief, adjusted his shirt and
mumbled, “Crazy bastards.”

There was hardly time to change. Julius resorted to greeting his Master clad
in black jogging bottoms and nothing else. Once he entered his office, he
found the leader sitting at his desk and reviewing some unrelated
documents.

Julius apologised profusely, “My Lord, forgive me for keeping you

waiting.”

The masked man ignored the pathetic attempt to appease him. Instead, he
came straight to the point of his untimely visit, “The fight in Romania is
going exceptionally well, but I have advised my forces to fall back and
retreat to the forest.”

Using the aid of his wand, Julius made himself presentable and questioned
curiously, “But why?” It made no sense why the Master would retreat from
a sure win.
The Alpha King laughed at his right-handed man’s naivety and grudgingly
offered a short explanation, “I don't have the warriors nor the capital to deal
with what will follow. I never intended to capture the Romanian Ministry
and reveal to the world our plan and my return this early, but I gave
Constantine more credit than he deserved.”

He included thoughtfully, “His forces are weak. They crumbled faster than I
anticipated.”

“I see,” Julius agreed without argument but failed to see how that was bad.

The leader gritted out in frustration, “Constantine has met with Kingsley,
and the Minister of Magic will rally the allies under one banner. That poses
a grave problem.” They had the power to overpower one Ministry but not
the combined might of the world, at least not presently.

He was angered by the lack of progress in the UK and sought to rectify the
matter by making his thoughts abundantly clear, “Recruitment in London is
poor. We must double our efforts.” It was imperative to his plans to have the
British Ministry of Magic under his complete control.

Julius poured himself a drink and assured, “I will see to it at once, Master.”
He would need to hold a meeting with wizards and witches sworn to the
cause and rethink their strategy. It was easier said than done since things
had drastically changed since Voldemort was defeated.

The Alpha suggested slyly, “Turn someone close to Kingsley.” It had been
done before with other Ministers and proved most effective.

Julius shook his head and offered profound insight, “That is near
impossible, my Lord. He trusts no one but Potter and Granger.” Kingsley
Shacklebolt was nothing like his predecessors. The man was intelligent,
shrewd and remarkably skilled. He was a formidable adversary, a fact the
Master seemed to overlook.

Yet, undeterred, the shrouded man grew thoughtful and said, “Hmm, Miss
Granger. I have heard about her engagement. Perhaps, it is the opening we
need to plant one of our own close to the Minister.”
Julius sneered, “Malfoy has joined the DMLE. He has denounced the old
ways. How can he be of any help?” The words left a bitter taste in his
mouth. He considered Draco Malfoy a traitor to everything they stood for,
and to make matters worse, he was taking a Mudblood wife.

Of course, Julius had not had the opportunity to see or meet Hermione. He
based his opinion on speculation and her blood status, but he was well
aware of Goyle’s sickening fascination with her, which piqued his interest.
It was time to visit the so-called Golden Girl.

The leader did not share his lieutenant's sentiments. On the contrary, since
his rebirth as a werewolf, he now considered the pairing unconventional but
essential and made his opinion apparent, “Interesting. I wonder what the
boy is thinking. Most curious.”

Julius didn't like the tone. He found nothing remotely interesting about
Malfoy poisoning a centuries-old gene pool.

The Alpha continued speaking, adding vital points he thought would help
them gain the edge in Britain, “Maybe young Mr Malfoy could be
persuaded to join our cause and fund it as well. Lucius had deep pockets,
and I'm sure Draco does too.” The boy would have definitely inherited his
father's fortune.

He became angry and spat out, “If Narcissa becomes an obstacle, remove
her. It is regrettable, but she cannot be trusted.” The woman had always
been beyond Lucius’s control.

Julius hesitated, but what choice did he have but to agree, “Of course, my
Lord. I'll see to it.”

They spoke of other matters well into the night. Julius collapsed into his
large armchair once the Master left and pondered.

He kept repeating to himself, “Father, you are worth every sacrifice I

make.”
The next morning

The murderer cooed, “Are you ready, my love?”

He had provided some outdated clothes. Her hair was long and tangled.
Sarah had done her best and combed it, getting rid of the many knots.

She sighed, “Yes, I guess I am.”

Without warning, he grabbed her by the arm and leered, “You remember my
instructions?”

Sarah whimpered in pain and choked back a sob, “Yes….” He had rattled
off some rules for her to obey as he violated her. She had no intention of
following any of them.

His fingers closed around her throat, and he applied pressure obstructing
her airway until she gasped. He let go, causing her to take deep breaths of
air while staring at the horror of an engagement ring that hugged her finger.

He warned, spit spewing in every direction, “One word and you'll wish I
killed you.”
 Chapter 61
Chapter Notes

To all the comments:- Thank you all for taking the time to write such
encouraging words. Much love!

The Dollhouse Strangler takes Sarah shopping.

Draco, Hermione and Ginny visit Hogwarts. Plenty of surprises there.

Terry is recovering but his infatuation with Hermione doesn't seem to

be an end.

I hope everyone enjoys the update!

On another note, Carrie, my wonderful Beta and I have started a

gofundme to help finance essential needs for stray dogs in Sri Lanka.
The poor darlings require housing, medication and food. We will be
donating proceeds to other shelters as well to maintain costs.

Please be kind and donate towards the cause -

https://gofund.me/e2d34d36

Any amount is highly appreciated.

Much love to all!

Enjoy Chapter Sixty-One!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Daphne snuggled into the warmth her son offered. She peered at him and
took in the smile of contentment spread across his face and steady
breathing. He had calmed down considerably after her return and
complained about the injustices his babysitters inflicted upon him.

She had arrived a few hours earlier by Portkey, and the joy of seeing her
children made cutting the trip short worth it. Besides, she convinced herself
she had a few perfect days with Blaise, which was enough.

Waiting for her arrival, Tracey and Astoria barrelled into explanation the
minute her feet landed on the plush carpet in the living room.

Daphne thought back to the wholesome conversation and couldn't help but
smile. Her younger sisters were indeed characters, but they loved the
children wholeheartedly. However, they had been utterly distraught by the
outcome and apologised profusely until she shut them up firmly.

Blaise had rung earlier and begged her to let him return since Theo kept
dragging him to every activity the resort offered. Daphne sympathised with
Theo. She knew he felt out of sorts because of Luna's odd and
unapproachable behaviour.

It was pretty early, but she didn't mind. She turned over to find Carrie
clutching a plush unicorn toy fast asleep. Her heart melted at the adorable
sight. Pulling her children closer, Daphne shut her eyes and drifted off to
sleep again.

Tracey and Ron's Flat

Ron groggily rubbed his eyes and walked into the kitchen wearing pyjama
bottoms and nothing else. He froze as he came face to face with his
estranged wife, who seemed busy cutting up fruit, possibly for breakfast or
a smoothie.

Frankly, he hated her healthy eating habits but was now desperate for them
to be forced upon him.

Tracey saw her so-called husband enter her space, causing her to lose focus.
The knife in her grasp sliced through the mango and effortlessly into her
palm.

She whimpered, "Oh no." The juicy fruit dropped to the floor, and blood
gushed from the open cut. It hurt like hell, but she kept her composure, not
wanting to appear weak and pathetic in front of her husband.

Her panicked tone of voice spurred Ron into action. Disregarding the
frostiness between them, he hurried to his wife's side and questioned
impatiently but with growing concern, "What's the matter, darling?"

Tracey shielded her hand and purposefully turned away with a firm, "I am
not speaking to you." He was blocking her way, or she would have fled to
the bathroom and tended to her wounded hand. She cursed her
carelessness.

Ron pleaded, "Come on, Tracey. You're my wife. The silent treatment is
driving me mad and…." He stopped mid-sentence as he caught sight of the
drops of blood seeping through her fingers and falling to the clean white
tiled floor as if in slow motion.

Then, turning her around, he reached for her hand. His features contorted
with genuine concern, "What happened?"

She moved out of the way, dismissed his look of worry and answered
stubbornly, "It's nothing, just a little scratch."

Ron argued defiantly, "I will be the judge of that. Let me see." Without
waiting for consent, he gently took her hand in his and turned it over to get
a better look at the palm. A nasty cut down the middle was visible, but
fortunately, it didn't appear too deep.

His caring and hands on her were soothing. Before Tracey could control her
emotions, she began sobbing and whispered, "It's fine, honestly." Her heart
was beating fast and painfully.

Ron softened his gaze, took out his wand from the pocket of his bottoms
and moved it slowly over the wound while muttering a spell under his
breath. Dittany would have done the trick, but unfortunately, they were out
of stock.

The wound neatly stitched itself up, leaving a reddish healed scar in its
wake. The pain stopped almost at once.

Tracey took her hand back, brushed her fingers over it and mumbled,
"Thank you."

They gazed into each other's eyes, and much was said through that one
look. Ron knew Tracey was a good woman and that he desperately needed
to get over Hermione and let go of their memory to have any future with his
wife.

He came closer, cupped her face and said, "I miss you."

Tracey took a deep breath and leaned into the gentle touch of his sizeable
palm. She yearned to be close to him.

She swallowed her pride and replied truthfully, "I miss you too."

Ron smiled, gathered her in his arms and placed a soft kiss on her lips. He
didn't want to push things too far in case she was reluctant, but to his
surprise, Tracey responded positively by pulling him close and deepening
the embrace.

He would be late for work, but no one cared since he was the boss. His
secretary would do what was needed in his absence.

They urgently needed this time to make amends for his rather callous
behaviour. Ron scooped Tracey up and carried her off to their bedroom.

It would be the first time in a while that they would share a bed and make
love.

The man grabbed Sarah's arm and ushered her out of the house. Rays of
sunshine washed over her deprived face, and felt glorious. She looked to the
heavens, closed her eyes, leaned into the warmth and took a deep breath.

He wasn't overly pleased by her lack of movement but grudgingly accepted

her need to bask in the sun. It had been months since he acquired her, and
she had been denied warmth.

Eyes still closed, Sarah's attuned hearing took in the slight chirping of birds
and moving protesting wheels sounding oddly like a rusty old bicycle.

A few minutes passed, and the man's patience snapped. This little trip
wasn't some holiday, and they couldn't wander around London streets
longer than necessary. He knew where they could get clothes and other
items a woman required.

After all, she was now his fiancé and his duty was to treat her properly. He
wondered offhandedly whether she could cook. It seemed unlikely, but they
would try, and she would learn to please him. His mother hardly made him
any food and preferred him to beg for unsavoury scraps when unbearable
hunger settled in the pits of his belly.

Even after all these years, he still couldn't understand his mother's treatment
towards him or what he had done wrong by loving her unconditionally. His
father's abusive and womanising ways were hardly his fault. He hadn't
asked to be born this way.

Thoughts of his mother's abuse ignited rage within him, and he pulled at
Sarah's arm, causing her to snap out of her few seconds of bliss and come
crashing back to reality. She whimpered as his fingers dug deep into her
arm.

"We do not have time for distractions," he hissed, staring intently at her. Of
course, he had plenty of other things to do afterwards, like reporting to his
mundane job that was a complete waste of his time and skills, but strangely
he thrived at figuring out how the odd contraptions worked, especially
when no one else could.

Sarah nodded but refused to look at him. Instead, she kept her eyes on her
feet and unfashionable old shoes that she was sure belonged to his dead
mother. His scarred face was even more repulsive in broad daylight. She
had seen it plenty but largely under dim lights or darkness.

She could see the disfigured face though he tried to conceal it with his long
hair. The mutilated and burnt flesh areas were repugnant, and Sarah had to
exercise self-control to hold back the bile. He was utterly grotesque.

It dawned on her that she was outside, in the open, and anyone would come
to her rescue if she screamed. A quick discreet scan of the surrounding area
revealed they were alone, standing just outside the door in a well-
maintained garden. As far as Sarah could tell, the house that was her prison
was standard but old, with white-washed walls and a large brown door.

There weren't many houses on either side of the street, and they were
clearly on the outskirts of London.

She couldn't recognise any of the dwellings, and her heart sank to the pits of
her belly. Still, she took in the finer details of their environment and
committed them to memory. Then, if by some miracle she escaped, she
could lead the authorities right to the bastard's house of torture.

He gave her a sharp tug and almost dragged her out onto the street where a
battered old Vauxhall Astra awaited them. It became clear to Sarah that they
would not be travelling using magical means. Her suspicions regarding him
not possessing magical abilities were probably correct. Either that, or he
wanted to keep a low profile and avoid unwanted attention.

There was no need for them to enter the magical world. Her picture had
been posted everywhere, and Aurors were hopefully still looking into her
disappearance.

The man opened the car door and unceremoniously shoved Sarah inside.
The interior was clean, and the upholstery seemed brand new, like it was
recently done. She fidgeted in her seat and watched him intently through the
windshield as he moved around the car to get to the driving side.

This was her chance to bolt, but why weren't her legs moving? Why was
she paralysed with fear?
After what seemed like an eternity and gathering what little courage she
could muster, her shaky fingers closed around the door handle, but the
driving side door opened, and the fiend slid into the seat.

Swiftly, Sarah withdrew her hand, dropped it to her side and stared straight
ahead.

"Are you ready, my love?" The man cooed. He hadn't seen her feeble
attempt at escape and was quite pleased by her demeanour and lack of
defiance.

Reaching over, he squeezed her thigh over the flimsy material of the dress
he had forced upon her and leered, "Be good." It was a warning in the
purest form.

The words caused Sarah to pale and slump even further in the seat,
crestfallen. The streets were clean but deserted, even though a row of
houses was visible. None of it was familiar.

The murderer started the car, and it sprang to life. He kept his hand on her
thigh, letting his fingers linger and stroke. Sarah exhaled and ignored the
shiver that slid down her spine.

Hermione's Flat

Hannah poured herself a bowl of cornflakes and milk. She stuck her spoon
into the bowl as Hermione walked in dressed professionally and looking
fresh and alert.

"I made coffee," Hannah stated with a smile and pointed to the coffee pot
resting on the counter with spirals of steam approaching the ceiling.

Hermione smiled gratefully, pulled a mug from the rack, poured herself a
cup and said before taking a sip, "Thank you and good morning, Hannah."

Hannah grinned, took a mouthful of soggy cornflakes and asked, "So, how
was dinner?"
Hermione blushed. She couldn't help it. The evening had gone better than
her wildest expectations, and there was no reason to deny the fact.

She swallowed a large gulp of hot coffee, not minding that it burnt her
tongue, and reacted, "It went very well. Everyone got on famously."

Hannah teased, "Well, there's a shocker."

"Shove it, Abbott. Nothing between Malfoy and I has changed," Hermione
argued adamantly.

Hannah showed indifference and smirked, "Not yet, at least."

She took in Hermione's professional appearance and raised a brow, "Aren't

you off to Hogwarts today?"

Hermione leaned against the counter and nodded, "Yes, I am. Once Malfoy
arrives we will head off to meet Ginny and arrive at Hogwarts via Floo
network, I suppose."

It was another day she would be forced to tolerate Malfoy's presence. This
protection detail was getting tiresome, despite the heinous nature, the deeds
mentioned in the letter she received, and now knowing the culprits behind
it. She was sure Goyle and Cormac would not dare take things to the
extreme.

She asked hopefully, "By any chance are you coming with me instead of
Malfoy?"

Hannah chuckled, "I'm afraid not. I'll take my leave once the blonde idiot
arrives."

A loud knock on the door cut through their conversation. They exchanged
an amused look, and Hannah sighed, set down her bowl, and opened the
door when it became clear that Hermione could not be bothered.

Draco stood outside looking fresh and handsome in a set of laundered black
Auror robes that she noticed gave off the faint smell of fabric softener. He
ran his fingers through his hair, and strands fell carelessly across his
forehead.

"Good morning, Abbott," Draco cheerfully greeted as he stepped into the

flat and shut the door behind him.

Hannah grinned and retorted with dripping sarcasm, "Morning, partner. I

missed you yesterday when I falsely arrested an arsehole I believed to be
the Dollhouse Strangler."

Hermione choked on her coffee and cried in disbelief, "What?"

Draco raised a curious brow, "What happened?" However, he kept his wits
and didn’t show too much concern.

Hannah sighed in exasperation but waved it aside, "It's best explained with
a drink in hand, but suffice to say, Thomas was not best pleased."

Hermione frowned, "You can't just leave us with that." She wanted to know
everything.

Hannah placed the dirty dish in the sink and smiled, "Well, you two best get
going. I promise I’ll go into further detail later."

Draco playfully tugged on his partner's ponytail and drawled, "Tease." He

would coax her into spilling the beans later.

After adjusting his wayward name tag, Hannah replied coyly, "I do love to
keep you guessing."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. Were they flirting? No, it wasn't possible.

Still, the affectionate display clawed unpleasantly at her insides.

Draco saw Hannah to the front door and regarded her fondly. The duo
exchanged a few words that caused him to smirk. She waved at Hermione
and left shortly afterwards.

Fetching her bag, Hermione tapped her foot impatiently and blurted out, "If
you are done canoodling with Hannah, we can leave since Ginny has rung
me no less than three times already. She's waiting for us."

Draco shut the door, turned to give his fiancé his undivided attention and
said with smug satisfaction, "Is that a hint of jealousy I hear in your tone?"

Hermione looked repulsed and fired back, "Do not flatter yourself, Malfoy."

"Shall we?" Draco asked with a slight grin.

Hermione closed the distance between them with a definite roll of her eyes,
took his hand in hers and waved her wand over them as she muttered, "No
12, Grimmauld Place."

In a split second, as they disappeared, Draco snaked his arm around

Hermione's waist pinning her hand to the small of her back and pulling her
close.

She was taken aback, but he smiled down at her and tightened his hold. He
bent to kiss the side of her neck, sending shockwaves throughout her
treacherous body. It was petty, but Draco sincerely enjoyed her surprise and
mild discomfort.

Hermione inhaled deeply. Merlin, he smelled sinfully delightful. She found

herself offering more of herself for him to feast on.

His actions were causing her to severely lose focus and if she didn't
concentrate on their destination the whole trip could end in disaster.

Focus, Granger. Mmm, his lips felt so heavenly against her skin.

They drove silently and passed plenty of buildings and houses, and Sarah
assumed it would take a little over half an hour to reach London. She
desperately hung onto every detail, committing every landmark and
signpost to memory.

It had begun to drizzle, making the muggle city look shabbier through
droplets on the windscreen and her weary eyes. St. Paul’s Cathedral's once
splendorous sight would have impressed her, but its columns and arches
now looked dreary. Its faded dome a drab, duck-egg blue.

He parked near Petticoat Lane, shut off the engine and looked around
nervously. It was much more crowded than he had imagined when shopping
in the district, but it would have to do. There was no going back; if she
disobeyed him, she would pay dearly. He expected absolute obedience.

Sarah looked out the window anxiously and took in the crowds of people
going about their day, chatting, shopping and having a bite to eat. They all
walked so fast she wondered how people didn’t fall and become swallowed
up in the throng. Then, she spotted a couple laughing together. It almost
made her cry out.

Suddenly, she felt claustrophobic inside the car and wanted nothing more
than to bolt. Before acting on her instincts, a hand grabbed her arm, and he
issued a dire warning, "Behave, my darling. If you misbehave, the
consequences for your actions will be regrettable."

The man instructed her to remain seated while he got out of the car and
went around to open the passenger door for her. Again, her courage deserted
her entirely, and once again, she did his bidding and followed his
instructions as if disobeying would be the final nail in her coffin. However,
she knew he would make her suffer before performing the final deed.

He threw the door open wide and offered his hand for her to take with a
forced happy smile, "Take my hand, Sarah."

She did as commanded, stood on the pavement and kept her head down.

He had succeeded in crushing her spirit. She was once known at Hogwarts
and after for her fiery spirit and bravery. Still, she hoped she had some fight
left in her.

Run! Her inner voice screamed. Run, you coward.

She wanted to escape but found herself paralysed with fear. Finally, the man
took her hand and led her toward an East End thrift store. She could see a
street market in the distance, and some parts of her surroundings seemed
familiar.

Had she ventured to this part of London with her mates? Think, Sarah. For
fuck sake!

The shop looked like a decent place, but she wouldn't have been caught
dead in a thrift store in her previous life, mainly because she worked for the
most prestigious designer boutique in wizarding Britain. Wearing second-
hand items wasn’t the done thing.

The monster squeezed her arm before entering the store, a quick warning to
behave. Sarah understood what was expected from her. She smoothed her
dress, plastered on a fake smile and took in the rows of clothes.

A middle-aged woman in a greyish uniform greeted them and asked, "Good

morning. How may I be of assistance?" Her features contorted unpleasantly
once she saw the scared face of the man. It wasn't purposely done but an
involuntary reaction to seeing something out of the ordinary.

The man turned his face away and muttered, "My fiancé needs clothes
similar to what she's wearing."

Sarah flinched but said nothing. Instead, she kept her eyes downcast and
nervously chewed on her bottom lip.

The shop assistant eyed the outfit and frowned. The outfit was designed to
the tastes of a much older woman. She had seen some oddballs, but this
couple struck her as extremely strange, especially the young woman.

She ignored the obvious red flags for the moment, such as his possessive
nature and dominating behaviour and the woman’s vacant, almost haunted
expression, because there weren’t any visible bruises or outward signs of
physical abuse.

Looking through the rows of hanging clothes, she overlooked what Sarah
was wearing and picked what she thought would be appropriate for a young
woman.
The man laced his fingers through Sarah's and tightened his hold. It was
evident with every passing second that his nervousness was getting the
better of him, and he regretted bringing her into the city.

Of course, Muggles were blissfully unaware of disappearances in the

magical world, but plenty of Aurors paraded the streets of London in
disguise to gather intelligence on pending cases.

She carefully handed Sarah a few dresses and blouses, who took them with
a pained expression. He looked at the items in her arms critically and gave a
short nod of approval.

However, the woman in the store did not take kindly to this overbearing,
possessive behaviour, and she spoke directly to Sarah and offered, "It's best
if you try them on."

Sarah glanced at the man by her side anxiously and nodded, but he didn't let
go of her hand and came with her.

The store helper intervened with a raised brow, "I'm sorry, sir, but we do not
allow gentlemen in the ladies' changing rooms."

The man fumed but not wanting to cause a scene, he smiled politely and let
go of his captive.

Sarah glanced over her shoulder as she followed the woman to the back of
the store, where the changing rooms were located.

The store assistant, Patrice, questioned in concern once they were out of
earshot, "Are you okay, love? I can help you if you want." Her gut feelings
were usually right on the money.

This is your chance, Sarah. Take it! Run for your life.

Sarah hugged the clothes close to her chest and vigorously shook her head
before replying in a panicked voice, "No. I swear everything is fine. He's
just a little intense." Her voice cracked from lack of use.
Patrice wasn't convinced but couldn't do anything unless the young woman
admitted her life was in danger and required assistance. She knew the signs
of domestic abuse like the back of her hand and had the scars to prove it.

Sarah hurried into the dressing room and doubled over, trying to catch her
breath. She was a nervous wreck and utterly disgusted with herself. It was
an internal battle between fear and courage, and fear was winning hands
down.

She needed to get out of the store. Without bothering to try on many of the
items, she held them up to her frail, thin body and estimated it would be a
decent fit. The outfits were ghastly and not to her taste, but it wasn't like she
would be hosting dinner parties.

Her reflection in the floor-length mirror startled her, and she barely
recognised the gaunt woman staring back at her. She was a shadow of her
former self, and seeing herself in such a pitiful state caused the tears she
held back to spill over.

Patrice was concerned about her client and timidly knocked on the door, “Is
everything alright in there?”

Sarah glanced at the door in alarm. She hurriedly wiped away the tears,
took a deep breath and composed herself. He would punish her severely if
she gave him away.

After leaving the dressing room, she quickly told the woman guarding the
way, "These are fine. Please ring them up."

The man awaited her return anxiously, pacing up and down and looking
deranged.

However, he calmed down considerably once Sarah came into view and
fought the urge to kiss her in front of strangers.

His love had returned to him when she had the opportunity to escape. She
came to him. He convinced himself that it meant she loved him as he did
her. They were complete; once a baby arrived, their little family would
thrive and want for nothing. He was a pathetic, delusional bastard.

The cashier eyed them suspiciously but said nothing, as it wasn’t her place.
She bagged up the items and gave the receipt, which the man paid in cash
without a fuss. He took the bag of items and rushed Sarah out of the store
without a backwards glance. It was time to return home and enjoy the fruits
of his labour.

Patrice stared out the window with a frown etched onto her face as the man
shoved the young woman into the car, scrambled to his side, started the car
and sped off in the opposite direction.

She felt a shiver go down her spine. There was something that didn't seem
right about the couple.

Sarah wanted to scream but instead pursed her lips, sat on her hands and
rocked back and forth. She had missed her chance of escape. What was the
matter with her? Did she want to die or, worse, be married to and bear a
maniac's children?

His voice bore into her thoughts, "You were excellent, darling. I love you so
much." She had gained much of his trust with her behaviour.

When Sarah remained silent, he continued, "Next time, we can have dinner
at a quiet restaurant if you like."

That bit of information piqued Sarah's interest—next time. There would be

a next time. Relief washed over her once she knew she would get another
chance.

Clearly, her obedience had pleased him, and maybe not all was lost. She
decided to compel herself to be stronger. Strong enough to break free from
his heinous clutches.

"I want you before I go to work," he drawled huskily before reaching over
and slipping his fingers underneath her dress. She didn't dare move away
and ruin the little progress she had made.
Gathering her inner strength, she spread her legs, giving him better access
to stroke her inner thigh while he drove steadily.

He grinned devilishly, "Beautiful." He moved a finger under the flimsy

material of her undergarment and sensually stroked her exposed cunt. His
gentle brushes caused her body to betray her and fluids to coat her pussy
lips generously.

Withdrawing his hand after a few moments, he brought his coated fingers to
his nose and inhaled deeply, "Mmm, you smell ravishing."

Sarah clamped her legs together and refused to acknowledge the fully
aroused man driving them to her prison.

His erection was clearly visible, and she sneaked a peak and almost gagged.
He would fuck her without abandon once they were alone.

He added on cue, "We will be home soon."

Survive, Sarah, she told herself. You must live to tell this tale.

No 12, Grimmauld Place

Hermione sat at the table in the kitchen with a cup of tea in her hands.
Ginny was busy plating biscuits and slices of chocolate sponge cake with a
thick gooey chocolate frosting she had left from the night before.

She glanced over her shoulder as she cut the cake into equal pieces and said
with a slight smirk, "You look nervous, Malfoy. Have a seat."

Draco stiffened. He wasn't nervous per se, but it was odd to be standing in
Potter's kitchen and be served goodies by the youngest Weasley. It was so
jarring that he couldn't bring himself to sit nor drink the cup of tea Ginny
kindly offered.

Hermione scolded, "Sit down." She was somewhat embarrassed by his

uneasy behaviour. If anything, they had plenty of reason to doubt him, but
not the other way around. Harry had risked a lot to save his blonde arse on
multiple occasions.

Ginny set down the plate on the wooden table and smiled at Draco. It was
genuine and heartfelt.

She insisted with a half smirk, "Come on, Malfoy. Have a slice. I swear it's
not poisoned."

Hermione stifled a laugh and reached for a piece of cake. She took a bite
and savoured the taste, "Mmm, that's delicious."

Still, Draco, who was partial to anything chocolate, kept his distance, stood
behind a seated Granger and looked utterly uncomfortable.

Ginny had extended an olive branch but couldn't shove it down anyone's
throat. So instead, she sat down beside Hermione, drank her tea and spoke
about their upcoming trip to Hawaii.

"Have you packed?" Ginny asked curiously.

Hermione shook her head and sighed, "Not in the least. I've barely started.
I'll probably toss some essential things into a bag and be done with it."

Ginny teased openly, even though Malfoy was present and listening to
every word, "Hmm, perhaps you should pay some attention to your
wardrobe."

Hermione blushed profusely, "Ginny, behave yourself." She knew without a

doubt her friend was referring to lingerie.

"What? I have one hundred Galleons riding on this," Ginny argued with an
amused expression.

Draco heard word for word and raised a perplexed brow. What in the name
of Salazar was going on? Did he even want to know?

Hearing the voices, Harry came into the room, dressed for work and made
his displeasure quite evident, "What the hell is he doing here?"
It was one thing to tolerate Malfoy at the DMLE, but he had no immediate
plans to become chummy with the ex-Slytherin.

Draco opened his mouth to offer a sensible retort. Still, Hermione beat him
to it in a somewhat annoyed tone, "He's my bodyguard, or have you
forgotten that you assigned him to my security detail?"

"Not that I need one." She reminded hotly.

Harry felt like a right arse. He had momentarily forgotten that Hermione
was under DMLE protection. There was so much on his mind, from
harbouring the Romanian Minister, containing the werewolf threat, and,
most importantly, finding out who was behind it all.

He helped himself to a piece of cake and replied, "Oh, right. I forgot

Hannah's with Thomas today. She arrested a wrong bloke yesterday, and it's
a bloody miracle he didn't sue the DMLE."

Hermione answered, "She mentioned it vaguely but refrained from going

into detail."

She leaned forward and insisted, "What exactly happened, Harry?"

Harry defended one of his best recruits, "Hmm, well, it was not her finest
moment, but we all make mistakes."

Draco grew thoughtful and chimed in, "Indeed." Hannah was his partner,
and a good one at that. He was sure she had probable cause for arresting the
man and the following events.

However, he also knew how desperate she was to catch the Dollhouse
Strangler.

Harry narrowed his eyes and gritted out, "Some mistakes are more costly
than others, Malfoy. You would be wise to remember that."

Draco gave a half smirk but let the snide remark slip, "I will keep that in
mind, Potter." His words dripped with sarcasm but not enough to insult nor
rattle the Chosen One.
Hermione swapped a look of concern with Ginny and loudly cleared her
throat. Harry was being openly hostile without cause. She supposed he had
difficulty regarding Malfoy as a colleague even though he decided to hire
the man.

Harry took the hint and directed a question towards his beloved wife,
"Where are you off to?"

Ginny rolled her eyes and accused, "Honestly, do you never listen?" He had
a mind like a sieve regarding anything unrelated to the DMLE.

Harry shrugged and, wracking his brains to figure out what he had
forgotten, asked almost innocently, "What?" Blimey, he had gone and done
it now. It was most definitely Quidditch-related.

Hermione sipped her tea and chuckled. Harry was such a scatterbrain at
times. It was hilarious.

Draco watched the interaction with an amused expression. It pleased him

that Potter had some flaws. Apparently, being a rather forgetful husband
was one of them.

Ginny frowned and impatiently summarised, "We are going to Hogwarts.

Madam Hooch asked me to supervise a few lessons." Of course, she
wouldn't detail Madam Hooch's injury and whatnot, but she said the words
slowly as if explaining to a child.

Harry's features contorted unpleasantly. His stony gaze fell on the other
man in the room.

He pointed to Malfoy and almost barked, "And he's going with you?" The
man had let Death Eaters into the castle. It was hard to forget that act of
treason.

Hermione squirmed uncomfortably, "Um, I never gave it much thought."

She honestly hadn't, and now it was all she could think about. Thanks a
bunch, Harry.
Ginny busied herself with making Harry a roast beef sandwich. She sliced
the meat into even-sized pieces before cutting up a ripe tomato.

Still, she listened intently and kept valid points on standby to defend
Malfoy if needed. The ice blonde wasn't her favourite person, but she could
see he was trying to make amends for his past misdeeds.

Harry elucidated, "He's not been back there since Voldemort died."

Draco took a deep breath to calm his inner thoughts and explained, "I've put
my past behind me, Potter. I expect the visit to go smoothly."

If anyone should feel uncomfortable about the whole thing, it should be

him. Quite honestly, he dreaded facing Minerva McGonagall, a far worse
disciplinarian than Dumbledore and much less forgiving.

Harry laughed cynically and raised a curious brow, "Right, but has your
past put you behind it? You might not get a grand welcome from the
portraits or professors." Malfoy dared to walk into a place he had caused
severe harm.

All's well that ends well, but Harry found it hard to let go of Malfoy’s
complete disregard at the time for the security of his peers and teachers
among plenty of the other lives.

Ginny placed the plate before her husband and argued with good reason,
"Harry, it's been nearly ten years. Old students have left, and the new ones
probably have no bloody clue who Draco Malfoy is. Besides, all the
professors know about Malfoy's unfortunate circumstances."

She looked directly at Draco and slightly smiled. It was genuine and meant
to offer comfort. Still, he observed her perplexedly, probably wondering
why she came to his defence, but he was immensely grateful that she did.

Lost to her thoughts, Hermione drowned out the others, remained silent and
contemplated whether visiting Hogwarts with Malfoy in tow was a wise
decision.
Harry conceded defeat and said with a happier deposition, "Well, whatever,
have a good visit. Give Hagrid my regards and tell him a meet-up at The
Hogshead is overdue." He hadn't seen his good friend and old professor in
months and truly missed the half-giants antics.

Ginny offered further insight into their travel plans, "I wrote to the
Headmistress that we would be using the Floo network in her office. She
wrote back with her approval."

They had kept the network open from when Grimmauld Place was used as
headquarters for The Order of the Phoenix. Even though they hardly used it,
it beat apparating and walking the distance to the castle.

Draco paled. Minerva McGonagall was not someone he looked forward to

meeting after all these years.

Ginny turned to Harry and enlightened, "Mum will be by shortly to pick up

James."

Harry took a large bite of his sandwich and acknowledged her words with a
short grunt.

She kissed his unkempt head of hair and said, "Have a good day, darling."

Hermione got to her feet and smiled broadly, "Bye, Harry. See you later."

Draco nodded curtly, "Potter."

Harry narrowed his eyes and replied with a slight nod of his own, "Malfoy."

The disfigured man fished a long dress from the bags and tossed it on the
bed.

He gazed at his beloved lovingly and drawled, "Red is your colour, Sarah."

She had heard plenty of times before.

Sarah stared at the dress and grimaced. What sick fantasy did he have in
mind? Hadn't he degraded her enough?

Her inner voice screamed obscenities. You didn't run, you stupid fucking
bitch. Maybe you like being fucked raw and controlled?

He licked his lips and hissed, "Wear it. Model for me." He forgot about
being on time for his job.

Sarah cried in despair, "What?" He had never asked her to model for him
before, but he hardly let her wear any clothes. Instead, she was primarily
naked and chained to the bed so he could touch and feel her when he
wished.

"You heard me. I want to watch you." He replied calmly and sat on the bed's
edge.

Sarah swallowed hard, picked up the dress and turned her back on him to
undress.

He stopped her with a frosty glare and demanded, "Don't you dare turn your
back on me."

She swallowed hard and began to undress slowly. His excitement was plain
to see since he was practically drooling.

Sarah was repulsed, but once she was down to her undergarments, she
stepped into the new red dress and pulled it up slowly while his one good
eye roved greedily over her semi-naked form. He never seemed to tire of
her body.

After securing the dress at the back, Sarah stood still and awaited further
instruction nervously. She fidgeted and picked at the material with her
unkempt fingernails.

The man looked her up and down as though she were a piece of meat. Then,
he patted the area above his knee and requested, "Sit on my lap."

It wasn't a request.
Sarah bit her bottom lip, closed the distance between them and sat on his
lap. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her close to his groin.

He rocked back and forth and leered, "Can you feel that?" His voice was
heavy and husky with sexual arousal. Sarah braced herself for what would
inevitably follow.

Barely, she thought but nodded timidly, "Yes."

It took but a second for him to push the dress up and tear the panties from
her body. Then, he bent her over the bed and entered her swiftly, not caring
about the discomfort and pain he caused her. He had never cared, and she
doubted he ever would.

He brutally violated her and viciously pushed her head down, causing her
muffled cries to be almost silenced against the bedding. His repeated groans
and grunts of pleasure filled the room, and Sarah wished she could deafen
herself so she would no longer have to hear him, but it was futile.

Why couldn't she escape?

Why didn't she run for her life?

What was happening to her?

Hogwarts

The centuries-old fireplace sprang to life, and Minerva McGonagall glanced

at it, pushed her spectacles further up her nose and readied herself to meet
the visitors.

One by one, they stepped out of the fireplace. Once everyone had arrived,
Headmistress McGonagall waved her wand and sealed the Floo network so
no unscrupulous characters could access the passageway.

She smiled at her former students and fondly greeted them, "Good
morning."
Ginny and Hermione came forward while Draco hovered uncomfortably in
the background and studied his surroundings. It was quite different from
what Dumbledore's office had been. There were more shelves dedicated to
books and important looking knick-knacks. The entire space had a
distinctive feminine touch that would put anyone at ease.

Finally, with some prompting from Granger, he pushed past thoughts out of
his head, straightened and followed the others.

Hermione smiled brightly, "Good morning, Professor McGonagall."

However, Headmistress McGonagall hardly heard the greeting. She had

aged gracefully and while she had a head full of grey hair and prominent
wrinkles her mind was as sharp as whip.

Instead, she looked past the women and her stern gaze settled on the silent,
imposing, pale man in their company who seemed to want to blend into the
background and discourage any attention to himself. An impossible feat
considering who he was and his illustrious family history.

She studied him for a moment and concluded that he seemed somewhat
anxious. His feelings were understandable, considering his past relationship
with Hogwarts.

Minvera McGonagall spoke frankly, "Mr Malfoy, I was wondering when

we would run into each other. It's been a while."

Draco came forward, cleared his throat and replied, "Yes…."

Professor McGonagall lifted her chin, stared at the admirable name tag
pinned to his breast pocket and grinned, "I see you're an Auror. Impressive."

Draco returned the smile and answered, "I'm in training for the trials,
Headmistress."

Professor McGonagall could hardly keep her feelings towards the matter
concealed.

She retorted with a nod of approval, "Good."

Hermione and Ginny swapped a look of disbelief.

Professor McGonagall addressed the new couple, "Ah, Miss Granger, Mr

Malfoy, I believe congratulations are in order." She had read about their
union. Their engagement had caused quite a scandal among the Slytherin
and Gryffindor students for no good reason.

Draco bowed slightly and took the wishes positively, "Thank you."

However, Hermione was not easily swayed to the side of happiness

regarding their upcoming nuptials and stated, "You really don't have to,
professor."

Professor McGonagall leaned back into her chair, looked at the both of
them and stated bluntly, "I have to admit it was rather a shock." She wasn't
known for beating around the bush.

"To us all, professor," Hermione replied instantly with a roll of her eyes and
a glance at Ginny, who seemed highly entertained by the whole thing.

Hermione wished the conversation would take another path, and Professor
McGonagall obliged without further dwelling on the unlikely match.

She spoke directly to Ginny, "Madam Hooch is recovering nicely, Miss

Weasley. She should be back on her feet in no time." Unfortunately, the
flying instructor was a stubborn old mule who simply would not listen until
threatened with forced retirement.

Ginny beamed, "That's good news." She was fond of Madam Hooch, who
never blew smoke up anyone's arse and called it how she saw fit, much like
herself.

The Headmistress nodded yet annoyedly but softened as she recited her
requirements, "Meanwhile, the first years need your help and guidance."

After Madam Hooch's retirement, she harboured a strong desire to employ

the former Gryffindor. She knew Ginny would make an excellent instructor,
but it was doubtful she would accept the offer with a son and husband to
look after.

Ginny couldn't help but bloom with happiness. It felt satisfying to be

appreciated.

She could hear from her past professor's voice that she was regarded highly
and answered without hesitation, "Of course, professor. I'm glad to help." It
was good to leave the house and do something for herself for a change. She
would be lying if she said she didn't miss the Harpies and teammates.
Sometimes it hurt to think of what she had given up to look after her
family.

The Headmistress dismissed the girls with a wave of her hand and firmly
said, "Please wait outside. I wish to have a quick word with Mr Malfoy."

Draco stiffened, and a thin layer of sweat coated his upper lip. All he could
think was, fuck.

Hermione hesitated for barely a millisecond, knowing better than to argue

with Professor McGonagall. She glanced his way sympathetically and
mouthed, "Don't worry," as she reluctantly followed Ginny out.

As they went down the spiral staircase, Ginny raised a sceptical brow, "He
looked bloody nervous. Do you think he'll be alright?"

Hermione shrugged, "He’s faced much worse.”

They reached the bottom step, stood to the side and waited for Draco to
appear. Hopefully, McGonagall wouldn't keep him too long.

Professor McGonagall gestured kindly to the seat before her and requested,
“Have a seat, Draco.”

Draco obliged by pulling the heavy chair back and lowering himself into its
comfort while muttering, “Thank you, professor.”

Professor McGonagall scrutinised the man before her, he certainly looked

like a replica of Lucius Malfoy, but there were significant differences.
Draco Malfoy’s eyes were kinder and more knowing.

She smiled and said politely, “You look well.” She hoped her words would
put the boy at ease.

Draco cleared his throat and replied, “So do you, professor. I mean,
Headmistress.” He couldn't fathom what she required from him. Perhaps it
was an explanation for his absence or, worse, his actions.

Headmistress McGonagall chuckled, “I still teach the odd N.E.W.T class

now and then.” It was the first time Draco had heard the strict teacher show
any signs of amusement.

He merely acknowledged her answer with a prolonged “Ah….”

She filled the void by stating the obvious, “I’m sure coming back wasn't
easy.” She wanted to offer her condolences for his father’s passing but
thought against it.

Draco exhaled, “No, it wasn’t, but my mother needed me.” It was the truth.
His mother took precedence over everything else.

The wise professor nodded in understanding, “Of course. I appreciate your

reason for returning.”

Draco cracked his knuckles. It was excruciating to make small talk with the
Headmistress of Hogwarts.

Professor McGonagall spoke frankly, “You seem changed.” The arrogance

emitted from him in his younger years was non-existent, and in its place
was an aurora of humility and peace.

“I have changed,” Draco concurred without hesitation. His time at the

temple had taught him much about the more essential aspects of life.

Professor McGonagall softened her gaze and said, “I never found the
opportunity to speak to you, especially since your departure from Hogwarts
was rather unorthodox.” After the trial, he had disappeared, and Narcissa
kept mum about his whereabouts. She could not be persuaded into revealing
her son’s secret.

Draco sighed, “I regret my actions, Professor.” If he could use a time-turner

and go back, he would do so within a heartbeat.

Professor McGonagall felt a sense of immense pride towards the man in her
company. For a second, she recalled a pointy-nosed, scared boy desperately
seeking his father's approval.

However, she could see he was genuine and made her thoughts known, “I
can see you do. It fills me with joy to see you doing so well, Draco. No one
blames you for what transpired. We are well aware of the pressure you were
under, and I must say, for one so young, you certainly held it together.”

Draco’s lips curved slightly upwards to form a sad smile, “It didn't seem so
at the time.” He had felt the weight of the world on his adolescent shoulders
and the sheer magnitude of his actions crushed his soul.

Professor McGonagall nodded in understanding but reassured a moment

later with a smile, “Dumbledore always knew you were destined for greater
things.”

She included somewhat guiltily, “Unfortunately, it wasn't a sentiment we all

shared, but clearly, he saw something in you that none of us did.”

A familiar voice said pleasantly, “Indeed I did, Minerva.”

Professor Dumbledore beamed, “Good morning, Draco.”

Bollocks, Draco thought and cracked a smile, “Good morning, sir.”

Professor Dumbledore queried happily, “I trust you are well.”

Draco replied instantly, “Yes, I'm fine, sir.”

“Good. And your dear mother?” Dumbledore inquired politely.

Draco looked at the massive and realistic portrait of Albus Dumbledore that
hung proudly on the wall behind Headmistress McGonagall's head. The
once formidable wizard wore his famous dark purple bejewelled robes, and
his silvery beard nearly touched the ground.

The frame next to him was oddly empty, and what remained was a tasteful
painting of a garden abundant with white lilies and beautiful doe drinking
water from a babbling brook. The visible gentle breeze that swept across the
image was mesmerising, and Draco felt strangely drawn to its beauty. He
stared longer than necessary.

Albus Dumbledore caught sight of the young wizard's wandering gaze and
smiled.

Draco returned to his senses and answered, “She's quite well, sir. She keeps
herself busy with the running of the Manor.”

A somewhat emotionless voice made it to Draco’s ear, “Draco. It is good to

see you.” He had heard that particular tone multiple times years ago, but to
listen to it again made the whole situation seem surreal.

The slow drawl made him stiffen and sit up straight. Then, finally, he
breathed, “Professor Snape.”

Severus Snape’s painting was strategically placed next to Dumbledore’s but

paled in comparison. Yet, the artist had captured the potion master's essence
by incorporating shades of black and elegant brush strokes that brought out
his sharp features.

Professor Snape frowned, "I hardly recognise you. You've changed."

Draco bared his teeth as the words sunk in. Finally, he said, "As all things
do with time, I suppose."

He wondered why his temper was getting the better of him. Snape had been
a double agent, loyal to Dumbledore until the end. He couldn’t fathom why
he felt anger towards his previous Slytherin house head.
Somehow, Draco felt betrayed by the man even though he had prevented
him from committing murder and saved his soul.

Snape ignored the obvious discomfort emitting from Draco and criticised,
"You look like Lucius, but I assume you are nothing like your father?"

Draco exhaled and replied with every politeness he could muster, "No, sir. I
assure you I am not. I left that life years ago."

Dumbledore seemed overly pleased with the answer. His eyes crinkled at
the corners, and his painted mouth curved upwards to form a genuine smile.

Snape stared unwaveringly, making Draco slightly uncomfortable and said,

“Good. I'm glad to hear it. Please give Narcissa my regards.”

Draco almost sighed in relief, “I will.” Even in death, Severus Snape was an
intimidating presence.

An awkward silence engulfed them, and when Professor McGonagall tried

to dismiss Draco, Professor Snape thoughtfully said, “I heard Minerva
speak about your upcoming nuptials to Miss Granger.”

Draco took a deep breath. He felt somewhat ambushed by the current and
past heads of Hogwarts.

He cleared his throat and managed a plausible reply, “Ah, yes, we were
paired through a Ministry-approved Algorithm.”

The former potions master raised a perfectly painted brow and inquired
curiously, “I trust you will treat Miss Granger without prejudice?”

Such a hypocritical question took Draco aback. He had witnessed Snape’s

unfair treatment of Granger countless times, and it was certainly not part of
some ploy to fool Voldemort.

He fired back with a sensible retort, “I intend to. I care greatly for
Hermione's wellbeing.”
While Draco expected Snape to inject a snide remark, Dumbledore
answered, “Well, that's certainly comforting to know, Draco.”

“Indeed,” Snape concurred, and Draco was sure he saw the hint of an
uncharacteristic smile on the stern face of his former potions professor.

Professor McGonagall glanced at the giant antique clock and decided they
had taken up plenty of Mr Malfoy's time.

She grinned slightly and quipped, “I can practically feel Miss Granger’s
impatience seep through the walls. So, off you go, Mr Malfoy.”

Without further adieu, Draco promptly shot to his feet, adjusted his heavy
Auror robes and smiled gratefully, “Thank you, professor.”

Professor Dumbledore chimed in after a moment, “It was good to see you,
Draco.”

Draco returned the enthusiasm, “It is rather good to be back, Professor.” He

turned his back on his old professors and, without a backwards glance,
hurried his footsteps and left the office searching for Granger and Weasley.

Headmistress McGonagall leaned back and said in mild disbelief,

“Remarkable, isn't it?”

Professor Dumbledore added his valid input with a genuine smile, “The
change in him is unparalleled.”

Professor McGonagall removed her glasses and massaged the bridge of her
nose, “Indeed. I would have never guessed Draco Malfoy would become an
Auror.”

Snape clarified his opinion: "I'm not that surprised, to be honest. He was
pretty skilled as a child, especially at Potions.”

Professor McGonagall felt compelled to ask her colleagues, “Do you think
The Algorithm has made a dreadful mistake?”
Severus Snape replied thoughtfully, “Miss Granger is headstrong, but Draco
is never one to back down.”

However, Dumbledore gushed, “Only time will tell, dear Minvera.”

Hermione stopped tapping her heel against the floor once Malfoy came into
view. He looked paler than usual and somewhat dishevelled. Curiosity got
the better of her, and she asked at once, “What was that all about?”

Ginny interrupted and answered on behalf of Draco. She sounded almost

bored with the proceedings, “Isn't it obvious? He's been gone for nearly ten
years, and she's curious about what he's been up to.”

Draco smiled, “Quite right, Weasley.” He omitted that he had spoken to

Snape and Dumbledore during his back-to-Hogwarts interrogation. Even
though it wasn't, it certainly felt like one.

Hermione wasn't convinced but let it slide, “Hmm, I suppose.”

Ginny urged impatiently, “Come on, you two. We need to meet Madam
Hooch in the infirmary, pick up the schedule and get to it?” She had a job,
and perhaps it wasn't the wisest of ideas for Hermione and Malfoy to tag
along.

Leaving the couple, Ginny strode off toward the hospital wing.

Draco hung back, ran his fingers through his hair and mumbled so only
Hermione could hear, “I, err, spoke to Snape. Well, to his portrait. Still, it
brought back some unpleasant memories.”

Hermione came to an abrupt halt. She could gather by his tone that he was
conflicted.

She looked at him in concern and asked solemnly, “Oh, are you okay?” Her
heart beat fast and slammed against her ribcage. Seeing him look so
vulnerable compelled her to comfort him.

Draco exhaled and composed himself. Then, he gathered his thoughts and
said, “He was a great man, wasn't he?” However, he was not wholly
convinced since he had witnessed first-hand what Severus Snape could do.

The vicious murder of Professor Charity Burbage came to mind vividly.

Even though Snape had not been directly involved, he had watched
unaffected as Nagini feasted on the woman.

She had begged him to help her, but he had done nothing. Of course, he
couldn’t have without making it known to Voldemort that he was a traitor.

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip in thought and answered, “Yes, he

was.” While Snape’s deeds had been guided by his unwavering love for
Harry’s mother, he had gone out of his way to be horrid to Harry, probably
because he was the one constant reminder of the loving bond between Lily
and James.

Ginny looked over her shoulder and scolded, “Stop dragging your feet, you
two.” She was nearly at the end of the hallway and about to turn left.

Draco raised a brow and mused, “She’s strict. I almost feel sorry for Potter.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “You have no idea.”

Ginny glared sternly with hands on her hip, “I heard that.”

The corridors were empty, and a few older students occupied the Great Hall,
but nothing much had changed. Still, Draco couldn't help but look around
and take in the grandeur and splendour that was Hogwarts. His eyes
lingered on the Slytherin banners and emerald green snake emblem. He still
treasured his house but not the foundation of its ancestry,

He had a few good memories, but most of his time was spent being nasty to
others, along with Crabbe and Goyle. He cringed as he recalled Dolores
Umbridge pinning a badge on him and how utterly pathetic it was, but he
had followed his father's orders as usual.

Draco fondly touched a wall as they passed a few students hurrying to get
to class on time and gave a half smirk, “If these walls could talk….”

Intrigued by his words, Hermione grinned, “What would they say, Malfoy?”
He took her arm, pulled her close and drawled huskily, “How about we get
lost for a bit? I'm sure we can benefit from the Room of Requirement.” His
last memory of the legendary room was engulfed in cursed fire that Crabbe
had let loose when they had made the foolhardy decision to ambush Potter.
He wondered if the room was accessible after being destroyed. Perhaps it
had mended itself.

His sensual tones ghosted over the sensitive shell of Hermione’s ear, but she
kept her composure intact and hissed, “Certainly not. Ginny will have our
heads.”

He gently bit down her earlobe, noticed she had not worn earrings and
rasped, “We could make some new memories. Besides, Weasley doesn't
need us.”

Hermione felt her knees buckle but she pushed him away and reprimanded
most severely, “Behave yourself, Malfoy. Please exercise some level of
control and professional etiquette.”

Ginny, who had been eavesdropping, laughed aloud, "Yes, especially in my

presence. I do not want to see you two snogging in the hallway. That would
traumatise me greatly."

Hermione blushed and faked disgust, “Ugh, not a chance.”

Draco was insulted by her crude response. He frowned to make his

displeasure evident and questioned, “Ugh? Really, Granger?”

He crossed his arms over his chest and quipped, “Remind us again why we
are here. I assume you will not be teaching first-years to ride a broom.”

Ginny chuckled, and Hermione threw her a dirty look.

“I would pay good money to watch that,” Draco mocked openly, goading
her into a frustrated response.

Hermione frowned, “Very funny, Malfoy. Well, it's been a while since I
came by, so I took this as the perfect opportunity to visit.”
Draco raised a curious brow, “Are you excited about Hawaii?”

Hermione showed indifference and shrugged, “Not much.” Her trusty

beaded bag came to mind. She would pack her belongings into the
fashionable tote bag.

Ginny nudged her friend and mused, “Speak for yourself. I’m looking
forward to lying on the beach doing practically nothing.” She hadn't taken
time off for herself since leaving the Harpies.

Hermione sighed, “I still think it's horrible timing. There's simply too much
going on. Harry needs me.” She was torn apart by wanting to go and her
duty to the wizarding world. Did it have to come at such a perilous time?
Life, indeed, was unfair. Well, obviously, considering who she was forced
to wed.

Ginny scoffed, “Well, thank you for making me seem like an ungrateful
bitch.” She was overcome with guilt for deciding to leave Harry during this
tumultuous time, but when would such a golden opportunity present itself?
She was allowed one selfish act, wasn't she? Motherhood was beautiful but
exhausting at times.

Hermione felt awful and sought to make amends, “I didn't mean it that way,
Ginny. You need a break. I was referring to Ministry business.”

Shockingly, Draco agreed with Hermione wholeheartedly, “I agree with

Granger. Unfortunately, it won't be much of a holiday since I have to
prepare for the upcoming Auror trials.” He had some potions to perfect and
a few hundred pages to memorise on defensive spells. Why couldn't he live
off the Malfoy gold and be done with it?

Ginny rolled her eyes, “It's only for two days, Malfoy. Must you be so
dramatic?”

Madam Pomfrey came rushing out of the hospital wing and barged into
Hermione, who squeaked and would have had a nasty fall if not for the
sturdy arm around her waist holding her upright.
Draco released Hermione at once and stood by her side with his hands
clasped together.

Madam Pomfrey regained her composure, smoothed her pearl white skirt
and exclaimed, “Oh my, it's been a while since I saw you, Hermione, Ginny
and….”

Draco smiled and reintroduced himself, “Draco Malfoy.” Madam Pomfrey

had not aged a day, and she looked the same as he remembered.

The matron gasped, “Bless my stars, is that you, Mr Malfoy?”

She muttered to no one in particular, “I didn't believe the paintings or

ghosts. The Bloody Baron is seldom right.”

Draco cleared his throat, “Yes, it is me.” He wondered how many times he
would have to reintroduce himself before the end of the day.

Madam Pomfrey stared at the man towering over her and said, “I read about
your return but didn't think too much of it then.”

Oh, bloody hell, Ginny thought exasperatedly. Not another one roping
Malfoy into a conversation and wasting time. She felt as if she were on a
press tour announcing Draco Malfoy’s illustrious return.

Deciding to nip the conversation in the bud, Ginny asked straightforwardly,

“Madam Pomfrey, we were wondering if Madam Hooch is still in your
care.”

Madam Pomfrey scoffed, “That stubborn old owl? Not a chance, she
insisted she was fine and off she went. You should be able to find her in her
office.”

Draco craned his neck to get a better look inside the infirmary he spent a
few nights in during his youth and learned that nothing much had changed
there either. It was still surgically clean and organised, but more beds
occupied the floor.
The only noticeable difference was Madam Pomfrey’s young assistant. She
was a relatively pretty blonde with an impressive figure who batted her
eyelashes at the ice-blonde wizard staring at her.

Still, it was short-lived since Hermione pulled Draco away, breaking eye
contact and hissed, “Enjoying the view, are we? How about I give you a
reason to end up in the hospital wing?”

Draco chuckled, “I'll pass, thank you very much. Unfortunately, I've been
on the receiving end of your physical abuse, and I can't say I care for it.”
There was something attractive about watching Granger sail into battle. He
admired her tenacity.

Ginny ignored the banter, exchanged a few words with Madam Pomfrey
and gushed, “Thank you.”

Madam Pomfrey bid them a fond farewell, “Good day, children.” She stared
after them in awe and respect. They had turned out quite well despite their
many hurdles growing up.

She was happy to note that Draco Malfoy had undoubtedly grown up to be
quite the lad.

Hermione and Draco followed Ginny’s lead. Regrettably, they had no idea
where Madam Hooch’s office was. Of course, it was a well-kept secret
since the official Quidditch balls of Hogwarts were stored in her office
during games, but that didn't stop Dobby from breaking in and tampering
with them.

They descended a flight of stairs and came across a large wooden door that
looked ancient. Ginny knocked on the door and stood back. They heard
many curse words and the unmistakable sound of brooms toppling to the
floor.

The door flew open almost off its handle, and Madam Hooch greeted them
with her arm in a sling, sporting a black eye and bandage covering half her
head. It looked painful and positively frightful.
Despite her altered appearance due to her mishap on the field, she looked
older and ill-tempered.

Hermione entered and inquired meekly, “Madam Hooch?”

Offended by the tone, Madam Hooch scowled, “Yes, of course, it's me.
Were you expecting the bloody tooth fairy?” She never paid much attention
to Hermione Granger. The girl had no sporting abilities, always with her
nose buried in books.

Draco snorted. Granger was used to being treated superiorly by the teachers'
but Snape and Hooch were the exceptions to that rule. He took in the
contents of the messy room, several old brooms from different
manufacturers covered a third of the floor, and a glass cabinet housed
several trophies, medals and picture frames.

Madam caught sight of Ginny and immediately waved her in, “Ah, Miss
Weasley. Come in, come in!” She was bent over her cluttered desk and
winced in pain as she endlessly searched for pieces of parchment.

Ginny apologised for their tardiness, “Sorry, miss, but are we late? The
Headmistress held us up.”

Madam Hooch scoffed, “I can imagine why. The nosy old bird probably
wanted to know about Mr Malfoy’s famous disappearance.”

She continued to toss papers to the ground and groaned, “Where's that
bloody schedule?”

Finally, she found it under a heavy book and waved it triumphantly with her
good hand, saying, “Ah, here’s the nasty bugger.”

She paid attention to the others and smirked, “Oh, I see you've brought
help. Oliver stopped by just the other day.”

“Oh, did he? I hope he’s well,” Ginny gushed. Oliver Wood was legendary,
and Harry met him for an odd pint now and then.
Madam Hooch regarded Hermione and her outfit critically, “Miss Granger,
I didn't think you would be too keen to teach first and second years how to
fly.”

The judgemental old cow.

Hermione pursed her lips and barely muttered, “Oh, I'm not. I just tagged
along.”

Madam Hooch frowned, “Right then.” It was unfathomable to her that

someone would tag along to watch first years falling unceremoniously off
their brooms. Miss Granger clearly needed to find a better pastime.

The seasoned referee pointed to Draco and gave a nod of approval, “But
this one here can lend you a hand, Ginny. You were a decent Seeker, if I
recall, Mr Malfoy.”

Draco was humbled by the compliment and surprised she remembered.

He smiled in reply, “It's been a few years, miss, but I will be happy to
oblige.” Besides his mother, it was the one thing he missed most while
training in China. Even Kungfu and meditation could not fill that void of
flying through the clouds.

Madam Hooch clamped him on the shoulder with her good hand and
beamed, “That's the spirit.”

She glanced at the only window in her room, where rays of sunshine
streamed through the slightly dirty glass and sighed, “I should be up there
teaching.”

She included bitterly, “But the Headmistress insisted I stay off my feet for a
few days. It's rubbish, I tell you.”

Ginny reassured, “Don't worry, Madam Hooch. The students are in good
hands.”

Madam Hooch smiled, displaying a few missing teeth, “Oh, I have no

doubt.” She had taken quite a nasty fall off her broom.
She shoved the crumpled paper into Ginny’s hand and almost shoved them
out of the room, “Here you go. Now off with you lot. If you face any issues,
let me know.”

Ginny nodded, “We will, Madam Hooch.”

Madam Hooch widened her eyes with realisation and pulled Ginny abruptly
to her side and warned, “Oh and keep an eye on this one Slytherin boy. He's
got a Beaters build and bullies the rest. Last week alone, he disrupted the
class and made a handful of girls cry.” The boy was a nasty piece of work

Ginny smirked, “I think we can manage, miss.” She had helped in the past
but under the supervision of the strict flying instructor. It would be an
entirely new experience she looked forward to.

Madam Hooch recalled a vital instruction and wearily recited, “A quick

reminder that you cannot use spells to discipline the children, no matter
how horridly they behave.” Personally, she believed in good old-fashioned
thrashing, but times were different, and children were considered more
sensitive.

Draco paled as he recalled Barty Crouch Jr masquerading as Mad-Eye

Moody under the influence of Polyjuice Potion. The nutter had turned him
into a ferret in front of the student populace. It was perhaps the single most
humiliating moment of his younger days.

Ginny forced a smile, “Yes, we understand.”

They left Madam Hooch to organise her books and things.

Hermione mumbled as they left, “Well, this is certainly going to be fun.”

Ginny sorted, “Loads.”

She glanced at the schedule and said, "Well, we have about an hour before
the Slytherin first years make it onto the pitch. Shall we make use of the
time to pay Hagrid a quick visit?"
The Institution

Terry kept his forehead against the cool wall and closed his eyes.

He could return to his life as an Auror in a few weeks. He still went through
withdrawal, and some days were better than others, but Hermione’s visit
gave him the strength to persevere and better himself for her sake.

It angered him that she would have to marry Malfoy, but he knew there was
no escaping the algorithm. Still, their romance could flourish in the
background, behind hidden doors and dark corners, away from prying eyes
until the right moment.
 Chapter 62
Chapter Notes

To all the comments:- Thank you all for the lovely comments. Much
love!

Draco faces his past and struggles to deal with it.

Hagrid makes his first appearance.

The Alpha reveals his true self to Dorian and entrusts him with an
important task.

I hope everyone enjoys the update!

Enjoy Chapter Sixty-Two!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Avery Manor

Dorian walked cautiously into the bowels of Avery Manor. He wasn't used
to being summoned by the Master. Even though his loyalties lay elsewhere,
as a werewolf, he was bound by blood to obey his Alpha’s every whim,
especially when transformed.

He had done a reasonably good job of shielding his thoughts and hiding any
trace of his interactions with the Ministry. Still, this unscheduled meeting
worried him. He had long since given up on any hope of a natural death.
His death would be gruesome, and if this was to be his end, then so be it. At
least he would be doing the right thing for once.
The helpless screams of his many victims haunted him each night. The
atrocities he had committed were under direct orders from Fenrir Greyback,
but still, it was blood on his hands.

Ah, Greyback, the beast without a shred of compassion. Dorian had

witnessed the fiend rip apart his victims while they screamed in agony for
mercy. It was enough to make one's stomach turn.

Dorian hurriedly went down the stairs, further into the dungeons, and found
dim lights illuminating his way. The surrounding walls were solid rock and
stone, designed to muffle screams or cries for help.

He could make out an iron door in the distance and concluded it was the
doorway to the leader's private quarters. They usually met as a group in the
great hall of the manor.

Making a fist, he hesitated, then knocked on the door and awaited

permission to enter.

A few seconds later, an authoritative voice said, “Enter.” The deep voice
seemed to echo, sending a shiver down Dorian’s spine.

Nevertheless, swallowing the fear bubbling to the surface, Dorian pushed

open the otherwise heavy door effortlessly and strode in confidently. His
astute eyes took in the grim surroundings and shelves jammed with books
and jars upon jars of ingredients and vials of what looked unmistakably like
human blood.

He could not help but take a deep breath and inhale the sweet fragrance. Ah,
definitely the fresh scent of human blood. It enticed and called to him, but
he had sworn off the stuff nearly a decade ago.

With his hands at his side, maintaining a comfortable distance between

them, Dorian said eagerly, “My Lord, you requested my presence.”

The Master smiled slightly though distracted and replied, “Yes, I did. Please
have a seat, Dorian. Make yourself comfortable.”
Dorian didn't care for the condescending yet casual undertone and instantly
became suspicious. Such was his nature, but he graciously accepted,
“Thank you, Master.” Merlin, he needed a fucking drink and a safer line of
work.

The flutter of wings distracted him. He looked towards the source and
caught sight of a large barn owl feasting on a rat. It held the helpless
creature down with its foot, digging its talons deep into its flesh as blood
seeped out while it squirmed, trying to escape the predator's clutches, but it
was futile.

The owl let out a loud hoot, used its sharp beak to penetrate the skin, pulled
out the rat's innards, and devoured the tiny creature. Blood and guts spilt
onto the floor, and Dorian stared transfixed at the display and swallowed the
lump that formed in his throat, but the Master’s voice pulled him out of his
irrational thoughts.

The leader explained the owl's morbid presence, “Excuse me, my beloved
Mika has sent an urgent owl.” He opened the letter the owl delivered,
hurriedly read the words in his head, and smiled smugly, displaying sharp
teeth.

Dorian nodded curtly and averted his gaze from the leftovers of the rat
falling to the floor.

He saw the smile on the Master’s face and felt compelled to inquire, “Good
news?”

“Yes,” the Alpha replied with a short answer. Clearly, he wouldn't divulge
anything further, and Dorian didn't pursue the subject. He shouldn't have
asked in the first place and inwardly cursed his stupidity.

After locking the letter safely in the drawer, the Master adjusted the dark
mask that concealed his identity and sat down. An uncomfortable silence
engulfed them, and Dorian wished he was elsewhere.

The Alpha enjoyed his servant's discomfort. It was amusing to him to watch
the man squirm.
He almost glared sternly at Dorian and leered, “You must be wondering
why I sent for you.”

Dorian became instantly alert. He sat up straight and answered truthfully,

“Yes.” He concealed his nervousness and fear to the best of his ability.

The Master narrowed his eyes and queried, “How do you feel around me?”
It was a seemingly harmless question, but Dorian knew it had a deep
meaning.

Without hesitation, Dorian graced his Alpha with a plausible answer,

“Compelled to obey, my Lord.” He could see from the Master’s expression
that his answer pleased him because he rose from his seated position and
started to close the gap between them, causing Dorian to panic and move
his chair backwards.

It was instinctive. He was supposed to keep a low profile, mind his

business, and report to Potter and Thomas. He couldn't afford to get too
close to the Alpha and reveal everything endangering the mission and
everyone involved.

Granted, he was an accomplished Legimens, but there was only so much

one could suppress under the Cruciatus curse. As a precautionary measure,
Dorian always carried a cyanide pill in his pocket. It was a Muggle tactic
embraced by mostly terrorists who bit down on the deadly capsule to escape
interrogation and capture.

If things became unbearable, he would resort to taking it without hesitation.

However, he needed to figure out how the effects would work on a
werewolf.

The Alpha spoke with a demanding undertone, “Do you know what I am?”

Dorian cringed as the weight of his Master's commanding voice bore down
on him. Still, he lifted his head so their eyes met and gave a single nod of
acknowledgement, “Yes, I do, my Lord.”
The shrouded man asked thoughtfully, “Do the others know?” He was
convinced they didn't or chose to turn a blind eye which was unthinkable
since pureblood wizards were prejudiced against his kind.

Dorian cleared his throat and answered, “Besides, Julius? No, they do not.”
His features contorted unpleasantly against his will as a bitter thought came
to mind. Wizards weren't a brilliant bunch except for a select few. Most
accepted what they saw rather than the obvious.

A low, sinister laugh filled the void, and the Master said with dripping
sarcasm, “They are in for a nasty shock, but no matter, I require their
funding and somewhat mediocre skills to further the cause. Once they have
fulfilled their purpose, they will be disposed or turned to serve a greater
purpose.”

Dorian reluctantly nodded in agreement, “Indeed, my Lord. Some, such as

Goyle, would make a formidable werewolf.” The man was built like a
mountain and, if turned, would be a ruthless force to be reckoned with.

However, the Alpha seemed sceptical and bluntly criticised, “Goyle lacks
intelligence and patience. His recent stunt concerning Hermione Granger
was proof of his immaturity. I expected better from Cormac McLaggen.”

Dorian choked back a sarcastic retort. McLaggen was treated like a servant,
and the former Gryffindor was terrified of the others. Goyle was
intimidating and capable of following through on a threat. The man was
unhinged, unpredictable, and best kept on a short leash.

The black and jewelled mask stayed in place, making it difficult for Dorian
to see any facial reactions, but from the tone of voice, it was evident their
leader was far from pleased.

The Alpha brought his fist down on the table and scowled, “Their activities
are perverse and portray us in a light that I certainly do not approve of.
They are spared for the moment, but any further incidents will result in dire
circumstances.” He would end their miserable existence with his own hands
if they dared to disobey him.
Dorian couldn't help but agree, “It was in poor taste. They have placed
Hermione Granger under DMLE protection.” He had seen her and couldn't
fathom what the fuss was about. He assumed she had a sensual body under
her stylish suits, but her features and hair weren't to his taste. He preferred
straight-haired blondes with big lips and doe eyes willing to do whatever
his heart desired.

The Alpha asked curiously, “What do you know about Draco Malfoy?” He
had meant his query to sound offhanded but failed to keep the keenness out
of his voice.

Dorian was taken aback momentarily but not by much. Despite their fall
from grace, the Malfoys were still affluent members of the wizarding world
and one of scared twenty-eight. His parents had supported Voldemort, and
the family was extremely wealthy.

He shrugged to show indifference and hoped it was enough to discourage,

“Not much, my Lord.” He recalled his conversation with Thomas regarding
the Malfoy brat and then again with Kingsley.

The Alpha grew thoughtful and exclaimed, “I'm intrigued by his recent
transformation.”

The statement piqued Dorian's interest. He knew the leader would set his
sights on the Malfoy heir but was surprised he was discussing the matter
with him. Still, he showed avid interest and probed, “How so, my Lord? I
highly doubt Malfoy will be sympathetic to our cause.” It would work in his
favour to offer insight and point out flaws that would hurt their revolution.

However, the Alpha was unconvinced and insisted, “His current

employment and future bride may prove advantageous to our needs.”
Having one of their own close to Harry Potter and Undersecretary,
Hermione Granger, would be a significant advantage. She had the most
access to the Minister of Magic besides his wife.

Dorian wasn't keen on the narrative of the conversation, but had he

expected anything else?
He kept his true feelings hidden and asked earnestly, “What would you have
me do, my Lord?”

The Alpha smiled shrewdly and commanded, “Keep an eye on the boy for
the time being. At the opportune moment, befriend him without arousing
suspicion.”

Dorian obeyed without hesitation, “As you wish.” Shit. He supposed it was
easy enough since he and the Ministry were as thick as thieves. Once he
informed them of the Alpha’s plan, they could facilitate a meeting between
Malfoy and himself and take it from there.

The Master regarded Dorian suspiciously as he strode towards him, causing

Dorian to get to his feet and take a step back unceremoniously. He looked at
his fast-approaching Alpha with a perplexed yet cautious expression.

Yet, the Alpha never came too close. He maintained a healthy distance and
said in a jagged voice of steel, “I asked you here because I wish to show
you my true self, Dorian. I trust you have earned the right.”

Dorian could hear his heartbeat in his ears. He bowed and responded with
sincere gratitude, “You honour me, Alpha.” This was an unprecedented turn
of events that truly shocked him to the core. He was hardly in the Master’s
inner circle. However, he completed every task assigned to him to
everyone’s satisfaction, and perhaps the Master had noticed his devotion.

The leader gently grabbed hold of the mask covering his identity and pulled
it off, revealing his true self. He brought his head up and smiled
triumphantly while his eyes showed a blackness and lack of empathy that
even Voldemort did not possess.

Dorian stumbled as he took another step back and almost kneeled. Looking
into the stony eyes of the Alpha made him severely vulnerable and
compelled to obey, but he fought the urge with all his might and found his
voice, “But how? They captured you… it's impossible.” Even though they
had their suspicions about who it could be, to stand in his presence was
overwhelming and suffocating.
It made perfect sense that it was him. Antonin Dolohov. The man was once
considered a powerful dark wizard, and now he was a werewolf.

Dorian stood transfixed with his mouth agape. He had expected it, but still,
the revelation rendered him speechless.

Antonin seemed unfazed by Dorian's reaction and explained, “Indeed, but I

learned some valuable lessons from the Dark Lord. I acted before they sent
me off to rot in Azkaban.” He had been spared to lead a more significant
revolution than the world had ever witnessed.

He threw his arms wide and flexed, causing ribbed nerves to appear along
his bulging muscles.

Dorian continued to stare in disbelief. He knew the strength a werewolf

possessed and, coupled with a wizard's blood, made this threat quite
formidable.

Antonin exclaimed with raw hunger and determination, “I have a true

purpose now, Dorian. We are the future.”

Dorian recalled the bodies of lesser beings, the cries of innocents, and blood
thick and even flowing out of dismembered victims the last time a madman
craved ultimate power.

The Alpha’s commanding voice bounced off the walls and almost caused
Dorian to cower in his presence. He strengthened the walls he had placed to
safeguard his memories and hesitantly faced Dolohov.

Dolohov leered as he divulged a cryptic portion of his plans to the man

before him, “The Muggle Prime Minister will play a significant role, and I
will reward those worthy with the gift of immortality.”

Dorian was curious as to what that statement meant. However, Antonin

could have spent more time setting a task.

He hissed, making his displeasure evident, “They have captured one of my

men. I believe Malfoy was involved in the arrest. The man’s name is Griffin
Montague, and he is vital in supplying the ingredients I need to keep
brewing the Polyjuice potion.”

Dorian found his voice and inquired, “What would you have me do, my
Lord?”

Antonin went around his desk, sat down slowly, brought his hands together,
and delivered what Dorian thought to be a death sentence, “Prove yourself
worthy of being my lieutenant. Free him from Azkaban and bring him to
me.” A low growl emitted from deep within him, causing Dorian to shudder
and take a deep breath.

Fuck.

Dorian avoided eye contact and bowed in submission, “As you wish, my
Alpha.”

He needed to meet with Thomas urgently.

Hogwarts

Ginny glanced at the training schedule and said, “Well, we have about an
hour before the Slytherin first years make it onto the pitch. Shall we use the
time to pay Hagrid a quick visit?”

Hermione glanced at Draco to see his reaction; sure enough, he looked

rather solemn with pursed lips and an unreadable expression. Still, she
ignored his obvious discomfort and replied excitedly, “That sounds
brilliant.”

They made their way out of the castle, down the ancient steps, and towards
Hagrid's hut. They could see the top of it as they cut across the grounds and
surrounding gardens.

Ginny inhaled deeply and looked towards the sky while shielding her face
from the harsh rays of sunlight with her hand. It was a beautiful sunny day,
and she hoped it would remain that way until the training sessions were
finished.

She nudged Draco and said with a smile plastered on her face, “Oh, the
weather is ideal for flying. Don't you agree, Malfoy?”

Draco nodded in agreement and replied somewhat solemnly, “Definitely.”

They passed an empty paddock and walked towards a thriving vegetable

patch East of the dwelling.

A giant figure tending carefully to the garden was clearly visible among the
pumpkins, cabbages, and neat rows of tomato plants. Hagrid sported a
wide-brim sun hat and hummed a tune as he pulled stubborn weeds from
the hard earth.

Ginny approached first and called out loudly enough for the half-giant to
hear, “Hagrid!”

Hagrid turned around and beamed. He wiped the dirt on his trousers and
came towards them with the brightest, most welcoming smile and greeting,
“Hermione! Ginny! How wonderful to see you. It's been ages.”

Draco moved to stand behind Hermione and made himself scarce and
unnoticeable. It wasn't easy since he towered over her, but it was a valiant
effort. He eyed the massive mass of a man with greying hair before them
regretfully for how he had treated him. The gentle giant was as he
remembered him, except a little rough around the edges but with the same
kind eyes and a full beard.

Hermione looked ashamed and apologised profusely, “Yes, umm, sorry,

Hagrid.”

Hagrid waved aside her apology and pouted much like a child, “Aye, I
know you’re busy, but drop me an owl once in a while. I worry about you
lot.”
Ginny replied, somewhat guilty, “Of course, Hagrid.” They were so caught
up with their lives that they had momentarily forgotten a great friend and
teacher. It was inexcusable, and she made a mental note to visit more often
with James.

Draco still went unnoticed, and Hagrid chatted excitedly about their reason
to visit and walked alongside them towards his hut, which seemed freshly
painted.

Hagrid looked at Hermione and raised a curious thick bushy brow, “By the
way, did you get out of marrying Malfoy?”

Draco stiffened but said nothing. On the other hand, Hermione inquired
suspiciously, “No, but….” How would Hagrid know about her pending
nuptials? She was sure he didn't read Witch Weekly Magazine.

Hagrid frowned. Clearly, he had let too much slip, but the damage was
done, and he thought he might as well confess the truth. Poor Ron.

Taking a deep breath, he hesitantly explained, “Ron mentioned it. He was

quite upset by the prospect. Spent a whole day with me getting drunk and
going on and on about how he couldn't stomach it.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and pursed her lips before something damaging
slipped out. Her brother was a certifiable idiot.

Hermione managed to compose herself and gritted out, “Did he? How
charming.” The bastard.

Hagrid smiled, “He still loves you, Hermione.”

Ginny scoffed, “For Merlin's sake….”

Hermione blushed and opened her mouth to say something truly nasty, but
Draco grabbed her hand and coughed loudly, drawing all attention to
himself. He hadn't intended on making a scene, but it seemed necessary at
the time to save Granger from saying something drastic.
Hagrid finally noticed the stranger among them and asked, “Ah, who's this
then?”

Hermione pulled a reluctant Draco forward to introduce him, “Oh, this

is…..”

Hagrid chuckled, “He looks an awful lot like Malfoys spoiled brat, doesn't
he?”

Ginny started to giggle but managed to say, “Um, Hagrid….”

Hagrid frowned and spoke his mind freely, “Merlin, what a pampered little
Prince Draco Malfoy was. Annoying bloody git, I hated that boy.”

Ginny nodded in agreement, “The entitled wanker.”

Draco hid a smile and mused, “Indeed.”

Hagrid addressed the girls and laughed, “Do you remember how he started
bawling after Buckbeak barely grazed him?”

Hermione panicked and tried her best to finish a sentence, “Yes, but,
Hagrid…..” Yet again, she was rudely interrupted.

Draco let go of Hermione’s hand, crossed his arms over his chest, and
argued, “It was much more than just a graze, mate.” It had been quite a deep
cut, and he had the scar to prove it.

Hagrid ignored the blonde man and said thoughtfully, “Wonder where he's
at, eh? Probably making life miserable for some poor lass.”

Ginny almost doubled over with laughter, “Well, you’re not wrong there.”

Hermione injected with an amused expression, “Funny story.”

Hagrid regarded her curiously, “Hmm….”

Hermione pushed Draco forward with all her might and formally
introduced, “Hagrid, meet Draco Malfoy.”
Hagrids eyes bulged out of his head, and he stared in utter disbelief while
managing a single word, “Blimey.”

Draco smiled awkwardly and said, “Good to see you, Hagrid.”

An uncomfortable silence surrounded them as Hagrid led the group inside,

served them some of his inedible rock cakes, and hurried to make tea.

To be polite, Draco reached for one, but Hermione shot him a warning look
causing him to take his hand back at once and rest it on his lap.

“Umm, Hagrid, are you alright?” Ginny asked in concern. The shock of
meeting Malfoy had obviously affected Hagrid on a deeper level.

Hagrid avoided looking at Draco and Hermione and answered gravely, “I'm
fine.” How the ruddy hell was he supposed to react? Should he congratulate
them? Definitely not!

Hermione swapped a look with Draco, got to her feet, and started to help
Hagrid prepare tea, and once they were out of earshot, she spoke softly,
“Hagrid, I decided to marry Malfoy.”

She added quickly, hoping to appease, “We will divorce after the mandatory
time has passed.”

Hagrid sighed, “I’m worried about you. This isn't some random bloke,
Hermione.”

Hermione touched his arm and smiled reassuringly, “I know, Hagrid, but we
have to abide by the laws of the Ministry no matter how ridiculous they
are.”

“Well, if he hurts you, he will answer to me,” Hagrid countered sternly

without hesitation.

Hermione hugged him then and fought the tears that clawed their way to the
surface.
Draco grew slightly alarmed and asked Ginny, “What do you suppose they
are discussing?”

Ginny retorted rather mischievously, “They’re probably going over ways to

murder you and dispose of the body. Hagrid does have a multitude of
magical creatures willing to do his bidding. Have you ever met his pet
Acromantula?” Of course, Aragog was long since dead, but plenty of his
offspring were alive.

Draco paled, “What?” He was undoubtedly sure Ginny was joking, but the
little voice in his head advised him to skip tea or whatever beverage Hagrid
served.

Hermione reappeared with Hagrid and hot cups of freshly brewed tea. She
took in Malfoy’s ashen face and raised a questioning brow. Meanwhile,
Ginny stifled a laugh and thanked Hagrid for the tea before sipping the
sugary concoction.

Hagrid stared unblinkingly at Draco, making him entirely uncomfortable.

He couldn't quite bring himself to put his thoughts into words. They
couldn't make small talk like ordinary people.

Unable to take the scrutinising gaze any longer, Draco spoke kindly,
“Lovely place you have here.”

Ginny burst out laughing. It was honestly too much. Malfoy was a complete
trainwreck, and it was highly amusing.

Hermione struggled to hold back her laughter but succeeded somewhat and
scolded, “Ginny, stop it.” She threw Malfoy a sympathetic glance and
wished he would relax.

Draco took a sip of the tea and grimaced. Salazar, he had never tasted
something so disgustingly sweet.

Ginny composed herself, glanced at her watch, and gasped, “Oh, we need to
get going, Hagrid.”
Still, Hagrid never stopped staring at Draco.

Hermione injected, “Well, we will catch you after practice then, Hagrid.”

Ginny included with a devilish glint, “Do you fancy a pint at the Three
Broomsticks?”

Only then did the gentle giant look away and smile broadly in reply,
“Brilliant.”

Draco abruptly shot to his feet and thanked Hagrid for the tea before bolting
out of the hut.

Hermione grinned sheepishly and followed a thoroughly amused Ginny out.

Once outside, Ginny patted Draco on the back and chuckled, “You handled
that beautifully.”

Draco massaged the bridge of his nose in exasperation and groaned.

Sarah stared at the ceiling while the man on top of her grunted and groaned
in pleasure.

She thought endlessly about her lost opportunity.

She obsessed over why she didn't escape when she could.

He quickened his movements, and she knew he would be done shortly.

She could feel him empty his seed into her.

Sarah closed her eyes and pretended to be elsewhere as he pulled out of her
and left the room without a word.

Quidditch Pitch - Hogwarts

Ginny managed to arrange the brooms into three neat rows just in time. A
group of children walked towards them with sour expressions, looking
unpleased to be out in the hot sun.

She groaned, “Ah, here come the little rascals.”

Hermione glanced at the stands and said, “I'll watch from the professors'
box.” She felt wretched about leaving Ginny to mind the children alone, but
she was as useless as a garden gnome when it came to flying.

“Good luck,” Draco exclaimed with an amused expression and followed

Granger to the seats. He wondered if they had to watch the proceedings or if
they could explore the surrounding areas. He was curious to see how
Hogwarts had changed during his time away.

Hermione tapped him on the shoulder and asked curiously, “Are you
alright?”

Draco turned to face her and replied with mixed feelings, “Yes, I'm fine. It's
just a bit strange to be back.”

He cracked half a grin and mused, “Hagrid hates me.”

Hermione sat down on the hard bench and smiled, “Hmmm, I suppose he
does, but I think you're handling all of this quite well.” She pulled out her
wand and muttered an incantation. An umbrella sprouted out of the tip and
offered some much-needed shade.

Draco took a refreshing deep breath, his wandering gaze caught sight of a
flock of birds, and he recalled the numerous birds that gathered near the
training grounds at the temple. Suri would often be seen scattering nuts for
them to eat despite Master Chun’s many warnings that she stop encouraging
the birds since they left a significant amount of droppings to clean.

He reflected upon Ginny’s earlier statement, “Weasley was right. It is a

good day for flying.”

Hermione smiled sincerely, “You're dying to get out there, aren't you?”
Draco glanced over his shoulder at her seated form and frowned, “I'm here
to protect you, not teach.”

Hermione defiantly argued, “I think I'm safe now. I highly doubt Cormac or
Goyle will burst into the stadium and kidnap me.”

Draco turned to face her and glared sternly, “I don't find that amusing,
Granger.”

Hermione attempted to lighten the gravity of the situation. She chuckled,

“Admit it. It is rather hilarious that they would stoop to such childish
methods to get my attention. I dated Cormac briefly, and Goyle, well, no
comment.”

Draco’s nostrils flared. He saw nothing remotely amusing and clarified his
thoughts, "There was nothing childish about what they sent or intended to
do, Granger. I would take a threat from Goyle seriously. Besides, he’s not
overly fond of me either and might hurt you to spark a reaction out of me.”

Hermione sighed, “Just go…help Ginny. She looks like she could use it.”
True enough, Ginny struggled to control the many children chatting among
themselves and refusing to listen.

She could practically feel Ginny about to explode with frustration. She was
red in the face and fuming.

Draco grinned, “Hmm, you make a fair point. Weasley does look somewhat
overwhelmed, but what do I know about children or teaching? I've hardly
been around any.” That wasn't entirely true since he had spent many hours
around the village children at the temple and taught them bits and pieces of
english when Master Chun permitted.

Hermione shrugged but simultaneously encouraged wholeheartedly, “I’m

sure you can figure it out, Malfoy. Now go!”

He raised a sceptical brow, “Why are you so eager to get rid of me?”

Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation, “Because you're smothering me.”

Draco conceded defeat and exhaled, “Fine! I’ll help your friend.” He placed
significant emphasis on the word your. He descended the stairs and walked
through the passageway the Quidditch teams usually used to enter the
grounds. It brought back some fond yet painful memories of a less
complicated time.

Ginny saw him approach and let out a massive sigh of relief. She was
forced to admit that he was a rather imposing sight in his all-black Auror
uniform, prominent aristocratic features, and unique blonde hair.

Once he got close, she welcomed him excitedly, “Come on, Malfoy.”

She tossed a broom at him and grinned, “Go on, give it a go.”

Instinctively, Draco’s fingers closed around the handle, and he felt a surge
of excitement. It was an ancient-looking, rather frightfully damaged broom,
but it was nothing he couldn't handle.

Ginny nudged Draco in the ribs and smirked, “All jokes aside, you were a
decent Seeker, but of course, Harry was the absolute best.”

Draco frowned. How could he forget? While he won against the other
houses, he had lost every match to Potter, and unfortunately, it still left a
bitter taste in his mouth.

He recalled something Weasley would appreciate and shared the bit of

information enthusiastically, “Blaise gifted me a broom. It is the latest in
the Firebolt range. You should have a look sometime.”

“Sure! Blaise does have the latest stuff,” Ginny blushed for no good reason
as she replied and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Draco crossed his arms over his chest and said, “I heard you played for the
Harpies. That's quite impressive, Weasley.”

A few students had successfully mounted their brooms while most were still
struggling to get their respective brooms to respond to them, and some sat
on the ground cross-legged, picking at blades of grass.
Ginny answered happily, “Yeah, it was bloody fantastic.” Where did he hear
it? Perhaps, Hermione had mentioned it in passing.

Angry voices interrupted him, and they turned around in time to catch two
Slytherin boys fighting over a broom.

Ginny blew her whistle and hurried over to break up the scuffle. If these
little shits thought they could create a nuisance during her teaching session,
they had another thing coming.

They separated the boys, and Draco helped maintain the peace while Ginny
ran the class through practice drills and assisted with broom handling. Some
children took to flying naturally, while others struggled with the basics.

An hour passed by peacefully, and with Ginny’s guidance, all the children
managed to kick off the ground and at least hover for a while. Still, the
disciplined proceedings were shattered when a child fell off his broom after
Ginny blew her whistle for them to return to the ground.

The poor boy let out a loud cry and broke his glasses in the process while
another hefty-looking lad stood over him with a smug look of utter
satisfaction.

Ginny reached the area and demanded, “Oi, what's your name?” The little
sod. He was definitely the one Madam Hooch warned them about.

The overweight boy, who was a size more significant than the rest of the
children, turned to face Ginny without a care in the world and replied with
an air of arrogance, “Rupert.”

Ginny frowned, “Didn't you hear the whistle?”

Rupert nodded, “Yeah, I heard it but four eyes here did not so I helped
him.”

Ginny was livid, “You pushed him to the ground, Rupert. You are in big
trouble, young man.”

Rupert scowled, “You can't punish me because you’re not a professor.”

Ginny gritted out, “No, I'm not a professor, but I will become your worst
nightmare if you disobey my instructions.”

Rupert pretended to be afraid and mocked, “Oh, I'm so scared.”

Ginny stepped forward and warned, “Listen to me, you little …….”

Draco held Ginny back and smiled, “I’ll handle this while you tend to the
other one.”

Ginny stormed off toward the fallen boy, who held onto his broken glasses
with tears in his eyes. She pulled out her wand, fixed the glasses, and
proceeded to console the child.

Draco smiled kindly, “Hi, Rupert.” The boy bore a striking resemblance to
Gregory Goyle though he was sure there was no connection. Rupert was far
too old to be the child of his former friend.

Rupert smirked, “I know who you are.”

Fantastic, Draco thought but kept his cool and asked, “Do you?”

Rupert answered with a touch of disgust to his tone, “Yeah, aren't you
Draco Malfoy? My father mentioned you one time.”

Great.

Draco showed indifference but decided to humour the child, who thought
much of himself, and mused, “Did he now?”

Rupert laughed, causing his many chins to wobble and chubby face to
shake, “He thinks you're a blood traitor and spineless git.”

Draco kept his composure and gritted out, “Well, good for him. Now get on
the broom and do it right.”

His commanding tone wiped the smirk right off Rupert's face. However, the
boy refused to adhere to the instructions and instead fired back a snarky
reply, “Make me.”
Draco wasted no time. He grabbed the boy by the collar effortlessly and
unceremoniously lifted him on to the broom.

Rupert squirmed and complained, “You can't do that. I'm going to complain
to the Headmistress. My father will hear about this.”

That last bit sounded oddly familiar, and Draco flinched.

He smirked and issued a dire warning, “Complain to whoever you like, but
if I catch you mistreating your classmates, I will transform you into a
bloody piglet. Would you like that?”

Rupert stared wide-eyed and paled, “Teachers are not allowed to use
transfiguration as a punishment.” The fear in his eyes was apparent. His
father had also mentioned that Draco Malfoy was an ex-Death Eater.

Draco grinned, “Well, I'm not a teacher now, am I?”

The pudgy boy looked positively horrified.

Draco smiled faux sweetly and patted the boy on the back, “Off you go,
Rupert.”

Rupert flew off in the opposite direction, and despite the child’s horrid
attitude, Draco could not help but think that he would make a talented
Beater one day.

He jogged over to where Ginny was and muttered, “Some kids are
arseholes.”

Ginny was genuinely impressed, “Nicely done, Malfoy.”

She tapped her chin and teased, “You know, he reminds me of someone I
once knew.”

Draco did not like the direction of the conversation but decided to humour
her, “Oh?”
Ginny grinned, “Yeah, a certain pale blonde pointy-nosed Slytherin we
went to school with.

Draco sighed, “Was I that bad?”

Ginny answered truthfully, “You were much worse.” It wasn't a lie. He had
been unforgivably terrible to them without just cause.

Draco looked into the stands in time to catch Hermione yawning openly and
staring into oblivion, looking positively and utterly bored.

Ginny cracked a smile, “Poor Hermione. She looks miserable.”

She insisted, “You can head back to her if you wish, Malfoy.”

Draco raised a brow, “But don’t you have another class to teach?”

Ginny smiled knowingly, “You like her, don't you?”

Draco snorted, “What gave it away?” It was clear from Ginny’s tone that
she wasn't joking around.

She winked, “The way you look at her.”

Draco answered, perplexed, “I don't look at her any different than I would
you.”

Ginny answered with a roll of her eyes and frustration, “Come off it,
Malfoy. You simp after her like some wounded puppy dog.”

Draco frowned, “Thank you for that vivid comparison, but shall we finish
up?” His handsome features contorted unpleasantly, making it clear that he
did not appreciate the words she used to describe his attraction to Granger.

Ginny gave a half grin, “Sure. The Gryfindors are due any minute.” She
decided to drop the subject for the moment since Malfoy was
uncomfortable discussing it.
Dealing and teaching the Gryfindors proved less troublesome than the
Slytherins. They followed instructions in an orderly manner except for a
few rascals who thought they were above it all. One or two children stuck to
Ginny’s side like awestruck fans bombarding her with questions about her
time with the Holyhead Harpies.

Finally, the two-hour lesson was over, and quite frankly, Ginny and Draco
were exhausted and impressed by Madam Hooch’s ability to do these
lessons daily. It was no mystery why the professors at Hogwarts chose to
remain childless.

Hermione yawned for possibly the millionth time and wished she had
remained with Hagrid while Ginny concluded teaching, but thankfully it
was over. She had blissfully forgotten about the remaining houses,
Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.

Ginny sat down on the grass and sighed. Draco followed suit, ran his
fingers through his hair, and looked towards the stands to ensure Granger
was still in one piece. He could easily make out his betrothed sitting
uncomfortably, shifting from one butt cheek to another and bored out of her
mind.

He tore his gaze away, looked at Ginny, and said, “This is certainly an
experience.”

Ginny glanced at the wooden box beside her and countered, “We have some
time. Shall I let the snitch out?”

Draco grinned instantly and shot to his feet. He mounted the broom closest
to him and took a deep breath, “Yeah, go ahead.” No sooner did the Snitch
come to life and take off; he kicked off the ground and followed it at
tremendous speed despite the limitations of the broom he was riding.

It felt glorious to feel the wind through his hair and adrenaline pumping in
his veins as he chased after the elusive snitch. There was nothing that could
remotely compare to flying except meditation.
The weather worked in his favour, and before long, he spotted the fluttering
of gold wings near the goalpost. He sped towards it and caught it
effortlessly. The beautiful golden ball lay motionless on his palm and felt
oddly cool against his skin.

Hermione watched intently as Draco flew at breakneck speed. It was

apparent to even her that he was a bit out of touch, but she was impressed
that he still managed to maintain grace and tact.

Snitch in hand, Draco flew towards his intended and, while still on his
broom, offered her the fruit of his labour, “For the prettiest girl in the
stands.” It was a long-standing tradition that the Seeker sometimes
presented the Snitch they caught to their significant other. Draco never had
the opportunity since he didn't have a steady girlfriend at Hogwarts.

Hermione blushed. She was aware of the tradition, having witnessed plenty
of Seekers present the token to their person of interest.

She took the ball carefully and said shyly, “I'm the only person here.”

Draco smiled, “There could be a million people here, and you would
outshine every single one.”

He flew off, leaving Hermione to stare after him in mild disbelief. The
gesture made her speechless, and she unconsciously held onto the Snitch as
if her life depended on it.

He landed safely and dismounted, and Ginny nodded approvingly,

“Impressive.”

Draco shrugged, “It's a clear day.”

Ginny frowned and stated firmly, “It was a good catch. Take the
compliment I give out so few of them.”

He couldn't help but laugh, and she joined in. They spent the rest of the day
training and instructing the rest of the houses in companionable silence.
At nearly the end of the day, Hermione sat in the stands and looked at the
practice session. She was bored, but she somewhat enjoyed watching
Malfoy fly. There was a certain elegance to his movements that made it
seem utterly easy. Ron was talented but often looked clumsy and lacked a
certain flair to his actions, Viktor was a pro, but his bulky stature left much
to be desired.

Once the Hufflepuff students left the grounds, Hermione approached them,
clutching the snitch tightly and reluctantly handing it to Ginny to place in
the box.

Draco held a broom out and teased, “Granger, you want to have a go.”

Hermione snorted and shook her head, “Not on your life. We all have our
strengths, and flying was never one of mine.”

He gently took her hand, pulled her closed, and drawled huskily, “Come on,
I'll take you up. I promise not to let you fall.”

Hermione swallowed hard and was sorely tempted to take him up on his
offer, but good sense finally kicked in, and she quipped, “How many girls
have fallen for that line?”

Draco smirked, ran his long fingers through his hair, and answered frankly,
“Quite a few, but it means something now.”

Hermione blushed and averted her gaze, “Maybe later. Remember we

promised Hagrid we would grab a drink with him before sunset?”

Draco regarded her with an amused expression, “Coward.” He was not

looking forward to spending more time with Hagrid. It was a recipe for
disaster, but clearly, the women were oblivious to it or chose to ignore it.

The harsh rays of sunshine had significantly reduced as the day progressed,
and a pleasant coolness took its place. They heard Hagrid conversing with
someone or something as they approached the hut and adjoining paddock.
From their angle, it was impossible to see who or what it was, but as they
drew closer, the creature Hagrid spoke so lovingly to came to light.
The feathers were darkened and greying, but the beast was still as
magnificent as the first time they saw him.

Hagrid heard them approach and moved away so his beloved friend could
have a good view. He beamed proudly, “Buckbeak, say hello to our guests.”

The majestic Hippogriff had no intention of displaying good manners.

Instead, Buckbeak clawed at the dirt with his cloven hoofs and menacingly
raised itself on its hind legs, towering over them in intimidation.

Hermione and Ginny came to an abrupt halt and even stepped back.
Buckbeak had a mean streak that was not to be trifled with. Besides Hagrid,
Sirius and Harry were the only known individuals Buckbeak tolerated.

Hagrid frowned and warned, “Oh, he's in a mood today. Best you lot stay
clear of him.” As time passed, Buckbeak became overly temperamental and
hard to please, but Hagrid did his best and cared for the beast as if he were
his child.

Draco ignored the warning and slowly approached the hostile magical
creature.

Hagrid bellowed, “Malfoy! Get back!” What the bloody hell was he
thinking? Buckbeak probably remembered the git and disrespectful remarks
he made all those years ago.

Hermione urgently hissed, “Draco, have you lost every shred of common
sense?” Still, he ignored the warnings and slowly yet cautiously approached
the fence.

Draco glanced over his shoulder and mused, “Are you worried about me?”

Hermione scoffed, “I am not worried, but I rather not deliver your mangled
body to Narcissa.”

Draco smiled, “Have some faith, my love.”

Ginny crossed her arms over her chest and chuckled, “This should be
good.”
When it became clear that Malfoy would not listen, Hermione took out her
wand and kept it handy in case she needed to pull him out of harm's way or
restrain Buckbeak.

Hagrid was right, Buckbeak did remember the slick-haired boy who
insulted him, and he did not take kindly to him invading his space. He let
out a threatening growl and clawed angrily at the dirt, clearly warning
Draco to stay away.

However, Draco stayed on his path, and once he got close enough to feel
the warmth of Buckbeak's breath on his cheek, he said with all the sincerity
he could muster, “I owe you an apology, my friend. I never meant to insult
such a magnificent creature.”

Hagrid, who had been ready to step in if needed, stood rooted to the spot
and stared at the once arrogant Malfoy boy. He was dumbfounded and
shocked by the boy’s actions.

Draco closed his eyes, bowed, and whispered, “Forgive me.” He gave
himself over entirely, not bothered by the consequences that might follow.

The words pierced Hermione’s heart, and she felt an unfamiliar jolt.

Buckbeak curiously regarded the man before him for a few agonising
seconds, sizing him up and trying to make sense of the situation. When he
was satisfied that Draco had given his all to gain his trust, he bowed and
closed the distance between them.

Draco opened his eyes to find Buckbeak kneeling before him and took the
opportunity to jump over the fence and touch the mighty beast that terrified
most. Buckbeak closed his eyes and relished the soothing feeling of fingers
brushing over his feathers and fur.

Hagrid stared wide-eyed in utter shock, “Well, I certainly was not expecting
that.”

He asked the girls quite seriously, “Are you absolutely sure this man is
Draco Malfoy?”
Ginny stared at Draco and concurred, “I see what you mean.”

She voiced her thoughts, “He’s done a complete 180. Is it possible for
someone to change so drastically?”

Hermione was lost in the moment and mumbled a half-hearted reply,

“Hmm, I suppose it is possible but I'm still struggling to come to terms with
it.” She watched as Draco continued to interact with Buckbeak. He seemed
to be speaking to the creature, and shockingly, the Hippogriff understood
every word.

Ginny nodded in agreement, “I can't say that I blame you, Hermione. He

seems almost too good to be true.”

A low growl interrupted them, and they saw Fang taking a defensive stance
and growling at the forest. The Great Dane had aged considerably and had
trouble walking, but that didn't stop him from being protective.

Hagrid grabbed him by the collar and pulled him away. He glanced at the
thick greenery and tall trees and said solemnly, “The forbidden forest is
nearly a country on its own. Werewolves have gathered, hundreds of them.
I've never seen anything like it.”

He added further information which piqued Hermione’s interest, “They

move about in Hogsmeade but keep mostly to themselves. It’s like they’re
waiting for something or someone, but their presence in the forest has
caused an uproar among the centaurs, but no fights have broken out as far
as I’m concerned.”

“The Ministry is aware, Hagrid. We are monitoring the situation closely,

and hopefully, there will be a peaceful solution to all this without any blood
being shed,” Hermione clarified, hoping it would appease Hagrid.

Draco climbed over the fence and came towards them with a slight smile,
and Hagrid clamped him on the shoulder and roared, “You have balls,
Malfoy, but I’m sure Buckbeak appreciated the apology.”
“I own many apologies, and I hope by the end of my time I will have
righted my many wrongs,” Draco said to no one in particular, even though
he locked eyes with Hermione and seemed to be addressing her directly.

Ginny sighed and said, “Well, I've had enough drama for the day. I need a
bloody drink.”

Hagrid beamed, “Aye! I second that.”

Hermione couldn't stop staring at Draco. She felt her heart beat rapidly and
slam against her ribcage. Numerous confusing feelings enveloped her, and
she suffered silently at the uncertainty of the situation.

Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office - The Ministry of Magic

Perkins hissed, “Where the fuck is the report on the exploding toilets,
John?”

John cowered and mumbled, “It’s not ready yet.”

Perkins was livid, “First you slack off, and now you’re late with the report.
What the hell is going on with you?” His fingers accidentally brushed
against a resting pencil, moving it slightly out of place.

John stared at the pencil and gritted out, “Do not touch my things.”

Perkins picked up the pencil and sneered, “Oh, yeah, and what the fuck are
you going to do about it?”

Arthur Weasley chose that precise moment to enter the department and took
in the tense situation with a stunned expression.

He glared sternly at the duo and asked, “What is happening? I heard raised
voices.”

Perkins returned the pencil to its rightful place on John's neat desk and
shrugged, “Just having a little fun, boss.”
Arthur looked at the other man in concern and asked, “Are you alright,
John?”

John kept his head down and composed himself. He hated that prick
Perkins.

Hogsmeade

Hagrid led the way, and the others trailed after him. Draco dragged his feet
and looked around with keen interest. Most had stayed the same except for
a couple of new establishments.

As they rounded the corner and the Three Broomsticks came into view,
Draco began to panic, and Hermione noticed his shift in mood.

She moved closer to him and whispered, “What's the matter?”

He breathed deeply and confessed, “I used the Imperius curse on Madam

Rosmerta.”

Hermione sighed, “It was a long time ago. Besides, I doubt she will
remember, Draco.” How could they have forgotten that little fun fact before
picking the Three Broomsticks?

They arrived at the pub, and without hesitation, Ginny and Hagrid entered
the establishment while Draco and Hermione hung back and contemplated
what they should do.

Hermione reassured the man beside her, “Look, I’m positive it’ll be fine,
but if you want, we can leave. I’m sure Ginny and Hagrid will understand.”
She concluded that they would have to face plenty of instances where
Malfoy’s past misdeeds haunted them.

Draco stared at the name board of the pub and shook his head, “No. I need
to do this and face the consequences.”
He faced Hermione, gently cupped her face, gazed deep into her eyes, and
said, “I'm sorry I have to put you through this, Granger. You deserve so
much better.”

Hermione held her head high and didn't break eye contact even a second.
Instead, she took his hand and led him inside the mildly crowded pub.

Their presence caused quite a stir, and most patrons stopped what they were
doing to stare at them. They gawked at them as if they were on display, but
Hermione paid them no mind and led Draco to the table where Hagrid held
court.

Once they sat down, Ginny offered words of comfort, “Don't mind them,
Malfoy.” She said those words, not meaning them. Malfoy had much to face
and pay for, but he didn't seem to shy away from taking responsibility for
his actions, and she grudgingly admired him for it.

Madam Rosmerta came over with a broad smile and warm greeting,
“Welcome! I haven't seen you two in a while, but I suppose you must be
busy.”

She caught sight of Draco and shrieked, “Merlin’s beard, Draco Malfoy. I
read about your return but the pictures don’t do you justice.” The young
man before her was strikingly handsome.

Draco blushed and muttered, “Thank you. I hope you’re well.” She clearly
did not remember their unfortunate interaction.

Rosmerta beamed, “Never better. Let me get you lot a round of drinks on
the house.”

Hermione objected, “That's not necessary, Rosmerta.”

Rosmerta was having none of it. She waved her hand dismissively and
replied, “Nonsense.”

She smiled at Hagrid, “The usual?”

Hagrid blushed crimson and laughed awkwardly, “Aye, the usual, Merta.”
 Chapter 63
Chapter Notes

Thank you, as always, for your tremendous support. Much love!

I have taken a few liberties, so please read with an open mind. :)

A pub brawl, sweet moments with Hagrid and more insight into how
much Draco has changed.

Enjoy Chapter Sixty-Three!

HAPPY READING! :)

The Three Broomsticks

Draco looked around somewhat nervously. He felt many eyes on him,

which was understandable since he had partially returned from the dead.

Still, he pursed his lips, sat up straighter, and keenly watched their
surroundings. After all, he was there to protect Granger and not face the
demons of his past, even though the lovely memories eagerly awaited him
around every corner.

Plenty of patrons continued to look their way, causing Hermione to stiffen,

but Hagrid's stern glare made the nosy onlookers finally turn away and
mind their business.

Draco could feel Hermione's restfulness, and he ached to take her hand and
reassure her that all would be well, but he could not bring himself to touch
her. His sordid reputation tainted her image, and he was well aware of the
toll it took on her even though she soldiered through with composure
worthy of the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic.

Hagrid frowned, making his displeasure evident, "Bloody busybodies.

Trying to stir up trouble." They hardly had dignitaries or infamous
individuals gracing Hogsmeade, so the locals were rather curious and
suspicious and more so of known Death Eaters. The consequences of
Draco's recruitment or his age at the time mattered little.

Oblivious or in denial of the tension brewing in her pub, Madam Rosmerta

perfectly balanced a wooden tray and smiled broadly as she approached,
"Here you go. I hope Firewhiskey is good enough, but I got you some
tequila shots with an extra special twist to start you off." She had graciously
provided Hagrid with a more oversized shot glass equivalent to the size of a
coffee mug by human standards.

She placed the tray in the centre, and everybody except Draco helped
themselves to a shot with a grateful, "Thank you, Merta."

Draco smiled at their host and politely declined, "You are most kind, but
unfortunately, I cannot partake in alcohol while on duty."

Rosmerta seemed slightly disappointed but concealed her feelings and

presented warmly, "Mr Malfoy, might I offer you something else?" She
wondered why the man seemed so incredibly nervous around her.

Draco gave a half smile, ran his fingers through his hair and responded,
"Oh, please call me Draco. I don't mean to be rude, but I'm on the job and
unable to indulge." It was regrettable since a drink would have helped ease
his rattled nerves.

Rosmerta glanced at Hermione and grinned knowingly, "Ah, I see.

Protecting your talented fiancé, I presume." The man seemed almost overly
protective of the Undersecterary, and his duty to her exceeded what the
Ministry mandated.

Hermione blushed. Her fingers tightened around the tiny shot glass, and she
said, embarrassed, "Madam Rosmerta…."

However, Draco glanced sideways, interrupted with a cheeky grin and

retorted, "You presume correctly."
Rosmerta helped herself to Draco's discarded shot, raised it and said
happily, "Well, cheers."

"Good health," Hagrid chimed in with his gruff yet gentle voice.

Ginny was the first to down her shot and bite on the lime wedge. Her eyes
widened, and she exclaimed, "Oh, yum."

Hermione licked her lips, savouring the saltiness and stated with a satisfied
yet curious expression, "That's delicious. Much better than ordinary tequila
shots. What's the secret?" It crackled and popped, leaving a pleasant
aftertaste.

Madam Rosmerta threw her head back with laughter, "My lips are sealed,
darling." She enjoyed experimenting with innovative methods to elevate
simple alcoholic beverages.

Hagrid furrowed his brow and questioned sternly, "Why do you need Auror
protection, Hermione? What haven't you told me?" He did not care for
being left in the dark and made it abundantly clear via his tone of voice.

Hermione cleared her throat and wished she could have another shot, but
Rosmerta had only served one round of tequila. Still, Hagrid's penetrating
glare was not easy to escape, mainly since the others at the table avoided
eye contact and seemed intent on avoiding the topic.

The reasons for her protection detail were on a need-to-know basis, but this
was Hagrid and could be trusted. However, she decided it was best to play it
by ear and deny any severe implications.

Hermione cracked a weak smile, "Oh, it's nothing like that, Hagrid. It's
quite stupid, really. Harry is being paranoid."

Her poorly thought-out reply did nothing to appease the giant's curiosity,
but thankfully he dropped the subject momentarily, and Ginny seized the
opportunity to engage him in conversation.
Madam Romerta used the awkward silence well and offered
enthusiastically, "Draco, can I tempt you with a mean fruit juice? I am
known for my exotic passion fruit concoction."

She leaned closer and almost whispered, "My secret is I add a few chilli
flakes to the mix."

Her prominent bosom was inches from Draco's face. He moved his head
back and blushed profusely before responding sheepishly, "Intriguing. If it's
not too much trouble."

Rosmerta patted him heartedly on the back and winked, "Not at all." She
sashayed towards the well-stocked bar without a further word.

Draco watched her go with an amused expression. She had been a pretty
woman in her day, but time had been kind to her because she was still quite
lovely. Plenty of teenage boys lusted over the curvaceous landlady.

Hermione caught him looking and snorted, "Well, you've got her eating out
of the palm of your hand." She vividly recalled Ron's crush on Rosmerta.
He would fall to pieces in her presence and get severely tongue-tied,
causing Harry to place orders on his behalf.

Draco flinched. He paled and stared at Hermione intently. Why would she
make such a crude comment?

Hermione took in his horrified expression and realised her mistake. Fuck.

She massaged the bridge of her nose in exasperation and apologised, "I'm
sorry that was a poor choice of words."

Ginny was getting restless and, quite frankly, bored. She handed tumblers
of Firewhiskey to Hagrid and Hermione and insisted, "Come on. Let's drink
up!"

Rosmerta returned shortly with a pitcher of a somewhat yellowish

concoction with visible passion fruit seeds floating carefree on the surface.
She placed a tall glass before Draco and poured him a generous portion.
Draco inhaled the aromatic fragrance that the mixture was emitting. It
smelled refreshing, and fabulous water beads chased each other down the
glass and became one with the rustic table's wooden surface.

He took a cautious sip of the tangy drink and was pleasantly surprised. A
steady warmth spread through his body down to his toes. Had Rosmerta
snuck in some alcohol?

An involuntary sultry tone escaped his luscious lips, "Mmm." His reaction
was well received by Madam Rosmerta, who smiled broadly. She enjoyed
watching her guests' responses to her efforts.

However, Hermione scoffed, "Steady on, Malfoy."

Draco ignored her entirely and proceeded to down his tasty drink. He
desperately felt the need to liquidate his parched throat.

Ministry of Magic

Thomas sat in the deserted cafeteria, nursing a hot tea and munching on a
stale pastry.

He wasn't hungry, not in the least, but he needed some nourishment or

would collapse and be useless to anyone. His mind was in turmoil over the
many disturbing revelations.

Abbott was still reviewing every picture and combing through evidence,
hoping to find some lead on the Dollhouse Strangler. The madman had
ceased all activity while that was a good thing, it also slimmed their
chances of catching him.

A voice he wholeheartedly welcomed cut into his thoughts. The tone was
laced with plenty of concern, "Working late?"

Thomas pushed aside the plate, leaned back in his chair and smiled at
Audrey, "Yeah. Plenty of matters need my attention."
Audrey sighed. Thomas Spencer would never change. However, she still
felt drawn to him.

She smiled warmly and asked, "Do you mind if I join you?"

Thomas used his leg to push back a chair and invited happily, "Not at all,
Audrey. I welcome a distraction." He could spend hours in her company
and never tire of it.

Loving her had been a losing game for everyone concerned, but perhaps it
was the right time to rectify the many wrongs done in the past. He deserved
some happiness, didn't he?

Audrey never beat around the bush and bluntly said what was on her mind.
She stared at him intently, roving over the scars, fine lines of ageing and
brilliant eyes that seemed weary.

She said solemnly, "You look tired."

Thomas chuckled, "What else is new?"

He asked keenly, "How are the recruits shaping up?" They were the future.
His time was nearly at an end. After extinguishing the werewolf revolution,
he would retire to the countryside and live off the land. Perhaps, Audrey
could be persuaded to share his dream.

Audrey looked really pleased, "They have potential. Especially Dennis

Creevey and Draco Malfoy."

Thomas scoffed, "Good to know. Hannah doesn't shut up about the Malfoy
brat." Abbott unknowingly became Malfoy's advocate and defender to
anyone who spoke ill of him.

Audrey became thoughtful and exclaimed, "He's quite skilled, Thomas. I

feel like he will be a valuable addition to your team." She felt in her gut that
Draco would make a formidable Auror surpassing those in his rank and
above. His gifts were not limited to magic, and he had a great sense of
control of his mind which enabled him to harness the magic following in
him to unmeasurable lengths.

Thomas smirked, "You mean Potter's team." He could not help the sarcasm
that generously coated his words.

Audrey replied with a distinct roll of her eyes, "Still sore about that?" She
knew Thomas had been deeply insulted by Kingsley's decision to overlook
his most senior and dedicated Auror for a position that was rightly his and
hand it over to Harry Potter instead.

Thomas laughed, "Not really. The kid looks better on posters than I do." He
pointedly looked at the stump where his hand used to be and casually
shrugged.

Audrey argued, "Don't sell yourself short. You have a certain something."

That piqued Thomas's interest, and he insisted, "Oh, like what?" He wasn't
what you would deem attractive, maybe once, but certainly not now, with a
missing limb and multiple scars running down his face and body.

Still, Audrey stared at him as if he were something special and blushed, "I
always thought you had rather unique eyes." He did have such mesmerising
eyes filled to the brim with wisdom and worldly knowledge.

Thomas could not help but chuckle, "You've never told me that."

Audrey crossed her arms over her chest and defended, "I never got the
opportunity to do so."

Putting caution to the wind, Thomas took a deep breath and asked
somewhat timidly, "Audrey, are you free this weekend?" He had battled
vicious beasts and madmen but was utterly useless and terrified in the
presence of the woman he deeply cared for.

Audrey smiled slightly and quizzed, "Perhaps. What do you have in mind?"
Her heart fluttered with endless hope. She had loved him since their training
days, but tragedy ended their blossoming romance.
Swallowing his fear, Thomas offered wholeheartedly, "Dinner on
Saturday?"

Audrey smiled, got to her feet, returned the chair to its original position,
and reacted, "Sounds lovely."

Thomas visibly relaxed and sighed, "Good." He had been rather frightened
of rejection

Audrey mused, "Do sleep at a reasonable hour, Thomas. You look

dreadful." He looked like he needed to go to bed and not resurface for a
week.

He queried in disappointment, "Leaving so soon?"

Audrey stifled a laugh, "I don't have much choice. My cat needs to be fed."

Thomas frowned, "Do you still have that mangy thing?" His features
contorted unpleasantly.

Audrey nodded and replied, faintly amused, "I do."

With a slight smile, Thomas said, "Have a good evening, love."

She kissed him gently on the cheek, "You too."

His pocket burned far worse than his cheek. Thomas took out a battered
Galleon with strange markings on the surface and frowned.

Dorian Blackwood requested his presence.

The Three Broomsticks

As the evening progressed, Rosmerta left them to attend to her other guests,
and Draco was immensely grateful that she had no recollection of what
transpired between them.
Hagrid had his share of alcoholic beverages, and by the end of their session,
he was drunk and highly emotional. He brought up many stories that left
Hermione and Ginny in tears or stitches as they laughed at the hilarious and
illegal situations Hagrid unknowingly seemed to land himself in.

Hermione protested jokingly, "Stop, Hagrid! I can't listen to these shady

dealings and look the other way."

Draco pondered about the giant's life with a smile on his face. Rubius
Hagrid had a larger-than-life personality, and he was instantly drawn to the
genuineness and humbleness displayed.

