Draco was smirking from ear to ear when he finally made it inside the Ministry of Magic with Blaise huffing behind him. His friend was cursing the circus of journalists and photographers that huddled outside of the building waiting for any opportunity to catch a person of interest.

Blaise himself had been hounded by the media when the war had ended and his trial was broadcast nationwide (as compared to the other boring Death Eater convictions happening left and right). The media could not get enough of the boy whose mother had been charged and then pardoned for the murder of five Pureblood men, three of which had been known Death Eaters. Two of those murders Blaise had been present for, making him the main witness called to stand before the Wizengamot. The public speculated for weeks if Blaise would betray his mother by revealing the truth of her crime or remain loyal. Of course, when the trial came, he lied about the circumstances in which his mother had committed five accounts of murder; he claimed they had all been in self-defense, seeing as they were Blood Traitors after Mrs. Zabini forced them into hiding when the Dark Lord had demanded for her only son to be given to his cause. What the public had deemed a downright lie ended up pardoning Mrs. Zabini, but only a handful close to the Zabinis knew the truth—to an extent, of course. Blaise had been put into hiding, Mrs. Zabini had killed three Death Eaters to protect her son, but the other two victims had been murdered for the wealth their wife would inherit after their passing. Blaise never spoke of his time in solitude while the war raged above ground, and Draco never asked. After all, there were horrors from both ends that were better kept a secret.

From what he kept to himself stemmed Blaise's idea of joining the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. When Draco and Theodore Nott laughed at the absurdity, assuming it had been a joke told over drinks (because they were in full-swing of their rebellion), all Blaise had said of the matter was that he'd finally be paying his dues. None of his friends expected the spoiled boy to pass Auror training, but he did. Nor did they ever expect him to breach the inner circles of the Light Side as a trusted equal.

"You went out with the German Minister's daughter last week?" asked Blaise with a furrow between his brows as he and Draco made way into the Ministry.

"Caught that from the journalists, did you?"

"I got that from Daphne, actually. She was writing a piece about the Minister's daughter and pictures of you two on a yacht surfaced."

"It was a friendly visit between citizens of two great countries."

Blaise let out a loud laugh. "Spoken like a true politician. I'll get an election slip from Shacklebolt if you're thinking about running next term."

Draco rolled his eyes. "The public might love to keep up with my every move, Blaise, but no one would ever vote for a convicted Death Eater to be in their Ministry council."

A clapping echoed off the emerald-tiled corridor Draco and Blaise were about to part ways in. There, in true fashion of the thing that most irked Draco Malfoy, was the Golden Trio (Weasley's stupid, freckled face constantly close to winning first spot).

"Well, at least you got that bit right. Former Death Eaters might be good for entertainment, but not for improving our world," said Weasley, dropping his hands back to his sides. "You also forgot that you need to work to run for council. Your father can't buy you a seat, nor can you sleep your way to the top."

Draco could feel his extreme dislike for the redhead tosser building in his chest, but settled it in one deep breath (it would not do him any good if he killed Ron Weasley with witnesses around). "You know who slept their way to the top, Weaselbee? Pansy. And by the top I mean on top of me. You know, because I used to screw your fiancee."

"Ronald," said Granger in a soft breath, reaching for Weasley's hand, keeping him from launching forward. "It's not worth it."

"You did start it, mate," said Potter, surprising both Draco and Weasley. The former had been absolutely sure the Chosen One would start throwing his royalty title to have Draco escorted out of the Ministry (or sent to Azkaban). Okay, that was an exaggeration from Draco's constantly feuding mind. Potter and he were no longer enemies—nor were they anywhere close to being friends, of course. They had just come to a silent agreement that it was best for both of them to steer clear from one another as civilly as possible.

Weasley turned red from his disbelief. "But, Harry—"

"Come on. We've got a hearing in ten minutes, anyway," interrupted the Head Auror to his second in command. "Blaise," Potter then added, "I left the Jones case file on your desk. I'm signing you up to assist me with it."

"Got it, boss," said Blaise with a salute. Draco wanted to spew his breakfast back up because of it.

As the male end of the Golden Trip departed, Granger stayed behind. She briefly flashed her chocolate eyes at Draco before directing them at Blaise. She opened her mouth to speak, but Draco could not hear the words that came out.

It had been almost a year since he last saw her. 

As it was accustomed when regarding Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, things did not end well. She had smashed his nose in after he made a harmless remark on how pathetic it was for her to show up to Weasley and Pansy's engagement party by herself. It was in his knowledge (as it was in everyone's) that she had been pining after Weasley since their schooldays (Merlin only knew why), but never managed to lock him down. It was a damn right miracle that she had escaped his clutches, Draco had told her