The door to the pub opened, and a gust of cold air swept through the place,
and in walked a group of men who seemed to know their way about since
they stopped at a few tables to speak and hackle the patrons.

Draco kept a watchful eye over the men. He could sense trouble from a mile
away.

The evening took a turn for the worst when the rowdy bunch of men caught
sight of the distinguished guests occupying one of the best tables in the
establishment. With narrowed, disapproving eyes, they took in the ice-
blonde man.

They seemed overly confident and reeked of cheap alcohol.

Without a word, they pushed a server aside, approached the table and stood
menacingly on either side of Draco. They were upset by his presence and
made it abundantly clear. The group consisted of four wizards in their early
twenties, and one among them was quite fetching. He had an air of
arrogance about him, but he was good-looking in an unkempt way.

Hermione clutched her drink and stiffened. The air around them instantly
changed, and the tension that settled over the group could be cut with a
knife.

Ginny glanced at the gathered men lazily, her hand dropped under the table,
and her fingers wrapped around her trusty wand. She exchanged a look of
concern with Hermione but pursed her lips and waited for the situation to
unfold.

One of the men spat out his words, "We don't want your kind in here."

The fine hairs on the back of Draco's neck came alive, yet he smirked, "And
what kind would that be, mate?" He willed himself to remain calm. There
would be no bloodshed today.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath while Hermione looked at him out
of the corner of her eye. She could make out his chest rising and falling
with the urgent need to compose himself.

However, she could hardly hold back her sharp tongue, "That is not for you
to say."

Hagrid somewhat drunkenly slurred, "Wasn't expecting to see you here

today."

"Good to see you, Hagrid," One man hissed.

"Wish I could say the same, Paul," Hagrid gritted out.

He followed up with a direct question, "Was the hunt successful?"

Jack played it down and grinned from ear to ear, "Aye! It finished in record
time. The buyer was most pleased."

He patted his pocket and winked, "Rewarded us handsomely."

Vultures. The men illegally peddled exotic creatures.

Hagrid narrowed his eyes. He seemed beyond irritated and hoped Hermione
was paying close attention to the conversation.

Hermione, who had been listening intently, voiced her concerns and
thoughts, "What hunt? I'm sure you know that poaching of magical
creatures is strictly forbidden." Merlin, please give me a reason to lock
away these bastards, she thought.
Jack was no fool and laughed aloud, "Who said anything about creatures?
We were talking about mushrooms, weren't we, lads?"

The men laughed mockingly but in unison and nodded their heads in
agreement.

Hermione regarded the men with a sour deposition and hissed, "Indeed.
Will see about that."

A man wearing dark blue robes did not care for her tone.

He clenched his teeth and gritted out, "Is that a threat, Madam
Undersecretary?"

"Have some respect, Marcus," Hagrid growled. He was not about to sit
quietly on his arse and do nothing while they insulted Hermione.

Draco sized up the man speaking in such a disrespectful manner and felt his
resolve begin to slip. Humiliating and insulting him was one thing, but he
would not tolerate such behaviour towards Granger or his mother.

Hermione's pleasant features contorted, and she fired back, "It's a promise."
One Patronus from her to the Ministry was all it would take to alert the
Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical
Creatures. He would appear and apprehend the suspects for questioning.

Jack smirked and played the role of a reluctant mediator, "Gentlemen, play
nice. It's not every day we have the honour of hosting such high-profile
characters in Hogsmeade."

Hagrid hissed, spewing Firewhiskey in all directions, "Mind your manners."

He was getting increasingly tired of their conduct.

Still, Jack was persistent. He spoke to everyone in general and walked

about as he delivered his little impromptu speech, "I come in here expecting
to celebrate, but instead, I'm faced with quite a dilemma.

Ginny scowled, "There's no dilemma here. There are plenty of other tables."
Jack snorted. He came up behind Draco, clamped him hard on the shoulder,
and spat, "Unfortunately, we don't tolerate his filthy kind in any
establishment." As far as he was concerned, Death Eaters were worse than
the vilest scum.

Draco felt the man's fingers dig into his shoulder blade. He stiffened but
kept silent. Part of atoning for his past misdeeds was to accept and embrace
others' reactions within certain boundaries. It was only then he could seek
true forgiveness from the wizarding world.

He felt Jack's warm breath on his cheek, "How's your bitch of a mother?"

It was instinct. Draco's fingers curled to form hardened fists, and his
fingernails though short dug into the palm of his hand.

His hands shook with the anger charging through his body, but before he
could act, Draco felt surprisingly soft fingers encircling his fist and fierce
brown eyes pleading with him to remain calm.

They locked eyes, and much was exchanged between them. Hermione
discreetly shook her head, and instantly Draco regained his composure and
willed his anger to subside.

He recalled Master Chun's precious advice, "They are just words, Draco.
They can only hurt if you let them. Pay them no mind, my son."

When Draco made no acknowledgement that he heard the hated words,

Jack grew angry at being shown indifference and demanded, "Malfoy! Can
you fucking hear me?"

However, it was Hermione who replied. She was annoyed with their
tiresome behaviour and wanted nothing more than to continue the evening
without any unpleasantness.

She insisted sternly and dismissed the men with an authoritative hand wave,
"Move along. We don't want any trouble."
Jack laughed aloud, and the others joined him as they mocked and
attempted to humiliate Draco.

The men purposely goaded, hoping to draw out a response, "Is she your
mouthpiece? You cowardly git, hiding behind a woman's skirt."

These unruly arseholes were ruining her steady buzz, and Ginny was having
none of it.

She warned, her blood boiling, "Leave him alone."

Still, Jack ignored Ginny and focused on Hermione. He issued a shrouded

warning, "You're a long way from the Ministry, Madam Undersecretary.
Your status means little to us."

Paul, who had been watching Draco's lack of movement, leered, "Look at
this! The Death Eater is an Auror. Potter must be fucking desperate." His
tone was laced with amusement. What was the DMLE thinking hiring a
branded Death Eater?

Ginny sprang to her feet, wand drawn and spat, "What did you say, you
little prick?"

Oh, no, Hermione thought despondently. This situation would end poorly.
She had little choice but to stand her ground and defend her best friend's
honour.

Pin-drop silence followed as witches and wizards at other tables turned their
way and gave them their undivided attention but not a single soul rose to
their defence or offered words of comfort.

Apparently, Hagrid shared her sentiment since he rose, and his imposing
structure almost knocked the table over. Things had escalated, and Draco
thought it best to intervene before the situation spiralled out of control.

Jack eyed Hagrid and Ginny cautiously. He recognised the redhead to be

Potter's wife. His imbecile friend had gone and done it. They hardly, if
never, spoke ill of the Chosen One.
Clearly, this was not a fight they would come out unscathed. Provoking the
half-giant and his guests was a foolish endeavour. However, to go back on
their word and beliefs would be far worse than a severe beating.

Draco pushed his chair back roughly. It skidded across the floor and hit
Jack's knee. He slowly got to his feet, adjusted his Auror robes and tried to
calm the situation.

Turning to face Jack, who looked furious, Draco smiled and inquired, "How
can we help you fine gentlemen?" He knew exactly what they required, but
it would not hurt to ask and have things out plainly.

Jack narrowed his eyes and hissed, "Get out, Malfoy." Was the fucker slow?
Or just pretending?

Draco closed the distance between them, causing Jack to take an

involuntary step back. The blonde grabbed the chair, returned it to its
rightful place, and nodded in agreement, "Of course. If that's your wish."

Hermione reached for Draco and cried in outrage, "Malfoy is not going
anywhere. He's with me and under the protection of the Ministry of Magic."

Marcus, Paul, and everyone within the establishment stared at her in shock
and disbelief.

Meanwhile, Jack's astute eyes fell on the prominent engagement ring

turning bright green. Of course, he knew about the pairing between the two.
It caused quite a scandal that Hermione Granger was being made to
copulate with Draco Malfoy. Still, judging by her responses and defensive
nature, Jack shared no pity for the once Golden Girl.

However, he did appreciate a loyal, spirited, and lovely woman. Jack was
particularly gifted with the opposite sex, and the brothel he frequented was
happy to have him as a client. He did not have to work much to get their
attention, and under all the fuss, Hermione Granger was nothing but a
woman—a woman with plenty of needs that required fulfilment.
He closed the distance between them and cooed, "Pretty bird like you
deserves far better than the likes of him."

Draco watched the situation unravel and felt the magic literally burn his
insides. He narrowed his eyes and took in Granger's discomfort and anger.
If Jack made one wrong move, the man would spend the night at St
Mungo's.

Touch her, and you die. Like a sign, the words ran rampant through Draco's
mind. A possessiveness he had never experienced seemed to swallow him
whole, and quite frankly, the intensity scared him.

His teachings of self-control were slowly slipping out of his grasp as Jack
moved closer to Granger until his lips almost touched her face.

Hermione stepped back the best she could and glared, "I'm warning you.
Get away from me."

Ginny raised her wand and eyed the man who insulted Harry with
contempt. She felt an unfamiliar rush of adrenaline. It had been years since
she had been in a good fight.

Forgetting his audience and the situation at hand, Jack boldly requested,
"Let me buy you a drink."

Hagrid came around the table, knocking down everything in his path, stood
by Hermione's side protectively and sneered, "Jack! That is enough."

Hermione stood her ground and scowled, "I'll pass on your generous offer."
She would rather have a drink with the giant squid.

Hagrid repeatedly warned, "Leave us alone, Jack and nobody gets hurt."

A man from the back snapped, "You should be ashamed, Hagrid. Sitting
here and drinking with this bastard."

"Times have changed, Paul. Malfoy was never convicted. He was just a
boy," Hagrid countered with the bitter truth everyone seemed to overlook.
Yes, Malfoy was a horrid git and awful child but never a cold-blooded
murderer.

Paul spat at Draco's feet and snarled, "Fucking Death Eater, scum. You lot
owe me a father." His father was a Muggle-born but a talented wizard. He
had been innocent, and the Snatchers that grabbed him showed no mercy
when they took turns tormenting him with the Cruciatus curse.

Their actions and hatred towards him made a lot of sense, and Draco
sympathised and bore no ill will despite everything.

He took a deep breath and sincerely apologised, "I am sorry for your pain
and suffering, but I assure you I played no part in the atrocities Voldemort
committed." That was not entirely true since, under due stress and forced
orders from the madman, he had tortured plenty of innocents until they
begged and pleaded for mercy.

There was a collectively sharp intake of breath and hissing upon hearing the
Dark Lord's name.

Paul was having none of it, and without considering the consequences, he
shoved Draco hard, "Fuck you, Malfoy."

However, Draco was not intimidated. He did not move a muscle or utter
other words to defend his circumstances. Instead, he turned on his heel to
leave, but Hermione called after him in alarm, "Draco, wait…."

Jack made the grave mistake of grabbing her forearm to stop her from
rushing to her future husband's side. His fingers dug into her flesh, causing
Hermione to wince in pain.

Draco stopped dead in his tracks. His face darkened. This would be the
second time an outsider prevented her from coming to him. Except this was
not Weasley but some random bloke who had bitten off more than he could
chew.

Hagrid abruptly turned to grab Jack by the neck, but barely had he reached
the man closest to them, whipped out his wand and pointed it directly at the
half-giants chest. His hand trembled with uncertainty, but he made no effort
to lower his wand.

Paul gritted out, "No! Let him leave."

Hermione struggled, but Jack was too strong. He applied more pressure,
and she could feel the blood circulation in her arm being restricted. She
would make sure he paid in spades for his reprehensible conduct.

However, she blocked out the pain and sneered, "Unhand me this instant." It
was clear from her tone of voice that she meant business. Jack ignored her
demands. He knew the damage was already done.

Draco regarded Jack with a firm expression and issued a dire warning, "Let
her go." His demeanour turned frosty and instantly hostile. The transparent
grey in his eyes hardened as he stared daggers at the man holding onto his
fiancé.

He slowly counted to ten in his head, giving the reckless man ample time to
come to his senses and foolishly hoped the man was wise enough to unhand
his future bride, but unfortunately, it seemed unlikely.

To make matters worse, Jack moved closer to Hermione while she

attempted to get away and inhaled deeply. He made quite the show of it,
causing Hermione's face to contort unpleasantly.

The intimate gesture made Draco's blood boil and dormant magic surge to
the surface.

Jack licked his lips suggestively, gave Draco his full attention and drawled
almost seductively, "Or what?"

Ginny drew first blood. She shot a perfectly timed hex at the man
threatening Hagrid, causing the shocked man to double over and blood to
spurt out of his broken nose.

Draco smiled almost devilishly. Forgive me, Master Chun.

He closed the gap between Jack and him in less than two strides and swiftly
kicked the man square in the chest with one well-placed foot. The arrogant
man was forced to let Hermione go, who rushed back to the table and pulled
out her wand from her purse.

She neatly shot a body-binding curse at a burly man trying to curse Ginny.
He fell to the ground struggling against the ropes tightening around his
torso.

Jack held onto his chest and stumbled but did not fall. He regained his
balance, made a fist and clumsily swung, but Draco effortlessly dodged the
poor attempt and countered the ill-timed attack with a vicious blow to his
opponent's cheek, which shattered the bones and filled the space with a
sickening crunch.

Ginny gasped, and Hermione flinched. They glanced at the blood seeping
out of Jack's mouth as he choked on it.

A few minutes after impact, Jack's eyes rolled back in his head, and
darkness claimed him. He should have used his wand, but it would have
mattered little when faced with an adversary such as Draco Malfoy.

Hagrid caught one terrified man by the collar, lifted him clear off the
ground, and shook him violently as if he were a rag doll.

"I told you arseholes to leave us alone," he yelled angrily. He personally

hated confrontations of any sort. These dim-witted bastards had sealed their
fate.

Draco carefully bent over Jack and checked the man's vitals. He was
unconscious but still very much among the living. So much for his earlier
promise of not spilling blood.

He hesitantly glanced at Hermione and awaited instructions. Jack had

manhandled the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, which was a
punishable offence in the eyes of the law.
Hermione glared at the unconscious man on the floor with a thin stream of
blood trickling down his chin with little to no compassion and instructed
sternly, "Arrest him and the others."

Draco nodded in acknowledgement, magically conjured restraints and

handcuffed Jack and the others. He straightened as Jack came too and
groaned in unimaginable pain. There was a visible cut along the cheek, and
the skin was bruised and swollen.

Taking out his wand, Draco sent his dragon Patronus to the DMLE with
summarised instructions. Within mere minutes, two hefty Aurors burst into
the Three Broomsticks and hurriedly approached them.

They exchanged a few quick words with Draco, who explained the grave
events that transpired.

Their expressions were grim. They nodded in acknowledgement, grabbed

hold of the assailants, and disappeared while the men in custody pleaded
and argued to be released.

The pub almost emptied, but a few loyal customers refused to budge, and
the barmaids hiding behind the bar poked their heads out to ensure
everything was still in one piece. Rosmerta was away on an errand and
would not return until much later.

Ginny picked a fallen chair off the floor and sat down. Her heart beat
rapidly, and she relished the feeling.

She calmed herself enough to suggest, "Another round?" She could not wait
to get home and tell Harry about what happened. He would naturally make
a mountain out of a molehill and confront the men responsible most
harshly.

Hagrid roared in agreement, "Aye!" The barmaid rushed to fill their order
and brought it over immediately.

Hermione pushed a tumbler with a splash of scotch towards Draco and

insisted, "Have a drink, Malfoy. You could use it."
Draco massaged his wrist and responded solemnly, "I'm on duty, Granger."

She reached over, gingerly brushed his fingers with her own and mused,
"That's an order, Malfoy."

Draco stared into her beautiful eyes and smirked, "I don't take my orders
from you."

Hermione looked away, kept her eyes downcast and smiled. She sipped her
drink while drowning in her thoughts.

Hagrid downed his drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and
said, "Now, where were we."

Ginny took a sip and reminded with a half grin, "You were telling us about
your camping trip in the mountains."

Brenda poured Michael a glass of red wine and served him dinner. It was a
rare occasion that they were having a meal together. His latest assignment
guarding the Muggle Prime Minister kept him out mostly, and they hardly
saw each other.

She buttered a roll, handed it to her beloved and said offhandedly, "You
seem quite distracted." She understood how demanding his job was and
made sure not to add their relationship issues into the mix. Not that there
was any, but this was the first meal they shared in weeks.

Michael snapped to attention and smiled, "Huh? Oh, I've got a bit on my
mind, to be honest."

Brenda offered wholeheartedly, "Please, darling, tell me what's troubling

you. Maybe I can help."

Michael brushed her question aside, "It's nothing. I guess I'm worried about
Terry." He had not been around to see his best mate since his duties kept
him pretty busy. Evans relied on him to identify unscrupulous characters
with the aid of magic.
Brenda inquired, "How is he?" She knew Michael was lying, but he was not
allowed to share mission details with her, and she wisely dropped the
subject.

Michael pushed his food around the plate and smiled, "He's better and
focused."

He could not tell her that more and more werewolves were following the
Muggle Prime Minister, putting their lives at significant risk.

Evans came to the shuddering conclusion that the werewolves were not
looking to kill the Muggle Prime Minister but mark him and change him
into one of them, thus securing their position. His complete obedience
would open the doors to their concealed world and possibly more followers.
Muggles were always fascinated by the unknown.

One of the wolves they apprehended had grudgingly confessed under

torture, leading them to assume what they thought was true.

Harry and Kingsley had been alarmed by the revelation. They added more
undercover Aurors unbeknownst to Evan or the Minister and sought to
inform leaders worldwide of the Alpha's true intentions.

Brenda and Michael ate the rest of the meal in companionable silence until
it was time for him to return to his post. It gutted him to leave her, but it
was only momentary and for a more significant cause.

Hagrid got horribly drunk and started singing while others in the pub joined
in, and Draco could not help but sing the famous song at the top of his
lungs.

The earlier incident was somewhat forgotten, and Hermione put her arm
around Ginny's shoulder as they sang along with Hagrid and the others.

Ginny glanced at her watch and gasped. It was getting extremely late, and
they needed to return to the castle.
Instantly, she was sober and ready to leave. She patted Hagrid on the arm
and said gently, "Let's call it a night."

Hagrid reluctantly agreed. He did feel somewhat lightheaded, and it was

best to leave while the night was still young.

Hermione tried to settle the bill, but Draco wouldn't let her. He paid for
everyone while she sulked in the corner.

They saw Hagrid back to his hut, where he became a sobbing mess because
he was so lonely.

Hagrid hiccupped and sobbed harder, "Nobody ever visits me."

Hermione and Ginny swapped a look of concern and said together,

"Hagrid…."

Draco trailed after them in silence. He kept his eyes on the blubbering half-
giant and could not help but feel his heart clench with sorrow.

Hagrid pulled out a dirty handkerchief, blew into it loudly and stuffed it
back into his pocket.

He surfaced and confessed rather dreamy-eyed and smitten, "I miss

Olympe."

Draco caught up with Hermione, pulled her to his side and whispered so
only she could hear, "Olympe? The Beauxbaton Headmistress?"

Hermione smirked, "Yeah, they were a thing for a while."

Draco widened his eyes in utter disbelief, "I don't believe it." The two were
as different as night and day.

Hermione frowned. She didn't quite like what Malfoy was insinuating and
argued, "Oh, and why is that?

Draco realised how he came off and tried again, but this time he was more
diplomatic and reasoned, "No offence to Hagrid, but wasn't she all fancy
dresses and proper manners?"

Hermione replied thoughtfully, "Well, you would be surprised what love

can overlook."

Draco inhaled the sweet scent of her hair and muttered, "I hope you
enlighten me one day."

Hermione was sure she had misheard and turned to face him with a raised
quizzical brow, "What?"

Draco avoided answering and instead questioned, "So, what ended the
budding romance?"

Hermione merely shrugged, "We don't really know. Hagrid never talks
about it. He only cries like a baby every time we bring it up, so we learned
to keep our mouths shut."

After a moment's pause, she quipped, "However, Harry might know, but he
won't spill the beans."

Draco stared at Hagrid's broad frame and sighed, "Poor bloke."

Ginny did her utmost to support Hagrid's hefty structure as he drunkenly

swayed and spoke lovingly about Olympe Maxime.

Hermione's face fell with concern, "Yeah, it's heartbreaking, isn't it?"

Draco left her, jogged the short distance to Hagrid, took hold of his arm and
instructed, "Come on, mate. Let's get you into bed."

Ginny was immensely grateful for the assistance and fell into step with
Hermione, who could not stop staring at Malfoy, helping their friend with a
sincere genuineness that would be hard to fake.

She looked at him confused but with a twinkle in her eyes, and Ginny
nudged her, causing a blush to creep up her cheeks. They made it inside the
hut, and with a discreet wave of his free hand, Draco could light the many
candles that decorated the windowsill and side table.
The sudden light illuminated their way, and everything seemed less harsh,
hidden by the shadows.

"You can't be Malfoy," Hagrid drunkenly slurred when they made it to his
makeshift bedroom, which was tidier than Draco would have imagined. The
massive man sat down on the bed, and it protested under his weight.

He peered intently into the ice-blonde man's face and struggled to find the
right words to express his feelings.

Draco propped up a pillow for Hagrid to rest his head on and inquired
curiously, "Why not?"

Hagrid snorted, "Because all the Malfoys hate me."

Draco cracked a smile, "Maybe once, but never again. I was a horrible
judge of character back then."

Hagrid chuckled, "The Malfoy I remember was a right little shit."

Draco laughed, "Yeah, so I've heard countless times. I'll try to do better."

Hermione listened in keen interest with a slight smile on her face. The
rough exterior around her heart she placed towards Malfoy was thawing
rapidly.

Hagrid grabbed Draco by his robes and said firmly, "You be good to my
Hermione."

The situation was comical, but Draco was deadly serious with his reply,
"You have my word, Hagrid."

Hagrid laid down, closed his eyes, and requested, "Sing me a lullaby."

Draco stood frozen for what seemed like a lifetime before he found his
voice, "What?"

Hagrid choked back a sob, "My father would sing to me until I fell asleep."
An unbearable pain gripped his fragile heart.
Draco massaged the bridge of his nose in exhaustion, "For fuck sake."

Ginny doubled over with laughter, and Hermione turned away to hide her
face.

Draco pulled up a chair resting in the corner, sat down, and complied,
"Sure." He tried to recall one from his younger days, and it came to him
within minutes. He sang a comforting sort of nursery rhyme he remembered
in French.

Ferme tes jolis yeux

Car les heures sont brèves

Au pays merveilleux

Au doux pays des rêves

Ferme tes jolis yeu

Ginny could not help but be impressed and nudged Hermione, "The man
can carry a tune."

Car tout n’est que mensonge

Le bonheur est un songe

Ferme tes jolis yeux

Hermione did not bother to reply. She was enthralled by the melodious
words leaving Malfoy's mouth, even though she did not fully understand
them. The man was full of surprises. She had no idea he was musically
inclined.

He seemed entirely at ease with his eyes closed as he sang a song to soothe
his once enemy—loud snores emitted from a fully asleep Hagrid. The half-
giant turned on his side, pulled a large pillow towards him and cuddled it.
Draco slowly got to his feet and backed out of the room, taking care not to
make any noise. He turned to find Weasley and Granger staring at him in
utter bewilderment.

Their shocked faces were priceless.

Ginny's mouth was slightly agape as she struggled to process what she
witnessed.

Draco shrugged and offered a plausible explanation, "What? My mother

used to sing it to me."

Still, the women continued to stare at him without uttering a word. His
actions seemed to have paralysed them.

He gritted out in mild annoyance, "Not a word to anyone about this."

Ginny covered her mouth to stop the laughter from escaping and quipped,
"You sing beautifully, Malfoy."

Hermione stifled a laugh and promised, "Our lips are sealed."

They left the hut, and once outside, Draco took Hermione's hand in his and
kissed it, "I enjoyed being here with you."

Hermione felt so conflicted it was suffocating and excruciating, but she

swallowed her pride and responded, "Hmm, so did I."

Ginny rolled her eyes, looked around and offered cheekily, "You know,
there are plenty of interesting spots to share a private moment. I would be
happy to point them out." Although she was sure, Malfoy knew most of
them.

Hermione scolded, "Ginny!"

Ginny was wholly unfazed and merely shrugged, "What? I had my fair
share of romances before Harry came to his senses."
Draco looked to the heavens. Hundreds of sparkling stars and an almost full
moon greeted him.

He stated the obvious, "It's getting late."

Ginny nodded in agreement, "Yes, I need to get back to James." She missed
his warmth and wonderful baby smell.

Hermione sighed, "I need to pack." She also needed to prepare herself
mentally for the upcoming trip.

Draco smiled, "I suppose we all have things to do." He had to pack,
meditate, speak to Theo and have a long shower.

Teddy could hardly contain his excitement, "Tomorrow is going to be so

much fun."

Andromeda covered the glass of water with a saucer and agreed, "I have no
doubt."

Teddy ran around his room excitedly and said, "I really want to play
Quidditch. Do you think Uncle Ron will join?"

Andromeda nodded, "Most probably."

Teddy fell onto his bed and chuckled, "It'll be wicked fun if he does."

Andromeda smiled and said, "Hush now. Off to bed with you."

Teddy kissed his grandmother on the cheek, "Good night, Gran. I love you."

Hogwarts

Professor McGonagall looked up from her pile of papers at the loud knock
and called out, "Enter!"
She smiled at the people that arrived and said, "Ah, good evening. I trust
everything went to plan."

Ginny exchanged a look of uncertainty with the others and hesitantly

nodded, "Yes, Headmistress."

She added awkwardly, "We apologise for disturbing you so late."

Professor McGonagall waved her hand dismissively and responded, "Ah,

think nothing of it. I was catching up on some neglected paperwork."

She continued amusedly, "I was told you visited Hagrid and then
Rosmerta."

Hermione grew nervous but replied, "Um, yes." Had she also heard about
the brawl?

Minerva McGonagall addressed Draco, "I am also aware some

unpleasantness transpired at the Three Broomsticks." He shifted his feet
uncomfortably and averted his gaze. How was he to explain his actions
when he was ashamed of them?

Hermione frowned, "Yes, well, we certainly didn't start anything."

Ginny chuckled, "We definitely ended it."

Professor McGonagall thought momentarily and advised, "Hmm, yes, but I

dare say you best brace yourself, Mr Malfoy. There's probably plenty more
of the same sort headed your way."

Hermione paled, she was not keen on further confrontations, and Draco
pursed his lips. He had no intention of exposing Granger or others to
potentially life-threatening situations. He would atone for his past deeds
alone.

A faint smile appeared on McGonagall's usually stern face, "I hear

Buckbeak made a new friend."

Draco smiled and offered a plausible explanation, "I owed him an apology."
Professor McGonagall regarded the man before her evenly and
reprimanded, "That was foolish, Mr Malfoy. Brave but stupid. The beast
could have caused irreparable damage."

Draco argued, "It was a chance I was willing to take, Professor."

The Headmistress conceded defeat, "All's well that ends well. Albus was
fond of those words. However, I have my reservations."

Hermione glanced at Malfoy from the corner of her eye and felt her
heartbeat hasten and slam against her ribcage. A longish piece of platinum
blonde hair fell carelessly across his forehead, adding much more to his
appeal.

Professor McGonagall spoke kindly to Ginny, "Anyways, will you return

next week, Miss Weasley?"

Ginny lit up and agreed without much thought, but afterwards, she
hesitated, "I would be happy to…. oh, erm, if Madam Hooch permits."

McGonagall rolled her eyes and said exasperatedly, "She's not as young as
she used to be, but she adamantly refuses an assistant."

Ginny nodded understandably. She knew first-hand how stubborn Madam

Hooch could be.

The Headmistress pointed her wand at the fireplace and muttered a spell.
The hearth came to life, and Hermione, Draco and Ginny hurriedly moved
towards it.

She smiled, "It was good to see you all."

Draco nodded curtly, "Likewise, Professor."

"Good night, Headmistress," Hermione chimed in.

Minerva McGonagall smiled warmly, "I hope to see you again."

The man moved closer, kissed her cheek, and said, "You look lovely,
Sarah."

Sarah tugged at the simple cotton dress and flinched, "Thank you."

He almost pleaded, "Please do not fear me anymore."

Sarah nodded, but her fingers played nervously with the material. Her feet
were bare but clean.

The scarred man offered with a kind smile, "Shall we cook some dinner, my
love?"

She nodded and let him lead her out of her room and into the kitchen, where
various vegetables decorated the countertop. Her eyes fell on a red apple
resting in a basket, and she swallowed her spit in greed.

The kitchen was spotless, not a thing was out of place, and she noticed
plenty of utensils and knives of various shapes and sizes. A shudder ran
down her spine. Had he used any of them to kill the women before her?

Sarah eyed the closest knife with keen interest. She caught her haggard
reflection on its shiny surface as she passed it. Her gaze lingered for longer
than necessary on the shining cleaver.

The man watched her intently and mused, "Do you want to kill me, Sarah?"

Sarah snapped back to attention, moved away and cowered. A strangled

"No," left her quivering lips. Her spirit was utterly broken, and in its place
was a shell of her former self.

He picked up the hefty cleaver and stared at it. His stoic appearance
alarmed Sarah, but she turned away and waited for him to speak, and he did
not disappoint, "I've done you a favour, you know?"

A favour? He was mental.

Undeterred, he elucidated, "You were living a life of sin. By becoming my

wife, I have given you purpose. I only wish you were pure."
Sarah knew it bothered and angered him that she was not a virgin when he
savagely claimed her, but she was glad he had no part of her that way.

The man's temper rose, hissing, "Did you lay with many men before me?"
He would be her last and forever after in this life and the next.

Sarah replied timidly, "No." It was the truth. She had two serious partners
because she had barely begun to live before the maniac had abducted and
subjected her to this current gruesome existence.

Her answer appeased him, and instead of letting his anger spiral out of
control, he handed her a bowl of raw potatoes and instructed, "Here, peel
the potatoes."

Sarah reached for the metal peeler, but he stopped her and chuckled, "Wash
them first. Have you not cooked before?"

She apologised profusely, "I'm sorry, I'm just nervous."

He cupped her face and cooed, "Oh, don't be, darling."

He beamed, placing a hand on her flat belly, "I wonder if you're pregnant."

Sarah cringed. She hoped she was infertile.

He asked thoughtfully, "When did you last bleed?"

Sarah chewed on her bottom lip and mumbled, "I don't remember."

Plucking a plump green grape from the bunch resting in the basket, he
force-fed it to her, and she almost choked.

They cooked a simple meal in silence, and Sarah was grateful he kept his
hands to himself.

Draco saw Hermione back to her flat after leaving Ginny at No. 12
Grimmauld Place. They had not lingered but left almost immediately.
He backed her toward the small, rather cluttered kitchen when their feet
touched solid ground. He lifted her despite her protests, settled her on the
counter, moved to stand between her legs, and kissed her deeply. Her lips
parted, allowing him access despite being taken aback by his sudden brazen
behaviour.

Still, her arms encircled his neck, and she pulled him closer, moulding her
lips to his and returning his enthusiasm by pushing her tongue against his in
fiery abandonment.

Their kisses were always intense and bordering on punishment. She loved
every second of it.

Draco muttered between kisses, "I'm sorry about what happened earlier."

Breathless, Hermione replied, "Mm…It wasn't your fault." She reached for
his hand and kissed the bruised knuckles. Watching him defend her honour
was strangely erotic and immensely satisfying.

He trailed feathery kisses down her neck and rasped, "You didn't have to
defend me."

Hermione's fingers moved into his hair, she threw her head back, and a
sultry moan escaped her lips when he sucked on the pulse point of her
delicate neck.

Still, she found her voice and argued, "It only seemed right that I do, but
why didn't you do it yourself?" Moving her fingers from his hair to his
clothing, she unbuttoned his heavy Auror coat and pushed it off his broad
shoulders. Underneath he wore a classic black shirt and no tie, but she could
feel the contours of his body as her fingertips danced over them.

Draco groaned and drawled huskily, "Because it would have been pointless.
They were seeking a physical altercation."

Her legs went around him, trapping him to her body, and she felt his
hardness press into the softness of her thigh. Merlin, she wanted to
unsheathe him and have her wicked way with an almost virgin Draco
Malfoy.

Draco cupped her face and implored, "Do you hate me?"

Hermione wished he would stop talking and carry her into the bedroom, but
obviously, he was keen on answers, and she grudgingly obliged, "Hate is a
strong word."

He buried his face in the valley between her breasts and sucked tenderly on
the succulent flesh leaving his mark while offering encouraging words, "So
soft…."

"Draco…" Hermione breathed. Her knickers dampened, and she wondered

whether he would give her that sweet relief she ardently craved.

Using his thumb, Draco rubbed a sensitive area over the clothing and felt it
pebble under the flat of his thumb. He reached inside, pulled down a cup,
and took a rosy nipple between his lips.

He bit down gently and groaned, "I'm looking forward to our little trip."

Hermione's hand snaked down and cupped his growing package, "Uhuh…."

A thud of sorts made Draco stiffen and Hermione frown. He glanced at the
door and sighed, "I think Hannah's outside."

Reluctantly, he moved away from the aroused woman and smiled

sheepishly, "Mmm…shall we save ourselves for Hawaii."

Hermione hopped off the counter and adjusted her blouse to be covered
again.

She kissed Draco passionately, pushed him away, and smirked, "Maybe."

Draco laughed low, "Tease."

Hermione licked her bottom lip and said, "No interruptions." You horny
sod.
Draco chuckled, "With Theo around, that will be rather difficult."

They heard Hannah's irritated voice, "Are you two in there?"

Draco frowned and called out, "Just a minute, Abbott." He slipped back into
his thick Auror coat, which thankfully hid his erection.

Hermione scoffed, "I think she misses you."

Draco stifled a laugh, "Who? Hannah? You're barking up the wrong tree,
Granger."

Hermione scrunched her nose and asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Draco ignored Granger's penetrating stare. Still, he took his time opening
the door, and by the time he did, his cock had softened, and there was no
evidence of the physical intimacy that transpired not ten minutes ago.

They heard Hannah once again, "Are you shagging? Shall I come back
later?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Someone needs to teach her good manners."

Draco opened the door and grinned, "Good evening, Abbott."

She stormed in and was not amused, "Cut the pleasantries. You were
supposed to be back ages ago."

Draco shrugged, "We stopped by the Three Broomsticks for a drink with
Hagrid, and then I had to beat up some sods for disrespecting our darling
Madam Undersecretary. I guess the time got away from us."

Hannah ignored the fact that he got into a fight and said, "Lucky you. I was
knee-deep in forensic files and crime scene photos."

Still, she looked at his knuckles and frowned, "Are you alright?" They were
red and looked sore.
Draco smirked, "Never better. Did you make a breakthrough?" Hannah
frowned, making her frustration evident.

She sighed, "I have a hunch. I can't stop thinking the pendant is the key to
blowing this case wide open."

She looked repulsed, "Oh, by the way, the French tart was asking about
you."

Hermione raised a curious brow, but Draco showed indifference, "Michelle

is not my cup of tea."

Hannah mockingly fawned over him while adopting a fake French accent,
"Where is Monsieur Draco?"

After her little display, she hissed, "Merlin, I wanted to fucking wring her
neck." Draco rolled his eyes; he could not be bothered by Michelle's
infatuations.

He said thoughtfully, "The owl and wand? Hmm, important bits of our
world. You've been staring at the pictures for weeks."

Hannah gritted out, "Precisely." It was frustrating to keep looking at the

same pictures without a single answer.

Draco scratched his chin and asked, "Can I look at the ones we have?"

Hannah agreed wholeheartedly, "Yeah, I can manage that. We have three in

evidence." Perhaps Malfoy would see something they overlooked. He had
seen the pictures before but not the real ones and certainly not scrutinised
them for hours since he always had to return to Auror training.

Draco said offhandedly, "I think the killer is a Squib who targets women
from different backgrounds."

Hannah listened intently, "Thomas had a similar theory since there were no
traces of magic found on the bodies, and the women's wands have never
been recovered."
Draco paced and said, "He probably keeps them as a souvenir. Perhaps he
crafts the pendant to suit each victim. The wand could be a replica of
theirs."

Hannah shook her head, "No. The wands are identical."

Draco cracked his knuckles, "Then surely it's personal."

Hermione watched from the sidelines as the two Aurors brainstormed. She
felt out of place.

"Obviously," Hannah concurred.

Draco questioned, "I assume these women were educated in England."

Hannah frowned, "Yes, of course. What are you getting at?"

Draco responded thoughtfully, "I'm trying to understand his mind better.

Has anyone checked what houses they belonged to? I'm guessing he's taken
one from each house."

Hannah nodded in agreement, "One from each. I suppose he wants

something he was denied."

She suggested, "Revenge?"

Draco took a deep breath and explained, "It's hard to say, but it could be a
longing to belong. He has a type that could relate to some traumatic
experience from his childhood."

Hannah looked impressed, "Yeah, Thomas suggested the same. It's weird
how you two think alike."

Draco frowned, "Spencer thinks I am a massive waste of space."

He added after a beat, "I need to see those pendants."

Hannah suggested excitedly, "How about tomorrow morning?"

Draco grinned, "That would be perfect."

Hermione coughed lightly and made her presence known, "Um,

Malfoy…."

Draco gave her his full attention, "Yes, darling?"

She reminded him of their plans, "You won't be here tomorrow."

He slapped his forehead, crestfallen, "Bollocks! Hawaii."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and teased, "Slipped your mind,
did it?"

Draco sighed, "First thing on Monday?"

Hannah pouted, "I'm going to miss you."

Draco tugged on her ponytail and replied, "Me too. Take care of yourself.
I'll bring you back something."

Hannah punched his arm and grinned, "You better, Malfoy."

Draco kissed Hannah lightly on the cheek and said, "Good night."

He was gone before Hermione could form any words. The mannerless toad.
Honestly!

Hannah peered into her friend's face and asked perplexed, "Erm, Hermione,
are you alright?"

Hermione offered a sarcastic retort, "Peachy."

Her stomach grumbled, and she asked, "Do you want pizza for dinner?"

Hannah settled on the sofa, flipped on the telly, and replied enthusiastically,
"Sounds good."
 Chapter 64
Chapter Summary

To all the comments:- Thank you all for taking the time to write such
encouraging words. Much love and appreciation!

I mentioned this earlier and despite the time between chapters, please
know I will never abandon this story. I am so invested in it and have
the road mapped and drafted. Thank you so much for everyone's
patience.

HAWAII IS COMING UP!

I hope everyone enjoys the update!

Much love to all!

Enjoy Chapter Sixty-Four!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Malfoy Manor

Bernard sat quietly by the hearth in Malfoy Manor and stared into the fire
confined to their place. However, that did not stop the menacing sound of
crackling wood and intimidating high flames that gave light to an otherwise
dark room.

He was pretty cross with himself for being unable to remember where he
had seen the wand, but perhaps it was a good thing since the murderer
seemed to be related to him. It was an unpleasant thought, to say the least,
not that his family were saints but never this disturbed.
Drink in hand and deep in thought, he searched for the answer but came up
short. His mind had been exceedingly sharp as a lad, but it was apparent
that old age was catching up with him.

He took a sip from his amber liquid in an exquisite tumbler and sighed.

“Bernard?” The sweet yet stern voice of his beloved invaded his solitude.

Looking at the entrance to the room, Bernard made his presence known, “In
here, darling.”

Narcissa hurried into the room. Her long dress's navy blue raw silk material
trailed behind her, dragging along the floor. She drank in the scene before
her. Her significant other was seated, shrouded by uncertainty, surrounded
by nothing but the luminescent glow of the fire before them.

She closed the distance between them, touched him gently on the shoulder
and softly asked, “Are you alright, my dear?”

Bernard drained the contents in his glass, got to his feet and smiled broadly,
“Never better.” He adjusted his dinner jacket, took Narcissa’s hand, and
kissed her knuckles.

Narcissa lovingly stroked his face and said, “Dinner is served. Draco just
arrived.”

Bernard beamed. “Wonderful. I'm ravenous.”

Narcissa sceptically eyed the usually calm man before following him out of
the room. She knew something was bothering him, but it wouldn't do to
question him constantly.

The Leaky Cauldron

Thomas slid into the empty barstool beside Dorian Blackwood and ordered
a scotch on the rocks. The inn was bustling with witches and wizards from
all backgrounds. Everyone seemed to be having a jolly time.
The werewolf’s appearance was consistent from the last time they met. It
was a handsome Muggle Dorian impersonated, and Thomas wondered
whether the source for his Polyjuiced appearance was in any real danger.

Dorian stared at the wall behind the bar and questioned, “What took you so
long, old man?”

Thomas kept his cool, thanked the bartender and only then did he answer
with an amused expression, “Why the change of venue? Tired of ice
cream?”

Dorian lazily eyed his drink and replied with little enthusiasm, “The current
situation calls for something much stronger.”

His eyes fell on Thomas’s drink, and he smiled, “Glad to see you drinking. I
hate to binge alone.”

Thomas pointedly took a sip, savoured the rich smoky texture and quipped,
“I'm off duty.”

Dorian nodded solemnly, “I hoped Kingsley and Potter would have joined. I
have some pretty big news.”

Thomas cleared his throat, ensured no one was eavesdropping and offered a
plausible explanation for their absence, “The Minister is busy with Darius,
the Romanian Minister, and Potter is dealing with everything else.”

“Ah, I heard he deserted his post and fled. Bloody coward,” Dorian hissed.

He cocked his head to the side and said offhandedly with a hint of sarcasm,
lacing his words, “I never understood why they didn't make you the head of
the DMLE.” It was a genuine query that most wondered about since
Spencer had done his bit and more to earn the title.

Thomas could not help the resentment that crept up in him, and his
contorted features completely mirrored his feelings. He gritted out in
annoyance, “Why am I here, Dorian? Your message seemed urgent, or were
you perhaps getting lonely?
After a moment, Dorian studied the veteran Auror intently and chuckled,
“Did I touch a nerve? And for the record, I am never lonely, mate. Plenty of
broads to keep me company.”

Thomas rolled his eyes, downed his drink, and immediately requested a
refill, “Another one, Tom.” The owner of the Leaky Cauldron nodded in
acknowledgement and rushed off to fulfil the order.

“It's Dolohov,” Dorian's gruff voice made it to Thomas’s sensitive hearing.

He made no effort to keep the displeasure out of his voice.

Tom returned with Thomas’s drink and placed it in front of him before
disappearing into the crowd to help his overwhelmed staff. It was indeed a
busy night on a weekday.

Thomas held on to a shred of patience until Tom was out of earshot to give
voice to his outrage, “What!?”

Dorian frowned and answered in annoyance, “The marked man, the Alpha,
it's Antonin Dolohov.” He was put off by Spencer’s lack of understanding
and slow wit to grasp what was being shared. Perhaps the older man was
losing it and needed retirement.

Thomas felt his heartbeat hasten and slam against his ribcage. He managed
a breathless response, “Impossible.” They had their suspicions, but for them
to be confirmed was a savage and brutal realisation.

Dorian sighed in exhaustion, “Is it?” He took a gratifying sip from his
concoction of Firewhiskey and water and bit the inside of his cheek to stop
any unpleasant comments from escaping.

“He was captured,” Thomas tried to defend his department, but it was futile.
He knew that they had made a grave mistake and potentially put the world
at risk.

Dorian scoffed, “But he escaped, and he's a werewolf but not just any
werewolf, mate. He's the fucking Alpha and a bloody strong one at that.”
Still in denial, Thomas gritted out in disbelief, “A werewolf? You must be
joking. That lot hated the wolves and treated them like dirt.”

A low growl emitted from deep within Dorian, causing the bartender closest
to them to look their way suspiciously, but thankfully another customer
called him away.

Thomas warned, “Easy, mate.”

Dorian hissed as the past danced in front of his eyes, “I remember vividly
how they treated us, but Dolohov is one, and it's no laughing matter.”

Thomas felt beads of sweat gather on his upper lip. He wiped them away
with the back of his hand and struggled to understand all he was hearing.
Although it seemed farfetched and borderline ridiculous, he believed
Blackwood.

Dorian accused without a smidge of remorse, “Didn't anyone in the

Ministry follow up on the bastard’s whereabouts? Look for him? Did you
all do nothing?” There was desperation in his voice and longing for
answers.

Thomas swallowed the painful words and tried to explain, but it lacked
conviction, “We did, but we had a wizarding world to rebuild and restore.
Over time it seemed less important.”

He bitterly recalled the fateful day of finding out that Dolohov had escaped.
The blood drained from their bodies at losing such a valuable prisoner, and
Kingsley had lost his head entirely, demanding they find Dolohov at any
cost.

Personally, Thomas had been livid, and the Auror in charge of guarding the
prisoners had been reprimanded severely and transferred to Siberia, but the
damage was done. For nearly a month, separate teams tried to retrace the
steps of the murderer but came up empty-handed. The bastard had
disappeared without a trace, and it was suspected that he had escaped with
the aid of wandless magic. It was only a theory.
Kingsley insisted that everyone double their efforts to find the lunatic. The
days turned to weeks and weeks into months, but despite their best efforts,
it was futile. Antonin Dolohov had escaped from right under their noses,
and no one knew how he had managed to give Aurors the slip.

It was infuriating and embarrassing, and Kingsley was adamant that word
did not get out of their costly blunder.

Dorian quipped sarcastically, “Less important, huh? Well, he will kill us all
or change every able Muggle, Witch, and Wizard into werewolves.” His
fingers shook violently as they closed around the tumbler in his grasp. All
the alcohol in the world could not numb the feeling of restlessness that
rested deep within his conscience.

Thomas bared his teeth and gritted out, “We won't let that happen.”

Dorian closed his eyes and calmed down before responding, “It's already
happening, old man. At least we know what we are up against.”

It was a silver lining in an otherwise dark and gloomy cloud.

Thomas offered a half smile and replied with faux enthusiasm, “Yeah, it
calls for a celebration.”

Dorian spat out, “There is absolutely nothing to celebrate, Spencer. You

might as well Avada me now because either way, it's looking pretty fucking
grim for me.” He was going to die before the end of it all, and in a macabre
way, he supposed it was a fitting demise for all his past evil misdeeds. He
had slaughtered innocents and relished drinking their blood.

However, Thomas was not having it and reassured with confidence, “I gave
you my word that you would be protected. None besides Kingsley, Potter
and I know of your involvement. There is no paper trail leading back to
you.”

Still, Dorian was hardly convinced and mused, “That offers little comfort.”
The Ministry wasn't impenetrable. There were plenty of unscrupulous
wizards and witches trading favours for monetary gain.
Concerned for their informant, Thomas used his good hand and clamped the
man on his shoulder and inquired, “Are you alright, Blackwood?”

Dorian smiled weakly, “Just shaken up. I had my suspicions, but I never
thought it possible.”

With renewed strength and confidence, Thomas assured, “We will stop him,
Dorian.” They had stopped plenty of power-hungry madmen. Perhaps, not a
powerful adversary like Dolohov, but good always triumphed over evil.
They would emerge victorious from oppression.

Thomas hissed his displeasure, “We kept all channels open and monitored,
hoping to detect his magic, but it nothing ever came up.”

Dorian argued, “It usually doesn’t when the user resorts to wandless magic.
Voldemort thought his closest a bunch of useful tricks even though he never
truly mastered the art himself.”

Thomas was doubtful. Yet he was sure he had seen Malfoy move strangely
that one time he observed the recruits.

Even though he wasn't entirely on board with Thomas, Dorian nodded in

agreement. Yet, he became thoughtful and said, “He spoke of an imprisoned
man. This person is important to him, and the Master has tasked me with
freeing him.”

That piqued Thomas’s interest, and he narrowed his eyes, “Hmm, I'll look
into it.” He could not recall any recent arrests directly related to Dolohov,
but perhaps it was a small case at first glance and not enough to garner
much interest.

Dorian offered more information hoping to narrow it down, “He mentioned

in passing that Draco Malfoy was involved in the arrest.”

Thomas straightened and responded, “Interesting.” The boy was a recruit. It

seemed unlikely, but Abbott was his partner, and she would have more
details about what transpired. He now vaguely recalled something Michael
mentioned after their disastrous meeting with Edward, Cyrus and Ezra.
“Dolohov expects you to break this man out of Azkaban?” Thomas inquired
bitterly. Dolohov was a bigger fool than they thought, or was he merely
setting Dorian up for failure? Either scenario was grim or worked against
them.

Dorian nodded and answered solemnly, “Yes, he does. I suspect it is a test

of loyalty.” If the Ministry agreed, it had to be accomplished without
arousing suspicion and realistically. If Dolohov suspected any foul play,
their entire mission would end in disaster, and his retribution towards the
traitor would be grave, to say the least.

He cleared his throat and added, “By the way, our suspicions about his
interest in Malfoy were spot on. He has openly admitted to them. We can
use it to our advantage if the brat is willing.” Potter outright refused, even
though Kingsley had thought it a grand plan.

He thought pitching the idea to Spencer might be worthwhile since the

Auror’s actions were guided by the determination to complete the mission
and not by emotional factors that could get everyone involved murdered.
Potter was known to let his emotions get in the way of his decision-making
abilities.

Dorian knew nothing about Draco Malfoy except seeing a glum but
pompous teenager among branded Death Eaters planning to conquer the
world. However, his father, Lucius Malfoy, was a piece of work and
personally held a grudge against werewolves. Greyback had detested the
wizard and been delighted at his fall from grace.

While Thomas felt no attachment towards Draco Malfoy, he knew Audrey

spoke the truth about his talents. He answered thoughtfully, “The boy is
barely out of the academy. There's time to discuss his future involvement in
the mission.”

Dorian became frustrated, “I understand, but there might not be much time.
You need to give him fair warning, Thomas. By some luck, I am entrusted
with the mission of befriending and turning Draco Malfoy.”
Thomas’s features contorted unpleasantly, “What exactly do you mean by
turning?” He knew precisely what Blackwood meant, and it caused the bile
to rise in his throat. There would be no opportunity for such an atrocity to
happen.

Dorian insisted, “Well, eventually, Dolohov is going to want Malfoy

obedient at all times, and what better way to achieve that than by turning
him into one of us?” The Master had not openly declared that he wanted to
turn Malfoy into a werewolf, but it was a fair assumption to make
considering the circumstances.

Blackwood's daring choice of words did not sit well with Thomas, and he
made his displeasure abundantly clear, “One of us? Are you likely to betray
me, Dorian?” The werewolf had been rotting in a hole when Thomas found
him and convinced him to become their eyes and ears regarding less
desirable parts of the Magical realm.

Dorian chuckled, “I wouldn't dream of it, but that doesn't change what I am,
Thomas or what you partially are.” He spoke the truth plainly, and given his
past, he knew the Ministry had understandable doubts about him. It took all
his willpower and mind strength to resist the Alpha and shield his thoughts
and memories.

Thomas was disturbed by Dorian’s earlier declaration and questioned, “Did

Dolohov say he wants to turn Draco Malfoy into a werewolf?” If Dolohov
accomplished what he intended for Malfoy, Hermione would be in
imminent danger.

Dorian answered confidently, “Not in so many words, but I know his mind,
and I can see the hunger in his eyes.”

“Malfoy’s to marry Hermione Granger,” Thomas declared without

hesitation. This was an unforeseen complication and far more significant
than the rest.

Dorian nodded in understanding and sneered, “Dolohov is aware of this fact

and hopes to use it to his benefit. By recruiting Malfoy to his cause, he
would have direct access to the Minister’s right-hand woman through the
boy.”

Thomas swallowed hard. Alarm bells started going off in his head. He saw
Kingsley's lifeless, mangled body lying on the floor of his office and
Dolohov standing over him with a murderous yet triumphant glare, blood
dripping down his chin.

Oblivious to the thoughts of the man next to him, Dorian rambled on, “Oh,
that reminds me, he was angered by the letter Granger received. I
mentioned it to Potter and Shacklebolt since you were missing from the last
proceedings. He has punished the culprits responsible, and it won't happen
again.”

He laughed sarcastically, hoping to lighten the mood somewhat, “He's a

murderous bastard but a gentleman, or so they say.”

Thomas snapped back to reality, and his lips curved to form a smile, “Potter
will be relieved, but I don't recall any gentlemanly qualities Dolohov
possessed.” He doubted it had anything to do with caring for the opposite
sex—probably anger towards the foolhardy action alerting the Ministry to
suspicious activity.

Still, Dorian warned, “Don't let up on her Auror detail. It would be far too
suspicious. Besides, Goyle is an unpredictable nasty piece of work.”

Thomas hissed, “Understood.” An uncomfortable silence settled over them,

and each ordered another round and succumbed to the lusty bosom of
alcohol.

Dorian smacked his lips and asked with keen interest, “So, what's the
plan?”

Thomas sighed, “I need to inform Kingsley.” He was now presented with

the unfavourable task of inviting himself to the Ministry of Magic’s house
at an ungodly hour to demand an audience and deliver disturbing news.

Dorian gritted out, “He's coming for the boy, Thomas."

Thomas downed his shot, threw some money onto the counter, and replied
in a sharp-edged, icy tone, “I heard you the first time, Blackwood.”

He left the establishment without a backwards glance leaving Dorian to

stare after him. His gaze was taken swiftly by a buxom blonde sashaying by
him, batting long fake eyelashes and licking her lips suggestively.

Dorian grinned, took a swig out of the flask he kept concealed and followed
the lady to the end of the bar, where she awaited his presence eagerly by
crossing and uncrossing her long legs.

No 12 Grimmauld Place

Harry plopped down on the bed, causing a pillow or two to fall.

“How was training?” He asked with an amused expression.

He hadn't seen her return but smelled the alcohol on her breath the second
she entered their bedroom.

Picking up the pillows on the floor, Ginny returned them to their original
place and smiled broadly, “It was pretty good. Malfoy helped loads.” She
had to give credit where it was due, and the truth was, without Malfoy, she
would not have survived long with the preteen monsters that passed off as
children nowadays.

Harry sat up straight and raised a quizzical brow in question, “Did he?”

Ginny raved without a second thought about who she was talking to. “Oh,
yeah! You should have seen him, Harry. He spoke kindly to Hagrid and
apologised to Buckbeak.”

Harry widened his eyes in utter disbelief, “That sounds like Bollocks to
me.”

Ginny stopped what she was doing, crossed her arms over her chest and
gave her husband a look that meant business.
Harry could hardly believe it. It seemed impossible, and he abundantly
clarified his surprise: "Wait, what? Are you serious?”

Ginny pulled out a bright orange suitcase from under the bed and answered
without an ounce of hesitation, “I’m deadly serious. Buckbeak trusted him.
It was fascinating to watch. He hopped over the fence and went at it without
a bloody thought about what would happen next.”

Harry pouted for a good ten seconds and scowled, “Well, I still don't trust
him.” He doubted he would ever trust Draco Malfoy completely, even
though everyone around seemed to think the world of the would-be wanker.

Ginny frowned, yet she argued, “Hmm, yeah, and with good reason, but
Harry, I'm telling you, he's different.” After their day, she truly believed the
once spoiled prat Malfoy was a changed, responsible man.

“That remains to be seen,” Harry fired back without a second thought. His
wife praising Malfoy was beginning to annoy him greatly.

Ginny purposely ignored her husband's sarcastic quips and continued

excitedly, “Oh, and then he beat up some shifty Wizard who disrespected
Hermione. It was quite impressive.”

As she threw clothes onto the bed, she divulged more information, “The
group taunted him initially, but he paid them no mind. He even went along
with their ridiculous demands, but when the second one of them touched
Hermione, it was as if he flipped a switch.”

Instantly, Harry became completely serious, “What happened to these

men?”

Ginny smirked devilishly, “They’re spending the night in Hotel Azkaban.”

Even though the situation at the time had been unpredictable, she had
enjoyed herself immensely. It would not be prudent to mention that she
drew first blood.

Harry gritted out, “I'll check on them tomorrow morning.” Oh, they would
feel his wrath.
He softened his tone and said somewhat solemnly, “You have had an
interesting day, but I suppose Malfoy will have to deal with less forgivable
souls. The Malfoys aren't exactly well-liked.”

Ginny stood with her feet apart, hands on her hips and answered with a
knowing look, “I know, but Draco Malfoy is a force to be reckoned with.”

Harry threw a pillow at her and mused, “Look at you all impressed with
Malfoy.” He could not help but wonder how Hermione was handling the
day's appalling events.

Ginny laughed aloud, “Shut it. I'm merely giving credit where it is due.”
She took out a bunch of new clothes, half a dozen pairs of shorts, and plenty
of T-shirts to last a month.

Harry eyed the pile of clothes and chuckled, “Are you planning on
returning?”

Ginny frowned, “What do you mean?”

“Your wardrobe is bare,” Harry quipped, pointing at the empty cupboard.

Ginny blushed and scrunched her nose, “I suppose I have packed too much.
Maybe I can get rid of some stuff.” She rummaged through the giant pile
and separated everything into smaller, more practical piles.

Harry stifled a laugh, “I'm sure you can.” He was glad he insisted she go
with Hermione. His wife deserved a break, and what better place to
accomplish that than Hawaii? He conveniently forgot about Blaise Zabini.

Ginny recited instructions like a Hogwarts professor, “So, Mum will be

around in the morning, and Meda will drop off Teddy close to lunchtime.”

Harry beamed, “Great. I’m looking forward to spending quality time with
the kids, especially with Teddy being so close to heading off to Hogwarts.”

“Just don't burn the house down while I'm gone,” Ginny mused while
folding a few items of clothing she intended to take.
Harry scoffed, “Your lack of confidence in me is upsetting.”

Ginny sighed, “Are you sure about this, Harry?”

Harry crawled across the bed, took her hand, pulled her towards him and
muttered, “One hundred thousand per cent.”

Ginny kissed him passionately. James was asleep, and no interruptions

would allow them to succumb to their burning desire.

Harry muttered between kisses while pulling Ginny’s jumper over the top of
her head, “Stay away from Zabini.”

“Harry—” Ginny whimpered.

He laid her down on the bed and smiled, “I'm only joking, darling. You
have always belonged to me.”

Hermione's Flat

Hermione touched her kiss-swollen lips in the privacy of her room. They
felt ablaze.

She had dinner with Hannah and replayed the day's events to the nosy
blonde, who was livid over what transpired. Faking a headache, she retired
to her room and got to the task of packing her suitcase.

Ginny's words kept playing over in her mind, and Hermione made a mental
note to shave her most intimate places. She would need flawless skin to
wear the less-than-decent bikini she had purchased.

Since Hermione left Hogwarts, she took pride in her appearance and was
not afraid to take a few risks with daring fashion choices. At school, she
wasn’t exactly known for being fashionable, quite the opposite actually, but
with time her body had filled out in the right places, and good sense had
replaced distasteful fashion choices.
She surveyed the items she had carefully laid on the bed with her hands on
her hips. A red string bikini, a one-piece white bathing suit, plenty of shorts,
cotton shirts, an assortment of t-shirts, an evening dress, and a bunch of
sexy yet comfortable lingerie. All lay haphazardly on the bed.

She could resort to plain old cotton knickers when alone or for comfort.
Hermione massaged the bridge of her nose in exasperation.

Oh, Merlin, she was quite consciously preparing herself to have sex with
Malfoy, and while she had made it clear that she welcomed it, she was faced
with the absolute fact that they would be intimate in Hawaii. The thought
caused butterflies to flutter relentlessly within her and nervousness to
consume her.

Malfoy Manor

Draco joined his mother and Bernard for dinner. His knuckles were bruised.
Although he did his best to hide it from his mother, Bernard was not easily
fooled and raised a curious brow as if expecting an explanation.

He politely asked Dotty to fetch him a scotch and tossed it back, completely
ignoring his mother's stern look and table manners. He was off duty and
needed a bloody drink after the whirlwind of a day he had gone through.

Narciss and Bernard tried to engage Draco in conversation, but he kept his
answers short, sweet, and, most importantly, to the point. He needed to get
through the meal, retire to his room, and meditate. His mind had been
stretched near and far, and he desperately needed to gather his thoughts and
arrange them accordingly.

Scarfing down his food, he noticed his mother shooting him anxious
glances. Once his plate was empty, Draco wiped his mouth with the
embroidered napkin and politely excused himself.

Narcissa protested, “But, darling, you haven't had dessert. It's your
favourite, chocolate pudding with toasted marshmallows.” She wanted to
spend time with him before he left for Hawaii, but clearly, he had other
plans.

However, Draco was relieved when Bernard came to his aid and interjected,
“Ah, my love, leave him be. He’s got packing to do.”

Draco smiled, forever grateful to Bernard and said, “Indeed. I haven’t

packed a thing.”

“Would you like Dotty to help you, dear?” Narcissa offered at once. After
all, the family knew Dotty was an absolute professional at handling their
travel necessities.

Draco shook his head and said, “Thank you for the offer, but I think I can
manage.” He left the dining room and apparated hastily into his room.
Stripping down to his boxers, he pulled on a grey Kung fu robe and
proceeded to sit cross-legged on the ground. This was where the wind blew
right into his room, bringing a calmness that could not be described.

He took a deep breath to even his breathing and closed his eyes. His
thoughts drifted to Granger and the gentle breeze making her unruly hair fly
in all directions. She completely enthralled him, and his earlier
possessiveness over her startled him.

In a secluded part of London

The scarred man delicately cut a piece of chicken and asked lovingly, “Are
you enjoying the meal, my darling?”

Sarah pushed her vegetables around the plate. “Yes.” She replied meekly,
wishing she had the strength to take her fork and stab him in the eye.

He asked sincerely but with a lustful gaze, “Would you like to sleep in my
bed tonight?”

Sarah swallowed hard, and, throwing caution to the wind, she timidly
requested, “Can you buy me some proper underwear? I’d like to look nice
for you.”

He smiled, skin pulling tight over his grotesque scarring, causing Sarah to
look away at once. It reminded her of old Frankenstein and the B-Movies
with creatures that barely looked human—mentally and physically
deformed.

He ignored her look of utter disgust and beamed, “Of course, love.
Anything for you, but you won't be needing any tonight.”

Sarah cringed. Her hands dropped onto her lap, and she nervously flicked
her fingernails with her thumb.

The man watched his captive's movements intently and whispered

reverently, “You look so much like my mother when she was young.”

She did not think she could cope with the smell of her vomit again and
gulped it back down her throat. Still, he continued speaking heinous words
that made her recoil with disgust.

His face contorted with pain, his voice cracking with what sounded like
emotion, “The same hair, same build. Godrick, you are so alike.”

She knew about his sick fascination with his mother for some time. His odd
behaviour with the made-up doll he cherished had already given her some
indication.

Sarah’s bottom lip quivered, but she was genuinely curious about what
happened to him. She averted her gaze and whispered with a real fear of
how he might react, “What did she do to you?”

She knew what the term a face of thunder meant when he threw his plate on
the floor with fury and yelled, "Everything!"

Malfoy Manor
Anyone else might say an eventless hour passed, but Draco was grateful for
the perfect silence since it allowed him to even his breathing and unburden
his mind. Still, it was shattered by the ringing of his mobile phone, which
he forgot to put on silent mode in his haste.

He opened his eyes slowly, retaining focus as he elegantly got to his feet.

Draco retrieved his phone, noting an unknown international number on the

screen that could be either Blaise, Pansy, or Theo ringing him about travel
plans. It had been previously decided that they would arrive close to the
hotel and make plans from there. Granger had meticulously planned
everything, as only Granger could.

He connected the call, and before he could get a word in, Theo yelled,
“Malfoy!”

He sounded utterly hyperactive, nothing new there, “How’s it going, you

brooding wanker?”

Draco smirked, “Good evening, Nott. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He

could hear soft music and a few people chatting in the background.

Theo chuckled, “All set to leave. Hawaii is fucking awesome. I might never
return to England.”

Draco sighed exhaustedly., “Not even fucking close. I'll toss some shite into
a bag and call it a day.”

Theo laughed aloud, “Good luck with that. Get Granger to help you.”

Draco frowned. Granger would quite literally tell him to fuck off than help
fold his underwear. Still, before he could form a suitable witty reply, Theo’s
tone of voice became rather serious, “Listen, Portkey directly into Blaise’s
room. I'll send you the coordinates shortly.”

Draco smiled, thankful for somebody organizing him, “Sounds like a solid
plan, mate.”

Theo grinned, “Everyone sends their love. See you soon, arsehole.”
Draco mused, “You can count on that.”

Hanging up, Draco had no choice but to start packing essentials and
appropriate outfits to match every occasion. Those could vary when Theo
was involved, and sometimes having a wand was a blessing he forgot.

Blaise was mellower and down to earth with his activities, whereas Theo
preferred extravagance and over-the-top outings, which put a sizeable dent
in one's Gringotts account.

They always suspected it was due to his strict and borderline abusive
upbringing, though Draco tried to expend some restraint nowadays. He
could spend however much he liked but following his time with the monks,
it seemed like he was squandering his fortune compared to his meagre life
before.

Draco quite frankly hated packing. He looked at the contents and frowned.
It was a sea of utter black.

Max lolloped into the room and jumped on the bed. He lay down and rested
his head on the bedding but kept his eyes fixed on his Master as he muttered
under his breath and frantically searched the cupboards.

Okay, Draco thought, perhaps there were better ideas than using his wand.
Master Chun would have slapped his wrist and told him not to be so lazy.
He knew he deserved it. Sometimes he wished he were back there in such
simple times.

Max whined as Draco threw his head back and groaned in frustration,
wondering if he honestly did not own anything else but black.

Thankfully, some white, grey, and blue shirts, jeans, and trousers were
hidden in the back, which Pansy had forced him to buy once he returned.
He’d felt awkward in them but knew at least he must make an effort for
Hermione.

Max yipped at the noise of his phone, indicating a text message had arrived.
It was probably Theo with the coordinates. He flipped open his phone and
opened the tiny fluttering envelope, and there it was. A sudden thought
dawned on him, and Draco slapped his forehead.

Bollocks. He had yet to inform Granger of the up-to-date plans since,

previously, they had discussed appearing somewhere secluded and walking
to the hotel. He was sure she had picked a place and planned around it.

He battled internally about whether to pay her a visit or phone instead.

Draco fell onto the bed, and Max crawled over and rested his head on his
beloved Master’s stomach.

Draco ruffled his fur and implored, “What do you think, boy? Should I call
her?”

Max whimpered as if voting against it and snuggled closer, demanding

more attention. He was growing alarmingly and would soon surpass the size
of an average German Shepherd.

Draco smirked, and cowardice took over, “My sentiments exactly. Let's
send her a text message. That should suffice.” However, a burning desire
for an unattainable woman wanted something completely different.

Max barked as if in agreement.

Malfoy Manor - Hidden Room

Lucius’s voice of steel cut through the darkness like a double-edged knife,
“Good evening, Cissy.”

Narcissa ignored her late husband's apparent hostility and waved her wand
while muttering an incantation that filled the room with romantic
candlelight. She had been secretly visiting her late husband ever since
Draco had his portrait moved following her heart attack.

She turned to face the tasteful portrait and said with a smile forming on her
face, “It has been a fine evening, Lucius.”
Lucius did not bother with pleasantries and hissed, “Has your lover left my
ancestral home?”

The smile left Narcissa’s face, and she accused angrily, “Must you be so
crude?”

Lucius had never been able to hold back his resentment, and now was no
different, “Forgive my callousness, but my so-called son has banished me to
a room I detested when I was alive.” He hated the smaller study room his
father had used to punish him for misbehaving. If one looked closely, the
carpet was stained with his blood.

In comparison, he had spared his son the harsh reality of his upbringing.
The odd slap and harsh words were what Draco suffered through. Actual
pain was being beaten with belts and whips till blackened and blue.

Narcissa sighed, “At least in death, I hoped you would try to make amends
with our son.” Her greatest regret was the animosity Draco felt toward his
father. She knew in his demented way that Lucius fiercely loved their only
child.

Lucius sneered, “What would you have me do, Cissy? Apologise? Shower
him with affection?”

Narcissa fired back with a suitable retort, “Yes, you should. There is
absolutely no need for sarcasm.”

Lucius hissed his displeasure, “I cannot accept a Mudblood as a daughter-

in-law even if I am dead. What would my father say?”

Narcissa closed the distance between them. She stood before the portrait
and fumed, “But you are dead, and so is Abraxas, and you no longer have
any say, you bigoted fool. I don't know why I bother to speak with you.”

“You still love me,” Lucius answered confidently and without hesitation.
He reached to try and touch his wife, but obviously, he could not.
However, Narcissa stepped back and hurled in contempt, “No, Lucius. I do
not! My heart belongs to another. I feel a minuscule amount of loyalty to
you, hence my nightly visits.”

Her words cut him deep, and his features contorted painfully, “Leave me. I
do not want your pity.”

Narcissa held back tears as she said, “Good night, Lucius.”

Lucius heard the door close, and he whispered into the darkness, “Please
don’t leave me.”

He would not admit loneliness scared him more than the Dark Lord ever
had.

Hermione's Flat

Hermione abandoned her task of packing shoes, picked up the phone, and
frowned at the message Malfoy had sent her. She fought the urge to call and
scold him.

What good would it do? He would probably mock her for having a
permanent stick up her arse.

Still, it was the very last minute, and she had to get the details precise or
risk appearing in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

She took a sip of red wine and sighed.

Friday morning

Early the following day, Harry helped Ginny with her luggage, and they
stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at each other, trying to find the
right words to say. Still, unfortunately, nothing came to mind, and the space
was filled with an awkward silence until Molly walked in, holding onto
James's hand.
The young child couldn't take his eyes off the oversized luggage. He knew
they only used it when they went on special trips, like the last time Daddy
had taken them to the beach, but his Mummy hadn't mentioned anything
recently.

“Where are we going, mummy?” James asked in his innocence while

tugging on his mother's cotton trousers.

It was more than Ginny could bear. She fell to her knees, hugged her child
tightly, and almost burst into tears. She felt her husband's eyes on her as he
regarded her somewhat sadly and solemnly but said nothing nor offered
words of comfort.

It was Molly that spoke first, “Come along now, darling. Mummy will be
back soon, and you’ll have so much fun with me and Grandpa.” She took
the toddler by the hand, who surprisingly made no fuss and let himself be
directed.

Molly cupped her daughter’s face with her free hand and smiled warmly,
“Don’t you worry about a thing, my love. Go have a bit of fun, okay?”

Ginny choked back a sob, “Thank you, Mum.” It would be the first time she
would be away from her baby boy overnight, and she was surprised at how
difficult it was to leave him even though it was just two days.

She had retired from the Harpies when it became uncomfortable for her to
even consider sitting on the broom. Harry had insisted she take a more
active role from the sidelines because of safety concerns.

“Gran, can you make me some pancakes?” James asked Molly with a bright
smile. Children adapted to situations far better than adults.

Molly kissed his forehead and replied happily, “Always for you, my
darling. Can you grab that big bowl for me?” Inconspicuously she shooed
Ginny and Harry out of the kitchen by turning her back and waving them
away with her hand. They followed her instructions and hurriedly retired to
the living room.
Ginny smiled halfheartedly. She was excited but felt terrible about leaving,
“I guess I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

Harry swallowed hard, pulled his wife to him, and hugged her tightly, “I
love you.”

Ginny eventually broke free from the embrace, worried James might realise
they were still there.

She whispered, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, “I love you too, Harry
Potter.”

Hermione heard her alarm clock go off and groaned into the pillow. She had
hoped for a few extra minutes of sleep but knew it would be futile since
Ginny was punctual and would be at her doorstep any second.

She rolled out of bed and pulled out the panties lodged between her
buttcrack while lazily dragging her feet towards the bathroom.

The sound of Hannah’s light snoring caught her off guard. It was 7 am, and
she’d forgotten she had her Auror protection detail, slash unwanted house
guest who spent her time eating her out of house and home.

Entering the bathroom, Hermione frowned at her reflection. Though her

hair was somewhat shorter, it was still a wild mass of unruly curls with a
mind of its own. It was a familiar dilemma each morning.

Grabbing a brush, Hermione attacked her hair, hoping to tame the uncouth
tussles somewhat before showering and slipping into the outfit she had
chosen the night before.

Draco did an effortless roundhouse kick that landed on the upper part of his
installed punching bag. His morning workout was exhilarating. It got the
blood pumping and adrenaline rushing. His years-old practice calmed him
and gave him a greater purpose.
He glanced at the clock and frowned. Time was ticking, and he was behind
schedule, which was irritating as he prided himself on punctuality.

Making a hardened fist, he punched the defenceless bag before him with
such force it shook violently before he discarded the black leather gloves
that partially covered his long fingers on the way to the bathroom.

Dropping his jogging bottoms, he stepped into the tiled cubicle. The
overhead shower came to life and fell over his blonde strands and toned
body cascading down his manhood and falling at his toes.

Draco sighed and leaned into the cold spray. His thoughts got the better of
him, and before long, he had erotic ideas about what he would get up to
with his fiancé. He felt his earlier fears about underperforming melt away,
and renewed confidence took its place.

Hermione made a cup of tea. She usually preferred to prepare her morning
cup of tea like a Muggle. It certainly tasted better and held the right balance
of milk to tea. She hardly took sugar unless her mood demanded it; today, it
commanded two spoonfuls. She ignored Hannah’s mess and loud snores
while carrying her drink back to her room.

She saw the beaded bag on her bedside table on the way in. It held much
sentimental value, and she was lost without it. She had used the bag to
transport their suppliers while running from Voldemort and finding
Horcruxes, and since it had never left her side.

Hermione found it odd when Hannah knocked on the door, stating an

emergency, and left without a further word. She heard her as she stepped
into the shower and was extremely grateful to have the flat to herself before
departure. She shouted an acknowledgement and carried on with her
ablutions.

Hannah was fun and a competent Auror, but Hermione felt suffocated and
smothered by someone constantly in her home.
That one moment of peace was short-lived as the voice she dreaded echoed
through the flat.

“Are you going to fuck him, Mudblood?” Oh, not this bloody wretch. Not
today.

Hermione stiffened as the water ran cold, her body collapsing on itself as
she shielded herself under the spray. She resisted the urge to crouch in the
bottom of the shower.

She would let her not beat her this time. Breathing deeply, Hermione
adopted a challenging stance and clicked her tongue inside of her cheek in
irritation from the continual anticipation of when this torturous and loyal
follower of Voldemort would arrive unexpectedly in her head.

When her insecurities flared, the stupid old cunt always appeared in her
mind.

“Does that upset you, bitch?” Her clear voice rang out in answer from the
bathroom.

Bellatrix's loud cackle bounced off the walls inside Hermione’s mind, “You
will be nothing more to him than a whore. Nothing more than a piece of
meat.”

Hermione swallowed hard and shouted aggressively, fed up with the

assaults, “Like you were to Voldemort. No more than a slutty, adulterous
toy!”

Bellatrix yelled, “Do not ever attempt to disrespect my devotion to him.

You are the slut, the creature of dirt. The undeserving.”

Hermione spat defiantly, “And I will make your nephew love me. Please, do
enjoy the show!”

“I will kill you, Mudblood!” Bellatrix snarled.

“You call me that because you don’t want to imagine us getting it on,”
Hermione was on fire and continued to demean the dead dark witch, “If you
find a way to come back, Harry will put you in the ground, you are a
relentless, fleshless specter. You are no better than Peeves, and I have no
more room for you in my head.”

Bellatrix laughed triumphantly, “Oh no, I’ll be here as long as you have that
scar. You feel it every day, feel my knife as its sinks into your skin,
Mudblood.”

Yet, her voice sounded further away, and Hermione strained to hear her,
“Do you think you are the only one who can fight? Shall I have Molly
Weasley come back to finish you again? Ha! Were you afraid at the end?
She said you were. She said you screamed.”

Bella’s voice lacked conviction, “No, the Weasleys were Mudblood lovers,
pieces of shit—”

White noise filled her head, the ring on her finger threw light over her, and
Hermione thought she might faint. She came to, and there was so much
silence that Hermione couldn’t hear the shower running.

Grabbing a small towel, Hermoine rushed from the bathroom, barely

wrapping it around herself as she headed to find a brandy in the kitchen.

Not looking where she was going, she smacked into a hard chest and
screamed.

Draco covered his ears momentarily.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Hermione slapped his chest harshly.

“Oi!” He laughed and greeted her with a genuine smile, “Good morning,
Granger. You look lovely.” His eager eyes roved over the small towel that
barely covered her body. She looked stunning, yet not appropriate for the
place they were headed to.

Hermione breathed, glad to see him for once, “Thank you. I’m, err, not
quite ready. Something held me up.”
His manly fragrance invaded her space, and she was forced to inhale deeply
and look at him appreciatively. He wore casual black pants and a button-
down cotton white shirt that lightly exposed his chest. His Sectumsempra
scar was slightly visible among more prominent deeper marks.

She cleared her throat and said, “So do you.”

Draco teased, “Hmm, your eyes have glazed over, Granger.” Little did he
know that it was part anger at what she’d experienced and the fact she stood
before him part naked.

Hermione rolled her eyes, “What? Sod off, Malfoy.” It wasn’t the first time
she’d thought he was an egotistical prat

Draco was no idiot. He had noticed her odd body language and heavy
breathing when she barged into him as if she were escaping something evil
and couldn't help but wonder what Granger was trying to hide.

Instead, he closed the distance between them, peered into her face, and
asked with genuine concern and conviction, “Are you alright?”

Hermione turned her back on him, busied herself with washing her empty
teacup, and argued rather unconvincingly, “Of course! Why wouldn't I be?”

Draco parted his lips to speak, but they were interrupted by the sound of the
doorbell. He left well enough alone, jogged over to the door, and threw it
open.

Ginny lugged in a giant suitcase that was clearly stuffed to the brim that
Draco thought would burst at any moment.

He voiced his candid thoughts, “What in the name of Salazar is that?”

Hermione approached them and quipped, “Do you have Harry and James in
there?”

“Very funny. I like to be prepared.” Ginny scoffed as she dropped her

handbag on the kitchen counter and leaned against it.
Draco stifled a laugh and quipped, “For what exactly? An apocalypse?”

Ginny retaliated with a sarcastic retort, “Women tend to need more than a
change of underwear, Malfoy. In fact, Hermione seems woefully
unprepared. Am I perhaps interrupting something?”

Draco chuckled, “She ran out here. I had no choice.”

Ginny simply shrugged, “Duly noted, Malfoy.”

Hermione flushed, “Nothing of what you’re implying took place. Excuse

me.” With those final words, she disappeared.

Draco exclaimed calmly, “A wizard can’t complain when his fiancé runs
into his arms half-dressed.” Who was he to argue with the choices of
women?

Ginny took a juicy apple from the bowl nearby, bit into and muttered,
“Shall we get going?”

Draco quipped, “Usually, I’d say yes, but as Hermione is getting ready, I
dare not.” He let out a laugh as he grabbed another apple from the fruit
bowl.

A few moments later, Hermione reappeared in a short mustard yellow

cotton dress with dainty spaghetti straps, checked her watch and nodded,
“We have a few minutes.”

Ginny pointed to her suitcase and pleaded, “Can you stuff this into your
bag?”

Draco looked around and inquired sceptically, “Where is your bag,

Granger? Shall I fetch it from your room?”

Hermione picked up her beaded bag off the table and replied with a smug
expression, “Everything I need is right here.”

“Sweet Salazar. That's barely enough to hold your toothbrush,” Draco

argued with a raised brow. He wondered what was going on.
Hermione rolled her eyes and held out the bag with an instruction. “Shut up
and help Ginny.”

Draco took out his wand and waved it over the luggage. It soared through
the air and hovered over the entrance of the mysterious beaded bag.

He hesitated, but Hermione jiggled the bag impatiently, and Draco let
Ginny’s suitcase drop. It disappeared into the beaded bag and collided
noisily with whatever was inside.

Draco peered inside the bag with widened eyes and demanded, “What
sorcery is this?”

Ginny calmly explained, “A very gifted expandable charm.”

Hermione groaned, “Shit! There go my books.”

Ginny frowned, “Books? Why are you bringing along books?”

Hermione answered without hesitation, “For some light reading around the
pool, but these have been there for ages.”

She eyed the black folder Draco held incredulously and retorted with
amusement, "And what are those, Malfoy?"

Draco defended his binder, pulling it towards his chest protectively, “I have
Auror trials to study for, Granger, as you are aware. I need to utilise every
free moment to study and prepare.” He had packed books and a file on the
Strangler that Hannah prepared for him and dropped at the Manor.

Ginny chuckled, “Well, I must say, he sounds exactly like you, Hermione.”

She remembered Hermione as a proverbial nightmare during exams, and

many arguments erupted between Ron and her simply because she couldn't
stand his childish approach to preparation. He found her utterly mental for
studying day and night with only bathroom breaks in the middle.

Ginny wondered why her brother thought they were a good match. A bit
older herself, she knew young romance wasn’t always destined to last, but
she and Harry would make it. They were different.

She caught sight of Malfoy’s gym bag and insisted, “Toss your bag in there
too, Malfoy. It's easier to Portkey without luggage.”

Draco nodded in agreement and asked politely, “Good idea. Do you mind,
Granger?”

Hermione showed indifference with a nonchalant shrug, “Not at all. I’m

used to it.”

Draco raised a questioning brow before tossing his bag into her beady
purse. He wasn't quite sure what they called it, but it was an impressive bit
of magic.

Hermione squealed, “Oh, it's about time to leave.” She tossed the beaded
bag into her handbag and held onto it tightly.

Draco suddenly remembered and asked hurriedly but rather sheepishly,

“Did you adjust our destination based on my instructions last night?” Since
she had not replied and he had fallen asleep after, he wasn't sure whether
she had received them.

Hermione frowned with displeasure., “Yes, I did with great difficulty since
it was last minute. I abhor last-minute changes.”

Draco smirked and licked his bottom lip for good measure, “Oh dear. You
have my sincere apologies. Although, you will find that the best things in
life are unexpected, Granger.”

He gently tapped the side of her temple with a long pale finger and drawled,
“For once, think outside the box.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. She felt like a sodding third wheel; it was not a
humorous thought. All these bloody couples, and she would be the only one
without a significant other.

Hermione blushed, “I'll keep that in mind.” She moved closer to Ginny as if
Draco’s touch burnt her. He swapped a confused look with her but didn't
pursue the subject.

Ginny asked curiously, “What time is it there?”

Hermione calculated it in her mind before answering, “After 7 pm on

Thursday. They're roughly 11 hours behind us.” She had done her
homework and knew everything about the popular holiday destination,
down to the national bird.

Ginny perked up instantly, “Oh, we get an extra few hours to enjoy.”

Hermione shrugged, “I guess so.” She took out an ancient-looking

ornament of sorts of a mangled gold cup with a black-maned lion engraved
into it and placed it on the counter for all to see.

Draco lazily mused, “Hawaii, here we come.”

They touched the glowing ministry-approved ornament and disapparated.

Ministry Of Magic

Julius Avery took the rickety old lift to the top floor, which housed the
offices of Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt and Undersecretary
Hermione Jean Granger. When he stepped out, he was instantly impressed
by his lavish surroundings.

It was a little past 9 am, and he could make out through the thick glass wall
that Kingsley's personal assistant was busy organising herself for the
remainder of the day. She was arranging papers, files and answering a
continuous stream of calls.

In contrast to the professionally dressed Minister's assistant, Hermione

Granger's assistant seemed relatively young with a brilliant head of bright
blue hair, a nose piercing, and rather loud yet stylish clothes.

He carefully pushed open the glass door and walked towards the desk. The
woman behind it eyed him suspiciously but smiled and asked politely,
“Good morning, Sir. How can I help you?”

Julius flashed his most winning smile and answered, “I don't have an
appointment, I’m afraid, but I wish to see Undersecretary Granger.”

Brenda smiled. The pompous arse. Did he really think he would get his way
by flashing his bloody pearly whites? Not a fucking chance.

Instead of spewing out the obscenities running rampant through her head,
she said, “I’m sorry, but Miss Granger is on leave and will only return on
Tuesday. If you wish to meet her, I can pencil you in right after Mr Gregory
House.”

Julius seethed but kept his composure and responded, “You do that, love.”

Brenda frowned. Love? Why, if he wasn't a condescending prat!

She grinned, “And your name, darling?” She emphasised the last word
letting it roll off her tongue generously as she poised her quill over the
diary.

However, Avery wasn't intimidated or bothered. He simply grinned, “Julius

Avery.”

Brenda stiffened when she heard his last name. However, she kept the
surprise out of her voice and inquired, “What is your reason for requesting a
meeting?”

Julius answered with a devilish smirk, “That's private, but I think you can
keep a secret. I need to discuss a building permit for one of my
establishments.” He hoped his trumped-up excuse was enough to garner
him an audience with the so-called Golden Girl. He had heard from others
that she was compassionate, generous, and brilliant.

A shiver went down Brenda’s spine, but still, she kept her wits about her
and wrote his name down next to 1 pm - Tuesday.

Julius straightened his jacket and tipped his hat, “Thank you. Have a
smashing day.” With that, he turned on his heel and left a slightly
flabbergasted assistant to her thoughts. He was sorely disappointed and
frustrated that he had missed meeting Hermione Granger.

So engrossed in his thoughts, he exited the lift on the wrong floor and
bumped into someone sending said person's belongings cluttering to the
floor.

Fuck.

He snapped out of his daze and apologised profusely, “Excuse me.”

A lovely woman with long black hair waved her wand elegantly and
muttered an incantation causing all her fallen belongings to return to her
hand.

She turned to face the lumbering mountain troll that knocked into her and
hissed, “You really must watch where you’re going.”

Julius grinned sheepishly, “Hmm, my apologies. I assure you it was an

accident, or maybe it’s fate.” He re-entered the lift, waiting for her to enter.

He turned on the charm after getting a glimpse of the woman he barged

into. She was a timeless beauty.

Astoria Greengrass frowned. She was about to enter, but he had gone back
inside. She wondered if he had the wrong floor. He was pretty decent
looking. Not in the same league as Draco Malfoy, but she could perceive a
hardened truth lurking behind his eyes.

Julius tried his best to make amends, “If you would accept a second
apology and my assistance to your floor, I would be grateful. I wouldn't
dream of causing injury to a beautiful woman such as yourself.

If she had a Galleon for every time a man complimented her looks, it would
put her family's vast fortune to utter shame.

Astoria said with a definite roll of her eyes, “Flattery won't get you very far
with me.” She reluctantly stepped inside and made a mental note to send
Ramesh in her stead next time permit matters regarding her pet snakes
arose.

Julius boldly asked, “Are you Astoria Greengrass?” She was flawless.

“Have we met?” Astoria asked curiously. Surely, she would have

remembered him if she had met him. He had a unique face and prominent
features.

Julius offered a plausible explanation, “Yes, I believe we have. Some years

ago at some function or another.”

He held out his hand and presented himself, “I will reintroduce myself. I'm
Julius Avery.”

Astoria took his hand and answered without much interest, “Ah, yes, we
met when we were younger.” The lift whirred as they went through the
floors.

She remembered he was the son of a known Death Eater, and the pureblood
families always mingled and dined together.

Julius could hardly hold back his enthusiasm, “Salazar, you’re stunning.
I've heard about your beauty, but I must be honest, the rumours do you no
justice.”

Astoria felt rather uncomfortable in his presence but replied, “Thank you,
but excuse me.” She tried to pull back her hand, but he held on tight,
refusing to let go.

He kissed her hand and said, “You've blossomed into a beautiful rose.”

Astoria haughtily replied, “I've heard that many times before.”

Julius released her and insisted, “Please allow me to buy you coffee.”

“I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a hurry. Perhaps, some other time.” Astoria
politely declined, pressing the button for her floor on the lift once more.
However, Julius was adamant, “For old time's sake.”

Astoria was annoyed by his tiresome behaviour, “I have to be elsewhere.”

Julius smirked, “I'm not used to taking no for an answer, Astoria.” He loved
her fiery spirit.

Astoria scoffed, “You best get used to it then. I am not used to dealing with
wizards unsolicited.”

Julius chuckled, “I'll keep that in mind. I sincerely hope we meet again.”

Astoria bid him a less than fond farewell, “Good day.”

Julius nodded curtly with his hands in his pocket, “Likewise, darling.”

Astoria huffed as she exited the lift, her skirts rustling as she walked away
with her nose in the air.

Her gait amused Julius as she pretended to ignore him. He vaguely recalled
she was the unlucky recipient of a blood curse.

It was a shame for such a lovely woman to succumb to death sooner than
her time. He wondered if she was currently involved with anyone. He
would make it his mission to find out. Not only was she beautiful, but she
was also a fuckable heiress with a short lifespan.

The Master would highly approve.

 Chapter 65
Chapter Summary

To all the comments:- Thank you so much for the lovely feedback. I
love them all! :)

Please keep in mind the 11-hour time difference between London and
Hawaii.

Everyone arrives safely in Hawaii. A few obstacles present themselves.

The Hawaii trip will be broken into three chapters. Trust me, it will be
worthwhile.

Harry spends time with the children.

Sarah learns more about her captor—trigger warning.

Thomas and Hannah make some headway regarding the Strangler. The
killer's days are numbered.

Enjoy Chapter Sixty - Five!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Waikiki Beach, Marriott Resort and Spa, Honolulu, Hawaii

It wasn't the most straightforward endeavour to Portkey across oceans. Of

course, they did it often, but it was rather exhausting and drained their
magic.

Their feet touched a plush greyish carpet, and Hermione had a thought of
uncertainty despite her meticulous planning.
Blimey, she hoped they were in the right room, but the deep voice that
greeted them put her mind at ease. It would have been unfortunate to
trespass on some poor, unsuspecting Muggle's space.

Hermione shuddered at the thought, but she didn't need to be bothered with
such unpleasantness since Blaise strode towards them, beaming. He was
shirtless, with only a pair of jogging bottoms to keep him decent.

Blaise bellowed, “Draco! Mate!” It was evident from his tone and
deposition that he was beyond pleased to have his friend finally join their
holiday.

He turned his attention to Hermione, “Granger!” Meanwhile, Draco

collected himself and grinned from ear to ear.

It was Ginny who found her voice first, and she greeted her ex-boyfriend
sheepishly, “Hi, Blaise.”

Blaise quite literally did a double take as if his mind were playing tricks on
him and stared at Ginny to make sure she was indeed real and not a figment
of his imagination. Finally, he snapped out of his momentary daze and
exclaimed, “Bloody hell. Red?”

Ginny blushed and responded, “In the flesh.”

Draco raised a quizzical brow and threw Blaise an amused expression. His
behaviour was that of an adolescent, and it was highly comical since hardly
anything rattled the calm and composed olive-skinned man.

Blaise ignored his best mate and muttered, “Oh, right.” His eyes scanned
the room for a t-shirt to cover himself with. He suddenly felt very naked in
her presence. Luckily, an earlier discarded t-shirt lay ignored on a chair
nearby.

However, Ginny was quite taken aback and impressed. Her eyes raked over
his toned physique inconspicuously. Harry, as with all Aurors, worked out
religiously and kept himself fit and taut, but seeing such an impressive body
on a civilian was a welcome surprise.
Blaise hurriedly pulled the simple grey cotton t-shirt over his head and
smiled, “I wasn't expecting to see you.”

Ginny was beginning to feel rather self-conscious and replied,

“Obviously.”

Draco watched the events unfold while scanning the suite. His eyes took in
the splendour and lavish surroundings of the room they were in for the
moment.

“I invited her,” Hermione sprang to Ginny’s defence and moved to her side.

Ginny shrugged casually and grinned, “So, I tagged along. I hope that's
alright.” She knew Blaise had no issues with her presence, and even if he
did, he was far too much of a gentleman to show it frankly.

Blaise beamed once more, “Of course, it is. I'm really glad to see you.” He
closed the distance between them and pulled Hermione and then Ginny into
a somewhat awkward hug of sorts, crushing her to his chest.

She could feel the rapid beating of his heart and the contours of his well-
defined muscles underneath her slightly trembling fingertips.

Their last encounter at the coffee shop after her horrid fight with Harry
replayed in their mind.

“I'll ring Theo,” Blaise said after releasing Ginny. He spoke directly to
Draco, who smirked, nodded in agreement and followed his friend into the
other room.

Hermione pulled Ginny towards the wide window, and both stared into the
land sprawled before them. Even though it was night, the moon rested high
in the sky, illuminating the way and showcasing the beauty that fell under
its radiant silvery beams.

“Careful,” Hermione teasingly muttered under her breath. They could make
out waves crashing against each other in the distance, but unfortunately, the
surrounding areas were shrouded by darkness.
Ginny rolled her eyes and refused to argue.

The front door burst open, and Theo burst in with a loud and chirpy,
“Arsehole!”

Draco gave a half smirk and responded, “Good to see you too, Nott.” The
men exchanged a quick, friendly hug of sorts.

Theo regarded Ginny and Hermione with a welcoming smile and sarcastic
quip, “Ah, more Gryfindors. Welcome ladies.”

He cleared his throat and said shyly, “Granger….” They interacted due to
work at times. It wasn't like she had no clue of his existence.

Hermione was a bit surprised to be addressed directly but politely replied to

best suit the situation, “Hi, Theo….” She hardly remembered him from
school except when he weirdly asked her to Hogsmeade, and she had
promptly refused. Goyle and Crabbe were Malfoy's lackeys. She wondered
if the situation in the Room of Requirement had soured the friendship.
Probably, it had since one was dead and the other was a vile human being.

The very thought of Goyle made her temper flare. Moreso, since he couldn't
pay for his crimes, of which she was sure there were many.

However, she did know Theodore Nott, inventor and scientist

extraordinaire. The man was exceptionally intelligent despite his somewhat
comical nature. He was in charge of creating unique weapons against
werewolves and even vampires if the need ever arose among other devices
which were strictly on a need-to-know basis. She didn't work with him
directly since he worked primarily out of the comfort of his home, but their
paths crossed when necessary.

He worked on a contract basis and was mainly a freelancer catering to many

whims of wizards and witches alike as long as the requests were reasonable.

Draco’s eyes narrowed as he witnessed the exchange. He wasn't fond of

how Theo singled Hermione out but kept his thoughts silent. Silence kept
true feelings in the dark, and remaining calm and collected at the moment
was prudent.

Luna came up from behind with the biggest smile, “Hermione! Ginny!” The
women hugged each other tightly but briefly.

Hermione smiled warmly, “Luna, how are you? You look lovely.”

However, Ginny noticed Luna looked paler than usual, with dark circles
adorning her pretty eyes and overall sickly deposition. Instantly, the reason
dawned on her, but she kept mum on the subject until the opportunity for
explanations presented itself.

Luna averted her gaze, “I haven't been feeling well, I'm afraid.” She
swapped a knowing look with Ginny.

A stern voice invaded the space, “It's late, Malfoy.”

Draco smirked and pulled the opinionated woman into a one-armed hug,
“Good evening, Pans.”

Pansy playfully shoved him away and spoke to Ginny and Hermione, who
were deep in conversation with Luna, “Ladies….”

Ginny maintained a solemn expression and replied with a curt nod of her
head, “Parkinson.”

Hermione raised a curious brow, “Where's Neville?”

Barely were the words out of her mouth, a prominent figure flew at them
and hugged them completely, constricting their ability to breathe and
knocking the wind out of them.

Neville whispered so only they could hear, “I'm so happy to see you.” It
was clear he was desperate for some familiar faces. It couldn't have been
easy for him to be around all the Slytherins and Luna, who had been sick
for almost the entire trip. He was beyond relieved to see Ginny and
Hermione.
While Theo spoke animatedly with Draco and Hermione filled Neville in on
the latest news from back home, Ginny found herself moving closer to
Blaise. She noticed from the sorry state of the suite that he seemed to be
alone.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she questioned, “Umm, where's
Daphne?”

Blaise sighed, “She left early. Adam had a severe allergic reaction to nuts.”
Ginny smelled incredible, and he wanted to put a considerable distance
between them, but his feet were not cooperating, and involuntarily, he
moved closer to his ex-girlfriend.

He knew Daphne would not be happy with Ginny’s untimely appearance

and made the wise decision to keep the truth from his beloved wife until the
opportune moment to disclose presented itself.

Ginny was genuinely concerned and voiced her thoughts, “Oh, dear. I hope
he's alright.”

Blaise reassured, “Yeah, he's good.”

He glanced at his mates and added in a carrying voice, “She insisted I stay
for Draco’s sake. She didn't want to forsake him to Theo's imaginative
mind.”

“I heard that,” Theo responded good-naturedly with a slight chuckle.

Blaise quipped, “Well, I didn't fucking whisper, mate.”

Theo shot back, “Wanker.”

Blaise countered, “Prat.”

Pansy stepped in and reprimanded them severely in her most motherly tone
of voice, “Boys! Play nice.”

Theo pouted and replied candidly, “Yes, mummy.”

Pansy frowned and hissed, “Argh, don't make me kick your nuts.”

Neville chuckled and said, “Come on. Let's get you lot sorted into rooms.”

Hermione told the rest of the group, “See you in the morning.” Her heart
fluttered relentlessly. The surroundings were exquisite, and the fact that
they were away from home was slowly beginning to sink in, and with it, her
insecurities rose to the surface.

She purposely avoided Draco despite his efforts to engage her in

conversation or remain close. He trailed behind her as they walked along
the corridors, searching for the lift while Neville excitedly explained what
everyone had been up to since they arrived on the beautiful island.

While he had no particular excuse not to play at being a couple, apparently,

she had other ideas.

London - No 12 Grimmauld Place

Harry greeted Teddy and Andromeda at the back door. Teddy hugged him
tightly with the brightest smile and ran into the kitchen where Molly was
preparing breakfast while an excited James helped her.

James caught sight of Teddy and giggled. He was very fond of him.

Andromeda greeted Molly, who wiped her hands on the closest rag and
returned the warm gesture, “Lovely to see you both. Tea?”

“Yes, please,” Teddy replied politely and sat at the table. Harry joined him,
stretched his legs, and said, “Looking forward to the weekend?”

Andromeda smiled and helped Molly take out biscuits, “He has not stopped
talking about it for days.”

Harry chuckled, "It's going to be fun, mate." He honestly hoped he could

live up to his word.
Teddy beamed, “Yes!” Uncle Harry and Ron were the closest people he had
to a father, but recently, he had learned of a blood relative, Draco Malfoy.
He wanted to ask Uncle Harry more about this so-called cousin of his.

Hawaii - Thursday Night - Check-in

The smartly dressed woman at the front desk was extremely helpful and
accommodating. Within mere seconds, she tracked down the reservation
Neville had made on the day they arrived and smiled courteously, “Late
check-in, not a problem. We've made note of it here. The rooms are ready
and available.” She placed two room key cards on the polished counter
surface.

Hermione took hold of the key to the double room and frowned, “Aren't we
on the same floor?”

Neville opened his mouth to explain, but the woman politely said,
“Unfortunately, there are no rooms available on the desired floor. We have
placed Mr Malfoy on the floor above everyone else. I do apologise for the
inconvenience.”

Ginny wasn't the least bit bothered. She was busy taking pictures and
looking at her surroundings with the excitement of a toddler at a
playground. Many tourists went about their business, and it was apparent by
the bustling lobby area that the hotel was packed and sought after.

Draco pocketed his card and brushed the inconvenience aside, “Ah, that's
not an issue.” Honestly, what bloody difference could it possibly make? His
fiancé seemed adamant to treat him like some stranger, and if that were her
stance, he would accommodate her attitude momentarily.

A neatly dressed young man appeared, and the woman smiled at him and
said, “Charlie will show you to your rooms.”

She brazenly locked eyes with Draco and offered ardently, “If you need
anything, Mr Malfoy, I would be happy…she bit her lip, to help you out
regardless of the time.”
Ginny snorted. Neville stared wide-eyed at the woman's forwardness, but
Hermione was less than amused by the interaction. She pursed her lips and
swallowed the slew of curses dancing on her tongue's tip. They had been on
the island less than an hour, and already he had women lining up to shag
him. How he remained celibate was a complete mystery to her.

Draco ran his longer fingers through his hair and smirked, “I appreciate
that, Monica. Did I pronounce that correctly?”

Monica blushed, “Indeed. Enjoy your stay.” Oh, he was a rare and
delectable treat.

Hermione took hold of Draco’s hand, garnering an amused look from him
and responded suggestively, “We will. Thank you.” She ran her fingers
down the front of his shirt for good measure and licked her bottom lip,
wiping the look of smugness off the other woman’s face and causing her to
hurriedly busy herself with some papers.

Ginny chuckled and shook her head. It would be a very long weekend.

With a smile, Charlie stepped forward and instructed, "Please follow me."

Draco glanced at Hermione and mused, “Was that necessary? She was
merely being friendly.”

Hermione said with a distinctive roll of her eyes, “She clearly knew we
were engaged.” She abruptly dropped his hand and put a reasonable
distance between them.

Draco snorted and responded with an amused expression, “Oh, did she?
And what gave it away? Perhaps, it was your blatant hostility towards me.”

Hermione questioned irritably, “How did you figure out her name?” Had he
stooped to using Occlumency?

Draco massaged the bridge of his nose in exasperation and gave a plausible
explanation, “She was wearing a bloody name tag, Granger.”
Neville stifled a laugh, and Ginny nudged him as they walked behind the
volatile couple, arguing childishly.

Hermione scoffed, “And I am not hostile towards you. We just arrived.

Please don’t be dramatic.” What did he honestly expect from her? To jump
into his arms and proclaim undying love? Ridiculous bloody man.

Draco scowled, “Then why are you going out of your way to stand so far
apart?”

Hermione struggled to find the right words for a suitable counter reply,
“I…” Was she? She supposed she was, but it was just the nerves getting the
better of her and if only he would give her some space to adjust to their
surroundings. For Merlin's sake, they just arrived!

In a blink of an eye, Draco moved close, snaked his arm around her waist
and brought her closer to his body. He radiated unbearable heat and
metaphorically burned her skin where he touched. Ginny and Neville came
to an abrupt halt and swapped a look of confusion and mild embarrassment.

Their faces were barely inches apart, and Hermione could smell Draco’s
aftershave and peppermint toothpaste as his breath ghosted over the skin on
her cheek, “Isn't this better?”

Hermione was rendered speechless as their eyes locked, and she took in the
intensity swirling behind his beautiful, grey eyes. She swallowed hard, and
her lips parted ever so slightly.

Ginny cleared her throat, “Ahem, I would be happy to take Malfoy's single
room so you two can share the double.” She thought her sacrifice would
help ease the situation.

“Ginny,” Hermione gritted out. Although, it didn't seem like a bad idea.
Except the very thought caused her stomach to knot nervously.

Abruptly, Draco let Hermione go, causing her to lose balance and almost
fall flat on her arse. She glared at him and almost reached for her wand but
remembered they weren't alone.
Draco chuckled, “Careful, Weasley. Your suggestion might cause Granger's
head to explode.”

Neville shifted his feet. He was uncomfortable with the direction of the
conversation and took the opportunity to excuse himself, “Well, I best get
back to Pansy. Get some rest.” It was utterly bizarre to witness Malfoy and
Hermione interact so freely with each other, and he needed time to process
their tumultuous relationship.

A chorus of Good night, see you in the morning and thank you’s followed
his exit.

After Neville was out of earshot, Hermione hissed, “Well, I'm not the one
shying away from intimacy, Malfoy. You seem willing to do everything else
but the deed despite you making clear advances and leading me on.” It was
a well-deserved zinger between the balls.

Draco couldn't believe the audacity. He said in outrage, “Leading you on?
Listen here, woman. I bluntly told you the reason behind my hesitation but
that has come to an end.”

He drawled, weakening her knees, “I will make you mine before we return
to London.” That was the grand plan anyway. His reservations about
underperforming and not being up to mark were buried and ready to be
replaced with new memories and feelings.

Hermione found her voice and glared, “I belong to no one, do I make

myself clear, Malfoy?”

Draco easily towered over her, stared her dead in the eye with every ounce
of confidence he could muster, and teased, “You would be more convincing
if you weren't nervously fidgeting.”

Hermione straightened and responded with heavy sarcasm, lacing her

words, "If we ever do have sex, it won't give you some power over me, got
it?

Draco smirked, "Got it." The irritating bloody Gryffindor.

Ginny rolled her eyes, “Shall I give you two a moment?” Their banter was
highly amusing but also tiresome since neither seemed willing to succumb
to the other.

They had arrived at the room. Draco stood outside while Hermione opened
the door and said, “That's quite alright. Good night.” With that, he turned on
his heel and followed Charlie, whose presence everyone had forgotten, but
as a bellhop, he had seen his fair share of odd instances and heated
exchanges between guests around the hotel.

Draco tipped him handsomely once outside his room. He walked into the
single room, quickly looked around and sighed.

The room was beyond satisfactory, and although it was meant for a single
occupant, the bed was more than adequate to accommodate two fully grown
adults, for which he was grateful because of his imposing height. He
dropped his bag on the bed and wandered onto the small balcony.

The night air was chilly yet crisp, and the pungent smell of the ocean
invaded his sensitive nostrils and refused to budge. He could hear the faint
sound of waves crashing against each other and make out a brightly lit area
that he assumed was one of the many bars the hotel boasted.

Draco closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and calmed his raging inner
thoughts. Focus, he demanded of himself.

Hermione rather aggressively poked her wand inside the beaded bag and
hissed, "Accio Ginny's suitcase." It shot out of the tiny entrance at light
speed, almost knocking the women in their faces.

With the aid of magic, Ginny hoisted the bag onto the bed, and it flipped
open, displaying the neatly packed contents within. She started to unpack
without another word.

"He's such an incorrigible lout," Hermione hissed while summoning her

neatly folded clothes and toiletries inside the beaded bag.
Ginny rolled her eyes and sighed. She continued to unpack until an excited
squeal from Hermione diverted her attention. All dignity forgot the
Undersecretary had her nose pressed against the glass as she took in the
glorious beach visible from their bedroom window.

Unable to contain herself any longer, Ginny jumped on the bed closest to
her while doing a small dance and giggling uncontrollably. Hermione
laughed aloud and joined her best friend as they behaved like children.
They laughed and jumped without a care in the world until they couldn't
anymore.

The beds creaked under their actions, and finally exhausted, they fell
laughing onto the beds and threw pillows at each other. It was much like
when they had been at Hogwarts. It felt glorious to let loose and unburden
oneself.

Ginny chuckled, “Are you okay?”

Hermione lay on her back and laughed, “That felt great. I guess Harry was
right to send us away.” Still, her thoughts lingered on the pressing situation
back home. She hoped all would be well while they were away.

Ginny sat up and said, “That reminds me, I have to let him know we arrived
safely.” She grabbed her phone and headed into the exquisite bathroom,
leaving Hermione with disturbing thoughts about Draco and sex.

Draco stepped out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his
taut waist to keep him decent. He had a long, hot shower, and a stream of
steam followed him.

It wasn't late by any standards, and he felt uneasy sitting around his room
watching the telly or studying. He decided to explore his surroundings and
familiarise himself with the place that would be his home for the next few
days.

He hurriedly pulled a white Calvin Klein T-shirt over his head and then
matching faded denims. The hotel lived up to its reputation, and the
structure and interior were tasteful and quite appealing, with splendid light
fittings and artistic paintings and sculptures decorating the long corridors
and walls.

Draco followed the directions of the staff, and his feet led him outside to the
enormous pool. It was somewhat windy but glorious. Even then, the
weather was what anyone would want on their holiday. It was untainted and
clear. He took a deep breath and exhaled, allowing his lungs to expand and
relax.

A splash in the distance made it to his fine hearing, and he turned towards
the source. It was dark, with only a few lights. Still, he couldn't quite see
who or what it was, but after a while, a beautiful silhouette of a shapely
woman climbed out of the pool and walked away while vicariously
towelling her hair.

Intrigued, Draco tried to move closer to get a better look, but his phone
rang, and he was forced to stop and answer. It was Blaise.

Blaise didn't bother with pleasantries and came right to the point,
“Nightcap?”

Draco agreed almost at once, “I’ll be there shortly. Shit, I've forgotten the
room number.”

Blaise smiled, “It's the Queens suite.”

Draco smirked, “See you in abit.”

Ten minutes later, Draco found the suite with some difficulty and pressed
the white button, a makeshift bell.

Barely a minute passed before Blaise threw the door wide open and invited,
“Come in, mate.”

Draco followed Blaise to the white sofa, where a bottle of the finest scotch
rested on the surface, along with two empty tumblers.
Blaise sat down and offered, “Help yourself.” He made a mental note to
phone Daphne before he went to bed.

Draco sat down, held out his glass for Blaise to pour and questioned, “I
thought you came with Daphne.”

Blaise dropped an ice cube into Draco’s glass, proceeded to pour two
fingers worth of whiskey into his tumbler and answered, “I did, but she had
to head back because of Adam. He had an allergic reaction to some peanuts
he had eaten on the sly. Poor Astoria and Tracey. They were beside
themselves with worry.”

Draco acknowledged, “Ah….” Honestly, any mention of Astoria made him

uncomfortable, mainly because of her behaviour whenever their paths
crossed.

"She's taken to raising snakes," Blaise added, shuddering for good measure.
He was terrified of the reptiles that were his old house symbol.

Draco pursed his lips and said nothing. Instead, he raised a curious brow
and inquired, “Is Theo joining us?” It was strange their best mate wasn't a
part of the festivities.

Blaise replied thoughtfully, “Lovegood isn't feeling great, so I doubt it.

Besides, I didn't want to disturb them.”

“Of course,” Draco nodded. He understood his friend's actions. Blaise

usually had an excellent head on his shoulders and seldom made terrible
decisions.

Blaise grinned, “It's good to have you here, Malfoy.” He was tempted to ask
about Ginny but thought against it. It was best not to draw too much
attention to their past.

Draco sighed, “It’s good to be here.” He leaned back and got comfortable.

Blaise noticed his friend seemed less like himself and inquired, “Is
everything alright? You seem distracted.”
Draco didn't hold back and bluntly stated what was on his mind, "I met
Goyle and some Ministry affairs that I'm not at liberty to discuss are heavy
on my mind.” He hadn't confided in anyone how much Goyle’s
involvement in sending Granger the letter affected him. It infuriated him
and brought out a side he wanted to control and keep hidden.

Blaise narrowed his eyes in contempt and asked, “Goyle? What did he
want?” His whole attitude changed as they discussed their former
housemate.

Draco frowned, “It was a chance meeting at the Ministry, but he made his
displeasure blatantly obvious.”

Blaise gritted out, “I don't have the patience for his antics. He hasn't
changed much since Hogwarts, and that's saying something.” When they
were all starting out after Hogwarts, Goyle and Montague had requested a
meeting and extended an invitation to some Club Sanguis. They had
explained that it was a privilege to be considered, but he had turned them
down and not regretted it for a moment.

Draco said amusedly, “The fucker is built like a bloody mountain.” He

cracked his knuckles for good measure.

Blaise replied solemnly, “I know. He's involved in some pretty shady

business along with Avery and Montague.”

That piqued Draco’s interest. He sat and questioned urgently. “Avery? Isn't
he in Azkaban?”

Blaise calmly explained, “Not Avery senior. His son Julius has returned and
seems adamant about carrying on his father's pathetic legacy.” The man was
business savvy and did some good around the neighbourhood despite his
incredibly questionable dealings and underground activities.

Draco was impressed and couldn't help but ask, “How do you know all
this?” Blaise was a stealthy operative when it was required of him. How
else would he have kept his relationship with Ginny Weasley secret?
Blaise smiled. He responded with a smidge of smugness, “I've got eyes and
ears, and in my business, you hear certain things. Besides, I make it my
business to know what's going on in the less appealing side of our world.”

He raised his glass, “Cheers.”

Draco did the same, “Cheers.”

A Secluded Part of London

Sarah tugged at her hand, but she was chained to the bed. Any movement
caused the metal to cut into her wrist, leaving a painful bruise. The only
difference was that it was his bed, not the one she had been confined to for
weeks. Weirdly, it felt good to be away from the room where her abuse
started.

After a few minutes of trying to break free, she gave up and instead curled
into a ball and sobbed. He had forcefully taken her body numerous times
during the night while whispering, "Am I man enough now, father?"

He had diligently seen to it that she orgasmed, much to her dismay. She
would die a slow and painful death, and her story would come to a silent
end.

Dinner had been strained after his outburst, but thankfully, he hadn't beaten
her but rambled on about his mother, giving her more insight into his
childhood and background. It was evident from how he described his
childhood that his family was privileged but highly prejudiced.

He spoke of a happier time before his fifth birthday when his mother
somewhat showered him with affection. Still, his father seemed to have
always been a wife-beating, womanising, sadistic bastard who thought it
was great fun to put his cigar out on the servants and occasionally his
mother and him.

As the years quite literally bled into each other and his magic failed to
manifest, his father's treatment of them became unbearably brutal, causing
his mother to turn on him and beat him for the slightest infraction. She
blamed him for the failures in the marriage and treated him worse than
vermin. Her family shunned her for birthing a squib. They disowned her
and refused to acknowledge his existence.

He had gone into great detail while explaining an incident where his drunk
father had entered his mother's room late at night without announcement
and proceeded to rape and beat her while he was forced to watch.

His father had bellowed for all to hear in Russian, “This is how a real man
fucks a woman.”

The man had confided in Sarah. She was surprised by his lack of remorse,
“He forced me to touch my mother in a way no son should. I refused at first
but he kept hitting me until I did everything he asked and over time I came
to love it. She was barely conscious but whimpered and moaned when my
fingers caressed her. It was the only time she let me touch her.”

Sarah cringed as she recalled his disturbing last words, “Imagine my

family’s surprise when they learn I've taken a witch for my wife and our
child has the abilities I was cruelly denied. Won't that be something, my
love?”

Undisclosed Safe House - London

Darius wore the oversized coat he was accustomed to wearing and smiled at
Kingsley Shacklebolt, “Thank you for your hospitality, Kingsley, but I must
return to my people. The attacks have ceased, and my warriors have held
the wolves at bay.”

His eyes darkened with unmistakable rage, “Our revenge will be swift.”

Kingsley scoffed, “They've been held back because it's what they wish. Do
not delude yourself with wishful thinking.”

After a slight pause, he added, “They could have annihilated you when they
had the chance.” The arrogance of the Romanian Minister was staggering,
even after what had transpired.

Darius scowled, “Do you think I'm a coward?” He knew the British
Minister thought him gutless for leaving his people when the situation
escalated beyond his control. Still, he was left with little choice but to seek
help from the International community, and he could hardly do that if he
were dead.

Kingsley eyed the man before him critically and said solemnly, “I think you
did what was necessary to ensure the survival of your people.” True, he had
a low opinion of the man, and while he did not think Darius’s actions were
noble, he grudgingly accepted them to be correct, given the circumstances.

Darius argued, “I did not run away from the fight.” His bodyguards came to
stand by his side as they readied themselves to Portkey.

Kingsley offered further insight into the serious matter, “Dolohov is no fool,
Darius. They know taking Romania will bring down the world's wrath on
them.”

“So, we have confirmation that it is Antonin Dolohov?” Darius could hardly

keep the disgust from his tone of voice. He was brutally cynical and
hardened to every sob story under the sun.

Kingsley sighed and confirmed, “The source is credible and without

question.” The previous night, Thomas Spencer had turned up at his home
and told him in great detail about what Dorian had confided.

Darius asked thoughtfully, “Do you think we can win this war?” He had
severe doubts, but they would die trying if necessary.

Kingsley straightened to his full height and spoke confidently, “With

combined strength, I have no doubt we can. We must double our efforts into
flushing him out.”

Darius smiled and nodded in understanding. He extended his hand, which

Kingsley took in a firm handshake and said, “Safe travels.”
The Romanian Minister said gravely, “I'll be in touch. It will come to pass
in Romania. It is there we will make a stand against Antonin Dolohov.”

Kingsley's features contorted unpleasantly, “We will do all we can to thwart

his efforts on English soil. He won't gain any advantage here.”

Hawaii - Friday Morning

Hermione and Ginny got lost on their way to breakfast. There was just so
much to see, and they were still inside the hotel.

It was a beautiful morning with the sun shining brightly, illuminating their
glorious surroundings. There were no words to do it justice. It was just as it
was depicted in the brochures. Hawaii was indeed a paradise, and it was no
surprise that people from every corner of the globe flocked there for their
holiday.

Pansy greeted them as they approached, “Good morning, darlings. I trust

everyone slept well.” She wore a daring dark green bikini top, loose
trousers and sandals. Her pedicured feet were on display.

Everyone was already seated and eating. Clearly, they had not bothered
waiting for them, and why should they?

Hermione briefly locked eyes with her fiancé and hurriedly looked away
before being tempted. He looked particularly delicious in a simple black T-
shirt and beige cargo shorts. At least he was attempting to fit in with the
locals.

She sat far away from Draco. She was highly nervous and he was annoyed
by her stupid behaviour. Still, he wasn't one to pine after a woman who
wanted nothing to do with him, even though they had mutually agreed to
explore a sexual relationship once in Hawaii.

However, he was instead pleasantly taken aback by her sunkissed

appearance. She wore a baggy white shirt over a vibrant red bikini top and
denim shorts that hugged her arse and displayed long, smooth legs. For the
occasion, she had paired the ensemble with matching hoop earrings, dainty
sandals and her trusty beaded bag.

Draco pondered whether she was wearing the bikini bottom. He pushed
such thoughts aside and continued to cut a fatty pork sausage into bite-sized
pieces.

Ginny took the empty seat next to Blaise, who moved his chair a bit to
make space but remained calm and collected as he took in the many items
poking out of his ex-girlfriend's somewhat large bag.

She asked everyone in general, “What plans?

Hermione chimed in, “Let's explore this beautiful place.”

Neville answered, “We've explored it as much as we can, but you lot go

right ahead.”

Ginny perked up and exclaimed, “I want to go shopping.”

Blaise answered without much thought, “Sure, I’ll take you around, Red.”

Pointedly, Theo cleared his throat and questioned with a raised brow, “Red?
Is there something you two need to share with the rest of us?”

Ginny averted her gaze and blushed, “Of course not.”

Blaise hissed, “Shut your gob, Nott.”

Hermione and Draco swapped a look, but neither made any remark.

Luna massaged her temples and said weakly, “I'm not feeling so good,
Theo.”

Theo’s boyish features twisted with concern, “The weather has not agreed
with her. We really should consult a Muggle Healer.”

Pansy took a sip from her mimosa and said, “A doctor you mean.”
Ginny offered casually, “Hmm, if you say so.” She had a pretty good idea
about what was wrong with Luna.

Luna shushed Ginny with an uncharacteristic look of annoyance.

Theo kissed his wife’s clammy forehead and smiled, “You rest, my love. I'll
bring you back fresh fruit, or would you like me to stay?”

Luna managed a weak smile, “You go ahead, darling. There's no point in

both of us being miserable.” She pushed back the chair and got to her feet
before her husband could argue.

He had no clear picture of what she was going through, which was entirely
her fault. It may be time to break the news to Theo that he would be a father
in a few short months.

However, Theo took hold of her hand, kissed it and muttered, “I'm happiest
when I’m with you.”

Blaise said with a distinct roll of his eyes, "Oi, get a room, you two." Bah,
newlyweds. It was sickening.

Ginny snorted into her drink. Bless them, she thought. They had no idea
whatsoever what was coming.

Theo mused, “You're just jealous, Zabini.” He recalled a time before Luna
when he had been insanely jealous of what Blaise and Daphne shared.

Hermione smiled, “Well, I'm starving. Ginny, shall we?”

Ginny politely declined, “You go ahead, Hermione. I want to have a

mimosa first.” Watching Pansy enjoy her beverage had tempted her to try
one.

Hermione stifled a laugh, “Suit yourself.” She was glad Ginny was having
some fun and milking the holiday for all its worth. Her sudden closeness to
Zabini was a tad bit alarming, but surely it was nothing to take too
seriously.
The dining area was rather crowded, with eager guests hurrying about the
place to fulfil their breakfast orders. Hermione navigated through the crowd
and made it over to the plate dispenser. First, she helped herself to two
slices of bread and a dollop of butter.

The breakfast spread was impressive, with plenty of action stations and
chefs ready to prepare meals to the guests' liking. Hermione felt drawn to
the scrumptious array of delicious pastries on display. Her favourite meal at
any hotel was breakfast.

Not knowing there was an existing queue, Hermione approached the neatly
arranged display and reached for a large chocolate croissant when a cough
interrupted her, causing her to panic, withdraw her hand and look for the
source.

The source completely caught her off guard since it was a rather tall, built
man with wavy brown hair and startling blue eyes staring at her with an
amused expression. He was casually dressed in a blue button-down shirt,
white linen pants and leather slippers.

Hermione blushed crimson and apologised profusely once she spotted the
queue of people, “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to jump the queue.”

The man regarded her curiously and answered, “Oh, I don't know. I might
have to report this to the management, but I'll tell you what, since you did
apologise, I'll let it slide if you tell me your name.”

Hermione mused, “You're teasing me.” Was he flirting with her? Seemed
likely.

He smirked, “What gave it away?” She was sweet and kind of clueless. He
liked that.

Theo caught sight of Hermione and said curiously, “Who's that talking to
Granger?” He pushed aside his plate and craned his neck to get a better
look.

Neville muttered thoughtfully, “Hmm…”

Draco shrugged and showed utter indifference, “No idea.” He had seen the
exchange but thought nothing of it.

Pansy bit her bottom lip and drawled, “He's cute.”

Theo rolled his eyes and said, somewhat annoyed, “Why is it never an ugly
bloke with a face only a mother could love?”

Blaise massaged the back of his neck and quipped, “You can relate, Theo.”

Theo made a crude gesture by extending his middle finger towards Blaise
and chuckled, “Fuck off, Blaise.”

Draco drowned out his friends' constant bickering and kept his eyes on his
betrothed. She seemed positively giddy by the attention that was being
bestowed upon her.

The brown-haired man introduced himself with a boyish grin, “I'm Ryan, by
the way.”

Hermione smiled politely and followed suit, “Hermione.”

Ryan turned on the charm, “Unusual but beautiful. It suits you well.”

Hermione tugged a tendril of hair behind her ear and blushed, “Thank
you.”

Theo was outraged by Hermione and Ryan’s friendly behaviour and

complained loudly, “Oh, the bleeding wanker is flirting with her.”

Draco continued showing indifference but said irritably, “I fail to see how
this affects you, Nott.”

Still, Theo ignored his friend's annoyed words and insisted, “Aren't you
going to do something about it?”

Calmly, Draco leaned back in his chair and regarded one of his best mates,
"What would you have me do? Defend her honour by beating him with a
rack of lamb. Besides, she seems to be enjoying herself." She was playing
with her hair and giggling like some lovestruck schoolgirl. It was pretty
sickening to watch.

Ryan stepped out of the line, and the person behind him sighed with relief.

He said curiously, "Going by your accent, would it be wrong to assume

your British?"

Hermione nodded, "Spot on and what part of America are you visiting
from?"

Ryan answered quite proudly, "New York. I'm here on vacation with my
friends and sister."

He gestured towards a table where a bunch of people were chatting

animatedly, and a stunning woman in her early twenties looked forlorn,
"That's her over there." She seemed to be looking elsewhere, and Hermione
followed her intense gaze and frowned.

The woman was staring at their table and, most importantly, at Malfoy.

What was she playing at? Hermione thought frustrated.

She smiled and politely excused herself, "Well, it was good to meet you,
Ryan."

Ryan smirked, "Likewise, I hope I run into you again." He liked this one.
She seemed well put together with a good head on her shoulders. However,
he had noticed the ring on her finger, but a few discretions were clearly
permissible. If she had no qualms about it, he certainly did not.

"Enjoy your eggs," Hermione responded cheekily and regretted her words.
She rolled her eyes and turned away, embarrassed. She had absolutely no
game.

Ryan muttered, amused by her behaviour, "I will."

Without a backwards glance, Hermione hurried away and headed straight

for her seat. She sat down and pursed her lips while nearly everyone stared
at her, awaiting an explanation. Not that anything worthy of explaining had
occurred. She met a new person, which was hardly newsworthy, but her
group thought otherwise.

Ginny's voice tore through the awkward silence, "Umm, Hermione?"

Grateful that someone spoke to her, Hermione replied with a guarded

response, "Yes?"

Ginny pointed to the plate and raised a quizzical brow, "Do you plan on
only eating toast for breakfast? I thought you were hungry."

Hermione looked down at her plate and frowned. The bread was soggy, and
the butter was all but an oily puddle in the middle of her plate.

Bugger.

Draco noisily pushed aside his plate, making Hermione flinch. He slipped
on a pair of dark Ray-Ban sunglasses, roughly pushed back the chair and
rose, “Excuse me, but I've lost my appetite.” He walked away without a
backwards glance, yet he turned many heads.

Muggle London

Teddy polished off the sizable burger within minutes, wiped his mouth with
a tissue and requested, "Can I get an apple pie, Uncle Harry?"

Harry chuckled, "That's your second Big Mac, mate. Where do you put it
all?" He had taken the kids into Muggle London for the day since he always
thought giving them the best of both worlds was best.

Molly had insisted she accompany, but Harry had politely refused, stating
that he could look after the children unsupervised.

Against her better judgment, Molly grudgingly agreed and went to the
Burrow to spend a relaxing day with her husband.
Teddy grabbed a bunch of fries and stuffed his face with them. Mouth full,
he barely got the words out, "I love the fries."

Harry took a large bite off his burger and suggested, "So, shall we head to
the new arcade once we're done here?" There was a play area for James, and
Teddy enjoyed playing video games whenever he could.

Teddy nodded in agreement enthusiastically, "Yeah sure."

Harry inquired, "Do you need anything from Diagon Alley?" He couldn't
help but stare at Teddy. The boy would be off to Hogwarts in a few years,
and he would miss him terribly.

Teddy shrugged, “Hmm, nope, not really. Can we pick up some comic
books from that Muggle store?” He had gone through his collection
repeatedly and needed new reading material.

Harry licked the sauce off his finger and grinned, “Of course, mate.”

He pushed the fries towards his child and instructed, “James, eat your fries,
love.” He had no idea how picky his son was regarding food. The scamp
had outright refused everything.

James pouted, “I want sauce, daddy.”

Harry sighed, “Promise you won't get it all over yourself?” He knew he
would live to regret his decision, but anything was better than a hollering
toddler.

No sooner did Harry squeeze the sauce into the box of the Happy Meal
James stuck his hand in and out it came covered in the sticky red liquid. He
licked his fingers and cleaned them on the front of his new T-shirt.

Harry slapped his forehead and almost yelled, “Oh no, James. I told you to
be careful.” He thanked Merlin that Molly had packed extra clothes and
baby wipes.

James giggled and grabbed a fistful of saucy fries and munched on them.
Harry smiled and popped a greasy fry into his mouth, “Mmm, you're right,
Teddy. These fries are pretty awesome.”

James licked his fingers and said, “Yummy!”

Harry shook his head and grinned, “Naughty rascal.” He was right to insist
his wife went to Hawaii. She truly deserved a break.

DMLE

Thomas leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and thought back to the
previous night when he spoke with Kingsley.

It was an ungodly time, but it had to be done. Thomas pulled up the collar
of his coat and rubbed his hands together to generate heat before knocking
on the door. A few minutes later the lights came on, and Kingsley answered
the door dressed in midnight blue pyjamas with printed half moons.

He frowned, stepped aside for Thomas to enter and scolded, “You better
have a reasonable reason for dragging me out of bed at this hour, Spencer.”

Taking out his wand, Thomas pointed it at the dormant fireplace and
muttered an incantation, causing sparks to fly out of the tip and land on the
partially burnt logs, igniting them and giving life to a roaring fire.

Thomas turned slowly to face the Minister of Magic and delivered the
horrible truth, “It's Dolohov. It's confirmed.”

Kingsley collapsed into the nearest chair. He asked earnestly, his head in
his hands, “Did you inform Potter?”

Thomas shook his head, “Not yet. I thought it best to tell you first.” Fuck.
He felt guilty, but his decision to inform Kingsley first wasn't intentional. It
just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Despite his reservations
about Potter’s appointment, the kid was his boss and deserved his respect.
Kingsley was slightly disappointed in Spencer but kept his thoughts to
himself. He rose from his seat and crossed the room to where he held a well-
stocked bar. He pulled out two tumblers, and poured a splash of scotch into
each one.

He handed Thomas a glass and sternly said, “Harry is on leave, but of

course, he will want to know at once.”

Kingsley sipped and savoured the rich taste, “At least we know what we are
up against.”

Thomas took the glass and responded, “Yes, I know. I’ll inform him first
thing tomorrow.”

A gentle tap on his shoulder brought him back to the present. He opened his
eyes to find Hannah peering at him curiously.

Hannah poked him and said, “Earth to Spencer.”

Thomas mumbled, “Hmm…”

Hannah frowned, “What are you doing here on a Saturday?”

Thomas straightened and mused, “I could ask you the same thing.”

Hannah quipped, “I have no life.” She missed Michael and Terry. They
would grab a pint on the weekends or do something fun, but Boot was
institutionalised, and Corner was still babysitting the Muggle Prime
Minister.

Thomas asked thoughtfully, “Hannah, did you and Malfoy make an arrest?”

Hannah replied sceptically, “Yes, we did, actually. The man in question was
a potion smuggler—a certified lunatic.”

Thomas scratched his chin and instructed, “Hmm, fetch the file for me, will
you?”
Still, Hannah didn't move. Instead, she questioned, “Why the sudden
interest?

Thomas became agitated and said firmly, “I'll explain later after speaking to
Potter. Now, do as you are told.” He had gone by Potter’s home earlier, but
no one seemed to be in. Afterwards, he tried his mobile, but again, it went
unanswered.

Hannah returned to her desk, retrieved the file and dropped it on Spencer’s
table, “Here you go.”

Thomas flipped open the file and studied the picture of the prisoner. The
man did not look familiar.

He asked curiously, “How did Malfoy handle himself during the arrest?”

Hannah raved, “He was brilliant. Ask Corner. He was there incognito under
Harry’s orders.” Despite his sordid past, Malfoy had surpassed all their
expectations and showed precisely why Harry hired him.

Thomas said thoughtfully, “Hmm, I see. Remind me to speak to him once

he returns.”

Hannah questioned impatiently, “What’s going on, Spencer? It's not like
you to keep me in the dark.”

Thomas smiled, “All in good time, Abbott. Let's discuss the Strangler.” He
appreciated her enthusiasm for the job.

Hannah wasn't entirely convinced but didn't pursue the subject further,
“Alright, if that's what you wish.”

She spread out the pictures of the victims and pointed at them with her
wand. Having them together made the gravity of the situation weigh down
heavily on them. The poor women, in death, looked angelic, beautiful even.
The bastard had seen to it that the corpses were surgically clean.

Hannah highlighted the pendant with her wand and said solemnly,
“Thomas, Draco made some valid points.” She summarised what she
discussed with Draco before his departure to Hawaii.

Thomas was impressed, “The boy is smart. I'll give him that much.” He
hated to admit it, but Draco Malfoy reminded him of a younger version of
himself. He had the uncanny ability to see beyond what was there and come
to precise conclusions. It was part of what made him a successful Auror.

Hannah exclaimed, “He was right. Look at these pendants. They're

identical. They looked similar, but these are almost the same.”

Thomas pulled a picture close to him and scrutinised it. He muttered

thoughtfully, “Hmm, so they are. Interesting…” They had always known
the pendant was the key to the murderer's undoing, but somehow, the
investigation into the pendant's origin had proved fruitless.

Hannah expressed her frustration: "After our initial search into jewellers
around London, we gave up on the effort to find the connection.”

Thomas gritted out, “That was bloody stupid of us. I'm not intrigued by the
owl, but this wand…. The detail is too precise for it not to exist for real.”
How could he have missed such a vital detail? Was he losing his touch or
overworked? He would give up on nothing after their last costly mistake
regarding Dolohov.

Hannah stared at him, awaiting further explanation, “What are you

saying?”

Thomas grabbed his coat and announced, “We need to pay Ollivander a
little visit. We should have focused on wandmakers instead of jewellers.”

Hannah was sceptical. She hesitated, “Is that necessary? He's pretty old, and
word around town is he has dementia and is unaware of his surroundings.
Why dont we start with others?”

Thomas chuckled, “Rubbish. If anyone knows who this wand belongs to,
it's him.” Ollivander was significantly weakened after his capture by
Voldemort, but his mind was still sharp despite the damaging rumours.
He glanced over his shoulder and beckoned, “Come on, Abbott. We don’t
have all day!” He had a dinner reservation with Audrey, which he intended
to keep no matter what.

Hannah frowned, “Don't you have to work on the werewolf case?” It was
all everyone in the DMLE could talk about.

Thomas assured confidently, “Potter can do without me for a few hours.

Besides, the Strangler is also a priority. We might still be able to save Sarah
from her gruesome fate.”

Hannah smiled broadly and hurriedly followed her mentor out of the room.
 Chapter 66
Chapter Summary

To all the comments:- Thank you so much for taking the time to write
such encouraging words.

We take a look at Cormac's involvement.

Fun moments in Hawaii.

Hannah and Thomas make a vital discovery.

Tension between Hermione and Draco

A bit of insight into the killer's morbid background

Enjoy Chapter Sixty - Six!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

McLaggen Residence

Cormac sat perfectly still in an oversized leather chair in his makeshift

office that he maintained at home. He had been going less and less to the
office since his illicit activities usually kept him busy till the wee hours of
the morning.

He sighed and closed his eyes. When had his life taken such a dark and
meaningless turn?

The answer lay before him in thin white strips. His indulgence was never
supposed to go beyond a night of fun. Foolish really on his part to think he
would be immune to addiction, arrogant even. He had morals and so much
confidence back in the day, but those seemed to have withered away as the
harrowing addiction consumed him.

At first, it was once a month, then once a week and then multiple times a
day. He was dependent on the white drug to get him through the miserable
hours of the day.

Deep down, Cormac knew it was destroying him. He wasn't a complete

idiot, and all he held dear and upheld, but try as he might, he couldn't part
with his beloved Snow White.

His father had pressured him to uphold the family name and marry for
convenience. It got to be too much to bear. He just needed something to
take the edge off.

He should've known indulging in the forbidden white powder and

associating Montague and Goyle would have dire circumstances, but they
had a steady supply to feed his addiction. Not only did they have dirt on
him for using drugs, but they also had compromising pictures of him
partaking in a lewd threesome where he was tied up while two women
dripped candle wax on him, and he screamed in ecstasy. It was a setup from
the start.

It would destroy his father and family if the pictures ever came out or his
addiction came to light, and because of that, here he was, part of an
underworld club, catering to a madman and suffering through utter
humiliation.

He thought of going to Potter, Hermione even. To send her such a revolting

letter filled him with disgust. He had fled and vomited until nothing was
left. He would never consciously hurt her, but Goyle seemed enchanted, and
something triggered when the trollish man saw her engagement to Malfoy.
Since the fear of exposure hung over his head, Cormac had gone along with
the moronic plan to send her a somewhat pornographic letter.

Cormac took out a pouch and poured its contents onto the table. Hundreds
of Galleons fell onto the surface, colliding noisily with the glass table. It
was his contribution to the cause, a cause he was forced into and one he did
not believe in the slightest.

He was a man who had fought against pureblood dominance, and he wanted
to take his life and end his line with him. Currently, he was of no use to
anyone.

Hawaii

Theo wandered into the expansive games room of the hotel with one single
purpose, and that purpose was examining cue sticks while standing beside a
sizeable pool table and clearly in a world of his own.

He made his presence known, “Oi! What the hell are you doing?”

Blaise concurred with a slight smirk, “We were wondering where you got
off to.” He had seen his best friend’s sharp features contort when the
stranger approached Granger. Draco wasn't all that skilled at hiding his
obvious jealousy.

Draco continued to eye the stick with interest and replied with little
enthusiasm, “Well, now you’ve found me.”

Theo chuckled, “Defensive much?” Did Draco truly believe they couldn't
see right through him?

Blaise stifled a laugh and questioned animatedly, “Yeah, mate, what's got
your wand in a knot?” It was not common for him to side with Theo and
tease Draco. It was usually the other way around.

Draco eyed them wearily and frowned, “Nothing. I'm all good.” Granger
was free to speak with any fucking moron that grabbed her stupid fancy.

He tipped the stick forward until the end touched the table surface, which
was usually made of quarried slate covered with cloth.
He addressed his mates and inquired with a raised brow, “Fancy a friendly
game?”

“Definitely,” Theo answered excitedly and rushed to pick out his cue stick
before Blaise beat him to it. Yet, he insisted, “Blaise, you go first and I'll
take on the winner.”

Blaise was hardly intimidated. He simply shrugged, “Sounds good.”

Theo chalked his cue and cautiously asked, “So, what might I ask caused
you to flee from breakfast?”

Draco narrowed his eyes to mere slits and gritted out, “Argh, Must I have a
reason for leaving? I was done eating.” The last thing he wanted to discuss
was Hermione Granger and her absolute gall to flirt with another man while
he watched like some sap from the sidelines.

Blaise offered his insight, “Hmmm, no, not really, but the timing did collide
with Granger being chatted up by that tall bloke.” The issue was clearly
bothering his friend, and his feelings for Granger ran deeper than anyone
knew.

Draco snapped, “You lot need to stop analysing my relationship with

Granger and focus on your own bullshite.” He had no intention of
explaining the abrupt exit.

Theo put his hand up in surrender and conceded defeat, “Alright, mate.
There's absolutely no need to get all prissy about it. We get it, she's here
with you and crossed a line.”

Draco had the sudden urge to break the stick in his possession in half but
fought the primal urge and responded with an appropriate response,
“Granger isn't here with me. We don't have the sort of relationship you lot
have. She's free to do whatever she wants.” The words left a bitter
aftertaste, but he couldn't force her to stick to his side. She would
eventually, but under her own terms, and he would help it along however
possible.
However, Theo simply rolled his eyes and said, “Right. Blaise, are you
buying this load of crock?”

Blaise chuckled, “Not for a bloody second but I'll play along.”

Draco was pretty annoyed. He pointed to the colourful balls and instructed
firmly, “Just shut up and rack.”

Blaise did as he was told and set to the task while Theo threw a few darts at
the abused board.

Once done, Blaise straightened to his full height, though he was a few
inches shorter than Draco and asked curiously, “Do you want to break or
shall I?”

Draco’s confidence waned, and he answered with a slightly sheepish grin,

“It's been a while since I played. You go ahead, mate.”

Blaise nodded, placed his cue on the green cloth, bent over and struck the
white ball, hurling it forward with such force and speed that when it
collided with the coloured balls, there was a loud crack of sorts, sending
two striped balls into separate holes.

Draco swallowed hard and knew he had bitten off far more than he could
chew.

Malfoy Manor

Narcissa took a sip of her scotch and asked her companion, “Do you think
the children are having a wonderful time?”

Bernard, who had been playing with Max, smiled, “Of course they are.”

Narcissa said thoughtfully but rather devilishly, “I do hope Draco and

Hermione bond.”

Bernard laughed, “One can always hope, darling, but I fear, their
relationship is complicated and will require a bit of time to adjust.”
Narcissa frowned, “I suppose you're right.” She hoped it wouldn't take too
long. A grandchild would be such a beautiful addition to the family.

Max whimpered and wondered where his young Master had gone off to.

Hawaii

Theo complained somewhat loudly, waving his arms about madly, “For
fuck sake, Blaise, will you take the shot. This isn't a bloody tournament and
Draco clearly isn't very good.”

He shot his friend an apologetic look and mused, “No offense, mate.”

Draco chucked, “None taken.” He was atrocious. The only ball he managed
to pocket had been by accident.

Blaise hissed, “Shut it, I’m just assessing the angle.” It was hard to strike
the ball he wished without fouling.

Theo cried impatiently, “Argh, hurry up, you loser.”

Blaise lost his cool and let go, “Fine!” He missed the ball he intended, and
to make matters worse, the white ball went into the nearest hole.

Theo bent over laughing and mocked, “You suck.”

Blaise smirked, “Oh yeah, why don't you put your money where your
mouth is?”

Theo cocked his head to the side and grinned, “It's a bet, fucker.”

Draco stared at his friends. Clearly, they had forgotten his existence, much
like someone else he held dear. He couldn't help but wonder what she was
up to.

Hawaii
Ginny pushed aside her plate and groaned, “Oh, I can barely move. I ate
like a pig.” She hardly ate such large portions. When she played Quidditch,
she religiously followed a strict diet and workout routine, and after James,
while she did exercise when time permitted, it was more occasionally than
regularly. Who had the time with an active toddler?

Pansy said wisely, “Well, nothing like a little exercise to eliminate the
calories.” She did yoga and swam to keep her body fit and trim. There
wasn't a day she missed unless absolutely necessary.

She elegantly rose to her feet and invited, “I'm going for a swim. Care to
join me, ladies?”

Ginny smiled and politely declined, “You go ahead, Parkinson. Hermione

and I would like to explore the island and see as much as possible before
returning to London.” They didn't have the days like the rest, and she
intended to make the most of every minute.

She turned to the stoic woman beside her and nudged her gently, “Erm,
Hermione?”

Hermione snapped out of the daze she had unwillingly slipped into and
answered somewhat sluggishly, “Hmm, yes? Did you say something,
Ginny?”

Ginny said with a definite roll of her eyes, “You’re hopeless, you know
that?”

Hermione argued, “What did I do?” She was thinking hopelessly about
Malfoy and why he left so suddenly.

Ginny pointed to the door Malfoy had walked out of and quipped, “Can you
be more obvious?”

Hermione blushed, but she hid it well. She shrugged and busied herself,
looking for the tour guide buried deep inside her bag.

Pansy hid a knowing smirk, stretched and said, “Suit yourself.”

Neville beamed and asked Ginny, “I'll tag along if you don't mind.” He
wanted to spend time with his friends and be around some good old
Gryffidors.

Pansy was taken aback by his request but said nothing. She wasn't the type
of woman to control the comings and goings of her husband. He had a mind
and friends of his own.

Ginny touched his arm and smiled warmly, “Of course, we don't mind,
Neville.” Unlike the others, she had always enjoyed Neville’s company and
surprising wit.

Pansy slipped on her sunglasses and waved, “Have fun, darlings. See you
later!”

Nevile perked up, “So, where do you want to go first?”

Ginny replied thoughtfully, “Hmm, we could take in some of the more

historical sights and head to the beach.” She wanted to have some real fun
and sample some of the exotic cocktails the hotel keenly offered.

Hermione nodded in agreement while keeping her eyes on the tour guide
firmly in her grasp, “Oh, yes. Hawaii is famous for its white sandy beaches
but sometimes lethal sun. However, I do want a glorious tan.”

“It's settled then,” Neville chimed in. He wanted to see a few places, but
unfortunately, none of the others were interested. Luckily, Hermione and
Ginny seemed keen to leave no stone unturned.

Ginny crossed her arms over her chest and asked a tad firmly, “Why were
you flirting with that stranger?” If it could be called flirting. She needed to
give Hermione some pointers.

“I was not,” Hermione averted her gaze and weakly defended her actions.

Ginny was floored by the stupid response and called her best friend out on
it, “Oh, really? You had to have known how it would affect Malfoy.” The
man was obviously upset over his fiance’s callous behaviour, and rather
than cause a scene, he had simply fled the area.

Hermione said casually, “He's fine. We have an arrangement.” She was

rather nonchalant about her responses because no one needed to perceive
them as some happy, involved couple when the truth was far from it.

Neville, who had been listening, raised a quizzical brow, “An

arrangement?” He couldn't quite fathom what Hermione meant by it.

Hermione offered what she thought was a plausible explanation, “Well, yes,
we agreed not to meddle in each other's lives.” She recalled the night in the
library at Malfoy Manor, where they had discussed and come to an
agreement. Of course, that was before their sexual attraction to each other
peaked.

Ginny snorted and injected sarcastically, “Oh, really? Is that why he

stormed off?” Merlin, make Hermione understand or bluntly see what she
stubbornly avoided.

Hermione fidgeted and mumbled, “I didn't notice.” Oh, she had noticed his
hypnotising grey eyes on her, judging her every movement with
disappointment and sizing her up. Malfoy was not subtle when he wished
not to be.

Ginny shook her head and said exasperatedly, “How is it that you're
incredibly smart but also dumb as a box of fucking rocks?” She had always
thought Hermione was book-smart and lacked a particular understanding
when it came to men.

Exhausted by her friend's insistent probing, Hermione gritted out, “Ginny,

Malfoy doesn't care about me.” He wanted a quick shag, and that was
putting it mildly. There were no bloody feelings involved.

“Really?” Neville frowned. He was pretty sure Malfoy felt something. A

man would not react in the way he did if he didn't care about the woman.
Ginny conceded defeat, “Oh, I give up. Let's just go.” She would let nature
take its course, and hopefully, Hermione would realise before either of them
made an unforgivable mistake.

Hermione brought her hands together and pleaded, “Yes, please.”

Neville chuckled and followed the women out.

Hawaii

Blaise was beside himself with smugness, “Pay up, bitch.” He had won
every match, and the tall, former Slytherin could hardly believe his eyes.

Theo was beyond annoyed but pulled out five crisp hundred-dollar bills and
reluctantly placed them on Blaise’s awaiting palm. He eyed his friend
suspiciously and demanded, “When did you become so good?”

Blaise revelled in his victory. He made a show of counting the bills and
confessed slyly, “I had a table installed in my games room and you would
know that if you visited often.”

Theo argued, “Yeah, and I would visit more often if you invited us.” Blaise
hardly had them around, preferring to entertain out than at his home.

Blaise frowned and nodded in agreement, “Fair point, mate. Once we get
back, I'll plan a get-together. What do you think, Draco?” With the kids and
Daphne, it got to be too much sometimes, and he liked to be out of the
house or meet his friends at a more relaxed place.

Draco came crashing back to reality, “Hmmm, what?” He had lost interest
in his friends' game a while ago and slipped into dangerous thoughts
concerning his betrothed.

Theo was positively scandalised, “Malfoy? What the fuck is wrong with
you?” A few children who had wandered into the area jumped in shock.
Blaise teased, “Are you daydreaming about Granger?” He had no doubt his
friend was obsessing over his forced coupling.

Draco ignored his friends and declared, “Look, let's head out.” He was
getting more frustrated with each passing second.

Theo was overjoyed, “I'm game, I haven't seen everything. Besides, Luna is
probably asleep.”

Blaise agreed wholeheartedly, “Let's do it!”

He looked at his t-shirt and said thoughtfully, “We might need a change of
clothes, get whatever and let's meet at the bar in 10 minutes.”

Theo grinned, “Nice! I could go for a cold beer before we head out.”

Draco ran his fingers through his hair, oblivious to the eyes that followed
his movements and trailed after his friends.

London

Hannah and Thomas appeared outside a modest home with a well-

maintained garden. Still, it was pretty dark except for one light from the
upstairs bedroom.

Hannah glanced toward the light and asked, “Looks pretty dead. Are you
sure he's home?”

Thomas strode confidently down the pathway and towards the door. His
heavy Auror robes rustled behind him.

He smiled at the eager girl beside him and answered before knowing, “I'm
positive. He doesn't get around much.”

Hannah was sceptical that an older man such as Ollivander could be a

reliable source, but she trusted Thomas's impeccable judgment. The man
rarely led them astray.
The loud knock echoed through the seemingly deserted house, and before
long, the door swung open, and an older witch in a Healer jacket greeted
them warmly, “Good evening, Thomas. Please come in.”

“Thank you, Helen,” Thomas said while dusting his feet on the welcome
rug. Hannah followed him into the house.

Helen smiled, “A bit chilly out?”

Thomas smiled slightly, “Indeed.”

He looked towards the stairs leading to the upper levels and asked, “Is he
awake?”

A fond smile appeared on Helen's pleasant face, “Oh, yes. He's reading the
latest Wandlore publication.”

Thomas rolled his eyes, “Of course, he is.”

Hannah hovered awkwardly in the background. She wondered why the

Healer seemed to know Thomas. The situation was suspicious, to say the
least. Also, she wished Thomas would introduce her to Healer Helen.

Finally, Thomas caught wind and said, “Oh, this is Hannah. She works with
me.”

Hannah smiled, and Helen did the same, but then her smile faltered, “Are
you here on official business?”

Thomas sighed, “A bit of both.”

Helen's gaze wandered, and she said, “Well, you know the way.”

With a curt nod, Thomas climbed the stairs with Hannah in tow. Their
heavy footsteps echoed through the largely empty house.

Once on the first floor, Thomas turned left and came to stand outside a door.
He exchanged a look with the slightly anxious young witch by his side and
knocked.
A frail voice from within gave them permission to enter.

Thomas pushed the door open, and they came across Ollivander sitting up
and avidly engrossed in the leatherbound book he was reading. He barely
looked at his visitors.

The room was tastefully decorated with portraits of a younger Ollivander

with famous patrons to his shop and a glass-encased replica of the Elder
wand. In the corner was a bookcase with neatly arranged publications
mainly related to Wandlore.

Thomas moved closer and greeted with a slight smile, “Good evening,
Uncle.” His mother's cousin had certainly aged and looked rather frail and
unwell. He supposed it was due to his age and other ailments.

Ollivander looked up from his book and beamed, “Thomas! How wonderful
to see you and ah, you've brought a friend.” He concluded after seeing
Hannah hanging about nervously in the back.

Hannah was stunned, “Uncle?” She wished Thomas had mentioned that
critical detail.

Ollivander sat up straight and smiled warmly, “It's been ages. It's good to
see you, son.”

Thomas chuckled, “Ollivander is my mother's cousin once removed.” He

had purposely left out the particular detail to surprise Hannah, and judging
by her face, he had achieved what he had set out to do.

A surprised “Oh…” was all Hannah could manage without appearing like
an unprofessional twat.

Thomas went closer and asked genuinely, “How are you?” Despite his stern
exterior, Uncle Olli was good fun and an excellent gift-giver.

When Voldemort abducted him, Thomas was gutted and used every
resource available to find him. Alas, he failed in his quest, but all's well that
ends well. His uncle was safe and sound until nature took its course.
Ollivander sighed, “I've been better, lad. Everything hurts. The joints
especially. It's high time I died.

Thomas smirked, “You've been saying that for years.” Over the years, it had
become a standing joke between the men.

The esteemed wand maker nodded and quipped, “So I have. It just never
seems to happen.”

His features pinched together, and he became quite serious, “What can I do
for you?” He knew his nephew was after something. The man's body
language spoke volumes.

Thomas pulled a large photograph from his breast pocket and grimly said,
“I want to show you a picture. Can you see if you recognise the wand? It's a
replica of what we think is a real wand.” The picture was a closeup of the
striking pendant, the craftsmanship so precise you could see the groves on
the wand handles design.

Ollivander pushed his glasses further up his nose, took the picture in his
hand and declared rather smugly, “I never forget a wand I've sold, and if it
is one of mine or my father's I will surely remember, despite the many
rumours that my minds slipped.”

Hannah had good reason to blush and look ashamed of herself. She had
been very wrong in her assumption that Ollivander was senile.

Ollivander studied the picture. He ran his liver-spotted fingers over it and
said thoughtfully, “Hmm, curious….”

Hannah asked curiously, before Thomas could, “What is it, sir?”

Ollivander replied quite confidently, “My father sold this. I was a lad at the
time helping out in the shop and learning the ways of Wandlore.”

Thomas felt his breathing hasten. He could barely conceal his excitement,
“Who does it belong to?”
Ollivander didn't skip a beat and said the name aloud, “Arabella Flint.”
Despite his age, his memory was still intact, which was impressive to
witness.

Hannah's eyes widened in shock, and she sputtered, “What? A member of

the Flint family?”

Oblivious to the Aurors' jubilation, the retired wand maker answered with
complete confidence, “I'm 100% certain.”

Thomas wasted no time and barked orders, “Hannah, find out everything
you can about her. To the best of my knowledge, there are hardly any Flints
left except Marcus, and he's kept his nose clean.”

Hannah beamed, “On it, boss. Thank you so much for your time, Mr
Ollivander.”

Ollivander smiled, “It was my pleasure, dear. I get so few visitors.”

“I'll be along shortly,” Thomas further added when Hannah hesitated by the
door waiting for him.

She nodded curtly and left the room by closing the door behind her. She
quite literally flew down the stairs and out the door. Her heart fluttered
relentlessly with excitement.

Ollivander fixed his nephew with a look and inquired, “What's all this
about?”

Thomas saw no reason to withhold information and divulged the truth, “We
are looking for a serial killer who leaves the pendant as his calling card.”

Ollivander was visibly upset, “Oh, dear. How many victims?” There was so
much going on in the wizarding world that he had no idea about.

Thomas sighed in almost defeat, “Four. Three dead, and one missing.
You've given us our first encouraging lead in the case.” It was indeed lucky
that Ollivanders had sold the wand.
He glared at the picture and gritted out, “The bastard is meticulous but he
overlooked one small detail.” These sadistic fools always made one mistake
that led to their capture.

Ollivander nodded slightly, “The truth always prevails, Thomas.”

“Aye,” Thomas concurred. He had seen it enough in his line of work.

Ollivander raised a brow, “Still unmarried?” He was concerned that his

nephew would remain alone.

Thomas chuckled, “Yes. My job makes it impossible to maintain any

healthy relationship.” The older man was getting private, and he was one to
talk. He had never seen his uncle court a woman or show any interest in
marriage.

Ollivander smirked, “Hmm, that's just an excuse, Thomas.” Marriage had

never quite appealed to him, but Thomas was different despite his no-
nonsense persona to the rest. Besides, unlike his nephew, he preferred the
company of wandmaking to starting a family.

It was time to leave. Thomas bid his uncle a fond farewell, “It was good to
see you, Uncle.”

Ollivander smiled fondly, “Likewise. Visit soon.” He liked Thomas. The

man wasn't like the other useless shites in the family. He had some
substance.

Thomas nodded curtly, “You have my word.” He had to get home and over
to Audreys at once. Hannah had the Strangler case under control for the
time being.

Hawaii

Both parties went sightseeing and miraculously did not bump into each
other. Shocking, really, considering it was a small area to cover on foot.
Ginny, Hermione and Neville took a more historic route. They went
shopping whilst the Slytherin Trio frequented a few shops, eateries and bars
while women generally ogled and appreciated them.

They got plenty of compliments on their accent, and Theo ate it all up and
thoroughly enjoyed the attention. His wife was momentarily forgotten.

Draco stopped to ask a local about a place that rented sports bikes, and
within thirty minutes, they were standing outside an impressive showroom.

Theo spoke in a loud, carrying voice, “What's with the sudden fascination
with bikes?” The bloody things looked dangerous and reckless. Was Draco
going through some midlife crisis? Clearly, he was too young.

Draco shrugged, “I saw something on the telly.” After drinking with Blaise,
he returned to his room and watched a movie centred around sports bikes.
The idea of owning a sleek piece of machinery appealed to him.

Besides, he had been watching the locals, and it seemed like a more cost-
effective and efficient way to travel about.

There was only one salesperson, and he seemed preoccupied with a couple
who simply could not decide what bike to rent.

Draco couldn't help but gravitate towards the Kawasaki models.

Meanwhile, Blaise headed over to the Harley-Davidson and blew a low
whistle.

Still, Theo couldn't be arsed by the powerful machines and instead followed
Draco and tried to make conversation, “How's it going with Granger?”

Draco rolled his eyes. They were fixated on his non-existent relationship,
and it was quite annoying.

He showed indifference but decided to humour his friend and confess,

"Well, it's going. She's hot and cold. At present, very cold. If we could live
our lives behind closed doors I think she would truly open herself up to
me." In more ways than one, he thought jokingly to himself.
Theo rubbed his jaw, “Hmm, I suppose.” He honestly wondered whether
Granger would be able to forgive Draco.

Draco exhaled, “It doesn't help matters that we keep running into issues.”
Their problems were usually in the form of men trying to get into her
trousers.

Blaise came over and injected with a wise anecdote, “Well, that's normal.
Every couple has issues.” Salazar knew about the fights he had with
Daphne over minor things.

Draco argued, “Yeah, but we are not a couple.” Well, not in the proper
sense, at least.

Blaise raised a knowing brow and mused, “Do you sincerely believe that?”
Surely, Draco wasn't that delusional?

Draco crossed his arms over his chest and refused to budge from his
assessment, “I do. We share a physical attraction to each other, but that is it.
I want nothing serious from Hermione Granger.”

Theo smirked, “Have you slept with her?” It was an innocent question, or
so he thought.

Draco was livid, “That's none of your fucking business, Theo.” How dare
he ask such a personal question?

Theo chuckled, “So, that's a firm no then?”

Draco took a menacing step closer and openly threatened, “Keep talking,
and I'll obliterate you without a second thought.” Theo was far too crass at
times, even for their liking.

Theo backed away and into a parked motorcycle. However, he responded

with genuine concern, “Touchy. Well, if not her, then someone. You need to
get out there.”

Draco turned his attention to the bike that got him interested and replied
with a whatever attitude, “I can live without sex.” He had done it for so
long that it was really not a big deal until Granger and her delectable smell
started enticing him.

Blaise and Theo swapped a look of utter bewilderment.

Theo poked Blaise in the chest and hissed, “And what the fuck is going on
between Weasley and you?”

Blaise swallowed hard and shrugged, “Nothing is going on. I'm just being
friendly.” He really wasn't looking to relive his past.

Theo mused, “Yeah, we can all see that, but my question is, why.” They
acted too familiar around each other, and there was clearly an underlying
cause for it.

Draco sensed Blaise's discomfort and sought to change the topic, “Enough
talk about Granger and Weasley. I want to give this a go.” He got onto a
sexy bike, and his hands grasped the sturdy handles. It felt incredibly
satisfying.

Theo was upset that his so-called best mates thought it fair to keep
information from him. His voice mirrored his feelings, “Fine! Have your
bloody secrets, but I thought we were brothers.” A nice dose of guilt to
make them feel like a couple of arseholes.

Instantly, Blaise fell for it and groaned. He reluctantly confessed, “For fuck
sake. I secretly dated Ginny for a while at Hogwarts. She dumped me for
Potter.”

Theo stood frozen as he digested the surprising news. Finally, he found his
voice and yelled, “What the fuck? Are you serious?”

Blaise hissed, “Yes. Now drop it, mate.”

Theo was certain Blaise meant business, and he had no intention of poking
the hornet's nest. It was obviously a susceptible topic.

He diverted his attention to the motorcycle Draco was sitting on and

exclaimed, “She's a beauty.”
Draco snapped, clearly in his own world, “Yeah, she is. I just wish she
would let sleeping dogs lie and give me a bloody chance to make it all up to
her.”

Blaise snorted, “Umm, I think he means the bike, mate, but thanks for
sharing.”

Draco blushed and quickly sought to rectify his mistake, “Oh, right.
Where's that bloody salesman?”

Being the tallest, Theo caught the overwhelmed man's attention, who
seemed grateful for the distraction and hurried over.

He beamed, “Excellent choice, sir.”

Blaise nodded his approval and said, “Hmm, yes. Black or red?”

Draco didn't skip a beat, “Black, obviously.”

Theo rolled his eyes, “Shocking.”

He looked sceptical and asked, “You can ride this thing?”

Draco smirked, “Well, no time like the present to learn a new skill.” He had
ridden smaller, less powerful bikes in the village when running errands for
the temple.

The salesman was beside himself and happily directed, “Please follow me
into the office. There's some papers to sign and the matter of payment.”

Formalities done, the man got on the shining black and green Kwashaki
ninja with gleaming thick tyres and rode it out of the showroom and onto
the street.

He handed over the keys to Draco with an encouraging smile. It had taken
some convincing since he didn't have a valid driving license.

Still, Theo wasn't convinced and questioned, “Erm, Draco, this looks lethal.
I left my wand back in the room, so if we crash, we fucking die.”
Draco grinned, “I have nothing to lose.” He caught sight of Blaise looking
over his shoulder, forlorn and wistful.

With a mischievous grin, he asked, “Blaise, are you getting the Harley?”

Theo groaned, “Not you as well.” He wondered if he could rent a suitable

car.

Blaise smirked, “You know what? I am. Hang on for a minute.” He hurried
inside, and within twenty minutes, the paperwork was done, and he had a
gleaming black Harley in his possession. It really was an efficient way to
travel.

In his case, it had taken little effort since he had a valid British driving
license, and after producing it, he was allowed to drive in Hawaii without
issue. In fact, he had vouched for Draco as well.

Both men mounted their bikes, looking extremely pleased with their
decision, while Theo stared at them, looking glum. He contemplated which
of his friends to ride with and decided on going with Draco even though the
Harley looked safer.

Draco handed Theo the extra helmet and assured him, “Relax, mate.” The
lanky ex-Slytherin was nervous, and it showed. He was sweating profusely.

Blaise laughed aloud and, with one swift kick, brought his bike to life.
Draco followed suit and pulled out, slowly at first, onto the somewhat busy
street.

They rode carefully to get the feel of their machines, and once they did,
Draco took off utilising the Kwashaki's superior power.

Theo squealed like a girl and held on tight out of fear of falling off or,
worse, crashing. He wished he had picked Blaise. The man had children and
would've been a safer bet than a single man determined to break the sound
barrier.
His gangly arms reluctantly went around Draco’s waist, and his palm
flattened against his mate's rather rock-hard abdominal muscles. It was
necessary for survival.

The words left his mouth before he could stop them, “Damn your fit,
Draco.”

Even over the rushing wind, Draco heard Theo loud and clear. He came to a
screeching halt, causing Theo to give out a panicked yell for help.

He glanced over his shoulder and warned, “Get off, Nott.”

Theo got off, still holding onto his rapidly beating heart. Cars wheezed past
them, and Blaise pulled up behind, wondering what the commotion was
about.

He asked curiously, “What the hell happened?”

Draco sneered, “He touched me.”

Theo argued, “I can appreciate a man without tripping over my sexuality.

Besides, I was holding onto you for dear life, you bloody lunatic.”

Blaise stifled a laugh, “You really are an enigma, aren't you, Nott?”

Draco said sternly, “He is not riding with me.” His decision was final.

Theo glared, “I don't want to ride with you. I value my life.”

Blaise sighed, “Come on, you arsehole.”

They ended up at the glorious beach. It seemed ideal with the weather and
atmosphere.

After parking their bikes, they made their way onto the sand and looked
around.

Theo whistled, “There's a lot of babes out.”

Blaise nodded in agreement, his eyes wandering over to a group playing
volleyball. “Hmm, I guess. Some mighty fine women.”

A few bikini-clad women passed by and eyed Draco. His look was unique
from the rest, especially the hair and eyes.

However, he wasn't bothered. He stared into the distance and asked his
mates, “Have you ever been surfing?”

Blaise shook his head, “Can't say that I have. It does look bloody
dangerous.” He had seen people giving it a go from the balcony but wasn't
keen to try it out.

Draco felt his adrenaline pumping, “Let's give it go!” He welcomed

distractions of any sort to keep his mind occupied.

Theo stepped back and wished he could stick his head in the sand, much
like an Ostrich.

He voiced his concern, “Umm, I think I'll sit this one out.”

“Pussy,” Draco teased. He wanted to keep himself busy at all times.

Mediation helped keep his mind focused, but activities kept his body
anxious-free.

Theo sulked, “I'm not afraid, just feeling a little under the weather.” He was
fucking terrified.

Blaise was onboard and offered words of encouragement, “Come on, Theo.
Live a little.”

Theo spoke directly to Draco, “Why are you determined to die today? First,
the bike and now this. You're frustrated, mate. You need to shag.”

Draco's features contorted unpleasantly.

He gritted out, “Fuck off.” He supposed Theo had a valid point. Was he
trying to fill the void?
There were a few instructors conducting classes on the beach, and they
approached the least busy one and explained their requirements.

None of them had tried surfing, and they were keen to learn it except Theo,
who looked somewhat petrified but kept mum for fear of being ridiculed.

He kept mumbling about what a bad idea it was, and to make matters
worse, he looked awkward and gangly in a significant life vest.

Blaise mused, “You look great, Nott, but you need the vest when you go
into the water, mate.”

Theo frowned, “I'm about to piss me pants.” Why had he allowed them to
talk him into this?

Draco rolled his eyes, “Hold on tight and follow the instructions.”

The instructor was a built man in his mid-thirties. He looked at Theo and
said, “You don't need a life vest just yet, Kook.”

Theo muttered to no one in particular, “What the fuck is a Kook?” He took

the jacket off and threw it on the ground.

They started training on land, balancing themselves on the boards and

learning to stay focused before paddling out to sea.

Before hitting the sand of Oahu’s most famous beach, the Gryffindor trio
enjoyed a prelude walk through downtown Waikiki, which had plenty to
see. They started from Kaʻiulani Avenue, with the lush public garden
featuring the namesake Hawaiian princess’ statue. Upon reaching the main
street, Kalakaua Avenue, they found the sandy, palm-lined Waikiki
beachfront shared by luxurious hotels.

Hermione gasped, “Ah, it's a bit crowded, isn't it?” She shielded her face
from the sun with the back of her hand.

Ginny couldn't care less and said as much, “Who cares? The more the
merrier.”
Neville grinned, “That's the spirit, Ginny.”

He looked towards the shoreline and exclaimed, “Oh, isn't that Blaise and
Malfoy over there?”

Hermione giggled, “Whatever is the matter with Nott?” Theo waved his
arms about madly while a local yelled at him.

Neville chuckled, “He's a character, isn't he? Bloody hilarious.”

He added thoughtfully, “I’ve always wanted to go surfing. Pansy was a little

reluctant but she's not here to stop me.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, “Yes, feel free to act like a complete moron. Most
husbands do when their wives are not around.” Men! They were just a
bunch of boys at heart.

Neville chuckled. In his case, Pansy ran a tight ship. She hardly tolerated
stupidity and was a tad bit bossy when it came to dealing with people.

Ginny started walking across the beach. She glanced over her shoulder and
asked, “Do you want to come say hello, Hermione?”

Her courage deserted her, and Hermione hurriedly refused, “Um, no, not
really. I think I'll change and soak up the sun.”

Ginny wasn't convinced. She knew her friend was avoiding Malfoy.

She frowned, “Suit yourself.”

Blaise saw Ginny and Neville first and greeted them enthusiastically,
“Where'd you come from?”

Ginny smiled, “Did some sightseeing.”

She pointed to the surfing boards and quipped, “Looks easy.”

Theo complained, “This isn't for me.”

He looked around and asked, “Where's Granger?”

Neville pointed to an area and explained, “She's sunbathing.”

Draco had been cleared to paddle out to sea. He needed a wetsuit and went
towards the changing rooms, where plenty of vendors were willing to sell a
suit for a reasonable price.

He caught a glimpse of his fiancé lying on a sunbed, looking quite desirable

in a red two-piece bathing suit that barely kept her decent. She had been
wearing the bottoms all along.

Hermione caught sight of Draco changing, and he seemed relatively

unaware that he had a large audience, and it grew once everyone saw a
glimpse of his fit pale white arse.

She bit her bottom lip and stared unashamedly.

After, he pulled up the suit, she laid back and tried to concentrate on the
book, but her eyes darted to her betrothed and his friends.

Ginny was on a jet ski, apparently having the time of her life. Blaise
laughed, gave up on surfing and settled for riding a jet ski. He was having
an enjoyable time with Ginny, but she had always been fun and unafraid to
get her hands dirty.

Learning to surf proved harder than anyone thought. Theo binged on snacks
while Neville gave it a good try, but once in the water, he kept falling over
constantly and got knocked off his board by a particularly huge wave,
causing him to call it quits and return to the hotel, bruised and aching.

Theo yawned, “Well, I've had about enough adventure for the day. I'm
heading back to check on Luna.”

Blaise smiled, “Sure, mate. Catch you later.”

He turned to Ginny and said, “There's a few quaint shops where you can
pick up some fun stuff for James, I got some toys and clothes for Carrie and
Adam.”
Ginny perked up, “That's wonderful. Will you take me?”

Blaise grinned, “Of course, Red.” She looked so pretty, her freckles were
clearly visible, and her long hair blew in the wind.

Ginny gathered her things and said cheerfully, “Oh, hold on, let me tell
Hermione.”

Draco ran his fingers through his hair, looked to where Hermione was
lounging and stated, “Don't bother, Weasley. I have plans for Granger.”

Ginny grinned devilishly, “Do you?”

“I do,” Draco replied with a wink. Granger hadn't so much as bothered to

speak to them, and it was in poor taste.

Ginny adopted a motherly tone and wagged her finger, “Well, have her
home at a reasonable hour.”

Blaise boldly took Ginny's hand and pulled her towards the street, “Let's get
going, love.”

Ginny called out, “Have fun, Malfoy. Thread carefully.”

Draco smiled slightly and walked purposefully towards the dressing rooms
to change out of his wetsuit and put on a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt and a
leather jacket.

London

Audrey stared at the clock. There was still time, but she couldn't help but
feel that something more important would whisk Thomas away, and he
would owl at any moment to cancel.

She felt silly and lightheaded, more like a schoolgirl waiting to be taken to
the ball than the mature woman she was.

The doorbell rang, and she almost jumped out of her skin.
Thomas looked sharp and clean in a black shirt, grey pants and blazer.

“Hi,” He said casually.

Audrey swallowed the lump in her throat and replied, “Hi.”

Thomas looked her over and complimented, “You look lovely.” Why was
he so nervous?

Audrey smiled, “So do you. The blazer is a nice touch.”

Thomas grinned, “Shall we?”

Audrey nodded, “Yes, please. Oh, hang on, let me grab my purse.” She
picked it up, headed out and closed the door behind her.

Thomas made slight conversation, “You will love this place. They're known
for their seafood.” He was looking really forward to dinner.

“I love seafood,” Audrey replied, happy that he remembered details about

her preferences.

Thomas held out his good arm, “I know, darling.” He loved to see her
smile.

Hawaii

Hermione lay on the sunbed reading a particularly riveting book about,

ironically, a marriage of convenience. She was at a relatively good part
when a shadow fell over her, blocking the sun completely.

Surely, it wasn't that late.

She looked up from her book and saw the source of the eclipse.

“Nice jacket,” the words slipped out without much thought. He did look
fetching.
Draco smirked, “Pansy took me shopping once I returned.” Thank Merlin
for Parkinson’s good fashion sense.

Hermione rested her book on her bosom and asked quite innocently, “What
can I do for you, Malfoy?”

Oh, so she was going to make him work for it, even though her behaviour
was insensitive and downright rude.

Draco ignored the sarcasm and asked politely, “Do you have plans,
Granger?” He would make things happen if she was reluctant or waiting for
him to make the first move.

Honestly, he was about done taking things slow. It was driving him to the
brink of madness.

Hermione sighed, “Umm, no. Maybe later, but first, I wanted to get a lovely
tan.” She emphasised her point by sensually running her fingers up and
down her exposed flesh, but she wondered what he was getting at.

Draco didn't waste time with useless explanations, nor did he ask for her
permission, “Good.” He grabbed her swiftly by the wrist and pulled her
unceremoniously to her feet.

Caught off guard, Hermione stumbled and struggled, “What are you doing,
Malfoy? Let me go!” Her book fell to the ground and got covered by sand.

Draco simply smiled rather smugly, “I'm taking you out.” His friends had a
valid point, he needed to satisfy the yearning for the elusive witch
squirming in his grasp.

Hermione looked around wildly and protested, “But Ginny…” Where the
hell was her best friend? She had been by the beach not a moment ago.

Draco raised a knowing brow, “She will survive without you. Do you even
know where she is?”

Caught without a plausible explanation, Hermione struggled to find a

suitable reply, “Well, umm, no…but…” Her words fell over themselves
clumsily.

Draco replied with an amused expression, “She's with Blaise.”

Hermione could hardly conceal her surprise, “What?” Why had Ginny gone
off without telling her, and why was she alone with Blaise!?

Draco frowned, “Because unlike you she's getting out there and having
fun.”

Hermione tried to free herself from his ironclad hold and scowled, “For
Merlin's sake, will you please allow me to get dressed first.” She felt a
sudden burst of excitement flood her insides.

He looked her over, letting his eyes linger on certain parts and let her go
with an amused smirk, “Why? You look fine.”

Hermione cried indignantly, “I am not walking about in bikini bottoms.”

Draco brazenly pulled at a tender string that held one side of her bottom up
and teased, “Too bad.” He wanted to slip his hand inside and feel her
warmth.

Hermione blushed but couldn't help but smile suggestively. He seemed

more relaxed and captivating than usual.

She picked up her things and said, “Give me a minute. I'll be right out.”

Draco pointed to the sidewalk beside a large palm tree and replied, “Meet
me over there.” It's where he had parked his rented bike.

Hermione nodded and hurried her step towards the ladies' changing rooms.
She changed out of her bathing suit into a short summer dress and applied a
light layer of makeup. Thank goodness for magic.

Once satisfied with her appearance, she approached the meeting point and
gasped, “What is that?”
Draco raised a quizzical brow and said with an amused expression, “I
thought you would know more about Muggle devices than me.”

Hermione stared unblinkingly at the sleek motorcycle and snapped, “I know

what it is, idiot. I simply meant, why are you sitting on it.”

Draco grinned, “I rented it for the duration of our stay.” He thought against
mentioning what happened at breakfast because it wasn't really worth
mentioning in the first place. Most importantly, he did not want to dampen
the mood.

Like Theo, Hermione wasn't convinced and made her thoughts quite clear,
“Are you sure you can ride one of these things, Draco?”

Draco smiled slightly, a glint flashed across his eyes, and he drawled,
“Don't you trust me?”

“No,” Hermione muttered.

Draco pushed a helmet into her hands and instructed firmly, “Get on,
Granger and wear the helmet.”

Hermione's features pinched together in disgust, “It smells revolting.”

Draco sighed and quite literally pleaded, “Can you for once in your life do
as you're told. Please, I beg of you.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Fine! I've never been on one of these before.”

Draco started the engine and revved. The sound was menacing, and plenty
of people passing by looked impressed.

Once she sat astride with some difficulty, he reached back, caught hold of
her wrist and brought it around his taut waist. She was forced to lean onto
his back and rest her face on his broad back just below his neck. Merlin, he
smelled so good, she itched to kiss him.

However, she kept pulling her dress down. It was riding up her thighs and
made her self-conscious.
He wore a black helmet that completely covered his face and muttered,
“Hold on tight.” She heard him, but barely.

Draco took off, Hermione screamed and shut her eyes. She held onto him
firmly with both hands, her fingers dug deep into the white t-shirt. She was
sure she left rough nail marks on him from where her fingers clawed at
him.

At the traffic lights, he came to a halt, and Hermione mumbled, “Oh Merlin,
have you ever ridden one of these before?”

Draco chuckled, “Only the rusty mopeds in the village. It's practically the
same thing.” That much was true, but he was a natural at efficiently
handling the machine.

Hermione yelled over the noise of the engine, “WHAT?” Mopeds were a
step above bicycles, barely. How could he possibly compare it to the bike
that he was riding?

Draco leaned slightly back so she could hear him clearly. He laced his
fingers through hers and said, “I promised I wouldn't let you fall, and I do
not intend to break that today. Have some faith.” His words struck a chord,
and she desperately wanted to believe him.

Hermione closed her eyes, leaned, if possible, closer until her breasts were
utterly pushed up against his back and conceded defeat. In the end, he
always won.

She gave herself to him, come what may and whispered, “I trust you,
Draco.” The thrill of riding with him was quite unexplainable.

Her words and sultry tone made his heart slam against his ribcage, and his
breathing hastened. Her hands on him were sending his body all the wrong
signals.

They rode hard and fast down the open road, passing tourists and locals
going about their day. They stopped by a large ice cream stand overlooking
the ocean. It seemed to be a popular establishment.
Hermione got off first, got rid of the disgusting helmet and fixed her hair.
Draco waited till she gathered herself before taking off his helmet and
dismounting. His long legs helped his cause.

He took her hand in his, ran his fingers through his hair and smiled, “Ice
cream?”

Hermione smiled, slightly doe-eyed and excited, “Vanilla, please.”

She took a seat while Draco went to get their order. He arrived shortly with
waffle cones stacked with vanilla and chocolate ice cream. She noticed
rainbow-coloured sprinkles on both.

He handed her the vanilla cone and took the seat beside her. It was quite a
hot day, and the ice cream was beginning to melt.

Still, Hermione lapped up the dripping vanilla with precision and care. She
ate her ice cream artfully and methodically by using the expanse of her
tongue to lick all the way around, preventing a melted mess.

Draco stared. His cone was still in his hand, and melted chocolate ice cream
ran down the sides and stuck stubbornly to his fingers. He felt a tightening
in his jeans as erotic thoughts of Granger's pretty little lips wrapped around
his cock came to mind.

He licked the chocolate off his fingers and couldn't help but ask, “Do you
always lick an ice cream cone in that manner?”

Hermione fixed him with a weird, perplexed look, “I really don't know what
you mean.” She continued to enjoy her cold treat without making a mess
while her companion struggled to keep ahead of his melted mess.

Draco drawled huskily, “Don't play coy with me, Granger.”

She licked her bottom lip, closed her eyes and almost moaned, “I wouldn't
dream of it. Mmm, this is delicious, isn't it?”

Eyes still closed, she offered foolishly without much thought, “Do you want
a taste?”
Draco smirked, “Indeed.” He reached over and kissed her full on the mouth,
causing her eyes to fly open in alarm, but it was over before it started.

He licked his pink lips and rasped, “Mmm, tasty.”

Hermione averted her gaze and blushed hard. She needed to stir the
conversation away from its direction, and where it was headed required no
talk.

She swallowed hard and asked casually, “Are you prepared for the Auror
trials?”

Draco licked a swipe around his ice cream and responded, “Hmm, pretty
much, yeah. The potions part concerns me.”

Hermione was genuinely surprised, “Bollocks. You were brilliant at

Potions, much to my disdain.” Snape's Little Golden Boy.

Draco chuckled, “That was a while ago, and it's different now.” The potions
required of him were well past N.E.W.T level, and despite his diligence, he
had some trouble with it.

Curiosity got the better of her, and Hermione pried, “How did you get to be
so brilliant with spells?” He had been away for nearly ten years, away from
magic, so how was it that he could do complex spells?

Draco bit the top bit off his ice cream. It was cold and hurt his teeth. Still,
after the pain passed, he explained, “Well, mum always taught me. Besides,
I was way more advanced with everyday spells than everyone else, and
Bellatrix taught me the rest in a very short span.” He recalled the gruelling
lessons and severe torment he had to endure.

Hermione flinched. The very mention of the dark witch sent a shiver down
her spine.

Draco noticed her change in demeanour and regretted his choice of words.
He had to be careful not to mention his dead aunt.
Still, he ignored it and continued casually, “I have a good memory. So, even
without the use of my wand, I would practice for hours at night pretending I
had my wand in hand. Turns out it was quite useful since after I mastered
wandless magic, I was able to focus my mind and the movement would just
appear inside my head.”

Hermione was beyond impressed, “Amazing. Honestly. I'm at a loss for

words. Truly remarkable.” She was almost done with her ice cream and
munched on the waffle cone.

Draco teased, “A compliment? That must leave a bitter taste in your

mouth.”

Hermione argued, “Not when it's well deserved.” He would never cease to
amaze her.

Draco smiled broadly, “Well then, thank you. It means heaps coming from
you.”

He asked a rather general question, “So, what do you think of Hawaii?”

Hermione's eyes lit up, and she raved, “It's warm and beautiful. The people
are so lovely. I swear, the pictures don't do it justice.”

Draco nodded, “Agreed. Everyone seems so bloody relaxed. It's unnerving

if I'm being honest.” He was trying to finish his ice cream cone, but it
seemed impossible.

Hermione giggled, “Yeah, tranquil and calm. I wouldn't last in a place like
this.” She enjoyed a bit of drama and intensity.

Draco read her mind and mused, “Why? Is it because you crave chaos and
carnage?”

Hermione answered thoughtfully, “Chaos, maybe, but carnage, no.

Speaking of which, I hope everything is alright back home.” No one had
contacted her, so she figured all to be well. After all, no news was good
news at times.
Draco responded knowingly, “No one has died, if that's what you're
wondering.”

Hermione raised a curious brow, “How would you know?” He was an Auror
in training while she was the Undersecretary. Surely, she had more
clearance.

A fond smile crossed his face, “My partner keeps in touch.” Hannah
messaged him at least once a day. It felt good to hear from her. She kept
him updated and on his toes to study when time permitted.

Realisation struck home, and Hermione sighed, “Ah, Hannah.” It was clear
the two were close, but how close was the critical question?

Draco elucidated further, “As a matter of fact, they have a solid lead on
cracking the Dollhouse Strangler case.”

That was news to Hermione, and though she felt somewhat resentful for not
being kept in the loop, she was overjoyed, “That's brilliant. It would give
me great pleasure to see that nutter behind bars.”

Her features contorted painfully, “How could a person do that to someone?

It really goes to show how unhinged some people can be.”

Draco shrugged, “Well, there are multiple factors that could have pushed
him down his current path.” Not everything was in black and white. There
were plenty of mitigating factors that had to be taken into consideration. He
knew first-hand about those.

Hermione couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. Was Malfoy
defending the sadistic bastard?

She refuted strongly, “Catch yourself on. There is absolutely no excuse for a
person to commit such heinous crimes. Kidnapping, murder, rape?”

Draco exhaled, “You misunderstood my words. Anyways, enough shop talk.

We're on holiday, let's forget about the lunatics back home and enjoy the
moment.”
The sun was almost setting, and a beautiful orangish hue settled over them.

Hermione suggested somewhat reluctantly, “We should get back.” She was
worried about Ginny but also wanted to spend time with Malfoy. It was
tiresome to feel such conflicted emotions.

Draco disagreed and voiced his thoughts, “Am I boring you?” He asked
while cleaning a smidge of ice cream off her face with the flat side of his
thumb.

Hermione quickly defended herself, “No, it's just that Ginny is alone
and…”

Draco sighed in exasperation and injected, “Weasley's gone shopping with

Blaise for the kids and spouses. Nothing more or less.”

Hermione looked rather nervous and muttered, “Hmm, have they?”

Draco raised a brow, “Do you not trust them together? I would think you
would have more faith in your friend.” Did she honestly believe Blaise and
Ginny would have an affair?

Hermione frowned, “I do, you lout. It's nothing like that. It's just that
everyone's a long way from home.” Mistakes were bound to happen,
unrepairable, gut-wrenching mistakes.

“Indeed,” Draco replied off the bat. He wouldn't mind making a few
pleasurable mistakes of his own.

He asked with a smile, “Are you glad you came?” She thoroughly enjoyed
herself even though it wasn't always with him.

She was genuinely grateful and expressed herself without holding back, “I
am. Thank you for inviting me.”

Draco reached over and covered her hand with his and drawled, “It's my
pleasure.”

He felt her shift and pleaded gently, “Relax, darling.”

Hermione composed herself and answered truthfully, “I am…. It's this
place. It's so romantic, and I've not been away like this in ages.”

The last time, if she recalled correctly, was a trip to Ireland with Ron that
turned into a bit of a disaster because some random bloke at the hotel had
paid her a compliment, asked for her autograph, and completely ignored the
fuming redheaded man glued to her side.

Moving closer, Draco whispered and kissed the shell of her ear, “Don't be
afraid. I won't hurt you.”

Oh, she doubted that very much. If she let him, he would destroy her.

A shiver went down her spine, and Hermione shuddered, her voice low and
somewhat seductive, “What are you doing?”

Draco moved her hair out of the way, kissed her neck tantalisingly slowly,
and said huskily, “Do you feel nothing when I'm close?” She felt his hand
on her thigh. He wouldn't dare. They were in a public place.

Hermione moved into his touch and almost moaned, “I feel too much.”

He bit down gently on her earlobe and rasped, “I need a drink.”

She couldn't bear it any longer and shot to her feet and agreed, “I second
that.”

Hawaii

Blaise picked up a bright blue shirt with the words “I love Hawaii”,
scrawled across it and held it out for Ginny to see.

Ginny grinned, “That's perfect. Harry will love it.” She had her arms full of
soft toys and books.

Blaise put a cap on backwards and smirked, “What do you think, Red? Do
you think the missus will go for it?”
Ginny doubled over with laughter and said, “She's bound to chuck you.”

Blaise returned the cap to its original place and asked, “I'm starving. You
want to grab a bite before dinner?”

Ginny was famished and didn't realise it until Blaise mentioned it. She
nodded vigorously. They paid for the stuff and, laden with multiple bags,
searched for a restaurant that served hamburgers and fries.

Hawaii

The bar was a couple of miles out of the city. The motorcycle ride was
perfect. They opted to go without helmets, which was a wise decision for
the moment.

The wind felt great against their skin. Hermione held onto Draco and rested
her head on his back.

She placed a few discreet kisses on the back of his leather jacket. She was
sure he couldn't feel them under the heavy material.

She honestly felt like she had landed in some television soap opera playing
the lead actress, and Draco was her forbidden love interest.

A bit lost, Draco stopped to ask for directions. The locals were so
welcoming and friendly. It was a refreshing change compared to the
sometimes unfriendly British populace.

Before they headed out, he kissed her hand and glanced over his shoulder.
He smiled, and bits of his platinum locks blew in the wind. Hermione felt
butterflies in her stomach. These weren't appropriate feelings, and she
willed them away.

They pulled into a car park of sorts, except lush trees and plenty of shade
surrounded it. Quite visible was a lovely bar and restaurant made entirely of
aged wood. It was breathtaking.
The establishment was popular since plenty of tourists occupied the tables
and seats at the bar. It was quite apparent why. The place was stunning, a
true hidden gem.

Hermione stared in awe, “I'm speechless. How did you learn about this
place? It's not in the guide.”

Draco ran his fingers through his hair and smiled, “Pity. One of the blokes
at the ice cream parlour recommended it since we were tourists. I think his
uncle owns the place.”

Hermione nodded with realisation, “Ah, well, good choice. It's gorgeous.”

Without waiting for her consent, Draco took her hand and dragged her
forward. They entered the lovely space, and an older woman with a
charming smile and charismatic personality greeted them.

“Good evening, how can I help you?” She asked with a thick accent. Her
attitude, attire and appearance clearly showed she was a local and true
professional.

Draco flashed his most winning smile and said, “A table for two, please.”

She looked at them, sized them up and grinned, “Please follow me.” She
knew exactly where to seat them. It would be outside, lit by candlelight,
situated on a precipice. The scenic view was beyond comparison to
anything else on the island.

Draco smiled once they arrived at their table, “Thank you.”

Hermione felt herself gravitate towards the view. It was truly breathtaking.
The weather was taking a turn, and she shivered from the sudden gust of
cold air that blew their way.

She rubbed her arms in a futile effort to stay warm.

Draco caught sight of this, abandoned the menu and came to stand behind
his stubborn, pigheaded, at times, fiance. He slipped off his leather jacket
and draped it around her shoulders.
Hermione felt his presence at her back. Her nerve endings came to
immediate life around him. She put her arms through the sleeves and
bundled herself within the leathery warmth. It felt luxurious and smelled
expensive.

She boldly leaned against him, her back to his front and sighed, “It's
beautiful here, isn't it?”

Draco slipped his arm around her waist. He pulled her closer, placed an
endearing kiss on the top of her head and drawled, “Yes, I suppose it is.”
Mere words could not be used to describe the beauty before them.
Mountains, lush greenery and a beautiful setting sun in the distance.

“Are you ready to order?” The server asked, looking somewhat

embarrassed. He had interrupted far worse situations in his time.

The couple of sorts reluctantly broke apart. Hermione returned to the table,
followed closely by Draco and pulled the menu towards her.

It suddenly dawned on her that she was starving despite the ice cream an
hour or so ago.

Hermione thought for a bit. Everything looked delicious, but she finally
settled on something familiar, “Hmm, I'll have the half chicken with
mashed potatoes, vegetables and, umm, brown rice.”

“And for you, sir?” The server asked politely.

Draco didn't hesitate. He felt like trying something local and requested “Lau
Lau.” Which was chunks of pork shoulder seasoned with Hawaiian salt,
wrapped in thick layers of soft taro leaves and steamed inside Ti leaves.

The waiter was pleased by his choice and replied, “An excellent choice.”

He asked eagerly, “Anything to drink?”

Draco pondered and wondered if they should have something stronger like
scotch but ultimately decided on a more subtle approach, "A bottle of your
finest red wine and a bottle of water at room temperature, please."
“Coming right up, sir,” The server responded enthusiastically. He could
sense big spenders and tippers from a mile off. If he played his cards right,
he could receive a hefty tip.

Hermione made herself comfortable on the slightly uncomfortable wooden

chair and sought to break the awkward silence they had slipped into since
the server disappeared with their order.

She cleared her throat, “So…”

The waiter returned with their drink order and presented the bottle of
vintage wine to Draco, who nodded his approval.

When the server went to pour the red liquid into their glasses, Draco
stopped him with a smile and said, “We can manage, mate.”

He poured Hermione a glass of rich red wine and then helped himself.

She raised the glass and hesitated with what to say before it dawned on her,
“To magical destinations.”

Draco concurred, “Cheers.”

The food arrived shortly after, and they tucked into the beautifully plated
meals.

Curiosity got the best of her, and Hermione asked, “How's your Lau Lau?”
It looked tempting, with the main dish wrapped inside leaves of some sort.
The aroma was mouthwatering.

“Mmm, divine. The meat melts in your mouth,” Draco replied without
hesitation. He followed it up quickly with a sweet gesture, “Would you like
a taste?” He forked together the best pieces and reached over the table so
she could eat it off his fork.

Hermione eagerly ate the offering, and a bit of gravy got on her cheek. She
cleaned it and retorted, “Oh wow, that's delicious.”
Draco leaned back in the chair, massaged his chin and said thoughtfully, “I
want us to be friends, Granger.”

Hermione chuckled, “We are sort of like friends, Draco.” It was more like
kissing friends. They were anything but mere friends.

They were already halfway through the wine and feeling the effects of it.

Draco brazenly teased, “Are we friends with benefits? Since we happen to

kiss and touch when no one's watching.”

Hermione stifled a laugh. She had no explanation nor comeback for his
accurate depiction of their coupling.

He looked about and smirked, “Well, no one here knows us. To them, we
are just two regular people on vacation.”

Hermione responded rather solemnly, “I'm not very good with casual flings,
Malfoy, despite all my talk and bravado.”

Done with his meal, Draco pushed his plate to the side and opened his
mouth to reply, but he was interrupted by the motherly woman who seated
them. She balanced a tray with two tall drinks, which looked unmistakably
like Long Island Ice Tea.

She beamed, “Drinks on the house for the beautiful couple.”

Hermione almost choked on a piece of chicken. Still, she managed to

sputter, “Oh, we aren't a couple.”

However, Draco flashed his flawless smile, “That is very kind of you.
Thank you, we really appreciate it.”

After the woman left, Draco rounded on Hermione, taking the last bite of
her meal and argued, “Don't bother, Granger. We look and act the part. Just
go with it.”

Hermione was tipsy and opening up far more than she wished. Not that she
hadn't had flings, once, maybe twice, but men generally treated her
differently. Deep down, she wasn't used to anything fully casual.

Draco took a sip of wine, savoured the taste and spoke his mind, “Hmm, it
doesn't have to be casual. We are to be husband and wife in a few days.” It
was a firm statement and not one to be trifled with. His authoritative tone of
voice supported his beliefs.

Hermione blushed. She drank the last of the red wine and stared at the man
in front of her. He, indeed, was a mystery.

A band played soft music, and a few couples danced to the soothing
romantic beats.

Draco eyed the dancing couples through hooded lids. He enjoyed the
vocals, and apparently, so did his fiancé because she swayed from side to
side and stared at the band as if mesmerised.

He watched with a smile on his face, glad to see her relax and enjoy herself.
He truly wanted to make her happy during the course of their marriage.

Even though he seldom danced, Draco got to his feet and offered his hand,
“Would you care to dance, Granger?”

Hermione was pleased by the gesture and accepted without a second

thought, “I would love to, Malfoy.”

He pulled her close, so close, in fact, she could hear his rapidly beating
heart. She put her arms around his neck, and they moved in time with the
music. It was blissful to be themselves and not be bothered by the
expectations and judgement that dogged their every step.

Salazar, her sweet, intoxicating scent was enough to send his hormones into
overdrive. Frankly, he felt incredibly anxious yet excited.

Putting caution to the wind, Draco cupped Hermione's face. They locked
eyes momentarily, and much was said between them.

She leaned into his gentle touch and sighed. God, she loved his hands on
any part of her body.
Her eyes fluttered shut, and he kissed her deeply. She melted into the
embrace, held onto him, and wrapped her fingers around his arm. Her lips
parted, allowing him to explore the expanse of her mouth with his tongue.
No one paid them much attention, which was a blissful change since it
allowed them to live in the moment.

What was this ungodly feeling erupting from the very core of her being?

She moaned wantonly into his mouth, “Draco…” He was imposing, intent
on making her his for the night or more.

Draco answered breathlessly, “In this moment coherent thoughts desert me

and all that exists is this incredible feeling of you.” His fingers were in her
hair, holding on, staking claim while his lips moulded perfectly to hers.

Her voice was heavy with want and desire, “Take me back to the hotel,
darling.” The ring he had given showed its approval for their union by
pulsating against her skin.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck and lay a trail of fiery kisses but
managed to say, “With pleasure.” He was surprised they could walk since
he wanted to lay her down, strip her slowly and take her then and there.

Hurriedly, Draco settled the bill, leaving a sizable tip for the server.

They succumbed to their carnal urges and kissed more near the motorbike.
She leaned against the sleek surface, and he pressed up against her while
they explored each other's bodies over clothes. Her fingers danced over his
taut muscles while his lips suckled on her collarbone, leaving no area
untouched.

Hermione threw her head back and breathed, “Let's get out of here.” Draco
didn't think twice and obliged without hesitation.

At that moment, he wished he had picked a place closer to the hotel. The
ride back would be fast and impatient.
London

The deranged man sat on his mother's rocking chair and stared into an abyss
of his own creation. He had moved his mother to her bed and changed her
clothes.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and before long, he was reliving his
horrible youth. His upbringing had been a never-ending nightmare.

It seemed surreal, and yet, it had happened. He was defiling his mother
under his father's orders, thinking she was unconscious, until she opened
her eyes and started to laugh.

That maniacal laughter would never leave him. He would hear it until he
drew his last breath. The mocking, the accusatory and disgust of her
laughter filled his head.

She leered, “I can't even feel you, you bastard. You and your tiny cock, at
least your father is a man.”

The young man hissed, “Shut up.” He thrust into her harder and faster, not
caring whether he hurt her. If he was inadequate, why the fuck was she
dripping?

She loved his cock, it was apparent, wasn't it? He fucked her raw until they
were exhausted, and his father was satisfied. It was a heavy price they paid
to escape the torment.

He refused to comply once, and his father's wrath had been merciless. He
had dragged his wife by the hair into the dining room, beaten her until black
and blue and raped her until she lay in a pool of her own blood.

Still, the laughing rang inside his head. He loved her, not as a son should,
but didn't she see they would suffer the consequences if he didn't do what
his father asked?

He thought he was saving her, but she treated him cruelly, almost
inhumanly. They fled Russia, never to look back after his so-called father
cast them out after he grew tired of his games and found a willing mistress
to cater to his sick fantasies.

That fateful day, his maniac father broke his mother's wand. He could still
hear his mother's anguished cries and pleading, but the sadistic Russian felt
little remorse and instead spat on her and hissed, “You are not worthy of
this, bitch. This is your punishment for birthing a fucking squib. Useless
cunt.”

With not much to their names, he cast them out with a few measly Galleons,
enough to seek transport back to the UK.

It had been a dark period. If he thought life with his father was terrible, it
was a walk in the park compared to his crazy mother, who had been driven
insane by her husband's abuse and sought to take it out on her only child.

After that day, they lived like Muggles. Her family shunned them and
denied their existence out of shame, only providing the funds to secure a
home to live out the rest of their days.

The once proud woman was a broken wreck, and she scarred her son's face
because looking at him was a constant reminder of her sadistic husband.
They were almost identical. She blamed the failures of her marriage on him.
It was unfair and unjust, purely since he had no control over the
circumstances that led him to be born without magic.

She hated yet needed him to look after her, but she wielded such control
over the pitiful man that he depended on her existence.

Killing his beloved mother had pushed him truly over the edge. It was in a
moment of weakness that he had murdered her, but she was alive.

She lived in others, and he had found them. Not all were a right fit, but
Sarah was perfect. She was the one, and he needed her.

He snapped out of his daze, stared once more at the ceiling and got to his
feet purposefully.
“Oh, Sarah…” He cooed as he walked down the corridor and into his room,
where his prize awaited him.
 Chapter 67
Chapter Summary

To all the comments:- Absolutely heartwarming! Thank you so much!

I apologise for the delay in the update, I've been down with the flu.

Chronicles in Hawaii continue. Tension between Hermione and Draco

escalates.

Ginny and Blaise have a sweet moment.

Cormac is losing himself to addiction and walking on thin ice. He

might pay more than he bargained for.

I do love my OC characters, Thomas and Audrey. I based Thomas a lot

off Mad-Eye Moody.

Enjoy Chapter Sixty - Seven!

Let me know your thoughts so far! Trust me, and it helps loads! :) Stay
safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Outskirts of London

Sarah felt nauseous and extremely ill. She was chained to his bed and
helpless.

In the middle of the night, she noticed he spoke in his sleep, muttering,
pleading and begging for forgiveness.

Often, she would be awoken by his fingers running through her hair, and
she would hear him softly whisper, "Mother," in her ear.
It was evident his life was something out of a horror film, and Sarah was
convinced her only means of escape would be death.

She made the best of a horrific situation and catered to his fantasies. While
she was obedient, he rewarded her with small luxuries.

He raped her without abandon whenever he wished, not sparing a thought

for her feelings or discomfort. He thought she loved it when, in reality, she
hated the very sight of him.

Condoms were a thing of the past. He never wore protection and spilt his
vile seed into her repeatedly to impregnate her.

Shivering and cold, Sarah curled into a fetal position and tried to fall
asleep.

London

Dinner was delightful. The conversation between them flowed freely

without any awkwardness since Audrey accepted Thomas for who he was.
He had always appealed to her for whatever reason.

Thomas walked Audrey to her flat, and once they were outside her door, he
smiled broadly, “Well, that was fun, wasn't it?” It had been a while since he
went out to dinner with a woman, and despite feeling nervous at the start,
the night had progressed splendidly.

Audrey smiled and nodded in agreement, “Indeed. The ravioli was tasty.”

She smirked, “We made it through an entire night without you being called
away.” It was rare for Thomas to enjoy the night without any disturbances.

Thomas chuckled, “Ah, I guess we did.” He had discouraged any matters

that required his attention unless absolutely necessary. He deserved some
sort of life, didn't he?
Audrey softened her gaze and said, “You didn't have to pay, Thomas. We
could have split the bill.” She had pulled out her wallet, but he firmly
dismissed her request to pay.

Thomas rolled his eyes and fixed her with an irritated look, “Are you
mental?” The job didn't pay as much as they deserved, but it was always
more than the money. However, he was decently compensated for his years
on the job and more so after losing his valuable limb. Disability, they called
it, rubbish. He could take on any adversary, even at his age and emerge
victorious.

Audrey pushed the door open, stood against it and asked rather timidly and
out of character, “Umm, would you like a nightcap?”

Thomas smiled, “I thought you would never ask.” He had a nice smile,
which he seldom used. A drink would lighten the situation and make
whatever followed less awkward. He couldn't remember the last time he
had been intimate with a woman.

If he recalled correctly, the last time had been on a mission to Germany,

where he had gotten incredibly drunk and ended up in bed with an attractive
Muggle barmaid.

Hawaii

Draco pulled up to the hotel entrance and came to a screeching halt, causing
many people of various nationalities to look at them with confusion and
admiration.

He waited for Granger to dismount first before following suit. A valet

rushed forward. Draco pushed the helmets, key and a wad of dollar bills
into his hand and said hurriedly, “Park it, mate, and be careful. It's a bloody
rental.”

He took Hermione's hand and walked towards the entrance without looking
back.
The valet stared at the key in his hands with surprise. In all his years as a
parking attendant, this would be the first time he would be asked to handle a
bike.

Still, he smiled and enthusiastically set to the task assigned to him. The bike
was a beast and, indeed, a joy to ride. He would take it for a quick spin
before taking it to the designated parking zone.

There was only one primary way to enter the hotel, and unfortunately, it
was through the crowded lobby and reception catering to the arrival and
departure of many guests.

Draco saw him first, and his heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. Theo
was easily recognisable since he stood a foot taller than the rest.

His hold on Hermione’s wrist tightened, causing her to slightly wince. They
came to an abrupt halt, and he urgently hissed in her ear, “Fuck. Is that
Theo?” He pulled her towards a large potted plant used for decorative
purposes and attempted to hide behind it.

His behaviour amused Hermione. She peered through the somewhat large
leaves and nodded, “Hmm, I think so. He looks rather lost, doesn't he?”

Draco looked about frantically for means of escape before his best mate
spotted them and thought the best way to work around the situation was to
plant themselves among the crowd and move towards the lift.

He gave her hand a sharp tug and directed urgently, “Come this way so he
doesn't see us.” A large crowd of Japanese tourists huddled together,
moving in the same direction while chatting in their native tongue.

Hermione chuckled, “I’m right behind you, Malfoy.” She went along with
the plan, but they hardly blended in with the group, considering Draco was
a lot taller, and his hair was a sure giveaway.

It was a valiant effort but futile just the same.

Too late.
“Draco!” Theo’s dulcet tones could be heard over the hustle and bustle.
Some people stopped to look his way and wondered why he was yelling at
the top of his voice.

Draco rolled his eyes but continued to walk away quickly as if he hadn't
heard while pulling a laughing Hermione behind him. She found the whole
situation hilarious.

Still, Theo wasn't discouraged easily. He jogged up to them and cornered

them before they could make a clean getaway.

He brushed his hair back and grinned, “Didn't you hear me?”

“Theo, mate, where did you come from?” Draco replied in faux surprise. He
forced a less-than-genuine smile onto his face.

Apparently, he was pretty convincing because Theo was none the wiser and
bought the act. Meanwhile, Hermione covered her mouth to stop laughing
and tried her best to maintain composure.

Theo looked at where Draco held onto Hermione and asked curiously,
“Where did you two get off to?”

Before either could reply, he miserably added, “Luna is asleep, and I can't
find Blaise. I’m so fucking bored.”

Draco responded, his patience wearing thin, “Really sorry, mate, but
Granger and I have some work to attend to. Let’s catch up later.”

Theo raised a brow and questioned suspiciously, “What work? Are you
having me on?” He stared at Draco sceptically and waited for a suitable
answer.

Draco frowned, “Stop looking me up and down like I'm some bloody tart.”

Theo chuckled, “What?”

Draco warned, “I swear, Theo.”

Hermione couldn't help but giggle. Their friendship was so different from
Harry and Ron, for example.

Despite Draco's protests and unwillingness, Theo linked his arm through
Draco’s and tried to drag him away with a cheerful, “Come on, I'm
starving.”

Draco refused to budge and calmly stated, “We had dinner and were about
to order dessert while working. So, excuse us.” He would have a private
word with his friend about reading facial cues and subtle hints.

Theo was clearly in utter misery and made his unhappiness evident, “Don't
you two ditch me; Blaise is nowhere to be found, and Pansy is spending
alone time with Longbottom.”

His features twisted unpleasantly, and he spat with disgust, “Yuck.”

Draco scowled. Fuck.

Hermione sighed and asked rather sweetly, ‘What would you like to do,
Theodore?” Nott reminded her of a little lost child that required constant
mothering.

“Granger?” Draco questioned, his eyes boring into hers. Desperation

marred his words. He stared at her pleadingly.

She squeezed his hand slightly and muttered, “We have time.” They had
another day or so at the most, but Theo looked so helpless she felt it was
their duty to keep him company.

Theo smiled broadly, “There’s a restaurant on the premises. I think they

serve some fancy cuisine. It's probably Italian, but I am not really sure what
it is. Shall we check it out?”

Draco reluctantly agreed through gritted teeth, “Sure.” You cockblocking

piece of shite.

Hermione caught the dirty look Draco bestowed upon her and studiously
avoided his penetrating gaze of disapproval.
Once seated, Theo voiced his actual concerns, “I'm really worried about
Luna. She's been feeling off before we came here, but it's become
progressively worse.” His features pinched together in concern, and it was
quite clear that he was perturbed and struggled to figure out his beloved
wife's affliction.

Hermione hesitated and offered reassurance, “Um, I'm sure she's fine,
Nott.” Luna really needed to spill the beans.

Theo complained, “She refuses to see the hotel doctor or any Healer.” He
had never known Luna to be so stubborn. She generally listened to him, but
in the last few weeks, he could hardly get her to do anything. Even sex had
reduced drastically, and since seeing her in a state of unrest, he hadn't
pursued anything either.

Draco sighed, clamped his friend on the shoulder and advised, “Calm down,
mate. Luna is a smart witch. She would've seen to it if she thought a doctor
would help her. Maybe it's something she ate.”

Hermione averted her gaze and rolled her eyes. Men were so wholly
oblivious to the obvious it was maddening.

Theo nodded and replied thoughtfully, “Yeah, she sometimes eats some
pretty weird shite, depending on the season.” Her quirkiness was the
difficult part of their marriage.

He would often come home to find various fungi and herbs spread across
the pantry, and as an accomplished Potion Master, he knew some plants
were highly poisonous and inedible. Still, she would argue with him, stating
it was some Ministry conspiracy to tarnish the good name of plants.

Almost at once, Hermione sprang to her good friend's defence, “Hey!

There's always a reason…” That was a blatant lie. There was hardly any
reason for Luna to do the things she did, but they loved her all the same
because of her utter uniqueness.

Theo defended his words with an amused expression, “I'm not insulting her,
Granger. But you know I speak the bloody truth.” Anyone who truly knew
Luna knew he wasn't exaggerating in the slightest.

Hermione ordered a glass of red wine and chuckled, “Fine.”

Theo explained further, “At first, I thought it was all the stress from trying
to get pregnant.” He needed to get some things off his chest, and it all came
tumbling out without being filtered.

Draco sighed. They were in for a long night, so he thought ordering a scotch
on the rocks and a plate of spicy chicken wings prudent. He desperately
needed some flavour.

He placed the order and frowned, “That's too much information, mate.”
Instead of making love to his fiancé, he would be forced to listen to Theo
talk about his scheduled sex sessions with Lovegood. Wonderful.

This turn of unfortunate events he did not see coming, and why had
Granger gone and agreed to keep Theo company? They weren't bloody
babysitters.

The evening progressed, and over the hours and many drinks, Theo forgot
about his woes and cracked jokes, successfully making Hermione laugh so
hard that even Draco cracked a smile.

Ministry Of Magic

Hannah rushed into the Ministry of Magic. She knew no one would be
there, but it was as if a fire had initiated within her.

As she was about to enter the lift, she bumped into a moderately built man
in his fifties with long hair. It was John from the Misuse of Muggle
Artefacts department.

“Bugger! Sorry, mate. I didn't see you there,” Hannah apologised profusely,
bending down to pick up the fallen files and papers.
John slightly smiled, “Oh, that's alright, Miss Abbott.” He gathered his
thick files and went on his merry way without paying Hannah much notice.

She wondered what the man was working on so late. He was truly baffling.

The lift arrived, and Hannah pressed her desired floor. It was further
underground and a place they only visited if absolutely necessary. The lift
dinged, indicating it had arrived on the required floor.

She stepped out, and disappointment floored her. She knew it was futile to
hope that someone would be around.

Instead, she was greeted by stillness and darkness. Everyone had gone
home, and unfortunately, even if she was an Auror, Hannah didn't have the
proper clearance to dig through personal files. Besides, she needed help
finding details about Arbella Flint.

Hannah let out a frustrated cry. It echoed through the space. Every second
lost was detrimental to Sarah’s wellbeing.

Hawaii

After shopping, Ginny and Blaise enjoyed a leisurely walk on the beach.
The sand got between their toes, and waves broke at their feet. It was pretty
relaxing and so peaceful.

Ginny wasn't a big fan of silence, probably since she grew up in such a busy
and nosy household. She chuckled, “Well, that was fun.” It wasn't a lie.

They genuinely had an absolute blast while shopping and eating street food.
Blaise had always made her laugh and feel entirely at ease.

Even though their short affair had been a secret and well away from prying
eyes who would have been ready to pass judgment, it was a unique
coupling.
Blaise snorted, “Yeah, Lord knows what possessed me to rent a Harley.”
Daphne would be mortified if she had an idea about what he had done. Of
course, she would have much to say if she knew he was spending time with
Ginny Weasley.

Ginny smiled fondly, “My brother Charlie had a dirt bike. It was so much
fun. Of course, Mum hated it.”

She thought back to Molly whacking Charlie over the head with a rolled-up
Daily Prophet and chuckled, “Mum would have a go at him every time he
came over on it, but he's a lot like Dad. Partial to Muggle inventions.”

Charlie, unlike Bill, was a bit of a wild card and totally unpredictable. Mum
was always terrified he would unwittingly murder himself over some stupid
invention or while handling dragons. Her thoughts drifted to her fallen
brother, Fred.

Blaise said thoughtfully, “I've not met your oldest brothers.” He was very
well acquainted with Percy Weasley, whom he considered to be a pompous
git. The twins were well-liked troublemakers whose sole purpose at
Hogwarts was to make life miserable for Argus Filch.

Ginny smiled, “Hardly any of my friends have. They graduated long before
I joined Hogwarts.”

“Ah,” Blaise managed to say. He glanced sideways and found himself

staring at his ex-girlfriend. She was lovely and so easy to be around.

He cleared his throat and confessed, “I wanted to speak to you at Tracey's

wedding, but I was a miserable coward.”

Ginny stopped walking and replied earnestly, “I saw you a few times at the
bar, but I couldn't muster the courage either.”

She dug her foot further into the soft sand and said solemnly, “I'm sorry. I
should have never done that to you. Ended things in that manner. You meant
so much to me, Blaise, but…”
Blaise smiled slightly and shrugged, “But you loved Potter.” It had been a
punch to the gut when they broke up, and he had quite rightly been
miserable for weeks until Daphne came along and confessed her true
feelings to him. He had never looked back afterwards.

Ginny struggled to find the right words to explain further, “I, umm….” The
truth was she had always loved Harry. He was her everything, but that didn't
lessen her feelings for Blaise. She would have been happy with Blaise if
Harry hadn't come around.

Blaise closed the distance between them, rested his forehead against hers
and almost whispered, “We ended up with the right people, Ginny.” Their
lips were inches apart, but the burning desire that once existed between
them was no longer there.

Ginny could feel his breath ghost over her face. They broke apart and
sighed. Past mistakes and grievances had been laid to rest, and there would
be no need to dredge up the past going forward.

Perhaps they could forge a friendship where the families would get along
and host each other occasionally. It made sense, especially with Hermione
and Draco bridging the gap between the Gryffindors and Slytherins. Pansy
and Neville hardly counted.

She thought of Hermione and frowned. Her tone of voice was laced with
concern for her best friend, “Do you reckon Malfoy and Hermione are
alright?”

Blaise fixed her with an amused look, “I'm sure they are. Why wouldn't
they be? He’s quite capable of looking after her.”

Although Ginny wasn't convinced, she went along with it and agreed
reluctantly, “Yeah, I guess.”

Blaise noticed the hesitation and reassured further, “Draco is a gentleman,

Red. He would never force Granger into doing anything that makes her
remotely uncomfortable.”
Ginny chewed on her bottom lip and muttered, “I know, it's just that there's
so much bad blood between them.” Despite her personal opinion about
Malfoy, she was sure he wasn't some sadist or rapist.

Blaise cradled her chin and replied firmly, “Ginny, look at me. They're
fine.” He smiled, took her hand and pulled her towards the water. She
protested at first but let herself enjoy the moment.

They were drenched since Blaise insisted on splashing them with water, but
they headed to the outside bar and hoped the weather was hot enough to dry
their clothing. Halfway there, an odd ringing interrupted the peace, and
Blaise fetched a mobile phone out of his pocket.

A loving smile crept onto his face, and he informed Ginny, “Oh, it's Daph.
I've got to take this.”

“Of course, I'll order for us,” Ginny acknowledged with a smile and made
her way to the bar. She ordered a round of tequila shots.

The call connected, and Daphne was exhilarated, “Hi, darling.” She missed
her husband, and being away was tricky, but sacrifices had to be made for
the children's sake.

Blaise reciprocated with a genuine answer, “My love.” Daphne was his
saving grace. She kept him centred and whole.

He asked, eager to know about back home, “How's everything?” If it

weren't for Draco, he would've cut the trip short and left. He was having a
good time, but the guilt that Daph was missing out when she deserved a
break was eating away at his conscience.

Daphne sighed, “All good. The children miss you terribly.”

Blaise responded cheekily, “Only the children?”

Daphne giggled, “My feelings go without saying.” She was tempted to tell
him to chuck his friends and come home.

Instead, she inquired curiously, “Are you having fun?”

Blaise ignored the bar's noise and shrugged, “It's okay, not the same without
you.”

Ginny appeared with two small shot glasses and yelled, “Blaise, come on!
It's your turn.”

Blaise tried to cover the mouthpiece, but it was too late. The damage was
done. Daphne had clearly heard the invitation.

Daphne felt her heartbeat hasten, and all she could manage was confusion,
“Oh?”

Blaise almost fumbled the phone, he spoke urgently, “I have to go, love. I'll
ring you later.”

“What?” The line went dead, and Daphne stared at it, speechless. She
fought the urge to call him back and demand an answer.

Hawaii

After they saw a drunken Theo back to his room, they were greeted by a
rather pale-faced Luna in a bathrobe, nursing a chocolate milkshake.

Theo slurred, “I love you, Lovegood.”

Luna giggled, “I love you too, darling.”

Hermione asked in concern, “Are you feeling better?”

Luna replied rather happily, “Oh, yes! Loads better.”

Theo stumbled into the room, and Luna opened the door wider and invited,
“Do you two want to come in?”

Draco politely declined, “We would love to, but unfortunately, Granger is
helping me with some ministry-related work.”
Luna was no idiot. She winked knowingly, “Of course, I completely
understand. See you in the morning.”

Hermione could make out Theo removing his clothes and falling onto the
bed. Poor bloke, she thought at once.

Draco and Hermione didn't get far since his phone vibrated, indicating he
had received a message. He took it out, clicked on the fluttering envelope
that appeared on the screen and couldn't help but smile.

The message was from Hannah, and it read, “Have you shagged Granger
yet? ;)” Clearly, she was home and had some time to kill. Draco often
wondered if Abbott was lonely.

Draco hurriedly replied; he wasn't as fast as typing like his peers; he was
still getting the hang of it, “None of your business, Abbott.”

Her reply was almost instantaneous, “I've got loads to fill you in on when
you return.”

He tried his best to type faster, but unfortunately, his efforts were subpar at
best, “Tell me now.”

Her message came back at once, “Alright. Shall I call you?”

Curiosity got the best of him, and he confirmed, “Sure.” He became

oblivious to the fact that he wasn't alone until Hermione coughed purposely
to make her presence known.

Turning to face her, Draco said hurriedly, “Listen, I've got to take this. I'll
see you at breakfast?”

Slightly taken back, Hermione stepped back and showed indifference, “Oh,
yeah, sure.” What the fuck?

The next moment, the phone rang, and Draco connected the call. He turned
away, walked down the empty corridor, leaving Hermione alone and said to
Hannah, “I'm all yours, love. Go on.”
Hermione stood frozen to the spot and fumed. He had plainly dismissed her
without a second thought, and she wasn't overly fond of playing second
fiddle.

London

Daphne pulled Adam onto her lap and kissed his forehead. The book she
was reading slipped from her grasp, and she fell into a disturbing daydream
regarding infidelity and Blaise leaving her for some unknown woman. The
pain that travelled through her was too much to bear.

A sweet, concerned voice pulled her out of the frightful dream, “Mummy!”
It was her observant daughter, Carrie.

Daphne composed herself and responded, “Hmm, yes?” She could not
appear a mess in front of her children.

Carrie handed her the book and giggled, “The story, mummy.”

Daphne smiled broadly, “Oh, I'm sorry, my darling. Where was I?”

Carrie turned the pages and settled on a brightly illustrated page, “The
fairies were giving the little Princess a gift.”

Daphne let her insecurities slip away and gave her children undivided
attention, “Of course. Let's see now…”

Hawaii

Hermione knocked on the door, and a freshly showered Ginny in a bathrobe

opened it. She was applying moisturiser to her hands and face.

“About time,” Ginny exclaimed. She had been worried about her friend and
was quite relieved to see her.

Hermione collapsed into the nearest chair and let out a sigh, “I'm
exhausted.”
Ginny nodded in agreement, “Me too. My feet hurt.”

Hermione wasn't listening to Ginny; she wondered about Malfoy and

Hannah.

Ginny took in her friend's dreamy, glazed-over eyes and asked excitedly,
“Oh, did something happen? Have I won the bet?”

Hermione snapped out of her daze and replied hotly, “Not yet, but I daresay
you would have if Theo hadn't interrupted us and begged us to keep him
company.”

Contempt and annoyance laced her following words, “Afterwards, I was

rudely dismissed by Malfoy when Hannah called.”

Ginny made a disappointed face, “Ah, bollocks.”

Hermione spoke about Theo and his concerns, “The poor bloke is going
mental trying to figure out what the matter is with Luna.”

Ginny raised a sceptical brow, “Yeah, I thought Nott was a genius?” It was
utterly bizarre to her that he hadn't figured out that Luna was pregnant.

Hermione felt the need to defend the poor sod, “Well, he is, but I guess he's
woefully unaware of all these other things relating to women and such.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, “Or he's in bloody denial. Luna is pretty obvious.
She's just not said it out loud.”

Hermione pushed herself off the sofa and shrugged, “I guess he'll find out
soon enough.” She needed a bloody shower after putting on that dreadfully
smelly helmet.

However, Ginny was evidently not done talking about Draco. She grinned,
“Back to Malfoy.”

“Oh, why?” Hermione whined. She had about enough of him for one day.
A devilish glint flashed across Ginny’s eyes, and she prudently suggested,
“Why don't you wear something delectable, pick up a bottle of wine and
offer to tuck him in for the night?”

Hermione was outraged, “Desperate much? I will do no such thing.”

Ginny was far too tired to argue. Instead, she got between the sheets and
said, “Well, I'm knackered. Goodnight, love.”

Still, without going straight to sleep, she switched on the television and
settled on a lively talk show.

Hermione said thoughtfully, “Goodnight, Ginny.” Maybe a visit to Malfoy

wasn't such a bad idea.

She stood under the spray of warm water and sighed. The water washed
away many things, including Malfoy's presence on her body. Although, his
kisses and caresses were embedded in her mind.

Hermione was hurt that he would disregard her so quickly. She knew he
wasn't obligated to her, but there was such a thing as good manners.

She wrapped herself snugly with a white towel and stepped into the room,
eager to ask Ginny about her spending the day with Blaise, but found the
woman sound asleep with the TV blaring.

Hermione switched it off and picked up her book resting on the nightstand.
However, her head wasn't in it. She kept slipping into daydreams of Malfoy
and herself until she eventually gave up on reading and commanded sleep
to consume her.

Draco plopped down on the bed, summoned the remote with a wave of his
hand and flipped through the channels. With a hand behind his head, he
settled on an American movie. His conversation with Hannah had
contributed to his happy mood. They were so close to catching the killer he
could almost taste victory.
A bushy-haired Julie Roberts appeared on screen, and he was instantly
reminded of Granger.

He frowned. Stupid drunk Theo. Although he had noticed Granger hanging

about after they saw Theo back to his room

A sharp realisation struck home, causing Draco to sit up straight and smack
his forehead hard.

Bollocks. Had he gone and fucked it up? Obviously, she was waiting to be
invited back to his to finish off what they had started earlier, but Hannah
had called, and his attention had shifted from sex to work.

He gritted his teeth in frustration and groaned into the nearest pillow.

Hawaii

Group activities kept them busy and unable to have a private moment. This
was precisely what was wrong with group activities. No one had the
freedom to do anything alone. Breakfast had been strained and hurried since
they were late to join one of the best tours the hotel offered.

Most travellers visiting Hawaii were drawn to what was sometimes called
the "bookends of World War II in the Pacific." The USS Arizona bombing
and the attack on Pearl Harbour marked the beginning of it, while the USS
Missouri Instrument of Surrender was signed at the end. The ideal method
to view the two significant Pearl Harbour locations was on the Remember
Pearl Harbour Tour.

Draco watched Hermione intently as she moved from exhibit to exhibit,

absorbing all the information and taking down notes while studiously
ignoring him. He couldn't help but smile at her diligence. Still, someone
ought to tell her that there wouldn't be an exam afterward.

He recalled her younger self in a somewhat frumpy school uniform, eager

to answer every question directed at them by their professors. She was a
truly brilliant witch.
Blaise snorted, “Why don't you go talk to her, mate?”

Draco muttered, “Hmm, I should. Excuse me for a second.”

Blaise rolled his eyes. He wished he was elsewhere, preferably engaging in

some fun activity.

Theo yawned for possibly the hundredth time. He was so bored. His idea of
a holiday didn't necessarily involve lengthy visits to museums.

“Blaise, take a picture of me against this memorial,” Ginny asked in a

carrying voice, and Blaise smiled and hurried over to comply.

Draco came up behind Hermione and whispered, “Enjoying the tour?”

Hermione almost jumped out of her skin. Yet, she held her own, showed
utter indifference and replied, “Yeah, it's interesting. Especially the bits
about Pearl Harbour. I had no idea so many people gave their lives on that
fateful day.”

She thought it would be fun to tease the man and said rather seductively, “I
must confess, I wanted to come by your room last night.”

Draco felt his heart slam against his ribcage. Still, he kept calm and
responded eagerly, “Oh, why didn't you? I could've gone for a drink and
some company.”

Hermione shrugged nonchalantly and said, “I figured we could've picked up

from where we left off, but obviously, Hannah was more important.” She
had intended to pinpoint his mistake from the previous night.

Draco responded with adequate exasperation, “Granger, Abbott is my

partner. Nothing more or less. Still, I'm sorry I got caught up in work. I
assure you, darling, it was not intentional.”

He pressed into her back, trailed his fingers down her back and drawled, “I
want you.”
Hermione moved away and scolded under her breath, “Stop it. Besides,
your actions speak otherwise.” She was trying to listen to the guide,
passionately explaining about each vessel that was struck.

Draco held her firmly in place and argued, “You aren't easy to please,
Granger. You've done plenty to snub me. Flirting with some random man on
our first day here stands at number one.” The words left a bitter taste in his
mouth.

Hermione blushed. Still, she brushed it aside, “It was harmless. However,
good things don't come easy, Malfoy. You best remember that.”

He chuckled, playfully kissed the top of her head and said, “I truly do enjoy
our banter.”

His tone turned deadly severe and husky, “I always win, Granger. You best
remember that.” His fingers brushed against her bare skin, leaving her
flustered and tender.

She stayed with Ginny, Neville and Luna, who was fit enough to join them
for the rest of the tour around more historic spots in Hawaii. At times, she
couldn't help but glance in his direction.

More often than not, Hermione caught him looking at her. The Slytherin
men joked, played around and seemed to be having a merry time.

Ginny, being an extrovert, was quick to join the band of brothers indulging
in street food and beer. Hermione smiled. Ginny was having a lovely time,
and it was highly deserved. However, she couldn't help but wonder how
Harry was fairing with James.

Avery Manor

Antonin Dolohov sat at the head of the table at Avery Manor. Julius had
graciously opened the doors to his home and provided a much-needed
haven for the once-fallen dark wizard, much like the Malfoy offering their
home to Voldemort, although that was against their wishes.
Unlike the darkness that plagued Malfoy Manor during Voldmort’s
occupation, Avery Manor was well-lit and immaculately maintained.
Dolohov had no intention of covering the world with blood and darkness.

Blood would be split, but only where necessary. He would gladly strike
down anyone who opposed him.

He wanted to bring the world to heel under his leadership and make known
that werewolves were dominant yet mindful, competent creatures with
much to offer.

He had discarded his mask and made his true self known to his followers.
However, his renewed purpose and the fact that he was indeed a werewolf
he kept secret except from a trusted few. The wizards under his command
were still bigoted fools who would not abandon him but follow him out of
fear and not loyalty should they discover his true state.

Masked wizards sat around him, listening to and hanging on every word he
uttered. It felt glorious to be followed without question, but he was
intelligent, not some power-hungry fool like Voldemort had been.

Antonin gestured with his chin to the black and blue card near him and said
in a low carrying voice that reached the very corners of the room, “Extend
an invitation to Malfoy.”

Goyle was the first to protest. His voice thundered with what he believed to
be a plausible reason, “My Lord, he's training to be an Auror and taking
Granger as his wife. He cannot be trusted.” He was still bitter after their last
meeting when it almost came to blows between them. It would have given
him immense pleasure to watch Malfoy bleed.

Dolohov kept his composure and explained most calmly, “It is precisely for
those reasons that he would make a more valuable asset than you all
combined.”

Goyle sneered, “I've met him. He's not the same. I think all this fuss over
him is a fucking mistake.” He was no child and would not fall in line like
some mongrel dog.
Antonin rested his back against the chair, brought his gloved hands together
and smiled cynically, “Are you questioning my orders, Goyle?”

Goyle felt the air leave his lungs and windpipe constrict, making breathing
nearly impossible. He gasped for breath while the others, except Dorian,
moved away from the table and watched, horrified and helpless.

Finally, he managed a strangled reply, “No, Master.”

Julius sought to keep the peace and voiced his opinion, “Perhaps we can let
him in, and if the relationship turns sour, we can surely take care of it. Isn't
that right, Blackwood?”

Goyle coughed and the colour returned to his face. He gritted his teeth and
balled his hands into fists. Pure rage tore through him and it took all he
possessed to exercise restraint.

Dorian faked a smile, nodded almost lazily, but hurriedly agreed, “Not a
problem at all.” It infuriated him that they thought he was capable of
murder without remorse.

Still, Antonin was convinced that Draco would join and help further his
cause. Despite Narcissa’s betrayal and Lucius’s cowardice, the boy had
proved himself intelligent and resourceful, leading to Dumbledore’s
murder.

He said, “Once he learns of my return and our purpose, I have faith he will
see the light and obey me.” Malfoy would make a formidable werewolf. He
would mark the boy when the right time presented itself.

The heavy doors opened, and a man stumbled inside. Wet blonde hair
matted to his head, his eyes crazy and anxious. He straightened and looked
around frantically.

Dolohov stared the man down until he cowered and leered, “McLaggen,
you finally decided to grace us with your presence.”
Cormac fell on all fours like a dog and begged, “Forgive my tardiness.” He
prayed to all the Gods that he be spared the Cruciatus curse. His weak body
and mind would not be able to tolerate the punishment.

Goyle scowled, “Look at you man. You look like a right mess.” He knew
that look well. The man needed another fix to take the edge off—the true
markings of a person with a cocaine addiction.

Montague slowly got to his feet and beckoned the fallen man to his side,
“Come along, Cormac. I've got a little something for you.” He pulled out a
tiny, expensive-looking pouch, and McLaggen's greedy eyes landed on it.
He salivated with the overwhelming need to consume the white power, but
before their eyes, the velvety pouch caught on fire, and Montague was
forced to let it go with a terrified yelp.

Dolohov narrowed his eyes and hissed darkly, “Enough! I will not tolerate
the usage of drugs during my proceedings. Substances are for weaklings.”

Julius threw Montague a look of disgust and pursed his lips. Spoiled brats
living off their families' wealth. He tolerated the distribution at the club
because the profits from selling were too much to ignore. However, he
never touched the bloody stuff himself but let his women enjoy a line or
two if they fancied, and most of them did.

Dolohov intently watched Cormac on the ground, hugging his legs to his
chest and sobbing hard.

The others tried to avert their gazes, but the sight was far too sickening and
pathetic to look the other way.

He spat viciously, “You disgust me, McLaggen. Your father, despite his
faults, is a man of honour and deserves a better man as a son.”

Cormac flinched. Just that morning, his father had yelled bloody murder,
demanding answers for all the missing money. Some he had used to fuel his
addiction, and the rest he had in a bag ready to be handed over as his
contribution to the revolution.
Goyle leered, “Maybe we should enlighten McLaggen senior about his boy.
Is your younger sister fairing well at the Ministry? She's quite young, isn't
she?” His mocking laughter filled the space.

Montague grinned. He had his eye on the youngest McLaggen. She was a
beauty and highly sought after. She would make a fine mistress to use as he
wished and ruin.

Cormac seemed to comprehend what was being said and weakly defended,
“No, please. Leave my family out of this.” His family was innocent. They
were not a party to his mistakes and wrongdoing.

Dolohov got to his feet and extended his hand. He delivered his words
carefully and with malice intent, “I will decide that. Show us what you've
brought.”

Hawaii

The guide that showed them around was a veteran and spared no detail
when exploring and explaining the historical sites in great detail. When the
tour ended and they returned to the hotel, it was nearly sunset.

Ginny removed her hat and fanned herself with it while trying to sit on the
high barstool. She mused, “I know you love all this history stuff, but by
Merlin, that man was a boring bastard.”

Hermione stifled a laugh and slid into the stool next to her friend. She
reached for the menu and scanned through the contents.

They were about to order when a slightly older man with grey streaks
running through his hair approached Hermione with a casual smile and
greeting, “Hi.” The man was extremely charismatic.

Hermione was taken aback for a split second since she had not expected it,
plus she was tired and slightly hungry from the day's activities. Still, she
forced a smile onto her face and responded, “Hello.”
Judging by the valuable timepiece around his wrist, the man was smartly
dressed and looked quite wealthy. Also, he had impeccable manners and
introduced himself, “I'm Daniel. May I buy you a drink?” He asked,
pointing to the contents of the well-stocked bar—no fuss, no unnecessary
flirting, straight to the bloody point.

Hermione was immensely flattered that a man of his stature approached her,
but somewhat reluctantly and ever so politely, she declined, “Thank you,
but I’ll pass.”

Daniel nodded curtly, “Of course. Have a good day.” He moved away and
out of sight.

Ginny gushed, “He was cute, Hermione.” She drank her bright blue
concoction through a straw.

Hermione sighed, “I know. He’s my type too. Did you notice the eyes?”

Ginny nodded vigorously, “Baby blue, almost grey.”

A husky voice of jagged steel interrupted them, “Making friends?”

Hermione shifted in her seat and said, “Hmm, yes, well, no harm done.”

Draco tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear and quipped, “Can I buy
you a drink?”

Hermione tilted her head and mused, “You can buy me an entire bottle of
vodka.”

Draco laughed, “If that's what you wish.” He signalled for a bartender.

Hermione rolled her eyes and stopped him from making a pricey purchase,
“Don't be ridiculous.”

He took her hand and moved his thumb soothingly over her fingers. He
noticed the exquisite engagement ring and half smiled, “The stone has
returned to its original colour. Are you content?”
Hermione blushed and snatched her hand back, “I have no reason not to
be.”

Draco moved close and whispered, “Any nightmares recently?”

Hermione covered his mouth, looked over her shoulder and thankfully
found Ginny engaged in a lively conversation with Blaise.

She locked eyes with the imposing ice blonde determined to complicate her
life and scolded, “Not so loud, and no, I've not been visited by your bitch of
an aunt.”

A bartender interrupted them, “Excuse me, sir. Compliments from the lady
across the bar.” He pushed a tumbler towards Draco. The amber liquid
within resembled whiskey and had the markings of an expensive blend.

Draco was surprised but managed a suitable retort, “Oh, thank you.” He
merely glanced in his admirer's direction since he was far more invested in
listening to his soon-to-be wife.

He kept the glass of scotch aside and insisted, “You were saying?”

However, Hermione stared metaphorical daggers at the woman who sent the
drink. She was quite pretty with a lovely tan and long blonde hair. Her attire
showed she knew fashion and how to dress and conduct herself.

She said with contempt and jealously, “She's beautiful.”

Draco followed her gaze and smiled, “Hmm, I guess so, in an American
way. Not my cup of tea.”

Hermione injected with her observations, “She has been staring at you all
through breakfast and dinner since we arrived.”

Draco was shocked by the revelation and vocalised his thoughts, “And how
exactly do you know that?” He hadn't noticed her at all.

Hermione frowned and threw him a dirty look, “Because I have eyes.”
Honestly, was he pretending or daft? It was baffling.
Draco ignored the last comment and stirred the conversation towards more
positive things, “I had fun with you yesterday. Care to give these sods the
slip?” They were rapidly running out of time and had about a day or so
before returning to England and their utterly complicated lives.

Hermione ordered herself a rum and coke and answered cockily, “So did I,
and no.”

Draco moved closer and insisted, “Granger, I want to spend the night
together.” He had blown the chance the night before but intended to rectify
his costly mistake.

Well, he didn't beat around the bush.

Hermione sipped her drink and snorted, “Right. Until something more
important comes along.”

Draco sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He had
obviously touched a delicate nerve, and she was making him pay for his
stupidity.

They had been so wrapped up in their conversation that they hardly noticed
everyone else moving towards the beach until Ginny shouted, “Hermione,
come on! Let's go for a walk on the beach. The sunset is exquisite. Malfoy,
do you want to join us?”

Draco stood his ground and said, “No, I'm fine here, thanks.”

His fingers closed around Hermione’s wrist, and he insisted, “Stay with me,
Granger.”

Ginny called out once again, “Hermione!”

Conflicted and wanting to teach him a lesson, she broke free from his hold
and said, “I'll be right back, Draco.”

Draco scowled, “Fine.” He turned his back on his friends, picked up the
tumbler of scotch and drained it with one gulp before ordering another.
Hermione pursed her lips and followed Ginny. She wasn't responsible for
him, especially when he disregarded her at the slightest diversion.

Draco frowned. He heard a soft voice behind him, “Hi, I hope I'm not
intruding.”

It was the woman from across the bar. He wiped his mouth with a napkin
and smiled broadly, “Not at all, and thank you for the drink. Please allow
me to return the compliment.”

The woman smiled sweetly and slid into the highchair beside him, “You're
too kind. Marlon, I'll have a Sex On The Beach.”

Marlon snapped to attention, “Coming right up, Miss Summers.”

She eyed the man she had practically been stalking and mused, “Clearly,
you're not from here.” He was undoubtedly more handsome up close. The
dangerous and forbidden kind

Draco smirked, “I'm on holiday with some friends.” He rested his elbow on
the bar counter and gave her his attention.

He held out his free hand and introduced himself, “Draco Malfoy.”

She confidently shook his hand and followed suit, “Jennifer Summers.” His
name was unique and suited him well.

Draco raised a curious brow, “Summers?”

The orangish cocktail appeared, and she took it before answering, “Yup.”

He was intrigued by her attitude and outstanding confidence, “Refreshing.”

Jennifer licked her bottom lip alluringly and leaned forward, “So, Draco,
tell me a little about yourself.”

Hermione stared into the distance. She could make out Neville and Pansy.
They looked so in love and committed. It was hard to picture.
Neville lovingly kissed his wife, and Pansy brushed his hair back and stared
at his face adoringly. Somehow, their exchange made Hermione's heart
ache. Until her divorce, she would not be able to experience that sort of
love and admiration, which made her sad.

Ginny noticed her friend’s sour deposition and gently nudged her, “Have
you two had a row?”

Hermione sighed, “Not really. He's, um, insistent, and I’m petrified.”

She added candidly, “Also, I'm punishing him for picking Hannah over
me.”

Ginny said with a definite roll of her eyes, “I doubt that’s what happened.
Well, if you need to be with him, do that. Join us later.”

Hermione felt butterflies in her stomach, and her heart fluttered excitedly,
“Would that be alright?”

Ginny chuckled, “Of course, you ninny.”

Hermione bit her lip and said, “I'm nervous.” She needed a drink to calm
her bloody nerves and make her relax.

Ginny knew her so well. She smiled and suggested right off the bat, “Have
a drink, and for Merlin's sake, do not overthink anything.”

She included with a knowing wink, “I hope you’re wearing the lacy black
knickers I saw tumble out of your bag last night.”

Hermione laughed aloud, “Ginny!” They had wandered quite a bit from the
hotel, and she set to the daunting task of walking back alone.

Draco asked in an attempt to converse, “So, what brings you to Hawaii?”

He was on his fifth scotch and slightly feeling it.

Jennifer tilted her head and smirked, “Business and pleasure. Are you
currently involved?”
Draco moved his hypnotic grey eyes over the woman before him and
replied with a hint of sarcasm, “You are bold. It's complicated.”

Jennifer crossed her legs and smiled rather slyly, “Ah, I guess I am, but I
know what I want and how to get it.”

Draco wasn't interested in whatever she was offering but played along for
the time being.

He mused, “Good to know.”

What was he doing? He was openly flirting with a woman he had just met,
and his impulsive actions could land him in hot water if he weren’t careful.

However, Jennifer pried. She wanted to know more about him,

“Complicated huh? That mostly means you’re free to do whatever you wish
without facing any consequences.”

How wrong she was.

Draco asked curiously, “Is this your first time in Hawaii?” He pointedly
stirred the conversation away from his relationship status.

Jennifer chuckled, “I visit all the time. Let me show you around the resort
and island. I know some spots even the tour guides don't.” She noticed his
hesitation to talk about his personal business, and her curiosity grew, but
she refrained from asking any more questions.

Draco moved away and politely declined, “I don't think that's a very good
idea.” Alcohol was clouding his judgment, but he knew leaving with this
woman would not work in his favour.

Still, Jennifer hopped off the stool, invaded his space and muttered, “Live a
little, Draco. The point of these trips is to have some fun.”

Well, she did have a valid point. He felt his resolve crumble, and before his
brain could step in and stop him from being foolish, he impulsively agreed,
“Lead the way.” He did want to see more of the island, and Granger seemed
busy. Besides, he would return shortly before anyone noticed his absence.
A small voice in his mind warned him he was making yet another terrible
mistake.

Hermione stopped to clean her feet since they were covered with sand. She
glanced over her shoulder in time and caught sight of Draco leaving with
the pretty American girl.

Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach, and she held back the tears that
threatened to spill over. She felt betrayed and instantly miserable.

London

Hannah shuffled through her papers and tidied her desk incredibly untidily.
It wasn't usual for her to come to work on a Sunday, but there was an
important reason and information to be gathered.

The Ministry was deserted except for a few employees who mumbled to
themselves and walked about carrying heavy loads of files and parchment.
She took the lift down to her desired floor and almost squealed with delight
when bright light greeted her.

She saw an older man wipe the glass bits of his spectacles.

Hannah almost yelled, “Burke! You got my message.”

Burke frowned and wiped his brow, “Yeah, about coming in on Sunday? I
did, indeed. The missus was ever so pleased.” After nearly thirty years of
marriage, he appreciated the call to work. He needed a bit of a break from
the chores and occasional nagging.

Hannah felt quite rightly horrible and apologised profusely, “I'm sorry,
mate.”

Burke smiled broadly, “Abbott, long time no see. What brings you down to
our paradise?” He liked Hannah. She was passionate about her job and a
tough broad.
Hannah pulled a package from her coat pocket, “First, I bought you a bottle
of your favourite scotch.”

Burke took the package, pulled out the bottle and grinned, “Aye, that's a
good lass.”

Hannah instructed, “Second, fetch two glasses because we're in for a long
day.”

Burke was taken aback. It was barely ten in the m, “Bit early, isn't it?”

Still, Hannah wasn't thrown off, she insisted, “Never too early for a good
drink.”

Burke fetched two glasses, cracked open the seal of the aged scotch and
poured them each a shot. He handed one to Hannah and said, “Aye! Tell
me.”

Hannah spoke very clearly, “I need everything on Arabella Flint.”

Burke replied thoughtfully, “Prominent family. It shouldn't take too long.”

Hawaii

Ginny walked beside Luna. The sunset was truthfully amazing, and Luna
seemed much like her old self, which delighted Theo.

She said gently, “Luna?”

Luna responded, “Hmm…”

Ginny asked directly, “How far along are you?”

Luna scanned the area for Theo and breathed a sigh of relief since he was
busy splashing water on Blaise. She turned to look at Ginny and replied
solemnly, “What gave it away?”
Ginny smiled tenderly, “Your behaviour. You haven't touched a drink.”
Luna could drink them under the table and be steady on her feet.

Luna touched her flat belly and smiled happily, “Six weeks, give or take.
It’s always so hard to be one hundred per cent accurate with these things.”

Ginny hugged her tight, “Congratulations.”

She raised a curious brow, “And Nott has no idea?”

Luna shook her head and responded rather miserably, “Not yet. I want to
tell him but don't want to ruin the mood.”

Ginny smiled and nodded, “I understand.”

Luna chewed on her bottom lip nervously, “I'm not really sure how he will
react.” She was afraid he would become angry and hurt her feelings. It was
her idea to have a child, and he had been somewhat reserved about the idea
from the start due to his horrible upbringing.

Ginny softened her gaze and offered sensible and reasonable advice, “Well,
I think you need to tell him despite what he might say. It'll be like ripping
off a bandaid.”

Luna looked at her husband playing in the water with Blaise and smiled.
Ginny was right. She had to tell Theo that in a few months, he was going to
be a father.

Ministry Of Magic

After nearly two hours, Burke emerged from the back room with a dusty
file balanced on the tip of his wand. He made it land on the table, sending
whatever contents flying.

He blew the dust off the cover, scratched the back of his neck and said,
“Ah, here we go. Sorry about the delay. There wasn't much on Arbella
except her birth and school records.” He pulled out the chair next to Hannah
and started to examine the old parchments with blotched ink in places.

Burke squinted and started to read, “Arabella Margo Flint. The second
daughter of Flint Senior and accomplished herbologist. Married to some
rich Russian Bloke…..”

A picture of her was attached to the file. She was in her Hogwarts uniform.
The symbol of Slytherin on her robes was clear as day. Hannah ran her
fingers over the picture and muttered, “She's beautiful.” The long, luscious
red hair stood out.

Burke flipped through the pages and said thoughtfully, “Hmm, that's
strange…”

Hannah snapped out of her daze and questioned, “What's up, Burke?”

Burke didn't sound pleased. He stated with a certain level of annoyance,

“She disappears from our records after that. I can't find any mention of her.
Most odd.”

Hannah widened her eyes in surprise, “What? How is that possible?”

Burke shrugged, “If they moved to Russia, it would make sense.”

Hannah was adamant. She insisted firmly, “But we know they’re here.
Wouldn't we be alerted to their presence in England?”

Burke leaned back in his chair and shook his head, “Hmm, not if they used
Muggle means to enter the country under assumed names. Plenty of
buggers have done it.”

Hannah sighed, “It is highly possible, but we must be sure….” They

couldn't catch a fucking break with this maniac.

Burke patted her on the back and offered reassurance, “Since you've been
such a good girl, I have a buddy at the Russian Ministry. Let me have a chat
with him and see.”
Hannah smiled broadly, “You're amazing. Thank you so much.”

Burke raised a curious brow, “How urgent is this?”

Hannah sighed. She responded gravely, “It's a matter of life and death.”
 Chapter 68
Chapter Summary

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Enjoy Chapter Sixty-Eight!

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London

The man sat at the bar at the Leaky Cauldron and nursed a drink. His
tolerance for alcohol wasn't the best, but he needed a drink to numb the
feelings of resentment bubbling inside of him, or else Sarah would be on
the receiving end of his terrible temper.

He sat at the very end, hoping no one would pay him much attention, and it
seemed to work since no one approached him or glanced his way. He went
the extra mile and kept the disfigured half of his face well covered. Even in
the magical realm, such a disfigurement wasn't expected and caused people
to stare at him, especially children. He hoped his child wouldn't be afraid.

He grew distant from his surroundings and thought back to his mother. The
money her parents had paid to get rid of them was running out, and her
madness and lack of compassion made it nearly impossible to hold down
any sort of job. Not that she would dare work for Muggles or live as one.
In her eyes, death was a far better option. However, she never asked for
another wand or even mentioned her old wand that was broken to bits by
her monstrous husband. Instead, she took solace in tormenting her son,
who, in her mind, was the root of all the horror.

It was his duty to provide for her and take care of her despite her savage
treatment of him. Without his father's presence, he had ceased raping her,
although he secretly watched her undress and pleasured himself over it. To
him, she was perfect.

Unbeknownst to her, he had found his way to Diagon Alley. He was no

simpleton. Quite the contrary, he was reasonably intelligent and deeply
obsessed with the magical world. As a squib, he could see what witches and
wizards saw but lacked magic. It was a cruel existence.

However, he had charmed his way into the good graces of an ageing witch
minding a small shop. She had taken pity and given him the job of looking
after the place in her absence. He could've left his mother to rot and lived
better if he wished. Perhaps, if he had taken that route, he might have turned
out differently, but he loved her and couldn't bear to be away. She wasn't
aware of his employment, nor did she pry how he earned money.

He remained at the shop for several years, working diligently and often
being ridiculed by certain patrons for his disfigurement. Until an undeniable
opportunity came knocking, and he set his sights on bigger targets.

A polite barmaid came over and inquired sweetly, “Are you alright, love?
Can I get you another?”

The man blinked twice and came crashing back to reality. It was nice to be
treated like a human being for once.

He was about to respond, but the movement of luscious red locks caught his
eye. He turned at once and caught sight of a beautiful woman conversing
with a handsome man who seemed entirely enthralled by his companion.
She tossed her lovely long hair out of the way and laughed. The sultry peals
of laughter invaded his space, and his lips curved upwards to form a slight
smile.
She was pretty and definitely his type, but he had Sarah, who was his
everything. Soon, she would give birth to their child, completing the
everlasting bond. Unlike his bastard father, he would lavish his child with
love and attention.

He preferred to stay home but ordered another round with a happy smile
plastered on his grotesque face.

Hawaii

Draco looked around the partially empty bar and restaurant, pulled out a bar
stool, and enthusiastically said, “Well, this is an interesting spot.” It was a
few minutes’ drive inland. They had a slight conversation and got to know
each other a bit better. She wasn't particularly interesting but better than
most, he supposed.

Unfortunately, the many glasses of scotch he consumed were doing his

thinking for him. It was not in his character to just leave with some random
stranger he met in a new place. Of course, he was perfectly capable of
fending for himself, but it was still reckless.

He wondered how Hermione was fairing and felt a wave of guilt wash over
him.

Jennifer gently settled on the high bar stool and giggled, “Isn't it? I come
here often.”

She smiled fondly at the bartender, waiting eagerly for their order and
instructed, “Brian, the usual, please.”

Brian smiled broadly, “Coming right up, Miss Summers.” He turned away
and grabbed a bottle of expensive champagne resembling Dom Pérignon
from the neatly stacked row of bottles.

Draco couldn't help but be somewhat impressed since she was charismatic,
“You seem to know everyone.”
They had arrived by car. She had simply walked out of the hotel, snapped
her fingers, and a chauffeur-driven, sleek black Mercedes Benz had pulled
up in a matter of minutes. Clearly, she was wealthy and not in the least bit
afraid to flaunt it. Of course, it didn't quite interest him since he had long
since renounced any fascination over materialistic items.

The driver eyed him sceptically while opening the door for them to get in,
and Jennifer caught sight of the perturbed man and mused, “Marshal, he's a
friend. Please stop analysing him. I assure you his intentions are noble even
if mine aren't.”

The man looked visibly ill and hardly convinced but held his tongue. The
bloke probably thought Draco was a good-for-nothing beach bum trying to
trap his beloved employer.

Jennifer shrugged casually, “I guess I do.” It was the world she was born
into, and she loved every second of it. The only drawback was it made it
hard to maintain a relationship or judge a person’s true intentions, but the
man before her seemed genuine and trustworthy. She felt instantly drawn to
him.

Brian placed the tall champagne flutes on the bar counter and expertly
poured the golden liquid into the glasses. Jennifer nodded her approval and
delicately held out a flute for Draco to take with a genuine smile, “I hope
you don't mind champagne.”

However, Draco sceptically eyed the glass in her grasp and politely refused,
“Not at all, but I don't think I'll drink.”

Jennifer pouted, much like a child, “Oh, come on! Please, for me?”

Draco chuckled, “Just one glass then.” He had indulged far too much on
this trip, and his self-control hung by an invisible thread. Once they were
back home, he would need to catch up on his meditation and training.

Jennifer smirked. One glass was all she needed.

He took the glass and held it gingerly by the stem. They clinked their
glasses together, and Jennifer made a short toast, “To new beginnings.”

Draco raised a curious brow but kept his true feelings on the matter hidden
as he sipped and savoured the richness of the champagne.

Hawaii

Hermione ordered a scotch neat and downed it. She stared into the bottom
of the empty glass glumly. After seeing him leave, she resorted to getting
horribly drunk to numb the pain that was ravaging her body. She wasn't
particularly pleased by her intense reaction to seeing him with another.

The sky darkened, and the beautiful lights that decorated the bar came to
light, adding a luminescent glow to the area. A few miserable hours had
passed, and Hermione still sat at the bar, striking up an animated
conversation with the bartender, who seemed genuinely interested and a bit
concerned. The woman had clearly had too much to drink, and he wondered
whether he should cut her off before she passed out.

Hermione ran her finger around the rim of the tumbler and smiled as the
friendly bartender pushed a bowl of salty peanuts towards her. He must
have figured she needed nourishment.

She grimaced, “Are these fresh?” She was mildly drunk but acutely aware
of the many fingers that dug around the bowls of nuts at bars, and she had
no intention of consuming ghastly snack items.

The barman laughed and reassured, “I prepared this bowl especially for
you, miss. I assure you no one else has had a taste.” He wasn't a native but
travelled from South Africa to make a better life for himself. What he
earned in tips alone was enough to support his family back home.

After walking the length of the beach to the point where massive rocks and
waves crashed against them, the illustrious group of witches and wizards
turned back and headed towards the comfort of the hotel.
Theo wiped his brow, “It's so bloody humid here.” He wished he applied
some cream to save his pasty white skin. For once, he longed for the
coolness of the London air.

Blaise nodded in agreement, “Yeah, mate. It gets under your skin.”

Luna and Ginny chatted among themselves, exchanging bits about

pregnancy and what to expect afterwards. At the same time, Pansy and
Neville were oblivious to their friends' presence and lived within their little
bubble entirely and utterly in love.

Hermione heard her friends' voices, but Theo’s tone of surprise made it to
the inner shell of her ear.

“Where the fucks Malfoy?” Theo inquired while approaching the bar. He
immediately ordered a drink.

Hermione smiled almost angelically and leered, “He’s off on a date.”

Blaise frowned, “That can't be right.” He had come behind Theo and heard
Granger.

Theo took a sip from his drink, licked his bottom lip and asked thoughtfully,
“Yeah, are you sure, Granger?”

Hermione hopped off the stool and scoffed, “Oh, I saw him leave with her.”
She settled her bill and gave the bartender a hefty tip. It was well deserved.
She made a mental note to inform the front desk of his outstanding
customer service.

Blaise and Theo swapped a worried look of sorts.

Ginny saw Hermione, and her eyes widened in surprise. She pulled her
friend aside and asked urgently, “What happened? I thought you were with
Malfoy.”

Hermione was unsteady on her feet and muttered so only Ginny could hear,
“I’ll tell you later. Right now, I’m famished.”
Neville had his arm around Pansy’s waist and addressed the group in
general, “How about we have dinner outside? The restaurant has a
wonderful open area, and we can see the beach.”

Theo kissed the top of Luna’s head and asked lovingly, “Is that alright with
you, darling?”

Luna nodded at once. She realised that she felt better out in the open rather
than cooped up inside. Her morning sickness seemed to be under control,
and she was grateful that her body was letting her enjoy at least one day
without being violently sick.

Blaise shrugged, “I’m fine with anything. I could eat a whole cow. I’m
starving.”

Ginny chuckled, “I’m with you, mate.” She thoroughly enjoyed spending
time with Blaise. He was hilarious in a sarcastic way and unafraid to speak
his mind.

Hermione was far away and couldn't be arsed where they ate as long as the
food was well prepared and tasty. When Ginny nudged her, she made her
thoughts vocal, “I don’t care.”

Everyone glanced in her direction with a pinch of sympathy and sadness.

They weren't overly thrilled with the way Draco was handling the situation.
It was clear his actions had some impact on Granger. She did her best to
show indifference, but her body language and eyes told a vastly different
story.

Neville took the lead and led them to the busy restaurant, where most guests
preferred the airconditioned indoor seating to the natural breeze of the
setting outside.

However, it was ideal, and everyone settled into their seats. After a few
minutes, they realised that guests returning to the hotel could cut across the
outside dining area using an illuminated pathway to avoid the crowd in the
lobby. It was pretty discreet and hassle-free.
Once everyone had served themselves, they sat down and began eating
except Hermione, who, despite herself, kept looking at the entrance. Her
eyes searched the crowd for that one familiar face. She hated herself for
looking for him but couldn't help herself.

Ginny looked over and found Hermione pushing bits of chicken and
vegetables around the plate and asked in concern, “Darling, are you alright?
You've barely touched your food.” She could tell from her friend’s
behaviour that she was moderately drunk and possibly on an empty
stomach.

Hermione impaled the closest piece of meat with her fork with unnecessary
force and exclaimed somewhat loudly, causing everyone at the table to look
her way, “I'm fine, Ginny. I swear. He's free to do as he wishes.” No one
had mentioned Malfoy, but she saw the need to share her feelings and get
some matters off her chest.

Blaise smiled slightly and said kindly, “Granger, I’m pretty sure it's not a
date of sorts.” He would have a stern word with Draco once he returned.
His behaviour was completely insensitive.

Hermione scowled. She was trying so hard not to show any emotion,
“Honestly, I'm good. Malfoy and I aren't a couple in any sort of way. He's
quite a free agent.”

A hardened voice of jagged steel sliced through the moment, “Am I now?”
The air around them shifted from vibrant to reserved.

Hermione felt a shiver go down her spine. Nervousness turned to anger

when she realised, he wasn't alone.

Blaise gritted out, “Mate, where have you been?” His eyes immediately
went to the woman standing next to Draco. She seemed daft and blissfully
unaware of any tension in the room.

Draco kept his composure and responded with little interest, “Sightseeing.”
When Jennifer suggested a more discreet way to enter the hotel, he had not
betted on running into all his friends having dinner.
Bollocks.

Besides, he had been gone for hours, much longer than anticipated. Still,
Jennifer was a hard woman to discourage, or he was far too weak-willed to
stand his ground and judging by the icy daggers directed his way by his
fiancé, he had royally fucked up.

Jennifer pointedly cleared her throat, reminding Draco of her existence.

Good manners finally kicked in and he politely introduced, “Oh, sorry. I
would like you all to meet Jennifer.”

She waved at them and smiled broadly in greeting before offering a well-
rehearsed apology, “Hi, I’m so sorry I kept him. It's completely my fault.”

She gazed adoringly into his face and batted her long eyelashes, adding
rather hotly, “I guess the time got away from us.” She touched his arm for
effect, and the intimate gesture was not lost on the people watching them
intently.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes to mere
slits. She was absolutely furious.

“Not a problem, love,” Theo quipped, but the utter look of smugness
vanished off his face when he caught sight of the stern look Luna had
bestowed upon him. He missed Draco’s darkened eyes staring angrily at
him.

Finally, Jennifer realised something was amiss. She ignored the rest and
asked Draco eagerly, “Yes, well, good night then, Draco. Oh, are we on for
snorkelling tomorrow?” They had discussed the event in detail, and she
looked forward to it. It would allow her to impress him with a two-piece
bathing suit that moulded perfectly to her shapely body.

Draco looked uncomfortable and fought to find the right words to reply
with, “Umm…”

Jennifer noticed his hesitation and quickly extended the invitation to

include everyone, “Your friends can join. That would be so cool.” She
smiled at the group, hoping for some positive reactions that never came.

She thought it prudent to sweeten the invitation and said, “Honestly, you
guys should totally join us. Daddy is letting me take out the yacht.” A trip
on a yacht in Hawaii was a dream come true for anyone. Of course, she had
no real idea about the group before her, except they seemed rather reserved
and annoyed by her presence.

Ginny rolled her eyes. Merlin, she was one of those. She was born with a
silver spoon right up the arse. Malfoy definitely had a type. The woman was
remarkably like Astoria Greengrass in attitude and personality, but the
Greengrass woman outshone her with her looks.

However, Draco smiled and reassured, “Why don't I call you in the morning
so we can talk about it?” He was never going to call. She had come onto
him quite strongly on the drive back to the hotel, and he didn't care for her
attention. Of course, he had only himself to blame by acting stupidly, giving
her false hope and omitting that he was indeed an engaged man.

Jennifer perked up instantly and giggled, “It's a date then! Awesome! I look
forward to it.”

Hermione was livid. She averted her gaze from the pathetic display and
stared into the distance. She could vaguely make out waves and turmoil of
them crashing into rocks. The destructive actions matched her internal
battle of feelings.

Draco ran his fingers through his hair and said politely, “Okay. Take care.”
He wished she would just leave well enough alone and go on her merry way
instead of lingering.

Jennifer beamed, “Great. It was nice to meet you all. Good night.”

She went on tiptoes and kissed Draco on the cheek while he looked utterly
uncomfortable, but it wasn't gentlemanly to push her away. The group
stared openly, and Hermione flagged down the nearest server and ordered a
double scotch with a splash of water and ice.
The pain was deep and visceral, like a physical ache in her chest. Hermione
felt a sense of loss as if a part of her was being ripped away. The betrayal
cut deep, leaving her feeling hurt and vulnerable.

Neville pursed his lips, and Pansy rolled her eyes. Draco was a certifiable
moron.

Theo chuckled and waited for the fireworks that would indeed follow, and
Luna looked rather sad.

After Jennifer left the area, Draco awkwardly pulled out the chair next to
Blaise and lowered his six-foot-two frame into it. Even though he didn’t
wish to draw attention to himself, everyone at the table, excluding
Hermione, was staring at him.

He leaned close to Blaise and asked quietly, “What did I miss?”

Blaise muttered in reply, but it was apparent from his tone that he was far
from pleased, “Draco, it might not be my place, but I’m going to share my
opinion nonetheless.”

Draco raised a curious brow and waited for Blaise to start talking.

Blaise didn't beat around the bush and came straight to the point, “What
exactly are you playing at?”

Genuinely confused, Draco responded with appropriate naivety, “I don't

quite follow you, mate.”

“Do you give a shite about Granger?” Blaise gritted out while glancing at
Hermione from the corner of his eye.

Draco responded without hesitation, “I do. Isn't that fairly obvious?”

Blaise scolded rather pointedly, “Then why the fuck are you off with some
skirt you just met?”

Draco sighed and argued, “It wasn't like that, Zabini. She showed me some
nice spots.”
Theo, who was within earshot and listening to the conversation, couldn't
help but chuckle. He mused, “I'm sure she did, mate.”

Blaise looked pointedly towards the entrance and enlightened, “You're an

idiot. Granger's been starting at the entrance and eaten nothing since we sat
down for dinner.”

Draco exasperatedly responded, “Blaise, Granger and I aren't in a

committed relationship and never will be, so you lot must accept it for
whatever it is and move on.”

However, Blaise was hardly convinced and stated his opinion, “Yeah? If
you say so, but you're in denial.” His friend was a complete buffoon. How
could he not see that Granger was affected by his behaviour towards
another woman? Malfoy was an intelligent man, but obviously not when it
came to matters of the heart.

Luna felt her emotions getting the better of her and said, “Draco, that
wasn’t very nice.”

Pindrop silence followed. Draco pursed his lips and averted his gaze.

Hermione drained her drink, leaned closer to Ginny and whispered, “I have
a headache, Ginny. I think I’ll call it a night.” She pushed back her chair
and got to her feet, but before she could leave the area, Theo asked in a
somewhat disappointed tone, “Leaving so soon, Granger? We were
planning on hitting a nightclub or two.”

She smiled, not wanting to be a spoilsport and answered, “You guys carry
on. I'm not feeling well.”

Theo tilted his head and said curiously, “Maybe you've got what Luna has.”

Luna almost choked on her beverage but somehow managed to hide her
reaction from her husband, who wasn't paying her much attention then.

Hermione mused, “Trust me, it's not that.” Her fiancé refused to sleep with
her. It would be impossible for her to conceive without his bloody help.
Ginny glanced at her friend’s plate and asked solemnly, “Hermione, are you
sure? I thought you were hungry.”

Still, Hermione insisted, “I need some fresh air, Ginny.” Which made little
sense since they were already outside, but it seemed like the most plausible
excuse. She slowly moved past the others, but a hand came out of nowhere
and grasped her wrist tightly.

“Are you alright, Granger?” Draco asked in a low voice, somewhat

hesitantly but with concern. His intuitive eyes roved over her while he held
onto her arm, awaiting an explanation.

Hermione hissed in unmistakable anger, “Unhand me this instant, Malfoy, if

you know what's good for you.” The rage she held at bay threatened to
break the barrier and spill onto the surface for all to see.

He let go at once. In all their time together, he had never heard that tone of
intense loathing in her voice. It was evident his callous actions had hurt her.

Ginny quickly rose and came to stand by her friend. She threw Malfoy a
look of pure annoyance and took a protective stance. Still, she mused, “I'll
come with you. If I eat another bite, I'll explode. Besides, I’m knackered.”

Hermione frowned, “Ginny, you should go with the others.” She felt awful
that Ginny would miss out on a fun night out because of her mood. Maybe
it would be best if they both went, and she could flirt with some random
man and hopefully make Malfoy jealous.

However, Ginny yawned pointedly and covered her mouth with the back of
her hand. She said sleepily, “Nah, I’m ready to call it a day.” She wasn't in
the least bit tired but would go to the ends of the earth to ensure Hermione
was okay.

Surprisingly, Blaise pushed back his chair, got to his feet and
wholeheartedly agreed, “Me too.”

Draco stared at Hermione, hoping to make eye contact, but she studiously
ignored him.
Theo was beside himself. He crossed his arms over his chest and
complained, “Pussies.”

No one paid him much attention except Blaise. Ginny and Hermione had
already left the area.

When Hermione made a detour and headed towards the lift, Ginny asked,
perplexed, “Huh? I thought you wanted to go to the beach and clear your
head.”

Hermione pushed the button and sighed, “No, I need a drink.” She had
nearly drunk her body weight in various alcoholic beverages, but still, the
pain of Malfoy’s betrayal pinched at her heart.

Ginny didn't argue. Instead, she offered the most plausible location to pass
out without shame or judgment, “Room?”

“Yeah,” Hermione replied with a slight smile. It was nice not to have to
explain one's actions.

Draco wasn't in the mood to return to the room, nor was he up for a whole
night of dancing and debauchery. Still, he convinced a completely sober
Blaise to accompany them.

Reluctantly, the father of two went along with the plan, which he was sure
to regret later. What he wanted was to retire to his room and call his wife.
He missed his family terribly and realised how incredibly lucky he was to
have Daphne and the children in his life.

Theo and Pansy took the lead and headed to an exclusive club catering to
the rich and famous. It was a pricey establishment but worth the money
spent. Still, Draco wasn't interested in the women who paid him attention or
the free-flowing alcohol. He wanted to check on Granger, but she had made
it abundantly clear that she wanted nothing to do with him.

He checked with Blaise, “Do you think I should talk to Granger?”

Blaise smirked, “Yeah if you want her to hex your balls off. She’s not happy
with you, mate.”

Draco argued, “I didn't do anything wrong.”

Blaise laughed aloud, “You bloody idiot! Do you actually believe running
off with some bird wasn't wrong?”

Draco frowned. He supposed his actions weren't without consequences, but

he hadn't intended them to be romantic.

Neville pulled Pansy close, and they danced while laughing and having a
merry time. They seemed to be the only people thoroughly enjoying
themselves.

Theo sighed. He had seen Luna back to the room before joining his friends.
She had briefly expressed disappointment in his childish behaviour and
wanted to rest, blaming it on her aching feet and slight backache.

He threw back his shot and immediately requested another. Turning to

Draco, he issued a dire warning, “Do not get married, mate. Run away
while you still can.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Blaise mused.

Theo scowled, “I don’t want to fucking talk about it.”

Draco figured he would fix things with his fiancé the following day when
everyone was sober and more in control of their emotions. He owed her an
apology for his crude behaviour.

Hawaii

Hermione sat cross-legged on the bed in her jogging bottoms and t-shirt,
popped a piece of chocolate into her mouth and asked, “Are you shocked
about Luna?”
Ginny broke off a large piece of delectable chocolate and shrugged, “Not
really. She's been wanting kids for a while now.”

Hermione nodded in agreement, “I suppose, but she seems petrified.”

Ginny sighed, “I guess she'll feel better about it once she fesses up to Nott.”
She was honestly surprised that Luna hadn't told her husband and couldn't
imagine keeping such a secret from Harry. When she suspected she was
pregnant with James, Harry had been in the bathroom while she did the
pregnancy test. Well, couples are different, she supposed, and Nott had a
horrific childhood.

Hermione stated openly, “He's going to be pissed that she didn't tell him.”
Nott was always the one to crack jokes, appropriate or not, and she couldn't
quite imagine how he would take the news.

Again, Ginny shrugged rather casually, “Well, Nott adores her. I doubt he's
going to lose his shit with her in her current condition.” If he acted poorly,
the marriage would end, and Luna would raise the child to be unique and
brilliant.

Hermione licked the melted chocolate off her fingers and nodded, “True.”

Ginny suggested, “Do you want to get that drink? I'm sure the minibars got
some stuff.” While her companions had drunk themselves to a standstill,
she hadn't indulged and wished to let loose in the room's safety. Besides,
she handled her alcohol well.

Hermione rolled off the bed and headed towards the minibar. She first
looked at the docket with the prices listed and widened her eyes, “These are
ridiculously priced.” Even by Muggle standards, the amounts were
exorbitant.

However, Ginny wasn't bothered and said, “Fuck it. I've got plenty of
money. I used to be an international Quidditch star, remember?”

Hermione smiled, “How could I ever forget how brilliant you were.” Ginny
had been on the fast track to instant fame. She was extraordinarily talented
and simply that good.

Ginny looked forlorn and sighed, “I miss it sometimes, you know? I wanted
to play for England. I was so close.” Her last words mirrored the
desperation and disappointment she sometimes felt. They had planned to
get pregnant after she made the national team and played on it for a few
years, but life would have other plans, and she embarked on another more
challenging journey—raising their beloved son.

Hermione completely sympathised, “I know, Ginny. Maybe you can get

back into it.” She knew Ginny would never agree, but she wanted to be a
supportive friend.

Ginny responded solemnly, “That ship has sailed.” She grabbed onto a
tummy roll and chuckled.

Hermione scanned the contents of the minibar and said, “Well, we've got
vodka and whiskey.”

Ginny smirked and said with purpose, “Hand me one of those small bottles
of vodka.”

Hermione fetched the assortment of bottles from the small fridge and
dropped them onto the bed with a playful smile, “Nice!”

Ginny twisted the cap off a bottle, took a swig and asked earnestly, “Now,
what's all this about? Is it about that girl?” Obviously, it was, but she
needed confirmation to offer appropriate advice.

Hermione toyed with a small bottle and sighed deeply, “No. Maybe. I didn't
handle it very well, did I?”

Ginny gulped down the remaining contents of the bottle and stated frankly,
“Well, it's hardly your fault. He's a wanker for just showing up with some
random woman, especially after his childish exit after breakfast the other
day.”
“True,” Hermione exclaimed rather glumly. It was the absolute truth Ginny
spoke, and she wondered if Malfoy was trying to make her jealous by
courting another woman.

A sudden thought came to Ginny's mind, and she asked urgently, “By the
way, isn't Malfoy supposed to be your bodyguard?”

Hermione scoffed, “He is, but since I insisted on sharing a room with you,
he placed protective charms around the room so he's alerted if I exhibit
signs of distress.” Funnily enough, it was him, and only he was causing her
any distress.

She added in an irritated tone of voice, “It's so bloody tiresome to be treated

like some helpless fucking child.”

Ginny defended her husband, “He's only following orders, Hermione. You
could be in real danger.” Harry would never take a threat on Hermione’s life
lightly. There had been many instances in the past in which Harry played
the role of bodyguard and watched over one of his dearest friends.

Hermione hissed, “Yeah, your stupid husband's orders.” She was certain
Goyle was over whatever sick fantasy plagued his mind. He could hardly
march up to her and assault her where she stood, probably surrounded by
hordes of people.

Ginny chuckled, “Funny, isn't it? That Malfoy is taking orders from Harry?”

Hermione gritted out, “It's bloody hilarious.” It was funny considering their
past, but Malfoy seemed to have no qualms about obeying his former
enemy.

Ginny said thoughtfully, “You must believe he's worth saving; otherwise,
you wouldn't have spoken on his behalf at the hearing.”

Hermione argued pointedly, “That was different. I was stating facts relevant
to the situation.”
“He seems changed,” Ginny said, offering Malfoy the benefit of the doubt.
The man before them now did seem to be the opposite of his younger,
horrid self.

Hermione had no choice but to agree but did so reluctantly, “He does, but
I'm going to approach this marriage cautiously. I cannot afford to let my
guard down and be hoodwinked.”

Ginny focused on another bottle and chuckled, “If you say so, Hermione.”

Undeterred, Hermione continued speaking about her insecurities, “He

scares me far worse than any other man I've ever encountered.”

Ginny laughed aloud, “You make him out to be some venomous creature.”

Hermione made a face. She responded with dripping sarcasm, “I wouldn't

be wrong. He is a snake, after all.”

However, Ginny asked sceptically, “Are you afraid he'll hurt you should
you open your heart to him?”

Hermione was appalled and defended profusely, “There will be no opening

up of anything. I will not get emotionally involved with Draco sodding
Malfoy.”

Ginny didn't mince her words and went straight to the point, “Hmm, a bit
too late for that, isn't it love?” She knew Hermione well enough to know
that she had feelings for Malfoy. She acted the same way when Ron started
dating Lavender.

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Don't start, Ginny.”

Still, Ginny pressed forward with a slight wink, “Do you find Malfoy
attractive?”

Hermione frowned and sighed, “I've already answered this question, Ginny.
Isn't it obvious?”
Ginny chuckled, “Humour me.” She was merely trying to get Hermione to
admit that she indeed fancied Malfoy, and it just wasn't about sex.

Hermione cried out in frustration, “Obviously, I find him attractive. Any

human, man or woman with functional eyes would find him attractive. He
is quite fetching.”

“Agreed,” Ginny said without a moment's hesitation. They weren't fond of

Malfoy, but he was definitely easy on the eyes.

Still, Hermione stood her ground and insisted stubbornly, “But let me be
clear. I'm attracted to Draco Malfoy's physical, umm, attributes but not his
personality.”

She further emphasised her point: "His appearance and certain mannerisms
get me going but nothing else whatsoever.”

Ginny opened another bottle of vodka and grinned, “What do you reckon is
his best feature?”

Hermione answered without skipping a beat, “His hands.” His hands were
strong yet tender, with fingers that moved gracefully. The warm and
inviting skin bore the marks of experience, hinting at a life well-lived.

Like rivers on a map, veins subtly traced their paths beneath the surface,
adding to the allure of his arms. Muscles, toned and defined, flexed with
each movement, showcasing both strength and elegance. When his arms
enveloped her, it felt like being embraced by a safe harbour, a place where
she could find solace and comfort.

“What?” Ginny responded with appropriate shock. She was baffled by

Hermione’s choice.

Hermione blushed. She knew her preference was a bit odd, but it made
perfect sense to her, and she explained best she could, “They are rough with
obvious hard work but gentle and soft when he touches me and don't get me
started on his long fingers and perfectly cut clean fingernails.”
Ginny nodded in understanding, “Yeah, you always were a bit of a
germaphobe.” She recalled Ron complaining about it. Of course, Ron was a
complete pig and challenging to live with.

Hermione sighed, “I suppose I am, but he's extremely clean and…she

paused for effect, “He smells so intoxicating.” His scent was a blend of
warmth and masculinity, with notes of sandalwood and cedarwood that
enveloped her in a comforting embrace.

It was a scent that lingered in the air long after he had passed, a reminder of
his presence and the allure of his essence. If she closed her eyes, she could
almost feel his arms around her, his breath against her skin, a whisper of
desire and passion. It was a scent that spoke of intimacy, closeness, shared
moments, and unspoken connections, leaving her longing for more.

Ginny covered her ears and started to giggle, “Okay, I've heard enough. You
really need to shag him.” She was beginning to feel the effects of the highly
compelling vodka.

Despite all the alcohol she had consumed, Hermione remained alert and in a
highly chatty mood. She declared, “Ginny, all this doesn't excuse the fact
that he is Draco Malfoy, bigot, muggle-born hater among plenty of other
things.”

Ginny said with a definite roll of her eyes, “It's just sex, Hermione. Just go
with the flow. Besides, if you let him, he will surprise you.” She was
undoubtedly sure that Malfoy would give Hermione a good run for her
money. He wasn't one to simp after her and yield without just cause.

Ginny laid down, propped herself up with her elbow and smirked, “Also,
I've made plans for my one hundred Galleons.”

Hermione threw a pillow at Ginny and laughed, “You haven't won yet, and I
doubt you will since he's got a little playmate.”

Still, Ginny did not change her mind. She replied hotly, “Oh, but I will. He's
been looking at you like he wants to pounce since we arrived. By the way,
weren't you supposed to make something happen?”
Hermione frowned and made a disgusted face, “You are incorrigible. By the
time I walked up to the bar, he was leaving with that American girl. I
thought we established that.” Her friend was drunk and not in the right state
of mind.

Ginny became wide-eyed with realisation, “Oh, so that's what happened.”

Hermione scowled, “They returned pretty late. I'm sure they did other stuff
amidst sightseeing.”

Ginny brushed her friend's suspicions aside and argued, “What? I don't
believe it. It's probably innocent, and Malfoy has no idea he's being a giant
knob.”

Hermione retorted, “I hardly think she wants to teach him knitting.” She
couldn't help the hearty chuckle that erupted out of her. Before long she was
laughing hard at the mental image of Malfoy knitting a jumper.

Ginny shook her head and frowned, “You two are morons.”

Exhausted and fed up with letting her life revolve around Draco, Hermione
pleaded, “Enough about Malfoy. Honestly, I would like to hear one sentence
without his sodding name.”

Ginny gave in and said, “Alright, alright, don't get your knickers in a
bunch.”

Hermione thought it best to turn the tables a bit and shake things up. She
adopted a rather sultry tone and questioned, “So, did you have fun with
Zabini?”

Ginny blushed crimson, “Yeah, it's been nice. He was always good fun.”
Their talk on the beach had led to some much-needed closure. She was
happy they could put the past behind them and move on as good friends.

Hermione grinned devilishly and teased, “Uhuh, I see.”

Ginny shot back, “Oh, shut it. Harry is my one and only.” She buried her
head inside the duvet and laughed while Hermione did the same.
London

Daphne poured herself a cup of tea and said, “I gather things are better
between you and Ron.”

Tracey followed suit. She added two sugar cubes to her cup and stirred. She
solemnly replied before siping, “Yes, I suppose they are. I love him, and
that's precisely why his fascination with his ex drives me insane. I doubt he
feels the same about me.”

Daphne was always the voice of reason and advised, “I'm sure he does,
darling. Just give him some time to come around.”

Tracey asked offhandedly, “Is Blaise having an enjoyable time?” She was
fond of her half-brother-in-law and wished Daphne was still with him in
Hawaii. It was unfortunate that Adam’s allergy had brought her back.

Daphne smiled fondly, “I'm sure he is. Draco arrived on Friday. I haven't
spoken to him since yesterday.” Not since he had unceremoniously hung up
on her without explanation.

Tracey couldn't help but ask. She wondered, “Don't you worry about what
he's doing?”

However, Daphne smiled and reassured, “I trust Blaise, Tracey. I always

have. He's never given me a reason to doubt him.” Still, the voice she heard
bothered her. Who could it possibly be? Maybe someone they met? But
somehow, it sounded familiar.

Tracey sighed, “You're so lucky, Daphne.” She was inspired to have a

marriage like her older sister. They were blissfully happy, and it was the
ideal relationship.

Astoria made her presence known and said softly, “Draco?” She had heard
someone mention her beloved.
Daphne glanced at her younger sister and nodded, “Yes, Tori.” Astoria was
more like her old self. She had taken to oil painting, which kept her mind
occupied and her illness at bay. Still, they worried and fussed over her daily,
hoping against hope that some miraculous cure would be discovered.

Astoria became dreamy-eyed and smiled but with a hint of sadness, “I miss
him. He hasn't called or sent word through owl post.”

Daphne and Tracey exchanged a look of concern. They had to be careful not
to mention Draco in their disturbed sister’s presence.

Daphne responded with a rather motherly tone of voice laced with love and
worry, “We know you do, darling, but try to forget about him. I know it's
hard, but it's for your own good.”

Astoria laughed rather manically, “Do you think I haven't tried? But I can't.
He's my soulmate.” She had tried to be happy with someone else for years,
but it never seemed to work out.

Tracey reached over and squeezed Astoria’s hand, “Tori, we hate to see you
this way. All broken up over a man.”

Astoria smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes, “I don't particularly enjoy
it.”

A well-dressed house elf announced himself and entered Greengrass

Manor's parlour. He carried a massive bouquet bigger than himself and held
it with incredible difficulty.

He walked over to Astoria and said timidly, “Miss Astoria, these just arrived
for you.”

Tracey teased, “Hmm, a secret admirer, Tori?” Astoria was constantly

receiving bouquets and presents from random men who fancied her. Despite
all that, she loved Draco unconditionally throughout the years and waited
for his return. Of course, she hadn't been celibate.
Despite her polished, well-put-together appearance, Astoria was a bit of a
wild child. She indulged in one-night stands if and only if the man in
question grabbed her attention.

Astoria offered the house elf a heartfelt thank you before accepting the large
bouquet of exquisite red roses.

Daphne giggled, “She's had plenty of those.” She turned her attention to her
son playing near the fireplace and instructed firmly, “Go play with your
sister, Adam, darling.”

The child protested but reluctantly obeyed his mother. He pulled his toy
truck behind him and disappeared.

Tracey touched the surface of the wrapping and looked impressed, “It's an
expensive bouquet. All roses. Is that gold on the wrapping?”

Daphne concurred and nodded, approving, “Whoever it is has exceptional

taste.”

Astoria rolled her eyes, “Will you two give me a minute to find out who it
is.” She urgently searched for a card of sorts, and sure enough, there it was,
buried deep within the thorns.

It was such an odd place to put a card. Maybe the intent was to cause pain.

Hopefully, she wouldn't cut herself on the lethal thorns of the fresh flowers.
She fished it out and opened it with some difficulty, but her heart sank to
the pit of her stomach.

Tracey chuckled, “Sorry, little sister, our lives have become so mundane
that we want to live vicariously through yours.”

Astoria gritted out in frustration, “Oh, Merlin.”

Her curiosity got the better of her, and she asked, “Not who you were
hoping for?”
Astoria hissed, “The one I'm hoping for is marrying a woman who hates his
guts.”

Tracey couldn't bear it any longer and insisted, “Well, who is it?”

Astoria said the name rather slowly, “Julius Avery.”

Tracey cried out in disbelief, “What the hell?”

Daphne widened her eyes and exclaimed, “The man from the Ministry?”

Astoria kept the flowers aside and nodded, “The same.” She was intrigued
but showed indifference.

Tracey couldn't help but be impressed by his determination, “He is

persistent. I'll give him that much.”

However, Daphne advised a touch sternly, “Turn him down, Tori. His father
is in Azkaban and a nasty man. I do not want you getting involved with
him.”

Astoria frowned, “I already did, Daph. It's clear he's hard to discourage. I
guess I'll accept his invitation to dinner and tell him to his face.”

Daphne strongly disagreed, “What? No!”

However, Tracey was more diplomatic, “Is that wise?” She knew her sister
had a mind of her own and was extremely strong-willed. It would be futile
to forbid her from doing anything.

Astoria mused, “I'm not afraid of him.” She didn't particularly care who his
father was or who he was, for that matter. She would give him a severe
tongue lashing for not leaving her alone as she had initially instructed.

Still, she thought back to their chance meeting. There was something
dangerous about him that got her mildly interested.

Knowing full well that she would get shot down, Tracey suggested, “Would
you like us to accompany you?”
Astoria laughed, “Don't be silly. I can take care of myself.”

Daphne couldn't help but wonder how the meeting would go. She fought an
internal battle with herself on whether to inform her parents. The man
wasn't some unknown; he was the offspring of a renowned Death Eater, and
the whole situation was disturbing, to say the least.

Hawaii

Throughout breakfast and most of the day, Hermione avoided Draco. She
was simply not ready to face him without an emotional outburst. However,
she was acutely aware of his mesmerising eyes following her every move.

The day's activities were over, and everyone was left to their own devices.
They decided to spend it by lounging by the pool and bar. They would be
leaving the following day, so it was prudent to spend the remaining time
wisely, soaking up the sun and indulging in some fruity cocktails and
beverages.

Hermione emerged in a daring red bikini that barely kept her decent. She
had saved the best for last. Nearly everyone did a double take. Her curls
added to the appeal, making her appear unbridled and wild.

Draco saw her and frowned. His eyes darkened, and it was evident by the
change in his disposition that he was far from pleased with her choice of
swimwear.

Theo released a low whistle of appreciation, and Blaise nudged him in the
ribs, knocking the wind out of him before Draco heard.

Pansy, who had been dozing off, removed her shades and exclaimed, “Wow,
Granger. I didn't know you had it in you.” The Gryffindor Princess had
filled out. The bikini top hardly covered her breasts, but the whole get-up
was tasteful and nicely put together.

Hermione smirked and responded tartly, “Times have changed, Parkinson.

We aren't the same people we were over a decade ago.” The attitude was
unnecessary, but she wanted to make a valuable point. Her interactions with
Parkinson had been severely limited up until now.

Pansy retorted with a dash of sarcasm, “Hmph, I wish you extended that
same courtesy to Draco.”

Hermione turned to face the ex-Slytherin girl who almost gave up Harry to
Voldemort and sized her up.

She cocked her head to the side and replied with a bit of annoyance
creeping into her tone, “It's not that easy, Pansy.”

Still, Pansy dismissed the swift explanation and insisted, “If Neville and I
can do it, so can you both.”

Hermione laughed and stated frankly, “Whatever you two had going on
pales compared to my past with Malfoy. It's easy for you to say forgive and
forget, but some scars are more than skin deep.” Her hand went to cover the
gruesome words carved into her flesh by Bellatrix.

Pansy softened her tone, “I understand your predicament, but at least be

open to the fact that he isn't the Draco Malfoy we all knew.”

She looked towards the far side of the bar, and Hermione followed her gaze.
Ginny, Draco, Theo and Blaise were at the bar, sharing drinks and a good
laugh. Apparently, something Theo said had them all cracking up.

Hermione caught sight of the man she met at breakfast. He was

accompanied by the woman Malfoy had gone off with the previous evening.

It was apparent Draco saw them because his body language changed, and
without a further word, he dove into the pool. He penetrated the surface
with barely a sound, creating a small ripple that quickly dissipated. The dive
was executed flawlessly and he vigorously swam laps, hardly coming up for
air.

Hermione avoided him altogether. Instead, she kept her eyes on Ryan, who
returned the compliment with a slight smile plastered on his face. He
seemed to remember her.

The man was undoubtedly interested in her and made it quite apparent to all
around them since he kept staring at her without bothering to conceal his
intentions.

Hermione laid back on the sun lounger, slipped on dark sunglasses, kept her
eyes trained on Ryan and sighed. He was charming, and she loved the way
he dressed.

Her concentration was broken by cold water droplets landing on her

abdomen. The skin where they touched wrinkled, and she looked for the
source with a frown on her face.

Draco ran a hand through his wet hair and stared down at his scantly
clothed fiancé with a disappointed, puckered brow.

He didn't mince his words and said darkly, “Eyes on me, Granger.”

Blimey, where had he come from? Hermione thought at once and became
somewhat flustered and bothered by his presence.

Still, she answered boldly and somewhat flirtatiously, “That isn't

particularly hard to do, considering you are easily one of the most
handsome men here.” Her eyes slowly roved over his body. Aurors were
generally fit, but she knew his training in Kung Fu shaped his taut physique,
and perhaps training for Quidditch kickstarted it all.

Draco sat by her feet and smirked, “Good to know that generations of
inbreeding haven't had any effect on me.”

Hermione relished the opportunity to shed light on any matter regardless of

the situation and quickly recited, “As mortifying as it sounds, it has been
practised since ancient times. The Egyptian royals, in particular, married
their siblings in order to keep their bloodlines pure. Horrible decision since
it led to multiple congenital disabilities and psychological problems.”
Draco pulled her large towel towards him and used it to clean himself
despite her protests. He grinned, “Not the smartest thing to do.”

Hermione recalled being frothing mad at him and glared, “Well, times were
different then. It's frowned upon now.”

Jennifer waved at Draco, desperate to catch his attention, while Ryan helped
himself to a tumbler of what looked unmistakably like scotch.

Draco obliged by waving back. It was a decent thing to do. She had left
multiple messages for him to call, but he had been busy, and it completely
slipped his mind.

Hermione asked before she could help herself. Her voice was laced with
evident frustration and a smidgen of anger, “Did you have fun with your
American?”

Draco thought it best to answer honestly and responded truthfully, “As a

matter of fact, I did. She's been coming to the island since she was a
child….”

Apparently, honesty wasn't the best policy since his words profoundly
impacted the woman he was trying to appease. She seemed highly angered
by the truth.

“Oh, a whole fifteen years, how wonderful,” Hermione interrupted crudely.

The woman looked about Brenda’s age and right out of Hogwarts, but of
course, she was a Muggle.

Draco ignored her blatant attempt to get a rise from him and added, “And
she knows the best spots and places to eat. She took me to a little place
inland. It was fantastic.”

Hermione gritted out, “You went on a date?” Was he actually boasting

about his bloody date?

Draco rolled his eyes, “It wasn't a date, Granger.”

Hermione poked him hard in the chest with her foot, hoping to cause pain
and lashed out, “I can't believe you would entertain her this way.”

Draco argued with reasonable frustration, “You've been ignoring me for

most of this so-called holiday and eyeing the bloody Yank or other blokes. I
basically kidnapped you just to go see the sights.”

Hermione was absolutely livid, “You fucking hypocrite” How dare he try to
turn this around on her? Bloody wanker.

Draco sighed and conceded, “Look, I admit I made a poor judgment call
regarding Jennifer.” Well, if that wasn't the understatement of the century.

Hermione scoffed, “Glad to see your enormous ego allows room for
apology.”

He moved closer and muttered, “I thought you wanted to spend time

together. If I was wrong in my assumption, I apologise profusely and will
refrain from approaching you for the duration of the trip.” They would be
returning to London tomorrow, so what did it matter? All they had done was
bicker for the most part.

Hermione took the shades off and stared at him with considerable anger.
She hissed, “You pick other women over me, and I'm supposed to
apologise? This is bloody ridiculous.”

Draco argued defiantly, “I didn't pick anyone over you. Why must you
always assume the worst of me?”

Hermione shot back, “Because you keep proving me right.”

Draco sneered, “Besides, you've picked plenty of men over me recently, or

have you forgotten about the little incident in your office with Weasley?”
He was still bitter about that.

Hermione sat up and defended her actions with every bone in her body,
“That was Ron! The situations are vastly different. You can't possibly
compare my relationship with Ron to some bimbo you just fucking met.”
She didn't realise she was being loud until she caught sight of people
looking their way.

Draco looked absolutely disgusted. They would never be rid of her past
with Weasley. He shot to his feet, pursed his lips and turned away.

She sprang to her feet and caught hold of his arm, “No, Draco, please stop.
You do not get to walk away.” Her fingernails dug into his flesh, and she
felt him flinch.

Draco turned around. He easily towered over her, and while most would
have been intimidated, sadly, she was not.

He gritted out in frustration, “What?”

Putting her ego and anger aside, Hermione decided it was best to be honest
with each other and told him her true feelings, “I did,..I do, but I'm just
really nervous about being around you. I came back, but you left with her,
and I didn't know what to make of it.”

Draco felt his temper die down. He came closer and said, “How do you
think I feel?”

It dawned on him, and he urgently asked, “Wait, what? You came back?”

Hermione smiled, “Yes. Look, I'm sorry, Draco. Let's make the most of
what's left…”

He was about to reply when Theo’s dulcet tones cut through the somewhat
intimate moment.

Theo tried to drag Draco away, “Come on, mate.”

Draco barred his teeth and gritted out, “Theo, can't you see I'm busy?”
Honestly, was he doing it on purpose?

Theo shrugged and showed utter indifference, “What? You're just talking to
Granger.”
Idiot.

Draco warned, “Fuck off, Theo.”

He turned to the woman before him and insisted, “What were you saying,
Hermione?”

Blaise came up from behind with a sheepish grin and requested, “Draco,
mate, where are the keys to the bike?”

Draco sighed, “I left them in the room.”

He asked pointedly, “Can't this fucking wait?”

Blaise looked apologetic, “I'm afraid not. We need to return the bikes,
mate.”

Hermione cleared the air, “He's all yours, Blaise.”

Draco was fuming, “Excuse me for a moment, Granger.”

Theo quipped, “See? She knows how important friends are.”

With a mischievous grin, he added, “Thank you, darling, and might I add
how sexy you look in red.”

Draco heard enough and glared, “Shut up, arsehole.”

Theo crossed his arms over his chest and teased, “Do I sense a territorial
streak?”

Draco stepped closer, forcing Theo to take an involuntary step back and
issued a dire warning, “You sense my fiancé! Now cut it out, Theo. Before I
fucking thump you.”

He picked up the nearest towel, threw it at Hermione and instructed firmly,

“Cover yourself up.”
With those words, he stormed away, but Hermione didn't heed his words.
Instead, she addressed the others, “Um, thank you for the compliment, Nott.
I'll see you guys later.”

However, she took the wrap-around skirt she had brought, tied it around her
slim waist, and headed towards the bar to order herself a drink. Out of the
corner of her eye, she saw Ryan get up from where he was seated under a
private cabana and make his way towards her.

Ginny sensed trouble and made her thoughts perfectly vocal, “Whatever
you're about to do is not the solution, Hermione.”

Hermione parted her lips to reply, but a deep voice interrupted her, “We
must stop meeting like this.”

Hermione tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear and bit her bottom lip,
“Are you stalking me?”

Ryan’s lips curved upwards to form a cute smile, “Ah, I was wondering
when I might run into you.”

Hermione cooed flirtatiously, “Oh, were you?” She took the opportunity to
teach Malfoy a valuable lesson. It was petty and would probably backfire,
but she didn't care.

She made rather stupid decisions when her feelings had been hurt.

Ginny rolled her eyes and moved well away from the drama. She walked
along the beach and used the solitude to call Harry. He was managing
remarkably well, according to her mother, but she greatly missed her boys,
especially when surrounded by couples and families.

Ryan laughed lightly and briefly explained. He sounded sort of tired, "I've
been busy with a bit of business, but that's all over, and I can finally have
some fun.” He breathed a sigh of relief.

Hermione smiled, “Good news.”

He offered politely, “Can I get you a drink?”

The one in her hand was almost empty, and she was mainly sticking to
white spirits. She agreed with a drop of hesitation, “Um, yeah, sure.”
Maybe Ginny was right. Her paying Ryan attention might be taking things
too far, and it seemed unnecessary, especially after Malfoy apologised and
they agreed to spend time together.

Ryan tapped her gently on the shoulder and interrupted her thoughts,
“What's your poison?”

Hermione was taken aback, “Excuse me?”

Ryan chuckled, “What would you like to drink?”

Hermione gathered her wits and answered, “A rum and coke, if you don't
mind. Plenty of ice, please.”

Ryan obliged with a little bow, “Coming right up, milady.” He snapped his
fingers, and the bartender hurried to fill the required order.

They exchanged a few pleasantries, and one drink turned into two and so
on. Before long, they spoke about everything under the sun.

Nearly two hours later, Draco re-entered with Theo and Blaise, who had
returned their bikes and picked up the deposit. He looked towards the bar,
and the smile vanished from his face. He was not in the least bit happy with
what he was seeing.

Theo and Blaise joined Ginny and Luna at a table by the swimming pool.
They were drinking fruit juice and enjoying chicken sandwiches. Clearly,
Luna was famished since she kept shovelling food into her already cramped
mouth.

Ryan leaned forward and whispered, “Are you having a good time?”

Hermione smelt an earthy cologne; it was pleasant but did not affect her.
Still, she made no real effort to move back and replied happily, “The best.
It's so beautiful here. Especially the weather, it's gorgeous.”
Ryan nodded with understanding, “Yeah, London can get pretty cold. It’s
not my favourite place to visit.”

Hermione playfully punched his arm and reacted, “London is special. You
just need to know when to visit.”

Ryan smiled, “How about you enlighten me?”

Hermione giggled, “That would take a while.”

He looked around and said, “We make it a point to visit Hawaii yearly.
Sometimes twice.”

Hermione sighed, “Lucky you.”

Ryan looked into her eyes and muttered, “Yeah, this year has been one of
the best.”

Hermione took a sip and asked innocently, “Oh, how so?”

He boldly declared, “I got to meet you, didn't I?”

Hermione snorted, “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

Ryan laughed, “Only the special ones.”

He looked over to where his sister was and said, “By the way, my sister is
crushing hard on one of your friends. The tall blonde surfer-looking dude.”

Friends?

Hermione followed his gaze and couldn't help but glare, “I see. Isn't that her
speaking to him? I think they're already acquainted.” She wondered whether
she should mention her connection to the blonde dude but thought against it
for the time being.

Ryan smirked, “Yup! She's pretty bold.”

Hermione wasn't impressed, “I can see that.” Jennifer was attempting to
touch Draco, but clearly, he wasn't having any of it since he politely kept
moving away from her advances.

Ryan observed, “He seems to be into her.”

Hermione almost laughed in his face, “Oh, I doubt that.”

A DJ was playing a warm-up session, and people were already starting to

dance.

Ryan pointed towards the makeshift floor and asked, “Do you want to
dance?”

She was about to politely decline when a hand came out of nowhere,
grabbed her wrist and pulled her away. It took Hermione around a second to
register whose side she was standing next to.

Draco was mildly intoxicated and hissed, “Sorry, mate, but she's needed
elsewhere.”

Hermione broke free from his hold. She was livid, “You do not speak for
me, Malfoy. Know your place!” How dare he behave like some uncouth
brute?

Ryan eyed Draco with adequate caution but took the opportunity to dismiss
him, “I believe the lady has made her choice. Run along now.”

Draco ignored Ryan but looked at Hermione with conflicted eyes. He

smiled slightly, gave a curt nod and responded, “So she has. Enjoy
yourselves. I shall stay clear out of your way.”

Ryan offered Hermione his hand and asked, “Shall we?”

Anger clouded her judgement and she accepted without remorse, “I would
love to.” What was wrong with her? She was behaving like a complete
bitch.

Draco got himself another drink and disappeared into the crowd.
Ryan moved closer and whispered in Hermione's ear as they moved to the
music, “When do you leave?”

Hermione pouted, “Tomorrow.” She was truly sad to go since they would be
returning to a world of problems. Their break from the wizarding world,
although short, had been rather marvellous. However, she was keen to get
back to work and catch a serial killer. Her feelings were quite contradictory.

Ryan sighed, “That's a shame.” He wondered whether she could be coaxed

into staying back with him.

They began facing each other, their bodies close but not touching, eyes
locked in a silent conversation. As the music started, they moved towards
each other, their movements mirroring and complementing each other's.

Their bodies come together in a series of fluid movements, sometimes

close, sometimes with a tantalising distance between them. They used their
entire bodies to communicate – from the gentle touch of fingertips to the
press of hips and chests.

As the dance progressed, the intensity built. There was a push and pull
between them, a game of seduction played out through movement.

He bent his head to her ear. She felt his breath ghost over her skin and said
in a low voice, “I like you.”

Hermione smirked, “You hardly know me.” If she were single, she
would’ve given Ryan a chance.

Ryan smiled warmly, “I feel like I've known you my whole life.” He pulled
her close by her hips and bent his head to claim her very sensual lips.

Draco, who had been watching this whole time, was livid. His fingers
balled up to form hardened fists, but he kept composure. He played right
into Jennifer's hands in a moment of weakness and anger.

Jennifer had been watching Draco but was irritated by his lack of interest.
He was paying too much attention to some curly-haired tramp in a skimpy
red bikini. She needed to devise a plan to get him to her room and decided
to play a damsel in distress.

She walked over to Draco and grabbed his arm to steady herself, “Draco,
I'm not feeling well. Can you see me to my room?”

Caught completely by surprise, Draco peered into her face and said, “Oh?
Of course.”

Their lips barely touched, and Hermione backed away and swallowed hard,
“I'm sorry I led you on, but I'm kind of here with someone.” What was she
doing? She didn’t want this, and she didn’t want Ryan. How could she
possibly be this stupid?

Ryan frowned, “Would that someone happen to be the man my sister is

interested in and the same person who just tried to control you?”

Hermione looked away, ashamed by her behaviour and nodded, “As a

matter of fact, it is.”

Ryan mused, “I wish he were as loyal to you as you are to him.”

Perplexed, Hermione’s brow furrowed together, and she questioned

curiously, “What do you mean?”

Ryan delivered the news delightfully, “He just left with Jen, and I'm pretty
sure they've gone to his room.”

He shrugged, “I guess he couldn't be bothered waiting for you.”

Hermione felt miserable. This complicated situation was her doing. Malfoy
had started it, but she had undoubtedly finished it.

She immediately excused herself, “It was nice to meet you, Ryan.”

He didn't try to stop her but watched her leave with interest. He had known
she was engaged from the moment he saw her. The ring on her finger was
hard to miss. However, he couldn't quite put his finger on the type of
relationship they shared. It seemed to be an open one. Their behaviour was
proof of that.

London

Harry could hardly believe his ears, “Flint? The Strangler is of pure blood
origin?” They sat around his kitchen table, exchanging details about
ongoing cases. Thomas had come by early morning and dropped a
bombshell.

Thomas helped himself to another piece of toast and butter and replied,
“Hmm, Arabella was most likely his mother. His father is unknown.
Hannah is doing a thorough background check.”

Harry nodded, “That should provide plenty of answers.”

Thomas bit into the toast and agreed, “Indeed.”

Harry frowned, “Why didn't you inform me at once?”

Thomas shrugged, “You had your hands full with the children, and I wasn't
available.”

Harry raised a curious brow. What the fuck did that mean? The man was
married to the bloody job.

However, he insisted firmly, “Still, I expect to be informed at once.”

Thomas nodded, “Duly noted.” He intended to inform Potter but didn't want
to disrupt the man’s life completely.

Harry collapsed into a chair and said, “Blimey, this is fucking huge.”

Thomas continued eating his buttery toast and muttered, “It is.”

He bitterly added, “There's a matter of an imprisoned man he wants

released. Dolohov has trusted the mission to Dorian. The man is apparently
a Potion Master.”
Harry asked curiously, “Polyjuice?”

Thomas elucidated, “Among others, but Polyjuice seems to be his

speciality. Hannah made the arrest along with Malfoy.”

Harry nodded knowingly and said with adequate frustration, “I know whom
you speak of. Corner and I interrogated the deranged fool. We got nothing
from him, even under the influence of Veritaserum. He's fiercely loyal but
knows piss all.”

Thomas cautioned, “Malfoys name keeps popping up, Potter. It has since
the very beginning of this fiasco. Maybe we need to warn him. He seems to
have a good head on his shoulders.”

However, Harry refused, “Not yet, Spencer. Let's get to the bottom of this.
We can't just let prisoners escape because it serves another purpose.”

He spat out, “First, we had to let the letter incident pass since we didn't
want to endanger Blackwood and compromise his position, but there's a
limit we can bend over for these arseholes.”

Thomas gritted out, “I don't like it any more than you do, Potter, but for the
moment, our hands are tied, and he holds all the fucking aces.”

Harry banged his fist on the table and hissed, “I hate this situation.”

Thomas gave his input, “I'll speak with Hannah, but we might have to stage
a breakout at Azkaban if Dorian is to win Dolohov's trust, and we need him
to remain in his good graces.”

Harry was adamant, “Let's see. If we deny him Polyjuice potion, we could
flush him out. We could stop or have strict restrictions on all ingredients
arriving in the country and monitor current supplies.”

Thomas pointed out the obvious: "There are plenty of shops and suppliers
operating underground. We do not have the staffing to cover them all,
Potter. Clearly, this man is important to Dolohov. It goes beyond a mere
relationship between a supplier and customer.”
Harry nodded in complete agreement but offered another suggestion, “You
have a point. Let's speak again after discussing the matter with Abbott. We
can plan a hit better during prisoner transport rather than Azkaban. It would
certainly save us a lot of fucking red tape.”

Little James wandered in, clutching the front of his pants and doing a small
dance. He almost pleaded, “Daddy, I need to go to the potty.”

Harry scooped him up and smiled, “Yes, of course, James.”

Thomas took it as his cue to leave and walked over to the fireplace, “Right.
See you on Tuesday.”

Harry sighed, “Yes.”

He insisted, “Keep me updated on the Strangler situation. Oh, and good

work, Thomas.”

Thomas mentioned without hesitation, “Hannah and Malfoy deserve most

of the credit.”

Harry nodded curtly, “Duly noted.”

“Daddy!” James squealed, prompting Harry to run at top speed towards the
bathroom.

Hawaii

Hermione went up to Draco’s room. She had no idea what or if she would
do anything. All she knew for certain was that she needed to stop whatever
was happening inside.

Emotionally, she was on edge, anticipating the confrontation and unsure of

how it would go. She felt a fear of conflict or of Draco’s reaction to her
presence and a sense of vulnerability in putting herself in a potentially
uncomfortable situation.
She tried to knock but hesitated and paced outside his room, wearing out
the carpet and trying in vain to gather her courage. A sudden thought
dawned on her: what if they returned to her room?

Taking a deep breath, Hermione made a firm fist and knocked on the door.
She could have used magic to make out the occupants of the room, but her
wand was back in her room, and she didn't think she could deal with the
fact of catching him in a lewd act.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Hermione heard movement. Draco
threw open the door while pulling a white Calvin Klein t-shirt over his
head. His vision was compromised, and he was completely sweaty.

Seeing him in such a state made her heart ache. The worst had been
confirmed. He was having sex, and there was no doubt about it.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice him staring at her strangely with an
amused expression.

His curiosity piqued as he wondered what could be causing her distress. He

tilted his head slightly, a non-verbal cue signalling his interest and openness
to listen, but clearly, she was in another world. Judging by her expression, it
didn't seem to be a happy place.

Draco cleared his throat, prompting Hermione to snap out of her daydream
and pay him attention.

She found the right words, “Umm, I'm sorry to intrude.” There was a
softness in his eyes, indicating empathy and a desire to understand her
feelings. He offered a reassuring smile to alleviate some of her nervousness,
but that was momentary.

Draco playfully exaggerated the situation, pretending to be shocked or

offended by her unexpected visit, “Well, well, Granger, this a surprise. Did
you tire of the man you were with?”

Her sharp tone showed her irritation and suspicion, “Are you alone?”
His tone was defensive, signifying that he felt unjustly accused or bothered
by the implication.

He expressed frustration at her lack of trust and constant questioning,

“Hmm, that's hardly any of your business.”

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and demanded, “Answer the
question, Malfoy.”

While Draco was annoyed with her behaviour, he was thoroughly amused
by her reaction and teased, “Was I not supposed to be?”

After realising his irritation, she reacted sheepishly, showing a hint of

embarrassment and regret, “I thought you were with Ryan's sister.” Her
words were merely a whisper.

His tone was filled with anger and resentment as he gritted out, “Oh, is that
what that wanker told you?”

Hermione tried to look past his shoulder into the room, but he blocked her
view. She was tipsy and fuming. It wasn’t the best combination.

Draco ran his fingers through his hair and invited her inside to see that
nobody else was there. He was largely to blame for her suspicions.

He wanted to reassure her and potentially dispel any suspicions, “Would

you like to come in and see for yourself, Granger?”

Her tone was soothing since she wanted to avoid escalating the situation,
“Umm, no.” Why was he so sweaty?

Draco was still somewhat annoyed, but he was willing to prove his point
and address her concerns, “I assure you, I'm alone. Jennifer was rather
intoxicated, so I saw her back to her room and bid her good night even
though she made it abundantly clear that she was seeking physical
intimacy.” The woman had tried her best to seduce him and failed
miserably.
He wanted to tell the truth despite what consequences might follow, “We
kissed….” He hadn't been a willing participant. Jennifer grabbed his head
and kissed him before he could say Bob’s your uncle.

Hermione's immediate reaction was disbelief, struggling to process what

she had just learned. As the reality of the situation sunk in, she felt a deep
sense of betrayal and hurt, “What? You kissed?”

He conveyed regret and immense discomfort, proving that the kiss was not
consensual or desired on his part, “I didn't want to kiss her, but she initiated
it unexpectedly, and I didn't know how to react. I tried to pull away, but it
happened so quickly.”

Hermione tried to downplay the situation and act as if everything was fine,
“No, umm, it doesn't matter.” It mattered more than she was willing to
divulge.

Still, Draco went ahead despite him knowing it was hard for her to hear,
“She is beautiful, willing and extremely receptive to my touch. Much like
someone else I know.” His eye contact was intense, almost challenging as if
he dared her to confront him.

Her expression turned to disgust as she processed his seemingly callous

attitude towards her feelings. She turned away from him, avoiding further
eye contact, “Ugh, Whatever.”

He leaned against the doorway and smirked after Hermione tried to hide her
true feelings, "Why are you here, Granger? Perhaps you wish to apologise
for your behaviour earlier."

She asserted her independence in the face of his dismissive behaviour, “I

don't have to explain my actions to the likes of you.”

Draco cupped her chin and stared into her eyes, “I do love it when you're
jealous. Your face turns a brilliant shade of pink, but it's those pools of
darkened amber that give you away.” His loving gaze was a gesture of
reconciliation as he sought to repair the damage done by his earlier
behaviour.
Hermione pushed his hand away and cussed, “Fuck off.” He wasn't getting
off that quickly.

Draco stifled a laugh and invited, “Come in.” She had come to him, and it
felt immensely satisfying.

Hermione asserted herself and gritted out, “When I'm good and ready.”

Draco shrugged, left the door open and returned to his notes. Earlier, he had
a few drinks at the bar and currently sipped a whiskey.

A few guests passed by and smiled at Hermione, who instantly felt self-
conscious and quickly entered the room and closed the door behind her. Her
bikini was suitable around the pool but not for wandering about the hotel.

She went to the study desk and scoffed, “You brought these along on
holiday?” Sprawled across the table were books of spells, potions and
pictures of the Dollhouse Stranglers victims.

Draco refused to give her the satisfaction and scowled, “This isn't much of a
holiday. I have to protect you against yourself more than others.” Once
more, his temper was reaching its peak.

Hermione said with a distinctive roll of her eyes, “Must you be so

dramatic? I'm only having some fun.”

Draco was beside himself with anger, and his tone was proof of that, “Fun?
Chatting up random blokes is fun, is it? I didn't have you pegged for being
easy.”

Hermione blushed, feeling incredibly embarrassed. “How dare you!” Had

he just called her desperate and easy?

However, he wasn't done with his barrage of abuse, “Does provocatively

dancing with some stranger get you all hot and bothered? I don't fancy
seeing my future wife in the arms of another man.”

Hermione gawked. He just kissed another woman, and he was lecturing her.
The absolute gall of him
She refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing he got under her skin
and instead pointed out, “Well, we have an agreement in place, so it
shouldn't matter, and I don't need this abuse from the likes of you.”

Draco’s tone was accusatory, expressing frustration at her words, “Of

course, you don't need me since you've got a long list of men just waiting to
get into your pants. Should I name a few?”

Hermione choked back a sob. She felt her resolve crumble, “I understand
your anger, Malfoy, but there is absolutely no need to be cruel. Besides, he's
not some random bloke. His name is Ryan, and he's from New York.”

Draco laughed aloud and hissed, “He could be some Polyjuiced bastard
Goyle sent after you.”

She argued weakly, “Goyle has probably forgotten all about me.”

He was defensive, “No, he hasn't. The man has a sick infatuation with you
and won't stop until he gets what he wants. Do you ever think?” He could
only imagine what Goyle would do to Granger if he had his way, and it was
physically painful to think about.

She attempted to assert her own perspective, “Excuse me, are you implying
that I'm being stupid and reckless?”

He was harsh and outwardly critical, “Yes, I am. You were lusting after that
man like some lovesick puppy dog. It is not a good look on you, Granger.”
He certainly lacked any empathy for her point of view on the matter.

Hermione refused to be belittled and disrespected, “Why, you insufferable

man? You've been off with another bloody woman. You have no right to
lecture me.” She pushed him hard but failed miserably to move him even an
inch.

Draco grabbed her wrists and asserted his authority and control in the
situation. He felt more than justified in warning her, believing that her
words crossed a line and needed to be addressed, “Don't ever insult me or
take me for some fool. I do not take kindly to being treated like some
nobody.”

Her reaction to his dominating presence was a mix of surprise and arousal,
as she found his assertive behaviour intriguing.

Hermione was sincere and remorseful, as she acknowledged her mistake

and sought to take responsibility for her actions, “It was never my intention
to insult or hurt you.”

Draco glared, “Yet, you aced it. Didn’t you, darling?” They were fighting,
yet again.

He added in frustration, “Now if you excuse me. I must study and pass the
bloody trials because Audrey holds me to a higher standard.” He was
intoxicated and doubted he would recall anything he read.

Hermione dismissed his ridiculous notion, “Nonsense. She treats everyone

the same.” Audrey was a good and fair woman. She would never treat
anyone differently.

However, Draco insisted stubbornly, adamantly refusing to listen to reason,

“Indeed, but I'm the ex-Death Eater joining the DMLE. You war heroes
bypassed the system anyway, so trust me when I say I have a lot to prove at
the upcoming exams. You have absolutely no idea what goes on behind the
scenes.”

Hermione scowled, “You certainly sound like your old pigheaded self.”

Draco sneered, “You bring out the best in me, my love.”

Hermione fired back. She didn't realise she was shouting, “We worked hard
to get to where we are. Harry had been through enough yet went through
the same trials as you. I worked my arse off to get to where I am, and I will
not listen to you whinging about how you might be treated differently. Did
you expect any different?”
Draco hissed, “No, I did not, but it doesn't make it any easier.” Despite his
training to look the other way, it was exceedingly difficult when faced with
oppression every single day. He was pouring out a self of him he had kept
dormant since his return.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips.

His composure crumbled, and he said frankly, “Granger, if you have

nothing better to do, you are welcome to stay and insult me some more, or
you could go keep the bloody Yank company, and I might take Jennifer up
on her offer to spend the night.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open in disbelief. She couldn't believe his words.

He added salt to the wound, “Especially since you seem rather determined
not to have anything to do with me.”

Hermione fought the tears that threatened to break free and gritted out, “Is
that why I'm standing in the middle of your hotel room at this hour? God,
Malfoy, you are so thick.”

They stared at each other, and Draco moved closer to gather her in his arms.
He was tired of pointlessly arguing. However, the mood was ruined by
constant bashing on the door.

They jumped apart, not knowing what to expect, but the knocking
continued, and Theo’s voice came through, “Draco?”

Draco looked to the heavens and barred his teeth. He slowly spat out the
words, “Merlin, help me. I will Avada him soon.”

Hermione lowered her voice and said, “Just keep quiet. Maybe he'll go
away.”

Yet, Theo was no simpleton. A spell had told him all he needed to know,
and he bellowed, “Malfoy, I know you're in there. Actually, there are two of
you, or is it four?”

Fuck.
Hermione hissed impatiently, “What does he want!?”

Draco shrugged, “I have no bloody clue.”

Hermione pointed urgently to the door and said, “Deal with him.” Nott was
like a child, following them about.

Draco watched Hermione disappear inside the bathroom and mumbled,

“What? Granger, what are you doing?”

Theo’s voice filled the space, “Draco, what the fuck are you doing in here?”

Keeping in mind that he loved Theo very much, Draco threw the door open
and snarled, “What do you want, Nott?”

Theo smiled broadly, “Blaise ordered a bottle of tequila. It's shots all
around.”

Draco forced a smile onto his face, “I'll be down shortly.”

Theo was taller and could get a bird's eye view of the room. He peered in
and questioned, “Are you alone? Where did you hide her? We tried to call
you.”

Draco grabbed Theo by the face and literally shoved him out of the room,
“Fuck off, Theo.” Bloody cockblock

Theo stumbled but managed to stay on his feet. He winked, “Say no more.”

Draco shut the door and said in a carrying voice, “He's gone, Granger. You
can come out now.”

Hermione raised a brow, “Is he always like this?”

Draco tried his best with a summarised explanation, “Theo comes from an
abusive home, and now that he's an adult, he tries to overcompensate for it.”

He solemnly added, “I'm sure Lovegood would have mentioned it. His
father was a nasty piece of work. Nott Senior makes my father look like a
fluffy poodle. Theo is sometimes overzealous, and we go along because he's
our best mate and brother.”

Hermione felt awful. She apologised, “I didn't mean anything, Malfoy. I

think the way you guys look after him is adorable.”

Draco looked at her suspiciously, “Why did you hide?”

Hermione bit her bottom lip and shrugged, “I don't know. Force of habit.”

Draco wasn't in the least bit convinced by her lie, “Force of habit? What's
that supposed to mean?”

Hermione averted her gaze and said, “Nothing. It was a slip of the tongue.”

Draco sighed, “You really are embarrassed by your feelings for me, aren't
you? When we're alone, you succumb, but once we're pushed in front of the
public eye, you retreat behind an impenetrable wall.”

Hermione knew he spoke the truth, but she would not give him the
satisfaction of knowing he was right. Instead, she denied his words
adamantly, “I'm not responsible for your assumptions.”

Draco smiled slightly, “There's no need for secrecy among friends.” At least
among his friends, her friends were far less understanding, except for
Ginny.

Hermione mused, “Try telling that to Ron.”

Draco closed the gap between them and drawled, “Enough talking. You
came here expecting something, and I intend to fulfil that requirement.” She
had mentioned that twat once again.

He tipped her chin and crushed her lips with his. As their lips met, an
immediate spark and connection ignited a fire within them. The kiss was
initially hungry, exploring, tasting, and savouring each other's lips.

As the passion built, the kiss became more urgent and more intense. A
dance of tongues, a mingling of breath, created a primal and intimate
rhythm.

The world around them faded away, and all that mattered was the sensation
of their lips on each other's, the heat of their bodies pressed together.

Their hands roamed freely, exploring each other's bodies, heightening the
moment's intensity.

Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in the embrace, lost in the
hunger of the kiss. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated desire, a moment
of connection and intimacy that was beautiful and powerful.

Draco whispered, “Granger…”

She could only mewl with longing to be consumed, “Mm…”

His phone buzzed, and he silently cursed, “Fuck.”

Reluctantly, Draco broke the embrace and rasped, “We best get going. Theo
won't leave me at peace until I join him.” He pulled off his t-shirt and
replaced it with a casual white linen shirt.

The last thing he wanted was Theo to barge into the room and find them in
bed together, and the stupid shite was capable of doing just that.

Hermione chuckled, “Always an excuse, and I'm the one coming off as the
prude who doesn't want anything to do with you. I'll meet you downstairs.”

Draco called after her, “Granger…..”

However, Hermione silenced him and said, “Save it, Malfoy. Our friends
are waiting for us.”

They found their friends in one of the cabanas and the party atmosphere
was vibrant, energetic, and filled with excitement. It had changed into a
place where people could come together to celebrate, socialise, and have a
good time.
The air was filled with laughter and chatter as guests mingled and caught up
with friends. Music pulsed through the space, setting the mood and
encouraging people to dance and let loose.

Draco walked to the bar while Hermione headed towards the table where
their friends held court. He wasn't a tequila fan and wanted something more
substantial to calm his nerves.

He placed his order and knew it would be a while before he got it, judging
by the amount of people shouting out their requirements. So, he leaned with
his back to the bar counter, hands in his pocket, surveying the crowd.

Draco looked into the crowd and spotted Ginny and Granger dancing
together, with Blaise hovering in the background.

A voice invaded his space, “Your girlfriend is pretty special.”

Draco set the record straight, “She's not my girlfriend. She is my fiancé, and
you will stay away from her if you know what's good for you.”

Ryan tossed back his drink and smirked, “I think she's capable of making
her own decisions.”

Draco turned to face the man beside him and regarded him with no real
emotion, “Undoubtedly, but I won't ask twice. Mind your own business.”

Ryan mused, “My sister said you kissed her. She's quite upset that you
didn't stick around.” His sister was a spoiled brat used to getting her way.
Their father failed to realise that he had raised an entitled little monster.

Draco responded frankly, “She kissed me. I have no such feelings towards
her. However, I can see how she felt misled, and I apologise for that.”

Ryan pointed his glass toward Hermione and said, “You should treat her
better.”

Draco began losing patience and glared, “Don't assume to know anything
about us.” The words upset him because they were true. He had made
plenty of mistakes and hurt Granger, which was never his intention.
Ryan glared but didn't pursue. It wasn't entirely worth it. Plenty of
unattached women on the island were looking to share in mutual fun.
Besides, the blonde looked like he could go a round of two.

While dancing with Ginny, Hermione saw the exchange between the men
and froze. She hoped nothing drastic would happen.

The stern tone of voice discouraged Ryan from saying something moronic.
He disappeared into the crowd, intent on looking for a pretty woman to
share his bed. His job made it nearly impossible to maintain any healthy
relationships.

A girl in a fluorescent pink bikini and floral wreath around her neck
sauntered up to Draco and tried to engage him in conversation. He received
his drink and sipped the fiery amber liquid.

She asked him boldly, “Do you want to dance?”

Draco declined politely, “I'm not much of a dancer, I'm afraid.”

She was clearly American and drawled, “I love your accent.” She bought
two tequila shots and held one out for him to take. However, Hermione
appeared out of nowhere and took it out of the reluctant woman’s hand.

She proceeded to lick the salt, then down the shot, suck on the lime wedge
and pull Draco into a passionate embrace, purposely showing off her very
prominent ring by cupping his face.

He responded hungrily, almost lifting her off the ground. His lips lingered
on her skin, moving downwards, savouring the warmth and softness of her
neck. As the kisses became more fervent, Hermione felt gentle sucking and
his warm breath against her skin, sending shivers down her spine.

She regarded the woman staring at them and mouthed, “Excuse us.”

The woman came out of the trance she seemed to have slipped into and
snapped, “Bitch.”
Hermione waited until the woman was out of earshot, playfully pushed
Draco away, and teased, “I can't leave you alone for a minute without
getting hit on.”

Draco rolled his eyes, “I don't encourage it, Granger. It happens.”

He pulled her close and winked, displaying an endearing boyish side to

him, “You have nothing to worry about. I'm yours for the foreseeable
future, love.” His words made her shudder. He would never be hers. Their
situation wasn't permanent, but to hear his words was the ultimate turn-on.

Hermione laughed, “Shove off.”

Draco quipped, “Fine. Have it your way.” He jokingly turned away to leave.

She pulled him back and asked seriously, “What did you say to Ryan?”

Draco sighed, “I told him to stay away if he knew what was good for him.”

Hermione bit her lip and whispered, “Possessive, aren't you?”

Draco smirked, “I've never been one to share. Although I have mellowed,
my restraint goes to hell around you.”

Hermione asked thoughtfully, “Isn't Kung Fu all about turning the other
cheek?”

Draco laughed, “The men who grab your fancy seem determined to be
taught a valuable lesson by me.”

He pulled her close and drawled in her ear, “I’m only human, Granger.
There is only so much I can tolerate before I snap.”

She gathered her bravado and apologised wholeheartedly, “Look, I'm sorry
about earlier. I shouldn't have dismissed you like that.”

Draco smiled devilishly, causing his eyes to glisten in the darkness, “You
can make it up to me in due time.”
Unsure of his meaning, Hermione reluctantly agreed, “Hmm, I guess so.”

Draco eyed the bottle of tequila Theo had dragged him down to taste and
said with a curious look, “There's a more interesting way to consume
tequila. I've been watching the locals.”

Hermione was perplexed, “What?”

Grabbing her hand, he led her over to their friends. He picked up a salt-
rimmed glass, poured himself a shot and, without much thought, poured it
down Hermione's exposed front, drenching the material underneath.

Theo watched, gobsmacked, and Hermione protested loudly, “Malfoy!”

As the tequila was poured onto her body, it created a tantalising sensation,
leaving a trail of cool liquid against her warm skin. She arched her back,
offering her body, her skin glistening with anticipation, as Draco prepared
to lick the liquid off her body.

He leaned in, tasting a mixture of sweet and bitter, heightened by the

warmth of her body.

Hermione’s arms went around his neck, and she could hardly contain the
mewl that left her lips. Her bikini bottoms were rapidly dampening.

Ginny and Blaise stared wide-eyed. Even Neville and Pansy stopped
dancing to stare at them.

Hermione moaned, “Mmm, that is better, Draco….”

They moved as one, their bodies responding instinctively to each other's

cues, creating a seamless and beautiful dance. The music reached a
crescendo, and so did their dance.

Their movements became more urgent and passionate as they lost

themselves in the moment. And as the music faded away, they came
together in a final, lingering embrace, their hearts beating as one.
Her back to his front, they swayed to the sounds of the DJ near the bar.
Draco couldn't bear it any longer. He grabbed Hermione around the waist,
pulled her flush against his chest and urgently muttered, “I think we've put
in enough of an appearance.”

Hermione brought his arm around her to the front and rasped, “Mmm, I
agree.” She needed him to satisfy her hunger and put out the fire burning in
her loins.

She teased, “Is this the right moment?” They were pretty tipsy but not
outrageously drunk.

Draco kissed her hand and mused, “Try stopping me. It's been the right
fucking moment, so to speak since we arrived on this island.”

Hermione looked at him expectantly and answered, “There have been too
many miscommunications.”

Draco nodded in agreement, “Yes, but no more tonight.”

She glanced at their friends dancing and drinking on their last night in a
beautiful land and asked timidly, “What about our friends?”

Draco didn't hesitate, “They can fuck off. This is about us, and if Theo
interrupts us, I swear I'll feed him to the sharks.”

Taking her by the hand, Draco led Hermione inside and towards the row of
lifts. The surrounding area was deserted, and with a ding, a lift arrived.

Once inside, he pushed her roughly against the sleek wall and kissed her
senseless.

He pleaded almost desperately, “I want you. Please don't deny me.”

Deny him? He was the one shying away from physical intimacy. He would
take her high up only to drop her and leave her wanting.

Hermione kissed him back fervently, “No…” She had consented weeks ago.
Time seemed to slow down as they lost themselves in the moment,
savouring each touch, each kiss. And just as quickly as it began, the
elevator doors opened, and they were brought back to reality, left with a
lingering desire for more.

Draco held on to Hermione’s hand tightly as if he was afraid she would turn
and run away, but he needn't have bothered since she followed him quite
willingly, as if under a spell.

They entered his room, bright lights greeted them, and Draco switched most
of them off, leaving only two dimmed to perfection.

Hermione bit her bottom lip and watched his slow movements.

Ginny and Blaise swapped a knowing look. Even though she acted casually
and made a silly bet for fun, Ginny was apprehensive about Hermione and
her budding relationship.

She looked at her watch and yawned, “Well, it's getting quite late, and I'm
exhausted.”

Blaise nodded in agreement, “I know what you mean. I want to ring the
wife before going to bed. Shall we head up?”

Ginny looked at him confused and raised a brow, “Excuse me?”

Blaise blushed crimson, “Oh, I mean, I'll see you to yours and bugger off to
mine.”

Ginny chuckled, “Relax, Zabini. I'm just teasing you.”

She touched his face and smiled, “Daphne is a lucky woman.”

Blaise brushed a strand of hair off her face and replied fondly, “And Potter
is an extremely lucky man.”

He gave Ginny a slight nudge and said urgently, “Come on, let's get going
before Theo forces another round of drinks down our throats. My liver can't
take much more of this abuse.”
Hermione wasn't outrageously drunk, but she was mildly intoxicated and
feeling pretty good. Looking at Draco, she felt a warmth. A sort of heat that
was settling down low inside her. Be careful, Granger. Oh, be quiet, she
ordered that annoying internal voice that insisted on being sensible.

Draco came around the tiny table to stand beside her. He reached out with a
finger to play with one of her red bikini straps and rasped, “Are you sure
about this?”

How could he ask such an obvious question? More, how could she be
burning up with this much lust for him, knowing full well about their
hideous past?

Apparently, her mind and body were riding two different tracks. Her skin
felt as if it was on fire when he touched her. It was nothing new, but nerves
rattled through Hermione’s body, and she knew without a doubt that she
was in considerable trouble. But at that moment, she didn't care.

She nodded since words seemed to have deserted her completely.

“I think I need some convincing,” Draco said with a smirk, his grey eyes
flashing with a need that her body was clamouring to answer.

Hermione replied, “I don't know what more I can say.”

Draco ran his fingertips over her skin and eased one of the straps down her
shoulder. Hermione's breath hitched as her gaze met his, and her blood
started to pump thick, hot, and urgently.

“I've been waiting to do this for weeks,” he drawled, dipping his head to
kiss her bare shoulder. He was ready to give himself to her completely.

Hermione threw her head back and sucked in a gulp of air.

Draco straightened up and touched the space between her breasts with his
finger. "Plus, you smell so good it's driving me insane," he remarked. His
chain dangled around her neck, feeling smooth and chilly to the touch.
Her nipples reached their peak. Her body cruelly betrayed her, and he didn't
even have to try. She shuddered. He was too close. Too warm. His breath
was gentle on her face, and the flame in his eyes stoked a similar fire inside
of her like a torch.

When he wasn't trying to seduce her, he was nearly irresistible. When he

was trying, he was downright bloody illegal. His finger stroked the tops of
her breasts, and Hermione's already fuzzy brain started clouding up
completely.

“Draco,” Her mouth was dry, and her breath came in tight, short gasps. Her
nerve endings were lit up like Hogwarts at Christmas, and her core was
damp, hot, and achingly ready, so all mindful thoughts deserted her
completely.

His lips and tongue moved on her bare shoulder, and the edges of his teeth
scraped against her flushed skin, sending shockwaves pulsating throughout
her weakened system. He kissed the side of her neck, and Hermione tipped
her head to one side to ensure he covered every inch of available skin.

“Hmm,” he whispered, kissing the base of her neck until her toes curled.
His fingertips smoothed over the tops of her breasts, and her nipples popped
even harder, each of them eagerly awaiting his attention.

Sliding his free hand up her bare back to the nape of her neck, his long
fingers rubbed, stroked and slid into her hair. The wild strands wound
themselves around his fingers.

She groaned and closed her eyes, relishing the feeling of him all around her.
His body was pressed close, and his erection straining against her hip was
undeniable.

“Ah,” Hermione took a breath, forcing it into her lungs, straining for air,
and when she blew it out again, she opened her eyes and looked at him. He
lifted his head, his clear grey eyes locked on hers with a burning intensity
she’d never seen before, and she felt those flames reach for her and engulf
her.
Draco slid his hand from the base of her neck down her spine to the curve
of her arse. He leaned in and kissed her, then smoothed the tip of his tongue
across her bottom lip before easing back to meet her gaze again.

She moved against him, letting him feel that she was as electrified as he.
That she wanted him as much as he wanted her despite all they had
suffered.

He kissed her, slid the straps of the bikini down and freed her breasts to his
hungry gaze. She had indeed filled out since Hogwarts. Pert, eager nipples
stood ready and wanting. The coolness of the air conditioner touched her
skin, causing Hermione to shiver, but it had nothing to do with temperature.

Draco cupped her supple breasts in his palm and bent to take her nipple into
his mouth. He murmured, “Beautiful.”

Hermione hissed in air through gritted teeth and held onto Draco’s
shoulders as if without that stability, she might slide off the very edge of
reality.

He backed her towards the bed, the edge hit the back of her legs as Draco
bent his head, taking first one nipple, then the other into his mouth, sliding
his tongue across the sensitive tip, suckling, nibbling. He tormented her
with tenderness, and her knees almost gave out.

While she was in a world of her own, surrounded only by his desire to
conquer her defences with gentle deliberation, he straightened and claimed
her mouth with his, brutal and punishing, sending her flying again.

His tongue tangled with hers, and everything within her went hot and wild.
Her core became a molten ache, desperate to have him inside. Her hips
twisted against his, and his erection pressed tight and hard to her body,
letting her know that he was as hungry, as frenzied as she.

How was this possible, Hermione wondered frantically. How could she feel
so much for a man she’d practically loathed her whole life? How was there
this much passion in someone she’d considered an enemy? How could she
slip so totally into complete abandon at his touch?
Then she stopped thinking. Stopped wondering. Instead, she surrendered to
the magic rising between them. He wrapped a hand around the base of her
neck and tipped her head to one side. He nibbled his way down the length
of her throat and then slid back up, leaving a trail of damp heat behind as he
kissed and licked her skin.

Hermione could hardly breathe. Malfoy was overpowering her senses,

taking over her body in the most glorious way, and she had hardly laid a
finger on him. But she wanted more. Needed much more. Needed to feel his
skin beneath her hands. She needed to touch him as she was being touched
and feel as she felt.

Sliding her hands up his chest, she tore at the buttons of his linen shirt until
she’d freed them all, sending several of them pinging to the floor. She
pushed it off his shoulders, and it lay in a crumpled heap near their feet.
Then she was touching his hard, muscled skin, feeling the healed contour of
scars beneath her fingers.

He growled in her ear and took her mouth harder, deeper. Their breaths
mingled, and their tongues played out a dance their bodies had hungered
over for weeks.

“I want you. Now.” His voice was harsh and strained, as if it were all he
could muster to say at that moment. Draco reached down, undid the tie to
the wrap-around skirt she wore, tossed it away and ripped the bikini
bottoms from her body.

Hermione inhaled sharply and then groaned as he cupped her aching core.
Sliding first one, then two fingers into her depths, he pushed her so high, so
fast, her head spun. She threw her head back as his fingers delved inside
her. His tongue continued to twist with hers in a frantic dance of need and
passion.

Her body spiralled out of control as he rubbed one sensitive spot over and
over, causing her legs to tremble violently as she desperately tried to keep
her balance while surrendering to the incredible sensations shooting through
her. Repeatedly, he stroked her, pushing her as if he couldn't wait to feel her
climax.
Hermione fought the feeling; she wanted to prolong the pleasure and draw
this out as long as possible. It was overwhelming the way she wanted him,
needed him. She’d never known anything remotely like this before, and she
wanted more of it.

She broke the kiss and sat on the edge of the bed. Slightly confused, Draco
stared at her, his chest rising and falling with rapid breathing. Her hands
dropped to his waist, she pulled him closer, and her fingers fumbled with
the belt, then the snap and zipper of his shorts.

She half expected him to withdraw as he had in the past, but he didn't.

Draco exhaled. Her touch was everything.

His trapped member sprang free, and it was long and thick, slightly curved
and a shade darker than the rest of him.

His eyes briefly slid shut, and he ground out one word. Her name.
“Granger…” Mere words were not sufficient to put his intense feelings into
words.

Being touched so intimately caused his breathing to hasten. It had been so

long.

Impressive. Just like the rest of him, Hermione supposed with her eyes
closed.

“I want you to feel what I feel,” she whispered, opening her eyes and
looking at him, now staring at her with lips slightly parted. Raw passion and
desire shone out of him, and she knew he must be seeing the same things
reflected back at him.

Hermione bit her lip and drawled, "To the victor go the spoils." Reminding
him of their duel and his humiliating defeat. She stroked him, her fingertips
sliding up and down his length, stroking the sensitive tip of him, marvelling
at the soft strength of him.
Draco went entirely still for one long, shattering minute when their ragged
breaths were the only sound in the room besides subdued music.

Then he looked down at her and said, “Move back, my darling.”

Hermione didn't think to ask why. She reluctantly let go and moved
backwards until her bare back hit the neatly stacked pillows at the head of
the bed.

Draco stepped out of his shorts, leaned into her and laid on top, covering
her with his body. She spread her legs to accommodate him and adjust to
his weight. He was heavier than he looked.

Her hand boldly moved down to touch his arse. There wasn’t an ounce of
fat on his body.

Her eyes were wide and shining, the deep brown sparkling with a golden
glow that intrigued and captivated him. Her mouth was swollen from his
kisses, and when she touched the tip of her tongue to her lips, he bent his
head to capture it.

He almost pleaded, “I won't hurt you, Hermione.”

Hermione gently bit down on his bottom lip and whispered, “Yes, you will.”

They locked eyes, and so much was said between them.

Draco gently moved a piece of hair off Hermione’s face.

Her need to be with him was evident in her tone and words, “But I don't
care anymore.”

And in the next moment, their mouths fused, and he was sliding inside her,
pushing himself into her body. He entered her on a slow slide of languorous
satisfaction. He groaned as he entered into her heat with a calm deliberation
he wasn't really feeling. Every instinct had him clamouring to take her, to
drive himself into her body.
Their bodies fused together, and she was on fire for him, her body burned
inside and out as if a fever were raging through her system. They looked
beautiful together, and dare she think it, but they looked right. His body
nearly covered her whole except for her leg poking out from under his
imposing frame.

Draco bared his teeth, his fingers dug into the soft material of the
bedspread. He felt her fingernails dig into his back, and her magic
surrounded him. He wasn't quite sure what was happening, but it was safe
to assume this was entirely out of the ordinary.

“Oh, Draco,” Hermione managed to sigh. She twisted her hips and writhed
on him as she took every inch of him. It was an invasion of the most
wonderful kind, she thought, relishing the feel of his body filling hers.

He groaned tightly and began to move, slowly at first as he sought to find

his rhythm after years of celibacy, then with soul-shattering speeds that had
his hips pistoning against hers. Their bodies met and separated over and
over as tension coiled and the need escalated.

Pure pleasure.

Hermione felt it building and knew her release was so close she could
almost touch it. The tingling sensations soared, and a delicious ache rose
until it was nearly unbearable. His strength surrounded her, his body filled
her, and he didn't stop. Couldnt stop. She moved with him, her body
welcoming his, holding him tightly, creating a fabulous friction that
accelerated the desire clawing at the both.

When the first tiny explosions shattered within her, Hermione's eyes flew
open so that she could look at Draco. Her body exploded in a shower of
light, colour, and sensation like she’d never known before.

His gaze was dark, hot and steady. His back was slippery with beads of
sweat.

“Let go,” he rasped, almost commanded. It was all it took. She listened to
his words.
“Draco!” She held on to him, arms locked around his body, one leg crossed
over his spine. She pulled him in tighter, closer, holding him to her as an
enormous wave of pleasure created inside her.

Hearing his name and her climax pushed him over that tethering edge of
control, and before the sweeping tide of ripples had died away, Draco called
her name in a hoarse shout of satisfaction and emptied himself into her.

It hadn't lasted long, and he regretted that, but it was unbearable to hold on
any longer.

Hermione moved her fingers into his hair and pulled his head down to claim
his lips. She kissed him fervently.

When the storm passed, Draco’s blood was still pumping like fury through
his veins. He’d thought his attraction to Granger was purely sexual, and
having her would clear his head, make the wanting less, the attraction he’d
felt for her less powerful.

Big mistake.

Naked, satisfied and confused, Draco moved to the side. Hermione nestled
against him, laying her head on his shoulder, and he wanted her all over
again. Her heat. Her touch and her explosive reaction to his lovemaking all
combined to only feed the fires already quickening inside him. He hadn't
eased his desire for her. He had only fed the undying flames.

He turned his face toward her, kissed her forehead and murmured, “You're
not what I expected.”

She lifted her head, kissed him lightly, briefly and whispered, “Neither are
you.”

They kissed passionately before falling asleep in each other's arms. Draco
hadn't bargained on this lightninglike connection between them. Now, he
couldn't imagine doing without.
Hermione kept thinking she should return to her room, but the messages
didn't seem to reach her legs. She was in a state of bliss.

London

Julius lay on his bed, getting his cock sucked by his latest conquest. He sure
knew how to pick them. The woman had the most talented tongue. His
moans and groans bounced off the walls and echoed.

The tapping sound was gentle but persistent. The owl's beak lightly struck
the window as it tried to interact with its perceived surroundings and gather
the attention of the people within.

Julius sneered at the bloody bird. He grabbed the head of the woman and
fucked her mouth hard and fast until he was utterly spent. She choked but
didn't disappoint since she swallowed every last bit of him.

He went to the window, grabbed the ruddy bird by its neck and tore the
letter off its leg. The handwriting was beautiful, and the passage was well-
written. The letter carried no name, but Julius knew who it was from.

The flowers were beautiful but not well received. However, let me
elucidate my reasons in person. I accept your dinner invitation with the
sole intention of setting you straight.

And so it begins, Julius thought to himself with a sly smile.

He dismissed the gorgeous redhead in his company and stood up stark

bollock naked, walked onto the balcony and lit a cigarette.
 Chapter 69
Chapter Summary

To all the comments:- Thank you so much for taking the time to write
such encouraging words.

The morning after. Yikes!

Narcissa is up to no good.

Hannah discovers more than she bargained for.

The gang returns to England.

Hermione meets Julius Avery

Enjoy Chapter Sixty-Nine!

Let me know your thoughts so far—trust me, it helps loads! :) Stay

safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Malfoy Manor

Narcissa sat at her elegant mahogany desk, surrounded by a sea of wedding

invitation samples, each more exquisite than the last. Her delicate fingers
traced the intricate designs, her mind wandering to the joyous occasion they
represented.

Beside the invitations were fabric swatches in various shades of ivory and
cream, the colours of purity and new beginnings. Narcissa picked up a
swatch, feeling its soft texture between her fingers. She envisioned the
stunning gown Hermione would wear, the epitome of elegance and
sophistication.
On the other side of her desk, floral arrangements in delicate vases added a
touch of natural beauty to the scene. Narcissa imagined the floral scents that
would fill the air, mingling with the laughter and chatter of the intimate
gathering.

As she sat there, surrounded by these wedding-related things, Narcissa felt a

surge of excitement and anticipation. This wedding would be more than just
a celebration, it would be a testament to new beginnings and the promise of
a bright future.

Despite the circumstances, she was certain Draco and Hermione were
meant for each other.

A sceptical presence shattered her beautiful daydream.

Bernard cleared his throat and questioned, “What's all this, Cissy?” He had
finished work early and sought the company of his beloved. He hadn't
expected the setting before him.

“Are you planning our wedding?” He teased brazenly.

Narcissa averted her gaze and answered, somewhat guilty, “Oh, it's nothing.
Just a few magazines and, umm, other things.” She waved her wand over
the many items, and some disappeared, leaving only the most essential
items for perusal on her desk.

Bernard raised a questioning brow, “I thought they didn't want a wedding.”

He knew Narcissa was exceedingly stubborn, but forcing a wedding upon
someone who despised the very thought of it seemed rather extreme.

However, Narcissa brushed aside his comment and merely said, “They’re
young, and they don't know what they want. Quite frankly, it's disturbing.”

Bernard reminded quite bluntly, “Careful, Narcissa. Miss Granger seems to

know exactly what she wants.” On more than one occasion, Hermione had
made her thoughts on the matter abundantly clear.
Narcissa gushed, “Every girl wants a beautiful wedding.” Once Hermione
saw all the decorations and trimmings, she knew she would be easy to
convince.

Still, Bernard wasn't convinced and sighed, “That might be true, but these
aren't normal circumstances, my darling. Hermione might not take kindly to
your efforts, and she’ll probably take out her frustration on Draco.” The
poor lad would most definitely be on the receiving end of this fiasco.

Narcissa stood her ground and stated firmly, “I can change her mind. Julia
happens to agree with me.”

Bernard shook his head and frowned, “Ah, the mothers have been plotting, I
see. I feel quite badly for Draco.”

Narcissa scolded, “Hush now! You make it seem illegal. All we want is a
beautiful day to celebrate.” She was adamant a small gathering of sorts
would be perfectly acceptable despite Hermione’s strong feelings on the
matter.

Bernard massaged the bridge of his nose in exasperation, “The poor lad will
be caught in the middle, not knowing which side to choose.”

Narcissa got to her feet at once and replied confidently, “He will choose me.
I am his mother, after all.” She had every fate in Draco. He would stand by
her decision and support her on the way forward, even if it caused a slight
disagreement with Hermione.

Bernard advised sternly, “I think you're missing the point. This isn't a
normal marriage. These two individuals have been pushed together rather
unfairly, might I add, and they happen to share an unpleasant past.” Usually,
Narcissa was an intelligent woman, but in this particular instance, she
seemed woefully unaware of everyone's feelings.

She pulled a magazine close, pointed to a beautiful image with her wand
and raved, “Just look at this lovely place setting.”
Bernard said with a definite roll of his eyes, “You haven't heard a word I've
said, have you?”

Narcissa stifled a laugh, “I resent that. I always listen to you.”

Bernard chuckled, “But when do you ever actually listen?” She was
headstrong, and it was one of the qualities he loved about her, but she was
pushing it too far with this wedding nonsense.

Narcissa argued, “This is my son!”

Bernard sighed, “And I'm trying to save him from Hermione Granger's
wrath due to your meddling.”

Narcissa scowled, “Oh, do go away, Bernard.”

Bernard laughed but still warned, “Mark my words, Cissy. This will end
badly.”

Narcissa ignored him and continued to pick the best patterns and settings.
The cost of the wedding was inconsequential. They would have a wedding
beyond compare, with no expense spared.

Hawaii

Draco and Hermione were entangled in a messy bed, fast asleep and
completely naked. The room was dimly lit, and clothes were strewn
haphazardly on the floor.

The moonlight cascaded through the window, bathing the room in a soft,
ethereal glow. The gentle beams danced across the floor, casting long
shadows that seemed to reach out and embrace the furniture. The room was
transformed into a tranquil oasis, the harsh edges softened by the silver
light.

Suddenly, Hermione stirred, blinking sleepily as she somewhat became

aware of her surroundings. She groggily looked down and gasped, realising
she was naked.

In her state of bliss, she could only manage a whisper, “Oh, Merlin…” She
turned to see the man still asleep beside her, his face peaceful in slumber.
Her foot brushed up against his leg, which caused him to stir and slowly
open his eyes.

Barely awake, Draco looked at Hermione, a sleepy smile playing on his

lips.

For a moment, they lay in silence, the only sound the gentle rhythm of their
breathing. The world outside faded away, and once again, they were
cocooned in their own little bubble of peace and intimacy. The day's worries
melted away, replaced by a sense of contentment and safety.

With a sigh, they both relaxed, sinking back into the embrace of sleep.
Their breathing slowed, and they drifted off, lost in the tranquillity of the
night.

The room was filled with a sense of calm, a silent witness to the deep bond
between two souls who were seemingly united against their will.

Avery Manor

In the dimly lit chamber of his quarters, Antonin Dolohov brooded over his
plans for world domination. Shadows danced across the walls, echoing the
twisted thoughts swirling in his mind.

Everything was progressing well, and his hold on Romania was solidified.
The forces awaited his command to overthrow the Ministry, but first, he
needed bigger nations under his control before he openly declared war.

He hoped to turn Kingsley Shacklebolt and the Muggle Prime Minister into
formidable werewolves. It would be a shame to kill them, however it would
prove much more advantageous for them to join the cause and be obedient
to him at all times. They would open the doors to meeting other world
leaders, and he could infiltrate the ranks without anyone knowing and
without him setting foot near the delegates .

Still, accomplishing the task proved to be difficult. The Muggle Prime

Minister was well-guarded, and a few attempts to capture him failed
miserably.

His dark eyes gleamed with ambition as he envisioned the chaos he would
unleash upon the world. He relished the idea of bending nations to his will,
of crushing all who dared to oppose him beneath his iron fist.

With a cruel smile twisting his lips, he plotted the downfall and coverting of
his enemies, imagining the terror that would grip their hearts when they
realised the extent of his power. He revelled in the darkness, finding
strength in the fear he inspired.

Every detail of his diabolical scheme was carefully calculated, every move
designed to further his insatiable thirst for dominion. He would stop at
nothing to achieve his goals, sacrificing anyone and anything that stood in
his way.

As the flames of his ambition burned ever brighter, Dolohov knew that his
reign of darkness would soon be unleashed upon the world, and none would
be able to escape its grasp.

Hawaii

The atmosphere was cheerful as the friends sat around a table, enjoying
breakfast and chatting.

Theo cut up a plump sausage and asked curiously, “Has anyone seen Draco
and Granger?”

Pansy snorted, “Yes, where are the Malfoys?

Ginny looked disgusted. She was worried about Hermione, especially since
she had not returned to their room or left a message.
It was clear she was with Draco, but an uneasy feeling about the whole
situation hung over her, and she couldn't shake it off.

Pansy said rather jokingly, “Maybe they've eloped.”

Blaise bit into a salty piece of bacon and smirked, “Or maybe they've
finally admitted their feelings for each other.”

Theo rolled his eyes and offered his profound insight, “Please, as if
Hermione Granger would ever fall for Draco Malfoy.”

Blaise frowned and said in concern, “Maybe we should check up on them.”

Ginny nodded vigorously, “I agree. Hermione didn't return last night, and
I'm worried about her.”

However, Blaise reassured, “Judging by their behaviour last night, I think

it's safe to assume that they're together.”

Pansy pushed her chair back and rose. She addressed Ginny and said firmly,
“Come on, Weasley. Let's go get them. We hardly have time to waste, and
we cannot afford to miss the bloody Portkey.”

Ginny gulped down her coffee, wiped her mouth with the napkin and shot
to her feet, “Right behind you, Parkinson.”

Still, Neville argued, “Sometimes ladies, it's best to leave well enough
alone.”

With her hands on her hips, Pansy regarded her husband and expressed,
“Not when we have to leave in two hours.”

Neville sat back and shrugged, “Yes, dear. You always know best.”

Theo nudged Blaise and chucked, “Well, we definitely know who wears the
pants in that relationship.”

Luna’s soft voice interrupted them. Rather annoyed, she instructed, “Sit up
straight, Theo.”
Blaise helped himself to another pancake and laughed, “Yeah!”

Theo grinned sheepishly and did as he was told.

Minutes later, they were outside Draco's hotel room. Ginny stood outside
the door and knocked repeatedly, “Draco? Hermione? Are you in there?”

When no one answered from within, the world outside the door seemed to
hold its breath. The silence was almost palpable, broken only by the faint
sounds of life filtering in from the surroundings.

Pansy hissed, “This is bloody ridiculous.”

Inconspicuously, Ginny took out her wand, pointed it at the door and
muttered an incantation.

She sighed, “Hmm, they're definitely in there.”

Pansy said irritatedly, “Enough of this.”

She took out her wand, but Ginny grabbed her wrist and questioned with a
raised brow, “Do you think that's wise?” She knew without a doubt the ex-
Slytherin woman was about to barge into the room unceremoniously.

However, Pansy argued rather pointedly, “Weasley, obviously, these two are
fucking dead to the world. They will miss the bloody Portkey.”

Ginny conceded defeat with a heavy heart, “Fine.” She hated that Parkinson
was right. What choice did they have, especially with no answer or
movements from within the room?

Pansy mumbled the word “Alohomora.” The door unlocked almost at once.
A maid pushing a laundry cart glanced their way curiously, but they
completely ignored her and entered the room quickly.

Their eyes immediately fell on the scattered clothes strewn across the floor,
a chaotic array of fabric and colour against the otherwise neat room. The
sight hinted that the clothes were discarded in haste.
Pansy arched an eyebrow. A knowing smirk played on her lips. "Well, well,
well, it seems our dear Draco had some company," she teased, her voice
laced with amusement.

Ginny quipped, “Oh my.” She stood frozen for a moment, unable to tear her
gaze away from the scene unfolding before her. Every fibre of her being
screamed to turn and leave, to pretend she hadn't seen anything. But
curiosity and a morbid fascination held her in place, rooted to the spot as
she watched them, her mind reeling with a mix of amusement and concern
for her dearest friend.

Pansy rasped, “Malfoy always did have a good body.” Her eyes roved over
Draco's exposed top half in appreciation. She stepped further into the room,
picked up a piece of his clothing and held up the garment for inspection.

Oblivious to the intruders in the room, Draco and Hermione remained fast
asleep and naked, their bodies entwined. The sun filtered through the
curtains, casting a warm glow over them.

Pansy didn't hesitate. She took careful aim and threw the garment at Draco’s
head. The piece of clothing found its mark and landed squarely on his face
while Ginny gently poked Hermione in the arm, taking care not to hurt her.

Draco's eyes fluttered open, the world around him still fuzzy and indistinct.
He tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness washed over him, forcing him
back down onto the bed. He groaned. His head throbbed with a dull ache.

Still, with a great effort, he managed to push himself into a sitting position.
He rubbed his temples as he tried to clear the fog from his mind. It felt as
though he had been asleep for an eternity, his body heavy and sluggish as if
weighed down by invisible chains.

As his surroundings slowly came into focus, Draco realised he was in his
hotel room and not alone.

Slowly, the events of the previous night began to surface in his mind,
piecing together like a puzzle. He remembered Hermione and smiled.
However, his eyes blazed with fury as he spotted Ginny and Pansy standing
amidst the scattered clothes.

"What the hell are you two doing here?" he demanded, his voice sharp with
anger.

Ginny tensed at his tone, her heart racing as she realised their presence
wasn't welcome.

"We were just...," she began, but Draco cut her off with a sharp gesture.

"I don't care what you were doing. This is my room, and you had no right to
barge in here like this," he snapped, his hands clenched into fists at his
sides.

He glanced at Hermione, who was asleep next to him and pursed his lips.
He was fully awake now and fuming.

Pansy, ever the more composed of the two, stepped forward, her tone cool
and collected, "We were just curious, Draco. We didn't mean any harm.
Besides, we did knock, and we have less than two hours to leave." She
briefly explained, though her eyes betrayed a hint of defiance.

Ginny crossed her arms over her chest and added rather crossly, “You two
left us little choice but to come in here and make sure everything was
alright.”

Draco glared. He didn't quite like what Weasley was insinuating. She made
it sound like he would hurt Granger—not ever, and especially not after the
night they shared.

Finally, Hermione's eyes snapped open. She groaned and found herself in an
unfamiliar room, the remnants of a wonderful dream still clinging to her
consciousness.

She sat up abruptly, her heart racing, trying to make sense of her
surroundings. She heard raised voices and struggled to comprehend what
was happening.
The sheet that had been wrapped around her slipped off her body, pooling
around her waist, revealing her body.

Pansy bit her bottom lip and drawled, “Nice tits, Granger.”

Hermione gasped and quickly reached to pull the sheet back up to cover
herself, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Draco did the same,
pushing a pillow onto her lap to protect her from this most unwelcome
intrusion.

Why was Parkinson and Ginny in the room?

The cool fabric provided some semblance of comfort and modesty as she
tried to make sense of the situation. Her heart raced with a mix of confusion
and embarrassment, and she cast a quick glance at Draco, who seemed quite
livid.

Draco's jaw clenched, and his gaze flickered between the two women.
"Curious? About what, exactly?" he demanded, his voice low and
dangerous.

Ginny, ever the quick thinker, stepped in smoothly. "We were just checking
on you, Draco."

She interjected, her voice smooth and composed. "Making sure everything
was all right. We are on a tight deadline."

Pansy swallowed nervously, feeling the weight of Draco's anger bearing

down on her.

"We saw the clothes...," she started, but Draco's expression darkened.

"That's none of your business," he growled, his eyes flashing. "Get out, both
of you. Now!"

Ginny and Pansy exchanged a glance before turning and hurrying out of the
room, leaving Draco alone with his anger and the mess they had discovered.
As they made their way out of the room, Hermione remained silent, her
eyes downcast, unable to find the words to express the turmoil of emotions
swirling inside her. She watched them leave, a heaviness settled in her chest
at the realisation that their presence here had likely caused more harm than
good.

Draco sighed, “Fuck.” He fell back down onto the pillow, his breathing
rapid and disturbed.

With a trembling hand, Hermione clutched the sheet wrapped around her. A
sense of vulnerability washed over her. The fabric offered little protection
against the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm her—confusion and
embarrassment.

She felt exposed, both physically and emotionally. She whispered, “I... I
don't know.” Her words made absolutely no sense.

With a tight grip on the sheet, Hermione carefully swung her legs off the
bed, her movements slow and deliberate. She stood up, the sheet wrapped
tightly around her to cover her bits, and took a deep breath, trying to steady
her nerves.

The room spun slightly, and she reached out to steady herself, her mind still
reeling from the shock of waking up in an unfamiliar place, naked and
disoriented.

With determination, Hermione began to search the room, her eyes scanning
the floor for any sign of her belongings. She spotted her bikini bottom and
top discarded in a corner and quickly made her way over to them.

As Hermione gathered her clothes, Draco's eyes followed her every

movement, his gaze lingering on her with a mix of confusion and longing.

When she moved past him, he reached out tentatively, and his fingers
brushed against her arm. However, her emotions threatened to overwhelm
her. He could see the panic and confusion written on her face.
He reached out to her, his voice gentle yet urgent. "Hermione, please, calm
down," he pleaded, his eyes searching hers for some sign of reassurance.
This was not how he planned their morning after.

Without a single word, she rushed into the bathroom, leaving Draco
standing in the room, his confusion mounting.

He watched her go, a knot of worry forming in his stomach. What had
caused her sudden retreat? Had he said something wrong or, worse, done
something wrong?

Draco paced the room, his mind racing with questions and uncertainty. He
wanted to follow her, to comfort her, but something held him back. He
knew he had to give her space, to let her process whatever she was feeling.

Minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity as he waited anxiously
for her to emerge. He could hear the sound of running water from the
bathroom, a constant reminder of her presence just out of reach.

His private thoughts swirled in the aftermath of their intimacy. He wrestled

with a mixture of emotions, his mind a whirlwind of concern and
uncertainty.

Despite the recent moments of passion, a sense of unease settled over him.
He replayed their interaction in his mind, questioning if he could have done
something differently to ease her distress. He wondered about the root cause
of her panic, wishing he could understand her fears more deeply.

Draco pulled up shorts, sat on the bed and patiently waited for his fiancé,
who was clearly panicking. He felt a rush of warmth and connection from
their intimacy, mixed with a tinge of guilt.

Was she regretting what happened between them? They were fairly
intoxicated but in complete control, right? He felt a shiver go down his
spine. Being with her, claiming her, giving himself to her had been mind-
altering.
He wanted to go to her, to hold her and tell her everything would be alright,
but he also knew she needed her space. This ordeal couldn't have been easy
on her. She was clearly battling some inner demons.

Hermione scrabbled into her clothes, almost stumbling and falling. Not that
she was wearing a lot, to begin with. She leaned against the door and closed
her eyes.

Her body still tingled with the lingering sensations of their lovemaking.
Every touch, every caress had felt so right, so natural. She had never
experienced anything like it before, and she couldn't deny the pleasure it
had brought her.

Yet, she was enveloped in conflicting emotions of guilt and fear. Despite the
beauty of their shared experience, a sense of unease settled in her heart,
casting a shadow over the moments of closeness they shared.

Fear gripped her, its tendrils winding around her heart. She was afraid of the
vulnerability that came with opening her heart to another, terrified of being
hurt or abandoned. She wondered if whatever she was feeling would be
reciprocated. Surely, he must have felt it, too—that lightning-like
connection.

Despite these tumultuous emotions, a glimmer of hope flickered within her.

She knew that their journey was bound to be filled with highs and lows, and
at that moment, she was willing to brave the storm for the chance of true
happiness. However, time to think things through was imperative.

With a deep breath, Hermione resolved to confront her fears and embrace
whatever had blossomed between them, hoping that it would guide them
through the darkness.

Still, her mind was racing. She couldn't think clearly and needed some time
to herself without anyone breathing down her neck for answers.

Hermione exited the bathroom and found Draco waiting for her. His
expression was a mix of concern and affection. She met his gaze, seeing
understanding in his eyes, and a wave of relief washed over her.

"Hermione, please," Draco began, his voice was soft yet pleading. "We
need to talk about last night. We can't just ignore what happened."

Hermione sighed, her expression guarded. She replied, her voice barely
above a whisper, "I know."

She added meekly, "But I...I'm not ready to talk about it yet. It's all still
so...confusing."

"We should talk later," she said softly, avoiding his gaze. She could sense
his hesitation to agree, but she needed time to gather her thoughts and sort
through the jumble of emotions swirling inside her.

Draco reached out, placed a hand over hers and said, "I understand. But we
can't avoid this forever. We need to face it together." His tone was gentle yet
authoritative. He desperately needed her to know that he understood her
need for space.

Hermione met his gaze, her eyes searching his for some sign of
understanding, and when she found it, she couldn't help but be mesmerised
by the translucent grey.

After a moment, she nodded. "Okay."

However, she relented. "But not now. Please, Draco, not now." Without
waiting for a response, she turned away and retreated.

Hermione knew her words probably hurt him, but she couldn’t bear to
confront the complexities of their relationship just yet. She needed space to
process her feelings, to come to terms with the emotions, guilt and fear that
threatened to consume her.

After she closed the door behind her, she half expected him to come after
her. When it was clear he wouldn't, she took a deep breath and steeled
herself for the difficult conversation that lay ahead.
Hermione knew that they would need to address their issues, but for now,
she sought solace in the quiet of her own hotel room, hoping that clarity
would come with time.

Draco sighed. There were instances when they were together that he
couldn't quite explain, and he figured those were to blame for Granger’s
reluctance to speak about what transpired between them.

He decided a cleansing shower was a must.

As the water cascaded over him, his mind drifted back to their night
together. He replayed the moments of intimacy, the sounds she uttered when
he entered her and the tenderness and passion they shared. A bittersweet
ache tugged at his heart.

But alongside the memories, her behaviour weighed heavily on his mind.
He tried to rationalise her actions, searching for clues, but the answers
eluded him.

A sense of unease settled over him as he contemplated the distance between

them. He longed to reach out to her, to bridge the gap, but he feared pushing
her further away.

After he stepped out of the shower, Draco resolved to give her the space she
required and to wait for her to come to him when she was ready. He was
willing to be patient and understanding as they navigated through this rough
patch together.

Was it a rough patch though? They had sex. He was under the impression it
was good sex. True, some strange intense things happened, but there was
probably some magical explanation for them.

Hawaii - Hermione & Ginny's room

Hermione silently moaned as she washed away Malfoy’s scent and his
touch. The places where his fingers had dug into her skin were tender and
sore.
She felt a mix of conflicting emotions swirling within her. The memories of
their night together lingered, and the warmth of his embrace was still fresh
in her mind. It had been wonderful, a night of closeness that she had never
experienced before.

But alongside the joy, guilt gnawed at her insides. She couldn’t help but feel
conflicted, knowing that he was once her enemy. The connection she felt
between them was strong, stronger than she ever thought possible, and it
terrified her to her very core.

She stood in the shower, the water washing away the remnants of their time
together, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it all meant. Can she truly
let go of the past and embrace this newfound connection? Or was she
doomed to repeat the mistakes of her past?

She wasn't particularly gifted with handling relationships or men in general

and now she was stuck with the most complex one of the lot.

With a heavy heart, Hermione turned off the water and stepped out of the
shower, knowing that she needed to confront her feelings head-on.

She couldn’t ignore the pull she felt towards him, but she also couldn't
ignore the voice in the back of her mind warning her to proceed with
caution.

Hawaii - Breakfast

They arrived at breakfast at almost the same time; their friends' eyes lit up
with amusement, and a knowing smile played on their lips.

Draco pulled out the chair next to him so that Hermione could sit, and she
graciously accepted his invitation. Blaise and Theo exchanged knowing
glances and subtle nudges, teasing without saying a word.

The atmosphere was lighthearted yet tinged with curiosity, as if they were
all in on a secret that the unlikely couple was oblivious to.
Draco and Hermione exchanged puzzled looks, unsure of what had sparked
their friends' amusement. They assumed Pansy had spilled the beans. They
tried to ignore the playful looks and whispered conversations happening
around them.

Finally, Theo asked with a mischievous grin, "So, how was your night?"

Hermione blushed crimson, and Draco glared at Theo. The bloody callous
moron. His stern look was enough to silence the overzealous man.

It became obvious that Draco would not tolerate any amusing banter about
his personal life. Despite the initial awkwardness, the atmosphere soon
lightened, and the group settled into easy chatter and laughter.

Hermione glanced at the man beside her; his handsome face was set in
stone. Her heart skipped a beat as his hand brushed against her thigh under
the table.

A jolt of electricity shot through her, and she felt her cheeks flush with heat.
Despite the public setting, his touch ignited a spark of desire within her, a
reminder of the intimacy they shared the night before.

Her appetite deserted her completely. Instead, she cleared her throat,
composed herself and asked politely, “Would you like some tea, Draco?”
Her voice was a little unsteady, betrayed by the effect his touch had on her.
He met her gaze, and his eyes darkened with desire.

Surprised that she offered, he gave her a subtle nod while his hand lingered
for a moment longer before retreating. The feel of her was everything he
imagined.

As she poured the tea, their fingers brushed against each other, sending
another wave of heat through her, causing her almost to drop the floral-
painted cup. Their friends seemed oblivious to the charged atmosphere
between them, engrossed in their conversations.

Hermione handed Draco the cup; their fingers touched once more, and she
felt a surge of longing. She knew that they needed to talk to address the
complexities of their relationship. Still, at the moment, all she wanted was
to lose herself in the intensity of his touch, to savour the connection that had
ignited between them.

He cleared his throat, his expression serious yet tinged with a hint of
vulnerability, "I think we need to talk about what happened between us." He
spoke quietly so no one else would hear. His intense gaze searched hers for
a response.

She hesitated, her heart racing at the prospect of addressing the

complexities of their relationship. Still, she replied softly but resolutely, "I
agree, but can we please wait until we're back in England? I want to have
this conversation in private, where we can speak openly and honestly
without any distractions."

Draco regarded her and nodded. He understood the importance of having

this conversation in a more intimate setting.

He gently reached out, squeezed her hand and mused, “We'll wait until
we're home. But, If I didn't know any better, I would say you're avoiding the
matter."

Hermione pursed her lips and remained silent. She couldn't argue when he
spoke the truth.

Draco moved closer and whispered, “Have it your way, Granger, but we
need to address the elephant in the room sooner than later.”

Still, despite his persistence, she remained firm in her decision to delay the
conversation until they returned to England. She knew that the situation was
complicated, and she needed time to sort through her feelings before
discussing them openly.

Draco respected her wishes, though a hint of disappointment flickered

across his eyes. Yet, he completely understood the importance of giving her
space and time to process, and he was willing to wait until she was ready to
talk.
They finished their breakfast, but the tension between them lingered, a
silent understanding passing between them.

They're both aware that the relationship has changed, irrevocably altered by
the events of the night before. Yet, they focused on enjoying the company
of their friends, silently acknowledging the conversation that awaits them
when they return to England. For now, they were content to enjoy the last
few moments in Hawaii.

Blaise raised an eyebrow, his gaze flickering between Draco and Hermione,
who were sitting next to each other at the breakfast table. He waited until
everyone walked away before speaking to his best mate.

"So, care to enlighten us about the tension between you and Hermione?" he
asked casually, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Draco's jaw tightened slightly. His eyes narrowed as he considered his

response. He knew Blaise was observant and wouldn't drop the subject
easily.

"It's... complicated," Draco finally replied, choosing his words carefully. He

glanced at Hermione, who was watching him intently, her expression
unreadable. Still, it was clear she was wondering what Blaise was asking.

Blaise leaned back in his chair and studied Draco’s uncomfortable body
language.

He said thoughtfully. "Complicated, huh? Care to elaborate?"

Draco sighed. He ran a hand through his hair and admitted, "It's just...
there's a lot we need to talk about."

His voice was tinged with uncertainty, "Things have changed between us,
and I'm not sure where we stand."

Blaise nodded understandingly, sensing the weight of his friend’s words.

"Well, whenever you're ready to talk about it, I'm here for you," he said, his
tone supportive.
Draco nodded, thankful for his friend's understanding. He knew that the
conversation he needed to have with Hermione wouldn't be easy, but he also
knew that it was necessary if they were ever going to move forward.

Hawaii

Hermione hastily packed her bag, and Ginny watched her friend's frenzied
movements with growing concern. She could sense the turmoil and tension
that seemed to radiate off her in waves.

Her brow furrowed in worry, and she asked, "Hermione, what's going on?
Have you lost the ability to speak?"

She stepped closer to her friend and frowned, “You seem... off. Is
everything okay?"

Hermione paused, her hands stilled as she looked up at Ginny. She opened
her mouth to speak and then closed it again, uncertainty flashing in her
eyes.

"I... I don't know. Things are just... complicated right now, " she finally
admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ginny sat down beside her, placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and
offered, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Hermione hesitated and then shook her head. "Not right now. I just need
some time to think." Once she wrapped her head around everything, the
first person she would talk to would be Ginny. She needed to ask her about
the intense display of magic and whether what she felt was normal. Maybe
Malfoy hadn't experienced it since he hadn’t mentioned anything.

Ginny nodded understandingly. She gave her friend's shoulder a reassuring

squeeze and smiled, "Okay. Just know that I'm here for you whenever
you're ready to talk. Just don't overthink what happened."
Hermione managed a small smile, grateful for Ginny's support and replied
truthfully, “Im not, love. I swear.” She knew that she couldn't keep running
from the conversation she needed to have with Draco, but for now, she just
needed a moment to gather her thoughts and emotions.

Her feelings were quite redundant and falling all over each other.

Still, curiosity got the better of Ginny, and she blurted out, “I'm assuming
he's good in the sack.”

Hermione scolded in an amusing tone, “Ginny!” He was good, but she

wished he had lasted longer.

Ginny simply shrugged, “What? I'm curious.”

Hermione sighed. She conceded defeat and muttered, “He's different.”

Ginny misunderstood Hermione's answer. She let out a laugh and instead
frowned, “Merlin! Was he that bad?” Maybe that was the reason for
Hermione's silence and weird behaviour.

Hermione defended adamantly, “Of course not. Not at all. I can't really
explain because it's nothing like I've ever experienced.”

Ginny widened her eyes. Her curiosity peaked, and she was dying to learn
all the juicy details.

However, Hermione looked at her watch and exclaimed, “And we don't

have the time to get into it right now.”

She rummaged through her bag, pulled out a few thick golden Galleons and
tossed them onto the bed with a smirk, “Here you go, as promised.”

Ginny grinned, “Ah, I told you I'd win.” She collected the coins and
pocketed them.

Hermione held out her beaded bag and rushed, “Drop your bag in here.
Come on!”
With some difficulty, Ginny did as she was told but rolled her eyes, “We
have time, Hermione.”

They entered Blaise’s suite and found they were the last ones to arrive.

Pansy scoffed, “About time, you two.”

Ginny opened her mouth to respond with something rather unpleasant, but
Blaise interrupted her.

He smiled and asked with a slight nod of his head, “Alright there, Red?”

Ginny winked, “All good, mate.”

Blaise said, “This was fun.” He truly had a blast with Ginny. She was so
easy to be around, and he could talk about the children for hours without
letting them up.

Ginny nodded in agreement, “Definitely.” The man was always good fun,
but she felt nothing beyond friendship.

He massaged the back of his neck and suggested, “Fancy a play date with
the kids sometime next week?” He didn't know what compelled him to
offer, knowing full well that Daphne would have a problem with it, but he
wanted to keep his friendship with Ginny.

Ginny perked up, “I think that would be great.”

Neville smiled and dropped a bunch of envelopes onto the bed, “All bills
have been settled.”

Everyone gathered around the tattered purse Pansy had laid on top of the
study table.

A voice invaded Hermione’s space, “Got everything?”

She jumped a mile, especially since she was caught up in her thoughts and
daydreaming.
Draco chuckled, “Calm down, Granger. It's only me.” He boldly tucked a
tendril of hair behind her ear.

Hermione placed a hand over her chest, displaying the engagement ring and
answered, “You scared me, and yes, I just dumped everything into the bag.”

Draco turned her around, came up from behind and breathed, “Relax. Clear
your mind, love.”

Hermione closed her eyes and concentrated on his voice. She could still
hear his pleasured groans from the night before.

The purse began to glow, and Pansy instructed urgently, “Grab on everyone.
It’s time.”

In another part of London

“It's time we become one, my darling,” the deranged man cooed lovingly.

His long strands of what appeared to be dirty hair concealed his grotesque
half. He had been in his twenties when his mother disfigured him.

Despite his appearance, he was exceptionally clean. He bathed several

times a day, a luxury he seldom offered to his captives.

The room was dimly lit. Sarah had been upgraded to sharing his room since
the marriage proposal, and it pleased him to know she was within reach
whenever he wanted to take her body without consent.

He had lived for years under his mother's thumb but without incident.
Killing her had triggered something dark within him, a fantasy he had long
since buried. The hope of a loving family. It was what he was desperately
trying to recreate.

The malnourished young woman sat on the bed in nothing except for a pair
of soiled knickers. She was handcuffed to the bed, restricting her
movements. Her eyes were distant and detached.
The man approached her, a menacing figure cloaked in shadows. He carried
a dusty, tattered wedding gown, and a cruel smirk played on his lips.

He had only seen pictures, but his mother looked beautiful on her wedding
day. Her red locks were styled into an intricate updo that exuded
sophistication and grace.

They were meticulously styled into a timeless chignon, a low bun at the
nape of her neck. Soft tendrils framed her face, enhancing her natural
beauty. The chignon was adorned with delicate pearl pins, adding a touch of
glamour and sophistication.

The hairstyle was completed with a sheer veil that cascaded gently over her
shoulders, creating a dreamy, romantic look.

He often wondered whether she had known about her husband's true nature.
Or if her family bothered that she was being married off to a monster? The
pure-blood fools.

He taunted, but there was genuine affection behind his words, “Look what
I've brought for you, my dear. A gown fit for a bride.” He tossed the
garment towards Sarah. The fabric billowed as it landed near her feet.

Sarah’s eyes widened in disbelief and fear. Her heart pounded in her chest.
She knew this was not a gesture of love or celebration but a cruel attempt to
strip her of her identity and autonomy.

Her hands trembled as she touched the fabric, feeling the softness
contrasting with the harsh reality of her captivity.

Mixed emotions swirl within her—anger at her captors' audacity, sorrow for
the life and freedom stolen from her, and a flicker of defiance, refusing to
let them break her spirit. With a deep breath, she steels herself, determined
to survive this ordeal with dignity, even as the dress symbolises the
mockery of her situation.

The man said sarcastically, “After all, every bride needs a wedding dress,
even if it's for a... special occasion.”
Sarah trembled, tears welling up in her eyes as she looked at the gown, a
stark reminder of her captivity and the twisted intentions of her captor.

She mumbled, “Please... let me go…” She pleaded once more, hoping he
would see reason, but it was clearly the wrong thing to say since, in his
deranged mind, he truly believed she had fallen completely and utterly in
love with him.

He looked pained but responded coldly, “Oh, but my dear, you haven't even
tried on the dress yet. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.” He moved
closer to her, a predatory gleaming in his eyes.

Sarah gritted her teeth and averted her gaze, but he forced her to look at him
by forcefully cupping her chin and turning her to face him.

He kissed her cheek and whispered, “You'll make such a beautiful bride...
once I'm done with you.” He felt a deep sexual stirring.

Sarah’s eyes widened in horror as she realised the true extent of his
depravity, and before she could stop herself, she sobbed, “No... please…”

The man regarded her curiously and chuckled darkly, savouring her fear and
helplessness.

He stated plainly, “It's too late for pleas, my dear. You're mine now, and
we’re meant to be together. And soon, you'll be the most beautiful bride... in
your own twisted fairy tale.” She might even be more beautiful than his
mother.

He left the room to prepare food, the light fading as the door closed behind
him. He left Sarah alone with her terror and the wedding gown, a cruel
reminder of her never-ending nightmare.

To make matters worse, she couldn't remember when she had her last
period.

London - Neville's Mansion

As the group arrived in London, the sun was beginning to set, casting a
warm glow over the vast gardens of Neville's home.

They landed safely, and Theo was the first to say, “Well, this has been loads
of fun.”

Luna took his hand and smiled, “Yes, I couldn't agree more.” She hadn't
been able to enjoy herself too much due to her terrible morning sickness.
However, there were many precious moments she shared with Theo that she
would cherish forever.

Blaise made his thoughts on the matter vocal, “I think we owe Pansy and
Neville a big vote of thanks for planning everything.”

Theo clapped Neville on the back, a smile on his face. "Thanks for
organising this, mate. It's been a blast.”

One by one, their friends expressed their gratitude, thanking Neville and
Pansy for their hard work and dedication. There were smiles and hugs all
around as they recounted their favourite moments from the trip, from
exploring the stunning beaches to sampling the delicious local cuisine.

Neville and Pansy exchanged a look, both touched by their friends' heartfelt
thanks. Despite their initial apprehensions about planning the trip together,
it turned out to be a memorable and transformative experience for everyone.

Neville beamed, “It was our pleasure.”

An elf appeared with glasses of champagne balanced on a silver tray.

Draco raised his glass in a toast to their hosts, "To Neville and Pansy."

He glanced at Hermione but said, his voice filled with warmth and a hidden
message, "Thank you for an unforgettable trip to paradise."

Hermione caught his gaze and blushed. She refused to back down and
drained the champagne.

Pansy offered, “Would anyone like something stronger?”

Blaise politely refused, “No thanks, love. I need to see my wife and kids.”

Ginny concurred, “Likewise. By the way, you have a lovely home.”

Pansy smiled, “Why thank you, Weasley.”

She softened her tone, “You're welcome anytime.”

Blaise patted his belly and mused, “I need a few days to recover from all
the booze.”

Theo sighed, “Back to reality then?”

Draco quipped, “Looks like it, Theo.”

Hermione, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet, injected rather

abruptly, “Thank you for everything. See you all soon.”

Draco watched intently as Hermione hurriedly left the room, his chest
sinking. He knew their conversation couldn’t be put off any longer, but he
also knew that pushing her now would only make things worse.

Ginny shot him a sympathetic look before following Hermione out of the
room, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts. He knew he needed to give
her space, to let her come to him when she was good and ready, but the
uncertainty of their situation weighed heavily on him.

The sounds of their friends' laughter drifted in from the other room, and
Draco couldn't help but feel a sense of sadness and regret. He had
envisioned having dinner and spending the night together.

It was clear that he needed to confront his feelings for Hermione, to lay
everything out on the table and see where they stood. But he also knew that
it wouldn’t be easy and that the outcome was far from certain.

Blaise asked with a curious raise of his brow, “What was that about?” He
had been watching Granger, and she was unlike her usual confident self.
Draco shrugged, “I don't know, Blaise.” There were many probable
explanations for her behaviour, and until they spoke, it was hard to come to
any conclusion. He only hoped her insecurities aligned with his.

Blaise clapped Draco on the back and reassured him, “Don't worry about it,
mate. It's probably jitters or something.”

Draco sighed, “Hmm, perhaps.” Whatever it was, he wanted to resolve it

soon rather than let it fester.

Ginny took a deep breath and asked, “Are you coming over? Malfoy
certainly wanted to have a chat.” The man had looked pained and visibly
upset when they walked out.

Hermione smiled slightly, “In good time. I just want to sleep in my bed. I'm
knackered.”

Ginny teased, “I bet you are.”

Hermione smirked, “You devilish cunt.”

They exchanged air kisses, “See you soon, love.”

Hermione smiled broadly, “Give the boys my love.”

Ginny winked, “Will do, darling.” With those words, she disappeared.

Hermione appeared inside her flat and immediately sank into the sofa. She
knew she couldn't avoid Malfoy. It was quite childish, but she wasn't
mentally prepared to have an in-depth conversation about what had
happened. Besides, if she was being brutally honest, the encounter had
completely shocked her.

She was grateful for the solitude, a chance to gather her thoughts and make
sense of the whirlwind of emotions that had consumed her since having sex
with Malfoy.

It felt bizarre to think the words out loud. She had sex with Draco Malfoy
and enjoyed it immensely. She wanted him to take her again and again.
Still, part of her was relieved to be away from Draco, the tension between
them almost palpable. She needed space to process her feelings and figure
out what she wanted and what she was afraid of. But another part of her
couldn't shake the memories of their night together, the intimacy and
connection she felt with him.

She knew that their relationship would always be complicated and that there
were no easy answers. But she also knew that she couldn't ignore the
feelings that had blossomed between them, no matter how hard she tried.

Hermione sat in the quiet of her flat. She wanted to confront her feelings, to
have the difficult conversation with Draco that was obviously looming over
them. Still, she wasn't sure what the future held for them, but she knew that
she owed it to herself to find out.

She had a few sexual partners, but not once had she experienced something
remotely close. It wasn't utterly sexual but a bizarre bonding of sorts.

Merlin, was it some marriage bond that snapped into place? There were so
many unanswered questions. The not knowing drove her to the brink of
insanity. She hated not being in complete control.

She pushed the thoughts out of her head and stepped into the bathroom. She
decided that a long bubble bath might be just what she needed to clear her
head. The warm water enveloped her as she sank into the tub, and the
soothing scent of lavender filled the air.

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax for the first time in what felt
like forever. The events of the past few days swirled through her mind, but
with each passing moment, they seemed to fade into the background,
replaced by a sense of calm and tranquillity.

Hermione let out a contented sigh, letting the tension melt away from her
muscles as she soaked in the luxurious warmth of the bath.

For now, at least, she could forget about the uncertainty and confusion that
had plagued her, if only for a little while.
Suddenly, as she drifted off, it dawned on her that they hadn't used any
protection, Muggle or magic.

The realisation hit Hermione like a ton of bricks. Her breath caught in her
throat as the gravity of the situation sank in.

They had been swept up in the heat of the moment, the intensity of their
connection blurring everything else around them. But now, with the clarity
of hindsight, she was faced with the stark reality of their actions.

She took safe sex very seriously, but for reasons known only to themselves,
poor judgment seemed to be governing their weird relationship.

Fear gripped her heart as she considered the consequences of their

unprotected encounter. She knew all too well the risks involved, the
potential for an unplanned pregnancy. The very thought of facing such
repercussions terrified her, sending a wave of panic coursing through her
veins.

Guilt washed over her as she berated herself for her recklessness, for
allowing her desires to cloud her judgment.

She knew that she should have been more responsible and insisted on
protection. But in the heat of the moment, she had let her guard down,
swept away by the intensity of her feelings for Draco.

Distraught about what could happen, Hermione broke down in sobs. How
could she be this foolish?

Oh God, what if she became pregnant with his child? A sudden warmth
spread through her before she could compose herself. Clearly, her internal
thoughts and engagement ring seemed to agree that it would be marvellous
for her to give birth to the next Malfoy heir.

However, her mind overruled everything, and she came up with a more
plausible explanation for how devastating it would be for all parties
involved.
She touched her flat belly and sighed. Tears streamed down her face. Why
was she getting so bloody emotional over absolutely nothing?

Hannah's Flat

Hannah was startled when Burke showed up unannounced at her doorstep.

He looked more serious than usual, and she could tell he had something
important on his mind.

She invited him in and greeted him with a raised eyebrow, “Good evening. I
wasn't expecting you.”

"I've been digging into the killer's background," Burke began. "My friend in
Russia was able to uncover some information."

As Burke shared more details about the killer's past, Hannah's heart sank. It
was a tragic story of a young boy who had grown up in a household filled
with violence and neglect. The Russian Ministry had records of many such
instances.

Burke offered, disappointment laced his words, “We don't have much to go
by except his real name, Pasha Nicolave and blood group, AB negative. He
was a rather good-looking lad.”

Hannah looked at the picture and was inclined to agree with her colleague.
The boy was undoubtedly handsome.

He continued somewhat solemnly, “However, the father was a brute, and

he's since passed. There's speculation that his mistress murdered him, but
nothing has been proven. The woman resides in the family home but has no
access to any funds.

"It's a classic case of nature versus nurture," Burke explained. "Despite

everything he's been through, he's still managed to maintain a façade of
normalcy. But underneath it all, there's a darkness that's been festering for
years. A few instances of abuse have been recorded."
Hannah couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the killer. She knew
that his past didn't excuse his actions, but it offered a glimpse into the
complex web of emotions that had led him down his current path.

She said thoughtfully, “This puts him around fifty-plus years by now.”
These weren't some random abductions. They were personal and connected
to his past.

Burke agreed, “Aye! He's not exactly a youngster. The boy was a squib.
There's no mention of any magical powers.”

Hannah listened intently as Burke recounted the troubled upbringing of the

killer. He described a childhood marred by abuse and neglect, painting a
grim picture of a young life scarred by violence and trauma.

"We need to find him before he hurts anyone else," Burke said, his voice
filled with determination. However, Thomas was convinced the man had
stopped his killing spree and fallen in love with his captive.

He included gravely, “I took the liberty of running the name through our
databases but came up empty-handed. This Pasha Niclove does not exist.”

"His childhood must have been hell," Hannah said, her voice filled with
empathy.

Burke nodded. "It's no excuse for what he's done, but it does give us some
insight into his mindset. Maybe if we can understand why he turned out this
way, we can stop him before he hurts anyone else."

Hannah knew Burke was right. Understanding the killer's past was crucial
to stopping him in the present. She thanked him for the information and
promised to keep him updated on any developments in the case.

As Burke left, Hannah couldn't help but wonder what had driven the killer
to commit such heinous acts. She knew they were getting closer to catching
him, but she also knew that the hardest part was yet to come – facing the
killer and bringing him to justice.
Neville's Mansion

Pansy picked up her beautiful cat, who seemed a bit plump around the
middle, “Oh, Caramel, I missed you, darling.”

A stern voice cut through the moment, “How was the trip?”

Neville swallowed hard, “Oh, we didn't see you there, grandmother.”

However, Pansy answered, “We had a lovely time. Thank you for looking
after Caramel.”

The cat escaped from Pansy’s clutches and approached the Longbottom
Matriarch. With its soft and sleek fur, it gently nudged against her leg with
her head, seeking attention or affection.

Neville stared, stunned into silence. His grandmother never ceased to amaze
him.

Caramel continued to rub its head against Ausgusta’s leg, displaying her
affection for the usually strict woman.

Augusta smiled fondly and reached down to stroke the soft fur, “It was my
pleasure.”

Pansy and Neville exchanged a look of utter bewilderment and watched

curiously as Caramel followed Augusta out of the room.

No 12, Grimmauld Place

Harry's heart leapt with joy when he saw Ginny. He had missed her more
than he cared to admit, and seeing her again filled him with a sense of relief
and happiness. Despite his casual attitude towards her spending days away
from him, he was deeply concerned by Zabini’s presence even though he
trusted Ginny completely.

As she entered the room, he crossed the distance between them in a few
quick strides, enveloping her in a tight embrace.
"I'm so glad you're back," Harry whispered, his voice full of emotion. "I
missed you."

Ginny smiled, returning his embrace with equal warmth. "I missed you too,
Harry." He was her everything, and that would never change, no matter
what happened.

She replied, her voice soft. "It's good to be home."

They stood there for a moment, lost in each other's arms, grateful for the
comfort and familiarity of their love, until James came running into the
room, followed closely by Molly.

The child was ecstatic and cried overjoyed, “Mummy!”

Ginny scooped him up and hugged him tightly, “My darling! Mummy
missed you so much.”

Despite the challenges they faced, they could weather any storm.

Hermione's Flat

After some difficulty, Hermione finally managed to fall asleep, a peaceful

expression on her face.

Suddenly, she began to stir, a look of distress crossing her features. She
tossed and turned violently.

She found herself in a dark, dank dungeon, the air thick with a sense of
foreboding. She looked around, confused and frightened.

Bellatrix's voice echoed, “Ah, Hermione, my dear. Did you really think you
could escape me?”

The dark witch materialised before Hermione, a sinister smile playing on

her lips.

Hermione asked, her voice trembling, “What do you want from me?”
Bellatrix taunted, “Oh, nothing much. To remind you of your place in this
world.”

Suddenly, images flashed before her eyes—intimate, loving moments that

she thought were private.

Draco kissed her passionately while spreading her legs and touching her
most private place. He rubbed one sensitive spot repeatedly.

Bellatrix spat in disgust and mocked, “Enjoying your little tryst with Draco,
are we? How quaint. But remember, Mudblood, you'll never be one of us.”

Hermione tried to speak, but no words came out. She felt exposed and
vulnerable.

Bellatrix cackled gleefully, “It's delicious, isn't it? The shame, the guilt... I
can feel it radiating off you. Did you enjoy my nephew's cock, bitch?”

Hermione covered her ears and backed away. Fear and shame washed over
her. She was a fucking hypocrite.

She whispered, “No... this isn't real…”

Bellatrix started to advance and sneered, “Oh, but it is, Hermione. This is
your truth, your deepest fear. And I'm here to make sure you never forget
it.”

The engagement ring burned bright and came to his keeper’s aid.

Bellatrix hissed, blackened blood spewing out of her mouth, “If you do end
up pregnant, kill it, or I will.”

Hermione tried to run, but the dungeon walls seemed to close in on her,
trapping her in a nightmare from which she could not escape.

She woke up with a start, her heart racing.

She tried to shake off the lingering fear, but the words of Bellatrix echoed in
her mind.
How could she ever kill her child? It was unthinkable.

Hermione hugged her knees to her chest and sobbed, “It was just a dream...
just a dream.” But deep down, she knew that the shadows of the past would
not be easily shaken.

Blaise's Home

The front door opened, and Blaise stepped inside, greeted by the familiar
warmth of home. His heart swelled with joy as his children, Carrie and
Adam, rushed towards him, their laughter filling the air.

"Daddy's home!" Carrie exclaimed, throwing her arms around his waist.

Blaise laughed, scooping her up into his arms. "I missed you both so
much!"

Adam joined in, hugging his legs tightly. "We missed you too, Daddy!"

Blaise knelt to hug them both, planting kisses on their cheeks. Then, he
turned to his wife, Daphne, who was watching with a smile.

"Daphne," he said, standing up and pulling her into his arms. "I missed you
more than words can say."

Malfoy Manor

Draco could feel the weight of Hermione's unspoken words hanging in the
air. He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought.

What had gone wrong? He replayed their last conversation in his mind,
searching for clues, but everything seemed to blur together.

He couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled in his chest since
their return from Hawaii. What was Hermione thinking? Was she as
conflicted as he was?
His uncertainty was because something had happened between them. He
felt her magic burn while they were intimate, and it wasn't to be taken
lightly. They had shared something utterly unique and special.

Besides, they were also faced with having to set a date for the marriage now
that they were back, but it would be after his Auror trials, which were just
around the corner.

As much as he tried to push it away, he found himself fixating on her. It was

infuriating and perplexing all at once. Why did she have such an effect on
him?

Draco heard a whimper and looked up. He saw his pure white German
Shepherd, Max. His head tilted to one side as if studying him.

He smiled, reaching out to stroke her soft fur. "Hello, boy," he said softly,
his voice gentle. "Did you want to keep me company?"

When he arrived home, Max greeted him with a wagging tail and eager
barks of excitement. He bounded up to him, his tail wagging furiously, and
Draco knelt without hesitation to ruffle his fur, a smile spreading across his
face.

Max wagged his tail, his eyes filled with understanding. He nuzzled against
his hand, offering him comfort and companionship in his silent way. Draco
felt a sense of peace wash over him, grateful for Max's unwavering loyalty
and love.

Dotty knocked on the door and entered once permission was granted. She
announced, “Dinner is served, Master Draco.”

She added with a shy smile, “Also, sir, if you like, I can trim your hair. It's
grown a bit.”

He hadn't even noticed but was grateful for the suggestion, “Of course,
Dotty. That's a splendid idea.”
Nott Manor

Theo dropped the heavy bags on the floor and rounded on his wife, “What
is going on with you?” He was fed up with her illness and demanded
answers. If she refused, he would drag her to St Mungo’s if necessary.

Tired of lying and keeping such an important bit of news to herself, Luna
hesitated. She twisted the fabric of her skirt in her hands and said, "Theo,
I... I have something to tell you."

Theo looked at her, his expression curious. "What is it, Luna? You look
worried." He started to panic and chose to devote all his time to finding a
cure for whatever was wrong with her.

"I... I'm pregnant," Luna blurted out, her heart racing. She watched Theo
carefully, trying to gauge his reaction.

For a moment, Theo was silent, and then his eyes widened in surprise. A
broad smile spread across his face, and he crossed the room to kneel in front
of her.

Of course, she was pregnant. How could he have been so blind to the signs?
It was so plainly obvious.

"Luna, that's wonderful news!" he exclaimed.

He took her hands in his and gushed, "I can't believe we're going to have a
child!"

Relief flooded through Luna, and tears welled up in her eyes. "You're not
upset?"

"Upset? Luna, I'm overjoyed!" Theo said, pulling her into a tight hug.

He lied convincingly, "I've been hoping for this moment for so long. I love
you, and I can't wait to start this new chapter of our lives together." He kept
his true feelings hidden.
Luna hugged him back tightly, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. She
had been so worried about Theo's reaction, but now she knew that they
were truly in this together.

Malfoy Manor

Narcissa Malfoy sat elegantly and composed at the head of the dining table
while Bernard sat to her right. Draco was seated on her left; he looked
slightly tired but content. The dining room was opulently decorated, with
bright lighting casting a warm glow over the scene.

Draco couldn't help but stare at his phone. The device stayed treacherously
silent, and he pondered whether he should call her.

Narcissa inquired rather excitedly, “So, tell us everything.” She was more
concerned about how he did with Hermione than about the sights and
things.

Bernard and Draco shook hands, and he offered his future stepson a tumbler
of scotch.

Grateful for the drink, Draco took a gratifying sip and mused, “All in good
time, Mother. Have some patience.”

Narcissa sulked rather like a child denied a toy or sweet.

Bernard glanced at his beloved and stifled a laugh. He addressed Draco and
quipped, “I'm dying to hear the details.”

"It was incredible, Mother," Draco began, his voice animated.

He summarised as best he could, "The beaches were like nothing I've ever
seen—white sand stretching for miles, crystal-clear water that shimmered in
the sunlight. And the sunsets... Merlin, the sunsets were breathtaking. The
sky would turn all shades of orange and pink like it was on fire."
As Draco continued to regale them with tales of his adventures, Narcissa
couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment. For the first time in a long
while, her son seemed truly relaxed. His usual guarded demeanour was
softened by the memories of his time in Hawaii. However, she was
oblivious to the inner turmoil he was suffering.

Bernard, who had been listening quietly, leaned forward with interest. "I've
always wanted to visit Hawaii. It sounds like a paradise on Earth."

Draco nodded, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. "It truly is. There's a sense
of serenity there, a feeling of being completely disconnected from the chaos
of the outside world. It was a much-needed escape, I must say."

Narcissa reached out to affectionately pat her son's hand. "I'm glad you had
the opportunity to experience such beauty, Draco. It's important to find
moments of peace and joy, especially in times like these."

Draco nodded, feeling a sense of peace wash over him as he remembered

the breathtaking landscapes of Hawaii and Hermione being enthralled by it
all. Despite the tumultuous world he inhabited, there was solace to be found
in the simple beauty of nature, a reminder of the wonders that still existed
beyond the darkness.

She added with a smile, “It’s a pity Hermione couldn't join us for dinner. It
would've been lovely to see her.”

Draco became rigid. He pursed his lips and stared into his drink. The last
thing he wanted was to speak about Hermione Granger.

Thankfully, Dotty appeared and clicked her fingers. The meal was a feast
for the senses, with each course more delectable than the last. They started
with a light salad of fresh greens drizzled with a tangy vinaigrette. This was
followed by a creamy lobster bisque, rich and flavorful, served in elegant
soup bowls.

For the main course, they were served perfectly cooked filet mignon, tender
and juicy, accompanied by buttery mashed potatoes and crisp asparagus
spears. The aroma of the food filled the room, making their mouths water in
anticipation.

Throughout the meal, they shared stories and laughter, enjoying each other's
company in the intimate dining room setting. It was a moment of respite
from the worries of the world outside, a chance to indulge in the simple
pleasure of good food and good company.

As they finished their decadent chocolate mousse dessert, Draco leaned

back in his chair, feeling content and satisfied.

"That was truly delicious," he remarked, looking around for Dotty. The elf
deserved most, if not all of the credit.

Narcissa looked at Draco with concern etched into her features. She had
noticed the tension when she asked about Hermione, and she couldn't
ignore it any longer. Taking a deep breath, she decided to broach the subject
gently.

"Draco, is everything alright between you and Hermione? Is your

friendship…progressing?" she asked, her voice soft and caring.

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "It's complicated, Mother.
We've just been... having some issues lately." Except he wasn't sure if her
issues were the same as his issues. All he knew was they needed to talk and
come to an understanding.

"I see," Narcissa said, nodding slowly. "Would you like to talk about it?
Sometimes, discussing things can help bring clarity."

Bernard cleared his throat and politely excused himself. He pulled out a
cigar and walked towards the wide terrace.

Draco hesitated, unsure if he wanted to delve into the complexities of his

relationship with Hermione. But seeing the genuine concern in his mother's
eyes, he decided to open up.
He said rather glumly, "It's just... ever since we got back from Hawaii,
things have been different between us. I thought the trip would bring us
closer together, but it feels like we've grown apart instead."

Narcissa listened attentively, nodding empathetically. "Relationships can be

challenging, especially after a significant event like a trip. Have you tried
talking to Hermione about how you're feeling?"

Draco shook his head. "Not really. Every time I try to bring it up, she shuts
me down. I don't want to make things worse." He excluded that she was
avoiding him at all costs.

Narcissa reached out and placed a comforting hand on Draco's.

"Communication is key, Draco. It's important to express your feelings and
listen to hers. Maybe try approaching the conversation calmly and without
blame. Let her know you care about her and want to work things out."

Draco nodded, grateful for his mother's advice. "I'll try talking to her again.
Thank you, mother. I want things to be better." Easier said than done, mate.
Granger was too stubborn at times for her own good.

Narcissa gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, "I'm sure they will, Draco.
Just remember to be patient and understanding. A relationship takes effort,
but it's worth it in the end."

She added thoughtfully, “Sometimes, Draco, those who challenge us the

most are the ones who help us grow. Have you considered that perhaps this
tension is a sign of growth rather than discord?”

Draco wasn't wholly convinced by his mother’s argument but agreed

without much thought, “Growth... I suppose it's possible. But it's not easy,
Mother. Change never is.”

Narcissa smiled, “No, it isn't. But it's often necessary for us to become
better versions of ourselves. And if Hermione is aiding you in that journey,
perhaps she's worth the discomfort.”
Was she aiding the journey or hindering it? He supposed people reacted
differently to situations.

With a newfound resolve, Draco left the dining area, determined to have a
heart-to-heart conversation with Hermione and hopefully mend their
strained relationship. He supposed his mother made some valid points, and
perhaps they would help him get through to Granger.

The Ministry Of Magic

The next morning, Hermione arrived at her office at the Ministry of Magic,
her mind still preoccupied with the events of the previous day. As she
entered, she was greeted by her assistant, who was waiting for her at her
desk with a stack of parchments.

"Good morning, Hermione. Welcome back." Brenda said brightly. "I've

compiled a list of the meetings you have scheduled for today, as well as the
reports that need your approval."

Hermione saw the reports and frowned, “How is it possible there's so

many? I was gone for just a few days.”

Brenda looked at her sheepishly, “The Minister added a few of his to your
plate. He said he was rather busy and didn't have the time.”

Hermione scowled, “Oh, how wonderful.”

She muttered under her breath, “The lazy codger.”

Brenda giggled, “I'm sorry, boss.”

Hermione took out a neatly wrapped gift package and placed it on Brenda’s
table. She smiled, “For you.”

Brenda tore at the beautiful wrapping paper and squealed in delight, “Oh,
thank you. They're lovely.” The gift was an assortment of bright-coloured
earrings.
She took out a set of red earrings and wore them, “I love it.”

Hermione beamed. The second she saw them at the local vendors market,
she had thought of Brenda instantly.

Brenda asked curiously, “Did you get to see the magical community in
Hawaii?”

Hermione shook her head, “Unfortunately, no. There was hardly time to see
bits of the island, let alone all that.”

She added with a sly wink, “Maybe next time.”

Brenda leaned forward and mused, “How is dear Mr Malfoy?”

Hermione paled and said hurriedly, “That reminds me, if Malfoy comes
looking for me, I'm busy. Until I say otherwise, I'm always busy.”

Brenda frowned, “I gather things didn't go well.”

Hermione blushed, “Yeah, no, it's complicated. I just need some space.”

Brenda sighed, “Uhuh. I know you're thinking a lot about what happened in
Hawaii with Mr Malfoy, but try not to overthink it."

She said, a reassuring smile on her face. "Sometimes things happen, and it's
best to take them as they come. You'll figure it out in your own time."

Hermione nodded, grateful for the reminder. "Thanks.” The girl was wiser
than her years, so it was no wonder Michael was smitten.

She mused, "I'll try to keep that in mind. Now get back to work."

Brenda pushed forward a bunch of letters and an appointment ledger.

Hermione forced a smile, grateful for the distraction that work provided.
"Thank you, Brenda. Let's go through them together, shall we?"

As they went over the day's agenda, Hermione did her best to focus on the
tasks at hand. She pushed aside thoughts of Draco, his smouldering gaze
and their complicated relationship. She knew that she couldn't let personal
matters interfere with her work, especially not now, with so much at stake.

She pointed to the appointment at one pm and frowned, “Who is this?”

Brenda turned the ledger towards her and cocked her head to the side, “Ah,
you have a meeting with a Mr Julius Avery.”

Hermione gritted her teeth. “What?” Her legs turned wobbly, and she
wondered what the man wanted with her.

Brenda giggled, “He’s a rather determined man. Slightly broody but a sexy
chap.”

Hermione wasn't listening to a word her assistant uttered. She asked

urgently, “Did he say what it was concerning?”

Brenda said thoughtfully, “I think he mentioned something about a building

permit or expansion.”

She took in her boss’s sudden change in demeanour and asked curiously,
“Are you alright?”

Hermione took a deep breath and explained, “Julius Avery is Senior Avery's
son.”

Brenda’s eyes widened in disbelief, “The Death Eater?”

Hermione nodded solemnly, “Precisely.”

Brenda shot up and asked urgently, “Should I inform Harry Potter?”

Hermione dropped her bag onto Brenda’s desk and replied, “No, I'll do that
myself.”

DMLE
Hermione burst into the DMLE. The girl at the front desk smiled at her, but
she didn't see it and went straight to Harry’s office. Thankfully, he was in
because she could hear him speaking with someone. Without announcing
herself, she burst into his office. He could be mad at her later.

Harry looked up confused but smiled once he realised who had barged into
his office. He dismissed the Auror he spoke with and cheerfully said, “Ah,
Hermione. You look nice and tan. I owe you thanks for taking Ginny. She
has not stopped talking about it.”

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip and muttered, “Right. Great. No

problem.”

Harry asked in concern, “What's the matter?” He knew his best friend well
enough to know when something was out of place.

"Harry, I need to tell you something," Hermione began, her voice serious.
"Julius Avery has scheduled a meeting with me."

Harry's expression grew solemn. "Julius Avery? Why would he want to

meet with you?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Hermione replied, her brow furrowed
in concern. "His father was a Death Eater, Harry. I can't help but think that
this meeting might have something to do with that."

Harry nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Be careful,

Hermione,"

He warned, "We don't know what his intentions are. It could be a trap."

"I know," Hermione said, her voice determined.

She pressed forward, "But I have to find out why he wants to meet with me.
Maybe he's seeking redemption, like Draco. Maybe he wants to make
amends for his father's actions."

Harry laughed aloud, “The man is a key player behind the uprising. He's
neck-deep in Death Eaters and Werewolves. Trust me, he is not looking for
redemption. He’s aiding Dolohov.”

Hermione’s eyes widened, “It's Antonin? Has it been confirmed? When did
this happen? And why wasn't I informed?”

Harry gritted out, “Yes. It's him. It's the bastard that killed Remus.”

After a moment, he hissed his displeasure, “I must say Avery has some balls
to walk in here like he’s innocent. The fucking bastard.”

Hermione took a deep breath and became thoughtful.

Harry suggested without hesitation, “I will attend the meeting with you.”

Hermione did not take kindly to his suggestion and argued, “Absolutely not.
It will arouse his suspicions needlessly. We need to win him over, and
perhaps I'm better equipped at doing that than anyone else.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, “Exactly what are you suggesting here,
Hermione? Men like Avery do not just change course. He has been trying to
free his maniac father for years. Unlike Malfoy, Avery is a lost cause.”

Hermione replied defiantly, “First, let's see what he wants and then develop
a course of action from there.”

Harry yielded and said firmly, “Fine. Malfoy will be present. He's still your
bodyguard.”

Hermione panicked, “Oh, um…” How could she tell Harry, of all people,
that she slept with Malfoy and that now everything was different?

Harry asked exasperatedly, “Now what?”

However, Hermione avoided his question and instead suggested, “Well,

now that we've returned, Hannah can take over, right? Malfoy has exams
and plenty of other things to sort out.”

Harry raised a curious brow, “What happened between you two?” Ginny
had hinted at something, but they had been too caught up in each other to
speak about Hermione and Malfoy.

Hermione began rather nervously, “Well…”

Harry shut her down before she could finish, “Never mind, forget I asked.
Fine, you get Hannah back, but make sure to report back here after Avery
leaves.” He wasn't sure he was ready to hear about her and Malfoy.

With a feeling of determination, Hermione saluted, “Yes, sir, Mr Harry

Potter.”

Harry rolled his eyes but said, "Just be careful, okay? We'll figure this out
together."

DMLE

Hannah greeted Draco with a smile as he returned to the office, relieved to

have him back by her side. As they settled in, they exchanged some light
banter, a welcome break from the intensity of their work.

"Welcome back, Draco. I hope your trip was as relaxing as you'd hoped,"
Hannah teased, a playful glint in her eye.

Draco chuckled, a smirk playing on his lips, "As relaxing as it could be,
considering the circumstances. But I must say, it's good to be back. I missed
our little chats, Hannah."

They spoke on the phone nearly every day, mostly regarding the case.
Besides, he hadn't been gone long, just literally over the weekend.

Hannah grinned, her eyes sparkling with amusement, "Oh, I'm sure you did.
Who else could match my wit and charm?"

Draco mockingly placed a hand over his heart, feigning offence, "I'm
wounded, Hannah. Surely, there's no one else in the world who could keep
up with your quick wit."
Hannah teased, a playful glint in her eye, "So, Draco, did you and
Hermione have a romantic evening under the Hawaiian stars?"

Draco's eyes widened in surprise at the bold question, but he couldn't help
but chuckle at Hannah's wit, "I'm afraid that's classified information, Auror
Abbott.”

However, he replied with a smirk playing on his lips. "But I can assure you,
it was a very...memorable trip."

Hannah raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugged at the corners of her

mouth, "Oh, I see.”

She said, her voice dripping with amusement, "Well, just remember, Draco,
what happens in Hawaii doesn't always stay in Hawaii."

Draco laughed, shaking his head, "Noted.”

He replied, his tone light, "But rest assured, Abbott, whatever happened
between Hermione and me will remain between us."

With a final chuckle, the two of them continued their conversation, the
playful banter a welcome distraction from the seriousness of their work.

After a while, she asked, "Did you bring me back a grass skirt or a coconut
bra from Hawaii?"

Draco chuckled, "I'm afraid I didn't."

He replied, his smirk evident in his voice, "But I did bring you something
much better."

Hannah raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? And what might that be?"

Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, presenting it to
Hannah with a flourish, "A box of chocolates.”

He said with a grin. "Straight from the tropical paradise of Hawaii."

Hannah laughed, taking the box from Draco and opening it to reveal an
assortment of chocolates, "Well, I must say, Draco, you certainly know the
way to a woman's heart.” She popped a chocolate into her mouth.

Draco smiled, pleased with her reaction. "Just doing my part to spread a
little bit of Hawaiian cheer.”

He added, his tone light and playful, "Besides, who can resist a good
chocolate?"

Hannah grinned, "Draco Malfoy, showing a bit of generosity, are we? I

must say, I'm impressed."

Draco raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips, “Oh, don't get used to
it, Hannah. I wouldn't want to ruin my reputation as a cold-hearted
Slytherin."

Hannah laughed, shaking her head, "Too late for that, I'm afraid. But I'll
give you points for effort."

The two shared a good laugh, their camaraderie evident in their easy banter.
Despite the seriousness of their work, moments like these helped to lighten
the mood and strengthen their bond as partners.

Michelle watched them intently. She had greeted Draco earlier, but he
hadn't shown much interest. It was rare when a man wasn't taken by her, but
it made him all the more irresistible.

Hannah said, her eyes dancing with amusement, "It seems I'm once again
responsible for keeping an eye on Hermione. You're free to attend classes
and practice for your Auror exams without any distractions."

Draco's disappointment was evident, but he tried to mask it with a smile.

"Well, Potter knows best.” He knew Hermione had requested the change in
bodyguards.

Hannah raised an eyebrow, her smile turning playful, "Oh, I see how it is."
She teased, "You'd rather be guarding Hermione than studying for your
Auror exams?"

Draco chuckled, shaking his head, "It's not that.” He wanted to catch her
alone so they could discuss what happened and perhaps steal a kiss or two.

He explained further, "I just...I want to be there for her, especially after
everything that's happened."

Hannah's expression softened. She understood the sentiment behind Draco's

words, "I get it." She refrained from teasing him; he sounded completely
smitten.

She said, her tone gentle. "But don't worry, Draco. Hermione's in good
hands with me. You focus on your trials, for fuck’s sake, and I'll make sure
she stays safe.”

As they continued to exchange witty remarks and jokes, Hannah couldn't

help but feel grateful to have Draco back. His presence brought a sense of
familiarity and comfort, grounding her amidst the chaos of their work.

DMLE

The parents of the kidnapped girls approached Harry with a mixture of hope
and desperation in their eyes. They pleaded with him for any information
that could lead to the safe return of their daughters, their voices trembling
with emotion.

Sarah’s father apologised profusely, “We are sorry to trouble you this way.”
He was a broken shell of a man who worried endlessly about his missing
child.

Harry clasped the man’s shoulder and reassured, “Please, it's no trouble at
all.”

The man took his wife’s hand in his and said, “My wife had a vision. She
has these sights on and off.”
Harry was taken aback by the revelation and hurriedly invited, “Come into
my office.”

Once they were in the privacy of his office, he asked with ardent interest,
“What did you see?”

The woman tried to compose herself and explained, “My daughter is alive.
She was crying and…naked. The room was dark but surrounded by antique
furniture. I could make out a four-poster bed and….wedding dress.” The
tears she held back spilt over, and grief swallowed her whole.

Harry listened attentively, his heart aching for the anguish they were going
through.

He insisted, “Are you sure?”

The woman laughed rather manically, “You must think im insane, but I
know what I saw, Mr Potter.”

She pleaded desperately, “Please, you have to find her.”

Harry softened his tone. “I don't doubt your abilities. Are there any specific
details you remember? Perhaps a letter or something specific?” After
everything he had witnessed, little surprised him. It was a lucky coincidence
that the mother happened to be a Seer.

He promised to do everything in his power to find their daughter and bring

her home safely, reassuring them that the Ministry was working tirelessly
on the case.

Meanwhile, John observed the interaction from a distance. He couldn't

understand why the parents looked so sad and stressed. To him, it was just
another day at the office, another task to complete. He lacked empathy,
unable to comprehend the depth of the parents' pain.

As he watched them walk away, John felt a twinge of curiosity. He

wondered what it must feel like to care so deeply for someone, to feel such
overwhelming grief at their loss. But the feeling was fleeting, quickly
replaced by a sense of detachment as he returned to his work, his mind
already focused on his next task.

Ministry Of Magic - Executive Floor

Hannah met Hermione near the lift.

“Ah, just the woman I was looking for,” Hannah declared with a happy
smile.

Hermione smiled, “Harry informed you.”

Hannah grinned, “He did indeed. Malfoy didn't take the news well.”

Hermione became rigid but managed a plausible response: “Well, he has

Auror training, and the trials are coming up. Those are far more important
than trailing after me.”

Hannah nudged her and winked playfully, “He doesn't seem to think so.”

Hermione blushed. She entered her office to meet with Julius Avery, the son
of a renowned Death Eater.

She felt a mixture of alarm and confusion. She knew of Avery's background
and the dark history associated with his family, and she couldn't help but
wonder what his intentions were in meeting with her.

Hannah pursed her lips. Her fingers found the handle of her trusty wand and
tightened around it. She was ready for any outcome. However, a little
heads-up would have been appreciated, she felt horribly blindsided.

Julius Avery wasted no time, “Well, well, the famous Miss Hermione
Granger.”

Hermione was slightly taken aback. She hadn't expected a smartly dressed
man who oozed confidence. He had a slight accent and a deep voice that
demanded obedience.
Avery eyed Hannah, who obliged by staring him down.

He mused, “I assure you, you are quite safe. The Auror is unnecessary.”

“We’ll be the judge of that, Avery,” Hannah hissed while taking a step
forward.

Hermione sat down and smiled, “Ah, she's here for a whole other reason. I
get threats on my life by desperate, rather pathetic individuals who have
nothing better to do than issue empty threats.” She hoped he would relay
her sentiments to his friend, Gregory Goyle.

He laughed. He liked her ballsy attitude. Goyle would be livid if he knew

what she thought of him.

Julius Avery, however, greeted her with a polite smile, his demeanour calm
and composed, "Thank you for meeting with me, Ms. Granger."

He began, "I understand that my family's history may be concerning, but I

assure you, my intentions are purely professional."

Hermione eyed him warily, "I hope so, Mr. Avery. What exactly is the
purpose of this meeting?"

Avery leaned forward, his expression earnest, "I have been following your
work closely, Ms. Granger, particularly your efforts in promoting equality
and justice within the Ministry. I believe we share similar goals, and I
would like to discuss the possibility of collaborating on a project together."
It was complete bollocks. He had no interest whatsoever in her work.

His sole purpose was to see what was so special about her that compelled
Goyle to risk everything and send her a lewd letter.

She wasn't beautiful, but she was extremely sexy and intriguing. There was
something very uncommon about Hermione Granger.

Hermione's confusion deepened. She had not expected such a proposition

from someone with Avery's background.
She made her thoughts vocal, "I'm sorry, Mr. Avery, but I find it hard to
believe that our goals align, given your family's history. What exactly are
you proposing?"

Avery's smile remained fixed, but there was a hint of steel in his gaze, "I
understand your scepticism, Ms. Granger, but I assure you, I am committed
to making amends for my family's past actions. I believe that by working
together, we can make a real difference in promoting equality and justice
for all magical beings."

Hannah glared. From what Thomas had mentioned, she knew exactly what
type of man Julius Avery was. However, she had yet to figure out what
Avery wanted with Hermione.

Hermione hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. While she was wary of

Avery's intentions, she also believed in giving people a chance to change.
Except with Draco, she struggled to accept him as a changed man.

After a moment's thought, she nodded slowly, "Very well, Mr. Avery. Let's
discuss your proposal further and see if we can find common ground
regarding permits."

As they delved into the details of Avery's proposal, Hermione couldn't

shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the back of her mind. She knew
that working with someone with his background would be fraught with
challenges, but she also knew that if there was a chance to make a positive
impact on their mission to overthrow Dolohov, she had to take it.
 Chapter 70
Chapter Summary

To all the comments:- Thank you so much for taking the time to write
such encouraging words.

So much going on!

No spoilers!

Enjoy Chapter Seventy!

Let me know your thoughts so far—trust me, it helps loads! :) Stay

safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Auror Training

The training room buzzed with activity as Auror candidates practised spells
and combat techniques. Audrey stood at the front of the room and watched
the students with a discerning eye. She hardly missed a thing as her critical
gaze swept across the room, taking in all her students' more minor details
and mistakes.

Draco entered the room, his demeanour determined but slightly

apprehensive. His leave had come at a highly inappropriate time, and he
truly hoped his strict teacher wouldn't give him a hard time over it.

Audrey spotted him, and her face lit up with a genuine smile. Once in a
while, a student would come along and show great promise. Draco Malfoy
was that student. He was exceptionally talented.

Dennis Creevy crossed his arms over his chest and sneered. He watched
Draco's every movement. The bastard had returned and would once again
take his place as top performer.
Audrey smiled. Yet, she didn't give away too much, “Draco! Welcome
back! It's good to see you.”

Draco's tense expression softened into a relieved smile as he quickly

approached her, “Thank you, Miss Audrey. It's good to be back.” He was
eager to jump back into his training, to hone his skills and prove himself
among his peers.

Audrey grinned, “Good to know. Now get to work.” She pointed to the far
end of the class.

His brow furrowed in concentration. Draco reached inside his robes and
pulled out his wand with a practised motion. The wand gleamed in the light,
and its surface was smooth and polished.

He gripped it firmly, the familiar weight comforting in his hand. With a

determined look, Draco raised his wand, ready to tackle the task at hand.

With a flick of his wrist, he cast a spell, and blue rays erupted from the tip
of his wand and crackled with magical energy. The sparks danced through
the air, casting an eerie glow in the room.

As they faded, Draco lowered his wand, and a sense of satisfaction washed
over him.

The spell was successful, a testament to his skill and focus. But beneath the
surface, his thoughts were consumed with turmoil. The events of recent
days weighed heavily on his mind, and the blue sparks were a stark
reminder of the magic that probably bound him to Hermione, now fractured
and uncertain.

Despite his power and control, Draco knew that some things were beyond
his grasp, and the path ahead remained uncertain.

Emily noticed Draco's return and grinned excitedly. She walked over to join
him and exclaimed, “Draco! You're back! How was Hawaii?” He had
mentioned the trip in passing.
Draco's gaze shifted to Emily, and he returned her smile, “Hawaii was... an
experience, to say the least. But I'm ready to dive back into training.” He
truly appreciated her enthusiasm and friendship. She was one of the only
people in their class who didn't look at him like he was the next budding
Voldemort.

Emily chuckled, “Really?” Everyone was aware of the Algorithm and their
unlikely pairing.

He walked over to Emily and said thoughtfully, “It was... eventful, to say
the least.”

Emily raised a brow. She nodded eagerly, her curiosity piqued.

However, she smirked, “I can't wait to hear all about it. But first, we've got
some serious training to catch up on.” He had missed two days at the most.

Audrey came up from behind. Her authoritative presence commanded the

room's attention, and it fell silent instantly.

She addressed Draco, “Indeed, we do. Malfoy, Emily, let's see what you've
both got. I want to see those spells sharp and your reflexes even sharper.”

Draco and Emily exchanged a glance, silently acknowledging the

challenges ahead. They stepped forward with renewed determination, ready
to prove themselves again. All eyes fell on them, and as always, they
executed a perfect session, and everyone clapped, including a highly
annoyed Dennis Creevy, who did so grudgingly.

Audrey instructed firmly, “All right, everyone, let's get started. Today, we'll
be practising some advanced defensive spells. Partner up and begin with the
Shield Charm.”

The students paired off, and Draco found himself facing Emily once again.
She had been his training partner since day one, just like Hannah had
stepped in to save his neck during Auror's partner assignment.
She cracked the muscles in her neck, a playful grin spread across her face as
she challenged, “Ready for this, Draco?”

Draco raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his luscious lips, “Always.”

With a flick of her wand, Emily cast a stunning spell, which Draco almost
lazily but expertly deflected with a Protego charm. The training room
erupted with the sounds of spells being cast and shields being raised as the
two Aurors-in-training engaged in a friendly but intense duel.

Despite Draco's skill and determination, Emily could hold her own,
matching him spell for spell. The two of them circled each other, their
movements fluid and precise, each trying to anticipate the other's next
move.

After a few minutes of intense spellcasting, Draco caught Emily off guard,
landing a stunning spell that almost knocked her off his feet.

Audrey watched closely, ready to offer guidance. She spoke to the group in
general, “Remember, the key to the Shield Charm is a swift and decisive
motion. Concentrate on the image of the shield forming in your mind.”

Draco and Emily began. Their wands moved in perfect unison as they cast
the spell. The air shimmered as the shields materialised before them,
blocking imaginary attacks.

Audrey nodded in approval, “Good, good. Now, let's move on to the

Disarming Charm. Malfoy, Creevy, demonstrate for the class.”

Draco sighed. Audrey was undoubtedly making him work hard on his first
day back.

Emily sulked, glanced at Draco nervously, and moved out of the way.
Dennis confidently took her place. This session was his chance to prove
himself a better Auror than the ex-Death Eater.

Draco and Dennis stepped forward, their wands at the ready. They began to
circle each other, each waiting for the other to make the first move.
Dennis feinted to the left, then the right, testing Draco's reflexes. Still,
Draco remained calm and observed his opponent's movements. The tension
in the room was palpable as they sized each other up, waiting for the perfect
moment to strike.

Audrey scolded, “This isn't the bloody ballet. Get a move on!”

Suddenly, Dennis lunged forward, casting an impressive spell. However,

Draco deflected it with ease, countering with a potent spell of his own.
Dennis dodged, narrowly avoiding the spell.

Without a moment to spare, he flicked his wand and sent a spell hurling
towards Draco, who averted it effortlessly with a wordless motion of his
wand. The two engaged in a fierce duel, their spells flying back and forth
across the room.

Audrey rolled her eyes. Clearly, they had forgotten about the lesson and her
specific instructions, but she let them go with it for the time being. She was
certain they could manage without killing each other.

Dennis’s movements were quick and precise, but Draco easily matched his
skill, each pushing the other to their limits. Dennis feinted to the left before
sending a spell straight at Draco. He moved out of the way at the last
moment, countering with his own spell.

Thinking he was triumphant, Dennis became cocky and careless. He

grinned and raised his wand, but before he could cast a spell, Draco, who
was on the offensive, moved with speed and precision and cast an
unbeatable spell of his own.

Dennis tried to jump out of the way, but Draco's aim was true. The spell
found its mark, and Dennis fell to the ground in slight agony, defeated and
seethingly angry.

He pounded the floor with his fist in frustration. Draco closed the distance
between them and extended a friendly hand to help him up.
However, his act of kindness was not well received by the fuming man on
the floor, who slapped the hand away and quickly rose to his feet unscathed.

He hissed, “You got lucky, Malfoy.”

Draco pursed his lips and simply said nothing. He would not be goaded into
a confrontation that would end poorly for Creevy.

Audrey clapped, “Excellent. Keep practising, everyone. Mastery of these

spells could mean the difference between life and death in the field.”

The students continued to practice, their determination evident as they

strived to perfect their skills under their instructor's watchful eye.

Emily moved closer and said, “You missed the training session with
Muggle firearms last week.” She enjoyed herself immensely while trying
out the range, especially when picking a gun.

Draco nodded understandingly, though his mind briefly drifted to Hannah.

He remembered the time she took him down to the range. He briefly
recalled her mentioning that Potter introduced Muggle firearms into their
line of defence.

He replied thoughtfully, “I heard about it. But don't worry, I'm familiar with
the basics.” He had loved the feel of the beautiful Desert Eagle underneath
his fingertips.

Emily looked highly impressed. She raised an eyebrow, but Draco shrugged
as they transitioned to practising defensive spells.

As Draco trained, Audrey intently watched him with a small smile playing
on her lips. She could see his determination, his focus, and his skill. It was
clear to her that he would surely be at the top of the class.

Undisclosed Ministry Healing Center

In his sterile room, Terry Boot lay perfectly still on his bed. He stared at the
ceiling.

The air was heavy with the weight of his thoughts, his mind consumed by
the countdown to his impending discharge - less than fourteen days away.

Despite the progress he had made in battling his addiction and enduring the
painful withdrawal symptoms, uncertainty gnawed at him. He felt
disgraced, like he let down his entire department.

Aurors were held to a higher standard, but he failed them all by succumbing
to weakness.

Michael visited him regularly, but it wasn't nearly the same as being
together on the field. From his friend’s many updates, Terry concluded that
he was missing a great deal.

He whispered to himself, “Less than fourteen days... I can do this.” He

shifted uncomfortably, the withdrawal symptoms still lingering.

He clutched his side and muttered, “I have to do this. For her.” His thoughts
drifted to Hermione, and a flicker of determination crossed his face. The
brief kiss they shared was fresh in his mind. The shape and softness of her
lips had him reaching inside his bottoms many a night to satisfy himself.

After Terry closed his eyes, he willed himself to stay strong, fight the
cravings, and prove to himself and Hermione that he could overcome this.

He longed for the day when the Healers would deem him fit for release, yet
he knew the road ahead would still be challenging. But amidst the struggle,
one thought remained constant - Hermione. She was his beacon of hope, his
reason to persevere.

Terry sighed. His determination wavered at times, but the image of his
Auror badge and Hermione's face, filled with pride and love, kept him
grounded. He vowed to do better, to overcome his demons and make her
proud. She meant so much to him.
He had forgiven her deception. She had done what she thought was best for
him.

With each passing moment, he clung to the belief that soon he would be
reunited with her, ready to face the world anew, strengthened by his resolve
and fueled by his love for her.

He wouldn't let the Algorithm or Malfoy stand in their way.

Terry sighed. The thought brought a small smile to his face.

They could be discreet until she divorced the snake. Conveniently, he forgot
that he required Hermione's consent for any of his desires to materialise.

Ministry of Magic - Canteen

The canteen was bustling with activity as Ministry employees queued for
food. Despite the crowds, Hermione and Harry found a table designated for
high-ranking Ministry officials.

As they sat down, Harry looked around the busy canteen, his expression
thoughtful.

He sighed, “It's always so busy in here.”

Hermione pulled the sandwich box closer and shrugged, “That's the
Ministry for you. Always something going on.” She wasn't really hungry
but needed some sustenance.

That entire morning, besides the time she spent with Julius Avery, she had
obsessed over Malfoy, thinking he would burst into her room at any
moment and demand they speak.

However, he seemed to respect her space, and as much as she appreciated it,
feelings of abandonment shrouded her more logical thoughts.

It was an unfair assumption since she was the one avoiding him.
She dropped her voice and recounted her meeting with Julius Avery. Harry
listened intently, his expression utterly serious.

"It was...alarming, to say the least," Hermione said, her brow furrowed with
concern. More so because the man had been so composed and at ease that it
was utterly extraordinary.

She added somewhat sceptically, "He seemed...curious about me, about my

work. But there was something in his eyes, Harry, something...unsettling."
It was apparent that Avery was a dangerous man, but he was also clever in
the way he spoke.

Their meeting had ended on a positive note. His plan and proposal seemed
legitimate.

Hermione couldn't find any flaws, and they departed with the promise to
meet again after she had thoroughly reviewed the documents he presented.

Harry nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation, "We can't

underestimate the children of Death Eaters." Hermione had no idea what a
twisted bastard Avery was.

He said, his voice grave, "He has followed in his father’s footsteps not as a
Death Eater, but the legacy of their family name still lingers." He did not
like Avery anywhere near Hermione. It was strange that he sought her out
and braved everything to meet her.

Hermione sighed, leaned back in her chair, and replied curiously, "I just
don't know what to make of it."

After some thought, she admitted. "I can't shake the feeling that there's
more to Julius Avery than meets the eye. It's odd that he wanted to meet
me.” She deduced he was highly charismatic and used to getting his way.

Harry reached out and touched her shoulder, "We're keeping a close eye on
him, Hermione."
He reassured her with a slight grin, "If he takes a shit in a manner that
displeases me, I will arrest his arse faster than he can say Snitch. Trust me."
He had already informed Kingsley and Thomas, and they intended to find
out what Julius Avery was after.

The Minister had insisted on barging into the meeting and confronting
Avery. Still, Thomas held him back and explained that Hermione could
handle the situation. He also reminded everyone that Hermione wasn't
alone; Hannah was with her.

Hermione grimaced but mused, “Well, there's a mental image that won't go
away in a bloody hurry.”

Still, she relaxed and nodded, grateful for his support. She knew that they
could handle whatever challenges lay ahead with him by her side. They had
overcome the impossible when they were children, and now everything
seemed much more manageable—or was it?

Her gaze shifted, and she saw Draco intently staring at her. He seemed
anxious and somewhat restless, and his beautiful eyes followed her every
movement. They had to talk; she knew this, but many things required her
immediate attention, especially since Kingsley had given her a fair share of
his projects.

It was an excuse, but a debatable one since she did indeed have a lot of
matters awaiting her approval.

Harry followed her gaze and raised an eyebrow in question, “Do you want
to talk about it?”

Hermione shook her head, “Not at the moment.” She loved Harry to bits,
but he wasn't the best person to speak about Malfoy or her sexual
escapades.

Harry smiled. He was somewhat relieved she kept the sordid details of her
weird relationship with Malfoy to herself.
Ministry of Magic

Draco walked down the corridor, lost in deep thought. Turning a corner, he
spotted Hannah standing by a dustbin, her expression rather pensive.

“A penny for your thoughts, Abbott,” his voice interrupted Hannah's deep
contemplation. He drew her attention away from whatever had captured her
mind.

Hannah offered him a small smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes and
said, “Hermione had a visit from an unlikely person.” She was still trying to
make sense of the meeting and conversation. Avery was a slimy bastard
who knew just the right things to say.

That bit of information piqued his interest, and Draco raised a questioning
brow, “Excuse me?” If it were another git trying to get into her knickers, he
would be forced to commit murder.

Hannah enlightened, “Julius Avery.” She wasn't sure if Draco had heard of
Avery’s son, mainly because the man was educated abroad and stayed clear
of England for years.

Draco's curiosity got the best of him. He inquired, his brow furrowed,
“Hannah, forgive me for asking, but who exactly is Julius Avery? I’ve
heard the name before but can't quite place it. Is he the son of Avery
senior?”

Hannah's expression turned serious as she considered her words, “Precisely.

Julius Avery is a name that's been floating around in connection to some...
unsavoury activities. He's suspected of having ties to unmasked Death
Eaters.”

Draco's eyes widened in realisation. He hissed rather unpleasantly, “What

the hell does he want with Granger?”

Hannah clamped him on the shoulder and, with a glint in her eyes, advised,
“Calm down, Malfoy. Nothing happened.”
She continued, “Avery... he's a bit of an enigma. Rumours say he's involved
in some shady dealings, but nothing's ever been proven. The man's very
involved with this whole uprising matter. He's thought to be at the front of
the new order of Death Eaters.” She wondered if she was sharing too much
with her partner and whether Potter would approve.

Draco's eyes darkened as Hannah expressed her concerns, and a shadow

passed over his face. He listened intently, his expression serious.

He gritted out, “And he walked right into the Ministry of Magic to meet
with the Undersecretary?” His frustration was evident. Why would they
allow Granger to meet with a possible assassin? It was absolutely
ridiculous.

Hannah looked up at him, sensing the change in his demeanour.

She argued, “We have no evidence linking him to anything, just a few leads.
Strong ones, but he's fucking innocent until proven guilty, as the Americans
say.”

Draco's jaw tightened, and his gaze became distant. He asked, “Is Hermione
alright?”

At first, Hannah hesitated and chose her words carefully, “Of course she is.
He wouldn't dare try anything. Also, I don't think he was here to cause her
any harm.”

She chuckled, “He was extremely charming, and Hermione ate it all up.”
Well, it was hard not to be captivated by Avery. He had a certain something
about him.

Draco was hardly amused. He gritted out, “Did she now?” Apparently,
Granger was easy to please as long as it was someone other than him.

Hannah nodded, “Yeah, he played the victim card and spoke about how he
wanted to work together to build a better world. He played to her
weaknesses. Helping orphans, underprivileged children, you know?”
Draco leaned against the wall and smirked, “Son of a bitch. I could build an
orphanage, feed thousands and she would still hate me.”

Hannah stifled a laugh and raised a curious brow, “What happened in

Hawaii? I asked Hermione about the trip, and she got tight-lipped and
turned beetroot red.”

Draco ran a hand through his hair and quipped, “Well, it got a bit more
complicated than we originally thought.”

Hannah teased, “But you did sleep with her?”

Draco winked, “I confirm nor deny anything, Abbott. A gentleman never

speaks about matters in the bedroom.”

Hannah rolled her eyes. It was futile to continue the conversation about
Hawaii.

“Anyways, I've just received some new information from Burke," she
began, her expression grave.

She sighed, "It seems that the killer has a background of abuse and comes
from a troubled past. He's also quite good-looking, which might explain
how he's been able to lure his victims."

They had no possible way of knowing the Dollhouse strangler was

disfigured since he left behind no witnesses.

Draco listened attentively, his brow furrowed in deep thought, "That's

troubling news, Hannah. Do we have any leads on his whereabouts?"

Hannah shook her head. "Not yet, but we're working on it. Burke is
following up on some leads from his Russian friend, so hopefully, we'll
have more information soon."

Draco sighed. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, "This case is
becoming more complicated by the day. We need to catch this killer before
he strikes again." However, his mind was on Avery and Hermione. He
intended to get to the bottom of it.
Hannah nodded in agreement, "I couldn't agree more, Draco. But I think
he's done with killing. However, We'll keep up the pressure and follow
every lead until we bring him to justice."

Draco smiled, “Of course. I best get back before Audrey notices my
absence.”

As Hannah prepared to leave for Hermione's protection detail, she said

reassuringly, “Take care, love. I'll see you soon."

Draco nodded, his expression serious. "You too, Hannah. Um, keep
Hermione safe."

With that, Hannah chuckled and departed, leaving Draco to focus on his
Auror lessons and classes. With his trials approaching in under two weeks,
he knew he had to stay focused and dedicated to his training. He was
determined to prove himself as a capable Auror, ready to face whatever
challenges lay ahead.

DMLE

Hannah turned the corner and bumped right into Thomas, but instead of
berating her for being a clumsy twit, he grabbed her shoulder with his good
hand and squeezed it tightly, “There you are! I've been looking all over for
you.

Hannah winced but apologised, “Oh, sorry, I was just heading up to meet
Hermione.” She wondered why he didn't just ring her.

Thomas released her instantly and smiled, “This won't take long.”

However, Hannah asked sceptically, “What won’t take long? What's the
matter?”

Thomas hissed, “Not here, Abbott. The walls have ears.” He looked about
wildly and continued to walk without breaking a step.
Only once they were inside the safety of Harry’s office did Thomas speak.
Hannah looked confused but crossed her arms over her chest and waited for
someone to explain what was happening.

Harry said with a solemn expression, “We have confirmation that Antonin
Dolohov is behind the Werewolf uprising.”

Hannah was beside herself. She cried in outrage, “What? No!”

Thomas injected, “You recall I asked you for the file on the man Malfoy
and you apprehended.”

Hannah instantly perked up, “Ah, yes, our first mission. It went off
splendidly. Draco did remarkably well for a novice.”

She said thoughtfully, “However, the man we arrested took a keen interest
in him.” She purposely left out the part about Draco visiting the man at
Azkaban.

Harry gritted out, “Dolohov wants the Potion Master returned to him safe
and sound, and he will go to any lengths to secure his release.”

Hannah's eyes widened. She focused on her boss and asked curiously, “How
do you know all this?”

Harry replied with a professional stance on the matter, “That's on a need-to-

know basis, Hannah.”

Slightly hurt that they didn't trust her with sensitive information, she
scoffed, “Don't you trust me?”

Harry looked uncomfortable and tried to gather the right words to appease
her.

Thomas stepped in and declared truthfully, “With my life, but the

informant's identity is known only to a handful to ensure his safety and
ours.”
Still, Hannah couldn't help but question, “Why is this man so important to
Dolohov?”

Harry answered gravely, “We don't know, but we intend to find out. I
daresay the reason would send multiple shivers down our spines.”

He included rather darkly, “Dolohov is powerful and ruthless. If he’s this

desperate, it cannot be good.”

Thomas nodded, “Agreed, Potter. There is something else at work here. But
exactly what is the question?”

Harry said, “We did some digging into the man's background. Despite his
misplaced ideologies, he's something of a genius.”

Hannah scowled, “So, do we let the bastard go?”

Thomas replied with his usual smirk, “Not so easily. We will stage a
breakout during prisoner transport.”

Hannah raised a sceptical eyebrow, “We can just Apparate. Won't they
wonder as to why we're using Muggle transport?”

Harry explained, “We will let it leak that it's to throw the enemy off the
original plan. It's a perfectly believable course of action.”

Still, Hannah wasn't wholly convinced, “Indeed.”

She asked curiously, “What do you need from me?”

Harry took a deep breath and said, “It will be your job to arrange the
transfer and head the transport detail.”

That information did not sit well with Hannah, and she made her feelings
about the matter abundantly clear.

She frowned, “I'll be known as the Auror that let a high-profile prisoner
escape from right under her nose. I will be the laughingstock of the entire
department.”
Thomas understood the woman's predicament. To be labelled as
irresponsible was career suicide, but this was vastly different. The top
management knew the plan, and her file wouldn't have a negative mark.

He sighed and reassured, “All will be revealed once Dolohov is brought to

justice, Hannah. We must keep aside personal feelings for the greater good.

Hannah plucked up the courage and straightened. With renewed

determination, she said, “Whatever you need, I'm here and ready to do my
duty.”

Thomas smiled, “That's what we like to hear.” He beamed with pride but
wasn't one to show his feelings.

Hannah inquired a tab bit excitedly, “Will Malfoy take part in the
mission?”

However, Harry burst her bubble. He said firmly, “No. For the moment, let
him focus on passing the trials. Once he's taken the oath, we can consider
slowly bringing him in.”

Hannah nodded, “Noted, boss.” She could sense Harry’s hesitation. It was
expected, she supposed. The past was hard to forget.

Malfoy Manor

Draco massaged his wrist. The practice sessions were intense, and his body
was still recovering from all that had happened in Hawaii.

Another day had passed, and Hermione avoided him like the plague. He had
tried to make eye contact over the crowd in the canteen, but she kept her
eyes on her sad little chicken sandwich and spoke with Potter.

He hadn't approached her for fear of being humiliated and shot down like a
dog in front of hundreds of people.
Max regarded his Master with a curious expression. He closed his eyes in
contentment as long fingers brushed over his pure white fur.

Draco sat alone in the dimly lit library, a look of contemplation on his face.
He stared into the fireplace, lost in thought.

He closed his eyes, and a feeling of peace washed over him as he thought
back to a simpler time.

The Shaolin Temple... a distant memory now, yet it felt like yesterday. Of
course, it hadn't been long since he returned, although considering
everything that had transpired, it rightfully seemed like years.

He was much younger and clad in traditional Shaolin robes. He stood in the
temple courtyard, surrounded by serene beauty and the sounds of nature.

Master Chun approached, "How are you today, young master Draco?”

Draco looked around and smiled, “My time here has helped with reflection,
learning, and growth.”

After the events of the wizarding war, he found himself adrift, grappling
with the consequences of his past actions. Seeking redemption and a new
path, he embarked on a journey to the remote Shaolin Temple in China after
learning of its existence in a discarded book. The ancient monastery was
known for its rigorous kung fu training and spiritual teachings.

He practised martial arts alongside the other students, his movements fluid
and precise.

Draco whispered, “I learned discipline, control... values I had never truly

understood before.”

At the temple, he was initially met with scepticism and mistrust because he
was a foreigner. However, under the guidance of the Shaolin Master, Chun,
he began to undergo a profound transformation.

Draco immersed himself in the temple's teachings, embracing the discipline

of kung fu not just as a martial art but as a path to inner peace and
enlightenment.

He faced numerous challenges during his training, both physical and

mental. He struggled with the strict discipline and demanding physical
regimen but gradually began to find a sense of purpose and inner strength.

Through his training, Draco learned the values of humility, perseverance,

and compassion, qualities he had lacked in his previous life.

As he progressed in, he also faced tests of character and morality. He came

across situations that forced him to confront his past actions and make
amends.

Through these trials, Draco began to understand the true meaning of

redemption and the importance of atoning for his past mistakes.

In a quiet moment, he was approached by the temple Abbott, who spoke to

him with wisdom and kindness, “Your path is not yet set, young one. You
carry darkness within you, but also the potential for light.”

The words profoundly impacted him, and he trained diligently, his

determination evident in every movement.

Draco confided, “The Shaolin way taught me humility, taught me to look

beyond myself and see the world in a new light.”

Master Chun smiled. He was quite pleased with his disciple.

Draco committed himself to the discipline of kung fu under the guidance of

the temple's Master.

He recalled a specific practice known as "iron body" training. In some

martial arts, it was a traditional method to strengthen the body's resilience
to impact and develop internal strength. This was a pivotal moment in his
training. It symbolised his willingness to endure hardship and his
commitment to redemption.

He welcomed the pain and suffering. He had much to pay for. Suri would
bring him ointment to apply on his bruises, she cared so much for him.
Despite the enormous physical pain as wood collided with his body, Draco
learned that he would have to overcome his fear and doubts and push
himself to the limit to emerge stronger and more resilient both physically
and mentally.

He stood atop a mountain, overlooking the temple and the world beyond,
and felt a sense of peace wash over him. Never had he seen something so
beautiful.

Over time, he became a respected member of the Shaolin community,

earning the trust and respect of his fellow students and masters. He not only
mastered the physical aspects of kung fu but first embraced its spiritual
teachings, finding a sense of inner peace and purpose that had eluded him
in his previous life.

Through his experiences, he learned that proper redemption came from

within and that anyone could find redemption, regardless of their past, by
embracing change and striving to be a better person.

It was then he made up his mind to buy Hermione the jade pendant and
necklace.

The flashback ended, and Draco was again in the Malfoy library with a
faint smile.

Max whimpered and kept his head on his Master's lap. His big eyes
implored and questioned.

Draco muttered to himself, “I may have left the Shaolin Temple, but its
teachings will always remain with me. They are a part of who I am.”
Absentmindedly, he played with beads on the bracelet Suri Jun gifted him.

He said softly, “It was where I found redemption.” He gazed into the fire,
his thoughts turning to the future, filled with hope and determination.

Hermione, please talk to me, he thought rather desperately. He wanted to

confess what he had experienced and felt currently.
A secluded part of London

After dinner that night, he had helped her into the wedding gown and left
the room with the departing words, “It's bad luck to see the bride before the
wedding, but I must say, you look so beautiful, Mother.”

Sarah stiffened. She felt a cold shiver go down her spine—Mother?

Surprisingly, the old dress fit her perfectly, and whoever designed it had
exquisite taste. She knew enough about fashion from working at Madam
Malkins. Actually, the gown looked shockingly like one of her former
boss’s beautiful creations.

He smiled broadly, “I'll be back shortly to comb your hair.”

The man was excited. The ceremony would be small. Just close family.

Japan - Castle - War Room Discussion

The War Room was dimly lit, shadows dancing ominously across the walls.
They sat at the head of the table, flanked by two Vampire elders. The
atmosphere was heavy with tension as they discussed the looming threat of
the werewolves.

The Japanese Samurai warrior Akari Sato bowed deeply and addressed her
esteemed guests, “We have gathered here tonight to discuss the impending
war with the Werewolves. Our intelligence suggests that they are preparing
for a full-scale assault on the world.”

The two Vampire Elders were ancient beings, their features etched with
centuries of wisdom and experience. Their skin was pale, almost
translucent, accentuated by the dim lighting of the War Room. Their eyes
were sharp and piercing, glinting with a predatory intelligence.

They wore attire that spoke of their status - regal robes draped elegantly
over their slender frames, adorned with intricate patterns and symbols
hinting at their lineage and power.
Their presence commanded immense respect, and their every movement
was deliberate and calculated. Despite their age, strength and vitality, they
belied their undead nature.

Their voices were low and resonant as they spoke, carrying an air of
authority that left no room for doubt. They were beings of great power and
influence, and their allegiance in the war against the Werewolves could tip
the scales in favour of either side.

Lord Youkai said softly, “The Werewolves have long been our enemies.
Their thirst for power knows no bounds. We must be prepared for
anything.”

Lord Dairoku responded gravely, “Indeed. But there is more at play here
than mere conquest. The Prophecy speaks of a time when the Werewolves
will unite under one Alpha and rise against all magical beings, seeking to
rule over us all.”

Akari Sato's eyes widened in realisation, the gravity of the situation rapidly
sinking in. The Emperor was not present at the proceedings, but she would
have to update him once he returned.

She cautioned, “Then we must act swiftly and decisively. We cannot allow
the Prophecy to come to pass. We must unite our forces and stand against
the Werewolves as one.”

The Vampire Elders exchanged a knowing glance. Their expressions were

unreadable.

Lord Youkai said, his voice enchanting and mystical, “We will join you in
this fight, Akari. But we must also be prepared for the worst. The
Werewolves are cunning and ruthless. We must not underestimate them.”

Akari Sato bowed, “Agreed. We will gather our forces and prepare for
battle when the time is right. The fate of our world hangs in the balance,
and we must be ready to do whatever it takes to emerge victorious.”
She stressed importantly, “Our allies will need our assistance. We must
reach out to them and forge alliances to strengthen our position against the
werewolves further.”

As they discussed strategy, the room grew darker, and the shadows seemed
to close around them. The weight of the Prophecy hung heavily in the air,
casting a pall of foreboding over the proceedings.

The war with the Werewolves was imminent, and the outcome was
uncertain.

Lord Dairoku asked in a low voice, “Have you considered our request?”

Akari looked down and said, “Not yet.”

He breathed, “You deserve a life of immortality.”

Akari bowed but said nothing. Her thoughts were occupied. She had not
shared details of the Prophecy with Kingsley Shacklebolt.

No 12, Grimmauld Place

Hermione sat on the couch, looking out the window, and lost in thought.
She was riddled with thoughts regarding Draco, Terry, and Julius Avery.

After ages, she ran into Michael, and they had a light conversation. He was
still guarding the Muggle Prime Minister alongside Evan, and both were
doing an excellent job. The many attempts on the cowardly Minister's life
had been thwarted, but more kept coming.

He had mentioned visiting Terry in passing and assured her that the
program was helping the troubled Auror overcome his addiction.

Ginny entered, carrying a tray of wine, crackers, cheese, and glasses.

She set the tray down and asked with a knowing grin, “Wine?”

Rather absently, Hermione replied softly, “Yes, please.”

Ginny poured wine for both of them and sat across from her friend.

Hermione looked around and questioned, “Where's Harry?” After lunch, she
hadn't seen him again. The man had too much on his plate.

Ginny chuckled and teased, “You would know better than me, love.”
Despite her frustrations, she knew being an Auror was Harry's true calling

Hermione said, “We had lunch, but he didn't mention anything about
working late.”

Ginny explained, “He's with Kingsley, darling.” Harry called after

Hermione to inform her that he would be running late.

Hermione averted her gaze and nodded, “Right. A lot is going on.”

Ginny asked softly, “You've been distant lately. What's the matter,
Hermione? You're acting pretty dodgy.”

Hermione sighed. She sipped her wine before responding, “I don't know,
Ginny. Everything's just... complicated.” She had rung earlier, saying she
would stop by to talk, and it was now or never.

Ginny raised a curious brow, “Is it about Draco?”

She chuckled, “Obviously, it's about him, and I'm glad you came around to
chat.” She knew Hermione would turn up sooner than later.

Hermione nodded and looked down at her half-empty wine glass. Should
she even be drinking? What if she became pregnant?

"I've noticed... things between you two," Ginny said rather carefully,
precisely choosing her words.

She added truthfully, "It's hard to ignore the tension whenever you're in the
same room."

Hermione's cheeks flushed slightly, and she averted her gaze, "It's
complicated, Ginny."
“So you keep saying,” Ginny mused. She couldn't begin to imagine how
conflicted Hermione was feeling. This wasn't just some random bloke; it
was a boy they collectively loathed back at school, and with good reason.

Ginny leaned forward, her eyes searched Hermione's face. "Complicated

how?"

Taking a deep breath, Hermione tried to articulate the conflicting emotions

swirling inside her. She managed to string together some words, "I don't
know... it's like there's this... connection between us. Something I can't quite
explain."

She bit her lip and said, “You know how we….”

Ginny sipped her wine and teased, “Did the nasty? Violated each other?”
By the look of his hotel room, they had done all that and more. Weirdly, she
was glad that Hermione had allowed herself to be a bit wild with Malfoy.

Hermione said with a definite roll of her eyes, “Had sex.”

Ginny tossed a piece of cheese into her mouth and drawled, “Yeah, and?”

“It was different,” Hermione confessed. She could hardly look at her best
friend.

Ginny questioned curiously, “Different? What do you mean?”

She widened her eyes in surprise and exclaimed rather excitedly, “Oh fuck!
Did you guys do some freaky shite?”

She asked thoughtfully, “Like, did he go up your bum? I didn't think you
would let him, being the first time and all.”

Hermione cried in embarrassment and outrage, “Oh, Merlin! Stop!”

Although, she wasn't completely opposed to the idea of anal.

She spoke in hushed tones before Ginny could interrupt, “When he, you
know….put it in. I felt like I'd left my body and was looking on. It felt so
good. I mean, yeah, he's bigger than Ron…..”
Ginny grimaced, “Argh, that's my brother and too much information.”

Hermione chuckled, “Oh, sorry.” She expected Ginny to tease her

mercilessly and call her bonkers, but the red-headed woman refilled their
glasses with red wine.

Ginny bit her bottom lip and inquired in a rather businesslike fashion, “Did
you feel like a shift in your magic?” As she said the words, she felt uneasy.
Hermione was indeed correct. Their situation was complicated.

“Yes!” Hermione replied without hesitation. Oh, Merlin. This couldn't be

good for either party.

Realisation dawned on her, and she hurriedly asked, “What? Wait a minute,
how'd you know?”

Ginny took a deep breath and explained, “Because I felt the same way when
Harry and I first had sex.” She sighed. They were both virgins, and the
whole experience had been beautiful and completely magical. They had
held onto each other for hours, never wanting to let go.

Hermione frowned, “Of course! But you two are meant to be.” She didn't
quite like what Ginny was subtly suggesting.

Ginny smiled fondly, “Harry’s my twin flame. Maybe Malfoy is yours.”

Hermione scoffed, “Bollocks! There's no such thing.” She thought back to

its meaning and shuddered—The concept of a twin flame was a connection
often referred to as a deep spiritual and emotional bond between two
individuals believed to be destined for each other. It was thought to be a
connection of the soul, where two people complemented each other
perfectly and shared a profound sense of understanding and love.

Curiosity got the better of her, and Hermione asked somewhat shyly, “Um,
did Harry feel anything?”

Ginny stared into the distance and replied thoughtfully, “He did. He said it
felt like my magic surrounded him and burned him from the inside.”
Hermione said nervously, “Draco hasn't mentioned anything. Then again, I
haven't spoken to him since we returned.”

Ginny was taken aback and scolded, “What? You can't run away from what
happened, Hermione. The both of you need to address these feelings or
whatever is going on between you two.”

Hermione sighed, “I know that.”

Ginny's expression softened, understanding dawning in her eyes. "You have

some feelings for him, don't you?"

Hermione nodded reluctantly. "No, erm, yes, but it's not just that. It's...
complicated. There's a part of me that still remembers everything he's done,
the pain he's caused. But then there's another part that sees something
different in him now, something... redeemable."

Ginny reached out. She placed a comforting hand on Hermione's shoulder

and advised, "It's okay to feel conflicted, Hermione. People change, and
sometimes our feelings change with them."

Hermione choked back a sob, her composure cracked, “What happened in

Hawaii, and... I thought I hated him, Ginny. For everything he did, for all
the pain he caused. But then, when we were together, it was like... I don't
know. There was something there, something... real.” Her shoulders sagged
with the weight of uncertainty.

She said shakily, "I just don't know what to do. It's like my head and heart
are constantly at odds with each other."

Ginny offered her a reassuring smile, "Give yourself time, Hermione.

Sorting out your feelings won't happen overnight. Just remember, whatever
you decide, I'll be here for you."

She softly added, “You don't have to figure it all out right now. Just give
yourself time, and trust your heart. It'll guide you in the right direction.” It
had never failed her so far, but her situation was vastly different from
Hermione's.
Hermione managed a small smile of gratitude. She was grateful for Ginny's
unwavering support, "Thank you, Ginny. I don't know what I'd do without
you."

Ginny reached out and took Hermione's hand. She squeezed it gently,
"You'd survive."

The two friends sat silently for a moment, the weight of their conversation
hanging in the air. But amidst the uncertainty, there was a glimmer of hope.

There was a sudden rustle and the fireplace came to life. They saw the red
hair first and then the face and body followed.

Ron came through and smiled, “Ah, it's good to see you, Hermione.”

She hadn't given Ron much thought; now that he was before, her words
deserted her.

They spent an enjoyable evening together. Ron kept shooting meaningful

glances at Hermione. He knew all about the bloody trip to sodding Hawaii,
and he couldn't help but wonder about what happened.

The very thought of Malfoy being with Hermione made him ill, but he
refrained from asking. After his outburst in her office, she had finally come
around and somewhat forgiven him for the unkind words he foolishly
uttered. He had absolutely no desire to rock the boat.

DMLE

Late night at the Ministry. Harry had finally given into Hermione’s
complaining and let up on the nightly protection detail, leaving Hannah to
fill her time with whatever she fancied, which was obsessing over the
Dollhouse Strangler until the odd hours of the night. It wasn't like she had
anyone waiting eagerly for her return.

Hannah slammed her hand against the desk, frustration evident in her every
movement. She had been working tirelessly, chasing down leads and
following every clue, but the murderer remained elusive like a shadow
slipping through her fingers.

She stared at the board covered in photos and notes. The serene face of the
latest victim stared back at her, almost accusingly. The board had been
Thomas's brilliant idea. It gave things a certain perspective.

Taking a deep breath, Hannah straightened up, and determination hardened

her features. She wouldn't rest until she had caught the person responsible.
She would bring them to justice, no matter what it took.

On a hunch, she sat in front of her computer, her fingers flying over the
keyboard as she entered the suspect's given Russian name into the Muggle
database, which gave access to every possible record available in the
Muggle world.

Pasha Nicolave

While at Hogwarts, she had learned to navigate the intricacies of the

Muggle world during Muggle Studies, and now, those skills were proving
invaluable in her work as an Auror.

They couldn't rely on magic alone to capture criminals. Their skills had to
be updated to keep up with modern times.

She hadn't expected much to happen and strengthened her mind to absorb
the following disappointment, but as she hit enter, the screen flickered for a
moment before displaying a match.

The suspect's name appeared, along with a reasonably recent photo and
address.

Her hands trembled as she stared at the photograph before her, her breath
caught in her throat. The shock and disbelief washed over her in waves,
leaving her speechless and paralysed with horror.

How could they have been so blind?

She sat in stunned silence, grappling with the shock of the revelation.
Everything she thought she knew was turned upside down, leaving her to
question everything and everyone around her.

Hannah whispered in despair, “No... it can't be.”

Her mind raced as she tried to process the revelation. The face in the
photograph stared back at her, haunting and familiar, shattering her sense of
security and trust.

As the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, Hannah discovered a hidden
motive buried beneath layers of deception and betrayal. The murderer had
been leading a double life with ties to both the magical and Muggle worlds,
using their connections to cover their tracks and evade suspicion. This
revelation added a new layer of complexity to the case.

Hannah reached for her wand with trembling hands, her fingers fumbling as
she sent a Patronus for Thomas to meet her immediately. She sat in stunned
silence, her mind reeling with the implications of what she had uncovered.

Suddenly, a faint noise broke the silence, echoing through the empty
corridors.

Hannah's heart skipped a beat as she reached for her wand, her mind racing
with thoughts of danger. Every instinct told her to be cautious and to tread
carefully in this moment of revelation.

With her wand firmly in hand, Hannah moved stealthily towards the source
of the sound, her senses heightened. She rounded a corner, her eyes
narrowing as she saw a figure in the shadows. The figure turned, revealing a
familiar face.

Hermione's Flat

After returning from Ginny's, Hermione sat on her sofa, a book in hand,
when her phone rang. Reading had always been a way to escape the real
world, but it didn't work this time. Her mind was too preoccupied with
thoughts of her would-be husband.

She checked the screen - Narcissa Malfoy. With a mixture of curiosity and
apprehension, she answered the call.

Narcissa seemed cheerful, “Hermione, dear. I hope I'm not interrupting

anything. I wanted to ask if you could stop by the Manor tomorrow
morning. The cottage renovations are almost complete, and I'd love your
opinion on them.”

Hermione's heart skipped a beat at the mention of the cottage. Memories

flooded her mind. Draco had kissed her quite passionately in one of the
rooms.

Merlin, he had some effect on her. She felt warm and aroused at the thought
of his hands on her body and tongue at her core.

Focus, woman. Hermione gathered her thoughts and answered with equal
enthusiasm, “Of course, Narcissa. I'd be happy to come by. What time
should I be there?”

Narcissa beamed, “Around 10 o'clock would be perfect. I'll make sure to

have some tea ready for us. I thought it would be a good time for you to see
how things are progressing. And... I must admit, I'm quite eager to hear
about your trip to Hawaii. Draco didn't divulge much.”

Hermione hesitated, “Lovely. I'll see you then. Goodnight, Narcissa.”

As they said their goodbyes and Hermione hung up, her thoughts drifted to
Draco. She tensed at the mention of his name, wondering if he had spoken
to his mother about what transpired between them. Of course, he wouldn’t.
It was private and hardly something you would discuss with your mother.

The idea of facing him again filled her with a mix of anxiety and
longing. She had been avoiding him, unsure how to navigate the
complicated emotions between them. But she also realised he would likely
be at work when she visited, which provided some relief.
With a heavy sigh, Hermione set her book aside, her mind already racing
with thoughts of what tomorrow might bring. With a deep breath, she tried
to push the thoughts aside, focusing instead on the new day ahead.

She had to face him sooner than later and speak about all that happened and
what it meant.

Malfoy Manor - Past Midnight

Draco stood over a bubbling cauldron. His expression focused as he

meticulously added ingredients to a purplish concoction. The room was
quiet, illuminated only by the soft glow of the cauldron's low fire.

The Manor was equipped with a well-stocked potions room. His father had
dabbled in trying to create various concoctions that weren’t always
considered legal.

His hands trembled slightly as he added the final ingredients to the potion.
His thoughts were consumed by the bittersweet recollections of their time
together.

As he stirred the potion, his thoughts drifted to Hermione. He couldn't

shake the frustration he felt at her avoidance. Part of him wanted to
confront her, to demand an explanation for her behaviour. But he knew that
would only push her further away.

Draco's mind involuntarily returned to the moments of intimacy he shared

with her. He vividly recalled the softness of her skin, the warmth of her
embrace, and the way she looked at him with a mixture of desire and
affection while he slid into her tight cunt.

A groan left his lips before he could hold it back. The memories flooded his
senses and stirred a mixture of longing and regret within him.

Draco whispered, “She was so close, so real... It felt like nothing else
mattered in those moments.” He was worried about his performance. What
if her silence had nothing to do with what they felt but his inability to make
it last longer? Had he disappointed her and driven her away?

Still, he remembered how their bodies moved together in perfect harmony,

the electricity that crackled between them, igniting a fire that consumed
them both.

Despite the complexities of their situation, in those moments of intimacy,

everything else faded away, leaving only the two of them entwined in each
other's arms.

Draco breathed, “It was... unforgettable.”

While he continued his work in the lab, he couldn't forget the memories of
their intimacy, a bittersweet reminder of what once was and what could
have been.

She was such a sweet temptress. So caught up in his thoughts, Draco added
the wrong ingredient and ruined the whole bloody potion.

He cursed but sighed and refocused on his work, determined to perfect the
potion before him.

He knew that patience was vital, that he must give Hermione the space she
needed. But deep down, he couldn't help but hope that she would come to
him soon, that they could finally address the lingering tension between
them.

In that quiet moment, surrounded by the dim glow, Draco grappled with a
whirlwind of emotions - longing, regret, insecurity and a glimmer of hope
that maybe, just maybe, they could find their way back to each other.

Club Sanguis

Julius Avery sat at the bar, nursing a drink. Gregory Goyle joined him,
looking disgruntled.
Goyle sneered, “What's got you looking so pleased with yourself?”

Avery smirked, “Oh, nothing much. Just had a little chat with our dear
friend, Hermione Granger.”

Goyle's eyes narrowed. What was the smug bastard on about?

He hissed, “What do you want with her, and what did you talk about?”

Avery shrugged, “Oh, this and that. She's quite fond of you, you know. I'll
admit I was curious about her.

Goyle snorted, clearly not believing him. Clearly, he was unaware that
Avery was mocking him.

He leered, “Yeah, right. As if Hermione Granger would give me the time of

day.”

Avery quipped, “Oh, she does more than that. Thinks you're quite the
pathetic little man, actually. She loved the letter you sent, by the way.”

Goyle bristled, his fists clenched.

He gritted out, “What game are you playing, Avery?”

Avery faked innocence and drawled, “Am I? She practically begged me to

pass along a message to you. Said she'd rather be caught dead than be with
you.”

Goyle's face darkened with unmistakable anger. He warned, “That's enough

out of you, Avery.”

However, Julius Avery was not the type of man to be intimidated. He

grinned, “Oh, come on, Goyle. I understand why you'd want to sleep with
her. I mean, who wouldn't want a piece of that?”

He smacked his lips and mused, “Those legs of hers are quite inviting. I can
imagine spreading them. But let's face it, mate. She's way out of your
league.”
Goyle's temper flared, and he lunged at Avery, but Avery deftly dodged the
larger man and laughed.

He frowned and adjusted his newly purchased jacket, “Easy there, arsehole.
This is an expensive suit, and I was having some fun.”

Closing the distance between them, Julius mused, “Besides, I have my

sights set on a different woman. You can have Granger if she will have you,
which I'm guessing will never be.”

Montague laughed openly. Goyle was certainly deluded if he thought he

could get Granger to give him the time of day unless forced.

Goyle threatened, “Watch your mouth, Avery.” He would not tolerate

anyone making fun of him.

Julius raised his hands in mock surrender and said, widening his grin,
“Easy, Goyle. I'm just stating the obvious. You can't fault a man for having
desires, can you?”

As Goyle seethed with rage, Julius took another sip of his drink and
enjoyed the reaction he provoked.

Avery smirked, knowing he struck a nerve.

Still, he issued a dire warning for all to hear, “Oh, and if you try to attack
me again, I'll fucking kill you where you stand.”

Hermione's Flat

Hermione slept fretfully. A vivid dream seemed to be costing her a good

night's sleep.

Suddenly, there was an urgent knock at the door. She hesitated for a
moment before getting up to answer it. To her surprise, Draco stood on the
other side, his expression unreadable.
Taken aback, Hermione asked nervously, “Draco, what are you doing
here?”

Draco reached for her hand and confessed, “I needed to see you, Hermione.
I couldn't stay away any longer.”

Her heart raced as she looked into his eyes, seeing a depth of emotion she'd
never seen before.

Much like a drama on the telly, Hermione turned away, stared into the
distance and questioned, “What is it, Draco? What's going on between us?”

Draco entered the flat and gushed, “I don't know how to explain it, but ever
since Hawaii, I've felt... different. It's like a part of me has been missing,
and I think it's you.”

Hermione was completely surprised by his words, but she couldn’t deny the
pull she felt towards him. Their chemistry was palpable.

She beamed, “Oh, I’ve felt it too, Draco. It's like we're connected in a way I
can't explain.”

Draco stepped closer, and his hand reached out to touch her. As their fingers
brushed, a surge of warmth filled them both, confirming what they'd
suspected all along.

He drawled, “I think... I think we're meant to be together, Granger. Like two

halves of the same soul.”

Hermione looked into Draco's eyes. She could see a reflection of her own
feelings mirrored back at her. At that moment, they both realised that their
connection had gone beyond mere attraction—it was something deeper that
transcended time and space.

She was unable to hold back her happiness. She cooed, “I think you're right,
Draco. I think we are meant to be together.”

Draco pulled Hermione towards him. They embraced as the flames in the
fireplace seemed to burn brighter, illuminating the room with a warm,
comforting glow.

In each other's arms, they finally understood the true nature of their bond—
a twin flame connection that would guide them on their journey together.

He took her to bed, slowly removed her clothes, and claimed her eager lips.
His cock entered her slowly, giving her time to adjust to the generous size
of him.

Hermione threw her head back and moaned in pleasure. When Draco started
to move, their bodies fused, which caused delicious friction. He kissed her
lips and then her neck, sending her flying.

She woke up with a start. Her heart pounded, and her knickers were wet
with arousal.

Hermione silently cursed, “What is happening to me?” The engagement

ring glowed brightly, its ethereal light casting a warm, enchanting glow in
the dark room. It wasn't just a piece of jewellery but a symbol of love and
commitment, holding the essence of its owner's story within it.

The ring had a unique history, passed down through generations, each
wearer adding their chapter to its tale. It had witnessed countless moments
of joy, love, sorrow and darkness, but through it all, it remained a beacon of
hope and promise. Hermione was the first Muggle-born witch to wear it,
but the ring wasn’t prejudiced in the slightest. It embraced her more wholly
than her predecessors.

As it rested on her finger, it seemed to pulsate with a magical energy, almost

like it was alive. The ring was said to strengthen bonds of love and bring
good fortune to its bearer. No wonder it was legendary and a cherished
heirloom.

However, to Hermione, the ring was more than just a piece of jewellery. As
it glowed brightly, it seemed to whisper softly, offering comfort and refuge.

She stared at her hand, her heart racing as the ring pulsated with a soft,
warm light. It embraced her finger with a gentle, magical touch. She could
feel its power, a force that seemed to envelop her, claiming her as its own.

The throbbing light seemed to synchronise with her heartbeat, creating a

mesmerising rhythm that filled the room. She felt a surge of emotions but
held back the tears. Instead, she closed her eyes and commanded sleep to
claim her.
 Chapter 71
Chapter Summary

To all the comments:- Thank you all for taking the time to write such
encouraging words. Much love and appreciation!

No Spoilers! ENJOY!

Enjoy Chapter Seventy One!

Let me know your thoughts so far—trust me, it helps loads! :) Stay

safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Ministry of Magic - DMLE

Hannah approached the figure. Her footsteps echoed softly against the
ground. Still, the figure stood frozen to the spot, its silhouette shrouded in
the dim light.

With each step closer, Hannah's heartbeat quickened with anticipation

mingling with a hint of apprehension. She tried to discern details, squinting
against the darkness. Her senses were alert for any sign of movement or
sound. The air seemed to crackle with tension as she drew nearer, and her
mind raced with questions about who or what this figure might be.

Hannah went closer cautiously, her wand held at the ready. The dim light
barely illuminated the room, casting eerie shadows around them. She
couldn't make out the figure's face but could sense their presence. A tense
silence hung between them. Every step she took seemed to echo in the
room, making her heart race.

She called out, her voice steady but laced with caution, "Who's there?"

The voice demanded, “Lower your wand, Abbott.”

Hannah sighed in relief as she recognised Thomas, her trusted mentor, who
had responded swiftly to her urgent message. She dropped her wand hand
and felt the tension draining from her shoulders as she approached him with
a smile.

"Thomas, thank goodness you're here," she said, a slight tremor of relief in
her voice.

He entered the department, and the urgency in Hannah's Patronus message

was palpable.

Her tone of voice was pressing, "We need to act fast. I've found out who the
Dollhouse Strangler is."

Thomas’s expression turned serious as he saw the gravity of the situation

reflected in Hannah's eyes. He had not expected this.

She quickly led him to her desk, where the evidence lay scattered, but the
computer screen revealled the identity of the killer they had been pursuing
for so long.

Thomas's eyes widened in shock as he processed the information and

walked closer. He had worked with the person and even trusted them. The
betrayal cut deep, shaking him to his core. How could he have been so
blind? He should’ve known. It seemed so obvious now that he knew.

Was he losing his focus with old age? Was it time to retire? Numerous
thoughts ran rampant inside his mind. Mad-Eye Moody would’ve been
frothing mad at their negligence.

Silence filled the room as the truth of their discovery settled upon them.
Hannah and Thomas stood there, grappling with the reality of what she had
uncovered. The hunt for the killer was over, but the repercussions of their
discovery were only beginning to unfold.

The profile picture of the Dollhouse Strangle seemed to fill the computer
screen—the longish hair, the grotesque scar that covered half his face, and
the familiar eyes.
While the truth sunk in, Thomas felt a chill run down his spine. Still, he
couldn't believe what he was seeing. The realisation hit him like a ton of
bricks, leaving him utterly speechless.

"Hannah, this can't be. There has to be some mistake," he finally managed
to stammer, his voice barely above a whisper. He sank into the nearest chair
and stared unblinkingly at the screen.

He had faced Dark wizards and plenty of advisories, but this situation was
entirely unprecedented. He was amazed that some things left in the world
could shock him.

"I wish it were some mistake," Hannah responded solemnly.

As reality began to swallow them whole, Hannah and Thomas knew they
had to act swiftly. They had uncovered a dangerous secret that could
potentially hurt Kingsley’s administration. With grim determination, they
made a plan to apprehend the serial killer and bring them to justice, no
matter the cost.

"Merlin's beard," Thomas muttered, his voice still filled with disbelief. He
looked at Hannah, his expression a mix of shock and betrayal. They trusted
this person and worked alongside them when needed, never suspecting the
darkness hidden within.

Hannah and Thomas exchanged a solemn glance. They knew they had to
tread carefully; one wrong move could tip off the man and jeopardise
Sarah’s life.

"We need to approach this cautiously," Hannah said, her voice low and
determined.

She added urgently, "If we alert him too soon, he might go into hiding or,
worse, retaliate. He has some access to our plans."

Thomas nodded in agreement, "Agreed. But we can't afford to wait too long
either. Every moment he's out, there is a risk to the public. He could tire of
Sarah and look for others."
They deliberated their options, weighing the pros and cons of each
approach. Arresting him at his home might catch him off guard, but it also
risked tipping him off if he had any surveillance, escape, or suicide plans in
place. On the other hand, confronting him at his office could ensure a more
controlled environment, but it also carried the risk of bystanders getting
hurt.

After much consideration, they decided on a strategy. They would wait until
the killer was at his office, where they could discreetly corner him without
causing a scene. It was a calculated risk, but one they were willing to take
in their pursuit of justice.

With their plan in place, Hannah and Thomas set off, their resolve
unwavering. They knew the road ahead would be fraught with risk, but they
were determined to see it through to the end. Sarah deserved their
diligence.

Thomas said solemnly, “We need to inform Potter.” There was simply no
time to send a formal message. It was best to meet with their Head of
Department in person and formulate a plan for capture.

Hannah nodded in agreement. Without uttering another word, they

apparated to Harry's house, urgency coursing through their veins. Their
faces grim with the weight of their discovery.

They knocked on the door, and within a few seconds, Harry opened it with
a curious expression. He didn’t seem to be asleep but looked rather tired
and withdrawn.

"Harry, we need to talk," Hannah said, her voice grave. She didn't bother
with pleasantries.

Harry's eyes widened as he took in their expressions. He could sense that

something serious had happened.

"Come in," he said without hesitation, stepping aside to let them in.
Thomas approached the cosy bar without invitation. Its polished wood
surface reflected the warm glow of the dimly lit room. He reached for a
crystal tumbler. The cool touch of the glass was soothing against his
fingertips. With a deft twist, he uncorked a bottle of aged whisky and
poured a generous measure, and the amber liquid cascaded smoothly into
the glass.

Harry stared but said nothing. Clearly, something grave had happened, and
he waited impatiently for someone to fill him in on the details.

The rich aroma of the whisky filled the air, carrying hints of oak and smoke.
Thomas raised the glass to his nose, inhaling deeply before taking a sip. The
whisky was smooth, with a complex flavour that danced across his palate,
leaving a warm, lingering aftertaste.

However, Hannah wasted no time in recounting their findings and laid out
the evidence that pointed to the killer's identity. Harry's expression grew
increasingly grave as they spoke, and his eyes widened in shock and
scepticism.

Harry's reaction mirrored Hannah’s initial reaction to the discovery. He

staggered back, his expression one of horror and disbelief.

"No, it can't be," he whispered, his voice barely audible. He felt inadequate
as the leader of the DMLE. How could he have missed the signs? Thinking
back, it was clear from the man's interest in the case, but he appeared to be
such a simpleton no one would've thought he was capable of murder.

Harry's expression shifted from concentration to outrage as he absorbed the

gravity of the situation. His hands clenched into fists as he listened, his
mind contesting with the implications of what they had uncovered.

"I can't believe it," Harry murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I
never would have suspected..." The idea that someone they knew could be
capable of such heinous acts seemed unfathomable. He struggled to come to
terms with the truth.
Harry's thoughts raced, grappling with the facts. He had trusted the man,
who had seemed so different from a killer. Sure, the man had kept to
himself, presenting a facade that was a far cry from the darkness within.

He fought to reconcile the person he thought he knew with the truth before
him. It was a stark reminder of the complexity of human nature, the
capacity for deception, and the hidden depths within even the most
seemingly ordinary individuals.

How could someone who had extended a helping hand be capable of such
atrocities? It defied logic, shaking Harry's faith in his own judgment and
understanding of the world around him. The stark contrast between the
man's past actions and the heinous crimes he had committed left Harry
struggling with a profound sense of betrayal.

The kindness and assistance the man had shown over the years only
compounded the impossibility of the situation. Memories flooded his mind,
moments of camaraderie and support that now felt tainted by uncovering
the man’s true nature.

Thomas placed a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder, sensing the turmoil

within him.

He offered him a drink and said, "I know this is hard to believe, Harry." His
voice was filled with empathy.

He elucidated, "But we can't let it cloud our judgment. The man we knew is
different from the one who committed these crimes. People are complex,
and sometimes, darkness hides where we least expect it." His words offered
a sliver of reassurance, a reminder that the actions of one person did not
negate the kindness and decency of others.

Harry nodded, grateful for the support, but the weight of the situation still
hung heavy on his shoulders. His thoughts went to Arthur.

With a deep breath, he nodded, his expression determined. "You're right,

Thomas," he said, his voice steadier now.
He insisted, "We can't let this bring us down. We have a job to do, and we
need to see it through." Despite the chaos within him, he was determined to
focus on the task at hand, pushing aside his feelings to ensure justice was
served.

Hannah's silence spoke volumes. Her mind was preoccupied with the
abducted woman's plight. She remained detached, her thoughts consumed
by the urgency of the situation. The severity of their finding weighed
heavily on her, driving her determination to see the case through to its
resolution.

Harry's voice broke through the silence, prompting Hannah to snap out of
her reverie. His tone, filled with resolve, reignited her sense of purpose.

With a nod, she refocused her attention on the task at hand, pushing aside
her personal thoughts to channel her energy into the mission ahead.

She said her voice firm, "You're right, Harry. Let's get to work." With
renewed determination, Hannah stepped forward, ready to face whatever
challenges lay ahead in their pursuit of justice.

Harry's suggestion to inform Kingsley, the Minister of Magic, was met with
a thoughtful pause from Thomas.

"I think we should wait until morning. It's late, and Kingsley may
appreciate a clear mind when we brief him on the situation," he advised, his
tone measured.

Hannah nodded in agreement, recognising the wisdom in Thomas's

suggestion.

They needed to approach the Minister with a well-thought-out plan,

ensuring they presented the facts concisely and effectively. Harry, though
hesitant, ultimately agreed, trusting in Thomas's judgment. They would wait
until morning to inform Kingsley, allowing them time to gather their
thoughts and prepare for the challenging task ahead.
The three of them quickly huddled together, discussing their options. They
were all in agreement that the Strangler needed to be apprehended
immediately, but they couldn't ignore the potential danger to Sarah’s life.

"We can't risk her safety," Hannah said, her voice firm.

She hissed, "But we can't let him slip through our fingers either."

Harry sighed while his mind raced with possible courses of action, "We
need to find a way to catch him without putting Sarah in harm's way. If we
tip him off too soon, he might harm her."

"We need to act fast,” Hannah replied, her tone urgent.

After a moment's pause, Thomas said knowingly, "We should gather more
Aurors and plan a coordinated raid. I suggest we keep it small and be
prepared for anything."

Hannah nodded in agreement. "Exactly. We can't risk her life, but we can't
afford to wait too long, either. Every moment she's in his hands is a risk."

Thomas chimed in, his expression determined. "We need to find a way to
apprehend him without alerting him to our suspicions. I think catching him
at the office is our safest way.”

Harry said thoughtfully. "That might be our best option. We'll need to
coordinate closely and act swiftly. A life is at stake here, and we can't afford
to make any mistakes."

They knew the road ahead would be fraught with possible danger and
uncertainty, but they were prepared to do whatever it took to bring the killer
to justice and rescue Sarah.

With a plan in place, Harry, Hannah, and Thomas set about organising the
raid, their determination unwavering. They knew the risks, but they also
knew that they had a duty to protect the innocent and bring the killer to
justice, no matter the cost.
Harry sent private encrypted messages to a handful of senior and trusted
Aurors and received responses within seconds.

Hannah paced back and forth in Harry's living room, annoyance evident in
every movement. The clock on the wall seemed to taunt her, ticking away
the precious seconds until morning when they planned to make their move.

Her frustration simmered beneath the surface as they discussed the

necessity of waiting until morning to make their move. She couldn't shake
the image of Sarah alone and in danger while they were forced to delay
their actions.

"I can't believe we have to wait," Hannah muttered, her voice tinged with
anger. "Every moment we delay is another moment Sarah is in danger. It
could mean the difference between life and death for her."

Harry placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, "I know, Hannah. But we
have to be strategic about this. We can't risk him getting spooked and
harming her before we have a chance to act."

Thomas offered valuable input, "He's right. We need to approach this

carefully. We could make things worse if we rush in without a solid plan.
Besides, I highly doubt he will kill Sarah."

Hannah sighed. She knew they were right but still felt uneasy about the
situation, "I just hate feeling helpless, knowing that someone out there is
suffering because we have to wait.

"I can't just sit around while that monster has her," she exclaimed, her voice
tight with anger.

Harry squeezed her shoulder gently, "We're doing everything we can,

Hannah. We'll move as soon as it's safe to do so. I promise."

Thomas said, his expression sympathetic but resolute, "I understand,

Hannah. Believe me, I feel the same way. But we have to think strategically.
If we rush in without a plan, we could risk not only her life but also our
own safety."
Harry nodded in agreement, "We need to gather as much information as
possible tonight so we're fully prepared to confront him in the morning.
Aurors are on standby, ready to move at a moment's notice. Michael will
join us."

Hannah felt the bothering sense of helplessness gnawing at her. She took a
deep breath, steeling herself for the long night ahead and said, "Fine. But
we must ensure we're ready to move the moment dawn breaks. Sarah’s life
is on the line, and we can't afford to waste any more time."

Harry raised a questioning brow, “We have to wait for him to arrive at
work, Hannah.”

Thomas said, “Hannah, you must stay objective. If you get too emotionally
attached, you lose that clarity. We've spoken about this before.” She had a
tendency to get passionately involved in cases.

Hannah averted her gaze and said nothing to defend herself. Thomas was
right, as always.

She turned to Harry, her expression serious. "What about Draco? He's been
instrumental in cracking this case. Shouldn't he be involved in the arrest?"

Hannah's question hung in the air, a reminder of Malfoy's unexpected

assistance in cracking the case. Harry considered her words carefully,
knowing that involving Draco could be a double-edged sword.

Harry contemplated her question, "Malfoy has been a valuable asset.

There's no denying that. But this is a highly sensitive operation, and we
can't afford to take any risks. I think it's best if he stays out of it for now."

Hannah's brow furrowed in disappointment. She wasn’t convinced but said,

"I understand. It's just... I know Draco wants to make things right. He's been
working so hard to redeem himself."

Harry smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, "I know, and I appreciate
everything he's done. However, we have to prioritise the victim's safety and
the operation's success. Let's focus on getting this done, and we can discuss
Draco's involvement later."

Understanding the dilemma, Hannah nodded, " I think he deserves to be a

part of this. I trust him." Though her disappointment lingered, she knew
Harry was somewhat making the right call, but a part of her couldn't help
but feel that Draco deserved to be a part of the final showdown.

"I can't believe it," Harry murmured again, gripping his hair in frustration.

He gritted out, "How could we have been so blind? He was right under our
noses this whole time."

The reality of the situation hit Harry quite hard. The killer, someone they
had trusted, someone who had been a part of their lives, was capable of
such darkness. It was a harsh reminder of the dangers they faced in their
line of work and the importance of always remaining vigilant.

Thomas sighed. As he sipped his drink, his eyes flickered from Hannah to
Harry, catching snippets of conversation and subtle gestures. He was a keen
observer, attuned to the nuances of human interaction.

His outward demeanour remained calm and composed, betraying little of

the inner workings of his mind. At that moment, he was a silent observer,
content to listen and absorb the world around him without needing to
interject.

The Next Day - Hermione's Flat

Hermione couldn't shake off the butterflies fluttering in her stomach as she
prepared to meet Narcissa. She carefully selected her outfit, opting for a
sophisticated yet stylish ensemble that exuded confidence. With her
favourite pair of sleek black heels, she felt ready to face whatever awaited
her.

She had gotten up early to visit the market and pick up some flowers and
freshly baked chocolate croissants for Narcissa.
Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Hermione glanced at herself in
the mirror one last time before heading out the door. Today was necessary,
and she was determined to handle it with grace and poise. Hopefully.

DMLE

Inside Harry's office, the Aurors gathered, their expressions serious and
determined. The Minister of Magic sat perfectly still, contemplating the
heinous situation.

Kingsley said solemnly, “This is a highly confidential matter. We must

proceed with caution and discretion.”

Michael took his place among them, eager to hear Harry's briefing on the
latest developments. He listened intently, his expression serious as he
processed the information.

As Harry began to speak, the room fell silent, every word carrying weight
in the tense atmosphere. He revealed the identity of the killer and outlined
the current situation, his voice steady and authoritative.

There were shocked gasps and cries of utter disbelief.

Michael listened intently, absorbing every detail, his mind already racing
with plans and strategies. Memories of his past interactions with the killer
flooded back, and he felt a pang of guilt for his past actions.

This was a crucial moment, and he knew that the team's actions could make
all the difference in apprehending the perpetrator and bringing justice to the
victims.

He recalled how he, along with Terry, had belittled and bullied the timid
man. At that time, Michael had never imagined that the man could be
capable of such heinous acts. Now, faced with the reality of the situation, he
couldn't help but feel responsible in some way.
As Harry finished his briefing, Michael spoke up, his voice tinged with
regret.

"I... I know him," he confessed. He recalled the man’s interest in Brenda’s

dyed red hair.

He admitted with overwhelming remorse, "We... we weren't kind to him.

But I never thought... I never thought he could... do something like this."

Michael looked around at his colleagues, a mix of sorrow and determination

in his eyes, "We have to stop him. We have to make this right." Perhaps
their actions towards the man drove him to take out his frustration on
innocents.

Harry nodded understandingly, his expression sympathetic. “It's important

to remember that people can change, for better or worse," he said, his voice
firm yet compassionate.

He insisted, "What matters now is bringing him to justice and ensuring the
safety of the victim."

Michael nodded, a sense of determination settling over him. He knew he

couldn't change the past, but he was determined to do everything in his
power to make amends and help bring the serial killer to justice. The
Muggle Minister was under Evans's protection for the day. He was glad to
be included in the arrest.

"We'll split into teams and approach from different angles," Harry
continued. "We need to be quick and decisive. Lives are on the line, and we
can't afford to make any mistakes."

The Aurors nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. With their
briefing complete, they prepared to move out, their wands at the ready and
their minds focused on the task ahead.

Hannah's insistence about Malfoy's involvement in the arrest weighed

heavily on Harry's mind. Despite his reservations about including a trainee
in such a high-stakes operation, he knew Hannah's arguments had merit.
Malfoy's skills and knowledge could prove invaluable, and he deserved the
chance to prove himself.

With a reluctant sigh, Harry relented. He pulled Hannah to a side and said,
his tone resigned, "Inform Malfoy about the mission. But make sure he
understands the gravity of the situation and follows orders to the letter."

Hannah nodded, grateful for Harry's decision. She knew Draco would be
eager to prove himself and was confident he would rise to the occasion.
Leaving Harry's office, she made her way to inform Draco, knowing that
their teamwork would be crucial in bringing the killer to justice.

Unfortunately, he didn't seem to have arrived. She repeatedly tried to reach

him without success. A sense of urgency gnawed at her. Time was slipping
away, and with each unanswered call, her concern grew. She glanced at her
watch, noting the time with a sinking feeling—it was already past nine a.m.,
and there was hardly any time to spare.

With a deep breath to steady her nerves, Hannah quickly formulated a plan.
She knew she couldn't afford to waste any more time trying to contact
Draco. Instead, she would have to trust that he would show up eventually
and take it from there.

They couldn't afford any delays if they were going to apprehend the
Dollhouse Strangler before it was too late. With determination, Hannah
returned and led the team out of Harry's office, ready to face whatever
challenges lay ahead.

Malfoy Manor

Arriving at Malfoy Manor, Hermione was greeted by the estate's grandeur.

The imposing facade and meticulously kept gardens starkly contrasted the
turmoil in her mind.

She arrived earlier than planned, as was her habit. She prided herself on her
punctuality, often arriving well ahead of schedule. Today was no different;
she wanted to ensure she had enough time to compose herself before
meeting with Narcissa.

As she waited, Hermione took a moment to gather her thoughts. She

glanced at her watch, noting the time with a faint smile. Despite her nerves,
she found comfort in the familiarity of her punctuality.

She walked up the steps, her heels clicking against the stone, and
approached the entrance with a mix of apprehension and purpose.

The front door of the old Manor stood as a testament to a bygone era,
exuding an air of antiquity and magnificence. Crafted from dark, weathered
teak, its surface was etched with intricate carvings, the handiwork of
artisans long since forgotten. The elaborate designs depicted scenes of myth
and legend, interwoven with hardened jewel motifs that seemed almost
lifelike despite the ravages of time.

Large, wrought-iron hinges secured the door to its massive stone frame,
their blackened surfaces hinting at countless years of faithful service. A
heavy, ornate knocker in the shape of a serpent's head dominated the centre,
its fierce eyes and gaping maw adding an element of foreboding to the
entryway.

Hermione stood at the entrance of Malfoy Manor, hesitating before she

finally pushed open the door. It was unlocked, probably anticipating her
arrival. She didn't bother waiting for Dotty to announce her presence.
Anyways, the helpful elf was nowhere in sight.

She stepped into the Manor, and her eyes scanned the luxury of the entrance
hall. She almost expected Max to come running towards her and cover her
with his slobbery affection.

However, she hesitated momentarily, gathering her resolve, before striding

purposefully towards the foyer where she knew Narcissa often spent her
time. As she walked through the halls, she heard voices from the sitting
room. Peeking in, she could clearly see Draco and Astoria engaged in a
lively conversation.
Hermione froze, her heart sinking at the sight of him. He was so handsome
in his black Auror robes. Her thoughts went back to their night of passion.
His hands and lips on her body had been electrifying.

Her breath caught in her throat at the spectacle before her. Draco was seated
on the sofa, and Astoria was perched gracefully on the armrest, talking
animatedly.

Whatever she said must have been clever since it made him laugh. His
laughter filled the space, and it seemed like he was having a wonderful
time.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. She had expected to meet only Narcissa,
not him. Her mind raced, wondering why he was home instead of at work,
and she felt a mix of emotions—surprise, confusion, and a hint of
discomfort.

Still, she couldn’t hide, besides why should she? She entered the room
confidently and cleared her throat to make her presence known.

Taken by surprise, Astoria suddenly turned around and scoffed, “Hermione

Granger? What are you doing here?” She was highly displeased by this
untimely intrusion.

Draco's eyes widened in surprise, visibly not expecting his future wife's
startling appearance. He shot to his feet and put a respectable distance
between Astoria and himself.

Hermione's eyes lingered on Draco, her expression guarded. She glared at

Astoria, “I could ask you the same thing.”

However, before Astoria could respond, Hermione asked Draco rather icily,
“Shouldn't you be at work, Malfoy? I didn't expect to see you.” It was
almost ten in the morning, and he was being tardy. Surely, Audrey would
not tolerate such behaviour, even if he was her star pupil.

Draco was taken aback by her rude tone. He had done nothing to merit such
a cold demeanour.
He ran his fingers through his hair and mused, “Clearly. What brings you by
since it's not to see me.”

Hermione smiled innocently, “Narcissa invited me to check on the cottage

renovations. Nothing more.”

Draco looked utterly puzzled. This was news to him. His mother had
mentioned nothing about the cottage.

She approached him, her tone curious yet guarded. "What are you still
doing here?" she asked with some authority, unable to hide the hint of
bewilderment in her voice. She had expected him to be at work, and his
presence at home added to the already tense atmosphere.

Draco answered, somewhat confused and frustrated by her attitude, “I... I

decided to go in late. I had a late night. What's your problem, Granger?”

Before he could say anything more, Hermione's gaze caught sight of the
beautiful arrangement of flowers in matching glass vases. Further, her eyes
fell upon the wedding decorations scattered around the adjoining room, and
her anger flared instantly.

Hermione hissed angrily, “What's wrong? What's all this?” Unless Narcissa
was planning on secretly marrying her son off to Astoria Greengrass, those
decorations were meant for their forced wedding.

Draco followed her gaze and groaned. He tried to calm her down, but
Hermione was relentless. She marched to the extended dining area, where
all the wedding decorations were proudly displayed.

Her expression was one of anger and frustration, and her steps were
purposeful.

As she approached, she saw the wedding decorations, her anger simmered
beneath the surface. She saw the place cards arranged for their wedding,
and her frustration boiled over. Their names were written with beautiful
handwriting in gold entwining letters.
Fuck, Draco thought to himself. This would not end well. Why had his
mother just kept everything out in the open and invited Granger? Unless it
was a part of some elaborate plan.

When she first arrived, Astoria had expressed concern and gotten upset over
the cards, but he brushed them off and not bothered to clear them since he
had not expected Granger.

Hermione fumed, “What is all this?” Her jaw clenched as she struggled to
contain her rage.

Draco followed her and pleaded, “ Hermione, please, let me explain…” He

didn't need to give her more reasons to loathe him.

Hermione pointed to her surroundings angrily, “What is all this, Draco? Are
you planning a wedding without telling me?”

Draco became instantly defensive and argued, “What? No, Hermione, that's
not what's happening here. Mother thought—”

Hermione cut him off and countered, her voice raising, “Mother thought
what, Draco? That I would just go along with whatever scheme you've all
cooked up? That I'd be happy to be your pawn in this ridiculous game?”

Draco's expression was unreadable as he watched her, and Hermione's eyes

lingered on him for a moment before darting to the wedding decorations
spread out before her. Once more, her anger peaked.

She muttered to no one in particular, “Unbelievable.”

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but Astoria interrupted. She took the
opportunity to shatter whatever relationship was blossoming between Draco
and Hermione. Something had changed between them in Hawaii, and it was
unnatural. She could feel it in her bones.

Astoria crossed her arms over her chest and mocked, “It is for the wedding,
darling.”
She emphasised rather smugly, “Your wedding, of course. You should be
grateful.”

Draco glared. He knew precisely what Astoria was playing at and refused to
give her the satisfaction of destroying what little he managed to build with
Granger.

Hermione laughed sarcastically and hissed, “My wedding? With him?

Grateful? You must be joking.” She enunciated each word as if they were
repulsive to utter.

However, Astoria was hardly discouraged. She scoffed, “Well, yes! You
marrying Draco is rather funny. It is but a dream for someone of your
stature. Draco is certainly a trade-up from that poor bastard you were
involved with earlier.”

Hermione seethed, “Don’t you dare talk ill of Ron. He is a good man.”

Astoria taunted, “Is he now? Pity you didn’t marry him when you had the
chance.”

Draco silenced Astoria with a stern look and gritted out, “Enough, Tori.”

Hermione ignored the ignorant Greengrass woman and refocused her

attention on her so-called fiancé. She mocked, “How very brave of you to
go behind my back and arrange all this.” She was frothing mad. How dare
he try to trick her into having a wedding?

Draco stated sternly, “Calm yourself and let me explain.” He had never seen
Granger behave in a more deranged manner.

Hermione cried out in outrage, “Explain what, Draco? How you're perfectly
content to go along with this farce?”

She angrily muttered, “No, this can't be happening.” She gestured towards
Draco with disgust, her eyes blazing with fury. He was taken aback by the
utter look of repulsion she bestowed upon him.
Still, Draco took a step towards her and said, "Let's talk about this in
private."

However, Hermione shook her head. She felt her anger get the better of her,
and she unfairly yelled, “You spineless coward! Planning our wedding
behind my back, as if I would ever publicly celebrate marrying you!

She felt as if she were having a panic attack.

Draco's jaw clenched, but he remained silent, absorbing her verbal

onslaught with a pained expression.

Unable to listen to anymore, Astoria straightened, her expression protective.

She stepped forward and defended Draco.

Astoria matched Hermione’s anger and fired, “Shut up, Granger.”

But Hermione disregarded the fierce brunette, her focus solely on Draco.
After all, he was to blame for this predicament. She was utterly disgusted
by his underhanded actions. Previously, she had thought they were on the
same side regarding a wedding, but what was all this? Clearly, she was
mistaken.

Hermione continued scornfully, ‘You think hiding behind your mother's

schemes will make you happy? Well, congratulations, Draco. You've truly
outdone yourself this time.” She didn’t care to filter her words and thoughts.
It spilled out without consideration.

Astoria said firmly, “That's not fair, Hermione. Draco is just trying to do
what's best for his mother.”

Draco pursed his lips but gritted out, “I had no part in arranging these
items.” He looked at the stupid decorations with a frown on his face. What
had possessed his mother to do something like this?

Hermione's eyes narrowed as she turned her anger towards Astoria.

She spat, “Oh, how noble of him. Sacrificing his happiness for the greater
good. Tell me, Astoria, do you believe that? Or are you just blinded by your
love for him and own selfishness?”

Astoria took a deep breath and tried to explain without letting her feelings
cloud her judgment, “Hermione, you don't understand. Draco didn't arrange
any of this. It's Narcissa's doing….”

Hermione's gaze snapped to Astoria, her anger unabated. She interrupted,

pointing at Draco, “Don't you dare defend him, Astoria! He's hiding behind
his mother's plans instead of facing the truth!” She had never been more
angry and frustrated in her entire life.

Draco's face hardened as he squared his shoulders, meeting her anger with
his own. There was a limit of verbal abuse he would tolerate before letting a
few unpleasantries leave his lips.

He stood his ground quite firmly and almost growled, “I'm not hiding,
Granger. I’m telling you, I had no hand arranging any of this.” His
expression shifted from confusion to frustration.

He said firmly, "You are being utterly ridiculous."

Yet, Hermione heard nothing and instead hurled stubbornly, “How dare you,
Malfoy! Do you think I want to marry you? An ex-Death Eater? Celebrate
our union like it's something to be proud of.”

Still, she continued her verbal onslaught and mocked, “Willing or not, you
are branded with the Dark Mark.” It was the bitter truth, and everyone kept
ignoring it.

Astoria pursed her lips and glared. How could Hermione treat Draco this
way for something he did not do? She regretted her earlier actions of
goading Hermione.

Every word exchanged, every glance shared, only cemented her belief that
Draco belonged only with her.

Draco's eyes flashed with hurt and anger, but he kept composure. He kept
telling himself he deserved the words she threw at him.
Hermione picked up an invitation, crumpled it and said disparagingly,
“You're pathetic! Planning a stupid wedding like it's some grand celebration
as if anyone would want to celebrate being tied to a weakling like you. You
have accomplished nothing!”

Draco stiffened at her words, his jaw clenched in anger. He responded

through gritted teeth, “Mind your tongue, Hermione. You have no idea what
you're talking about.” His voice was deep and low with warning.

Hermione mocked, “Oh, I know exactly what I'm talking about. I'm talking
about a spineless excuse for a man who would rather hide behind his
family's legacy than face the consequences of his own actions.”

Draco's eyes flashed with fury. Her insults had gone too far, and he was
done listening or trying to make her see reason.

After a moment, he said icily with a definite sneer, “At least I'm not the one
who hides behind self-righteousness and false ideals. You think you're
better than me, Granger? You're no different. Just as flawed, just as
imperfect.” He hadn’t meant to pinpoint her weaknesses, but she hardly
gave him a choice. He was many horrid things, but a coward was
undoubtedly not one of them.

His words profoundly impacted Hermione, and she fought to find a suitable
retort. Unable to counter, she bit out, “Oh, spare me your self-pity, Draco.
You're not worth the breath it takes to insult you.”

Astoria was more than appalled. She wanted to hex the other woman into
oblivion for insulting her beloved.

Once more, Draco's jaw tightened, and his patience wore thin. He said
confidently, “I have changed. You are the only person who is unable to see
it.”

Hermione laughed and said spitefully, “Change? Do you think a few years
and a new attitude can erase everything you've done? You're delusional,
Malfoy. Still, the same child who couldn't stand up to his friends, who let
others do his dirty work. And now you expect me just to forgive and forget?
No, I refuse to be part of your redemption story.”

She looked at him in disgust, “You're nothing but a pathetic excuse for a
man.”

Astoria’s anger boiled over. Her thoughts were laced with bitterness and
disdain towards the other woman.

Draco said in a jagged voice of pure steel, “Enough, Granger. Be quiet or

suffer the consequences.” Was all this over some wedding decorations?

However, Hermione was not intimidated and mused, “Are you threatening
me? You're a miserable arsehole, Draco. Pretending like everything is fine
when it's not. Do you really think I would ever celebrate a union with an ex-
Death Eater?” She repeated herself.

Draco compressed his lips, and his nostrils flared, but he remained silent,
his eyes betraying a hint of hurt and regret. Suddenly, Astoria lunged
forward with the intent of causing Hermione bodily harm.

She yelled, “You little bitch!”

Draco turned around, but he was too late to hold her back. Instead, he
bellowed, “Tori!” But it was too late.

Astoria closed the distance between them and raised her hand to slap
Hermione. Except the ex-Gryffindor was faster and more skilled.

Hermione grabbed Astoria’s wrist and roughly pushed her back.

Unfortunately, the Slytherin woman lost her balance and fell
unceremoniously to the hard floor.

She fell in a heap and glowered. Her ankle hurt from it being twisted
awkwardly when she fell.

Draco stared angrily at Hermione and rushed to help the one who seemed to
accept him for who he was, warts and all.
Hermione gave the woman on the floor a dirty look and gritted out, “Don't
touch me, Greengrass. You deserve him.” She felt some remorse but not
much. The snobby woman had tried to assault her physically, and that was
not something she was willing to let slide.

Draco gently helped Astoria to her feet with a small but sad smile. He asked
softly, “Are you alright?”

However, Astoria remained rigid. The room fell into a tense silence as her
distress reached a breaking point. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and her
somewhat usually calm demeanour shattered, replaced by a torrent of raw
emotion. With a choked cry, she raised her hand, and a surge of magic
lashed out, slicing through the air with a sinister hiss.

Hermione was caught off guard and barely had time to react. The magic
struck her arm, leaving a deep, jagged gash that oozed blood. She screamed
as searing pain shot through her repeatedly.

The room seemed to darken as Astoria's magic dissipated, leaving a heavy,

ominous atmosphere in its wake.

Draco, without thought for his own wellbeing, closed his long fingers
around Astoria’s wrist, pulled her closer and trapped her to his chest. He
had to ensure Hermione’s safety, even if it meant getting hurt himself.

Astoria recoiled in horror, her free hand flying to her mouth as she realised
what she had done.

Tears welled up in her eyes, her body shaking with fear and regret, but
Draco held her tightly and whispered, “Calm yourself, Tori. You're safe
with me.”

Her body trembled, but she held on tightly, willing her anger to pass.

Hermione stared at the display but mostly at Astoria in shock, blood seeping
through her fingers from the red gash down her arm. Gently, Draco let the
troubled woman in his arms go and moved closer to his fiancé, concern
etched on his face.
He reached out to help, but Hermione pulled away, her expression turning
from shock to anger.

She shook her head and moved back, “No, don't touch me!”

Pushing his frustration and pride aside, Draco said softly, “Hermione, let
me help you. Please.” His astute eyes took in the wound. He was alarmed
by the intensity of the cut.

Blood dripped down Hermione’s arm, forming dark rivulets that traced the
curves of her skin. The wound, a deep red gash, throbbed with each
heartbeat, sending a fresh wave of pain coursing through her body.

The crimson liquid glistened in the light, creating a stark contrast against
her fair skin. As the blood continued to flow, it soaked into the fabric of her
sleeve, spreading in a dark, ominous stain.

This incident would be the second time she was maimed in his house, and
he couldn't protect her.

Hermione backed away and clutched her injured arm tightly against her
chest. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. The cut hurt, and she
desperately looked around for something to use as a bandage. She even
considered summoning Dotty, but that would involve Narcissa, and that was
a whole other problem on it's own.

Finding nothing, she took out her wand and cast a quick healing spell on the
gash, wincing slightly as the skin knitted back together.

She finished tending to her wound and stood up straight, facing her fiancé
with anger and sadness in her eyes. He looked at her through conflicted
eyes, filled with concern, but he didn’t dare approach her.

Acknowledging his efforts to help his future wife were futile, Draco moved
to Astoria's side and offered words of comfort. Hermione's irritation grew,
and she watched them closely. Her jaw was clenched, and her eyes flashed
angrily.
He smiled reassuringly and asked Astoria softly, “Are you alright? I didn't
mean for this to happen. I think it's best if you leave. We can meet later for
dinner.”

With tears in her eyes, Astoria nodded and profusely apologised for her
actions: “I-I'm sorry, Draco. I don't know what came over me, but I'm not
leaving you with her.” She wasn't particularly sorry about what happened to
Hermione Granger but was sad that Draco had witnessed her instability.

Unable to contain her frustration, Hermione stepped forward, her voice

sharp, “Are you serious? She just attacked me, and you're comforting her?”

Draco was surprised by the outburst and simply said, “She didn't mean to
hurt you. She's just upset.” He wanted to shout out that he offered to help
her first, but she adamantly refused. Salazar, Hermione Granger's
stubbornness was not exaggerated.

Hermione couldn't hide her anger. She cried out, “Upset? Upset doesn't
excuse what she did!” She almost forgot about Astoria’s fragile state of
mind and reached for her own wand to teach the snobby Pureblood woman
a valuable lesson in manners.

Draco sensed what Hermione was about to do and moved before Astoria to
shield her from potential harm. He looked torn, wanting to comfort Astoria
but also wanting to calm his tenacious fiancé.

He made a quick decision, stepped towards Hermione, and reached out to

touch her arm, but once again, she pulled away, her eyes blazing. Clearly, at
that moment, she wanted nothing to do with him.

Hermione took in the scene and laughed. She mocked his silence, “Oh,
what's the matter, Draco? Cat got your tongue? Can't come up with one of
your witty retorts?” How dare he attempt to touch her after everything that
just happened.

Draco's hands clenched into fists at his sides, but he kept his gaze steady on
Hermione, refusing to rise to her bait.
Hermione said sarcastically, “Or maybe you're just too busy planning our
wedding? Can't be bothered to defend yourself?” Her anger consumed her
whole as she looked at him, her voice dripping with contempt.

Draco's silence only seemed to fuel Hermione's anger, and she continued to
hurl insults at him, each one more cutting than the last. Finally, before he
could respond, Narcissa entered the room, her presence commanding
attention.

Narcissa interrupted sternly, “That's enough, all of you. Draco has done
nothing to deserve this treatment.” She spoke directly to Hermione, who
sulked and averted her gaze.

Dotty hid behind her Mistress and looked rather fearful.

Astoria whimpered, and Narcissa bestowed a look of annoyance in her

direction. She was in no mood to entertain the pampered woman’s
antics. She had heard and seen everything from her room.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Narcissa snapped, “Still your
tongue, Hermione. Come with me. We need to talk.”

She closed the distance, took Hermione’s hand and brought it up to inspect,
“Good. It’s healing nicely.”

Hermione's anger subsided slightly in the face of Narcissa's calm yet stern
demeanour. She nodded and followed Narcissa out of the room, leaving
Draco and Astoria behind, the tension thick in the air.

Astoria stared daggers at the other women. She had known Narcissa since
she was a child and considered her a foster mother, but to be treated so
offhandedly made her angry.

As they walked away, Hermione's anger began to wane, replaced by a sense

of sadness and resignation. She held onto her arm, which was completely
healed, and unless you knew where to look, it was impossible to tell a
wound existed.
Draco's gaze followed Hermione, his expression mixed with regret and
longing. Ugly words and unforgivable insults now tainted everything that
happened between them in Hawaii.

As Hermione stormed out of the room, Astoria wasted no time. She

wrapped her arms around Draco, offering him comfort and support in the
face of her anguish and Hermione's harsh words.

He stood perfectly still, his arms pinned to the side. There wasn’t much to
do except accept her embrace. It was oddly comforting.

The atmosphere was tense as Narcissa led Hermione inside a room, her
expression stern. The room was elegantly decorated, with plush velvet
curtains, antique furniture, and soft, ambient lighting casting a warm glow.

Narcissa pointed to a chair and instructed coldly, “Hermione. Sit down.”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of Narcissa's

disapproval. Although hesitant, she sat on one of the ornate chairs and faced
Narcissa, who remained standing, her posture rigid.

Narcissa frowned, “I must say, I am deeply disappointed in your

behaviour.”

She continued, her tone sharp, “I will not tolerate your treatment of Draco
without just cause. How you spoke to him and the disrespect you showed
him is unacceptable.”

Hermione's guilt deepened after realising the gravity of her actions, but it
wasn’t easy. She hung her head, unable to meet Narcissa's piercing gaze.

Narcissa said firmly, “You need to get a grip on yourself, Hermione. This
behaviour is improper. I know full well there's no love lost between you, but
we can both admit that he is trying to make amends for his past deeds.”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but Narcissa raised a hand to

silence her and said softly, “Draco is innocent in what you’re accusing him
of. He had no part in planning the wedding. Besides, no formal planning
was done. What you saw were merely samples."

She insisted, "Draco has been nothing but patient and understanding despite
your behaviour. You would do well to remember that.”

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise, realising the extent of Narcissa's

involvement. She felt a shiver go down her spine.

Hermione stuttered, “You... you planned everything?” Draco had been

telling the truth. Silence hung in the air momentarily as she processed
Narcissa's words. She looked down, feeling a pang of guilt for her actions.

Narcissa nodded, her tone serious, “Yes. And I did so without Draco's
knowledge. He had no idea what I was orchestrating behind his back. Had
he known, he would've stopped it immediately.”

She added sternly, "If you must hold someone responsible, then go ahead
and let me have it because all of this is my doing."

Hermione's guilt intensified as she processed this new information. Her

heart was heavy with regret. She had gone entirely off the rails and accused
an innocent man.

She struggled to get the words out, “I-I had no idea. I'm so sorry.” She
realised she had never been so wrong in her life, and her treatment of Draco
had been utterly unfair.

Without further words, Narcissa nodded and acknowledged Hermione's

apology.

Yet, she insisted, “Apologies are meaningless without action, Hermione.

You need to make things right with Draco. And you need to start by
apologising to him.”

Hermione nodded, determination shining in her eyes as she rose from her
seat, ready to make amends. Exactly how was the question? He was
probably still with Astoria doing God knows what. She refused to believe
he hadn't slept with her since his return.

She took a step forward, but her confidence waned, and she said, “You're
right. I will, but…”

Narcissa asked, perplexed, “But what, my dear?”

Hermione almost whispered, “I can't do this, Narcissa. I can't marry Draco

like this.” Was it so hard for everyone to understand?

She looked up, meeting Narcissa's gaze, her expression sombre but
determined.

Narcissa placed a comforting hand on the shoulder of her future daughter-

in-law.

She said gently, “I understand, Hermione. And neither can Draco. But we
must find a way to navigate this situation without causing further harm to
anyone involved.” She took a moment to collect her thoughts. Her
expression softened slightly as she spoke.

Hermione stood before the headstrong Malfoy matriarch, her expression

resolute yet conflicted.

Narcissa sighed. Exasperatedly, she said, “I know you see me as an

interfering old cow, but as parents, we want what is best for our children. I
regret how I handled this situation. Had I known you would react so
strongly, I would never have gone through with it.”

Hermione spoke clearly, “I appreciate everything you've done, Narcissa.

But I can't go through with a wedding to Draco.”

Narcissa's features hardened, her disappointment evident.

She asked curiously, “And why is that may I ask? Is it your past with him,
public opinion, or defying the Ministry?” Of course, she already knew the
answer but wanted to hear it aloud.
Hermione took a deep breath and said, “Because of everything, because of
everything that's happened between us. I can't pretend that it didn't happen,
that everything is suddenly fine.”

Narcissa's gaze softened slightly, understanding dawning in her eyes.

She implored, “You're referring to your relationship at Hogwarts. I don't

deny it was complex, and I understand your reservations, Hermione. But
people change. Draco has changed. Forgiveness takes time, my child. But
it's worth considering whether holding onto the past is worth sacrificing
your chance at happiness.”

Hermione shook her head, “But that doesn't erase the past. It doesn't erase
the pain and the humiliation I went through.” She had agreed to marry him;
wasn't that enough?

Narcissa smiled, “I understand your perspective, Hermione. And from now

on, I won't force you into anything you're uncomfortable with. But I do
hope you'll consider the possibility of forgiveness. For both Draco's sake
and your own.” It was abit too late since her actions had caused a sizeable
rift. She should have listened to Bernard and minded her own business.

Hermione looked down, her emotions in turmoil and said softly, “I know
this is important to you. I don't know if I can forgive him for everything
that's happened. I'll... I'll think about it. But I can't make any promises.”

Narcissa nodded, accepting Hermione's words, “That's all I can ask for.
Thank you, Hermione, for being honest with me. But sometimes, the past
doesn't have to dictate our future. Draco has changed, and so have you.
Perhaps this wedding is an opportunity for a fresh start. Just know that
whatever decision you make, I'll support you.”

She watched her future daughter-in-law with a hint of approval, knowing

that her words had struck a chord.

Hermione fell silent, contemplating Narcissa's words, her mind racing with
conflicting thoughts and emotions. She nodded, and a sense of relief
washed over her. She was grateful for Narcissa's understanding yet unsure
of what the future held for her and Draco.

As she left the room, her resolve firm, Narcissa remained behind, hoping
that her intervention would bring about the reconciliation that Draco and
Hermione desperately needed.

Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office

The hunt for the Dollhouse Strangler was about to reach its climax, and
Harry and his team were ready to bring him to justice.

As the Aurors approached the suspect's department and room, a sense of

unease hung in the air. They had not expected to find him within the very
walls of the Ministry of Magic itself. Harry led the way, and his expression
was grim as they entered the familiar surroundings of the Misuse of Muggle
Artefacts Office.

He paused as they reached the door, motioning for the others to stay back.
He silently pushed open the door and peered inside. What they saw shocked
them to the core. The man was seated at his desk, going about his work as if
nothing was amiss. The Aurors exchanged incredulous looks, still unable to
believe that the killer they had been hunting was among them all along.

Harry stepped into the office, his wand drawn but held at his side.

While entering the room, he maintained his composure, masking any sign
of the tension brewing. He quickly approached Arthur's desk with a casual
demeanour as if he were simply there for a routine visit.

"Arthur," Harry said, his voice steady but his mind racing with urgency.

He requested kindly, "Could I have a word with you outside for a moment?"
Arthur looked up from his paperwork, surprise evident in his expression.

"Of course, Harry," he replied, rising from his chair.

However, Arthur raised a questioning brow, "Is everything alright?"

Harry offered a reassuring smile, though his heart pounded with the weight
of the situation, "Just a quick chat." He gestured towards the door.

Arthur followed Harry outside, and his curiosity piqued when he saw the
Aurors stationed outside.

Perkins couldn't resist a mocking remark, "Look at you, trembling like a

scared rabbit. What's the matter, can't handle a little visit from the famous
Harry Potter?"

John’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but he forced a nervous laugh to

brush off Perkins' taunts.

As Harry re-entered the room, he was joined by Michael, Hannah, and

Thomas, who were stern and determined. Perkins' mocking demeanour
faltered, replaced by shock and surprise at the sudden turn of events. He
grew silent as the Aurors piled into the small room. He wondered what the
hell was going on.

John, however, remained remarkably calm, his demeanour almost unsettling

in contrast to the tension in the room.

"Harry Potter, What brings you here?" He said, his voice laced with false
cheerfulness, his nerves getting the better of him.

Harry's jaw clenched as he locked eyes with the suspect. "You know why
we're here. It's time to come with us."

"Took you long enough," John remarked casually, his voice betraying no
hint of guilt or fear. His facade crumbled, revealing the cold, calculating
killer beneath.

Deep down, however, he knew that his carefully constructed facade was
beginning to crumble, and with Harry's presence, his world was about to
unravel completely.
Harry's eyes narrowed as he took in John's composed demeanour. "You
seem awfully relaxed for someone in your situation," he remarked, his tone
cool and calculating.

Hannah stepped forward, her wand at the ready. "We know what you've
done, John. There's no use pretending anymore."

John's facade finally cracked, a flicker of panic crossing his face before he
quickly composed himself.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, though his voice
lacked conviction.

Hannah slammed the pendant and chain on the table and warned, “Trying
explaining your way out of this.”

John looked her up and down and smirked, “Hmm, I never did like
blondes.”

He drawled, “So common.”

Taking the chain, he turned it over and smiled, “Such a beautiful piece. The
craftsmanship is exquisite.”

Michael blurted out in contempt, “Yeah, you've got some skill, bastard.”
The man’s attitude was infuriating. He showed no signs of remorse or
regret.

Still, John simply smiled serenely and asked, “Corner, what brings you
here? How's that pretty girlfriend of yours?”

Michael hissed his displeasure, “You stay the fuck away from her.” Flecks
of spit flew out his mouth and landed shy of John's hand.

Harry pulled Michael back and warned, “Corner!”

John turned to Hannah and sneered, “This doesn't belong to you, Abbott. It
was a gift, and you've stolen it from its rightful owner.”
Thomas stepped forward, his gaze unwavering. "Enough games, John. The
evidence is overwhelming. It's time to come clean and face the
consequences of your actions."

John glanced around the room, realising that the walls were closing on him.
With a resigned sigh, he raised his hands in surrender, knowing that his time
was up.

"Alright, you got me. But you'll never find where I've hidden her. She's
mine, and I'll never let her go," he admitted, the calm facade finally
crumbling. Harry ignored John's comment, focusing instead on the task at
hand.

"John, you're under arrest for the abduction and murder of multiple
victims," Harry declared his tone firm.

John's facade cracked, a flicker of fear crossing his disfigured features

before he quickly masked it.

"You've got nothing on me. She loves me," he retorted, but his voice lacked
the conviction it once held.

Hannah stepped forward, presenting the evidence they had gathered. "We
have more than enough to put you away for a long time," she said, her voice
unwavering. In reality, they desperately needed his confession to tie him to
the other murders.

As the reality of his situation set in, John's defiance wavered, and he was
led away by the Aurors, his fate now in the hands of the law. Harry and his
team had succeeded in bringing a dangerous criminal to justice, but the
weight of their victory was tempered by the knowledge of who the killer
was and the lives that had been lost.

Realisation dawned on Perkins, and he paled, “This disgusting fuck is the

Dollhouse Strangler?”

John sneered. He fucking hated that name. His patience wore thin. With a
sudden and unexpected burst of rage, he lunged forward and grabbed a
pencil from his desk. Before anyone could react, he plunged the pencil into
Perkins' eye, eliciting a scream of pain.

John's laughter filled the room, a chilling and maniacal sound that sent
shivers down the spines of those present. Perkins writhed in agony, blood
streaming from his injured eye as he clutched his face in horror.

He smiled coldly, “That felt so good. I've wanted to do that for years.”
Perkins had it coming for all the taunting and unkindness over the years.

Arthur was horrified by everything going on around him. He slipped into a

deadly silence.

The room fell silent, the shock of the violent outburst hanging heavy in the
air. Harry and the others moved swiftly to restrain John, overpowering and
disarming him of the pencil. Perkins was rushed to the hospital wing for
treatment, his screams echoing in their ears.

John's laughter faded as the reality of what he had done sank in. His face
contorted with triumph and remorse as he was led away, his fate now sealed
by his reckless actions. The once quiet and unassuming office had become a
scene of chaos and violence, a stark reminder of the darkness that lurked
within.

He forced Michael to stop as they passed Arthur. Turning to face the kind
man, John said with enough conviction, “I'm sorry, Arthur. You're a good
man and the only person to treat me like I was worth something. I'm sorry I
let you down.”

Arthur wanted to speak, but words deserted him. He was shocked beyond
belief.

After a while, he mumbled, his words barely audible, “It can't be, Harry.”

Harry sympathised, “I understand how you must be feeling.”

Malfoy Manor
Draco stormed away, his steps heavy with anger. Astoria followed him with
concern etched on her face. They entered the study, a refuge from the
tension that filled the rest of the house. He poured himself a drink while his
hands trembled with rage.

He knew he shouldn't since he had to report to work, but in that moment,

nothing else mattered. Hermione’s harsh words rang steadily inside his
head, and he desperately needed to quiet them.

Astoria said softly, “Draco, please calm down. This isn't like you.” After all
that transpired, she could use a drink herself.

Draco took a long sip of his drink and tried to collect himself. He shook his
head and confessed, “I can't, Astoria. I can't deal with this anymore.” All
that was happening was too much to bear and required too much energy to
understand. Minding one’s business and focusing on a single path was
better.

He took a deep breath and tried to steady himself as he downed a second

drink in one gulp. Astoria watched him intently with worry, knowing the
turmoil he was facing.

Astoria removed the glass from his grasp and said softly, “You can't let her
get to you like this. She doesn't understand.”

Draco nodded, but his anger still simmered beneath the surface.

He gritted his teeth, “She has no right... to talk to me like that.” She had
some right considering their past and his ill-treatment of her, he supposed,
but never had he heard such cruel words uttered by her.

Astoria moved closer, and her hand touched his arm, offering comfort and
support. She said slowly, “I know, Draco. But you can't let her control you.
You've come so far; don't let her drag you back into the darkness.” Granger
was too stubborn and caught in the past to see the transformation in Draco.
Anyways, Hermione’s loss would be her gain.
Draco looked at Astoria curiously. His eyes searched hers for answers. After
a moment of silence, he took another glass, poured another drink, and took
a long sip.

The alcohol burned away the edges of his anger, and he asked in concern,
“Are you alright? I've never seen you lose control like that.”

He swallowed hard and said solemnly, “You could've killed her, Tori.” It
was a grim thought.

Astoria almost burst into tears. “I'm sorry, Draco. I didn't mean to hurt her.
It happens sometimes, more often, and I can't control it.” She hadn't meant
to physically harm Hermione to that extent.

She placed a comforting hand on his arm, “Are you afraid of me?” She
wouldn't be able to bear it if he was.

Draco placed a hand over hers and reassured, “No, of course not, but I am
concerned about you.” While he wasn't afraid, he felt she was a danger to
herself and society.

Astoria smiled. She was sure he had some feelings for her.

She said gently, “This situation with Hermione Granger. You don't have to
deal with it alone, Draco. I'm here for you.” She would establish herself
firmly as his Mistress until the divorce.

Draco looked at her, his eyes full of confusion and pain, “Astoria, I... I don't
know what to do. I don't know what I feel anymore.” He was beginning to
feel the effects of the potent alcohol.

Astoria's heart broke for him, and she took a step closer, her voice filled
with emotion, “Draco, I love you. I've loved you for so long and can't bear
to see you like this. Please, let me help you.”

He almost laughed. How could she help him? There was no hope except for
some miracle.
She took the opportunity to confess her true feelings, feelings he already
knew about, but it was an opportune moment. Her heart ached for him,
knowing full well the pain he's had to endure.

Astoria moved closer, her body almost touching his, and Draco looked at
her, his emotions in turmoil. She was beautiful. Her features, her hair, all
perfect.

He hesitated momentarily, and before he could form any words, she leaned
in and kissed him. Her soft lips pressed against his in a tender kiss.

With the alcohol in his system shrouding his thinking, Draco's initial
confusion gave way to a surge of unexpected emotion, and he kissed her
back, his mind clouded by the warmth of her touch.

At first, Draco's kiss was hesitant and unsure. But as Astoria responded, he
lost control and ultimately gave in. It felt good to be wanted, even if not by
the person he truly wanted.

After their initial shock melted away, they responded with equal fervour.
Astoria’s hands tangled in Draco's hair, pulling him closer. The kiss was a
clash of poor judgment and emotions, raw and unrestrained.

Astoria’s mewls of desire filled the space. Draco groaned as he cupped her
face and deepened the embrace.

They were interrupted by a noise from the door, causing Draco to come
crashing back to reality. He pulled away from Astoria even though she was
unwilling. She stared at him, breathing heavily as she tried to catch her
breath.

Somewhat startled, Draco turned towards the door, and his heart sank as he
saw Hermione standing there, her eyes wide with hurt and betrayal. What
had he done? Made a bad situation worse for sure.

Draco moved well away from Astoria and whispered softly, “Hermione..”
Although his behaviour hurt her somewhat, Astoria smiled, a secret smile
indicating an intimate moment. She touched her lips for good measure and
stared smugly at Hermione, who seemed unable to move.

Hermione stood frozen for a moment, trying to process her mixed emotions
—betrayal, hurt, and a hint of jealousy she refused to acknowledge. It had
taken her some time to locate them; now, she wished she hadn't. Oh Merlin,
what was he doing kissing Astoria?

She had no claim over him and no right to feel this way. But the sight of
them together, so intimate and comfortable, stabbed at her heart.

Astoria watched Hermione, once so fiercely independent, now seemingly

ensnared in a web of disdain for Draco.

Before either of them could speak, without a word, Hermione turned and
fled, leaving Draco and Astoria alone in the study, the weight of their
actions hanging heavy in the air. Her footsteps echoed and faded into the
silence.

Draco stiffened, his mind reeling as he watched his fiancé run away, her
expression filled with pain. The weight of his actions crashed down on him,
and he realised the depth of the hurt he had caused. Without a second
thought, he took off after her, his heart aching in his chest.

With each passing moment, Astoria relished the knowledge that Hermione's
animosity towards Draco would endure, perhaps even intensify, in the wake
of this orchestrated spectacle. Oh, how deliciously satisfying it was to
witness the fruition of her manipulation.

Just as she turned a corner, Hermione heard rapid footsteps behind her.
Draco was chasing after her, his voice urgent and filled with desperation.
She quickened her pace, hoping to avoid him, but Draco's voice called out,
filled with urgency. He almost caught up with her.

The use of magic was woefully forgotten. He cried breathlessly, “Granger,

wait! Please, listen to me!”
Hermione didn't stop. She rushed down the stairs, her heart pounding in her
ears. She passed Narcissa, who watched her with confusion and concern.

Narcissa said urgently, “Hermione, what's wrong? What happened?”

Dotty gasped and held onto Max, who seemed adamant to follow Hermione
into the grounds.

But, without an answer, Hermione ran, not stopping for anything in her
path. First, Draco and then Astoria hurried down the stairs after Hermione,
but it was too late; she had left.

Astoria clung to Draco, a proud smile on her face, but Draco's expression
was cold and distant.

She gently but proudly said, “Draco, we should—”

Draco cut her off with a sharp look while his eyes flickered with annoyance.
He said coldly, “Not now, Astoria.” Fuck. This situation was a right mess he
had landed himself in.

Narcissa noticed the tension between them and approached, her brow
furrowed in concern.

She asked sternly, “What's happened? Why did Hermione run away like
that?”

Astoria stepped forward boldly, still holding onto Draco's arm, but
Narcissa's gaze fell on her with disapproval.

She said firmly, “Astoria, I think it would be best if you left us alone for
now. I want to talk to my son alone.”

Astoria's smile faltered, and she reluctantly released Draco, knowing she
was unwelcome. She gave him a hurt look before turning away.

Narcissa was visibly displeased. She turned her attention to Astoria, her
demeanour stern and asked firmly, “Astoria, this is not the time for your
impromptu visits. You know better than to come here unannounced,
especially considering our delicate situation. Please do not interfere or
disrupt our family affairs.”

She focused on her son and stressed firmly, “Draco, what is going on? Why
was Hermione so upset?”

Draco shifted uncomfortably under his mother's gaze, the weight of his
actions hitting him like a metaphorical tonne of bricks, but his anger
towards Granger had not subsided.

Astoria, undeterred, squared her shoulders and met Narcissa's gaze with
determination.

Without fear, she brazenly declared, “Miss Granger walked in on us while

we were...intimate.”

Draco pursed his lips and averted his gaze. There was not a word he could
utter in their defence.

Narcissa was beside herself with anger, “What?”

She rounded on her son and sternly reprimanded, “Have you forgotten
Draco Lucius Malfoy that you are an engaged man and have been promised
to another?”

Draco kept his composure and answered solemnly, “I am well aware,

Mother. What happened wasn't intentional.”

Astoria pursed her lips. It had felt very intentional at the time.

Narcissa hissed, “Wasn't intentional? Have you lost all good sense?”

Astoria said defiantly, “I understand your concern, Narcissa, but I couldn't

stay away. I love Draco, and I won't stand by while Hermione insults him
and tries to tear him down.”

Draco pressed his lips together. Salazar, Tori was going to get him
murdered.
Narcissa sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. In
exasperation, she said, “Astoria, I appreciate your feelings for my son, but
this is not the way to handle the situation. We must tread carefully,
especially with Hermione involved.”

Astoria insisted passionately, “But Hermione has no right to treat Draco this
way! He deserves someone who will stand by him, not someone who
constantly belittles him.”

Despite Astoria's determination, Narcissa remained resolute, “I understand

your loyalty to Draco, but we must handle this with tact and diplomacy. We
cannot afford any more complications.”

Astoria crossed her arms over her chest and responded stubbornly, “I don't
care, Narcissa. I love Draco and won't stand by while Hermione insults him.
You shouldn't put up with it either.”

Narcissa's eyes narrowed, her patience wearing thin. She said sternly, “This
is not your place. Hermione and Draco have their own issues to resolve, and
it's not for you to intervene.”

Draco said slowly, “Mother, listen—” But Narcissa shot him a look that
meant business.

Astoria's resolve faltered slightly, but she remained defiant.

She persisted, “But Narcissa—”

Narcissa interrupted, “No, Astoria. I have been civil towards you out of
respect for your condition, but no more. Leave at once. I won't have you
causing any more trouble.”

Astoria looked crestfallen, but she knew she had no choice but to obey. She
gave Draco a pleading look before turning, knowing he would never
disobey his mother.

She hurried out of the main hall, leaving Draco and Narcissa alone with the
weight of their family's turmoil hanging heavy in the air
Draco stared ahead, lost in thought. Two women had left in tears; not a bad
start to the bloody day.

Narcissa asked firmly, “Why are you allowing this... this situation with
Astoria to continue?”

Draco shifted uncomfortably under his mother's gaze, the weight of his
actions finally hitting him.

He said quietly, “She’s fragile, Mother. I didn't mean for any of this to
happen. It was poor judgment on my part.” That was the understatement of
the century, but he had gotten caught up in the moment.

Narcissa's expression softened slightly, but her tone remained firm.

She sighed, “You need to sort this out, Draco. You mustn't lead Astoria on
and continue to let things spiral out of control like this. Hermione deserves
better, and so do you.”

Draco said in frustration, “Mother, don't start.”

However, undeterred, Narcissa warned, “You are playing a dangerous

game, Draco.”

He asked, his patience hanging by a thread, “What would you have me do?
Beg Granger for acceptance?”

Narcissa sighed and advised, “Have patience.”

Draco scowled, “I have been nothing but patient, kind and understanding. I
have been a perfect gentleman towards her, but she won't look past our
childhood. She won't give me the time of day, and she certainly isn't open-
minded enough to accept that I have changed.”

Narcissa pointed out, “She's afraid of opening up to you. You've hurt her
greatly in the past.”

Draco argued, “I care about her, but she will never open her heart to me. I'm
not worthy of her. Those were her exact words, and who am I to prove her
wrong.”

“Draco…,” Narcissa said gently.

Draco stopped her mid-sentence and replied with determination, “No,

Mother. I think I've given Hermione Granger the benefit of the doubt long
enough. Yes, I kissed Astoria, and I regret that, but If Granger believes me
to be the bastard she knew, then that's what I will be. It is a futile cause to
try and convince her otherwise.”

Again, Narcissa tried to talk some sense into her son, “Draco…”

Still, he said firmly, “I need some fresh air.” With that, Draco apparated into
his room. It was not exactly fresh air, but the familiar surroundings relaxed
him. He decided to give Granger precisely what she asked, no matter the
consequences.

Narcissa sighed. She feared for her son’s and Hermione’s happiness.

Even though he wasn't drunk, Draco decided arriving at work smelling like
whiskey wouldn't be the best. He took a potion and did a quick Scourgify. It
was rather unpleasant but necessary.

He was dreadfully late for work. He crossed the room to fetch his phone
and quickly scanned it.

Draco widened his eyes, noting Hannah's many missed calls and urgent
messages.

Fuck. She was going to rake him over hot coals.

Without hesitation, he pocketed his phone and left, his mind focused on the
pressing matter at the Ministry. The weight of the conversations about his
mother, Hermione, the stupid wedding, and Astoria could wait. Right now,
his priority was whatever had summoned him so urgently.
 Chapter 72
Chapter Summary

To all the comments:- I want to thank everyone for sticking with the
story and for offering such wonderful comments. They are really
appreciated and cherished!

I can't do this chapter justice by summarising it, so, dive in and enjoy
the plot twists, character developments and flaws and above all, keep
an open mind while reading.

Enjoy Chapter Seventy-Two!

Let me know your thoughts so far—trust me, it helps loads! :) Stay

safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

DMLE

As the chaos unfolded, Harry quickly took charge of the situation. "Hannah,
I need you to inform Draco Malfoy of the arrest and instruct him to come to
the DMLE immediately. Clear it with Audrey," he said, his tone
authoritative. He wondered why Malfoy wasn't around already.

Hannah nodded, understanding the urgency of the situation. She hurried out
of the room, determined to deliver the message to Draco as quickly as
possible. She had tried to locate him earlier and failed.

First, she checked the training hall and was informed by a mildly irritated
Audrey that Mr Malfoy had not reported to training that morning.
Perplexed, Hannah next checked their desks, yet he was nowhere to be
found.

She fumed as she wondered what could be the reason for his absence. It was
unlike him to be late. She held off telling Harry and the rest since it would
not work in Draco's favour.

Meanwhile, Harry and the other Aurors worked to restore order. The room
was filled with a sense of unease, the events that had unfolded serving as a
stark reminder of the darkness that lurked within even the most seemingly
ordinary of people.

Thankfully, none of the other Ministry employees witnessed the arrest

besides those present. Of course, Perkins would need to be silenced.

Harry knew that the aftermath of John's actions would have far-reaching
consequences. But for now, their focus was on ensuring that justice was
served and that the victims of John's crimes received the closure they
deserved.

As Draco hurriedly arrived, Hannah cornered him and wasted no time in

letting him know her thoughts. She dragged him to a corner away from
everyone else and looked at him with utter disappointment, which caused
Draco to cringe slightly.

"You're late, Draco," she said firmly.

She included with a frown on her face, "Being an Auror means putting
everything else aside and focusing on the job. This is unacceptable."

Draco nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation, "I'm sorry. I

agree. I'll explain later, Abbott."

He asked with a raised brow, "What's going on?" His curiosity was piqued,
eager to address whatever urgent matter had summoned him.

Thomas could not hide his displeasure. He strode towards Draco and
regarded him with a stern expression, clearly unimpressed by his tardiness.
He expected much more from the boy.

He hissed unpleasantly, “Where the fuck were you, Malfoy?”

“I was studying till late and overslept,” Draco lied. He could hardly confess
the truth of the circumstances that led him to be late.
"We could have used your help earlier," Thomas said, his tone tinged with
annoyance.

Draco sensed Thomas's frustration and nodded apologetically, "I'm sorry

there was a delay." He explained, though he knew that his excuses were
unlikely to appease Thomas.

Thomas sighed, knowing that they had more pressing matters to attend
to. He said in a firm and stern tone, "Just make sure it doesn't happen again.
We must work together as a team. Your partner needs to be able to depend
on you."

Draco glanced at Hannah and nodded, determined to make amends for his
lateness. He knew that his actions had consequences, and he was
determined to prove his commitment to the team moving forward. Yet, the
very thought of Granger was enough to send his emotions spiralling out of
control.

He couldn't get her pained expression out of his mind. Her eyes were wide
with disbelief and maybe a hint of betrayal. Her lips trembled as she
witnessed him kissing Astoria. It haunted him, a constant reminder of his
costly mistake. Still, Granger had undoubtedly put him in his place and
blasted any chance of a relationship between them.

Draco pushed away his feelings and focused on the matter at hand. He
apologised sincerely, "I'm sorry for being late. It won't happen again," His
voice was filled with determination. What a bloody fucking day!

Thomas, though still visibly displeased, nodded in acknowledgement, "Just

make sure you're on time from now on. We need everyone working together
to solve cases." He would let Malfoy off with a warning.

Draco nodded, determined to regain Thomas's trust and prove his

commitment to the department. He knew that his actions would speak
louder than words, and he was prepared to do whatever it took to make
things right.
He could not afford any reason for anyone to doubt him. Mostly everyone
suspected him and thought he was the vilest of scum, but before long, they
would see the truth.

Draco's eyes widened in shock as Hannah revealed the identity of the

Strangler. John was the last person he would have suspected, and his shock
was evident on his face.

"I can't believe it," he muttered, his mind reeling from the revelation.

He gritted out, "How did we not see this coming?" It was truly baffling.
They had all been outsmarted by a Squib.

As Hannah explained the situation, she expressed their frustration at not

knowing where John was keeping Sarah. Despite his arrest, Sarah's safety
remained their top priority, and they were determined to find her as soon as
possible.

Michael interjected, “We have his address on file.”

However, Hannah was sceptical, “I doubt he's keeping her there.”

Thomas said thoughtfully, “Still, we mustn't leave anything to speculation.

Leave no stone unturned.” Sometimes, the answer was right in front of
them.

Michael made a fist and exclaimed, “I bet my life that he's keeping her
somewhere dark and dingy.”

Harry said solemnly, “I hope she's there.” He knew it was unlikely since the
address on file was to a flat. Surely, someone would've heard screams or
noticed some odd behaviour and reported it.

Draco listened intently, his mind racing with thoughts of how they could
track down Sarah. He knew that time was of the essence and that they
needed to act quickly to ensure her safety.

"We'll find her, Hannah," Draco said, his voice filled with determination.
He expressed with renewed positivity, "We'll search every inch of this city
if we have to. Sarah is counting on us, and we won't let her down."

Harry instructed firmly, “Gear up, team. Let's move out.” He pocketed his
wand and picked up his firearm, checking the magazine to ensure it was
fully loaded.

With practised hands, Michael racked the slide, verifying that a round was
chambered before engaging the safety. He tucked his gun into the holster
and placed his precious wand right next to it.

Thomas placed a stylish hat on his head and smirked. He needed only his
trusty wand.

With renewed determination, the team headed out, determined to bring

Sarah home safely, no matter the obstacles they faced.

Ministry Of Magic - Executive Floor

Brenda looked up in alarm, but without explanation, Hermione burst into

her office. She slammed the door shut behind her and leaned against it, tears
welling up in her eyes.

The trip to the toilet had been a waste of time. She was still a complete
mess.

Hermione sank to the floor, her emotions overwhelming her. She had
thought she was immune and strong enough to handle seeing Draco with
someone else, but the reality of it was crushing. Initially, during their
agreement to the terms of marriage, she had encouraged him to pursue
others and leave her alone.

What was happening to her? These feelings ravaging her heart were
unprecedented and cruel.

She curled into herself, crying quietly, trying to make sense of the pain in
her heart.
It wasn't possible! The pain she felt was undoubtedly a trick of the mind.
She loathed him as a person, didn't she?

After what seemed like an eternity, Hermione gathered herself and rose to
her feet. She needed to be professional and distance herself from the matters
of her heart.

She sat at her desk, her hands trembling as tears blurred her vision. She
tried to compose herself, telling herself that what she saw shouldn't matter,
that she shouldn't feel this way. But the image of Draco and Astoria's kiss
was seared into her mind, a painful reminder of what the future held.

Hermione sank into her chair, burying her face in her hands as silent sobs
wracked her body. It wasn't just jealousy that consumed her; it was a
profound sense of loss, of regret, and of the cruel twist of fate that seemed
determined to mock her at every turn.

Brenda helplessly stared at the closed door to her boss's room. She instantly
became worried and wondered if it was prudent to enter under some false
pretence to make sure Hermione was alright.

She cared about Hermione, but seeing her in pain wasn't easy. She pondered
what caused it.

Hermione struggled to focus. She pushed aside the mountain of parchment

and groaned in utter frustration. She felt a mix of emotions: anger at herself
for caring, jealousy towards Astoria, and betrayal towards Draco, even
though she knew they weren't together nor committed to one another. The
pain was real, cutting deep into her heart.

She tried to wipe away her tears, willing herself to be strong, but the
feelings were so devastating.

Her gaze lingered on her arm, now free of the red gash that had marked her
distress earlier. The wound had healed, but the emotional turmoil remained.

Astoria's display of uncontrollable magic had been a stark reminder of the

depth of her feelings for Draco, something Hermione couldn't ignore.
The woman was clearly unstable, but as she pondered Astoria's actions, she
felt a sense of inadequacy. How could she compete with someone willing to
go to such lengths for Draco, for love? She had always prided herself on her
intelligence and strength, but it seemed she was outmatched in matters of
the heart.

In the solitude of her office, she allowed herself to grieve, to mourn the
shattered illusions of what could have been. And as the tears flowed freely
once again, she realised that healing would take time — far more time than
she had ever anticipated.

Hermione hated herself for being weak and letting Malfoy and his actions
get under her skin.

John's Flat

Draco, Harry, Hannah, Michael and Thomas burst through the door of
John's flat, wands and guns at the ready.

It was situated in a less desirable part of town, and the landlord had been a
pain in the arse until he spotted Harry and instantly became highly
cooperative. It wouldn’t do to upset the Chosen One.

The flat was eerily quiet, and the sense of emptiness hung heavy in the air.
Dust particles float in the sunlight, streaming through the windows.

Harry looked around and whispered, “Stay alert. We don't know what we
might find.”

Thomas instructed urgently, “Spread out. We need to search every inch.”

The group fanned out, each taking a different part of the flat. Hannah and
Michael moved towards the kitchen, Draco and Thomas went towards the
living room, and Harry headed down a hallway towards the bedroom.

They moved cautiously through the flat, their eyes scanning every corner.
The flat was sparsely furnished and looked like it hadn't been lived in for a
while.

Hannah said quietly and disappointed, “It doesn't look like anyone's been
here for weeks or ever.”

Draco approached a table with a few scattered documents. He picked one

up and examined it.

He said thoughtfully, “These look like old bills or something. Definitely,

nothing recent.”

Thomas moved to a small desk in the corner and opened a drawer. It was
empty except for a few crumpled papers. He frowned and shook his head,
“There's nothing here. I doubt he's ever lived here. Probably kept the place
to keep up appearances.”

Draco and Thomas sifted through papers in the drawer. Draco noticed
something and picked up a half-burned photograph of a young girl.

He looked at it closely and exclaimed, “This must be her. Sarah.” The

woman was beautiful and looked remarkably like Ginny Weasley.

Thomas nodded and looked around the room with a furrowed brow.
However, Hannah took a look at the picture and shook her head.

She pointed to the half-naked woman, who looked frightened as she stared
tearfully at the camera and clarified, “They could be twins, but this isn't
Sarah. This is Morgan, victim number two.” John had taken so many lives.
Life was indeed cruel.

Thomas said in frustration, “It's too clean. He certainly has a thing for
germs.” It all made sense since the girls were found in pristine condition.

Michael sighed. He was still seething about how John managed to trick
them all. It was humiliating, to say the least.

Harry emerged from the hallway, shaking his head, “Nothing in the
bedroom either. There's a bed, but it looks brand new, no clothes or any
personal effects. Not even a fucking toothbrush.”
Hannah opened a cupboard in the kitchen, revealing empty shelves. She
shrugged, “No food, no supplies. He's never lived here.”

However, Harry noticed a calendar on the wall with several dates circled.
He ripped it off the wall and showed it to the group, “Look at this. These
dates might be significant. Maybe he left some clues behind.”

Hannah wandered into the bathroom and spotted a small locked box inside
the half-open cabinet under the sink. She pulled it out, set it on the coffee
table, and tried to pry it open.

She said with some excitement, “This might have something useful.” It
certainly looked like John was trying to hide it.

Draco stepped forward, waved his wand over the box and muttered,
“Alohomora.”

The lock clicked open, and Hannah lifted the lid. Inside were various
documents, photographs, and a small journal. Harry took the journal and
started flipping through it with keen interest.

He informed the curious group eagerly, “Looks like he kept notes on his
movements. We might be able to trace where he's been and locate where
he's hidden Sarah.”

Next, Thomas took a battered photograph from the box and examined it
closely. It was a picture of John with a woman. He was pretty young in the
picture, but it was clear it was him.

Thomas gritted out, “This must be his mother. We need to find out where he
kept them.”

Harry said, his voice merely a whisper, “He killed his mother.” John had
detailed his feelings on the matter and dedicated three pages to the
slaughtering of the woman who gave birth to him. The murder had gutted
him, and he had fallen into deep despair over his actions. He explained that
he took the women to replace his beloved mother and, in his mind, erase his
sin.
Thomas hissed, “After learning the truth about his abuse at her hands, I
can't say I blame him for killing her.”

Michael pursed his lips. He clearly disagreed with the seasoned Auror since
there was simply no excuse for murder unless in self-defence.

Hannah said in frustration, “There's nothing here that tells us where he's
hiding Sarah.”

Draco advised, “Let's take everything back to the office. We can go through
it there and see if we can find any leads.” Surrounded by his superiors, he
didn’t feel quite like a recruit.

Michael nodded in agreement, “Good idea, Malfoy.” He wanted to get the

hell out of the flat. The walls were beginning to close in on him.

Hannah shut the box and pocketed it. As they headed towards the door,
Draco paused and looked back at the flat with a determined expression,
“We'll find her. We have to.” He stepped towards the window and peered
out into the busy street.

He said thoughtfully, “He must have another place. Somewhere, he felt

safer.”

Harry joined Draco at the window, his face set in determination, “We need
to find it. Fast.” He was done being nice and had every intention of using
any force necessary to get the truth out of John.

They left the flat, closed the door behind them, and headed back to the
DMLE to continue their interrogation.

Ministry Of Magic - Hermione's Office

Kingsley Shacklebolt sat across from Hermione in her office, his expression
grave. However, he looked at her closely and noticed unease and sadness in
the depths of her eyes.
Hermione, still reeling from the recent events, looked at him expectantly.
She cleared her throat and asked curiously, “How can I help you, Minister?”

Without prying into the details of her obvious discomfort, Kingsley relayed
the reason for his visit, “They've apprehended the Dollhouse Strangler.”

Hermione's eyes widened in shock and confusion, which quickly turned to

frustration, “What? Why am I hearing of this just now?”

Kingsley said pointedly, “Steady on, Granger.” He supposed her anger was
justified. She had every right to know.

Hermione regained her composure and insisted, “Well, who is it? What's the
bastard's name?”

Kingsley sighed, “Hermione, I need to talk to you about John.” He decided

to breach the topic subtly.

Hermione frowned, “What? Who's John?” Temporary forgetfulness had

caused her to overlook their eccentric work colleague.

“He worked with Arthur,” Kingsley offered some insight, hoping she would
put together the rest.

Realisation dawned on her, and Hermione asked, concerned, “What about

him? I don't know much except that he keeps to himself and is polite. Is
everything alright?”

Kingsley eyed Brenda, who was hovering in the background, arranging

some important papers and files. He knew the young witch was ears
dropping and listening to every word.

However, he didn't dismiss her and instead sighed heavily, “I'm afraid not.
We've discovered some disturbing information about him. He's been
arrested... for the Dollhouse murders.”

They heard a noise, Brenda had dropped the files onto the floor. Papers
scattered everywhere, but she stood transfixed, staring at the Minister of
Magic in disbelief.
She found her voice, “It's impossible. John was my friend.” He had been
until Michael chased him off. He was right to warn her. She had struck up a
friendship with the man because no one else would.

Hermione's eyes widen in shock, her heart skipping a beat at the revelation.
She stammered, “The Dollhouse murders? But... how? Why?”

When Kingsley tried to speak, she scoffed, “John wouldn't hurt a fucking
fly. There has to be some mistake.” The man was polite and helpful but
lacked the arrogance the rest seemed to possess.

Brenda nodded in agreement. It was too bizarre a coincidence.

Kingsley said gravely but firmly, “It appears that John has been leading a
double life. He is the Dollhouse strangler.”

He addressed the dumbfounded assistant in the background, “Brenda,

please give us a moment alone.”

Brenda hesitated but left the room with a heavy heart. What the fuck was
going on?

Hermione narrowed her eyes, her mind struggling to process the

information.

She said in disbelief, “I... I can't believe it. John... he seemed so... normal.
How could he...?”

Kingsley got to his feet, approached Hermione and placed a hand on her
shoulder, “I know, Hermione. I didn't believe it at first myself, but he
confessed over an hour ago. The man's always been something of a
mystery.”

Her mind went straight to work, and she exclaimed, “Oh, Merlin, the press
will have a field day with this. We will be the laughingstock of the Magical
world.”

Kingsley knew she spoke the truth and responded solemnly, “This is a
shock to us all. But we need to keep this information contained. If it gets
out that the Dollhouse strangler was a Ministry employee, there will be
chaos.”

Hermione nodded, her voice determined, “You're right, Kingsley. We

cannot let this news leak. We need to handle this delicately, make sure it
doesn't cause a panic.”

Kingsley sighed in exasperation, “Agreed. I will make sure the Aurors

handle the investigation discreetly. We can't afford any more scandals.”

Hermione said with renewed resolve, “I'll do everything I can to assist. We

need to make sure justice is served, but we also need to protect the
Ministry's reputation.”

She exclaimed, “To think we all knew the killer and he worked inside the
Ministry of Magic is the biggest fuck you anyone could've given us.” She
didn’t bother with niceties.

Kingsley appeased, “Granger, calm yourself.” In the past, they had agents
of Voldemort working at the Ministry, leading to the deaths of hundreds. In
comparison, the Dollhouse murders were a blip on the radar.

Still, Hermione urgently pressed on, “The public will lose faith in our
leadership and administration. We must at all costs make bloody sure this
doesn't leak out that he was a Ministry employee.”

However, Kingsley reassured, “The arrest was made discreetly. Arthur is

crushed. He was rather fond of the man. They've worked together for quite
some time now. I don't know much about him, of course.”

Hermione sighed, “I suppose none of us made the effort to get to know him
better. Except for Arthur and Brenda.” Thank heavens the friendship had
ceased and not blossomed. She was pleased with Harry and his team for not
causing a stir during the arrest. If they had, she would've heard about it
before Kingsley informed her.

Kingsley said rather pointedly, “By the way, Malfoy was instrumental in
catching him. He offered some valuable insight into the case, which had
Hannah changing the direction of the investigation, which eventually led to
the arrest.”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, averted her gaze and replied, “Oh, well,
that's good. Malfoy is quite an intelligent man.” She wasn't ready to face or
speak of him after seeing him kissing Astoria so ardently.

She got to her feet, smoothened the material of her skirt and said with
determination, “I want to see them interrogate John.”

However, Kingsley had his reservations, “Do you think that's appropriate?”

Hermione argued, “Of course.”

Kingsley nodded, a dark look in his eyes as they both realised the gravity of
the situation. Together, they began to formulate a plan to contain the news
and ensure that the truth about John's dark secret didn't destroy everything
they had worked so hard to build.

DMLE

As the aftermath of John's outburst unfolded, Arthur sat in shock, his mind
struggling to process the events that had just transpired. Despite the chaos
around him, John remained defiant, refusing to speak or cooperate with the
Aurors.

Harry approached John, his expression stern. "John, you need to understand
the seriousness of the situation. You're facing serious charges, and
cooperation could work in your favour."

John glared back, his silence a wall of defiance. He was looking at a life
sentence at Azkaban. Clearly, Potter was a moron.

Meanwhile, Arthur, still reeling from the shock of Perkins' injury and John's
violent outburst, struggled to comprehend the events. He had known John
for years, never suspecting the darkness that lurked within him.
Harry knew they needed to find a way to break John's silence. Time was of
the essence, and they couldn't afford to let him remain defiant.

As John remained stubbornly silent, refusing to cooperate with their

questioning, Harry exchanged a concerned glance with Arthur. He could see
the shock of the situation weighed heavily on Arthur, his usual cheerful
demeanour replaced by a look of disbelief and confusion.

"Arthur, are you alright?" Harry asked, his voice filled with concern. His
father-in-law was usually a tough man, but looked entirely defeated at the
moment.

Arthur shook his head, struggling to find the words to express his shock.
"I... I don't understand," he stammered, his hands trembling slightly.

He said solemnly, "I've known John for years. I never would have
suspected..."

Harry placed a comforting hand on Arthur's shoulder, offering him a

reassuring smile, "I know this is difficult to process, but we need your help
to piece together what happened. Can you tell us anything that might shed
light on John's actions?"

Arthur took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. "I... I'm not sure.
John always seemed like such a nice, ordinary bloke. However, he was odd,
but I never would have imagined..."

His voice trailed off as he struggled to make sense of the situation. Harry
knew they needed more information to unravel the mystery surrounding
John's sudden descent into darkness and, most importantly, where he was
keeping Sarah.

"We'll figure this out, Arthur," Harry said, his tone firm but comforting.

Arthur nodded, steeling himself as he resolved to assist in any way he

could.
Harry said, "But we need your help. Anything you can tell us about John
could be crucial in understanding his motives. Did he ever mention a house
or maybe somewhere significant?"

Despite the shock and confusion swirling around him, Arthur knew that
finding answers was paramount in bringing closure to this troubling chapter.
However, he realised he knew very little about John.

Draco quickly made his way to the designated meeting room where Harry
and the others were gathered. He could sense the tension in the air as he
entered, his gaze darting between the faces of his colleagues.

"What's going on?" Draco asked, his voice laced with concern as he took in
the strained atmosphere. His astute eyes fell on Arthur Weasley staring into
space, lost to the world.

Hannah stepped forward, her expression grave as she briefed him on the
recent developments, “John's refusing to talk, and Arthur is in shock."

She suggested with a frown, “We should use force to get him to confess. A
few good knocks should have him spilling his guts.” It went against her
beliefs, but desperate situations called for drastic measures.

Draco sighed. He wasn't convinced that violence was the answer. John had
tolerated being brutalised all his life. A beating wasn't the way to get
through to the man.

He said thoughtfully, “I doubt that's the best way to get him to open up. He
doesn't trust any of us. Attacking him would further solidify his notions
about Aurors.”

Harry looked at Malfoy in surprise. It was hard to come to terms with the
changed man he was.

He said, “We don't seem to be able to get through to him.”

Draco's brow furrowed in concern as he processed the news.

"Merlin," he muttered, a sense of unease settling in the pit of his stomach.

He asked rather curiously, "What do you need me to do? There wasn't much
in the box either."

Harry stepped forward, his eyes meeting Draco's with a sense of urgency.
"See if you can make a connection. Obviously, he hates Aurors and his
parents were horrid to him.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. He wondered how Potter thought he could relate

to this man. Clearly, their circumstances were vastly different, or were they?

He nodded solemnly, his mind already racing with possibilities. "I'll do

whatever I can to help," he vowed, steeling himself for the daunting task
ahead.

Despite intense questioning, John remained steadfast in his refusal to

disclose the whereabouts of the abducted woman. His silence was a
frustrating barrier for Harry and his team.

Michael, Hannah, and the others continued to press John for information,
but he remained insolent, his lips sealed in a stubborn refusal to cooperate
and every moment that passed without Sarah being found increased the
urgency of the situation.

At one point, Michael lost his patience. He viciously grabbed John by the
collar of his shirt, dragged him out of the chair despite the man's feeble
protests and slammed his body into the nearest wall, causing him to let out a
yelp of pain.

John staggered backwards, feeling an intense throbbing in his mouth. He

instinctively reached up to touch his lip, only to recoil in pain as his fingers
came away slick with blood.

Grabbing a handful of hair, Michael yanked John's head back and

threatened, “Tell us where you're keeping her, or I’ll make you suffer for
every second you make us wait.”

John's lip, already swollen and tender, split open further, the taste of copper
flooding his mouth. Ignoring the pain, he laughed maniacally, spraying
blood in every direction. Some got on Michael's black shirt, and he recoiled
in disgust.

Harry watched the scene unravel from behind the glass for a few more
minutes before stepping in to stop Michael from pulverising John. Clearly,
violence did not affect the man.

He strode into the room and said sternly, “That's enough, Corner. Leave us.”

Michael glared at John, reluctantly backed away and stormed out of the
room.

Harry took out his wand and moved it over the wounded man, who was still
laughing maniacally. The cuts healed, and blood vanished from the floor.

He asked solemnly, “Will you tell us where you've hidden her, John? If you
love her, then do her this kindness.”

John smiled devilishly with a mouth full of blood. His lips curved upwards
macabrely, “I will take it to the grave. She will join me in the afterlife.”

Harry narrowed his eyes and hissed, “So be it.” He lost his calm demeanour
and slapped John across the face with all his might, causing the man to fall
to the floor and weep.

As they strategised their next move, Harry knew they would need to find a
way to break John's resolve and extract the information they needed. Sarah's
safety depended on it, and Harry was determined to do whatever it took to
bring her home safely.

Frustration gnawed at them as they grappled with the dilemma. They knew
they couldn't force John to talk, and time was running out.

"We need to find another way," Hannah said, her voice determined. "There
has to be some clue, some lead we haven't explored yet."

She asked desperately, “Can't we use Vertiserum?”

Thomas shook his head, “It's strictly forbidden.” It was against the law to
take away a prisoner's free will during interrogation, no matter how heinous
the crime.

Hannah raised a questioning brow. Michael had just beaten the man. Wasn't
that against the rules as well?

Harry nodded in agreement, his mind racing with possibilities. "We'll comb
through every piece of evidence, every detail of the case. There has to be
something we've missed."

With renewed determination, they set to work, scouring the evidence for
any sign that could lead them to the missing woman. They knew that they
couldn't give up until Sarah was found and brought to safety, no matter the
obstacles they faced.

Nott Manor

Luna complained, “Please, darling. If I eat another bit, I will surely

explode.” Since finding out about the pregnancy Theo had hardly left her
alone. It was pretty annoying, really.

Theo beamed, “One more pancake, love. You’re eating for two now.” He
was still petrified at the prospect of becoming a father, but after some
thought, he felt loads better—even excited.

He asked eagerly, “When is the next Healer visit?”

Luna smiled, “I was thinking later today. It would be best to check up on

everything since we were away.”

Theo smiled broadly, “That’s a brilliant idea. I can’t wait to hear my son's
heartbeat.”

Luna responded with a slight smile, “It could be a daughter, Theo. Quite
frankly, I would love to have a little girl to dress up, adore and spoil.”
Theo paled. He pictured a cute little toddler wearing a bright yellow dress
dancing in the garden.

DMLE

As John's interrogation continued, his wounds healed but his deep-seated

hatred for Aurors became apparent. He spoke bitterly about his desire to
become an Auror himself, only to be thwarted by what he perceived as their
unjust treatment of him.

“I wanted to be an Auror," John admitted, his voice laced with resentment.

He narrowed his eyes and hissed, "But they never gave me a chance. They
treated me like dirt, like I was nothing." He recalled the ridicule and harsh
names they called him for daring to be different. His words were filled with
a sense of betrayal and longing, revealing a complex mix of emotions that
had fuelled his actions.

They were met with resistance at every turn. John's refusal to cooperate
seemed rooted not only in a desire to protect himself but also in a deep-
seated vendetta against those he believed had wronged him.

Still, he divulged essential details, “I took one woman for each house. Sarah
is a Gryffindor. I always thought that if I had been sorted, I would end up in
Gryffindor.”

Harry sat up straight and showed keen interest. Hannah and Thomas gave
the man their undivided attention.

Draco, who had been listening quietly, saw an opportunity to intervene. He

knew that his past as a Death Eater could potentially give him some insight
into John's mindset.

"John, I understand your anger towards Aurors. I've also made mistakes in
my past," Draco began, his tone empathetic.
He said carefully, "But right now, Sarah’s life is at stake. You have the
power to do the right thing."

John hesitated, his expression conflicted. The hatred in his eyes softened
slightly as he looked at Draco, sensing a genuine desire to help.

His animosity towards Aurors certainly added a layer of complexity to the

situation. His hatred stemmed from what he perceived as unfair treatment at
the hands of Aurors in the past, fueling his reluctance to cooperate with
them now.

Despite the challenges, Draco remained undeterred. They knew that finding
Sarah was paramount, and they were determined to do whatever it took to
bring her home safely, even if it meant overcoming John's deep-seated
hatred and resistance.

Harry continued to press John for information, and his hatred for Aurors
became increasingly apparent. He ranted about how they had always treated
him horribly, accusing them of prejudice and bullying.

Michael flinched. He knew the man spoke the truth. Terry and himself had
harassed John multiple times without reason. It was all part of the fun, but
he could see the repercussions of that fun now.

"It's because of Aurors like you that I had to resort to this!" John hissed, his
eyes filled with venom.

He spat with disgust, "You've always looked down on me, treated me like
scum. Well, now you'll see what I'm capable of." That wasn't entirely true.
His reason was to find a suitable replacement for his mother but also, to a
lesser extent, to make a mockery out of the DMLE.

John sneered and mocked the men clad in black that upheld law and order,
“I'm smarter than the lot of you.” Aurors were a dumb fucking bunch with
their cocks in their mouth. They weren’t worth the hype.

Harry openly admitted, “We don't deny that.” The man before him had
managed to hoodwink them all into believing he was a somewhat eccentric
man without psychotic tendencies. He had almost gotten away with the
perfect crime.

Still, Harry was curious as to how John had survived for so long in the
magical world without detection.

He asked curiously, “How did you manage to live this long in our world
without any questions being asked?” All his documentation was false.
However, John was his middle name, and he had rearranged the letters in
his last name to create an alias. Harry recalled Lord Voldemort
incorporating a similar tactic.

John laughed aloud, “I'm a Squib that no one cared about. It was easier than
you could possibly imagine.” A few Galleons in the right places ensured
complete anonymity.

His words only fueled Harry and his team's determination. They knew that
John's personal vendetta against Aurors couldn't overshadow the importance
of finding Sarah.

"We're not here to judge you, John," Harry said, his voice calm but firm.

He included softly, "We're here to find the woman you've taken and bring
her to safety. That's all that matters."

Despite John's indifference towards them, Harry remained focused on their

mission.

John softened his tone, “Yes, I agree. She is all that matters. I love her so
much.”

He beamed, “I knew Sarah was different from the rest the minute I saw her.
That's why she's still alive. Mother didn't approve at first, but I convinced
her.”

“Then help her,” Harry insisted. They would not rest until Sarah was found.

Hannah asked curiously, “Where is your mother? There's no record of her

after she left England.” She tried to get him to confess to the murder.
John pursed his lips. His hatred, fueled by perceived injustices and
mistreatment, only deepened his resolve to remain silent.

Harry understood the weight of John's grievances, recognising that his

distrust of Aurors was a significant barrier to gaining his cooperation. They
knew that overcoming this obstacle would require patience, empathy, and a
delicate approach.

"We need to tread carefully. John's past experiences with Aurors have
shaped his perception of us. We need to show him that we're here to help,
not to hurt," Harry said, his voice tinged with concern.

Hannah nodded in agreement. "We need to earn his trust, one step at a time.
Maybe if he sees that we're willing to listen, he'll be more inclined to open
up."

With this understanding in mind, Harry resolved to approach John with

empathy and understanding, hoping to bridge the divide that separated them
and ultimately bring the abducted woman to safety.

He asked curiously, “Tell us about your father.”

John visibly paled. His lips trembled, and he started to mutter incoherently.

Draco listened and interrupted. He started to speak about his father,

divulging things he had long since buried. He hoped it was enough to bond
with the man and get him to open up.

He sat across from John in the dimly lit interrogation room, a heavy silence
hanging in the air between them. John's expression was guarded, his eyes
flickering with a mixture of fear and defiance. Draco took a deep breath,
steeling himself to speak about his own painful past.

Draco said slowly, “John, I know what it's like to have a controlling father.”

John's eyes flickered with surprise, but he remained silent, waiting for
Draco to continue. He had heard about the infamous Lucius Malfoy.
Draco confessed solemnly, “My father... he was never satisfied with
anything I did. No matter how hard I tried, it was never enough for him. He
made my life a living hell.”

John almost smiled, “You... you understand? You know what it's like?” His
expression softened slightly, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes.

In a quiet corner of the Ministry, Hannah, Thomas, and Harry stood

together, their eyes fixed on Draco and John as they spoke.

Harry's gaze was filled with empathy as he recognised the pain and turmoil
in both men. He had himself suffered cruelty at the hands of his aunt and
uncle but by the looks of things, nothing remotely compared to John or
Draco.

Draco nodded in understanding and insisted, “John, I know what it's like to
grow up with a controlling father. My own father was... difficult. He
expected nothing but perfection, and anything less was met with... harsh
consequences.” His father’s famous cane had a more chilling purpose than
helping him walk. It was an instrument of power and torture.

John scoffed, “Yeah, I know what you mean. My old man was the same
way. Always telling me what to do and how to think. Like I was never good
enough because I lacked magic.”

He scoffed, “Any fool with a wand can perform magic.”

“But intelligence is the true gift,” he stated deranged, tapping the side of his
head with his finger.

His voice cracked as he admitted his dark past, “He made me rape my
mother, took pleasure in watching us. Mother always said I was a monster,
but I love her.”

Draco stiffened. The man before him had suffered terribly. He

inconspicuously glanced over his shoulder and looked at Hannah for
guidance, but any helpful words evaded her completely.
Hannah, Thomas, and Harry listened intently as Draco and John spoke, their
expressions reflecting a mixture of concern and compassion. Harry, in
particular, felt a pang of pity for both men, recognising the struggles they
had each suffered.

As Draco recounted his harrowing experiences growing up with his

controlling father, Thomas couldn't help but feel a sense of sympathy
towards him. While Draco's suffering may not have been on the same level
as John's, it was clear that he had faced his own demons and struggled
through his own form of horror.

No one would’ve thought that the spoiled Malfoy heir, Draco Malfoy had a
tough life and upbringing.

Draco nodded, a pang of understanding stirring in his chest, “It's not easy
growing up with someone like that. But we can't let them define us, John.
We have to break free from their hold, find our own path.”

John's gaze met Draco's, a flicker of hope in his eyes.

He asked timidly, “You think it's possible? To break free?” He seemed more
like his old self than a cold-hearted murderer.

Draco smiled and reassured, “I know it is. But we have to be brave, John.
We have to face our demons head-on, no matter how scary they may seem.”

John played with his hands and said, his voice breaking, “But... but
Sarah…”

Draco leaned forward, his voice gentle, “Sarah wouldn't want this, John.
She wouldn't want you to hurt people, to... to do these terrible things. She
would want you to get help, to turn yourself in.”

John looked hopeful, “Do you... do you think I can change? Do you think I
can be redeemed?”

Harry whispered to Hannah and Thomas, “It's hard to imagine what they've
been through. Malfoy seems to have survived his own kind of horror, even
if it's nothing compared to what John has gone through.”

Hannah nodded, her expression sad, “It's true. No one comes out of life
unscathed. Everyone has their demons to battle.”

Thomas offered wisely, “It's a reminder that we never truly know what
someone else is going through. We can only try to understand and offer
support where we can.”

Hermione said, “Indeed.”

Harry turned around and smiled, “When did you arrive?”

Hermione raised a sceptical brow, “A few minutes ago. Is it wise to have a

trainee speak with a murderer?”

Hannah frowned. She fiercely defended her partner, “Draco is doing

brilliantly.”

Hermione fixed Hannah with a curious look and said, “I didn't mean to
offend anyone, Hannah.”

Draco got to his feet, placed a hand on John's shoulder and assured, “I do,
John. I believe that everyone deserves a second chance, a chance to make
things right. But you have to be willing to take that chance, to make that
change.”

Hermione stiffened and moved away. She had heard enough. She felt like
the words were directed at her even though her presence was concealed
from those in the interrogation room.

John nodded slowly, his eyes filled with tears. He started to cry softly.

Harry knew all too well the weight of a troubled past and the scars it could
leave behind. He understood the pain of feeling trapped and powerless, the
longing for the hope for a better future.

John muttered between sobs, “I... I want to change, Draco. I want to be a

better person for Sarah.”
And as John began to share his own turmoil, Harry felt a renewed sense of
consideration for him as well. He could see the pain etched in John's eyes,
the longing for forgiveness and redemption.

Draco smiled softly, careful not to give away his true feelings on the matter,
“Then let's start by doing the right thing. Tell us where Sarah is, John. Let
us help you.”

Avery Manor - The Dungeon

The chamber was dimly lit, filled with the eerie glow of flickering candles.
Shadows danced on the stone walls and created an ominous atmosphere.
Antonin Dolohov was cloaked in darkness and sat on a throne-like chair.
His jewelled mask partially obscured his face, and his eyes glowed with a
menacing light.

He exuded an aura of power and intimidation. Dorian Blackwood had been

summoned. He stood before his Alpha, staring at the floor and refusing to
make eye contact.

Dolohov asked slowly, his voice cold and commanding, “Report,

Blackwood. What progress have you made in freeing the prisoner?”

Dorian pursed his lips and thought about his answer. Finally, he responded
truthfully, “Master, we have... encountered some difficulties. As you know,
Azkaban is heavily guarded, and their defences are stronger than
anticipated.”

Dolohov narrowed his eyes, “Difficulties? Do you think I am interested in

your excuses?”

Dorian felt the weight of his Alpha’s voice bear down on him. He groaned
but managed to utter, “N-no, Master. We are working tirelessly. Our spies
are gathering more information, and we have identified potential
weaknesses in their security.”
Dolohov leaned forward and said, in a voice like ice, “Potential
weaknesses? I did not send you to find "potential" weaknesses. I sent you to
bring the prisoner to me. Do not disappoint me again.”

Dorian nodded at once and said desperately, “Yes, Master. We will not fail
you. We have already begun devising a new plan.”

Dolohov sat back and smirked, “Very well, Blackwood. But know this: if
you fail, there will be no place in this world or the next where you can hide
from my wrath.”

Dorian paled, “Thank you, Master. We will not fail. I swear it.”

Dolohov waved a dismissive hand, “Go. And remember, the fate of this
mission rests on your shoulders. Do not return without the prisoner.”

Dorian bowed and retreated from the chamber with haste. He needed to
contact Thomas and set the plan in motion, or it would be his head on a
fucking platter.

DMLE

Draco's attempt to persuade John to reveal Sarah's whereabouts seemed to

have an unexpected but favourable outcome. John's unsettling response
hinted that Sarah was unwilling to leave him.

Draco's brow furrowed in concern. "John, we need to ensure Sarah's safety.

If she's with you, we need to speak with her to make sure she's unharmed
and that she wants to stay."

John chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming with a disturbing intensity. "She's
safe with me, Draco. She doesn't want to leave. But don't take my word for
it. Ask her yourself."

Draco exchanged a troubled glance with Harry and Hannah. It was clear
that the situation was far more complicated than they had anticipated. At the
very least, they needed to find a way to speak with Sarah and ensure her
safety without escalating the already tense situation.

John took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he knew he must do.
With a decisive nod, he began to reveal Sarah's whereabouts, a glimmer of
hope for redemption shining in his eyes.

“Sarah... she's where I laid my mother to rest," John finally admitted, his
voice barely above a whisper. He slowly wrote down the address and passed
the piece of paper to Draco.

He grabbed Draco's arm and pleaded, "Please, just make sure she's safe. We
were married yesterday. "

That bit of information was enough cause for panic. It had to be false unless
he married her via Muggle means. Still, it seemed impossible.

Draco nodded, grateful that John had decided to cooperate, “You have my
word, John.” He relayed the information to Harry and the others.

Hannah said, “Muggle London. I knew it.”

Draco took a deep breath and asked curiously, “Was Granger just here?”

Harry nodded, “Yes, how did you know?”

Draco confessed rather sheepishly, “I can smell her perfume.”

Harry frowned. Thomas became thoughtful, and Hannah just looked

amused.

With John's revelation echoing in the air, Harry, Hannah, Draco, Michael,
and Thomas sprang into action. Their senses sharpened as they prepared to
confront the truth they had been seeking.

Harry said, his voice firm and urgent, “We need to move quickly. Sarah's
life may be in danger.”

Hannah nodded in agreement, “Agreed. Let's not waste any time.”

Draco patted John on the back and said, “You did the right thing, John.”

John's arrest was made without further incident, but the ordeal had left a
mark on all involved. It was a stark reminder of the complexities of human
nature and the dark depths to which delusion and obsession could lead.

Harry came to stand by Draco and said, “You did good back there. I've
cleared your absence with Audrey. She wasn't thrilled but agreed under the
circumstances.”

Draco acknowledged Harry's words with a nod, turned his attention to

Hannah, and asked, “Aren't you supposed to be on Granger's security
detail? Especially after she met with Avery.”

Hannah conveyed, “I've been excused for the day considering the
circumstances.”

Draco kept silent and said nothing. Thoughts of Granger occupied his mind.

John's delusional belief that Sarah had fallen in love with him added a
disturbing layer to the situation. Despite his conviction, Harry and his team
knew that John's actions had been driven by a dangerous fantasy.

John's House

As they approached the house, their hearts pounded with anticipation. They
knew that time was of the essence, and they were prepared to do whatever it
took to bring Sarah home safely.

They equipped themselves for a potentially volatile confrontation. They

approached the house cautiously, their wands at the ready but hidden from
view. Their minds raced with dread at what they might find. They knew
they were about to confront the dwelling of a deeply disturbed individual,
but nothing could prepare them for the harrowing scene that awaited them.

The sun was setting, and a curious few neighbours who lingered watched
intently. In their black robes and overcoats, they were a rather imposing
sight.

An older woman came forward. She was obviously a busybody, “A rather

strange man lives here. He had a mother once. I haven't seen her around in
years. He comes and goes and keeps to himself. A bit of an odd duck.”

She added thoughtfully, “I asked once, but he said she moved away, and
that was the end of it. I'm sure he's got something to do with her
disappearance.”

Harry forced a smile onto his face, “Thank you, Madame.” The nosy old
goat, he thought to himself.

They burst into the house, their wands at the ready, and were met with a
harrowing sight. The place was surgically clean.

Hannah sighed with disappointment. Had John given them a wrong address
to throw them off while Sarah suffered?

Harry recalled Sarah's mother's words. The old furniture. He said eagerly,
"This is the right place. Spread out and be careful."

Upon entering the house, wands were drawn, and they explored it. The
inside was immaculately clean, not a hair out of place. Also, there weren't
any photographs or pictures of any nature.

The first room they found reeked of chlorine and other cleaning supplies,
but there were marks on the walls that were consistent with a person
clawing at the surface, but it was abandoned.

Michael walked cautiously into a room closed to the world by a thick

wooden door. Inside, they found a woman, her back to them, seemingly
unbothered by people in the house.

He kept his wand ready and asked, “Are you alright, Miss?” but received no
answer.

He went around and gasped, almost dropping his wand. It was a store-
bought mannequin, dressed and made up. The painted eyes stared at him
almost accusingly, and the mouth curved into a sinister smile. A wig of long
bright red hair was placed on the head, adding a plausible explanation to the
man's sick addiction.

Michael felt the bile rise in his throat. He needed to get out of the room as
soon as possible.

Their worst fears were realised. Sarah lay naked and shivering on a large
bed in a room which appeared to be the Main bedroom.

A tattered wedding dress was discarded in the corner. She was chained to
the bed, and something rust-coloured had stained the bed sheets. It looked
remarkably like blood. Her thighs were covered with dried semen.

The room was vastly different from the rest of the house. It was filthy and
filled with an oppressive silence, broken only by the sound of Sarah's
trembling breaths.

Hannah gasped in horror, her hand flying to her mouth as she took in the
sight before her. The realisation of what Sarah must have endured at John's
hands sent a chill down her spine, filling her with a profound sense of
sorrow and anger.

She wanted to smash the man to bits. The fucking bastard. She hoped he
would rot in hell for all eternity.

The stark contrast between the wedding dress and Sarah's current state was
a chilling reminder of the ordeal she had suffered.

Harry looked around in surprise. Her mother had described everything

down to the last detail.

Hannah struggled to comprehend Sarah's anguish and suffering. Her heart

broke for the young woman who had been caught up in John's delusional
fantasies.

Draco clenched his jaw, and his fists tightened in anger at the sight before
him. He had been instrumental in bringing John to justice, but the toll it had
taken on Sarah was a stark reminder of the darkness that lurked within some
people.

Harry stepped forward, his expression grim but determined, "We need to get
her to St. Mungo's immediately.”

He said, his voice firm, "She needs medical attention and support."

With gentle reassurance, Harry and Draco approached Sarah, their voices
soft and comforting as they sought to offer her aid and support. It was clear
that she had been through an unimaginable ordeal, and their priority now
was to ensure her safety and well-being.

As Sarah saw her rescuers, she let out a scream, her voice filled with trauma
and fear.

Draco went numb, and Harry stopped dead in his tracks. He glanced over
his shoulder and gestured for Hannah to approach.

Hannah acknowledged, and slowly, she went close to Sarah with gentle,
reassuring words. She spoke softly, offering comfort and reassurance as she
reached out to touch Sarah's shoulder gently.

Sarah's scream pierced the air, filled with fear, trauma, and relief all at once.
It was a gut-wrenching sound that echoed through the room, a stark
reminder of the horrors she had endured at the hands of John.

Harry hurriedly waved his wand and placed a silencing charm over the
dwelling. The last thing they needed was curious Muggles coming around.

"It's alright, Sarah," Hannah said softly, her voice soothing. She pointed her
wand at the chain and muttered a spell. Sparks flew from the end, connected
with the metal, and within seconds, the chained woman was free from her
imprisonment.

Hannah promised, "You're safe now. We're here to help you."

Sarah's screams began to subside as she looked up, her eyes filled with fear
and confusion.
Was she dreaming? Was it finally over?

Sarah's eyes were wide with fear as she looked at Hannah, but she slowly
began to relax at the sound of her comforting voice. Hannah reached out a
hand, offering it to Sarah in a gesture of support and understanding.

With tears streaming down her face, Sarah reached out and took Hannah's
hand, holding onto it tightly, afraid to let go. At that moment, Hannah knew
that her priority was to help Sarah feel safe and protected, to let her know
that she was not alone anymore.

Sarah clung to Hannah, seeking solace and security in the midst of her
trauma.

Hannah held her close, offering words of comfort and encouragement as the
rest of the team stood by, ready to support however they could.

"We're going to take care of you," Hannah whispered, her voice steady
despite the turmoil raging within her.

She cooed, "You're not alone anymore." Sarah's screams subsided into sobs
as she allowed herself to be consoled.

Hannah sat beside her, offering a warm embrace as Sarah cried, the weight
of her ordeal finally beginning to lift.

Harry, Draco, Thomas and Michael stood nearby, their expressions grave as
they watched Sarah's emotional release.

As Sarah clung to Hannah, her sobs slowly settling, the room was filled
with a sense of relief. The nightmare was over, and Sarah was finally free
from John's grip. Now, the healing could begin.

Draco moved quickly to reassure her, their voices calm and soothing as they
tried to comfort her. He removed his coat and covered Sarah with it. It was
large, and she disappeared into it, but it offered warmth and protection.

They knew that Sarah's road to recovery would be long and difficult, but
they were determined to be there for her every step of the way.
With her permission, Draco carefully lifted Sarah from the bed and took her
away from the tainted room, her rescuers by her side. The seriousness of the
situation weighed heavily on Harry and his team. They had succeeded in
bringing Sarah to safety, but the scars of her ordeal would likely remain for
a long time to come.

They apparated from directly inside John's house to St Mungo's while the
rest stayed back to gather and document evidence.

Together, they would help Sarah begin the journey towards healing,
ensuring that she received the care and support she needed to overcome the
horrors she had endured.

St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

As Harry, Hannah and Draco escorted Sarah to St Mungo's, Sarah remained

silent, her eyes darting around wildly, filled with fear and confusion.

The bright lights hurt her eyes, and she squinted to reduce the pain.
However, despite their attempts to comfort her, she seemed unwilling or
unable to speak. Her fingers dug into the coat, and her bruised lips
trembled.

The remaining Aurors went through the house and made shocking
discoveries. Wands, clothes of previous victims and skeletal remains of a
woman buried in the backyard were among the things they found. The
woman had suffered blunt force trauma to the head, causing her immediate
demise.

Sarah was immediately taken into the care of Healers, who specialised in
treating victims of abuse. Despite their best efforts, Sarah continued to
refuse to speak, her gaze fixed on some unseen horror that only she could
see.

Harry spoke discreetly with the Chief Healer and explained the sensitive
situation and absolute need for confidentiality.
The seasoned Healer moved Sarah to an exclusive wing that permitted only
approved personnel to enter. The place was isolated and completely safe
from prying eyes that the Daily Prophet had planted at the hospital.

She flinched when anyone approached her, especially men. Except for
Draco, somehow, she tolerated his presence. Maybe it was his angelic
appearance. The pale skin and almost white hair made him different from
the rest.

Hannah and Draco stood by, feeling helpless as they watched Sarah's
distress. They knew that Sarah's silence was a sign of the deep trauma she
had endured, and they could only hope that with time and care, she would
find the strength to heal.

Sarah's parents burst into the room weeping tears of joy, which turned to
horror at the sight of their abused child. Harry had notified them after
locating Sarah. They deserved to know as soon as possible.

Still, they thanked the Aurors over and over for finding their daughter and
bringing her to safety. However, Sarah remained stoic and stared
hypnotically into the distance, making no real effort to return her parents'
affections.

They asked questions about the man who hurt their child, but it was an
ongoing investigation, and Hannah remained silent on the matter. However,
she strictly advised them not to speak about the matter until the man was
safely behind the stone walls of Azkaban.

They agreed without hesitation, not wanting to bring more attention to their
daughter’s harrowing ordeal.

After ensuring Sarah was safely in the care of the Healers at St Mungo's,
Harry returned to the Ministry to speak with John. He needed to understand
the full extent of John's delusion and the danger he posed.

DMLE
"John," Harry began, his voice calm but firm.

He insisted, "We need to talk about Sarah. What happened between the two
of you?"

John's demeanour shifted, his expression darkening as he regarded Harry

with suspicion.

He scoffed. "It's too late. She's mine. She loves me." He didn't bother to ask
if she was alright.

Harry's brow furrowed in concern. "John, Sarah is in a fragile state. We

need to know what happened to her so we can help her."

But John remained obstinate, his delusional belief in Sarah's affection for
him clouding his judgement, "She’s happy with me. There’s no need to help
her." He spat, his eyes flashing with defiance.

"I need to know why. Why did you do this to Sarah? What did you hope to
achieve?" Hannah began, her tone steady.

John looked at Hannah like she was insane. Still, his eyes filled with a mix
of defiance and delusion. "I did it because I love her," he replied, his voice
tinged with madness.

He became dreamy-eyed, "She loves me too. I wanted to protect her, to

keep her safe from the wickedness of the outside world."

Harry's brow furrowed in disbelief. "John, Sarah was never yours to protect.
She was never yours at all. She was a victim of your delusion, a pawn in
your twisted game."

John's expression hardened, his delusion masking the reality of his actions.
"You don't understand.”

He insisted. "She loves me. She just doesn't know it yet."

Harry shook his head, his frustration mounting. "Sarah is traumatised

because of you, John. She's been through hell, all because of your actions.
You need to understand the damage you've done, the lives you've
destroyed."

But John remained defiant, his delusion shielding him from the harsh truth.
Harry knew that breaking through to him would be difficult, but he was
determined to make John understand the gravity of his crimes.

As John opened up about his past, a heartbreaking tale of abuse and neglect
unfolded. He spoke of a childhood marred by cruelty and indifference,
where his mother's hatred for him was a constant presence.

"My mother hated me," John revealed, his voice tinged with pain.

He choked back a sob, "She would... she would beat me, starve me, tell me
I was worthless. I never had a chance. It isn’t my fault that I'm a Squib." He
left out details of a sexual nature.

Moving his hair back, he exposed his entire face to them. He pointed to the
grotesque half, where the skin appeared burnt and darkened. The texture
seemed rough, leathery, and uneven, with areas where the skin had split
open and healed without medication. The affected area was swollen and
distorted, giving his face a deformed appearance.

“My mother did this to me!” He yelled without abandon.

Harry listened, his heart going out to the man before him. He knew that
John's troubled past had played a significant role in shaping the person he
had become, but it didn't excuse his actions.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," Harry said, his voice filled with
empathy.

Still, he said gravely, "But that doesn't justify what you've done. You've hurt
innocent people, John. You need to take responsibility for your actions."

John cried out, “She made me do it!” He referred to his abusive mother.

Draco said with determination, “Potter, maybe we should give it a rest.” He

could see the cracks in John’s psyche widening and consuming him whole.
John fell silent, his eyes downcast. The weight of his past sins hung heavy
upon him, and he knew that there was no turning back. He had to face the
consequences of his actions, no matter how painful they might be.

As Hannah and Harry questioned John about the other victims, hoping to
uncover any additional information that could bring closure to their
families, John's response sent chills down their spines.

"They weren't good enough," John laughed, his voice tinged with a
disturbing sense of detachment.

He said rather naturally, "Mother wouldn't have approved. I had no choice

but to do as she commanded."

Hannah exchanged a horrified glance with Harry, the implications of John's

words sinking in. It was clear that John's twisted perception of his mother's
wishes had played a significant role in his crimes, further emphasising the
depth of his delusions.

"John, you need to understand the gravity of what you've done. You ended
people's lives. They had families who loved them,” Harry said, his voice
stern.

He informed rather smugly, “Sarah is safe with her parents.”

John gasped. He was unable to face the reality, “No, they will destroy her.
She's my wife.”

Harry hissed, “She is not. Whatever fantasy you cooked up in your head is
dead. She's free of you.”

But John remained unrepentant, unlike when he spoke to Draco, and his
laughter echoed through the room like a haunting refrain. It was clear that
he was beyond reason, lost in the dark recesses of his mind.

As they left the interrogation room, Hannah and Harry grappled with the
chilling realisation that some evils were beyond comprehension, their minds
haunted by the memory of John's unsettling laughter.
Azkaban

As Harry led John away in custody and escorted him to Azkaban, the reality
of his situation began to sink in. John knew that he was facing a long road
ahead, one that would likely end in a lifetime behind the walls of Azkaban.

However, unlike other prisoners who dreaded the thought of being confined
within its walls, John remained strangely calm. He had faced darkness and
despair before, and the prospect of Azkaban held no fear for him.

John stepped onto the rocky shore with a sense of resignation. He knew that
he would spend the rest of his days in the cold, dark fortress, but he seemed
strangely at peace with his fate.

The Dementors, the prison's dark and soul-sucking guards, seemed to pay
John little attention.

Harry watched him go, a mixture of relief and sadness in his heart.

His demeanour remained unchanged as he was led to his cell, a stoic

acceptance of his fate evident in his eyes.

Harry knew that John's arrest marked the end of a long and difficult chapter,
but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to John's story than he
led on.

Despite his apparent calmness, Harry knew that John's time in Azkaban
would be far from easy. The weight of his crimes would surely weigh
heavily on him, even if he didn't show it outwardly.

John turned and said confidently, “Sarah will come to me. You mark my
words, Potter. She's growing my child inside of her.”

Harry was horrified. The man was clearly delusional, but was he telling the
truth?
Mentally drained, he apparated to the Leaky Cauldron to grab a celebratory
beer with the team, who were already there and possibly on their second
round. They had earned a good drink.

Ministry of Magic, Late Evening

The corridors of the Ministry of Magic were deserted. Hermione sat at her
desk, surrounded by paperwork, her expression a mixture of frustration and
exhaustion.

She had to approve the press release about the arrest, protect the image of
the Ministry and Kingsley and somehow hide the fact that the murderer was
a long-time Ministry employee. She thought back to Draco interrogating
John. The calm and composure he had displayed was impressive, but it was
short-lived since images of him kissing Astoria invaded her mind.

Hermione grimaced and purposely brushed them aside. His love life wasn't
her concern. Still, it hurt, but again, not her fucking concern.

Suddenly, the heavy door to her office swung open. Instinctively, her hand
went to grab her wand, but she wasn't entirely successful because Draco
Malfoy strode in, his face a mask of anger. His presence filled the room.

Hermione stiffened, her heart sinking as she sensed his anger before she
even looked up. How did he even know she was working late? Then it made
sense, Brenda would've mentioned it to Michael in front of the others before
they left to grab a beer.

Brenda had retired for the day, so there was no one handling the front of her
office to save her, not that she needed saving since she was quite capable of
looking after herself, but just in the unlikely event, Malfoy became violent.
Again, not that he would ever hurt her.

She was shocked to her core to see him. She had assumed he would be busy
or celebrating with the others.
Draco hissed, his voice cold, “Granger.” The rest of the Aurors and Potter
had headed out to have a few drinks, but he had chosen to stay back and
confront his fiancé. It was pure luck that she was working late. It fit
perfectly into his plans.

Hermione forced herself to meet his gaze, her tone cautious, “Malfoy.” She
reached for her wand, but a mere flick of the wrist from Draco had it flying
across the room.

She was indignant and watched it land safely on the sofa with a mask of
disapproval on her face.

Draco's eyes were dark, his jaw clenched as he advanced towards her, his
expression unreadable.

He said in a low voice, “You know, I never thought I'd see the day when
Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, would stoop to such...
cruelty.”

Hermione responded firmly, though she could feel her hands trembling, “I
said what I had to say, Malfoy. I won't apologise for most of it.
However…..”

Draco smirked, his gaze piercing, “Apologise? I wouldn't expect you to,
Granger. You're too proud for that. But do you even realise the damage your
words can do?” She had quite literally torn him down and left him bare and
exposed.

Hermione looked up, and her brow furrowed as she took in Draco's stormy
expression.

She sighed, took off her glasses and asked cautiously, “Draco, what are you
doing here? Surely, with all that's transpired, you have better things to do
than seek an altercation with me.”

Draco advanced confidently towards her desk and gritted out, “It has been a
rather busy day with all that's been going on. Still, what am I doing here,
right? Well, I'm here to have a little chat with my dear future wife.”
The tension was palpable as Draco stood before Hermione, his expression a
mask of frustration. However, she didn't back down. Her eyes blazed as she
stared back at him, her anger simmering beneath the surface.

She scoffed, yet her voice trembled with emotion, “Perhaps you’ve come to
apologise, Draco? For kissing Astoria?” It was an excellent place to start.

Draco laughed. He kept his voice rather cold and unforgiving, “Apologise?
Why should I apologise? You're the one who's been avoiding me, treating
me like I'm some leper.”

Hermione fired back, her voice rising with anger, “I've been avoiding you
because I thought we had an understanding, Draco. I thought we agreed to
take things slow, to figure out what we wanted.” She was livid that he didn't
have the decency to at least apologise for his lewd behaviour with Astoria
Greengrass.

Draco replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “Oh, how noble of you,
Granger.” He had bottled up his feelings the entire day and would not hold
back any longer. Yet, he couldn't help but notice how sexy she looked in the
dim light, surrounded by her achievements.

Hermione ignored his rather crude comment and stood up, her posture
tense, but she met his gaze with determination.

She pointedly looked at the parchments on her desk and then back at him
and said somewhat calmly, “I'm rather busy at the moment, Draco. Can this
wait?”

Draco fumed, his voice rising with anger, “No, it can't fucking wait!
Especially not after what you said to me earlier.”

He scoffed, “Running off and leaving me to deal with your mess.”

Hermione's eyes narrowed, and her patience wore thin. She spat in
contempt, “My mess? Last I checked, you were perfectly capable of
handling yourself, Malfoy. And as for running off, I had work to do.”
Draco mused, “You think you're so high and mighty, don't you, Granger?
Acting like you're better than everyone else.”

Hermione's jaw clenched, and her fists tightened at her sides, “I don't think
I'm better than anyone, Malfoy. I'm just trying to do what's right.”

Draco said, his voice dripping with disdain, “Doing what's right? Is that
what you call it? Insulting me? Ignoring me?”

He added rather viciously, “You are nothing but a stubborn frigid witch set
in her ways.” He was tempted to use a more unforgiving word but
swallowed it before it left his lips.

Hermione's eyes flashed with resentment, and her voice rose in defence.
She countered with a sharp tone, “And what are you, Malfoy? The arrogant
pureblood who thinks he's better than everyone else?”

Draco advanced towards her and exclaimed sternly, “At least I don't pretend
to be something I'm not. You walk around here like you're better than all of
us, like you've accomplished something. But what have you really done,
Granger? What have you really achieved?”

Hermione's jaw clenched, and her temper flared. How dare he try to make
her feel inadequate? He had made her feel small throughout their years at
Hogwarts, but she wasn't about to put up with his taunting now.

She declared boldly, “I've achieved more than you ever will, Malfoy. I've
fought for what's right. I've stood up for what I believe in. What have you
done? Hidden behind your family name, afraid to step out of line?”

Draco argued, his voice rising, “Afraid? I'm not afraid of anything, least of
all you. You think you can waltz into my home and insult me, belittle me?
Well, you're mistaken, Granger. You're wrong about everything.”

He insisted without hesitation, “I took the Dark Mark to save my mother,

and I would do the same in a heartbeat.”
Hermione uttered, her voice laced with sarcasm, “Oh, please, Malfoy. Spare
me your self-righteousness. You're just a coward, hiding behind your wealth
and your privilege.”

Draco felt his anger spiral out of control, and he derided without an ounce
of shame or regret, “You're an insufferable know-it-all, Granger. Always
thinking you're right.”

Hermione stood her ground. Her fists clenched at her sides, her breathing
heavy with anger. She mocked, “I'm better than you'll ever be, Malfoy. At
least I dare to stand up for what I believe in, to fight for what's right.”

Draco laughed sarcastically and scoffed, “Courage? You wouldn't know

courage if it slapped you in the face, Granger. You have no idea what real
hell is, just like your precious Potter.” They hadn't witnessed Voldemort's
atrocities on a daily basis. He had, and he had the scars to prove it.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, her voice cold and cutting, “Get out, Malfoy.
Get out before I hex you into next week.” She pointed towards the door
with a lean finger and commanded him to leave her in peace.

Draco smiled. A cold yet beautiful smile played on his lips. He taunted, “I'd
love to see you try, my darling.”

With hands on her hip, Hermione regarded the man before her with an
amused expression. She grinned, “I thought you'd learn your lesson not to
underestimate me after your humiliating defeat the other day.”

Draco asserted himself and refused to move, “I am not going anywhere

until I say what I came to. I will not be ignored like some schmuck.” He
watched her intently, her hair falling over her face and fiery eyes
scrutinising his every move. She was a sight to behold. Salazar, how much
he loved a challenge.

Hermione took a deep breath. She tried to keep her temper in check, “I am
not ignoring you, Draco. But I have responsibilities here at the Ministry.
Responsibilities that I take very seriously.”
Draco said with a definite roll of his eyes, “Responsibilities? Is that all you
care about?”

He looked directly into her eyes and drawled, “What about what happened
in Hawaii? Or have you conveniently forgotten about that?”

Hermione bit her bottom lip nervously. Her expression softened slightly, a
hint of sadness crossing her features.

She whispered, “I haven't forgotten….how could I…” She trailed off and
was not able to complete the sentence. She could still feel him move inside
her and hear his pleasured groans.

Draco ignored her and said in a low, seething voice, "What the hell was
that, Granger?" He referred to her behaviour at the Manor.

Hermione braced herself and met his gaze with equal intensity. She replied
evenly, “I don't know what you're talking about."

Draco warned, "Don't play dumb with me. You know exactly what I'm
talking about. How dare you speak to me like that in front of my mother?"

Hermione's eyes flashed with defiance, "Your mother had no right to--"

Draco interuppted rudely, "To what? To plan our wedding? To show

excitement about our future? Something you seem hell-bent on
destroying?"

Hermione's jaw tightened, her tone icy, "I told you, I don't want--" She
wanted to remind him of how she felt about a stupid wedding.

However, Draco cut her off. He was livid, "You don't want what? To be
with me? Fine. The entire wizarding world is aware of that fact. You forget
that I don't want to be with you either.”

Hermione pursed her lips. She just couldn't bring herself to say anything.

Still, he stared at her intently and sneered, “I'm done trying to prove to you
that I've changed. I'm done being nice to you, Granger. From now on, our
marriage will be nothing but a piece of paper. I won't touch you, and I won't
bother you. You can have your space, your freedom." It hurt him to utter the
words. He couldn't imagine not touching her after what transpired in
Hawaii.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat, her eyes welled up with unshed
tears, but she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing his words and
actions affected her. She tried to speak, but Draco continued, his words
cutting deep into her fragile heart.

Draco injected, his voice dripping with venom, “Congratulations, Granger.

You've finally succeeded in pushing me away.”

Hermione swallowed hard and said, her tone defiant, “I didn't realise I had
to push so hard to get you to leave.”

Draco advanced towards her, causing Hermione to take a step back. He

stopped and expressed coldly, “Oh, you've pushed, clearly. Pushed me
away, pushed away any chance of us ever being civil to each other.

Hermione scoffed, “As if we were ever civil to begin with, Malfoy. You've
always been nothing but a thorn in my side.” There, take that, you arrogant
prat.

Draco narrowed his eyes and spat, “And you've always been nothing but a
constant irritation.”

Hermione lost her patience completely and snapped, “You spoiled

pretentious brat, Malfoy. Always expecting everything to be handed to you
on a silver platter.”

Draco felt his voice rise to match his anger, “At least I don't pretend to be
something I'm not. I'm not afraid to be who I am. I might have my faults,
but I'm not tripping over myself to please everyone.”

Hermione argued, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “Oh, please, Malfoy.
Spare me your antics, you absolute child. You're always trying to prove
something but always failing miserably.”
Draco said, his voice cold and final, “I'm done, Hermione. Done trying to
change your mind, done trying to make you see me differently. In the
future, I won't touch you, and I won't care about you. You're on your own.”
Once again, he emphasised that he would withdraw all physical contact.

Hermione pursed her lips. Her eyes flashed with anger. They were bickering
like children. Things were clearly out of control.

Draco lowered his voice and muttered, "I thought--I thought we had
something, Hermione. But clearly, I was wrong. You want to push me
away? Fine. Consider me pushed."

Hermione averted her gaze and whispered, “I didn't mean to say those
things. I was just angry.” She had started this, warranting his cruel words
directed at her. It was only fitting she be the bigger person and try to make
amends for her actions.

Still, Draco wasn't bothered to listen or give her the benefit of the doubt. He
said with adequate exasperation, “I don't want an apology, Granger.”

However, Hermione took a step forward and insisted, “I want to try and fix
this.” She enjoyed his company and his attentions despite her refusal to
acknowledge them openly.

Draco declared rather loudly, “There's nothing to fix. Our marriage will
mean nothing. Does that appease you?”

Hermione accused angrily, “You kissed Astoria! Narcissa was planning a

wedding behind my back when I made it clear I didn't want one.” Why
weren't they addressing the kiss between him and another woman? It wasn't
just some peck on the cheek. He had his fucking tongue down her throat.

Draco laughed instead sarcastically, “Oh, please! Don't act like you're the
innocent one here. You've been avoiding me ever since Hawaii, running off
to bury yourself in work!”

Hermione argued, her voice breaking. She choked back a sob, “I've been
avoiding you because I'm scared, Malfoy! Scared of what happened
between us, of what it means!”

Draco felt his heartbeat hasten but he narrowed his eyes and expressed
rather coldly, “What it means? It means nothing, Granger! Absolutely
nothing!”

Hermione reeled back from the harshness of his words but asserted herself
and replied sadly, “How can you say that? How can you say that what we
shared means nothing?” She knew he felt the same as her and that they
shared a deep connection.

Draco responded icily, his grey eyes burning with frustration, “Because it
doesn't matter anymore. From now on, you and I are nothing. I won't touch
you again. Ever.”

Hermione's heart shattered at his words. The man insulting her was the
Malfoy she remembered and loathed.

He exclaimed, “Let's pretend like Hawaii didn't exist. I've already

forgotten.” It was a necessary lie. In reality, he thought of little else but her
and her body pressed against his.

Hermione said, her voice barely above a whisper, “I haven't forgotten,

Draco. But you seem to forget that a marriage, even a forced one, is a
partnership. And partnerships require trust and respect, neither of which you
seem willing to give.”

Draco's jaw clenched as he took a step closer to his intended, his eyes
blazed with fury, “Trust and respect? Please don't talk to me about trust and
respect, Granger. You're the one who's been keeping secrets, sneaking off to
meet with Boot behind my back.” He had heard Michael and Hannah talk
about it, and Corner had mentioned how the visit had deeply impacted Terry
Boot. He suspected something had happened but wasn't clear on exactly
what it was.

Hermione's eyes widened in shock, her heart pounding in her chest, “How
did you…?”
Draco cut her off from asking questions and Interjected with an adequate
response, “It doesn't matter how I know. What matters is that you lied to
me. And now you have the audacity to stand there and lecture me about
trust?”

Hermione struggled to find the right words, “Draco, I didn't lie. Besides,
since when is it your concern who I see and don't?” She tripped over her
words and contradicted her statements.

Draco said, his voice dripping with scorn, “Save it, woman. I've heard
enough excuses from you. If it isn't my concern, who I kiss isn't yours
either. I was naive enough to believe we could form some bond, but I was
horribly mistaken.”

Hermione's eyes filled with tears as Draco's words cut through her heart like
a knife. Forgetting everything, she reached out to him, but he recoiled, his
expression hard and unforgiving.

Draco moved away and said with renewed determination, “No, Granger. I'm
done trying to be nice to you, done trying to prove that I've changed. It's
best we be nothing more than strangers who will happen to share a last
name in a few weeks.”

Hermione couldn't listen anymore, so she cried out, “You're being cruel,
Draco. I let my emotions get the better of me, and I'm sorry about that, but
everything you're saying to me is just vile.”

Draco felt some remorse. Truthfully, he cared deeply for Granger, but the
things she said to him damaged his perception of her.

He said, his eyes flashing with a mixture of pain and anger, “You know
what? Forget it. Forget I even bothered. I should have known better than to
expect any decency from you.”

Hermione responded, her voice laced with anger, “And I should have
known better than to expect any honesty from you, Malfoy. You're just as
much of a coward as ever.” Her accusations were unfair and unjust. She was
letting her emotions get the better of her again.
Draco's jaw clenched, his fists clenched at his sides as he stared at her, his
expression twisted with hurt.

He said, his voice barely above a whisper, “Fine, Granger. You want
honesty? Here it is. From now on, you're nothing to me.”

Hermione felt the room spin dangerously as the weight of her words and the
consequences of her actions tormented her. She thought it best to leave her
office and him before the tears spilt over.

Still, her eyes blazed with defiance as she prepared to assert herself, but
suddenly, Draco closed the distance between them with a determined
expression. Before she could react, he pinned her against the wall next to
her desk. His body was inches from hers, and his gaze was intense and
hungry.

Hermione squirmed in his hold and warned, “Unhand me, Malfoy.”

Unwaveringly, Draco held her captive and mused, “Oh no, You're not
running away this time.”

His voice was husky and low but filled with lust, “You think you can just
say whatever you want and there won't be any consequences, Granger?”

Hermione retaliated, her voice steady despite the proximity, “Let me go,
Malfoy. This isn't going to solve anything.” She tried to knee him in the
groin, but anticipating her actions, he used his weight to his advantage and
held her extremely close.

As Draco leaned in, the scent of her hair enveloped him, a delicate
fragrance that whispered of rose and honey. His fingers grazed her skin,
finding it incredibly soft beneath his touch, like satin under moonlight.

His thoughts went back to Hawaii. He heard her moans, and his name rolled
off her tongue. Felt her magic hum under his fingertips, longing to burn him
once again.

He drawled, “Mm...you smell… enticing.”

Hermione stopped fighting, looked directly into his cold grey eyes and
mused, “I thought you said you wouldn't touch me.”

Draco ignored her, his tone sharp, “You're so quick to judge, so quick to
condemn. But you have no idea what you're talking about.” His lips
hovered over the exposed skin of her neck. He fought the urge to take her
flesh between his lips and leave a suitable love bite, marking her as only
his. The tip of his nose dragged along her skin, leaving goosebumps in its
wake.

Hermione roughly grabbed hold of the lapel of his coat and whispered,
“And you do? You think you're the only one who's been hurt, who's been
betrayed?”

Draco tightened his grip and rasped, “You have no idea what I've been
through, what I've had to bear.”

Hermione argued defiantly, her voice filled with emotion, “And you have
no idea what I've had to endure, Malfoy. You have no idea what it's like to
be constantly judged, constantly looked down upon.”

Of course, he knew. His father belittled him constantly. Draco sneered, his
eyes flashing, “Oh, please. Spare me your self-pity, Granger. You act like
you're the only one who's ever suffered.”

His touch lingered on her skin, his grip firm despite her protests. His fingers
dug into her soft flesh, causing her to wince, but she welcomed the pain.
Involuntarily, she could feel her resolve crumbling, her anger giving way to
a different kind of tension. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a
mixture of defiance and desire.

Hermione said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, “Malfoy, please...
don't…” Her knickers were dampening with arousal.

But Draco ignored her pleas, his touch becoming more insistent, more
demanding. His hand snaked down and trailed up her exposed thigh,
earning a low gasp from deep within her.
He held her close, his arms wrapped around her. There was a possessive
edge to his embrace, a silent declaration of his complex feelings.

Hermione swallowed hard as she felt herself losing control, her body
betraying her resolve.

Unable to control himself, Draco's lips met her neck. He was overcome by
an irresistible urge, unable to restrain himself. He savoured the delicate
sweetness of her skin, his senses engulfed by the intoxicating fragrance that
surrounded her.

Hermione stiffened. Each tender kiss was a manifestation of his longing, a

desperate attempt to capture the essence of her being. Time seemed to stand
still as he traced the contours of her neck with his lips and his tongue, lost
in the euphoria of the moment, cherishing every fleeting second of their
forbidden connection.

He meant to punish but felt himself lose control. She was everything he
wanted.

Desperately, Draco pulled out Hermione’s neatly tucked blouse and

clumsily slipped a hand under the material. His hands came in contact with
a lacy fabric, and without hesitation, he pulled down a bra cup, freed a
supple breast and pinched the pert erect nipple eagerly awaiting his diligent
attention.

His breath caught in his throat, but he managed to ask, “Do you like that,
Granger?”

Hermione closed her eyes and moaned. While his lips lingered on her neck,
a wave of conflicting emotions washed over her. Despite the complex
nature of their connection, she found herself strangely drawn to the
sensation, her heart fluttering with a mixture of uncertainty and desire.

At that moment, she struggled to reconcile her rational mind with the
undeniable chemistry that sparked between them, torn between the thrill of
the forbidden, the cruel words they uttered to each other and the weight of
societal expectations.
Hermione said, her voice strained, “Malfoy, I... I can't…” But Draco didn't
stop. His lips found hers in a heated kiss.

Her heart raced as he touched her intimately, and despite her initial protests,
she felt her self-control crumbling, a surge of desire mingling with anger
and frustration. With a trembling breath, she looked up at him, her eyes
filled with a raw intensity.

Their lips moulded together perfectly. She pushed aside everything and
opened eagerly for him to explore the expanse of her mouth with his
talented tongue. She couldn't help but wonder if he would spread her out on
her desk and devour her cunt.

Hermione's mind went blank, her thoughts consumed by the intensity of the
moment. She wanted him to take her right there, where they stood.

Draco rasped between kisses, “Yes, you can. I know you want this.” He
took her bottom lip between his teeth and bit down gently.

Her leg encircled his waist, pulling him closer to her with a firm hold. She
felt his hardened length press into her thigh. It was a gesture of both
intimacy and reassurance, anchoring him to her as they stood entwined.

“Yes…,” She whispered, as she pulled him closer and deepened the
embrace.

Their kiss was passionate, a symphony of desire and longing. Draco's hands
gently cupped Hermione's face, drawing her closer, while her fingers
tangled in his hair, pulling him in deeper. The world around them ceased to
exist as they lost themselves in the heat of the moment, their kiss speaking
volumes of their passion.

Her voice was barely a whisper as she mewled, her body betraying her as
she leaned into him, longing and defiance warring within her.

However, it was short-lived. After a moment of intense passion, Draco's

expression turned cold, his grip on her loosened, and he slowly pulled away,
his breath ragged, his eyes searching hers, and his sneer cutting through the
charged air.

Draco drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “How touching, Granger.
But I'm afraid I'm not interested in charity. This was nothing but a taste of
what you'll be missing.” It took all his willpower to move away, but he
made his point. He wanted her to know that despite her unjust words, she
wanted him more than anything. It was a cruel but necessary lesson.

Hermione's heart sank as she watched him turn away, her cheeks flushed
with humiliation and anger. She hurriedly fixed her blouse, smoothened her
skirt and glared, “What's the matter with you, Malfoy? Is this some sick
game to you?”

She had allowed herself to hope, to believe that they could find a way back
to each other. But Draco's disdainful dismissal shattered that fragile
possibility, leaving her standing in the silence of the room, the echoes of
their encounter a bitter reminder of the chasm between them.

Draco ran his fingers through his hair and stepped back, his eyes narrowing
as he demanded an explanation, “Enough of this. Why have you been
avoiding me since we returned from Hawaii? I know it's something more
than wanting space.”

Hermione hesitated, not sure whether he deserved an explanation after

embarrassing her, but keeping her eyes downcast, she pursed her lips.

Draco said with frustration, “Please do not insult my intelligence Granger.

This is the most we've spoken since we had sex.”

Hermione winced but averted her gaze. She was seething with anger after
what he had just done. He had treated her poorly and tricked her into
thinking they were going to have sex.

Oblivious to her thoughts, Draco rambled on, “I'm truly sorry if I didn't
please you or hit the spot, so to speak, but….”
Having heard enough, Hermione interrupted firmly, “Oh Merlin, just shut
up, Malfoy. You know very well that I, umm…had an orgasm. It's got
nothing whatsoever to do with your performance. It was fine.”

Draco was indignant, “Fine? Just fine?” She had writhed and wiggled under
him and moaned in pleasure. He was undoubtedly sure his performance was
better than satisfactory, but beads of sweat gathered on his upper lip.
Suppose he was wrong and he had been dreadful?

Hermione rolled her eyes and gritted out somewhat sarcastically, “Merlin!
You were magnificent. There, has that placated your enormous ego?”

However, she did wish it lasted longer, but that was too much to ask from a
man who hadn't been intimate with a woman in nearly a decade. Quite
rightly, she had deflowered Draco Malfoy once more.

Draco blushed but insisted adamantly, “Then what is it? What are you
afraid of besides falling in love with me? Spit it out.”

Hermione scoffed. Falling in love! Indeed! She hated that he made her
vulnerable and preyed on her insecurities.

She sighed. Swallowed her pride and confided the truth, “We had
unprotected sex, Draco. I might be pregnant.”

Draco's expression shifted from anger to shock, and his eyes widened as he
processed her words. For a moment, the room was silent, the tension
palpable.

He said softly, “Pregnant?” He had the sudden urge to place his hand face
down on her flat belly.

Salazar, he had slammed her into the wall! What if she was pregnant and he
hurt their child? Fuck!

Hermione nodded, her eyes filled with uncertainty and fear. She braced
herself for his reaction, but to her surprise, his expression softened and
became perplexed.
Draco moved closer and asked curiously, “Aren't you on the pill or
potion?”

Hermione frowned, “Of course not, why would I be? It's not like im having
sex every other day.”

She offered thoughtfully, “I mean, I was on it when I dated Ron.”

Draco's features twisted unpleasantly, and he gritted out in disgust, “Argh!

That's too much information. I don't need the gory details of Weasley
violating you.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Grow up, Malfoy. He was my boyfriend and
hardly needed to violate me. Everything we did was completely
consensual.”

“Learn when to shut up, Granger,” Draco hurled, looking utterly sick to his
stomach.

Still, he sighed and asked gently, “Hermione, why didn't you tell me
sooner?” Merlin, a child! Their child. He was completely lost.

Hermione looked away and replied, her voice trembling, “I didn't know
how, Draco. I was scared. I didn't know how you'd react but that's all passed
now.” She had never had a pregnancy scare before because she was always
careful, except around Malfoy, where all common sense seemed to desert
her completely.

Draco took a step closer, his gaze sincere and comforting, “Look, we don’t
know anything for sure yet. There's no point in worrying about something
that hasn't even happened.”

Hermione looked up at him, her eyes filled with uncertainty, “But what if I
am? What will we do?”

Draco answered solemnly but reassured, “It's not happened yet, and it's
needless worrying about something that has not come to pass. If you are,
then we embrace it.” The very thought made him nauseous. He was not
ready to be a father.

Hermione was sceptical, “What does that mean?”

Draco explained exasperatedly. He suddenly felt drained, “I assume you

would want to keep the child? Of course, It is your decision. If you decide
it's best to abort, I will, however, regretfully support your decision.”
Honestly, he wasn't quite sure he would, but it was her body, after all, and
their marriage wasn't permanent.

Hermione was mortified, “I would never terminate our child. How could
you be alright with it?” Images of a pale-faced, beautiful baby boy with
wavy ice-blonde hair and light brown eyes invaded her mind. He was
breathtakingly beautiful.

Draco exclaimed rather loudly and angrily, “Of course, you hate me. You're
unbelievable, Hermione. I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't.”

Hermione looked away. She would never abort her child, no matter who the
father was.

Draco stood his ground and said firmly, “If you are, then we’ll deal with it
together. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out. Our issues aside, the child is
innocent, but I am done trying to convince you that I have changed.”

Hermione stared him down and responded defiantly, “If that's how you feel,
so be it. I could care less, Malfoy.” It was clear he had made up his mind,
and she wasn't about to grovel and beg for anyone's forgiveness.

Still, she narrowed her eyes and warned, “However, keep in mind that I will
not tolerate you snogging whomever you fancy in our temporary home.”

Draco nodded curtly in agreement, “Duly noted and agreed. It won't happen
again. I shall keep my indiscretions away from prying eyes and whatever
space we will share for the duration of this fucking farce of a marriage.”
Was he serious? Was he actually saying that he was going to pursue a
relationship with Greengrass?

Hermione seethed, “So, you'll keep seeing her then?”

Draco smirked, “What I do is not your concern, my dear. You made that
abundantly clear with your words. Remember, unruly actions have dire
consequences sometimes.”

Hermione laughed sarcastically, “If you say so, Malfoy. But keep in mind
that two can play this game and I might play it better than you. I think I've
already mentioned this before, but it evades me.”

Draco glared. He wasn't keen on Granger sharing another man's bed.

She smiled almost serenely, “Now, if you don't mind, I have a bit of work to
complete before heading home. Thank you for this insightful conversation,
and goodnight.”

Reluctantly, Draco moved towards the door and said, "I hope you find
whatever it is you're looking for, Hermione. Because clearly, it's not me."

Hermione arranged some papers and replied rather nonchalantly, “No, it's
not. It will never be you, Malfoy. I want nothing to do with you, now or
ever.” She lied convincingly. He could be the one for her if they ever
overcame their past. She knew it in the depth of her being.

Draco pursed his lips and stormed out of the office without a backward
glance. His heart slammed against his ribcage, restricting his ability to
breathe, but he waited until he was in the lift to let out his frustrations.

Hermione sank into her chair, burying her face in her hands as the tears
finally spilt over. She knew she had hurt Draco, but he had taken it one step
further and wounded her deeply. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that she
was doing the right thing, even if it felt so wrong.

There was no future for her with Draco Malfoy.

 Chapter 73
Chapter Summary

To all the comments:- I want to thank everyone for sticking with the
story and for offering such wonderful comments. They are wonderful.
Thank you for inspiring me to become a better writer.

I am happy to announce that I am working on a novel, which I hope to

publish before April next year :)

Trigger warning - Self-harm, unwanted pregnancy.

Draco and Hermione deal with the aftermath of their intense argument.

Astoria goes to dinner with Julius Avery. When I write about Julius, I
always picture Thomas Shelby from Peaky Blinders.

Daphne finds out Ginny went to Hawaii.

Overall, there is quite a bit going on with the different characters.

Enjoy Chapter Seventy-Three!

Let me know your thoughts so far—trust me, it helps loads! :) Stay

safe, beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Thomas's Flat

It was late, but from the balcony of his flat, Thomas watched with a mix of
anticipation and caution as the black owl swooped towards him through the
twilight sky. Its swift and purposeful flight was a stark contrast to the
tranquil evening around him. He recognised the bird immediately—it
belonged to Dorian Blackwood.
Dorian's messages were always cryptic and urgent, especially when they
involved sensitive operations. Still, using owls to communicate was
extremely risky. Dorian must have been desperate.

As the owl landed gracefully on Thomas's outstretched arm, he carefully

untied the parchment attached to its leg. The bird hooted softly before
taking flight once more, disappearing into the gathering darkness.

Thomas unfolded the parchment and read Dorian's message, his heart
sinking as he absorbed the gravity of the situation. He glanced around,
ensuring he was alone and unobserved. The rendezvous point was clear, a
public location deep in Muggle London. It was risky, but they had little
choice—every decision they made carried weight.

Still, letting a high-profile prisoner loose left a bitter taste in the mouth. It
went against everything they stood for, but certain situations called for
desperate measures.

Taking a deep breath, Thomas pocketed the parchment and went into his
room. Since there was time, he would inform the team in the morning. They
had dealt with enough for the day. Besides, Audrey was due any second
since she had missed drinks at the pub. They planned to spend a quiet late
evening alone.

Greengrass Manor

Despite the circumstances of the day, Astoria Greengrass stood in the grand
foyer of Greengrass Manor, her elegantly tailored evening gown
shimmering in the light of the chandelier above. She had agreed to dinner
with Julius partly out of curiosity, partly out of a sense of adventure and
was in some way glad for the distraction. It had been a rather tiring day.

She looked at her gloved hands and swallowed hard. She had almost killed
Hermione Granger in a fit of uncontrollable rage. Pushing aside all negative
thoughts she walked towards her mother.
Victoria Greengrass took one look at her beautiful daughter and gushed,
“You look lovely, my dear.” She wasn't keen on the outing but kept her
thoughts to herself.

Astoria smiled, “Thank you, Mother.”

Julius arrived promptly, dressed in a simple but neat outfit that contrasted
sharply with her own sophisticated attire.

He was extremely polite. He spoke with Astoria’s mother and assured her of
his intentions, putting the older woman’s fears to rest and further pressed
his enthusiasm for courting her beautiful daughter. After all, he was from an
affluent family and the heir to the Avery name and all that went along with
it. His father’s imprisonment was conveniently not mentioned at the time.

"Shall we?" he asked Astoria, offering his arm with a smile. He had plans
for the heiress.

Astoria raised an eyebrow but took his arm gracefully. The night was
young, and she was prepared for a pleasant, if predictable, evening at one of
the upscale restaurants she was accustomed to. Men who asked her out
usually stuck to a routine.

Instead, Julius apparated them to Diagon Alley. He ignored her look of

confusion and led her to a side alley, and much to her surprise, he stopped
in front of the Leaky Cauldron.

"The Leaky Cauldron? You brought me here?" Astoria asked, her voice
laced with incredulity.

Julius grinned, unfazed by her tone, "I thought it might be fun to step out of
our comfort zones."

Astoria's first instinct was to turn on her heel and leave, but something in
his demeanour—his confidence, his ease—made her pause. She was used to
men trying to impress her with fancy dinners and lavish gestures. This was
different. He was different. Still, he was no Draco Malfoy.
As they stepped inside, the bustling, somewhat shabby interior of the pub
assaulted her senses. The clientele was a mix of witches and wizards, some
clearly from less affluent backgrounds.

Astoria wrinkled her nose, her displeasure evident. She could feel the
stares, the whispers. A Greengrass in the Leaky Cauldron was certainly a
novelty.

"Really, Julius. This is hardly the place for a lady," she said, her voice
sharp. What was he doing?

Julius chuckled, guiding her to a corner table, "Trust me, Astoria. You'll see
the charm in it."

Charm. She doubted that very much. Still, she sat down, determined to
make the best of it. The menu was a far cry from the sophisticated fare she
was used to, but she ordered a double scotch and a hearty stew, determined
to show Julius she wasn't completely out of touch and pampered.

Still, she felt many eyes on her as she was a tad bit overdressed and stood
out. Still, overdressed or not, she usually turned heads with her grace and
beauty.

Throughout the evening, Astoria subtly expressed her displeasure,

commenting on the simplicity of the menu, the noise level, and the rather
rustic décor. She deliberately wanted to make him uncomfortable and
discourage him from pursuing her, but her efforts were rather futile.

Julius took it all in stride. His responses were light-hearted and good-
natured. Despite herself, she began to admire his composure, his ability to
remain unfazed by her pointed remarks. She also noticed that people around
them treated him differently; was it fear or respect?

As the night wore on, Astoria found herself relaxing, even laughing at some
of the more colourful patrons. Julius regaled her with stories, his easy
manner slowly winning her over. She caught herself smiling more than
once, genuinely amused by his anecdotes. She hadn’t expected him to be
humorous.
By the time they left the Leaky Cauldron, Astoria's initial disdain had
softened into reluctant admiration. Julius had taken a risk, bringing her
here, and he hadn't backed down in the face of her criticism. It was a bold
move, and though she would never admit it, she respected him for it.

As they walked on the cobbled street, Astoria glanced at Julius, a small

smile playing on her lips.

She mused, "You know, you have a lot of nerve bringing me to a place like
that."

Julius laughed, a warm, genuine sound. He took her hand, pulled her close
and chuckled, "I thought it might be good for both of us. Besides, I like
seeing this side of you."

Astoria shook her head, unable to suppress a smile, "You’re impossible, you
know that?" She noticed many people glancing their way, but one dark look
from Julius had them looking elsewhere.

He teased, "And yet, you still agreed to come with me."

Astoria turned to face him and grinned, "Maybe next time, you'll let me
pick the place." She was flirting with him despite trying to appear aloof.

"Deal," Julius said, his eyes twinkling. He had her exactly where he
wanted.

He added with a sly wink, "But I make no promises about keeping it

conventional." She could do with a bit of out of the ordinary. He wanted to
stand out and not be one of the usual saps who grovelled at her feet.

Astoria laughed softly, a sound Julius would later think of as the highlight
of his evening. She was a wealthy heiress who had limited time. He would
inherit her wealth once she passed, and it didn't seem long before she would
succumb. However, it would be fun while it lasted, and he had every
intention of keeping her happy.
Malfoy Manor

Draco stood in the centre of his training room, his breath steady and his
muscles tense with pent-up frustration.

He was angry. He wanted Granger in every possible way a man wanted a

woman. Badly.

The room, lined with mirrors and equipped with various training apparatus,
had become his sanctuary. It was where he came to find focus and channel
his emotions through the disciplined practice of Kung Fu.

Today, his mind was a maelstrom of thoughts and feelings, all centred
around Granger. Their recent encounter had left him seething, a mix of
anger and frustration boiling beneath his composed exterior. He needed to
release this steam to find clarity through the physical exertion that Kung Fu
demanded.

Draco stripped down to his boxers and wore jogging bottoms; he didn't
bother covering his top half. He began with a series of deep, controlled
breaths to centre himself.

His physique was a testament to his relentless perseverance and the

hardships he endured. Each muscle was sculpted through years of rigorous
training and survival, defined and taut, like a sculpture chiselled by
countless battles and struggles.

His shoulders were broad, hinting at the heavy burdens he had borne, while
his arms were sinewy, reflecting the strength he had honed through labour
and combat. His chest was firm, each breath revealing the resilience he had
developed through adversity.

The scars that marked his skin were like chapters in his life's story, each one
narrating a tale of close encounters and narrow escapes. His hands were
calloused and rough but spoke of the countless hours wielding weapons and
tools, shaping him into a formidable warrior. His legs, powerful and sturdy,
indicated the miles he had travelled, the terrains he had conquered, and the
endurance he had built up over time.
Draco closed his eyes and swallowed hard as he almost felt Hermione's
fingers trailing over his skin. Her gentle and comforting touch seemed to
trace the contours of his muscles, soothing the aches and scars that marked
his body.

He let out a sigh, a mix of longing and relief, as if her presence alone could
heal the wounds etched deep within him. The memory of her touch brought
a fleeting moment of peace, a respite from the battles and hardships that had
defined their courtship.

Pushing all emotion aside, he moved into his warm-up routine, each motion
deliberate and precise. His body flowed through the familiar patterns, a
dance of strength and grace honed through years of practice. As he
progressed to more intense drills, his movements became faster and more
powerful, with each strike and block a cathartic release of his inner turmoil.

Still, it was a lost cause. His mind replayed the heated exchange with
Hermione, her words cutting deep despite his best efforts to appear
unaffected. Still, he had hurt her and, in doing so, had only deepened his
pain. The guilt and regret gnawed at him, but so did his pride and the
unresolved feelings that simmered between them.

While his movements grew fiercer, his strikes hit the training dummy with a
force that reverberated through the room. He let the anger fuel him, each
punch and kick a release of the emotions he struggled to articulate. The
physical exertion was exhausting, but it brought a clarity that his turbulent
thoughts lacked.

Draco transitioned into more complex forms, his body moving with a
fluidity that belied the tension within. The discipline of Kung fu demanded
focus, precision, and control—all things he needed desperately at this
moment. He lost himself in the rhythm of his training, and the world outside
the room faded away.

As he reached the peak of his practice, sweat poured down his face, his
breathing heavy but measured. The anger and frustration that had gripped
him began to ebb, replaced by a calm born of physical exhaustion and
mental clarity. He slowed his movements, gradually bringing his session to
a close with a series of cooling stretches and deep, meditative breaths.

Draco stood still for a moment, his eyes closed as he centred himself. The
encounter with his fiancé still remained in his mind, but the edge of his
anger had dulled. He knew they needed to talk properly to address the
unresolved issues between them, if that were even possible, after everything
he had said. But for now, he had found a semblance of peace, a momentary
respite from the storm.

Bathed in sweat, he opened his eyes, feeling the steadiness return to his
body and mind. The training had served its purpose, providing him with the
clarity and calm he needed to face whatever came next.

Without a doubt, he knew that the path ahead with Hermione would not be
easy, but he was prepared to navigate it with the same discipline and
determination he brought to his Kung fu. Yet, it was easier said than done.
He lacked common knowledge when he was around her.

With a final deep breath, Draco left the training room, ready to face the
challenges that awaited him, both with Hermione and within himself. He
was determined to survive the marriage somehow.

Astoria & Julius

After the surprisingly pleasant evening at the Leaky Cauldron, Astoria

found herself feeling a lightness she hadn't experienced in a long time.
Julius's company had been unexpectedly enjoyable, and the drinks had
loosened her usual restraint. They walked through the quiet streets of
Diagon Alley, their laughter echoing in the cool night air.

Julius glanced at her, his eyes warm and inviting. He rasped, "You know,
Astoria, I was thinking... the night doesn't have to end just yet. How about
we go back to my place?"

Astoria didn't hesitate. There was an intensity in his gaze, a promise of

more than just conversation. She had mere years left—she knew this all too
well—and tonight, she wanted to embrace the vitality she felt. Julius
seemed to understand her desire to live fully, if only for the moment.

"I'd like that," she replied, her voice soft but steady. Her shared kiss with
Draco lingered in her mind, and it had been magical, to say the least, but he
was marrying another. So, where did that leave her? Probably rotting in
some corner until he divorced.

They apparated to Julius's flat, a modest but well-kept place in a quiet part
of London. Astoria took in her surroundings with mild curiosity. It wasn't
the grandeur she was used to, but it had a certain charm—a reflection of the
man who lived there.

"Make yourself comfortable," Julius said, gesturing towards the living

room.

He walked towards what seemed like a well-stocked bar and asked politely,
"Can I get you another drink?"

Astoria settled into a plush armchair. She touched the material and looked at
the man behind the bar, waiting for her answer.

"Something strong," she said with a playful smile.

Julius returned with two glasses of Firewhisky. He handed one to her before
taking a seat across from her. They sipped their drinks in comfortable
silence for a moment, the tension between them palpable.

"You know," Julius began, his voice taking on a more serious tone,

He licked his bottom lip and drawled, "I admire your courage. Not many
people would have handled tonight as gracefully as you did."

Astoria shrugged, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. She said, "It was...
different. But not unpleasant. You have a way of making the unconventional
seem almost appealing."

Julius chuckled, set his glass down and quipped, "I'm glad you think so."
She looked around and asked curiously, “Do you not live at your ancestral
home?”

Julius averted his gaze, yet he smiled and said, “It’s occupied at the moment
and not suitable for a beautiful woman.” His tone was guarded. He could
hardly tell her about the Master and his plans for world domination. It was a
definite mood killer.

Astoria bit down on her bottom lip and drawled seductively, “I don't make it
a habit of sleeping with a man on the first date.” She knew exactly what he
was after.

Julius grinned, “Is that so? Except I'm no ordinary man.” He stood up,
crossed the small distance between them, and took her hand.

He kissed her palm and whispered, “I'm going to marry you, Astoria
Greengrass.” The confidence he exuded was staggering, yet refreshing. She
wasn’t used to such bold men. Julius Avery obviously had balls of steel.

Astoria felt her heartbeat hasten. Clearly, he was joking.

She laughed rather nervously, “You hardly know me.” The entire idea was
preposterous. Besides, she was in love with Draco, a man who was set to
marry another in a matter of weeks. Perhaps she could play with Julius until
Draco divorced Hermione. It would certainly help pass the time.

Julius smiled devilishly, “I know enough, and you've bewitched me.”

Beneath all that glitter and glamour was a scared little girl. Still, he truly did
admire her strength.

His gaze darkened. He almost growled, “However, I must warn you. I'm not
a gentle man, Astoria.” There was a moment of silent understanding as he
pulled her to her feet and led her towards the bedroom. His touch was
gentle yet filled with an unspoken promise.

Inside the dimly lit room, Julius's demeanour shifted from playful to
passionate. Astoria swallowed hard but felt a thrill of anticipation as he
drew her close, his lips brushing against hers in a tender kiss. She
responded eagerly, letting herself get lost in the sensation.

They moved together with a natural rhythm, shedding the layers of their
clothes and their reservations. Julius was attentive, his touch knowing and
confident. For Astoria, each moment was a heady mix of urgency and
desire, a reminder that life was precious and fleeting.

He took her in every way possible, and she let him. Merlin, he was talented
in bed, knowing when to push and where to touch. He was a remarkable
lover.

As they lay together afterwards, Astoria felt an unfamiliar sense of

contentment. Julius had given her more than just physical satisfaction—he
had given her a taste of the life she wanted to live, one filled with bold
choices and unrestrained joy.

"That was unexpected," she whispered, her voice barely audible in the quiet
room.

Julius lit a cigarette and turned to face her, his expression softening, "Was
it?"

"Thank you for tonight," she said, taking his cigarette from between his
fingers and taking a long drag. She blew the smoke upwards; it dispersed
before reaching the ceiling.

Her eyes met his, "For making me feel... alive."

Julius lit another cigarette and smiled. He brushed a strand of hair from her
face and gushed, "You deserve to feel that way every day, Astoria." So far,
his plan had worked splendidly. He just needed to reel her in completely.

Without another word, Astoria tried to get up, but Julius stopped her and
pulled her back into bed. He kissed her neck and rasped, “It's late. Spend
the night with me.”
Astoria sighed, “I'm not sure if that's the best idea.” She never stayed once
the deed was done. She was always quick to leave, mainly because her
absence caused her family to worry, but tonight was different.

Julius bent his head to her breast and took a nipple between his teeth. He
teased the hardened bud with his tongue.

He muttered against her soft skin, “I'm not done with you. Besides, I want
to astonish you with my cooking skills in the morning. I make a delicious
cheese omelette.”

Astoria threw her head back and laughed. Unable to resist any longer, she
wrapped her arms around Julius's neck as she pulled him closer. Their lips
met in a fierce, passionate embrace, a tangle of desire and unspoken words.

For her, it was a release, a moment of surrender to the unexpected emotions

that Julius had stirred within her. In his arms, she felt a sense of freedom, a
respite from the constraints of her refined world and the expectation of
death that weighed heavily on her shoulders.

Julius responded eagerly, his pent-up frustrations finding release in the

intensity of their kiss. There was a raw honesty between them, a mutual
understanding forged in the heat of the moment. At least their time together
would be enjoyable; she was quite a firecracker in bed, and he loved that.

Hermione's Flat

Hermione stepped into her flat, the emptiness of the space pressing down on
her like a physical weight. The day had been long and emotionally draining,
and now, alone with her thoughts, the silence felt almost deafening. She
sighed, setting down her bag and shedding her clothes. The confrontation
with Draco at the Ministry was still fresh in her mind, and their heated
words echoed in the quiet of her flat.

Loneliness crept in, gnawing at her. She longed for something meaningful
to come home to, a sense of warmth and belonging that her flat, no matter
how neatly kept, couldn't provide. She decided that what she needed most
was a bit of self-care, a way to soothe the raw edges of her emotions.

A bubble bath, she thought. That would be perfect.

Hermione wrapped herself in a robe and gazed into the bathroom mirror.
Her thoughts drifted once more to Draco. Despite her efforts to push the
memories aside, they surged to the forefront of her mind, demanding her
attention.

She thought about the moments of intimacy they had shared, moments that
had felt so raw and real. The way his touch had sent shivers down her spine,
the intensity of his gaze as if he could see into the depths of her soul. Those
moments had been fleeting but powerful, leaving a mark on her heart that
she couldn't easily erase.

Oh, those kisses made her knees weak. Hermione almost moaned. She
noticed a mark on the side of her neck and moved aside the material to get a
better look. He had marked her with his teeth and lips. It was an angry,
purpling bruise. She almost smiled.

But alongside those tender memories were the sharp, painful ones—his
cruel words that had cut deeper than any physical wound. She could still
hear his voice, cold and unyielding, telling her that their shared moments
meant nothing, that he would never touch her again.

The promise never to touch her again echoed in her mind, a reminder of the
walls he had built between them—walls for which she had laid the
foundation.

"How could I have been so foolish?" Hermione whispered to herself, the

ache in her chest growing.

She repeated in some anguish, "How could I have believed, even for a
moment, that there could be something more between us?" Of course, she
had contributed plenty to destroying whatever connection they had
managed to forge in Hawaii. All because she had jumped to hasty
conclusions regarding their upcoming nuptials.
Still, the bitterness of his words and the anguish in her heart mingled into a
cocktail of pain. She remembered the look in his eyes, a concoction of
anger and something else she couldn't quite decipher. Was it regret? Fear?
Or something more complicated?

Yet, despite the anger, his eyes had softened when she shared her fears
about pregnancy.

Hermione sighed, her shoulders slumping under the weight of her thoughts.
She had always prided herself on her strength, her ability to navigate the
complexities of her life with grace and determination. But when it came to
Draco, her resolve seemed to waver, her heart betraying her mind's better
judgment.

"Draco," she whispered his name, a bittersweet melody on her lips.

She muttered rather helplessly, "Why do you have to be so complicated?"

Hermione filled the tub with hot water, and the fragrant scent of lavender
filled the bathroom as she poured in the bubble bath. The steam rose,
creating a cocoon of warmth and comfort. She let the robe drop and stepped
into the tub, sinking into the water with a sigh of relief. The heat enveloped
her, easing the tension in her muscles.

For a few moments, she soaked, letting the warmth seep into her bones. But
as she lay there, her mind began to wander, slipping into the darker recesses
of her thoughts. The water rippled gently around her, but it couldn't drown
out the memories that surfaced.

As she tried to find solace in these conflicting thoughts, the air around her
seemed to grow colder, and the shadows in her room lengthened and
darkened. She felt a familiar, dreadful presence creeping in, and her heart
started to race.

Suddenly, the face of Bellatrix Lestrange loomed in her mind's eye, the dark
witch's cruel smile sending a shiver down Hermione's spine. Bellatrix's
voice dripped with malice and echoed in her head.
The insides of her mind darkened as Bellatrix invaded it. Tendrils of fear
and pain snaked through her thoughts, suffocating her sense of self. Every
corner of her consciousness was filled with the witch's sinister laughter,
which echoed like a relentless, chilling wind.

Hermione's mental landscape, usually a place of order and logic, now felt
like a crumbling fortress under siege, and each wall caved in under the
pressure of the dark witch's malevolent presence.

Bellatrix cackled. She taunted from beyond the grave, "Look at you,
Mudblood. All alone, are we? No friends, no family, nothing but your
pathetic little flat. How utterly miserable."

Her voice dripped with venomous sarcasm, "Did you really think you could
ever mean anything to Draco? He despises you, Mudblood. You're nothing
to him."

Hermione's heart clenched, the words slicing through her like a blade. She
squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the vicious taunts, but Bellatrix's
voice only grew louder, more insistent.

"You think he ever truly cared for you?" Bellatrix's voice slithered through
the darkness.

She mocked, her tone filled with malice, "You're a silly fool, Hermione.
Draco's heart is as cold as his blood is pure."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. She could almost see the dark
witch's twisted smile, her eyes glinting with sadistic pleasure. The room
seemed to close in around her, the walls pressing tighter, the shadows
growing darker.

"You'll never be more than a filthy Mudblood to him," Bellatrix continued,

whispering cruelly in Hermione's ear.

She laughed hard, "He used you, and now he's cast you aside. You’re
nothing. Worthless."
Hermione felt the weight of those words pressing down on her, the fear and
self-doubt they sowed clawing at her heart. She wrapped her arms around
herself as if to ward off the encroaching darkness. The memories of Draco’s
cold rejection in her office, mingled with Bellatrix’s taunts, created a
suffocating blend of despair and terror.

"He'll never love you," Bellatrix continued, her tone mocking.

She pressed forward brutally, "He sees you as nothing more than a means to
an end, a pawn in his little game. How pathetic you are, pining after a man
who will never see you as anything but filth."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the taunting voice, but
Bellatrix's laughter rang in her ears, mocking and relentless.

Bellatrix widened her eyes and leered, "You think a bubble bath will wash
away your failures? Your fears? How quaint. You're still that scared little
girl, trembling before me."

Hermione's breath hitched, her heart pounding. She knew it was just a
manifestation of her own anxieties, her inner demons taking the form of
Bellatrix to torment her. But the pain and fear felt all too real.

Bellatrix sneered, "You'll never escape what I did to you, Mudblood. You'll
carry those scars forever. Weak, broken, unworthy."

Tears prickled Hermione's eyes, and she fought to keep her composure. She
took a deep breath, trying to focus on the warmth of the water and the
soothing scent of lavender. She was stronger than this. She had survived
Bellatrix, faced down worse, and come out the other side.

"You don't control me," she whispered, her voice trembling but resolute.

She said, her lips trembling, "You're just a ghost. A shadow. And I will not
let you define me."

Amidst the suffocating darkness, a soft, steady glow began to emanate from
her hand. Hermione looked down and saw the engagement ring Draco had
given her. It symbolised their complex, often painful relationship, but in this
moment, it was also a beacon of light.

Bellatrix's laughter faded, her presence receding as Hermione's

determination grew. She opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling, willing
herself to push through the darkness. She wasn't alone. She had friends who
cared about her, a life full of purpose and meaning, and her own strength
forged in the fires of adversity.

Despite everything, she couldn't deny from the way Draco looked at her and
touched her that he felt nothing. He definitely felt something. It was hard to
fake such intensity.

The ring glowed brighter, its warmth spreading through her hand and up her
arm, pushing back the darkness that Bellatrix's presence had brought. The
shadows retreated, and Bellatrix's voice began to fade, her cruel laughter
losing its power.

"You will not define me," Hermione said, her voice growing stronger as she
held her hand up, the ring shining like a beacon.

She pressed urgently, "I am stronger than you, stronger than your taunts and
your cruelty."

The light from the ring continued to grow, filling the room with a warm,
comforting glow. Bellatrix's presence faded completely, her dark whispers
silenced by the strength and resilience Hermione found within herself.

Hermione took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the ring infuse her with
courage and determination. As the bathwater cooled, Hermione felt a
renewed sense of clarity.

She had survived Bellatrix’s torture, she had faced her worst fears, and she
had come out stronger. She would navigate her complicated feelings for
Draco with the same resilience.

She stood up, the ring still glowing softly, a reminder of her inner strength
and the complex yet undeniable bond she shared with Draco. She would
confront her feelings for him, face the harsh words and the tender moments
alike, but she would do it on her own terms.

Hermione wrapped herself in a towel, feeling a small spark of hope ignite

within her. She would find her way and create the meaningful life she
yearned for. One step at a time, she would move forward, leaving the
darkness behind.

Taking a deep breath, she resolved to focus on herself and find her own path
forward. She couldn't change Draco or his feelings, but she could change
how she responded to them. She had the strength to stand on her own and
build a meaningful and fulfilling life, even if it didn't include him.

Still, the intimacy they had shared was a powerful memory, one that stayed
in her mind and heart. She remembered the way he had looked at her, the
gentleness in his touch, and the rare vulnerability he had shown, and those
moments felt profound and almost sacred.

But alongside those tender memories were the harsh, biting words he had
hurled at her during their fiery exchange at the Ministry. His promise to
never touch her again, his anger and resentment—it all created a painful
dichotomy that she couldn't reconcile.

How could he swing so dramatically between affection and cruelty? What

did it mean for them, for the tentative bond they had begun to form?

Hermione turned away, determined to leave the painful memories behind.

But as she walked through her flat, the silence seemed to amplify her
loneliness.

Maybe, one day, she would find peace with her feelings for Draco, whether
they led to reconciliation or simply a deeper understanding of herself. Until
then, she would hold her head high and move forward, one day at a time.

As she moved to the bedroom, ready to face whatever dreams or nightmares

might come, she knew one thing for certain: she was not defined by the past
nor by the cruel words of those who sought to break her. She was Hermione
Granger, and she would forge her own path, one step at a time.
No 12 Grimmauld Place

Ginny sat beside Harry in their cosy living room, the crackling fire casting a
warm glow over them as they processed the news about John and the
implications it held. It had been a tumultuous day.

Harry stared into the flames, his thoughts swirling with a mix of emotions.
He kept it together in front of his staff, but with Ginny, he could be himself.

"I can't believe it. John... I never would have suspected," he murmured, his
voice barely above a whisper. They had discussed it at great length at the
pub over a round of celebratory drinks, but the truth was still impossible to
comprehend.

Ginny reached out, her hand finding his. She squeezed it gently, her eyes
sympathetic, "I know, love."

She said softly, her gaze full of empathy, "It's shocking for all of us."

"I spoke to Mum earlier. She said Dad had hardly spoken a word since he
returned. He seemed distant and sad," Ginny continued, her voice tinged
with concern.

Harry nodded, his brow furrowing with worry, "Arthur has always been
such a steady presence."

He stressed, "To see him affected like this..."

Ginny sighed, leaning her head against Harry's shoulder. She could feel her
husband's suffering.

"He's taking it hard," she admitted quietly.

She sighed, "From what I heard, John was more than just a colleague to
him. They worked closely together for years."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the situation settling heavily
between them.
"I can't imagine what Arthur is feeling," Harry said finally, breaking the
silence.

He said solemnly, "To realise someone you trusted could be capable of

murder is…..” His voice trailed off. There wasn’t a suitable word to
complete the sentence.

Ginny nodded, her expression thoughtful, "It's hard to imagine. Dad always
prided himself on knowing how to read people."

She said with a smile, "But we have to remember, Dad always believed in
giving people second chances. He saw the good in everyone."

Harry squeezed her hand gratefully, "You're right, he did. It’s what makes
him such a good person." He appreciated her steady presence and
understanding.

He murmured, "I just hope Arthur finds some peace with all of this."

Ginny nodded again, her gaze lingering on the flickering flames, "He will."

She said with quiet confidence, "We'll be there for him, just like he's always
been there for us."

Harry nodded with a slight smile.

Ginny said confidently, “You must be relieved, Harry. At least it’s over.”

Harry sighed, “Yes, and we found Sarah alive. Cracking this case is one for
the good guys.” One serial killer down and one revolution to go. There was
still much to go before he felt any form of relief.

He ran a hand through his hair, took off his glasses and admitted without
shame, “Malfoy did his part and more.” The team had been quite surprised
by the former Slytherin's intellect and sharp mind.

That bit of information piqued Ginny’s keen interest, and she asked, “How
did he help?”
Harry explained as best he could, and Ginny was quite impressed by
Draco's unflattering dedication to the job. Perhaps the man was truly
changed.

As they sat together in the comforting warmth of their home, Harry and
Ginny found solace in each other's company.

The Next Day - Malfoy Manor

Draco sat in the quiet solitude of his study, the first rays of dawn filtering
through the tall windows. He had woken early, unable to find restful sleep
amidst the turmoil of his thoughts despite his meditation helping at first.
The events of recent days had left him unsettled, his mind racing with
questions and uncertainties.

With practised ease, he settled into a comfortable position on the cushioned

mat, his legs crossed and his hands resting lightly on his knees. He closed
his eyes, focusing on his breath, letting the rhythmic inhales and exhales
calm his racing mind.

But even in meditation, the thought of his future wife lingered like a
persistent shadow. The memory of their last encounter at the Ministry still
weighed heavily on him—the anger, the hurtful words exchanged in a flurry
of emotions. And then there was the flash of weakness, the fleeting
connection that had stirred something deep within him.

As he delved deeper into his meditation, Draco couldn't help but entertain a
troubling thought—one that had been nagging at the edges of his
consciousness since their tumultuous exchange the day before. What if
Hermione was pregnant?

The possibility loomed large in his mind, casting a pall over his thoughts.
He had always been meticulous about protection back in the day, but
mistakes happened, especially in moments of heated passion and
vulnerability. The mere idea of Hermione carrying his child brought a
complex mix of emotions—fear and uncertainty, but also a glimmer of
unexpected hope.
Draco frowned, pushing aside the tumult of emotions threatening to
overwhelm him. He needed clarity and a clear mind to navigate the stormy
waters ahead. Pregnancy would change everything for both Hermione and
himself. It would bind them together in ways he had never anticipated,
complicating their already fragile relationship even further.

But amidst the uncertainty, a part of him couldn't deny the flicker of hope—
the possibility of a future that involved Hermione in a deeper, more
profound way. He had always admired her strength, intelligence, and
unwavering sense of justice. Could he envision a life with her despite their
unpleasant history and the challenges they faced?

He continued to breathe deeply, trying to find a semblance of peace within

himself. He knew he couldn't evade the issue forever. If Hermione were
indeed pregnant, they would need to have a serious conversation, one that
would shape their futures in ways neither of them could predict.

As the morning light bathed the room in a soft glow, Draco resolved to face
whatever awaited him with courage and determination. Whether it was
confirmation or reassurance, he knew that he couldn't ignore the possibility.

Opening his eyes, he exhaled slowly, feeling a sense of resolve settle over
him. He would confront this uncertainty head-on, prepared to accept
whatever consequences came his way. And amidst the uncertainty, a faint
glimmer of yearning remained—a thought that, perhaps, their shared history
could pave the way for a future they both secretly desired.

Draco pursed his lips and shook his head. He put his personal life on hold
and hurriedly got to his feet. He needed to get ready and head to work.
There was much to do.

Hermione's Flat

Hermione yawned as she made her way towards the kitchen. She hadn’t
gotten much sleep, and it showed in her sluggish movements.
She put the water to boil and pulled the Daily Prophet close. The front page
screamed with the bold headline about the arrest of the Dollhouse Strangler.
Apparently, her pre-approved press release meant nothing since Skeeter had
completely disregarded it.

The news brought a mix of relief and unease among the public, eager for
justice but wary of the implications of such a sinister figure lurking among
them.

However, amidst the factual reporting, Rita Skeeter, ever the journalist, had
taken her usual liberties. In her article, she not only highlighted the arrest
but also insinuated a grand conspiracy behind the man's identity. Skeeter's
words dripped with scepticism and suspicion, accusing the Ministry of
Magic of incompetence and negligence in handling the case.

"Ministry officials were quick to pat themselves on the back for finally
apprehending the Dollhouse Strangler," Skeeter wrote, her words crafted to
incite doubt.

She further penned, "But one has to wonder how such a dangerous criminal
was able to operate unchecked for so long under their noses. Are we to
believe that our esteemed Aurors and the Minister himself were oblivious to
the danger lurking in our midst?"

Unfortunately, her article didn't stop there. Rita Skeeter went on to question
the leadership of Kingsley and even Harry. She hinted at political agendas,
cover-ups, and incompetence at the highest levels of magical law
enforcement.

Remarkably, Hermione found herself spared from Rita's usual scathing

character assassination. Perhaps Skeeter had found no angle to attack her in
this particular story, or maybe Draco’s warning was the root cause of it.

Despite the sensationalism and scepticism stirred by Skeeter's article, the

public reaction was mixed. Some believed her accusations, feeding into the
distrust of authority and craving for scandal. Others dismissed her claims as
typical Skeeter sensationalism, choosing to trust in the Ministry's efforts to
keep them safe.
Hermione read the article with widened eyes and a mixture of amusement
and frustration. She knew better than to take Skeeter's words at face value,
understanding the journalist's penchant for embellishment and stirring
controversy. Instead, she focused on the satisfaction of seeing justice
served, even if Skeeter's narrative threatened to overshadow it.

With a wry smile, she set the newspaper aside, confident that the truth
would prevail in time. She had learned long ago to navigate the murky
waters of public opinion and media scrutiny, but she felt bad for Harry more
than for Kingsley. But as long as justice was served and innocent lives were
protected, she knew they had done their part.

St Mungo's

Without informing the others, Hannah decided to visit Sarah and see her
progress, but as she entered St Mungo’s, she was hurriedly led away. She
feared the worst, and she had forgotten Thomas’s stern advice about not
getting too involved with a victim.

In a rather large room filled with the soft, soothing aroma of burning sage,
the Healer gently placed her hands on Hannah's shoulders. Her eyes were
filled with a blend of compassion and concern. Her voice, though soft,
carried the weight of the news she was about to deliver.

"Hannah," she began, her tone steady but sorrowful.

She sat down and sighed, "I need to tell you something about Sarah."

Hannah was perplexed, and it showed on her face. What was going on?

The Healer paused, allowing the gravity of her words to settle in the air.
"Sarah is pregnant.”

Hannah's eyes widened, her face drained of any colour as the realisation hit
her like a wave crashing against the shore.

"No... it can't be," she whispered, her voice breaking. Fuck.

The Healer continued, her voice tinged with sadness, "Sarah has endured a
tremendous amount of mental trauma. Her spirit is strong, but she has been
deeply wounded. Yet, despite everything, the child she carries is healthy."

A flicker of hope momentarily lightened Hannah's despair, but it was

quickly overshadowed by the uncertainty that followed. There was no hope,
the child was the product of rape, and Sarah was bound to react extremely
poorly.

She sighed, "We don't know if Sarah will choose to keep the child. The
decision is hers alone, and it will not be an easy one."

Hannah's heart ached for the tortured woman trying to grasp onto what little
sanity she had left. A bit of news like this would push her completely off the
edge.

"Does Sarah know?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. It was
hard to keep the disgust and contempt out of her voice. The child was
innocent, but the circumstances were such that decency flew right out the
window.

The Healer closed her eyes and nodded solemnly, "Yes, she is aware. She is
processing it in her own way. But her parents... they are horrified. They are
struggling to comprehend the depth of the pain Sarah is experiencing and
the complexity of the situation."

Tears welled up in Hannah's eyes against her wishes. A mix of sorrow,

anger, and helplessness surrounded her. She truly wished she could take
away Sarah's pain. But all she could do now was stand by her, offering her
support in whatever way she could and make sure John paid dearly for his
crimes. The man deserved to die a painful death despite the circumstances
of his upbringing.

The Healer rose confidently and squeezed Hannah's shoulders gently, her
eyes conveying a silent promise of continued care and understanding. She
said solemnly, "We will be here for Sarah. Whatever path she chooses, she
will not be alone."
Hannah nodded, trying to find strength in the Healer's words. As she left the
room, her mind was a whirlwind of emotions, but one thought remained
clear: she would stand by Sarah, no matter what.

This was a woman she hardly knew, but being so close to the case made her
feel incredibly close to Sarah. Hannah truly felt like she knew the woman
struggling to survive.

No. 12 Grimmauld Place

Harry sat at the kitchen table, the early morning light filtering through the
windows. A steaming cup of tea sat untouched beside him as he unfurled
the latest edition of the Daily Prophet. His eyes landed on the subheading,
causing his brow to furrow in irritation.

"Dollhouse Strangler Arrested: Ministry Incompetence or Cover-Up?" the

words screamed in bold letters. Harry's grip tightened on the paper as he
read on. A sneer crept onto his face and deepened with every sentence.

Rita Skeeter had spun a narrative that painted the entire Auror department—
and, by extension, Harry himself—as a group of blundering fools. Her
article was rife with accusations, suggesting that the recent arrest of the
Dollhouse Strangler was nothing more than a poorly executed charade.
According to Skeeter, the Ministry was hiding the true identity of the man
behind the murders, hinting at a conspiracy that went all the way to the top.

To be fair, she wasn't wrong about some bits, Harry thought against his
better judgement.

"Sources close to the investigation," Skeeter wrote, "indicate that the

Ministry has been less than forthcoming about the details surrounding the
arrest. Is this an attempt to save face, or is there something far more sinister
at play? One can't help but wonder if the real Dollhouse Strangler is still out
there, free to continue his macabre work while an innocent man sits in
Azkaban."
Harry could almost hear Skeeter's smug voice narrating the article in his
head. He slammed the paper down on the table, causing his teacup to rattle.

"Utter rubbish," he muttered under his breath, his anger simmering just
beneath the surface. He knew the lengths to which he and his team had gone
to catch the Strangler. They had painstakingly gathered evidence, followed
every lead, and finally, after months of relentless pursuit, they had
apprehended the man responsible for a series of gruesome murders that had
left the wizarding community in a state of fear and horror.

Ginny, who had been reading her own copy of the Prophet across the table,
looked up at Harry's outburst.

"Skeeter is such a fucking bitch," she hissed, her tone angry with
frustration.

Harry nodded, his jaw clenched, "She's got it all wrong. We've got the right
man. The evidence is solid."

"Of course it is," Ginny agreed, setting her paper aside. He hardly needed to
convince her.

She fumed, "But you know Skeeter. She thrives on controversy and scandal.
She'll twist anything to sell more papers."

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his messy hair, "I just hate that she's
making it look like we don't know what we're doing. People might start
doubting the entire investigation." He knew despite everything, Skeeter had
amassed quite the following.

Ginny reached across the table and placed a reassuring hand on his.
"Anyone who knows you and the work you do won't believe a word she
says. And as for the rest... well, the truth will come out eventually. It always
does."

Harry nodded, though the frustration still festered. He knew Ginny was
right, but that did little to ease the sting of Skeeter's words. He picked up
the Daily Prophet again, folded it neatly, and set it aside. There were more
important things to focus on—like ensuring that justice was served for the
victims of the Dollhouse Strangler and proving, once and for all, that Rita
Skeeter's conspiracy theories were nothing more than the product of her
overactive imagination.

St Mungo's

Hannah walked briskly down the sterile corridor of St. Mungo's, her face
etched with concern. She approached Sarah's room and hesitated briefly
before opening the door.

The room was brightly lit, and Sarah sat on the bed, her face pale and
expressionless. Her parents were nearby, holding each other and quietly
sobbing. The air was thick with tension.

Hannah said softly, “Sarah?”

Sarah slowly turned her head towards Hannah but remained silent. Hannah
stepped closer, taking in the heavy atmosphere. She spoke slowly, “Sarah,
I... I need to talk to you.”

Sarah's eyes finally meet Hannah's. They were hollow and devoid of
emotion. Hannah sat on the edge of the bed, trying to gauge the woman’s
state of mind.

Hannah cleared her throat, “I know you're going through so much. I just
found out... about the baby.”

Sarah's stoic facade cracked for a brief moment, revealing a flicker of pain.
She clenched her fists, causing her knuckles to turn white.

She whispered, barely audible, “I can't keep it. I want it out of me.” Her
words hang in the air, a heavy proclamation that caused her parents to sob
harder.

Hannah placed a gentle hand on Sarah's arm. She tried to reassure the
woman before her with soothing words, “Sarah, we can figure this out. You
don't have to go through this alone.”

Suddenly, Sarah's demeanour shifts dramatically. She became hysterical,

her breathing erratic. She pulled away from Hannah, started to scream and
clawed at her stomach.

Sarah screamed, “I can't do this! I can't!”

She grabbed a nearby medical tray, sending its contents flying. Hannah tried
to calm her, but Sarah was beyond reason. She picked up a scalpel and,
without warning, sliced her abdomen in an effort to cut out the fetus.

Sarah's Mother cried out in despair, “Sarah, no!”

Hannah lunged forward, grabbed Sarah's arm and prevented further harm.
She wondered angrily where the instruments came from.

She pleaded, “Sarah, stop! Please, don't do this!”

However, Sarah's eyes were wild, filled with a mix of rage and despair.

Sarah sobbed uncontrollably, “Make it stop! Just make it stop!”

She added hysterically, “No! I can't do this! I can't have his baby! Kill it!”

Hannah held her tightly, trying to steady both their trembling bodies and
said, “No one said you have to.”

A Healer rushed into the room, alarmed by the commotion. Sarah screamed,
“Kill it! Burn it!”

The man took in the scene and yelled, “We need help in here!” Two more
Healers and a Senior Healer entered, working quickly to restrain Sarah and
treat her wound.

Hannah stepped back, her hands shaking. She watched helplessly as they
sedated Sarah.
The Senior Healer instructed solemnly, “We need to take her to the
psychiatric unit and keep her under strict observation.”

Hannah nodded, unable to find her voice. The Healers wheeled Sarah out of
the room, leaving behind a scene of chaos and heartbreak.

Sarah's Father approached Hannah and said, “Thank you for being here.”

Hannah simply nodded, unable to find the right words to answer. She
reached into her pocket and pulled out a wand—Sarah's.

The older man looked at the wand and smiled. He knew his daughter would
be glad to have it back, but he wouldn't give it to her until she was out of
danger and well on the mend.

Hannah felt overwhelmed by the gravity of the situation. She took a deep
breath, steeling herself for what lay ahead and left St Mungo’s with a heavy
heart.

Julius Avery's Flat

As Astoria lay beside Julius in the quiet, strange room, her mind began to
wander back to thoughts of Draco. She had always harboured deep feelings
for him, feelings that had been momentarily reciprocated in a kiss that felt
like a promise of something more.

But then, Hermione Granger had entered the scene. Astoria could still
remember the look on Draco's face and the way his eyes softened when he
looked at Hermione. It had been clear that he had some feelings for her.
Were his feelings strong enough that he was willing to marry her despite the
complexities of their pasts and the controversial nature of their union? Or
was it for the sake of his mother?

The announcement of Draco's impending marriage to Hermione initially left

Astoria reeling. It was a pragmatic match, one that would help repair the
Malfoy family's reputation and bring unity to the fractured wizarding world.
Still, it stung. The kiss they shared had meant everything to her, but it
seemed to pale in comparison to what Draco felt for Hermione.

Astoria sighed softly, careful not to wake Julius. She couldn't blame Draco
entirely. Hermione was remarkable in her own right, and she would be a
fool not to acknowledge it. Yet, the sense of betrayal lingered, mingling
with her guilt. It wasn't fair to put her life on hold, waiting for Draco to
fulfil his contractual marriage obligations. She had spent too many nights
alone, caught between hope and resignation.

She glanced over at Julius, his face relaxed in sleep. There was something
reassuring in his presence, something that made her feel seen and valued.
Their night together had been a reminder that life was too short to be spent
in endless waiting and unfulfilled longing.

Astoria knew she had to let go of the past, of the dream of a life with Draco.
She had to embrace the here and now, the possibilities that lay ahead. Julius
had shown her that there was still much to experience, still moments of joy
and passion to be found.

Draco would always hold a special place in her heart, but perhaps it was
time to move forward. It was time to live her life fully, without the shadows
of unrequited love holding her back.

With a resolve she hadn't felt in a long time, Astoria nestled closer to Julius,
allowing herself to take comfort in his warmth. She closed her eyes,
determined to face whatever the future held with an open heart and an
unyielding spirit.

And perhaps, in this new chapter, she would find the happiness she so
desperately sought, not in the remnants of a broken past but in the promise
of a vibrant and unpredictable future.

Malfoy Manor

The morning sun filtered through the large windows of Malfoy Manor's
dining room, casting a warm, golden glow over the elegantly set table.
Bernard sat across from his beloved, Narcissa, leisurely enjoying their
breakfast. The air was filled with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee
and the faint rustle of the Daily Prophet as Bernard turned the pages.

His eyes widened in surprise and a thrill of satisfaction as he read the

headline: "Dollhouse Strangler Finally Caught!" The article detailed the
capture of the notorious criminal, and Bernard's heart raced. Finally, he
thought.

"Is there anything interesting in the paper today?" Narcissa asked, her voice
calm and composed as she sipped her tea. She hadn't gotten around to
reading the paper yet, mainly because she was distracted and worried about
Hermione. Draco had returned late and they hadn't had time for a chat.

"Just the usual news," Bernard replied, keeping his tone light. He folded the
newspaper and set it aside, his mind still buzzing with the information he
had just absorbed. He didn't want to reveal his inner turmoil or the renewed
urgency he felt to dig deeper into his family's past.

At that moment, Draco entered the dining room, looking more refreshed
than he had in days. He took a seat next to his mother and reached for a
croissant.

"Good morning," he greeted them, his gaze falling on the folded Daily
Prophet.

He said solemnly, "I see you've read the news."

Bernard nodded, his expression carefully neutral, "Yes, quite an eventful

day, it seems."

Draco picked up the newspaper and unfolded it, scanning the front page. He
read Skeeter's colourful words with less enthusiasm and frowned. The
woman would never change, but thankfully, he noticed she had kept
Hermione's name out of the article.

"The Dollhouse Strangler case is finally closed," he said, his voice carrying
a hint of satisfaction.
He kept quiet about his involvement and added, "The Aurors made the
arrest yesterday."

Narcissa looked at her son with mild interest, "And who was the person
responsible?"

Draco's eyes darkened slightly, but he kept the facts hidden as he read
aloud, "His name hasn't been revealed, but he is a distant relative of the
Flints. He's been operating under a different alias for years, evading capture
by using his intelligence."

Bernard's heart pounded in his chest. The name Flint was synonymous with
infamy and dark magic. His investigation had hinted at connections
between his family, but hearing Draco confirm it brought a mix of dread
and fascination.

Draco continued, unaware of Bernard's inner turmoil, "The Aurors found

his home, filled with evidence of his crimes. It seems he was obsessed with
creating a substitute for his mother, whom he brutally murdered in a fit of
rage, hence the moniker 'Dollhouse Strangler’.”

Narcissa cringed. Her expression hardened, "It's a relief that he's been
caught. Many families have suffered enough from the actions of those who
choose the dark path."

Bernard forced a smile and nodded in agreement, "Indeed. It's good to know
that justice has finally been served."

Draco looked at his soon-to-be stepfather curiously. He sensed something

beneath his calm exterior and voiced his thoughts, "You seemed particularly
interested in this case, Bernard." It had seemed so from the start.

Bernard shrugged and maintained his composure. He said solemnly, "Just a

matter of personal curiosity, I suppose. Family history and all that. I
remembered the wand from my youth." He gave away nothing else.

Draco nodded. He respected Bernard's privacy and divulged, "Well, the

Ministry will be issuing a full report soon. I'm sure more details will come
to light." He was still coming to terms with whatever they uncovered, and
John disclosed. The man had suffered through hell on earth.

Narcissa cleared her throat and asked cautiously, “Son, have you spoken
with Hermione? I haven't heard from her since she ran out.”

Draco stiffened. He continued to butter his toast in silence.

However, Bernard inquired rather curiously, “What happened?” Narcissa

had mentioned nothing of importance, and he was baffled by the revelation.

Narcissa patted his hand and promised, “It's a long story, love. I'll tell you
later.” She dreaded having to share the drama from the day before. Bernard
had warned her about her meddling, and she did not want to hear a smug I
told you so.

Draco scowled, “I rather not speak about Hermione Granger, Mother.” He

had obsessed about her day and night for weeks, and it was quite frankly
mentally draining and exhausting.

Undeterred by her son’s tone, Narcissa insisted, “But…”

Deciding his mother was unlikely to give up since she was annoyingly
relentless, Draco briefed her on what transpired: “If you must know, we
spoke last night, and she's fine, but I hope you have learnt your lesson and
put an end to this wedding nonsense once and for all.”

Bernard caught wind of what must have happened and couldn’t help the
grin that spread across his face. He locked eyes with his beloved and she
frowned, silently stating that he wasn’t to utter a word in her son’s presence.

Narcissa abandoned her breakfast and argued weakly, “I did what I thought
was best for you both.”

“Clearly,” Draco replied with a tinge of sarcasm.

Narcissa placed her hand over his and apologised profusely, “I'm sorry,
darling. I didn't mean to cause such a stir.” Her actions had probably ruined
any chance of them reconciling.

However, Draco said wisely, “Well, we did enough of that on our own,
Mother.” The wedding decorations might have been the trigger, but what
was said between them was bound to happen with or without floral
arrangements.

His gaze softened, “I know you had pure intentions. I'm sorry it didn't go
according to plan.”

Narcissa attempted a smile, “Me too, son. I hope she's all right.”

Draco returned to his toast and said solemnly, “She's busy with work.”

The morning carried on with light conversation, but Bernard's mind was
already at ease. He was glad the criminal had been caught and the woman
rescued.

Julius's Flat

Astoria nestled closer to Julius. He stirred and turned to face her. He caught
the distant look in her eyes and couldn't help but let a smirk curl at the
corner of his lips.

"A penny for your thoughts?" he asked, his voice tinged with playful
sarcasm.

Astoria sighed. A faint smile tugged at her lips as she answered, "Just
thinking about how complicated life can be."

Julius raised an eyebrow. His smirk deepened, and he asked, "Complicated?

Now, that sounds like the kind of trouble I excel at."

Astoria couldn't help but laugh softly, "Do you now? You seem to be quite
talented at handling... complications."

Julius chuckled. His tone dripped with mock arrogance, "Well, I've been
told I have a certain set of skills. But I have to say, you were quite the
distraction tonight." She had absolutely no idea who he truly was.

Astoria rolled her eyes, but her smile remained, "A distraction, was I? I
thought I was just another conquest for your list."

Julius leaned in, and his eyes twinkled with mischief, "Oh, far from it.
You're more of a... special mission. One that requires my undivided
attention and a very particular set of talents." Yet, the woman was talented,
and she had sucked his cock like she was born to it.

Astoria raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself, "And what talents

might those be?" She concluded they were extremely compatible in bed.

With a swift movement, Julius pulled her closer, his lips brushing against
her ear. "Let's just say, I have a knack for making people forget their
troubles, at least for a little while."

Astoria shivered at his touch, feeling a warmth spread through her that had
little to do with the Firewhisky they had consumed hours ago. She
muttered, "You certainly have a high opinion of yourself."

Julius laughed, a rich, confident sound, "Confidence is key, Astoria.

Besides, I believe actions speak louder than words. And well, I think my
actions spoke quite clearly." His eyes roved over her naked body.

Astoria couldn't argue with that. Despite her initial hesitation, the night had
been exhilarating. Julius had a way of making her feel alive, of making her
forget the complexities of her feelings for Draco, if only for a moment.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I do need to forget my troubles for a while,"

she admitted softly.

Julius's expression softened slightly, "And maybe." His cocky demeanour

gave way to something more genuine.

He brushed a strand of hair from her face and said, "I'm just the man for the
job."

Astoria chuckled. He was positively incorrigible.

He asked curiously, “Are you promised to another? I can take care of that, if
you wish.”

She took a deep breath and confided, “I'm in love with Draco Malfoy.
We've been betrothed since we were children.”

Julius masked the contempt he felt and instead answered rather offhandedly,
“Ah…but isn't he all set to marry Hermione Granger?” The bastard's name
kept popping up everywhere—first with the Master and now with Astoria.
He didn't fancy that she revealed she loved another after sleeping with him;
it was rather callous.

Astoria sat up and argued, “He has no choice in the matter.”

However, Julius was not convinced, nor was he interested. Granger was a
fox but a Mudblood. He would fuck her without abandon but never wed her.

“Well, it's best you let go of him. You know I’m right, Astoria,” he said
confidently while searching for his cigarette pack, which seemed to be lost
at the moment.

Astoria looked into his eyes, seeing the blend of confidence and sincerity
there. Julius was offering her a chance to live in the moment, to embrace the
here and now.

"Maybe you are," she whispered, leaning in to kiss him, this time with a
sense of acceptance and determination.

As they melted into each other once more, Astoria allowed herself to let go
of her lingering doubts and regrets. For now, she would let herself be swept
away by Julius's arrogance and charm, finding solace in his undeniable
talent for making her feel truly alive.

She straddled the man beside her and lowered herself onto his throbbing
cock, letting him stretch and fill her up to the hilt.

Julius groaned and closed his eyes as the woman on top of him rode him to
an inch of his life.
Undisclosed Ministry Medical Facility

Michael sat across from Terry in the quiet corner of the drug rehabilitation
centre, their conversation muted by the serene atmosphere designed to aid
recovery. Terry had made significant progress since checking in, and
Michael could see the determination in his eyes as they discussed recent
events.

"I saw the papers about the Dollhouse Strangler," Terry remarked, his voice
steady but tinged with anticipation.

Terry's eyes brightened with a renewed sense of purpose. "I've been itching
to get back. Withdrawal hasn't been easy, but it's worth it. I feel like I'm
finally getting my life back on track."

Michael smiled, “It would be good to have you back, mate.” He was still
assigned to the Muggle Minister's protection detail, and there was no telling
when that would end.

Terry said solemnly, “Apparently, I'm in the extinction phase, whatever the
hell that means. Frankly, I still feel weak and tired, but mostly because I am
bored out of my fucking mind.”

Michael nodded, a faint smile touching his lips, "You're almost there, Terry.
Just a few more days, and you'll be discharged. The department could really
use your skills."

Terry hissed, “I can't believe it was that useless fuck John.” Michael had
told him everything.

Michael could hardly conceal his contempt, “I know. Everyone's still in

shock.” Especially Brenda. The very thought that she had been friends with
a serial killer made his blood run cold.

“I can't believe it," Terry muttered, his voice laced with disbelief and anger.
He stated confidently, “I'm going to give it my all. My one hundred per
cent, no more fuckups.”

Michael felt a surge of pride for his friend's resilience. Terry had faced his
demons head-on, battling addiction while maintaining his determination to
return to his duties as an Auror. It was a testament to his strength and
commitment.

"You've come a long way. I'm proud of you, Terry," Michael said warmly.
He meant every word, but he still worried about his best mate, and once he
was out, he would keep a close eye on him.

Terry's expression softened with gratitude, "Thanks, Michael. I couldn't

have done it without your support." They had been best friends since
Hogwarts, and that would continue until their last breath.

Their conversation shifted, and Terry's curiosity turned to another matter

close to his heart.

"And Hermione? How is she doing?" he asked tentatively. She hadn't

visited after the first time they kissed.

Michael hesitated, knowing the complexity of the situation involving

Hermione, Draco, and their intertwined lives.

"She's... coping. It's been tough for her, especially after everything with
Draco,” he replied carefully.

Terry nodded thoughtfully, his brow furrowing with concern, "I can
imagine. It is a messy situation with that pale-faced arsehole."

Michael cleared his throat and said cautiously, “Malfoy isn't as useless as
we thought. He’s playing his part and doing some real good.”

Terry studied his best mate and sneered, “Is he? Looks like he's got
everyone fooled.”

Michael sighed. He knew it was futile to argue, but Terry would have to
come to terms with the fact that Draco wasn't a pathetic sod once he
returned to the DMLE.

As they prepared to part ways, Michael offered one last piece of advice,
"Take it one day at a time, Terry. You're stronger than you realise. And if
you ever need to talk, I'm here."

Terry nodded gratefully, a flicker of determination in his eyes, "Thanks,

Michael. I appreciate it."

With a final nod of understanding, they parted ways, each carrying their
burden of shock and reflection. Terry's road to recovery had taken an
unexpected turn, but he was determined to stay the course, even in the face
of such unsettling revelations.

Blaise's Home

Daphne folded some brightly coloured T-shirts and gushed, “These T-shirts
are lovely, Blaise. The patterns are so cute.” Their daughter was obsessed
with princesses and all that came along with them, and Muggles seemed to
have remarkable creativity when it came to designing clothes.

Blaise was busy looking over some documents regarding a delayed

shipment of brooms and said without much thought, “I don't deserve a
shred of credit. Ginny picked them out.”

The material slipped from Daphne's hand as she looked up and almost
stuttered, “Ginny? Ginny Weasley?”

Daphne's heart pounded with a mix of confusion and anger as she stood in
the doorway of their elegant bedroom.

Blaise silently cursed. He gritted his teeth together and massaged the bridge
of his nose. How could he have been so careless? Anyway, it was far too
late to take back his words. Besides, there was nothing to hide. He had only
omitted Ginny’s appearance because of his wife’s deep-seated insecurities
about his brief ex-girlfriend.
Daphne walked into the small study adjoining their bedroom and asked
sharply, “Ginny was in Hawaii?”

Blaise looked directly at his beloved wife and nodded casually in an effort
to downplay the whole situation, “Yes. She came with Granger.”

Daphne thought back to the familiar voice she heard. It all made sense. It
echoed in her mind like a thunderclap.

She crossed her arms over her chest and regarded her husband suspiciously.
“I see. And you didn't tell me because……”

Blaise shrugged, “I guess it slipped my mind. Besides, it wasn't important.”

Daphne fumed. Ginny had been in Hawaii with her husband, unbeknownst
to her until now. Her mind raced, piecing together the implications of
Ginny's presence and her husband's actions.

"Blaise," her voice was angry, cutting through the air like a knife.

Her usually calm demeanour vanished, and she demanded, "Explain to me

why Ginny Weasley was with you in Hawaii."

Blaise scoffed, “First of all, she was not with me. Second, there's nothing to
explain, Daph. It was a surprise for us all that she came.” He faced her with
a mix of concern and caution.

Surprise flickered across Daphne's features before settling into a guarded

expression.

Blaise moved closer and whispered, his voice calm but tinged with a hint of
defensiveness, "Daphne, it's not what you think."

"Not what I think?" Daphne's tone was incredulous, her eyes narrowing as
she took a step closer to him.

She was visibly upset and made her feelings known, "It was supposed to be
a private vacation, just a few of us. And now I find out that Ginny Weasley
was there with you?"
Blaise sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. He said pointedly,
"Nothing happened, Daphne. Why are you behaving this way? Ginny and I
have a history. But that's all it is—a history."

"A history?" Daphne's voice rose with frustration.

She blatantly accused without a second thought, "And you conveniently

forgot to mention her presence? What else have you conveniently
forgotten?"

Blaise took a deep breath, his posture tense. He responded calmly, "I didn't
think it mattered. It wasn't important. Ginny and I are friends now, nothing
more."

"Friends?" Daphne scoffed, her anger simmering beneath the surface. Did
he take her for some fool? After years, why was Ginny suddenly becoming
a presence in her life? Maybe she was having issues with Potter and trying
to establish a connection with Blaise.

She pointed out what she believed to be the truth, "You didn't tell me
because you obviously had something to hide. Husbands do not entertain
ex-lovers on private vacations without telling their spouse."

Blaise felt his temper rise. He would not be accused this way without
cause.

He hissed, “Entertain? You've gone completely off track. Nothing fucking

happened.”

Daphne countered rather pointedly, “You purposely left out the fact that she
was with you.”

Blaise argued, “Can you hear yourself? She wasn't bloody with me.”

He said, “Look at how you're reacting. This is exactly why I didn't tell you.”
His words were a big mistake. Daphne looked at him like he struck her. Her
eyes welled up with unshed tears.
However, his gaze faltered as he took in his wife’s pained expression. A fair
amount of guilt flickered in his eyes.

He took a deep breath and apologised, "I should have told you. I'm sorry,
Daphne. I never meant to hurt you." His wife was his world, and he loved
her wholly.

However, his words could have been better received. Daphne took a step
back and fought an internal battle to calm herself.

"Hurt me?" She asked with tears in her eyes.

She shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "You've broken my
trust, Blaise. How can I believe anything you say now?"

Blaise reached out to touch her arm, but she pulled away, her expression
hardened with resolve.

"I need some time to think," Daphne said quietly, her voice trembling with
suppressed emotion. She turned on her heel and fled the room, throwing the
t-shirts a look of disgust. They were tainted now.

When he tried to follow her, she turned around, stood her ground and
emphasised, "Alone."

Blaise nodded, his disappointment evident. It was his fault, and now he was
about to pay for his stupidity.

"I understand," he murmured, watching as she walked away, leaving him

standing alone in the echoing silence of their once-happy home.

Daphne retreated to the solitude of the study, and her mind raced with
questions and doubts.

Perhaps she was making a mountain out of a molehill. He had seemed

sincere in his apology.

She sank into a chair, the weight of it all pressing down on her. How could
she move forward from this? As she stared out the window, lost in thought,
she knew that finding the answers would require confronting the painful
truth head-on, no matter how much it hurt.

She had to hear the truth from Ginny Weasley.

Carrie walked in at the moment, clutching a teddy bear, her eyes wide with
fear.

Daphne gathered her sweet daughter in her arms, cradled her and reassured
her that all was well.

The Ministry Of Magic

Hermione sat in her office, the phone pressed to her ear as she chatted with
her parents and her beloved Nana. It was a rare moment of calm amidst the
storm that had been her life lately.

She listened while her parents excitedly talked about their plans for Sunday
brunch, a tradition they held dear. Unfortunately, she had not always
attended due to her hectic work schedule.

"We've missed having you with us, Hermione," Julia said warmly.

She added with a playful smirk, "And we'd love for you to bring Draco
along. It'll be fun to catch up." The two lovebirds had been quite busy and
out of the country.

Hermione hesitated for a moment, thoughts of her complicated relationship

with Draco swirling in her mind. Would he even want to come? They had
been through so much recently, their connection strained and uncertain.

"Of course, Mum," Hermione replied, her voice tinged with uncertainty. He
had every right to refuse to attend, but she owed it to her family to at least
ask and maybe even convince.

She said, rather reserved, "I'll ask Draco, but I'm not sure if..."
Phyliss’s gentle voice interrupted her, firm yet kind, "No 'buts', dear.
Sunday brunch is a time for family and loved ones. Draco is a part of your
life now, and we would love to see him."

Hermione smiled softly, feeling a warmth spread through her at Nana's

words. Despite the turmoil she had been facing, her family's unconditional
love and acceptance were a source of comfort.

"You're right, Nana," Hermione said sincerely.

She said, determined, "I'll ask him. I'm sure he'll come."

Her parents and Nana continued to discuss the menu and logistics of the
brunch, their excitement palpable even through the phone line. Hermione
listened, feeling a sense of normalcy return amidst the chaos of recent days.
She decided to buy flowers and fresh fruit for the occasion.

As the conversation turned to lighter topics, Hermione made a conscious

decision not to confide in her parents about the challenges she and Draco
were facing. This brunch was a chance to reconnect with her family after
Hawaii, to share in their joy and laughter without burdening them with her
worries.

Instead, she focused on the anticipation of spending time with her loved
ones, knowing that their support and love would help her navigate whatever
lay ahead. And as she hung up the phone, a small smile played on her lips,
grateful for the unconditional love and understanding that surrounded her.

She would face the complexities of her relationship with Draco in due time.
But for now, she would cherish the upcoming Sunday brunch—a reminder
of the joy and warmth that family could bring, no matter the circumstances.

The Ministry Of Magic

The atrium of the Ministry of Magic buzzed with excitement and

anticipation. Aurors gathered in clusters, their faces alight with relief and
pride after the successful capture of the Dollhouse Strangler. The case had
been a challenging one, testing the resolve and skills of every Auror
involved. Today, they would be recognised for their efforts.

Draco nudged Hannah, who seemed lost to the world and asked in a low
voice, “What’s going on?”

Hannah, who had been thinking about Sarah, snapped out of her daydream
and gave her partner her full attention. She shrugged, “Kingsley usually
does this after a big case is solved.”

At the front of the room, Kingsley Shacklebolt stood tall and imposing,
flanked by Harry and Hermione. Both exuded a quiet confidence, their
presence lending weight to the significance of the occasion.

Kingsley raised his hand, and the room gradually quieted, the hum of
conversation fading into a respectful silence. He began his address, his deep
voice resonating with authority and gratitude.

"Today, we celebrate the culmination of hard work, dedication, and

unwavering commitment to justice," Kingsley began, his eyes sweeping
over the assembled Aurors.

He added with a broad smile, "The arrest of the Dollhouse Strangler is a

testament to your skills and perseverance. Each of you played a vital role in
bringing this dangerous criminal to justice."

The Aurors erupted into cheers and applause, the sound filling the atrium
with a palpable sense of camaraderie and achievement. Hermione's eyes
scanned the room, eventually meeting Draco's across the sea of heads. Their
eyes locked for a moment, a silent acknowledgement of the complex history
and unspoken feelings between them.

Harry stepped forward next, his presence commanding the room's attention.
He took a moment to let the applause die down before speaking.

"I want to take this opportunity to highlight the contributions of someone

who played a critical role in solving this case," Harry said, his voice steady
and clear. Mostly, everyone exchanged perplexed glances and wondered
who he meant.

He said loud enough to be heard by everyone, "Draco Malfoy." The room

fell into stunned silence.

The Aurors exchanged glances, surprise etched on their faces. Draco,

standing towards the back, felt the weight of their gazes but kept his
expression composed.

"Malfoy is still a trainee, but his insights and support were invaluable, not
only in solving the case but also in locating Sarah and ensuring her safe
return," Harry continued.

He added confidently, "His actions demonstrated true bravery and a

commitment to justice that deserves our recognition and respect." For a
moment, the silence stretched, tension hanging in the air. Then, Thomas,
standing near the front, began to pound on the table before him in
celebration, and Hannah started to clap enthusiastically.

Hannah beamed. She was grateful that Harry chose to give Draco credit in
front of the department.

The sound was firm and resolute, cutting through the silence. One by one,
the other Aurors followed suit, their applause growing louder and more
enthusiastic. The initial surprise gave way to genuine appreciation, a
collective acknowledgement of Draco's contributions.

Draco inclined his head slightly, expressing gratitude for the unexpected
support. He met Hermione's gaze once more. She was clapping for him, and
this time, a hint of a smile played on her lips. It was a moment of
connection, a bridge over the troubled waters of their past.

As the applause continued, Kingsley, Harry, and Hermione exchanged

satisfied glances. This was more than just a victory over a criminal; it was a
step towards healing old wounds and building a future where redemption
and collaboration were possible.
When the applause finally subsided, Kingsley resumed his address, his tone
imbued with pride. "Let this moment serve as a reminder of what we can
achieve when we stand united when we put aside differences, and work
together for the greater good. Today, we honour not just our victory but also
the spirit of cooperation and resilience that makes us stronger."

The Aurors cheered once more, their spirits lifted by their latest
achievements and the reinforced sense of unity. Amidst the jubilation,
Draco and Hermione shared the understanding that their journey was far
from over, but for now, they could take solace in this moment of triumph
and recognition.

Draco lingered in the back of the atrium, his eyes fixed on Hermione. The
applause had faded, and the Aurors were beginning to disperse, chatting
animatedly among themselves. Yet, amidst the bustle, Hermione stood
resolute, her gaze focused on the crowd and the Minister, never once
meeting Draco's eyes.

He felt a pang of disappointment and confusion. The meaningful glance

they had shared earlier seemed almost like a distant memory now. He had
hoped for some acknowledgement from her, despite what transpired
between them but he had to learn not to expect anything. However,
Hermione remained steadfast, her attention unwaveringly professional.

As the Aurors began to file out of the atrium, Draco found himself caught in
the flow, moving towards the exit with the rest of his colleagues. He
couldn't shake the feeling of isolation, even amidst the crowd of people.
The accolades and the applause had done little to ease the turmoil within
him.

He cast one last look over his shoulder as he neared the door, hoping to
catch a glimpse of his future wife. She was still standing by Harry and
Kingsley, engaged in a quiet conversation, her posture rigid and composed.
There was no sign that she had even noticed his departure.

With a heavy heart, Draco turned and followed the rest of his class out of
the atrium. The corridors of the Ministry felt strangely oppressive, the
triumph of the day's events overshadowed by the unresolved tension
between him and Hermione.

As he walked, his mind raced with thoughts of their recent encounters, the
words left unsaid, and the emotions he struggled to understand. He couldn't
help but wonder if they would ever find a way to bridge the chasm that had
formed between them.

He was pulled back, and a sultry voice spoke, “Congratulations, Monsieur

Malfoy.”

Draco smiled, “Merci, Michelle.” Salazar, where had she come from?

Before she could engage him in conversation, he politely excused himself

and walked away.

As he stepped out into the bustling Ministry hallway, Draco took a deep
breath, steeling himself for whatever came next. He was resolved to face his
fears and uncertainties head-on, even if it meant confronting the very things
he had tried so hard to avoid.

For now, he would bide his time, continuing his work and striving to build
the bridges that had been broken.

Audrey gathered the team in the study room of the training hall, her
expression serious and determined. Draco sat among them, his usually
composed demeanour tinged with a heightened sense of urgency. They were
all preparing for the trials that loomed just two weeks away, the culmination
of study and preparation at the Auror Training Programme.

"Alright, everyone," Audrey began, her voice steady and commanding.

She said with determination, “You have less than two weeks until the trials.
This is crunch time. There are no distractions, no excuses. You need to
focus all your attention on passing these exams and aptitude tests."

The room fell into a tense silence as Audrey's words sank in. Each member
of the team understood the gravity of the situation. Their futures as Aurors
depended on their performance in the upcoming trials. Failure was not an
option.

Draco felt a weight settle in his chest. Unlike some of his peers, he had
more than just his career riding on this. His past as a former Death Eater
had followed him into these halls, a shadow he constantly battled to
overcome. The trials were not just about proving his skills; they were a
chance to prove his redemption and his worthiness in serving those who
once saw him as an enemy.

Audrey's gaze swept over the group, her eyes lingering on Draco for a
moment longer. She understood the pressure he was under, the expectations
that weighed heavily on his shoulders. But she also knew his determination,
his drive to succeed despite the odds stacked against him.

"Draco," Audrey said, addressing him directly.

Taken off guard, Draco got to his feet and hurriedly approached his
instructor. Once he was close enough, Audrey said in a low voice, "I know
you have more to prove than the rest. Use that as fuel. Channel it into your
studies and your practice sessions. Show them what you're made of."

Draco met her gaze, his jaw set with resolve, "I will."

He replied quietly but firmly, "I won't let anything stand in my way."

The room filled with a palpable sense of determination. They had trained
together studied together, and now they would face the trials together. Each
of them carried their motivations and their own reasons for striving to
succeed.

As they began to review their notes and plan their final study schedules,
Draco's mind raced with thoughts of the trials ahead. He knew the road
would be difficult, fraught with challenges and doubts. But he was ready to
face them head-on, to prove that he had changed, that he was worthy of a
second chance.
With Audrey's guidance, he set his sights on the trials with renewed
determination. The countdown to their fate had begun, and he would give it
everything he had to emerge victorious.
 Chapter 74
Chapter Summary

To all the comments: Thank you so much for the fantastic comments. I
sincerely apologise for the delay in updates, but I hope to finish this
story soon!

This chapter offers insight into the struggles of the different characters.

There's just so much going on to summarise.

Enjoy Chapter Seventy-Four!

Let me know your thoughts so far—trust me, it helps! :) Stay safe,

beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

DMLE

The time was closing in, and Thomas walked purposefully towards Harry’s
office. To execute the meticulous plan Dorian required, they would need
careful planning and nerves of steel.

As he walked, Thomas couldn't shake the weight of responsibility that

rested on his shoulders. And somewhere in broad daylight, Dorian
Blackwood waited for them, probably filled with uncertainty, unsure of
what lay ahead.

He hadn't gotten much sleep after receiving the message the night before.
Even Audrey noticed his lack of attentiveness and questioned what was
troubling him. Of course, he trusted her with his life, but this was a secret
mission, and the less she knew, the better. He would never be able to
forgive himself if something happened to her because of his lack of better
judgment.
The man they knew as Dorian had once been a ruthless killer, murdering
without remorse under Greyback's orders, but the essential need to save his
skin had turned him from a mindless werewolf to an important informant.
He was Thomas’s eyes and ears in less desirable parts of the wizarding
realm, places where Aurors were most certainly not welcome.

Muggle Prime Minister's Office

Michael laid down his sandwich and looked at Evans, who had just walked
in.

“All good, mate?” Michael asked with a slight smile.

Evans nodded and took his seat next to Michael. He picked up a shiny red
apple and said, “Yeah, he’s running late.” The Muggle Prime Minister
wasn't exactly known for being on time.

Michael chuckled, “The bugger almost crapped his pants the other day.”
They had evaded a werewolf attack in the middle of London.

Evans grinned, “Poor bloke. He just isn't built to be a hero.”

Michael nodded in agreement and finished the rest of his sandwich in

silence. He thought about Terry, the DMLE and Brenda. Things would
settle, and he would be taken off the Muggle detail.

DMLE

In the brightly lit room of the Minister of Magic, Thomas stood before
Harry and Kingsley, the urgency of the message palpable in the tense
atmosphere. The trio had faced countless challenges together, each mission
drawing them closer in their fight against the remnants of Voldemort's
followers but mostly potential new threats.

"Dorian has demanded an immediate meeting," Thomas began, his voice

steady despite the gravity of the situation. He avoided mentioning when he
received the message.

He hissed, "Dolohov is probably pressuring him about the release of the

Potion Master."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. His brow furrowed in thought, and he
said firmly, "How soon does Dorian need us?"

"He said within the hour," Thomas answered, his gaze unwavering. It would
be prudent to deal with the situation as soon as possible.

He explained further, leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mount, "It’s obvious

Dolohov's impatience is growing. Dorian doesn't have many opportunities
to meet without risking exposure."

Standing by the window with his arms folded, Kingsley sighed

exasperatedly and gritted out, "Short notice, as usual." He had no idea when
the message had truly arrived.

Thomas averted his gaze. Perhaps, it would have been prudent to inform the
team of the letter the second he received it.

Kingsley muttered under his breath, "But we can't afford to ignore this. If
Dolohov gets wind of any hesitation..."

Harry nodded grimly, his green eyes determined, "We go now. Thomas,
inform Dorian that we're on our way.”

Thomas nodded and hurried away to send the message. Harry summoned
Hannah to join them. She would play a vital role in the mission.

She entered the room with a mixture of concern and resolve on her face,
knowing full well that a summons from Harry usually meant the critical
operation they had discussed was underway. Thoughts of Sarah’s current
predicament whirled around in her mind, but answers evaded her
mercilessly.

"What's the situation?" Hannah asked, her voice steady despite the
apprehension in her eyes.
Harry wasted no time in briefing her. Instead, he spoke urgently, "Dorian
needs to secure the release of the Potion Master. Time is of the essence. We
would like you to join the meeting with him."

Hannah's jaw tightened slightly, her thoughts racing. She had never shied
away from danger, but the weight of responsibility weighed heavily on her
shoulders. The success of their mission—depended on her leadership and
flawless execution.

"I understand. We already have a plan," she said finally, her voice resolute.
Not really, but she didn't want to seem unprepared in front of the Minister
of Magic.

Harry nodded, his expression grave yet determined, "We trust you,
Hannah."

With a nod of acknowledgement, Hannah turned on her heel and moved to

the side, her mind already racing through the details of the upcoming
operation. She knew there was absolutely no room for hesitation or doubt.
Lives, the future as they knew it, hung in the balance, and she would do
whatever it took to ensure their success.

As Harry and Kingsley prepared to leave, Thomas returned, confirming that

Dorian had secured a safe meeting location—a pub in Muggle London. It
was the same place he had mentioned in the letter.

The urgency of the task ahead sharpened their focus. In the dim confines of
the DMLE, they made their final plans and departed.

Dorian Blackwood sat at a small table in the back corner of the smoky pub,
swirling the amber liquid in his glass. It was clear he wasn’t trying to attract
attention.

Thomas recognised him at once. Dorian still adorned the handsome Muggle
form from before.

As they approached, he stood up, his expression a mix of apprehension and

guarded professionalism. He greeted them with a nod, trying to suppress the
nerves that fluttered in his stomach. This meeting was crucial, and the
presence of high-profile Ministry officials added an extra layer of
complexity.

Hannah kept her hand on her concealed wand and studied the man before
her. She was surprised by his relatively calm demeanour.

"Thomas," Dorian began, first addressing the person he knew best.

His gaze fell on the Minister, and he muttered, "I hadn't anticipated..."

The scotch provided a small measure of warmth against the nervous chill
that gripped him. Dorian hadn't expected the Minister of Magic to join him,
and now Hannah Abbott, who had just been introduced.

Thomas cut him off gently but firmly, "The situation demands urgency,
Blackwood. Dolohov's plans are obviously escalating, and we need to act
swiftly."

Dorian nodded and took a sip of his scotch to steady his nerves. He glanced
at Hannah, who stood silently beside Harry, her demeanour severe and
focused. She nodded in acknowledgement but said nothing, her lips pressed
together in a tight line.

He leaned forward, his voice low but determined. "What's the latest plan on
the prisoner escape?"

Hannah straightened up, her confidence returning as she delved into the
details.

Her voice was confident as she spoke quickly and precisely, "The convoy is
scheduled to depart Saturday at dusk. Our men have secured a route through
the northern countryside, but there's a window of opportunity during a
particularly isolated stretch of the journey."

Ever the strategist, Kingsley interjected, "You need to coordinate with

Hannah to ensure we have adequate coverage. Extraction of the prisoner
will need to be swift and precise."
Dorian nodded in agreement, grateful for the professional approach. He
mused, hoping to lighten the situation somewhat, "We need to free this
fucking maniac." He meant the word maniac in all its rawness. The Potion
Master was apparently a genius but crazier than Dolohov—a maddened
pureblood wizard with the key to winning the war and immortalising
werewolves from potential harm.

Harry's gaze was steely as he assessed the plan, "What you ask isn’t easy,
Blackwood."

Kingsley weighed in, “Indeed. We have much to access before execution.”

Dorian said sarcastically, “While you lot twiddle your thumbs, it's my
fucking head on the line.” He almost growled the last words. Did they not
understand the danger he was in?

Thomas placed his hand on Dorian’s shoulder, letting his fingers dig in, and
hissed, “Easy now. We are aware of the danger you're in.”

Dorian looked at the wizards with suitable contempt, “Don’t look like it,
mate.”

Hannah finally spoke, her voice calm and authoritative. She said, "We have
a small team. You will intercept us en route and extract the prisoner. The
execution needs to be flawless."

She took a step forward and gritted out, “Understand something very
clearly, if you draw first blood, I will personally obliterate the lot of you.”

Without hesitation, Harry concurred, “You will have my full support,

Hannah.”

Dorian narrowed his eyes for a moment. After a second, he smiled and
replied, “Relax, love. Nobody will get hurt. You have my word.”

Hannah scoffed, “The word of a bloody criminal.”

Thomas looked at her cautiously, but Dorian was unfazed and grinned, “Are
you the girl who arrested him?” Frankly, he was impressed.
Hannah smirked, “Indeed I am.”

She tilted her head to the side and inquired somewhat professionally, “Why
is this man so important to Dolohov?” The consequences of freeing the man
could be disastrous.

Dorian sighed in frustration, “He hasn't shared that with us. But I suspect its
extremely important.” He knew some details but kept them from Thomas
and the team.

Hannah crossed her arms over her chest and mused, “Without knowing the
reason it seems like a hard bargain to make.” They had gone through a bit to
arrest the nutcase, and now she was expected to hand him over, gift-
wrapped with a bow to the enemy.

Thomas started to speak, “Abbott….” His words were laced with warning.

However, Dorian respected the woman before him and answered truthfully,
“Despite his reasons, this is about me proving myself and dedication to his
cause.”

Hannah remained unconvinced and voiced her opinion, “Maybe we should

rethink this.”

Dorian felt his patience slip. He hissed, “There's no time. He will kill me if
I don’t deliver.”

He hissed, “If things take a turn for the worst, the Potion Master will have
an…..unfortunate accident.”

Harry narrowed his eyes but said nothing. He didn't want to release the
man, but what choice did they have? They needed Dorian to remain in
Dolohov’s good books.

Thomas nodded in agreement, “Understood.”

Hannah pursed her lips and nodded curtly.

Dorian nodded, feeling a surge of determination mingled with
apprehension. The weight of their mission hung heavy in the air, each word
and decision critical to their success. He knew the risks and the stakes
involved, but he also understood the necessity of their actions.

As they continued to discuss logistics and contingency plans, the pub

around them faded into background noise. The outcome would not only
impact their immediate objectives but also ripple through the delicate
balance of power among his adversaries who remained close to Dolohov.

With a final nod of agreement, they concluded their meeting, each person
ready to play their part in the daring operation ahead. As they parted ways,
Dorian felt a renewed sense of purpose, his nerves now tempered by the
resolve to see their mission through to its victorious end.

Greengrass Manor

Astoria entered Greengrass Manor with a smile lingering on her lips, the
warmth of Julius’s touch still fresh on her skin. Her incident with Hermione
Granger was mainly forgotten, but her encounter with Draco was not.

Julius had made plans to have dinner later, and the thought left her feeling
buoyant. However, despite her night of passion, she could not forget about
the way Draco kissed her so ardently, pulling her close as if only she
existed. However, she wished he had called or shown some interest in her
well being afterwards, but unfortunately, he remained utterly silent.

The atmosphere was palpably different as she stepped into the grand
drawing room.

Daphne sat on the velvet sofa, her face drawn with frustration, her hands
moving animatedly as she spoke with their mother. It was quite unlike her.

"I can’t believe Blaise went to Hawaii with her ," Daphne huffed, her voice
laced with disbelief.
She scowled with frustration, "And he didn’t even think to mention it!
Honestly, it’s humiliating."

Tracey frowned, " He didn't go with her, love. Although I admit, he should
have been more forthcoming.” Clearly, Blaise had made a grave mistake
and would pay dearly for his stupidity.

Their mother, ever poised, frowned slightly, her fingers drumming on the
armrest of her chair.

After a moment of thought, she said, "Daphne, darling, it’s not as though
he’s—"

"It’s Ginny Weasley, Mother!" Daphne cut her off, exasperated. They had
no idea how infatuated Blaise had been with the youngest Weasley child.

She was indignant, "He’s been hiding this for days. I found out quite by
accident. What else is he hiding?"

Astoria quietly closed the door behind her and made her way over, noticing
their half-sister Tracey sitting nearby, listening with rapt attention, though
she wore a knowing smirk.

"Seems like you’ve walked into quite the storm," Tracey quipped, her tone
light as she glanced at Astoria.

She looked at her sister with a mischievous glint in her eyes and teased,
“Looks like you had a rather fun evening.”

Victoria Greengrass frowned but couldn't help but notice Astoria’s smile.
She was taken aback by the calmness her daughter portrayed.

Astoria winked playfully, “Well, I’m not one to kiss and tell…..but, he was
rather magnificent.”

Tracey smirked with a knowing gaze. Still, their mother looked horrified
and scolded, “Really, girls? Can you perhaps leave the sordid details until
after I’ve left the room.”
With renewed determination to stir the conversation away from Astoria’s
sex life, Tracey mused, "You’re just in time for Daph’s melodramatic hour."
It wasn't exactly melodramatic. Since, for example, in her marriage, one ex-
girlfriend was wreaking havoc, but since recently, Ron had hardly
mentioned Hermione and went out of his way to be a proper husband. It
was a refreshing change.

"Don’t start, Tracey," Daphne shot back, narrowing her eyes.

She hissed entirely out of character, "This is serious."

Astoria perched herself on the edge of the chaise. She looked at her elder
sister with raised eyebrows.

"Blaise and Ginny Weasley?" she asked lightly, trying to suppress a smirk.
She had caught bits and pieces of the conversation when she walked inside.

She swapped a look with Tracey and said slowly, "Well, that’s certainly...
unexpected."

"It’s not funny, Astoria," Daphne snapped, though her tone softened slightly.
Why was no one taking her bloody seriously? Did they not understand she
was in literal pain?

She offered a plausible reason, "You weren’t the one blindsided by this."

Astoria tilted her head, her smile still playing at her lips. "I’m just
wondering what’s worse—that Ginny went to Hawaii or the fact he didn’t
tell you."

"Both," Daphne said firmly and crossed her arms.

Their mother sighed, shaking her head. "This is hardly the end of the world,
Daphne. You’re blowing things out of proportion."

"Mother," Daphne groaned. She tried her best to explain, "You don’t
understand. Blaise was smitten with her back at Hogwarts.”
Astoria glanced at Tracey, who stifled a chuckle, “That was bloody ages
ago.”

"She’s really worked up, hasn’t she?" Tracey whispered.

Astoria leaned in teasingly. "Perhaps Blaise just needed a little sun. Not
everything’s a conspiracy, you know."

"Not helping, Astoria," Daphne muttered, though a reluctant smile tugged at

her lips. She bit back a nasty retort about her sister's unhealthy obsession
with Draco. That was dramatic. Her situation with Blaise paled in
comparison.

"Lighten up, Daphne," Astoria teased, settling back into her seat. She felt
rather lightheaded and deliciously sore.

She said, "It’s not as if Blaise is running off into the sunset with her.” She
knew without a doubt that Blaise was not involved in the slightest with
Ginny, but she also knew how insecure Daphne was in her relationship,
thinking Blaise had only settled for her.

Daphne rolled her eyes, finally cracking a smile, "You’re impossible."

"That’s the spirit," Tracey said brightly. With a final teasing grin, she
winked at Astoria, who merely shrugged, her eyes twinkling with
amusement.

Daphne sighed long, exaggeratedly, "Honestly, you lot are unbearable."

"But you love us," Tracey chimed in, and even their mother smiled faintly
as the tension in the room began to ease.

Victoria sighed softly, setting down her teacup. She looked at Daphne with
a calm, measured expression. She had always prided herself on maintaining
composure, especially when her daughters were experiencing emotional
upheaval. And this was no exception.

"Daphne, darling," Victoria began, her voice gentle but firm.

She said with a loving smile, “You know Blaise adores you. This trip—
however unfortunate it may seem—doesn't change that."

Daphne let out a frustrated groan, throwing herself back against the
cushions. "Mother, he didn’t tell me! How am I supposed to trust him after
this?"

Victoria raised an eyebrow and said wisely, "A holiday to Hawaii with some
old school acquaintance is hardly a betrayal. You’re overreacting."

"Ginny Weasley is not just some old school acquaintance," Daphne retorted,
her voice rising.

Astoria and Tracey exchanged glances, though neither of them dared to

interrupt. Even though they teased their older sister, they somehow knew
how Daphne felt to some extent. Astoria had her issues with Draco, and
Merlin knew Tracey had her fair share of insecurities regarding Ron and
Hermione.

"Daphne," Victoria continued. She said, her tone unwavering, "You know
Blaise would never intentionally hurt you. This is just... an oversight.
Perhaps he didn’t think it was important enough to mention or wanted to
avoid unnecessary drama."

"Drama?!" Daphne exclaimed, her eyes flashing.

She almost yelled, "Mother, it’s Hawaii. With a woman he’s been somewhat
intimate with in the past! How is that not important?" Ginny was the type of
woman a man would typically go for. She was pretty, sporty and intelligent.

Victoria leaned forward slightly, her gaze steady, "Because he loves you,
darling. And you need to remember that. Relationships are not without their
bumps. But running off in a fit of temper will do more harm than good."

Daphne crossed her arms, still clearly upset but wavering under her
mother’s calm reasoning.
She frowned, "I just... I feel like he’s hiding something. Why didn’t he tell
me? What else is he keeping from me?"

"Perhaps, you should ask him. But ask him calmly. Not in the heat of the
moment," Victoria said with a faint smile.

Astoria decided to chime in. "Mum’s right, Daph. Talk to him. You two
have been through much worse than this. And you know Blaise—he’s
hardly the sneaky type."

Daphne pressed her lips together, but the frustration still simmered beneath
the surface. However, the intensity of her anger was slowly ebbing away.

Victoria smiled warmly at her daughter, "You’ve been together for too long
to let something like this come between you. Blaise loves you, and this is
just an unfortunate incident, nothing more."

After a long silence, Daphne let out a reluctant sigh. Perhaps she was
overreacting.

"I suppose you’re right," she muttered, though she wasn’t convinced.

"Of course I’m right," Victoria said lightly, patting Daphne’s hand. "Now,
why don’t you stop fretting and enjoy the rest of the day? Blaise will be
back soon enough, and you can have a proper conversation then."

Daphne nodded slowly, though her expression remained conflicted. "I just
don’t want to be taken for a fool."

"You won’t be," Victoria assured her gently.

She advised, "But you must trust him, Daphne. That’s the foundation of any
strong relationship."

Tracey had been quietly observing the entire exchange. She finally said,
"Besides, if Blaise ever did anything truly shady, you’d probably hex him
into next week."
A reluctant laugh escaped Daphne’s lips. She would probably Avada him
and hide the body.

Astoria grinned, "There’s the Daphne we know and love."

Victoria sat back. Her eyes softened as she watched her daughters. She
sighed, "Love is never without its challenges, but you’re strong enough to
handle it."

Daphne nodded again, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She
said, "Thanks, Mum." She knew they had a point, but that didn't lessen her
feelings of hurt and anxiety. Still, she was so grateful to have such a sound
support system to help her through anything.

Trying to forget Blaise and Ginny, she joined the conversation and asked
curiously, “So, Tori, tell us about your evening and, eh, morning with Mr
Julius Avery.”

Astoria glanced at her mother and blushed. Victoria took the not-so-subtle
hint and excused herself with the pretence of having to overlook dinner
preparation.

Avery Manor

The ancient chamber with stone walls was lined with arcane symbols. Avery
Manor was centuries old and stood the test of time. The flickering
torchlights cast eerie shadows across the room. Heavy velvet drapes
covered the windows, muffling the outside world and adding to the
oppressive atmosphere.

Antonin sat at the head of a long, dark mahogany table. His presence was
both commanding and intimidating. His eyes glowed faintly in the half-
light. His face was partially obscured by a dark mask that glimmered subtly
in the wavering light. The mask was ornate, featuring intricate designs that
caught the light with a ghostly gleam, adding to the enigmatic and
malevolent aura surrounding him.
The air was thick with a sense of foreboding, accentuated by the faint scent
of damp earth and magic. He was hungry and needed nourishment soon.
The others sat quietly, looking curiously at the man before them.

Dorian stood across from him. He was a man with sharp features and
hidden intentions. His eyes darted around the room nervously as he
prepared to speak.

Dolohov spoke slowly, “Speak, Blackwood.”

Dorian cleared his mind and answered, "The plan to free the prisoner is
progressing as scheduled. All the necessary arrangements are in place. The
guards have been bribed, and the wards are being bypassed as we speak. We
can expect the operation to be completed soon."

As Dorian finished his report, Dolohov’s gaze was fixed intently on him.
The glimmer of the mask’s surface reflected a faint, cold light, accentuating
his sharp angles and the gleam in his eyes. He had aged well, and some
would call him handsome. Immortality suited him.

His lips curled into a satisfied, predatory smile. His fingers tapped
rhythmically on the table as he considered the implications of Dorian’s
words. The werewolf was proving himself to be a useful asset. Still, there
was something there, something unsettling.

However, Dolohov smiled, "Excellent. This will set the stage for our next
move. We must ensure that everything falls into place without a problem.
Your efforts are crucial to the success of our plans."

Dolohov studied the man before him. He tried to invade his mind but found
nothing of interest. He had some doubts about Dorian Blackwood but
refrained from asking questions at the moment. All would be revealed at the
right moment. Sooner or later, Blackwood's loyalty would be called into
question.

Dorian breathed a sigh of relief but hid it well. He bowed deeply and moved
back.
Dolohov then turned his attention to Julius, who sat silently with a stern
demeanour. He was fiercely loyal and stood slightly to the side. His face
was a mask of stoic reserve, though a flicker of unease was evident in his
eyes. His mind was constantly on freeing his imprisoned father.

Dolohov’s voice was a low, menacing rumble. The glimmer of his mask
gave his expression an almost ethereal quality. He instructed calmly,
"Julius, prepare an invitation for Draco Malfoy to join Club Sanguis. His
inclusion will be a valuable asset to our cause."

Dorian widened his eyes. It was concealed behind the mask. An invitation
to the club was a direct recruitment to the cause. Given his supposed change
in ideologies and lifestyle, it seemed highly unlikely that Malfoy would
accept.

There was a murmur of disapproval and blatant shock. Clearly, everyone

had reservations about recruiting Draco Malfoy. Dolohov ignored the
whispers and said, in a low voice that travelled, putting an immediate end to
useless gossip, “I trust you will extend our invitation to Draco Malfoy with
the utmost discretion.” It was time to involve the Malfoy family. Their past
actions could be overlooked. He needed someone like Draco Malfoy on his
side.

Julius’s gaze hardened, but he managed to hide his dissatisfaction. He got to

his feet and bowed deeply, the subtle clink of his shoes' heels echoing in the
chamber's cold silence.

He almost whispered, "As you wish, Master." The decision to include

Malfoy did not sit well with him at all. He supposed he felt a certain
amount of resentment towards the man after Astoria’s confession. Still,
more than that, Malfoy was training to be an Auror and was engaged to the
Undersecretary. But most importantly, the Malfoys had betrayed the Dark
Lord.

Still, If Draco Malfoy were willing, he would be instrumental in

overthrowing the Ministry, but would he join them? That remained to be
seen.
Julius retreated a few steps, his face betraying a flicker of concern as he
turned to leave. Antonin’s gaze followed him, the satisfaction in his eyes
reflecting the dark plans brewing beneath the surface. The room's
atmosphere grew heavier, the darkening shadows wrapping around the
figures like a shroud.

His movements were deliberate, yet there was a subtle tension in his stride.
As he stepped into the corridor's gloom, he adjusted his mask—a dark,
polished piece of craftsmanship with an intricate silver wolf that seemed to
absorb the light around it.

While less elaborate than his Master’s, the mask symbolised Julius’s
position and the burdens of his role. Adjusting it was a ritualistic action, a
brief moment of introspection before he plunged back into the dark
machinations of his duties.

The chamber behind him remained cloaked in shadow. His mask was now
perfectly aligned, and he moved forward with determination, disappearing
into the darkness of the Manor’s labyrinthine halls.

As Julius exited, the shadows seemed to deepen, and the oppressive

atmosphere of the chamber grew heavier, filled with the anticipation of the
ominous events yet to unfold. He knew if Malfoy betrayed them, he would
kill him without remorse. The very thought brought a smile to his face. He
walked with renewed purpose. There was much to do and very little time.

Evening - Muggle Pub

Blaise slumped back in his seat at the dimly lit pub, nursing his pint of ale
with a deep frown. Theo and Draco were already there. Theo was halfway
through his whiskey while Draco sat quietly with his own drink, his
expression carefully unreadable as always.

“I couldn’t wait to get out,” Theo exclaimed rather excitedly.

Blaise merely nodded. He was clearly in a world of his own, while Draco
nodded in agreement. Studies and his tense situation with Granger were
eating away at his soul. He needed time with his mates to let loose and
forget about all the worry surrounding him.

"You look like hell, mate," Theo remarked with a smirk, raising his glass
toward Blaise.

He teased, "What’s the matter? Did Daphne buy new curtains again without
telling you? I still believe the navy blue ones are pretty cute."

Blaise groaned, rubbed his temple and said, "Worse. She’s furious because I
didn’t tell her Ginny was in Hawaii with us." He desperately needed advice,
anything. Daphne hardly spoke two words to him.

Theo let out a low whistle. He was clearly amused, "Ah, yes, I can see why
she'd be cross. Practically public enemy number one in Daphne’s book."
They were all acutely aware of Daphne's insecurities where other women
were concerned.

Draco raised an eyebrow but stayed silent, watching the exchange with mild
interest. He could understand Daphne’s frustration. He felt mild annoyance
when Hermione was around her ginger-headed ex-boyfriend.

"It’s not funny, Theo," Blaise muttered. His marriage had become strained.
Daphne only spoke to him in the presence of the children. She waited until
they fell asleep before retiring to the guest bedroom, well away from him or
his touch.

He scoffed, "She’s convinced I’m hiding something. Honestly, I didn’t think

it was that big a deal. We were in the same country, not sharing a bloody
suite!" If anything, being around Ginny had made him realise how much he
loved his wife.

Theo snorted, "Daphne’s not one for subtlety, is she? You could’ve been in
different continents and she’d still make it sound like you were planning a
tropical elopement."

Draco finally chimed in, his tone relatively dry but calculated, "You
probably should’ve mentioned it, Blaise. If only to save yourself from an
argument. It must have come as a shock to her."

Blaise groaned again, slumping further into his chair, "Don’t remind me."
He wanted to drown in alcohol.

He sighed, “I have a lot to make up for, I suppose.” He knew Daphne was

right to be cross.

Theo leaned forward, took a deep breath and said, "Well, speaking of
bloody shocks… Luna’s pregnant." Since finding out about the pregnancy,
his life seemed to revolve around all things baby. From clothes to toys to
everything under the fucking sun.

There was a moment of stunned silence before Blaise’s head shot up. He
widened his eyes, "What?" Her behaviour made perfect sense, and he was a
bit disappointed that he hadn't put two and two together sooner.

Draco glanced over, his brows slightly raised. He mused, "Didn’t know you
had it in you, mate." Momentarily, his thoughts drifted back to Hermione
and their own pregnancy drama. Salazar, what if Granger was pregnant? A
cold sweat descended upon him, and refused to budge.

Theo chuckled darkly, though his eyes held a hint of panic. He sheepishly
said, "Neither did I. And now I’m terrified. Merlin, what do I even do with
a baby? They’re so… small. And loud."

Despite his own woes, Blaise cracked a grin, "Congratulations, mate. It’ll
be fine. You’ve always had that chaotic energy, Theo. Babies thrive in
chaos." No matter how hard he tried, he could not picture Theo as a father.

"I think Luna thrives in chaos," Draco murmured, sipping his drink.

He added with a smile, "She’s probably ecstatic."

"Oh, she is," Theo replied with a resigned sigh.

He forced a smile onto his face and confided, "She’s already planning a
home birth surrounded by enchanted crystals and something she calls
‘moon water.’ Meanwhile, I’m over here wondering if I’ll drop the baby on
it’s fucking head."

Blaise and Draco both chuckled, though the exhaustion on Theo’s face was
unmistakable.

"You’ll survive. Didn't you plan for this, mate?" Blaise asked curiously,
shaking his head.

He mused, "If nothing else, you’ll have a perfectly good reason to be awake
at all hours of the night."

"Not that we’re ever getting proper sleep again anyway," Theo added
somewhat miserably, glancing between the two of them.

Still, he looked at his friends and quipped, "You know how it is. When it’s
not Luna talking to the bloody stars, it’s Daphne imagining entire Ginny
Weasley conspiracies. Or Hermione probably lecturing Draco about being a
fucking prat. How do you do it, Malfoy?"

Draco’s jaw tightened slightly, though he kept his voice casual: "I manage."
He decided to keep new developments to himself. It didn't seem proper to
speak openly about them.

Theo raised an eyebrow, "‘Manage?’ That’s it? You’ve been awfully quiet
about it, mate. Don’t tell me Granger’s run off with someone else."

Draco shot him a withering look, though the corners of his mouth twitched.
He said in a low voice, "No, but I’ll admit our relationship’s been...
strained." That was about all he was ready to share.

Theo’s smirk widened, "Strained? More like a circus, I’d wager. What’s the
latest? Did Hermione refuse to let you seduce her again? I knew that was a
one time thing." It had been a genuinely shocking revelation that Hermione
Granger had slept with Draco Malfoy.

Draco’s gaze hardened. If only they knew how receptive Granger was to his
touch.
"Or did you sneak of with another woman?" Blaise added with a grin,
clearly enjoying the break from his own predicament.

Draco stiffened since Astoria and their kiss came to mind. Still, he sighed,
clearly reluctant to discuss it but giving in nonetheless.

He cleared his throat and lied through his teeth, "She’s been busy with her
other things. And we’re just... at odds lately. Can’t seem to agree on
anything. But it’s fine."

Theo snorted, "Fine? That’s what blokes say when it’s anything but fine."

Draco shot him a sidelong glance and scowled, "And what would you know
about relationships, Theo? Last I checked, your idea of romance was
lighting a few candles and having at it."

Theo shrugged, "Hey, it worked, didn’t it? Now I’m having a kid. You, on
the other hand, are practically almost married to a Ministry briefcase at this
point."

Blaise chuckled. He raised his pint and made a toast, "Here’s to all of us—
barely hanging on by a thread while the women in our lives run circles
around us."

Theo lifted his glass in mock solemnity, "To our respective queens and their
endless demands."

Draco, though still clearly brooding, couldn’t help but lift his drink as well.
He said with a smile, "And to surviving whatever’s coming next." His
problems were vastly different from his friends. At least they had
established relationships to hang on to. He had nothing but memories of
Granger’s body and moans of his name rolling off her very luscious lips.
Oh, her lips around his cock had felt incredible.

Blaise clinked his glass against theirs with a rueful grin, "Salazar help us
all."
St Mungo's - Evening

The light was soft and subdued, casting long shadows on the walls. A small
table with a few chairs stood in the corner of the hospital room, and the
atmosphere was tense.

Sarah sat at the table, her posture rigid and expression a complex mixture of
resolve and barely suppressed rage. Her eyes were rather steely, reflecting a
calmness that contrasted sharply with the malice underlying her words. She
had taken a deep breath, her anger now controlled and channelled into a
cold determination.

She muttered, "I want to meet him. I want to see John on my terms."

Hannah was taken aback and looked appalled. She clarified her opinion,
“No, I dont think that's wise.”

Still, Sarah's voice remained calm, but there was a chilling edge to it. How
she spoke his name suggested a deep, simmering resentment and a desire
for confrontation. The words seemed to cut through the room like a blade,
the malice clear in her tone.

She was determined and spoke her mind frankly, "I've had enough of hiding
from what happened to me. I need to face him. I need to see the man who
turned my life into a nightmare on my terms." She didn't quite know what
she would say or how she would react, but she needed to speak with him.

There was a steely resolve in her eyes, a reflection of the darkness that had
settled deep in her heart. Her hands rested on the table, knuckles white, as if
gripping the last vestiges of her control. The very air around her seemed to
crackle with the intensity of her emotions.

Hannah shook her head slowly and said softly, “It’s too soon, Sarah. There
is time for all that. You need to heal.”

Sarah almost laughed but kept her composure and answered, "It’s not about
closure or forgiveness. It's about confronting the monster who did this to
me.” She grabbed hold of her abdomen and gave it a tight squeeze as if
trying to claw the foetus out of her body.

The calmness in her voice was deceptive, masking the storm of anger and
hatred that churned beneath the surface. She was no longer a victim but a
force seeking retribution, her desire to meet John was driven by a need to
reclaim her power and confront the source of her suffering.

The room felt colder, the shadows more profound, as Sarah’s words hung in
the air. They were a stark testament to her resolve and the unresolved rage
that propelled her toward this fateful encounter.

Hannah kept quiet and stared at the once frail woman before her. She saw
the determination in Sarah’s eyes and decided she deserved to confront her
abductor and rapist. Still, Harry would pitch a fit if he knew what was
happening.

Hermione's Flat

Hermione tossed and turned under the covers, the soft moonlight spilling
into her bedroom, casting delicate shadows on the walls. In her sleep, her
mind drifted, pulling her into a dream so vivid that it felt entirely real.

She found herself standing in the middle of a grand room that looked
distinctly familiar—elegant, with high ceilings and dark wooden floors. The
scent of leather and parchment lingered in the air. It was unmistakably the
library at Malfoy Manor. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a
warm, golden glow across the space.

Hermione turned slowly. She wore a black dress. It was elegant, yet
effortlessly alluring. Her breath caught when she saw Draco leaning against
the desk in a black tailored suit, making him look utterly irresistible. His
pale blonde hair was tousled, and his silver-grey eyes were fixed on her. He
looked different in the dream—more relaxed, the usual coldness in his gaze
replaced with something softer, something that sent a shiver down her
spine.
"You came," he said, his voice low and smooth, causing the corners of his
mouth to lift in a lazy smirk.

"I—" she began to speak, but the words seemed to stick in her throat. She
didn’t know why she was there or how she had ended up in this room with
him, but none of it mattered. All she could focus on was the intensity of his
gaze, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing in the world that
existed at that moment.

Draco walked towards her without another word. He closed the distance
between them. His hand reached out, fingers brushing lightly against her
cheek, and Hermione felt a warmth spread through her entire body. It was
as though his touch had ignited something deep within her.

"Draco..." she whispered, her voice barely audible, but he heard it. He
always heard her.

He moved closer until she could feel the heat of his body, his breath warm
against her skin. His other hand found it's way to the small of her back,
pulling her against him swiftly. She gasped softly, her heart racing as she
felt the strength of his arms around her, the undeniable pull between them.

"You don’t have to say anything," Draco murmured. His lips grazed the
shell of her ear, sending a ripple of desire through her.

He breathed against her heated skin, "Just... let go."

And she did.

Hermione’s hands moved of their own accord, tangling in his hair, pulling
him down to meet her lips in a fierce, passionate kiss. His lips were soft but
demanding, and the taste of him was intoxicating. He filled her senses with
a need she hadn’t realised she was capable of feeling. She could feel his
fingers tighten at her waist, holding her close, like he couldn’t bear to let
her go.

The kiss deepened, and Hermione felt herself melt into him, the world
around them blurring into nothingness. All that mattered was the way his
lips moved against hers, the way his hands roamed her body, leaving a trail
of fire in their wake. It was overwhelming and consuming, and Hermione
didn’t want it to stop.

His lips left hers and trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of fire. She tilted
her head back, a soft moan escaping her lips as his mouth found the
sensitive skin just below her ear. She could feel his breath hot against her
skin, his hands sliding beneath the fabric of her shirt, fingers ghosting over
her bare skin.

"Draco..." she whispered again. Her voice was filled with longing, her body
aching for more of him.

Draco lifted his head, meeting her gaze with those stormy eyes, and at that
moment, there was no doubt, no hesitation. There was only him, only them,
and the unspoken connection that pulsed between them was raw and
undeniable.

Without a word, he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the large
velvet chaise near the fireplace. He laid her down gently, his body hovering
over hers as he kissed her again, this time slower and more deliberate.

His hands moved over her, exploring and caressing, and Hermione’s breath
hitched as she felt his weight and his generous length pressing against her,
grounding her in the moment.

The time seemed to stretch, each touch, each kiss sending her deeper into a
haze of desire. The fire crackled softly beside them, the heat of the flames
matching the heat that radiated between them.

It was more than just a dream. It was a release—a moment where nothing
else mattered but the feel of his hands, his lips, his body against hers.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the dream began to fade. Draco’s
touch grew distant, and the warmth of his body slipped away. Hermione
stirred in her sleep, her brow furrowing as she tried to hold onto the
sensation, but it slipped through her fingers like sand in an hourglass.
With a gasp, she woke. Her heart still pounded, and her skin tingled with
the remnants of the dream. The room was quiet, her bed cool and empty.
She lay there, staring up at the ceiling, her breath shallow as she tried to
make sense of the vivid images that had played out in her mind.

It had felt so real. Too real.

Her chest tightened as she closed her eyes, willing herself to push away the
lingering sensation of Draco’s touch, the way his lips had felt against hers,
but he swore never to touch her again. Was she destined only to feel him in
a dream?

But no matter how hard she tried, Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that,
in some way, the dream had sent her a message—an ache in her heart she
hadn’t dared to acknowledge before.

Late Night - DMLE

Hannah stood at the front of the room, her voice steady as she laid out her
carefully devised plan. However, a few of the senior Aurors exchanged
doubtful glances, their expressions betraying their reluctance to take orders
from someone so young. Their arms were crossed, and one or two muttered
quietly under their breath.

"With all due respect, Hannah, this isn’t exactly the sort of mission we can
rush into, especially on the word of someone without significant experience
in the field," said one of the older Aurors, his voice tinged with scepticism."

Hannah met his gaze, her jaw clenched, but the door swung open with a
quiet creak before she could respond. Thomas walked in, his presence
commanding instant attention. The room fell silent. He strode forward with
purpose, his eyes scanning the group.

"That’s enough," Thomas said firmly, his voice low but carrying the weight
of authority.
He glanced around the room, ensuring he had everyone's attention and
added without hesitation, "I know some of you are questioning why you’re
taking instructions from Hannah. Let me be clear—she has my full
confidence."

A murmur of surprise rippled through the group, but Thomas continued

before anyone could speak, "I’ve seen her planning, her strategy. She’s
thought this through more than most of you have bothered to, and frankly, if
you’ve got an issue with that, take it up with me."

The Aurors shifted uneasily, but none dared argue with Thomas. His
reputation spoke for itself. He paused, looked directly at the man who had
spoken up earlier and gritted out, "Now, either we work together on this, or
you’re free to walk out. But know this—Hannah's leading this mission, and
if I trust her, so should you."

A tense silence followed, and slowly, the senior Aurors nodded their assent
one by one. The doubt that had clouded the room moments before seemed
to lift, and Hannah felt a surge of gratitude though her expression remained
composed.

Thomas caught her eye and gave her a slight nod before returning to the
group.

With a slight smile, he said, "Right then, let's get to work."

The Next Morning

After his morning meditation and training session, Draco sat in a high-
backed chair, his gaze fixed on the pages of his book. It was very early, and
the room was silent except for the occasional rustle of parchment and the
low crackle of the candle flame.

His face was a mask of contemplation, his usually sharp features softened
by the weight of his thoughts. He often thought about Hermione and what
she was doing. A profound sense of regret over their last encounter gripped
his heart, but his efforts to rectify the past and forge a relationship had been
futile. She simply would not allow it, and he was done trying. Or was he?
Had he given her ample time, or was he being unreasonable and expecting
her to forgive years of torment over a few weeks?

Draco’s mind drifted to John, a man whose life had veered tragically into
the darkness of murder.

The circumstances that led John to become a killer were a complex tapestry
of choices, influences, and events, and Draco found himself reflecting on
the threads that wove together to create such a grim destiny.

"How did it all go so wrong for him?" He muttered to himself, his voice a
mere whisper in the quiet of the room. The details of John's early life, his
descent into the shadows, and the pivotal moments that shaped his path
were far too much to comprehend.

John's story unfolded as a series of parental neglect, abuse, cascading

failures and dark decisions, each one pushing him further away from
redemption.

Draco considered the psychological and emotional burdens that must have
weighed heavily on John’s soul, pushing him toward the irrevocable choice
of taking lives.

He closed his eyes and said thoughtfully, "Could anyone have stopped him?
Could he have been saved from this path?" His thoughts were a mix of
empathy and cynicism, reflecting the complexity of understanding such a
descent into darkness.

John offered no easy answers, only fragments of a life unravelling under the
strain of fate and circumstance.

Draco closed the book he was reading with a resigned sigh, the weight of
John's story lingering in the candlelit silence. He looked around the room.
The flickering shadows on the walls seemed to echo the darkness within
John's soul.
The reflection on John’s tragic path left Draco with a sobering reminder of
the fragility of choices and the haunting possibility of a future that could
have been his own had Voldemort survived.

Nott Manor

Luna sat cross-legged on the sofa, her silvery-blonde hair spilling over her
shoulders as she looked at Theo with her usual dreamy expression. In her
hands was a notepad, already filled with scrawled-out names, and she was
tapping the end of her quill thoughtfully against her lips.

Sitting opposite her with a cup of tea in hand, Theo was doing his best to
keep a straight face. He had learned long ago that Luna's thought process
was... well, unique, to say the least. But baby names? This was a whole new
level.

"I was thinking," Luna began.

She said, her voice soft and whimsical as ever, "If it's a girl, we should
name her Zephyra Moonbeam."

Theo choked slightly on his tea but quickly composed himself, giving her a
slow nod. He responded slowly, "Zephyra... Moonbeam, you say?"

"Yes," Luna said. Her eyes twinkled with enthusiasm.

She added excitedly, "Zephyra, like the west wind, free and wild. And
Moonbeam, because, well, how could you not love the idea of a child
carrying the light of the moon wherever they go?"

Theo took another sip of his tea. He tried to buy himself some time to
devise a response that wouldn’t sound completely mental. Finally, he
retorted, "Right... light of the moon, of course. Very... ethereal."

Luna’s smile widened, clearly pleased that he was on board—at least as far
as she could tell. "Or, if it’s a boy, we could go with something strong and
earthy. How do you feel about Balthazar Thunderclap?" She flipped a page
in her notepad and continued.

This time, Theo barely managed to hold in a snort, his tea hovering
dangerously close to spilling. "Thunderclap?" he repeated slowly, as though
testing the word out. Salazar, their child, was doomed before its birth.

"Yes," Luna said. Her tone was deadly serious.

She added determinedly, "It's a powerful name, don’t you think? It's bold
and it gives off the sense that he’ll make an impact wherever he goes."

Theo almost choked. Their child would face a lifetime of bullying and
ridicule.

He set down his cup carefully, resisting the urge to laugh and said
diplomatically, "It certainly would... make an impact, that's for sure.
However….." He couldn't forsake his son or daughter.

Luna continued, undeterred by his subtle hesitation, "Or there’s always

Orion Fireblaze. I mean, you can’t go wrong with a celestial name."

Theo nodded, his lips twitching as he fought to keep a straight face.

He mused, "No, you certainly can’t. Everyone loves a good... celestial

vibe."

Luna scribbled something else down. She looked up at him, her large, blue
eyes filled with excitement and raved, "What do you think about combining
them? Zephyra Moonbeam for a girl, and Balthazar Orion Fireblaze for a
boy?"

Theo blinked rapidly. He was unsure whether to laugh or cry. Still, he

responded less than enthusiastic, "That’s... quite a mouthful, isn’t it?"

Luna tilted her head, clearly deep in thought. After a moment's pause, she
replied, "Hmm, you’re right. Perhaps we should keep it simple. How about
Nebula Dreamweaver instead?"
Theo nearly lost it at that. He bit his lip so hard to keep the laugh in that his
face must have looked ridiculous. He could practically visualise Blaise and
Draco’s horrified expressions.

"Nebula Dreamweaver," he repeated, deadpan.

He cocked his head to the side and muttered, "That’s... simple?"

Luna beamed at him, mistaking his tone for approval. She smiled broadly,
"Exactly. Not too complicated, but still captures the essence of the cosmos."

Theo sighed internally. He truly loved Luna, but Merlin’s beard, this baby
naming process would drive him mad.

"Right," he said, his voice laced with careful diplomacy.

He mustered a smile and said, "Well, we’ve got time. Maybe we could, you
know, sleep on it? See how we feel about Nebula Dreamweaver and... the
others later?"

Luna nodded sagely, "That’s a good idea. Names should be felt, not rushed.
We want them to align with the universe's energy after all."

Theo rubbed the back of his neck. He wondered how he would explain to
his friends that his first child might very well end up being called
Thunderclap or Fireblaze. Still, he couldn’t help but smile.

After all, this was Luna. And with her, nothing was ever dull.

The Ministry of Magic

Brenda strode purposefully into the Department of Magical Law

Enforcement armed with instructions. Her eyes scanned the room until they
landed on Draco, who had just returned from training to catch up with
Hannah. The usual hum of activity faltered as heads turned, curious gazes
following her as she approached his desk.

"Mr. Malfoy," she announced in a voice that carried across the room.
Draco turned slowly to acknowledge the young witch, who seemed to want
something from him. Of course, he knew exactly who she was, but he
hadn't spoken to Granger since their encounter in her office.

Once Brenda had Draco’s undivided attention, she said with an air of
importance, "Ms. Granger would like you to come to her office
immediately."

A ripple of laughter spread through the department. Aurors and clerks alike
exchanged knowing glances and nudged each other.

"Looks like you’re in for it, Malfoy!" one of them called out, grinning.

"Better not keep the boss waiting, Draco," teased another, causing more
chuckles to echo through the room.

Hannah grinned, “What have you done now?” She was due to report to
Hermione but took time to put some affairs in order before reporting for
duty. Harry had mentioned something about ceasing the protection detail in
passing since Hermione wasn't in imminent danger.

Draco raised an eyebrow, his expression carefully neutral despite the jeers.
He shot Brenda a cool glance, though she seemed oblivious to the scene she
had caused. With a quiet sigh, he rose from his desk and straightened his
robes with deliberate precision before following her out of the room.

When they arrived at Hermione’s office, Brenda opened the door for him
and returned to her seat.

Reluctantly, he confidently walked in to find his fiancé seated behind her

desk, a pile of parchments in front of her and a small, amused smile tugging
at her lips.

As Draco walked into her space in all his splendour, Hermione’s thoughts
drifted back to when he had kissed her so ardently the night before. It was a
dream, but a vividly powerful one at that.
He closed the door behind him and leaned casually against the frame. His
black shirt and trousers fit him perfectly. The tailored fabric hugged his lean
frame with effortless sophistication. The dark ensemble accentuated his
sharp, defined features, adding an air of mystery and allure. His look's
simplicity and his natural confidence made him irresistibly captivating.

Hermione swallowed hard, momentarily lost in the moment, but a sharp

voice of sultry steel cut through her thoughts like a jagged blade tinged with
poison.

"Really, Granger? Couldn’t have just sent an owl? Or, Merlin forbid, a
Patronus? Had to go for the full public spectacle?" His voice was laced with
sarcasm, though his eyes held a hint of amusement. They had so many
unresolved issues, not to mention the sexual tension steaming up the room.
Did she have to wear that sexy red blouse and black skirt? It seemed on
purpose to entice him.

Hermione tried to appear indifferent. Her smile widened slightly as she

replied, "I had no idea she’d make such a scene, Malfoy. My apologies, but
I only wanted to inform you that we’ve been invited to brunch this weekend
by my parents, and you don’t need to come if you don't want too."

Draco’s expression hardened, but he kept his tone brisk, "I’m coming. I’m
fond of your family, Granger. Besides, if I don’t show up, your mum, dad,
and nana will likely suspect the worst."

Hermione pursed her lips. The determined bustard, she thought.

He added with a hint of annoyance, “Please don’t assume you know me or

my decisions.” Hadn't she learned her lesson already? Was she still jumping
to conclusions without just cause?

Hermione bit back the snappy resort that came to mind. Instead, she sighed
and rubbed her temples briefly before meeting his gaze. He was right. She
had no right to assume he wouldn't want to come.

She said softly, "Fine. But keep our… situation… quiet, will you? I don’t
need any more rumours circulating, especially not with everything going
on."

Draco scowled, “Do you think I make it a habit of speaking of my personal

life so freely?”

Hermione gritted out, “No. I was merely just suggesting….”

Draco’s smirk returned, but his eyes were sincere, "You have my word.
Besides, I’ve no desire to upset anyone. It’s bad enough that mother is
already scarred by the incident.”

Hermione winced. She had to make it up to Narcissa and soon. She leaned
back in her chair, her expression softening slightly and replied, "Thank
you.”

She hesitated, thought it best to swallow her pride and said, “And
congratulations, by the way. You did an excellent job in helping catch
John." His dedication and interrogation skills had been second to none.
Anyone observing would have thought he had years of experience on the
job.

Draco came closer and smirked, “An actual compliment? I'm glad to have
done something that merits your approval.” Her divine scent invaded his
sensitive sense of smell.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but his expression turned serious, and he rasped,
"But, next time, Granger, if you need to speak with me, just send an owl. Or
call. Spare me the theatrics. Especially if the reason is of a personal nature.
I do not take kindly to being summoned so publicly."

He invaded her space and gritted out, “I’m not your fucking dog.” It would
be the last time she would embarrass him in front of his colleagues.

Hermione stared at the man before her, refusing to back down even a
second. His behaviour towards her was her own doing. She had pushed him
too far, and his new attitude was the reward for her actions.
She moved back, let out a small laugh, shook her head and responded with
dripping sarcasm, "I’ll keep that in mind.”

She added with adequate indifference, “Anyway, I’ll meet you at my

parents' house."

Draco regarded her with interest. He straightened and argued, "No. I’ll pick
you up. It would seem odd if we arrived separately, don’t you think?"

Hermione knew he was right, and it irked her to admit it. She admitted
defeat and said with a satisfied smirk, “True. But I rather not subject you to
something you loathe. Besides, my parents are aware that this isn't a
conventional coupling.”

Draco let his gaze move over her intimately, lingering on where her shirt
teased with cleavage. The gesture made her uncomfortable and left her
flustered.

He sensed her discomfort and grinned rather devilishly, “Spare me the

drama. I'm escorting you to your parents, not taking you to bed.” Oh, how
much he wanted to rip the clothes off her body and ravage her where she
stood.

There was a moment of intense, strained silence between them, filled with
unspoken words. Finally, Hermione relented with a sigh, "Fine. But be
discreet, Malfoy."

He gave a mock bow, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "As you wish,
Madame Undersecretary." He wanted to ask how she was feeling or
whether any signs of pregnancy had risen to the surface, but decided against
it.

As Draco turned to leave, a small smile tugged at the corners of Hermione’s

mouth. Despite the tension between them, their banter had an odd comfort
—a sense of familiarity that neither was willing to acknowledge outright.

The Ministry of Magic

Harry strode through the bustling corridor, catching a glimpse of Draco
Malfoy out of the corner of his eye as he passed by. They exchanged brief
nods but didn’t stop to speak. Harry was on his way to meet Hermione, and
his mind was already turning over the matters they needed to discuss.

Reaching the small office, he opened the door to find Hermione sitting at
her desk, surrounded by parchments and books, her brow furrowed in
concentration. She brightened when she saw him, and they greeted each
other warmly.

"About time," Hermione teased, standing up and offering him a seat.

She slightly smiled, "We’ve got a lot to go over."

"I know," Harry said with a smile of his own. He settled into the chair
opposite her and regarded her with interest.

He mused, “Did Malfoy just leave your office?”

Hermione frowned, “He did.” Her short answer deliberately discouraged

any follow-up questions, and Harry took the hint.

They immediately launched into an animated discussion, their words

flowing quickly as they covered everything weighing on their minds. The
security detail around Hermione had been a particular point of contention,
but after a lengthy debate, Harry finally agreed to her request.

"I’ll arrange for the security detail to be withdrawn. But if anything feels off
—anything at all—you tell me straight away," he conceded while leaning
back in his chair.

Hermione nodded, relief evident in her eyes. She replied eagerly, "I will, I
promise. Thanks, Harry. It was starting to feel like I was being suffocated
with all that extra surveillance."

Their conversation shifted, and soon, they discussed Antonin Dolohov and
his recent movements. They went over theories, piecing together the little
information they had. Time slipped unnoticed, their back-and-forth
continuing effortlessly until Harry glanced at his watch.

"Blimey. It’s lunchtime already," he muttered, somewhat surprised.

Hermione looked at him wide-eyed, "Is it? I didn’t even realise!" She stood
up and stretched slightly while concealing a yawn with the back of her
hand.

She happily asked, "Shall we grab something to eat, then? I have my sights
set on a chicken sandwich."

Harry nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. He agreed wholeheartedly,

"Sounds like a plan." Together, they headed out, their earlier concerns
momentarily set aside as they made their way to lunch.

The Ministry Canteen

Draco sat at the long, worn table in the canteen, casually biting into his
sandwich, seemingly lost in thought. The quiet buzz of the room didn’t
distract him until Hannah appeared and slid into the seat next to him. He
glanced at her, noting the troubled look on her face.

"Alright?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, his tone more curious than

concerned.

Hannah hesitated for a moment, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve before
letting out a long sigh. "No, not really," she finally admitted.

She looked around to make sure no one could hear and added in a low
voice, "It’s Sarah... she’s fucking pregnant."

Draco paused mid-chew, blinking in surprise. "Pregnant?" He repeated, his

sandwich momentarily forgotten. What the hell?

He asked urgently, "What’s going on? Does Potter know?"

Taking a deep breath, Hannah opened up, recounting the situation in hushed
tones—how Sarah had confided in her about wanting to meet John, the
complications, the emotions tangled up in it all. Draco’s expression shifted
from surprise to something more serious as she spoke, his usual calm
demeanour faltering.

He leaned back slightly when she finished, his eyes narrowing as he

considered her words.

Finally, he said carefully, "Hannah, I don’t need to tell you that this... this is
messy and you’re getting too involved."

"But Sarah needs someone," Hannah protested softly, her hands clasped
before her.

She whispered, "I can’t just leave her to deal with this on her own."

Draco shook his head, setting his sandwich down entirely now. He knew
Hannah had a good heart.

He dropped his voice and said, "I’m not saying abandon her."

His voice was firm but not unkind, "But you need to keep some distance.
Trust me, the closer you get, the harder it’ll be to pull away when things
inevitably get worse."

Hannah looked down, clearly conflicted. Draco’s words weighed heavy, but
part of her still felt torn. She couldn't just let Sarah figure things out alone.
The woman was a broken mess and needed any sort of support.

"I know you want to help, but be careful, Hannah," Draco added quietly.
His tone softened.

After a pause, he said, "There’s more to this than you might realise, and it
could drag you into something you’re not prepared for."

Hannah nodded, though her expression remained uncertain. She knew he

spoke the truth, and besides, Draco cared about her. He was a good partner.
"I’ll think about it," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Draco gave her a slight, reassuring nod before returning to his now cold
sandwich.

He smiled, "Good."

When Hannah remained silent, he reached over, patted her hand and
muttered. "Just... be smart about it, yeah? Besides, if Potter or Spencer find
out, there will be hell to pay."

Hannah sank into her chair and sulked. Thomas had already warned her
about letting her feelings cloud her judgment, but she had decided to set up
a meeting with John once Sarah was discharged.

A Few Days Later

Days slipped by, each one feeling more hurried than the last as the trials
loomed ever closer. Hermione found herself caught up with work and
dreading the weekend and brunch. Although her thoughts occasionally
wandered to Draco.

She barely saw him except in fleeting moments when she passed by the
training hall or study rooms. Each time, there he was—practising spells,
sweat dripping down his cheek, or bent over thick, dusty volumes, wholly
absorbed in his work.

For Draco, the days blurred into a relentless routine of lectures, training
exercises, and late-night study sessions as he threw himself into preparation
for his Auror trials. The Ministry's corridors buzzed with the energy of
recruits pushing themselves to the brink, and he was no exception. He had
something vital to prove—not just to himself, but to everyone who still saw
him as the boy with a tainted past.

Each morning began before dawn, with Draco meditating before

meticulously reviewing spells and strategies in the dim light of his training
room at the Manor. He’d arrive at the Ministry early, often beating even the
most dedicated of his peers.

This wasn’t just about becoming an Auror; it was about redemption. It was
about rewriting the narrative that had been set for him since his teenage
years when choices made under duress had left indelible marks on his
reputation.

Emily had become his constant study partner. She was sharp, quick-witted,
and driven—traits Draco respected and found in himself. Together, they
dissected past cases and memorised every last detail of the Ministry’s
protocol, pushing each other harder with each passing hour.

Tonight was no different. The room they’d commandeered was empty and
quiet, save for the rhythmic scratching of quills on parchment and the
occasional flicker of wand light as they practised spells. Scrolls of notes and
thick textbooks were strewn across the desks, a testament to their
determination.

“Let’s go over the dark artifact detection protocols one more time,” Emily
said, her voice edged with the fatigue of too many sleepless nights.

Draco nodded, his eyes scanning the text in front of him. It was fascinating,
to say the least.

“We need to remember the variations for different types of concealment

charms. It’s easy to miss the signs if you’re not looking for the subtle
differences,” he muttered. He kept his tone precise and focused.

Emily gave a tired but determined smile, “You know, Malfoy, if you keep
this up, you’ll be running the department before long.”

Draco smirked, but the seriousness in his eyes belied his expression. He
said with a sarcastic grin, “Potter would love that. It's just that….I’ve got a
lot riding on this.”

He admitted quietly, “More than just passing.”

Emily nodded, sensing the weight behind his words. She had heard the
whispers and seen the sideways glances—Draco Malfoy, the former Death
Eater, trying to become an Auror. It wasn’t lost on her how much he had to
prove, not just to others but to himself.

“You’re going to do great,” she said softly.

She followed up with reassuring words, “You’ve been putting in the work.
It really shows.”

Draco met her gaze, a flicker of gratitude passing through his eyes. He
smiled, “Thanks, Emily. I appreciate it.”

They continued to study in silence, the only sounds being the occasional
shuffle of paper or the faint hum of magical energy as they practised
defensive spells. The hours ticked by, and fatigue was a constant presence,
but Draco pushed it aside. He couldn’t afford to let anything distract him,
even though his mind wandered to Hermione and occasionally Hannah.

As the clock struck midnight, Emily leaned back in her chair and stretched
her arms above her head with a yawn. She said rather groggily, “I think
that’s about as much as my brain can take for tonight.”

Draco nodded, but his eyes remained fixed on the page before him. He
instructed without much thought, “Go ahead.”

He added without looking up, “I’m going to stay a bit longer.”

Emily hesitated for a moment. She watched him with a mixture of concern
and admiration and finally said, “Draco, you’ve been at this for hours. You
need to rest too, you know.”

“I will,” Draco replied. The resolve in his voice made it clear that rest
wasn’t a priority right now.

Still, he smiled when Emily stared at him with concern in her eyes, “Just a
bit more.”
Emily smiled resignedly, “Fine. But don’t burn yourself out. We’ve still got
a few more days until the trials.”

Draco nodded absently, already lost in his thoughts. Emily gathered her
things and left, leaving him alone in the room. The quiet was almost
oppressive, but he welcomed it. In these solitary moments, his
determination crystallised into something almost tangible.

He stared at the page in front of him, the words blurring slightly from
exhaustion. He took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes, forcing himself to
focus. This was about proving that he was more than his past, more than the
sum of his mistakes and the prejudices of others. This was about becoming
the person he knew he could be—the person he had always wanted to be
but had never quite been able to reach.

Draco glanced at the clock. It was well past midnight now, and the weight
of the day was finally catching up to him. He leaned back in his chair,
closing his eyes for a moment. He could feel the strain in his muscles, the
dull ache of tiredness that settled into his bones. But there was no time for
that. Not now.

He opened his eyes and reached for his wand, a determined glint sparking
in his grey eyes. With a flick, he summoned another stack of notes, flipping
through them with the precision of someone who knew exactly what he
needed to learn.

Early Morning - Ministry Healing Centre

Terry Boot sat in the sterile examination room, his fingers tapping a restless
rhythm against the arm of the chair. The Healers had been thorough, as
always, and the room smelled faintly of antiseptic and freshly brewed
potions. The pale green walls, intended to be calming, only made the place
feel more clinical and impersonal.

It wasn’t his first time in this room, and he knew it wouldn’t be his last. The
tests were routine now—part of the Ministry’s mandated checks to ensure
that he was coping with his addiction and keeping it under control. Healers
came and went, quills scratching on parchment as they made notes on his
progress or lack thereof.

Today, Healer Ashford was conducting the tests. She was a no-nonsense
woman in her fifties, with greying hair pulled tightly into a bun and an
expression that always seemed caught somewhere between sympathy and
scepticism. She adjusted her half-moon spectacles, peering over the top of
them as she flicked her wand, sending a shimmering mist into the air
around Terry.

"Alright, Mr. Boot," she said, keeping her voice brisk but not unkind.

She instructed, but needn’t have bothered since he knew the routine, "I need
you to take a deep breath. This diagnostic mist will help us assess the levels
of magical residue in your system. We’re looking for any signs of
instability."

Terry nodded and inhaled deeply, the mist swirling around him before
dissipating into the air. He watched the colours change, shifting from a pale
blue to a murky grey before finally settling on a steady, neutral green. It
was a good sign—a clear indication that he was in control.

Healer Ashford made a note on her clipboard, her quill scratching in the
quiet room. "It’s looking stable," she said, glancing up at him.

She asked with genuine concern, "The mist shows no immediate signs of
magical interference or dependency. How have you been feeling? Any
cravings or moments of weakness?"

Terry hesitated for a moment, considering how much to reveal. Honesty

was supposed to be part of the process, but it was hard to shake the feeling
that every confession was another mark against him.

“There are days,” he admitted finally in a low voice.

He sighed, “It’s not like it just disappears. But I’m managing. I’ve been
sticking to the regimen, keeping busy.”
Healer Ashford nodded, her expression unreadable. “The potion regimen?”

“Yes, and the meditative exercises you recommended,” Terry replied. He

had dismissed the exercises early on, thinking they were ridiculous, but a
fellow patient showed him their benefits, and to his surprise, they worked
wonders.

He shrugged, “They help. So does talking about it, sometimes.” Clearly, he

was uncomfortable divulging his insecurities

Ashford made another note and said with a smile, “That’s good. Talking
about it is important. You’ve got a strong support system?”

Terry shrugged slightly. “My best mate, Michael. He checks in often.” He

thought of Hermione; she hadn't visited since their last encounter when he
kissed her.

Ashford’s quill paused mid-scratch, and she looked up, her gaze more
direct. “You know, Mr. Boot, addiction isn’t something you face alone.
Even with your progress, it’s crucial to maintain those connections.
Isolation can be... dangerous.”

Terry nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. He knew all of this—had
heard it all before—but it didn’t make it any easier. The Healers always
talked about support and reaching out. Still, they didn’t understand what it
was like to be constantly under scrutiny, to see what they saw on a daily
basis: mangled bodies and bloodied corpses and sometimes to feel the
judgment that came with every sideways glance or whispered conversation.

“I know. I’m doing my best,” he said, forcing a small smile onto his face.

Ashford set down her clipboard and gave him a long, assessing look.
Finally, she spoke, “You’re making progress, Terry. The tests today are
promising, but addiction isn’t just about what shows up in the diagnostics.
It’s a daily fight, and it’s okay if it doesn’t always feel like you’re winning.”

Terry looked away, his eyes catching on the soft, flickering glow of the
enchanted lamps. He took a deep breath, feeling the familiar mix of
frustration and resolve. “I just want to get back to normal.”

He said quietly, “Whatever that is.” He needed to leave, rejoin the

department and be around his friends and….Hermione.

Ashford’s expression softened, and she reached out, resting a hand on his
arm. She said warmly, “You’re on the right path. Keep working at it, and
take it one day at a time. And remember, if things get hard, there are people
who want to help you.”

Terry nodded, though the weight of her words settled heavily on his
shoulders. Healer Ashford stepped back, her wand flicking to end the
diagnostic spells and clear the lingering mist. The room felt lighter without
it, but the air was still thick with unspoken expectations.

“I’ll need to come back in a few days for your final check, and if all goes
well, I can sign those release forms,” Ashford said, her tone shifting back to
a professional cadence.

She patted him on the back and said, “In the meantime, keep up with the
regimen and make sure you’re attending your support meetings.”

“Will do,” Terry replied, standing up and smoothing out his robes. He
thanked her politely, almost perfunctory, before heading out of the
examination room.

As he walked down the long corridor back to his small room, past the
bustling Healers and patients, Terry kept his gaze straight ahead. Each step
felt like a small victory but also a reminder of how far he still had to go. It
was a quiet, constant battle, but he was determined to keep fighting—even
if the path ahead was still uncertain.

Hermione's Flat

Hermione sat in her dimly lit flat. She held a glass of red wine, its deep hue
matching the mood of the evening. As she took a slow sip, the warmth of
the alcohol spread through her, but it did little to ease the whirlwind of
thoughts swirling in her mind.

Her thoughts drifted back to her time with Draco in Hawaii—how his touch
had felt against her skin. It was a memory that lingered with an intensity she
hadn't anticipated. The subtle brush of his fingers, the heated gaze that
seemed to ignite a spark within her, had left a lingering imprint.

She remembered the way he had looked at her before they had sex. His grey
eyes had darkened with an emotion that went beyond mere attraction. There
had been an urgency in his touch, a possessive warmth that had sent shivers
down her spine. The sensation of his hand grazing her arm, the slight
pressure of his fingertips against her back—a touch that felt both electric
and comforting.

Hermione set her glass down on the coffee table, her fingers lingering on
the rim as she closed her eyes, letting the memory wash over her. The way
he had pulled her closer, the heat of his body against hers—it was all so
vivid, so tangible in her mind. It wasn’t just physical; it was an emotional
connection that had caught her off guard.

She sighed softly, her thoughts tangled with a mix of desire and confusion.
Their relationship was charged with an undercurrent of tension.

Still, it had never been so palpable, so immediate. Draco had always been a
complicated and unwelcome presence in her life. Now, with the lingering
effects of their encounters still fresh, she found herself caught between
longing and apprehension and struggling with the words he threw at her.

Hermione took another sip of her wine, savouring the taste as she mulled
over her feelings. Unconsciously, she touched her flat belly. Could a child
be growing inside of her? Would Draco be a loving father?

She knew that their connection was fraught with complications, that it was
more than just physical attraction. But as she sat alone, wrapped in the
warmth of her flat and the memory of his touch, she couldn’t help but
wonder what it would be like to explore those feelings further.
She scolded herself for letting her think such things. He had promised never
to touch her, never to dirty himself with her. They were at complete odds
with each other, and perhaps it was all for the best.

With a sigh, Hermione picked up her glass again, but kept it back down and
decided not to drink until she was sure she wasn’t pregnant.

However, she knew that whatever path she chose, the memory of Draco’s
touch would linger, a tantalising reminder of the desires that lay just
beneath the surface.
 Chapter 75
Chapter Summary

I hope to finish this story by February, so updates will become regular.

Thank you so much for your patience.

My health has been suffering. The 40s are not being kind, LOL.

There's just so much going on to summarise. I truly hope you enjoy it!

Enjoy Chapter Seventy-Five!

Let me know your thoughts so far—trust me, it helps! :) Stay safe,

beautiful people!

HAPPY READING! :)

Malfoy Manor

Hermione took a deep breath and made her way up the elegant path to
Malfoy Manor, clutching the carefully wrapped gift she had bought. At first,
she hesitated, not knowing what to say or how to acknowledge all that had
happened, mainly after she found her so-called future husband lip-locked
with another woman and ran out of the Manor. But without a doubt, she
knew an apology was necessary, and more than that, she wanted to see how
Narcissa was holding up.

Despite her complex relationship with Draco, she didn't wish it to impact
the close bond she had forged with his mother.

Dotty opened the door before Hermione could knock, and Max came up
from behind and tried to jump on her. The dog was certainly growing at an
incredible pace, so it seemed rather unlikely that it wasn't of a magical
breed. It was simply massive with long, flowing white fur and beautiful
blood-red eyes. However, the tiny elf managed to keep the dog at bay
despite its best efforts to get away.
Still, Hermione put her arms around Max and gave him a quick hug. She
cared for the beast dearly and was secretly thrilled Narcissa had adopted the
loyal creature.

Narcissa came forward and greeted Hermione with such excitement that it
made the younger woman’s heart burst with joy. The aristocratic woman
wasted no time at all: “Hermione! My dear, it is wonderful to see you.”
Hermione blushed as she was ushered into the drawing room. There was no
tension except genuine warmth and concern.

Without a further word, Hermione handed over the gift—a beautifully

crafted book of herbology bound in leather. Narcissa’s expression further
softened, and a bright smile split her face in half. She absolutely adored
gardening. Her future daughter-in-law knew her well.

"Thank you, darling," Narcissa said while her fingers lightly brushed over
the cover.

She kept it aside and smiled, "You didn’t have to."

"I wanted to," Hermione smiled warmly and replied earnestly. She stood by
the fireplace and gathered her courage to apologise and hopefully explain.

Once she had mustered the strength, she confessed, "I wanted to apologise
profusely for how everything went with the erm…preparations and what
followed after. It was... well, it wasn’t handled as it should have been." She
hadn't meant for her voice to break with emotion when Astoria Greengrass
and her future husband kissing passionately came to mind.

Narcissa gave a slight nod of understanding, her eyes distant for a moment.
She studied the woman before her. The situation had been awkward for
everyone involved.

After a while, she said quietly, "It’s in the past now. It was my fault entirely
to force something you detest upon you. However, I hope Draco has made
amends for his horrendous behaviour regarding Astoria.” She motioned for
Hermione to sit.
Hermione looked away somewhat guiltily before taking a seat. Well, he
hadn't, except to make a promise to withhold any physical contact and
emotional involvement.

With an affectionate smile, Narcissa offered, "Let’s put it behind us." It had
been all her fault for trying to force the situation. The problems caused by
her meddling were irreparable.

Hermione felt her gaze wander. She was looking for any signs of her fiance,
but there didn't seem to be any. Perhaps he had already left for work.

Narcissa caught her gaze and smiled. With a slight frown on her face, she
said, “He’s not returned since yesterday. I hardly see him these days.”

Hermione managed a surprised, “Oh.”

The two women sat at a small, perfectly arranged table, where a pot of tea
and delicate china cups waited. The morning sun filtered in through the tall
windows, casting a soft glow over the room. Narcissa asked about
Hermione’s parents. As they sipped their tea, the conversation naturally
turned to more about Draco.

"I haven’t seen much of him since..." Hermione began, trailing off as she
tried to find the right words.

She offered some insight: "Since the trials have drawn nearer, he’s been
pushing himself hard." She had observed him pouring over books with
spells, practising until odd hours of the night. He looked oddly mesmerising
when concentrating and reading text after text while strands of ice-blonde
hair fell on his forehead.

Narcissa’s elegant brow furrowed in concern, "You’re not the only one to
notice."

She said, setting her cup down with a quiet clink. "I’ve tried speaking with
him, but he’s always been determined to handle things in his own way. He
won’t listen, no matter how much I worry."
Hermione sighed, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup.

Narcissa nodded, her gaze thoughtful. "It’s the burden of his name. I’m
just... I’m concerned he’s burning himself out. He barely eats, barely sleeps.
It’s as though he’s carrying all the weight of it on his shoulders alone."

She said softly. "Draco feels that deeply. He’s always been conscious of the
expectations placed upon him, even when he doesn’t show it."

As they spoke, Bernard entered the room. He greeted Hermione warmly

before taking a seat at the table, clearly having overheard part of the
conversation.

"I couldn’t help but hear you discussing Draco," Bernard said, his voice
calm but knowing.

He smiled and added, "I understand your concern, love. But Draco has his
reasons."

Hermione looked at him rather curiously and asked, "Reasons?" It was fair
to assume what the reasons were. He was Draco Malfoy. He had much to
prove

Bernard nodded. "He’s not just fighting for himself. He’s fighting for a
future—for something better. He knows the past weighs heavily, and he’s
determined to carve out a path that separates him from it. He’s pushing
himself because he wants to prove he’s more than his family’s history."

Narcissa’s eyes softened as she listened, though a flicker of sadness crossed

her features. She knew better than anyone about her son’s pain and
sacrifices. Still, it hurt to see him push himself to the absolute edge. She
worried for his sanity.

Unable to keep her thoughts to herself, she asked quietly, "But must he do it
at such a cost?"

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. She supposed it made complete sense.

Bernard smiled gently. "Sometimes, Narcissa, we need to let people find
their own way. Draco knows what he’s doing, even if it’s hard for us to
watch." He was fond of the boy, especially now that he changed so
drastically. However, from the beginning, Bernard could fully sympathise
and understand Hermione’s situation.

Hermione sat back, taking in his words. She didn't quite know what to say.
Somehow, she wanted to cry but held back the tears.

The conversation lingered, meaningful and reflective. As the morning light

shifted and the tea cooled in their cups, Hermione felt a quiet understanding
settle between them. They might all have different perspectives, but one
thing was clear—they all cared deeply for Draco, even if they expressed it
in different ways. Yes, she cared for her former bully.

Blaise's Home

It had been days since Daphne had genuinely spoken to Blaise. She moved
about their home with an air of calm efficiency, looking after the children,
smiling at them, playing the part of the perfect mother. But Blaise could see
it—the coldness in her eyes whenever she glanced his way, the way her
smile never quite reached her face when he was near.

He had tried to give her space, to let the tension between them dissipate on
its own. But each passing day only seemed to widen the chasm between
them, and now he couldn’t bear it any longer.

That evening, after dinner, the children had finally gone to bed, leaving the
two of them in the quiet of the sitting room. Daphne was tidying away some
books, her movements brisk, almost mechanical. Blaise stood in the
doorway, his heart hammering in his chest as he watched her.

"Daph," he began, his voice low but firm. Her behaviour towards him broke
his heart.

She didn’t look up but continued to arrange the books and muttered, "Not
now, Blaise."
His jaw tightened. "No, now!" He hadn't meant to be loud, but she left him
with little choice. Daphne was the suffer-in-silence type and put on a perfect
face rather than admit they were having troubles. Not that they were, but
showing weakness was not something she did.

He stepped forward. His frustration bubbled over, and he gritted out, "We
can’t keep pretending everything’s fine. You’ve been avoiding me for days."

Daphne straightened her back to him and simply said, "I’ve been thinking,
Blaise."

"Thinking about what?" he asked, his voice edged with desperation. Merlin,
would she leave him over something so trivial? No, it wasn't possible. She
loved him as he loved her.

He stated the painful truth, "You’ve barely said two words to me since we
argued. You can’t just... shut me out like this."

Daphne turned slowly, her expression composed but distant. She said
quietly enough so as not to be heard by anyone else, "I told you I needed
time."

"Time for what?" Blaise’s voice cracked, his hands clenching into fists at
his sides.

He pleaded with some anger laced into his words, "Time to be angry? Time
to punish me? You’re freezing me out, Daph, and I don’t even know what
I’ve done that’s so unforgivable."

Her eyes flashed. The mask of calm slipped ever so slightly, and she stated
the truth she believed, "You didn’t think it was worth telling me that Ginny
Weasley was in Hawaii with you. You didn’t think I was worth telling."

Blaise took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He explained once

again, "I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to upset you. It was just
another trip. That’s all it was. Ginny being there... it wasn’t important."

"Not important?" Daphne’s voice rose, the bitterness creeping in.

She almost shouted, "You know exactly how I feel about her, Blaise. How
am I supposed to trust you when you can’t even be honest about something
like that?"

"I was being honest!" Blaise’s frustration broke through, his voice growing
louder.

He argued pointedly, "I didn’t think it mattered because nothing happened.

There was nothing to hide!"

Daphne stared at him, her face unreadable for a long moment before she
spoke, her voice quieter, colder, "Maybe it didn’t matter to you, Blaise. But
it mattered to me."

He ran a hand through his hair and said, exasperated, "I love you, Daphne.
You’re my wife, the mother of my children. How can you possibly think I’d
do anything to jeopardise that?"

She shook her head slowly. "It’s not just about what you did or didn’t do.
It’s about the fact that you didn’t tell me. You made the decision for both of
us. You thought it wasn’t worth mentioning, that it wouldn’t bother me, but
it does bother me.”

Blaise felt his chest tighten, "That’s not true."

"Isn’t it?" she countered, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

He stepped toward her. His heart ached at the sight of her standing there, so
hurt and so far away from him.

Blaise held her gently and apologised, "Daphne... I’m sorry. I should have
told you. I should have been better. But please, don’t let this tear us apart."

Her lips trembled, and she blinked away the tears that threatened to fall. "I
don’t know how to fix this."

She whispered. "I don’t know how to stop feeling like I’m losing you."
Losing him would break her in a way she couldn't explain. He had been the
centre of her life for as long as she could remember.
"You’re not losing me," Blaise said, his voice thick with emotion.

He asserted, "You’re everything to me." It was the absolute truth.

She turned away, brushed a hand across her cheek and said softly, "I need
time, Blaise. I can’t just... snap out of this. I need to figure out what I want,
what we need. For the sake of our children... and for us."

Blaise felt like the ground was crumbling beneath his feet. He pleaded,
"Daphne, don’t do this. Don’t shut me out. We can work through this, we
always have."

"I’m not shutting you out. But I need space. I can’t pretend everything’s
fine when it isn’t," she said quietly. Her behaviour might have been an
overreaction, but that was precisely how strongly she felt about Blaise and
Ginny Weasley.

There was a long silence between them, the weight of her words settling
heavily in the air.

Blaise nodded slowly, though the ache in his chest was almost unbearable.

"Alright. If that’s what you need, " he whispered.

Daphne didn’t respond. Her back still turned to him as she quietly wiped
another tear from her cheek. Blaise stood there for a moment longer,
helpless before he turned and walked out of the room, leaving behind the
woman he loved but could no longer reach.

Saturday Morning

Hannah stood with her team just outside Azkaban's cold, towering walls, the
oppressive atmosphere weighing heavy in the air. The sound of the ocean
crashing against the distant rocks was a dull roar, blending with the chill
that seemed to seep through their very bones. The notorious prison loomed
ahead, its dark stone walls as intimidating as ever. Today was a high-stakes
prisoner transport, and everyone was on edge.
The door to the holding cell creaked open, and guards led the prisoner out,
his hands shackled with enchanted restraints that glowed faintly in the dim
light. Despite the weight of his chains, his posture was unnervingly relaxed.
His face twisted into a smirk as he was brought forward. His arrogance was
palpable, his every step deliberate, as if this whole thing was just a minor
inconvenience in his day.

"You lot look nervous," he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery as his
gaze swept over Hannah and her team.

His eyes narrowed, and he demanded, “Where are you taking me?”

Hannah hissed, “None of your fucking business.”

His eyes gleamed with twisted amusement as he mused, "What, you think
this lot of chains and a few wands are enough to keep me in check?"

Hannah's jaw tightened, but she kept her expression calm and composed.
She had dealt with dangerous criminals before, and she knew better than to
let his smug attitude rattle her.

"Get moving," she said coldly, nodding to her team as they began to escort
him out.

The prisoner chuckled, his laugh low and menacing, "Azkaban isn't so bad,
you know. A bit damp, maybe, but the company’s what really makes it
interesting." His eyes glinted as he glanced at the nearby Dementors
hovering in the distance. "They have their... charms."

Hannah’s hands balled into fists. She closed her eyes and forced herself to
calm down.

His arrogance sent a ripple of tension through the group. One of Hannah's
team members shot him a glare, gripping their wand tighter, but she quickly
gave a slight shake of her head. They couldn’t let him bait them. Not here.
Not now.
The prisoner leaned closer as he was led past her, his voice dropping to a
whisper only she could hear, "You know this won't hold me, right? Sooner
or later, they will come for me, woman. I'll be back out there... and then
we’ll see who’s really in control."

He almost whispered, “Guess who I’m coming for first?”

Hannah didn’t flinch. She looked at him with contempt and disgust.

"You're not going anywhere but a deeper hole," she replied calmly, though
her eyes flashed with determination. She wasn’t about to let this man’s
cockiness undermine the operation. Every detail had been planned down to
the last second, and there was no room for error.

As the group moved toward the transport carriage, Hannah signalled to the
others. Their wands were drawn, and their eyes scanned the perimeter for
any sign of trouble. The prisoner was dangerous, and even though his
bravado suggested he thought he was untouchable, they knew better than to
underestimate him.

"Hope you’ve got something more secure than a carriage this time," the
prisoner taunted as he was loaded into the secure compartment, his grin
widening.

He almost laughed, "Because it’s going to take a lot more than some magic
to keep me where you want me."

Hannah’s gaze didn’t waver. "Let’s see how cocky you are when you're
back in a cell," she shot back, her voice steady and hard as steel. She
slammed the door shut, locking it with a flick of her wand.

As the team prepared to depart, the prisoner’s laughter echoed through the
walls of the van. The sound grated on everyone’s nerves, but Hannah
remained calm. She knew he was trying to get inside their heads, to make
them doubt, to make them slip.

But she wouldn’t let that happen.

This was the start of something bigger, something that went far beyond
mere transport.

Dorian stood in the shadows overlooking the rendezvous point, his robes
bellowing ominously in the wind. His sharp eyes tracked the men with him,
primarily werewolves, as if wizards would take orders from him.
Everything was precise and calculated, and he admired how Hannah
commanded the scene with quiet authority. But the company he kept tonight
was different—restless, volatile, and thirsty for something far darker.

A few of the men beside him shifted impatiently, the sparkle in their eyes
betraying their bloodlust. These weren’t regulars; they were specialists
brought in by Dolohov for the more challenging jobs, men who relished in
the chaos and violence that came with these operations. Dorian had worked
with them before and knew their tendencies well.

One of them, a tall man with a cruel scar running down his cheek, leaned
closer to Dorian, his voice low and gravelly. He snarled, "When do we get
to have some fun, eh? I’ve been itching to put those cocky Auror bastards in
their place."

Dorian shot him a sharp look and gritted out, "You’ll keep that thirst of
yours in check, or I’ll see to it personally." His voice was cold, but beneath
the surface was a dangerous edge that made the man back off. Dorian
wasn’t one to make idle threats.

The others exchanged glances but said nothing, though their frustration was
evident. They wanted blood, and they wanted it soon. Dorian could feel the
tension building, a slow burn beneath the surface that could quickly erupt if
not kept in line.

He knew the Potion Master was necessary and no ordinary criminal, and if
things went sideways, the consequences would be far-reaching. The last
thing they needed was to let personal vendettas or reckless violence
interfere with the mission. Hannah had trusted him to lead this part of the
operation, and Dorian wasn’t about to disappoint her.
"Stick to the plan," Dorian said in a low voice, his gaze sweeping over the
group.

He demanded, with a low growl, "No one attacks anymore unless necessary.
We do this clean, by the book, or we’ll all pay the price."

The scarred man sneered, but there was a begrudging respect in his eyes. He
spat, "By the book, huh? Funny, I thought you liked to get your hands dirty,
Dorian."

Dorian’s lips curled into a humourless smile. "When the time’s right. But
not today. We don’t need to make a spectacle out of this." His tone left no
room for argument.

The others fell silent, though Dorian could still sense their hunger
simmering just beneath the surface. These men weren’t like him. He knew
how to bide his time and be patient when the situation called for it. But
they? They were predators, always on the hunt, always ready to strike.

"Stay sharp," Dorian muttered, primarily to himself, though the warning

hung in the air for all to hear.

The night was still young. He could only hope that his men would keep
their thirst for blood in check. Because if they didn’t, it wouldn’t just be the
prisoner who paid the price.

The convoy rumbled down the desolate road, its darkened vehicles moving
in tight formation as they neared the extraction point. The air was thick with
tension, and Hannah could feel its weight pressing down on her shoulders.
This was the moment they had been preparing for—Dolohov’s people
would strike soon, and everything had to go perfectly.

Hannah exchanged a brief, meaningful look with the rest of her team.
Everyone knew their roles. The plan was simple, but the risks were high.
Any mistake, any slip in timing, and the mission would fail. The
consequences would be devastating, especially since no one else on the
other team besides Dorian knew of the actual plan. She hoped he would get
everything right.

The prisoner, still cocky and oblivious to the plan that awaited him, sat in
the armoured van, unaware of the forces that were about to collide over his
fate. His arrogance had been grating all day, but now it seemed insignificant
compared to what lay ahead.

Hannah's heart pounded in her chest as she signalled to the others to get into
position. The extraction would need to look real—like they had been caught
off guard. It had to be convincing, or Dolohov’s people would know
something was wrong.

Dorian, standing just a few feet away, gave a sharp nod, his eyes scanning
the road for any sign of movement. His men, tense and hungry for action,
were positioned strategically along the route. They were ready, though some
of them were far too eager for what was coming.

The thirst for violence still simmered beneath the surface, but Dorian had
kept them in check—barely.

The convoy was close now, the sound of the engines growing louder with
each passing second. Hannah tightened her grip on her wand, every muscle
in her body coiled and ready. She felt the weight of responsibility settle
heavily on her. This wasn’t just about transporting a prisoner; this was
about survival, deception, and staying one step ahead of one of the most
dangerous wizards in the world.

Then it happened.

A deafening crack echoed through the air as the first spell struck the lead
vehicle, sending it skidding violently to the side. The driver had long since
apparated and was well away from harm. The second van came to an abrupt
halt as the transport team scrambled to react, but it was too late. Figures in
dark cloaks, their faces masked, descended on the scene with brutal
efficiency. Dolohov's people had arrived.
"Now," Hannah whispered to the others. Without hesitation, they moved
into action.

The fight was quick and chaotic, with spells flying from every direction.
Hannah and her team played the part, struggling to hold off the ambush
while subtly guiding the extraction, which unfolded as planned. Dolohov's
brutal and focused men were unaware they were being allowed to succeed.
Their goal was singular: extract the prisoner at all costs.

It was futile to hope there wouldn't be casualties and that no blood would be
spilt. There was simply too much bad blood on either side.

Hannah caught sight of the prisoner being pulled from the van, his face a
mixture of confusion and smug satisfaction as one of Dolohov’s people
freed him from his restraints. His confidence was back, full force, as if he
had known all along this would happen.

He looked directly at Hannah and smiled. A deadly half smile that

whispered of a promise.

Reluctantly, Dorian struck down an Auror, his wand flashing with precision.
The scarred man at his side was more ferocious, barely holding back his
desire to unleash absolute carnage, but Dorian kept him under control with
a single glare. They couldn’t afford to let this go wrong. Not now.

Hannah glared as she pointed her wand towards Dorian. The bastard. How
dare he attack one of them? As the prisoner was bundled into an awaiting
vehicle by Dolohov's people, she exchanged one last glance with Dorian.
They had played their part. Now, it was out of their hands.

The van sped away into the darkness, leaving the convoy in disarray, the
scene of a seemingly botched transport operation. Hannah's chest heaved
with the adrenaline of the moment, but she forced herself to stay calm. The
real work had just begun.

"It’s done," An Auror muttered under his breath, his gaze fixed on the
retreating lights of the van.
He added solemnly, "Now, let’s hope they do exactly what we expect."

Hannah nodded. She wiped the sweat from her brow and said, "They will.
We’ve given them exactly what they wanted."

But as the night closed in, a creeping sense of unease lingered. Dolohov’s
people had the prisoner now. And with that, the real danger began.

Nott Manor

Theo wrapped his arms gently around Luna as they lay tangled in the soft
sheets of their bed. The room was dimly lit, the warmth of the evening
casting a golden glow over them. Luna nestled her head against his chest,
her silvery-blonde hair fanned out, and she smiled up at him, her eyes
twinkling with that dreamy, far-off look she so often had.

But tonight, there was something different—a restlessness in her body, a

craving she couldn’t entirely ignore.

"I'm hungry," Luna murmured, her voice soft but insistent.

Theo chuckled. He brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear and asked
lovingly, "What are you hungry for, love? We just had dinner."

Luna shook her head, and her fingers traced small patterns on his chest. She
thought for a moment and responded, "No, I want fruit. Juicy, sweet fruit."

Her voice was full of longing, the kind only someone deep into pregnancy
could understand. She licked her lips, "Something tart... maybe a peach, or
raspberries."

Theo smiled at her indulgently, running his hand over her almost rounded
belly, hoping to feel the faint flutter of their child. The pregnancy had
brought out so many quirks in Luna, and he found it both endearing and
amusing. Her cravings, especially, had kept him on his toes, running out at
odd hours to find the perfect snack to satisfy her sudden urges.
"Fruit, huh?" Theo said, kissing the top of her head.

He chuckled, "Raspberries and peaches at this hour? I suppose nothing less

will do?"

Luna nodded eagerly, her wide blue eyes lighting up. She pouted, "They're
calling to me, Theo. I can almost taste them." She grinned mischievously,
shifting against him as her fingers danced along his arm.

Theo laughed and said, while shaking his head, "How is it that you always
know how to convince me? You realise this is the third time this week
you’ve sent me out for fruit, right?"

Luna giggled softly, her laughter melodic. She beamed, "I can't help it. The
baby wants it. You wouldn’t deny us that, would you?"

Theo groaned dramatically but with a smirk. He couldn’t resist her, not
now, not ever.

He said with a loving smile, "I’ll find you some fruit." He gave her a quick
peck on the lips before sitting up, the cool air hitting his bare skin. As he
swung his legs over the edge of the bed, Luna tugged on his hand, pulling
him back towards her.

"You’re sweet, Theo," she whispered, gazing up at him with affection.

She sighed and said with some guilt, "I love that you never complain."

Theo's expression softened. He leaned down to kiss her forehead and said,
"For you, I’d run to the ends of the earth. But luckily, the fruit bowl in the
kitchen isn’t that far."

Luna smiled, settling back against the pillows with a contented sigh. "Hurry
back," she called as he padded out of the room, her voice soft and full of
warmth. "And maybe get some strawberries too."

Theo laughed as he left the room, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be
returning with just one kind of fruit.
The prisoner, still smirking, leaned back against the cold metal of the van
they had just exited, his posture arrogant despite the chaos of the extraction.
He straightened his shirt cuffs as though he were about to attend a meeting,
not freshly freed from Azkaban. His sharp eyes flicked toward Dorian, his
smirk widening into something more cruel and mocking.

"About time you got me out of there," he drawled, his voice laced with
condescension.

He mocked, "I was beginning to think you’d forgotten all about me.
Honestly, Dorian, for a man with your supposed reputation, I expected
better. Took you long enough."

Dorian’s jaw clenched, every muscle in his body taut with restrained anger.
His wand hand twitched instinctively, but he stilled it. The urge to punch the
arrogant bastard square in the face surged within him, but he suppressed it.
He couldn't lose control now. Not when they were this close to completing
the mission. Not with the Master’s presence looming over everything.

"You're welcome," Dorian muttered, barely containing the sarcasm in his

voice. He kept his gaze straight ahead, refusing to look at the prisoner
again. He’d been through worse than this—he’d dealt with scum like this
before. But this one… this one made his blood boil in ways few others
could.

The prisoner let out a derisive chuckle. "Still playing the obedient dog, I
see. I thought you'd have grown a spine by now, but here you are, still
following orders, still waiting on our Master like a good little soldier."

Dorian’s hands curled into fists at his sides, and he could feel his heartbeat
pounding in his ears. He could knock this man out cold in seconds and wipe
that smug expression off his face, but that would only complicate things.
Instead, he took a deep breath, his icy gaze flickering towards the prisoner.

"You’d still be rotting in that cell if it weren’t for me," Dorian said evenly,
his voice low. "So keep your gratitude—or your insults—to yourself."
Griffin Sandar, the prisoner said, still amused, "Oh, I’m grateful, Dorian.
Truly. But don’t kid yourself into thinking this was all your doing. The
Master has always had the final word, and I have no doubt this little rescue
was his idea, not yours." He stepped closer, sneering. "Don’t pretend you
matter in all of this."

Dorian’s teeth ground together. The prisoner’s words stung, but he refused
to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. He wouldn’t rise to the bait. Not
here. Not now.

Instead, he stood tall, cold and unflinching as they waited in the secluded
clearing for the Master to arrive. The night air was thick with tension, and
every second that passed only increased the weight of the silence between
them.

The prisoner, clearly enjoying Dorian’s forced restraint, leaned against the
van, looking out at the horizon, where the darkness seemed to grow thicker.
"Any moment now," he murmured with a smirk. "He’ll arrive, and all this
will be forgotten. You’ll be back in your place, and I’ll be exactly where I
belong."

Dorian kept his eyes forward, his hands steady even though his temper
simmered beneath the surface. The prisoner was right about one thing—the
Master’s arrival would change everything.

And once the Master was there, Dorian would have to show more
remarkable restraint.

DMLE

Hannah stood tall in front of Harry and Thomas, brushing a few stray
strands of hair from her face. Her clothes were a little torn from the scuffle,
and her arms bore a few scrapes, but otherwise, she was fine. Her team, too,
had come out of the mission mostly unscathed—tired but not seriously
injured. Still, there was a heavy weight in the air, one that had nothing to do
with the minor physical toll the mission had taken.
"All in all," Hannah began, her voice steady despite the exhaustion creeping
in.

She filled them in with a slight smile, “It could have been worse. Besides a
few scrapes and bruises, the team is unharmed. We did everything by the
book…." Her voice almost trailed off for a second.

Harry, standing behind his desk, ran a hand through his already tousled hair,
frustration apparent on his face. His green eyes flicked from Hannah to
Thomas, who sat beside him, his expression grim but more controlled.

"You did well, Hannah. Don’t think for a second that this was your fault,"
Harry said, his tone firm, though there was an undeniable edge of regret.

He acknowledged, "We all knew how risky this operation was, and you
handled it as best as anyone could’ve."

Thomas nodded, folding his arms over his chest, his brows furrowed in
thought. "Still, letting a high-profile prisoner like that escape… it’s going to
raise a lot of questions."

He glanced at Harry and sighed, "And you know Skeeter will have a field
day with this once word gets out."

Harry’s jaw tightened at the mention of Skeeter. "We’ll deal with the press
later. For now, our priority is figuring out why Dolohov values this prisoner
above others,” he said, his voice clipped.

Hannah swallowed hard, feeling the weight of that failure, though she knew
she couldn’t have done much to prevent it. "I know this isn’t the outcome
we wanted, but we’ll get him back someday. We won’t stop until we do."

Harry’s eyes softened a fraction as he looked at her. "I know you won’t.
We’ll regroup, reassess, and keep pushing forward. The truth will come out
sooner than later."

Thomas gave a slight nod, his usually stoic demeanour giving way to a
slight sigh. "We got off lucky in some ways. No major casualties. The
mission could’ve ended much worse." His tone was matter-of-fact, but there
was a shared understanding that this victory was a hollow one.

He issued a fair warning, "Still, we need to stay vigilant. Dolohov is playing

a long game, and he’s just moved another piece on the board."

Hannah nodded, her determination undimmed. "We’ll be ready for whatever

comes next."

Harry looked at her with a mix of gratitude and concern, and for a brief
moment, his leadership gave way to the weariness of years spent fighting
battles like this. He instructed firmly, "Get some rest, Hannah. You’ve
earned it."

With a nod, she left the office, knowing full well that rest would be short-
lived and the fight was far from over.

Sunday - Brunch

Draco stood outside Hermione’s flat, adjusting the collar of his dark coat as
he waited. The autumn air was crisp, hinting at the coming chill of winter.
He glanced up as Hermione opened the door, stepping out with a slight
frown, her expression already set in that determined way he had come to
recognise all too well.

“Malfoy,” she greeted, locking the door behind her.

She followed with a sarcastic undertone, “Right on time.” Quite frankly, she
had been ready for hours, anticipating his arrival and changing her outfit a
dozen times.

“Granger,” Draco replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He

looked her over briefly—her tight blouse and tailored trousers impeccable
as ever, but her eyes held a tension he knew wasn’t just about brunch.

“Let’s get the ground rules straight,” Hermione said right off the bat.
Draco raised a hand, stopping her midsentence, and said, “Thank you for
speaking with Mother. I know it meant a great deal to her.” His mother had
berated him for being an uncouth brute for not apologising and then
badgered him for working too much. Thank Salazar for Bernard, who had
intervened on his behalf and set things straight.

Hermione couldn't help but smile and confess, “I'm glad she liked the book.
Besides, you must know that she misses you.”

Draco sighed, “I have to study. I must pass these exams.”

“I know,” Hermione muttered. She completely understood his need to prove

himself.

An awkward silence filled the air until she informed with firm instructions
as if instructing a child, “We’re going in, having brunch, playing nice, and
keeping everything under wraps. No hints, no comments, and definitely
no…erm, bad behaviour.” She referred to their moments of unbridled
passion in her old room.

Draco’s smirk widened, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Granger.
I’m perfectly well-behaved.” He had no intention of repeating their past
trysts. That behaviour was well in the past.

He moved towards the door but didn't get around to opening it because she
asked curiously, “Um, what are you doing?”

Draco mused, “Er, walking? I thought that was fairly obvious.”

Hermione’s confusion was apparent. She questioned with a raised brow,

“Aren't we apparating?”

Draco explained with a slight grin, “I thought we could drive. Bernard

acquired a new car and I thought of giving it a go.”

Hermione almost snorted, “But you don't know how to drive.” Maybe he
did. He indeed rode a motorcycle with complete ease.
Draco said with a definite roll of his eyes, “True. But I do have a rather
capable driver.” The audacity of the woman to underestimate him at every
turn. Surely, he had proved himself somewhat useful?

“Fine. Shall we get on with it?” Hermione said, mildly annoyed. All this
showboating was utterly unnecessary.

A sleek black Mercedes Benz was parked outside her building. They were
greeted by a smartly dressed man who rushed to open the door, but a sharp
look from Draco stopped him dead in his tracks.

Like a perfect gentleman, Draco opened the door for Hermione, who rolled
her eyes as she slid into the back seat; he went around and followed suit.
The car purred to life, and they pulled away from the curb.

“So, just to recap. Let’s just act civil towards each other, and all will be
well,” Hermione said.

Draco rolled his eyes and averted his gaze. However, he could hardly resist
with some rather pointed quips, “Have I not treated you well today?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” Hermione continued, her tone sharp.

She gritted out, “And for the love of Merlin, no comments about the
wedding. My parents already have enough opinions about… everything.”

Draco gave her a sidelong glance. His expression softened slightly, “Relax,
Granger. I know how to play my part. Besides, I’m not the one who’s
wound up about this.” Without much thought, he reached across to touch
her hand but withdrew as reality dawned on him.

Hermione shot him a glare, but he could see the hint of a smile lurking
beneath it. She mused, “Just… don’t do that thing where you try to charm
my mum, okay? She doesn’t need any more reasons to like you.”

“I can’t help it if I’m naturally charming,” Draco said, somewhat amused.

His tone was teasing but with a touch of sincerity. He glanced at her again,
their eyes meeting briefly, and for a moment, the air between them seemed
to thicken, heavy with the unspoken words and lingering tension that had
become almost a staple of their interactions.

They drove the rest of the way in a comfortable, albeit tense, silence. As
they pulled up to her parents' house, Hermione took a deep breath, steeling
herself for the usual barrage of questions and scrutiny that always
accompanied family gatherings. Draco watched her for a moment before
turning off the engine.

“You’re going to be fine, Granger,” he said somewhat sarcastically. Frankly,

he wanted to comfort her and tell her she honestly had nothing to worry
about. He would be the perfect gentleman despite their issues.

She nodded and gave him a small, grateful smile, “Thanks.”

He pulled out some gifts, and Hermione widened her eyes, “What are
those?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. He would've thought it was fairly obvious what

they were. Still, he explained, “Presents for your charming parents and
grandmother. Despite our situation, I will not arrive empty-handed and
appear unmannered.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and swallowed the nasty retort that almost left her
lips.

The door opened before they even had a chance to knock, and Hermione’s
parents, Richard and Julia, greeted them warmly. Phyllis, Hermione’s
grandmother, was already seated in the living room, her sharp eyes
twinkling as she took in Draco with evident approval.

“Draco! It’s lovely to see you again,” Julia exclaimed, pulling him into a
hug that he returned with practised ease. She exuded warmth and motherly
affection.

“Mrs. Granger, always a pleasure,” Draco said, his voice smooth and polite.
He nodded to Richard, who gave him a curt, measuring look, and then to
Phyllis, who beamed at him from her armchair.
“How many times have I told you to call me Julia,” Julia gushed, and
Hermione once again rolled her eyes and poured herself a hefty glass of
wine. It was not the wisest decision, but she desperately needed something
to settle her bloody nerves.

Draco, ever the picture of composure, smiled warmly as he greeted them.

"Good morning, Mr. Granger, Nana," he said. In that overly polite tone,
Hermione knew all too well.

He smiled and added, "Thank you for having me again. It's always such a
delight to be here.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione drinking
and couldn't help but feel a sense of disapproval. A drunk Granger was a
force to be reckoned with.

As they settled into the dining room, the conversation flowed easily, filled
with the usual pleasantries and updates on work and life. Julia and Phyllis
were full of questions about the trip to Hawaii. This holiday was supposed
to be a relaxing getaway for all, but it turned into a string of unexpected
encounters and hidden emotions.

The clinking of cutlery and the soft hum of conversation filled the Granger
household as Hermione and Draco entered the dining room. The scent of
freshly brewed coffee mingled with the sweet aroma of scones, creating a
warm and homey atmosphere. Richard and Julia went to stand by Phyllis,
Hermione’s no-nonsense grandmother, who seemed suspiciously spry for
someone who’d supposedly "lost her patience for nonsense years ago."

Hermione barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Always a delight? He had
found subtle ways to drive her up the wall or, most correctly, seduce her.
This morning was no different.

Draco, undeterred, pulled out Hermione’s chair for her, that maddeningly
charming smile still plastered on his face. Reluctantly, with the wine glass
still in her hand, she moved forward.

"Hermione, love," he murmured as he leaned down close to her ear.

He said sternly, "Stop drinking and do sit. I wouldn’t want you to strain
yourself before brunch." His voice was low enough for only her to hear, and
the double meaning wasn’t lost on her. She narrowed her eyes at him as she
sat down, her temper already simmering.

He took his seat beside her, ideally at ease, and turned his attention back to
her family with that impeccable aristocratic charm. He smiled, displaying
his perfect white teeth, "I do hope I’m not intruding on any family traditions
today."

Richard scoffed lightly and mused, "Nothing too sacred, son. Just brunch.
Though I suppose you don't strike me as the eggs-and-toast sort."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," Draco replied, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

He chucked, "I’ve developed quite a taste for... simpler things in life." He

cast a fleeting glance at Hermione, a hint of amusement playing at the
corners of his lips.

Hermione shot him a look that could kill him. He was deliberately being
overly nice, making double-entendre comments that only she would catch,
and it was infuriating. The fact that her family was none the wiser only
made it worse.

"So, Draco," Phyllis piped up, her shrewd eyes never leaving his face.

She insisted rather curiously, "How was your trip to Hawaii? Hermione
mentioned it briefly." To be honest, her granddaughter had been relatively
tight-lipped about the experience, which could only truly mean one thing.

"Ah, yes, Hawaii," Draco said with such a dramatic sigh. He leaned back in
his chair as though reminiscing about some grand adventure and almost
whispered reverently, "The beaches, the sunsets, the—how should I put it—
unmatched heat."

His gaze flickered toward Hermione again, the corners of his mouth
twitching upward. He rasped, "Quite the experience."
Hermione’s grip tightened on her fork. Unmatched heat , indeed. If he kept
this up, there would be an inferno in the dining room, and it would not be
the pleasant kind.

"Oh, how lovely," Julia said, utterly oblivious to the tension rising between
Hermione and Draco.

Phyllis beamed, "You must have had a wonderful time."

Draco nodded enthusiastically, almost too much so and confessed, "It was
unforgettable.

“Oh, Hawaii sounded absolutely divine,” Julia gushed as she poured the
tea.

She smiled broadly, “The pictures were stunning. It must have been so
romantic.”

Hermione glanced at Draco, her cheeks colouring slightly. She couldn't

deny it had been unforgettable.

“It was… nice,” she said carefully.

“Nice?” Phyllis scoffed, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

She was always one to call out her grandchild, and today was no different,
“Come now, Hermione, it had to be more than just ‘nice.’”

Draco chuckled softly, his gaze sliding to Hermione. Gracefully, he came to

her rescue, “It was quite the trip. Beautiful beaches, exquisite food… and
some rather unforgettable moments.”

Hermione shot him a look that promised retribution later, but Draco merely
smirked, sipping his tea. He knew exactly what he was doing—stirring the
pot just enough to keep things interesting without crossing the line.

However, Hermione kept silent and nodded, though her mind was already
racing with thoughts of how to navigate the conversation without spilling
too much. She could feel Draco’s eyes on her, his presence a steady anchor
amid the swirling uncertainty.

Phyllis, on the other hand, was watching the exchange with a keen interest.

The conversation drifted to safer topics after that, with Julia talking about
her garden and Richard giving his two cents about current politics. But the
whole time, Hermione could feel the simmering tension between her and
Draco. He was behaving himself now, but now and then, he’d flash her that
infuriating smirk as if he knew exactly how close she was to losing it.

The rest of brunch passed with the usual back-and-forth. Draco

complimented Julia on her exquisite cooking. Julia and Phyllis kept the
atmosphere light with their chatter while Richard remained watchful, his
scrutiny never far from the pair seated opposite him.

Thankfully, the topic of their pending nuptials was avoided.

The moment Draco and Hermione entered the kitchen with some dirty
dishes, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. Gone was the charming façade,
the playful smirks, and the irritatingly over-the-top niceties. Draco’s
expression flattened into one of complete indifference, his body language
nonchalant as he casually leaned against the counter, folding his arms.

"All that sweetness was just for show, I presume?" Hermione asked, her
voice dripping with sarcasm as she shut the door behind them, blocking out
the murmur of her family from the other room. She was feeling the effects
of the wine but would never admit it.

Draco raised an eyebrow but didn't even bother to look her way. He simply
said, "Not really. Perhaps my attitude towards you was merely for show. We
wouldn't want your parents thinking I’m not fond of their darling daughter,
now would I?" The truth was her treatment of him hurt him, but he
genuinely cared for her.

Hermione crossed her arms, her frustration still simmering beneath the
surface. She demanded, her voice low but sharp, "Playing up to them,
making those ridiculous comments—what are you trying to prove?"
Draco felt his composure beginning to slip, and he hissed, “Nothing,
Granger. Believe it or not, I am rather fond of your parents. You love to
assume the worst, don't you? I would say it's your worst quality.”

Hermione's fists clenched at her sides. She had spent the entire brunch
simmering with frustration over his antics, only to be met now with a cold,
distant Draco—something that irritated her even more.

"You didn't have to overdo it," she snapped, voice low but tense.

She went on to point out that "the constant comments, the fake affection, it
was unnecessary."

He shrugged, the gesture so dismissive it made her want to scream. What

did she want from him? Honestly.

Draco stated plainly, "I thought you wanted me to play nice. So I did.
Besides, I am not about to be rude to your family just because you perceive
me in a certain way."

Hermione scowled, "I noticed."

Finally, his eyes flickered to hers, but his expression remained impassive.

"Did you? Well, congratulations,” he said, his voice flat and almost
disinterested, and Hermione felt her anger rising.

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" she accused, stepping closer, her eyes
blazing.

She argued, "Pushing me, making those little remarks just to get a reaction
out of me. You couldn’t resist, could you?"

He sighed, "Hermione, if I wanted to get a reaction out of you, believe me,

it wouldn’t take brunch with your parents." His tone was tired as if the
conversation itself were boring him.

She flinched at the bluntness of his words, a mix of fury and hurt swirling
inside her. He wasn’t just indifferent—he was cold and detached as if the
playful tension that had once defined their interactions had been replaced by
something much harsher—something that felt too close to rejection.

Draco turned away, his eyes scanning the kitchen aimlessly as if the
conversation didn’t matter. "Look, I played my part, didn’t I? Your family
likes me."

His lips quirked at that, but there was no real humour behind it. He asked
point blankly, "So what’s the issue? Are we done here?"

Hermione stared at him, trying to process the shift in his demeanour. A part
of her wanted to lash out, to force him to explain why he’d been so
indifferent once they were alone. Another part of her wanted to shake him,
make him feel something—anything other than this cold detachment.

"I don’t understand you," she whispered finally, her voice quieter than she
intended.

"Not much to understand," he replied, his voice still emotionless.

He shrugged, "We had a job to do, and we did it. Now we leave, end of
story."

"Is that how you see it?" Hermione’s voice sharpened again, her frustration
bubbling up.

She struggled to keep the emotion out of her voice, "Just a job? Some kind
of performance?" He quite literally flinched away from her touch.

Draco’s grey eyes flicked back to hers, and for the briefest second,
something flickered in them—something raw and unreadable. But then it
was gone, replaced once more by that indifferent mask.

"No. Your family means something to me. All that in there with regard to
them, it was real," he said pretty seriously yet coolly.

Hermione bit her lip, forcing herself not to let his words get to her, not to
show how deeply they cut. So, his attention towards her was entirely fake.
She must have sounded utterly pathetic, but the words tumbled out: “And
am I to understand your words? Your treatment towards me was just to
show.”

Draco shrugged, "Exactly. I told you I was done trying to convince you, but
why should others have to pay for your stubbornness." He gazed at her
intently.

The coldness in his tone hit her harder than she expected, leaving her
standing there, frozen in place, as he walked out of the kitchen without
another word.

Draco came closer and reached to brush his long finger down her cheek, but
again, he withdrew. This was becoming a habit. He was undoubtedly caught
between wanting physical intimacy and withdrawing all touch from her.

Hermione’s brown eyes never left his hand. She breathed, “What are you
doing?”

He leaned casually against the counter, his grey eyes cold and calculating,
as if the man who’d been fawning over her family only moments ago had
never existed.

"Nothing," he said simply, his voice devoid of any emotion.

He teased, "I’m merely playing the part you want me to play. The doting
partner, remember?"

His words hit harder than she’d expected, and for a moment, Hermione was
at a loss for how to respond. She had wanted Draco there, but not like this.
Not with his indifferent facade and detached manner once they were alone.

"Why are you acting like this?" she asked, her voice softer now but no less
frustrated.

She tried to reason with him, "Why can’t you just—"

"Just what?" he interrupted, stepping closer. His eyes locked onto hers, cold
and unreadable.
He grinned, "Be the doting partner in private too? Is that what you want?"

Hermione glared at him, "I want you to stop playing games.”

Draco’s expression didn’t change. "I fail to understand how I've upset you?
Is it about brunch with your parents? About impressing them? Or could it
perhaps be our limited physical contact."

He gave a short, mirthless laugh when she failed to respond. His tone turned
serious, "I do care about your family, Hermione. Thats why I’m here to help
keep up appearances. That’s it. Don’t confuse that with anything more."

His indifference stung, and Hermione swallowed the lump forming in her
throat. It was affecting her in a way that wasn't right. Why was she feeling
so lost and alone??

"I didn’t ask for this... this version of you," she whispered, her voice filled
with both frustration and something else she couldn’t quite name.

Draco’s gaze softened for the briefest of moments, but it was gone as
quickly as it came. He stepped back, putting distance between them again.

"You know what this is, Granger," he said quietly, using her surname like a
shield.

He insisted, leaving no possible room for doubt or confusion, "Don’t expect

anything more."

The weight of his words settled between them, heavy and suffocating.
Hermione bit her lip, forcing herself to hold back the retort that was burning
on her tongue. She wanted to shout, to argue, to break through the wall he
kept firmly between them, but something about the way he stood there,
closed off and indifferent, made her realise it was futile.

"Fine," she said finally, her voice low and resigned.

She took a deep breath and said, "But when we leave this kitchen, you’re
back to playing the part."
Draco curtly nodded, his mask of indifference still firmly in place, "As you
wish."

He cleared his throat, “Have you done a pregnancy test?”

Hermione visibly paled, “Not yet. It’s too soon.”

“I see,” Draco muttered. He knew little about such things.

And with that, the tense silence between them solidified, heavy with things
unsaid.

As the door closed behind him, Hermione's hands trembled, the weight of
his indifference settling heavily on her chest. She had expected banter,
sarcasm, maybe even a few biting remarks—but not this. Not this hollow
detachment that left her feeling more confused and hurt than she’d ever
admit.

It was as if Draco Malfoy had perfected the art of shutting people out, and
right now, he had shut her out completely.

As brunch came to an end, and they began to gather their things to leave,
Draco made sure to plant a kiss on Hermione's cheek—right in front of her
family.

"Shall we, darling?" he said, his voice dripping with sweetness. Hermione
stiffened. She hadn't expected that, but her parents ate up their little
spectacle with approving eyes.

Hermione's eyes flashed, her patience finally snapping. He was going too
far.

"We'll talk later," she muttered through gritted teeth, her heart pounding in
frustration.

"Oh, I look forward to it," Draco replied, his grin more comprehensive than
ever.
As they prepared to leave, Draco and Hermione exchanged a quick,
knowing look—a silent promise that they’d weather whatever came next.
The tension between them remained electric and undeniable, but for now, it
was enough to keep things steady.

As they stepped out of Hermione's parents' house, the tension still lingered
in the air like a stubborn fog. Draco maintained a calculated distance, but
every so often, his eyes flicked toward her. She was reticent, lost in thought,
and he couldn't help but feel a pang of concern for the woman he was
supposed to be marrying.

Once they were alone, he dropped her hand but opened the door for her to
slide in.

And as Draco held the door open for her, their shoulders brushing ever so
slightly, Hermione couldn’t help but wonder if the lines he had drawn for
them were as solid as he believed.

The car ride was filled with the low hum of the engine and the occasional
rustle of their clothing. Hermione sat with her arms crossed, staring out of
the window at the passing scenery, her expression distant. It wasn’t until
they reached a red light that her head began to droop, her eyelids fluttering
shut.

Before he knew it, she had leaned against him, her head resting softly on his
shoulder. Draco’s first instinct was to shift away, to keep that emotional
distance he’d promised, but it was yet to be perfect. Something in him
hesitated. He didn’t pull away; instead, he allowed her to sleep, feeling her
warmth seep through the fabric of his shirt.

He instructed the driver, “Turn down the radio, Maurice.”

Maurice complied with a slight nod and kept his eyes on the road.

As they pulled up to Hermione’s building, Draco glanced down at her, her

face serene in slumber. A faint smile tugged at his lips, but it was quickly
replaced with a severe expression. How long had it been since he felt this
kind of tenderness for someone or ever?
He gently brushed his fingers along her cheek, his touch feather-light as if
he were afraid to wake her. Fight the urge, he thought, battling the impulse
to draw her closer or to stroke her hair. It was the kind of intimacy they had
shared at times, but things had changed. She saw him as nothing more than
a coward.

“Oi, Granger,” he cleared his throat and said softly, trying to keep the banter
light despite the weight of the moment.

He looked down at her and quipped, “You’re not getting any more sleep
until you pay the rent for hogging my shoulder like that. I’m going to need
a back massage after this.”

Hermione stirred slightly but didn’t fully awaken. Draco rolled his eyes,
amusement flickering in his expression. He teased with a smile, “Honestly
if I knew this was all it took to get you to rest, I would have insisted on a
nap during brunch. I could have offered you my shoulder for free.”

As he leaned back, the playful smirk returned, and he couldn’t resist teasing
her a bit further. “Just remember, if you drool on me, I’ll make sure to get
you a bib.”

At that moment, she shifted again, this time opening her eyes, blinking
against the sudden brightness of the interior lights.

“What are you rambling about?” she mumbled, still half-asleep but with a
hint of annoyance threading through her voice. Not really knowing what
she was doing. It was once she realised that she moved clearly away and ran
her fingers through her hair to appear more presentable.

“Just assessing the state of your sleep hygiene,” Draco replied, a smirk
dancing on his lips.

He chuckled, “Not up to standards, I’m afraid. You really ought to be more

dignified, especially in public.”

Hermione groaned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She scowled, “Right,
because you know all about dignity.” She was utterly embarrassed but shot
back, a hint of a smile breaking through her sleepy demeanour.

“Touché,” he replied, feigning offence.

He added with an amused expression, “But my reputation is at stake here,

and if I’m going to be seen with a sleep-deprived fiancé, I’d prefer she not
be drooling on me.”

“Thanks for that mental image,” Hermione retorted, finally straightening up

in her seat, her cheeks flushed.

“Anytime,” Draco said, his voice light but his gaze serious.

He smiled almost lazily, “Just remember, I’m still here, and I’m not going
anywhere, even if I’m a right prat about it.”

Hermione finally smiled, the tension easing just slightly. She said with a
definite roll of her eyes, “Well, that’s a relief. I’d hate to have to keep
searching for a more charming fiancé.”

“Please,” Draco replied, stepping out of the car and offering her his hand.

He chuckled, “You’d be hard-pressed to find someone who matches my wit

and impeccable taste.”

“Impeccable taste? You mean in sweets or people?” she quipped, taking his
hand as she stepped out into the evening air.

Draco frowned, “People, of course. Sweets are far too easy to choose.”

As she walked toward the entrance of her building, he got off, ready to
follow her, but she didn't stop him.

They took the elevator, and their hands brushed against each other, except
Draco withdrew and faked a cough.

He watched intently until she safely entered. The playful banter continued,
but for the first time that day, there was a lightness in the air. Maybe they
weren’t so far apart after all.
Diagon Alley

Ginny smiled as she guided James through Diagon Alley, enjoying a rare
moment of downtime. Her young son, full of energy, tugged at her hand,
excitedly pointing at the shops. She was on a simple shopping trip—to pick
up some sweets from Honeydukes and perhaps a new book from Flourish
and Blotts.

As they wandered past the bustling crowd, Ginny focused on her son’s
enthusiasm, not on the subtle tension growing in the air around her. But
someone else was watching her closely—Daphne was standing just a few
feet away with her own children, Carrie and Adam.

Daphne's eyes narrowed, filled with jealousy as they flickered between

Ginny and James. It wasn’t just that she was here, seemingly carefree, but
that Blaise had kept from her the fact that Ginny had joined them in Hawaii.
That stung more than she wanted to admit. She couldn’t shake the feeling of
betrayal, however slight, even though Ginny had been none the wiser.

Daphne’s mind drifted back to that holiday, the one where she had left early.
The moment she found out about Ginny’s inclusion in the trip, It had felt
like a secret Blaise deliberately withheld, and ever since, anything related to
Ginny had been an unwelcome reminder of it. Jealousy and resentment
simmered just below the surface.

“ Why her? ” Daphne had asked herself more times than she cared to admit.
Sadly, she knew the answer to that question. Ginny Weasley was so cool.
She was practically anyone’s type.

Steeling herself, Daphne decided to make her presence known. She nudged
her children forward and approached Ginny, her lips curving into a polite—
though slightly forced—smile. Carrie beamed when James came into view.
She remembered him from the last time they met.

“Ginny, what a surprise,” Daphne said smoothly, her voice laced with false
warmth.
Ginny looked up, caught off guard but ever friendly since she had no reason
not to be. She smiled broadly, “Oh, Daphne! Hello. I didn’t expect to see
you here.”

She asked genuinely, though still somewhat unaware of the subtle tension
between them. “How have you been?”

“Busy, as usual,” Daphne replied with a slight yet composed shrug, casting
a glance at her children.

She said with an affectionate smile, “Carrie and Adam keep me on my toes.
And you? I see your son is as lively as ever.”

Ginny chuckled while she ruffled James’ hair and replied candidly, “Yes, he
certainly keeps me on mine.” She straightened and smiled at Carrie and
Adam, who stood by their mother.

She patted Carrie on the head and smiled, “Your children are growing up so
fast.”

Daphne nodded, her eyes scanning Ginny in an almost clinical way. “Yes,
they are. Time does seem to fly, doesn’t it? It reminds me of that trip to
Hawaii, even though I didn’t know about your presence until later.” Her
words were soft but pointed, like a well-placed needle.

Ginny, ever oblivious to the subtext, smiled brightly and responded, “Oh
yes, that was a good holiday. It was the first time i've been away from
James for so long, but honestly it was great fun with the gang.”

She said with genuine concern, “It was a pity we didn't see you. Blaise
mentioned you rushed back because of Adam’s peanut allergy.”

Daphne’s smile tightened, “Yes, I’m sure. It must have been quite
something, being part of that trip. Blaise never mentioned your presence to
me until afterward.”

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze probing, “I was quite surprised.”
Ginny blinked, slightly confused by the odd turn in the conversation. She
brushed it off, “Oh, I didn’t realise. It wasn’t really anything significant.
Just a bit of sun and fun, really. Hermione needed someone familiar to go
with her and I was free.”

“Of course,” Daphne said, her voice smooth but her eyes still hard.

She added rather inconspicuously, “But sometimes, it’s the little secrets that
make all the difference, don’t you think?”

Ginny’s attention shifted to James, who seemed to be edging near to an

unscrupulous character. Still, she did not quite catch Daphne’s undertone
and shrugged lightly, “I suppose. Anyway, it was lovely, but life’s been so
hectic since then that I’ve barely had time to think about it.”

Daphne smiled, though the coldness in her gaze remained. “Yes, life does
tend to get in the way.”

She glanced at James again before shifting her focus back to Ginny. “Well,
we must get going. I just wanted to say hello. It’s always... interesting
running into old acquaintances.”

Ginny nodded, though still confused by Daphne’s strange attitude. She

nodded, “Yes, it’s been nice seeing you. Maybe we’ll bump into each other
again sometime.”

“Perhaps,” Daphne replied, already turning away, her children following

her. As she walked off, she couldn’t help but feel a tiny flicker of
satisfaction, even though Ginny remained blissfully unaware of the subtle
jabs.

Ginny, on the other hand, simply shook her head as she watched Daphne
go.

“That was odd,” she said to herself before turning her attention back to
James, brushing off the encounter as nothing more than Daphne’s usual
aloofness.
Daphne, however, wasn’t quite finished with her jealousy. The memory of
Blaise’s secret still gnawed at her, and the sight of Ginny only reminded her
of the insecurity she tried so hard to bury.

Azkaban - A Cruel Confrontation

The grey stone walls of Azkaban loomed high as Hannah led Sarah through
the silent, damp corridors. Sarah shivered. A part of her wished she hadn’t
come.

Hannah was exhausted and needed rest, but Sarah also needed closure.
There was too much happening, and she was struggling to keep up.

The scent of saltwater from the sea nearby filled the air, mingling with the
cold chill that seeped into their bones. Sarah's face was set, her eyes dark
with a mixture of fury and steely determination. She had waited for this
moment, and nothing would hold her back now.

She watched as Hannah spoke to the guards and exchanged slight banter.
After a short while, they went down another narrow corridor, which seemed
brighter than the others.

As they entered the visiting area, John sat on the other side of the enchanted
glass. He had aged considerably since his arrest, the once intimidating
figure now a shadow of himself. His hair was streaked with grey, his face
gaunt. The burned half of his face was visible to all under the harsh
fluorescent lights. But when he saw Sarah, a faint, hopeful smile spread
across his lips.

John whispered, his voice hoarse, “Sarah... you came.”

Sarah's eyes narrowed, and instead of showing fear, her lips twisted into a
cruel smirk. She stepped forward, her gaze unwavering, but there was no
trace of compassion in her—only harsh bitterness and well-concealed anger.

She pulled back one of the chairs kept for visitors, sat down, brought her
hands together and regarded the man before her. After a moment's silence,
she said coldly, “Did you think I came to forgive you, John?” It felt strange
to call him by his given name. She had always referred to him as a monster
as he repeatedly violated her in her makeshift hell.

John's happy smile faltered, but his eyes searched hers for some sign of the
girl he had made love to and pleasured. In his twisted mind, all he had seen
was a happy woman, pleased to be with him. But that girl seemed long
gone, buried beneath the weight of what he'd done.

He tried to touch her, but he was magically bound. Instead, he pleaded,

“Sarah, I never meant for things to turn out like this. I... I love you.” He
meant every word. They had been so close to marriage, to their happily ever
after.

Hannah pursed her lips and watched the proceedings closely. However,
Sarah let out a sharp, mocking laugh that echoed off the stone walls.

Sarah spat most viciously, “Love? Don’t you dare use that word with me.
You don’t know what love is. What you did to me wasn’t love—it was
violence, control. You ruined my life, and you dare to sit here and talk about
love?”

John’s face crumpled, his eyes filled with tears. But Sarah was unrelenting.
Brazenly, she leaned closer and said, her voice cold and cruel, “You should
know that I’m not here for closure, John. I came here to tell you that I’m
going to abort the child you forced on me. I won’t let anything of yours live
inside me.”

His eyes widened for a second, a look of surprise and joy, but it was only
momentary. Meanwhile, Hannah gasped. She hadn't planned for the
conversation to take such a drastic turn.

John’s tears flowed freely now, his hands trembling as he pressed them
against the table.

He was desperate. His voice broke as he begged, “No, Sarah, please… don’t
do that. He’s innocent. Please… he’s our child.”
Sarah hissed, her voice dripping with disdain, “Our child? Don’t you dare.
This baby is a reminder of every nightmare you inflicted on me. And I’ll
never allow it to live in the shadow of a monster like you.”

John sobbed harder, his body shaking with despair. But Sarah didn’t waver.
She was resolute, even as she watched him break in front of her.

He sobbed uncontrollably, “Please, Sarah... don’t do this. I’m begging you.”

The guard standing in the background swapped a look of concern with

Hannah.

Sarah’s lips curled into a cruel smile as she watched her rapist fall apart.

She openly mocked, “Oh, now you know what it feels like to beg, to be
helpless. Funny how that works, isn’t it?”

Hannah pushed back the chair and stood up. She gently placed a hand on
Sarah’s shoulder, signalling that it was time to go. But clearly, Sarah wasn’t
finished yet. She said, her voice icy and indifferent, “You can rot in here,
John. You’ll die alone in this prison, forgotten by the world, and I’ll make
sure of it. I’ll make sure no one ever speaks your name again.”

John wept uncontrollably, his face pressed against his hands, but Sarah
merely turned her back to him and gritted out over her shoulder, “Go to
hell, you fucking monster.”

With that, Hannah led Sarah out of the room and into the harsh light. They
left Azkaban without a word being exchanged. The air outside felt sharp
against Sarah’s skin, but she inhaled deeply as if breathing for the first time
in years.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Hannah asked softly, “Are you
alright?”

Sarah didn’t answer right away. She looked out towards the distant sea, her
face unreadable. But then she laughed—a hollow, bitter laugh that sent
shivers down Hannah’s spine.
Sarah said quietly, “I’m free now. That’s all that matters.” But the truth
lingered beneath the surface. Free, perhaps, but the scars John left on her
soul would never fully heal.

Hermione's Flat

Hermione kicked off her shoes with a frustrated sigh. The soft thud of them
hitting the floor echoed in the quiet of her flat. She ran her hands through
her hair, pushing it back from her face as she tried to shake the events of the
day from her mind. Brunch had been a success, by all accounts—the perfect
blend of polite conversation and social ease—but that was not what lingered
with her now. No, what lingered was him. Draco.

Why did he have to touch her in the car? Why did he have to get so close?
Was he that cruel? And stupidly, she had gone and fallen asleep on his arm.
Honestly.

The feel of his fingers on her arm, that subtle, deliberate brush of contact,
had sent a shiver racing down her spine. Even now, she could still feel the
warmth of his skin against hers, the way his touch seemed to burn through
her defences as if they weren’t even there. It was infuriating—this power he
had over her, this pull that she couldn’t quite shake, no matter how hard she
tried.

She crossed the room, her movements restless as if trying to escape the
memory of him. But it was no use. Every step she took seemed to bring her
closer to the thought of him—closer to the way his eyes had lingered on
her, the way his voice had dropped ever so slightly when he spoke her
name. That infuriating drawl, the one that used to annoy her, now made her
pulse race in ways she didn’t want to admit.

Hermione pressed a hand to her forehead, closing her eyes as she leaned
back against the kitchen counter. He was driving her mad. Every encounter
with him felt like a game she didn’t want to play but couldn’t walk away
from. His presence was intoxicating and magnetic. She hated it. She wanted
it.
It wasn’t just the physical attraction—though that, in itself, was
overwhelming. His presence had always been commanding, but now it felt
like a challenge. The way he moved, the way he looked at her—it was as if
he knew. He knew what effect he had on her, and he revelled in it, teasing
her with every lingering glance, every accidental brush of his hand. It was a
torment, a delicious, maddening torment.

Her mind wandered back to brunch, to that moment when his hand had
grazed her waist, his touch feather-light but deliberate. He’d been standing
too close, his breath warm against her neck as he leaned in to speak, his lips
brushing the shell of her ear ever so slightly. The heat had bloomed beneath
her skin, and she’d fought to keep her composure, to keep her breath steady,
but inside—inside, she was falling apart.

Why did he do it? Why did he have to make it so hard? Was he as affected
as she was, or was this just a cruel game to him? She gripped the edge of
the counter, trying to steady herself. The answer didn’t matter. What
mattered was the way her body reacted to him, the way her heart quickened
when he was near, the way her skin tingled with anticipation every time he
so much as looked at her.

Hermione exhaled sharply, pushing away from the counter and crossing her
arms over her chest. She couldn’t keep doing this—couldn’t keep letting
him get under her skin like this. But even as she tried to push the thought of
him away, the memory of his touch lingered, wrapping itself around her like
a vice.

She wanted him. She hated herself for it, but she wanted him. Every look,
every touch, every infuriating smirk—he made her body hum with need in a
way she couldn’t explain, a way she couldn’t control. It was as if her very
being was attuned to him, drawn to him in ways that defied reason.

The ache was relentless. It pooled low in her belly, a slow, simmering need
that she couldn’t entirely suppress. She wanted to feel his hands on her
again, not just fleetingly, but fully—wanted to feel the weight of him
against her, wanted to lose herself in the heat of him. But it wasn’t just
desire—it was something deeper, something she didn’t want to
acknowledge. Something she was afraid to admit.
Hermione groaned in frustration, rubbing her hands over her face as she
tried to shake the thought of him from her mind. But it was no use. Draco
Malfoy was in her head, in her skin, and no amount of logic or self-control
could change that. He was a storm, and she was caught in the middle of it,
helpless against the pull of his gravity.

And that, perhaps, was the most maddening part of all.

Azkaban Prison

John sat on the cold, hard floor. Finally, he understood the gravity of his
actions. Sarah didn't love him. None of them did. He had violated them. He
was nothing but a vile beast. He had become his father.

He started laughing manically. The sound filled the small cell, drifting
down the long, dark corridor, making other prisoners uneasy and more
afraid.

Malfoy Manor

Draco sat at the grand mahogany desk in his study, books and scrolls laid
out before him, but his mind was far from the Auror trials he was meant to
be preparing for. His quill hovered over the parchment, suspended in mid-
air as thoughts of Hermione consumed him. He clenched his jaw, willing
himself to focus, but it was no use. Every time he tried to direct his
attention to the text in front of him, her face appeared in his mind—the way
her lips moved when she spoke, the soft curve of her neck, the scent of her
hair lingering in his senses long after he'd dropped her home.

He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
She had no idea, did she? No idea what it did to him being so close to her,
every fleeting glance, every accidental brush of her skin against his. She
ignited something in him, something raw and unrelenting. It was torture—
pure, exquisite torture.
His mind wandered back to earlier that evening. He’d wanted to kiss her
when he’d dropped her off, to press her against the doorframe and claim her
lips, but he held back. He always held back for fear that if he gave in to the
desire raging inside him, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

Besides, it would mean going back on his word. Yet, her taste was already
etched in his memory, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

His hand clenched into a fist as he imagined what it would be like to touch
her, really touch her, like he had in Hawaii. To feel the warmth of her skin
beneath his fingers, to trace the lines of her body, to finally succumb once
more to the pull that had been building between them for so long. The
thought of it sent a shiver of need down his spine. His breathing quickened,
and he cursed under his breath, standing abruptly to pace the room.

Why did she have this effect on him? Why was it that every time she looked
at him with those wide, curious eyes, he felt like he was on the verge of
losing control? It wasn’t just physical—though Merlin knew he wanted her
in ways that made his blood boil. It was everything about her. Her sharp
wit, her determination, the fire in her spirit that matched his own. She
challenged him and made him feel alive in ways he hadn’t in years.

He exhaled sharply, trying to shake the image of her out of his mind. But it
clung to him, tantalising, tormenting. Her lips, her skin, the way she moved.
He could picture it all too clearly—her breath hitching as he lowered his
mouth to her neck, her fingers threading through his hair as he pulled her
closer. Every inch of her was burned into his memory, and it was driving
him mad.

Draco pressed his palms flat against the desk, leaning over it as if
grounding himself would somehow help. But the ache inside him was
relentless, an insistent craving that refused to be ignored. He wanted her. He
wanted to take her to bed, to feel her pressed against him, to lose himself in
her completely. The need was like fire in his veins, and it took every ounce
of willpower not to leave the Manor at that very moment and go to her.

He shook his head, forcing himself to sit back down, his mind swimming
with frustration. He had to focus—there was no room for distraction now.
But even as he tried to read, his thoughts drifted once more to Hermione.
Every moment spent around her was a battle with himself, and he was
losing. His heart pounded with the weight of his longing, his desire for her,
and he knew—no matter how hard he tried—he couldn't escape it.

With a heavy sigh, Draco leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a
moment. The trials were necessary, yes. But all he could think of was the
next time he’d see her. The next time, she’d stand too close, and the tension
between them would coil tighter and tighter until one of them snapped.

And when that moment came, he knew there would be no going back.

Azkaban Prison - The Final Escape

Later that night, the grim quiet of Azkaban was broken by the hurried
footsteps of guards rushing towards John’s cell. The sight that greeted them
was haunting—a figure hanging lifelessly from a makeshift noose fashioned
from torn strips of cloth. His body swayed gently, the dull flicker of the
lanterns casting long shadows against the cold stone walls.

John had taken his own life, choosing an escape that even the enchanted
fortress couldn’t deny him. His face was pale, twisted in despair, the same
despair he had shown when Sarah had coldly dismissed him earlier that day
and regarded him a monster. The guards rushed inside, but it was too late.
Some lowered his body to the ground, while others immediately alerted the
higher authorities, and soon, word of John's death began to spread through
the DMLE.

Unfortunately, it could not be stopped. Bad news travelled fast.

DMLE

An hour later, Harry, Thomas, and Hannah were gathered in a small, dimly
lit room at the Ministry, discussing the possible aftermath of Potion
Master’s planned escape. The air was heavy with the weight of recent
events. They had barely had time to process the confrontation with Dorian,
and now this.

A Ministry official entered. He was a smartly dressed man in his late forties.
His face was sombre as he delivered the news.

He gave a slight nod, acknowledging his superiors and said grimly, “It's
about John. He... he hung himself in his cell tonight. The guards found him.
He’s gone.”

Hannah closed her eyes as the news washed over her. She couldn't help but
feel responsible. Her reaction was followed by a long, stunned silence as
the weight of the words sank in.

Harry said quietly, rubbing his temple, “John’s dead?”

Hannah responded in a shaky voice that was barely above a whisper, “He
killed himself?” It’s my fault. I should never have let Sarah go to him.
She… she pushed him too far, and now he’s dead.” The words slipped out
against her will, but her guilty conscience spared her no thought.

“What?” Harry demanded. He had no idea Hannah had taken Sarah to see
John. He was absolutely livid.

Thomas pursed his lips. His disappointment was evident, but he said
nothing at the moment. He would give Hannah a stern talking-to later.

Hannah’s eyes filled with tears as she struggled to process her emotions.
She had seen hardened criminals break in Azkaban, but John’s suicide
struck something deep within her. She had witnessed the raw pain in
Sarah’s words, the bitterness that had come from months of trauma. Now, it
all felt like too much.

She turned to face Harry and apologised, “I'm so sorry, Harry. It was against
my better judgement but she wanted closure and I felt like she deserved it.”

Harry gritted out, “You have disobeyed orders and taken matters into your
own hands. This is unacceptable, Abbott.”
Hannah flinched. She wasn't accustomed to Harry losing his patience, but
she deserved it.

Thomas, who had been standing quietly near the window, turned to face
them, his expression unreadable. There was a strange finality in the air as if
this tragic ending had been inevitable.

He injected his voice low and rather thoughtful, “I suppose he saw no other
way out. Perhaps, After what Sarah said to him... it broke him.”

Harry’s face hardened, but there was no triumph in his expression. John
may have been a monster, but his death didn’t erase the horrors he had
inflicted or the pain that lingered.

He fixed Hannah with a look and said pointedly, “This doesn't bring Sarah
any peace or justice. She’ll still carry the scars. His death won’t change
that.”

Hannah replied softly, her voice laced with sadness, “No, it won’t. But
maybe, in some twisted way, this was the only ending he could give her—
the only way to take himself out of her life forever.

The room fell silent again. The trio was lost in their thoughts. There was no
joy in John’s death, only a heavy, melancholic understanding. The horrors
of what had happened could never be undone, and no one truly won.

Harry sighed. Finally, he broke the silence: “We should tell Sarah. She
deserves to know, even if it won’t make things better.” He hadn't seen the
woman since they rescued her. There were so many things to focus on, but
he made a mental note to fix it.

Hannah nodded and said solemnly, “I’ll tell her, I suppose. I don’t know
how she’ll take it... but she deserves to hear it from us, not from some
hyped-up headline.”

“We will accompany you. You've caused enough damage,” Harry asserted,
leaving no room for an argument. Hannah looked away to hide her
discomfort and anger while Thomas nodded in agreement.
As they prepared to leave, the shadows of the day’s events loomed over
them. The battle was over, but the war inside the hearts of those involved—
Sarah, most of all—would rage on for a long time. And though John had
chosen his own end, the consequences of his life and his death would linger
long after his name was forgotten. Perhaps, he was finally at peace.
Works inspired by this one

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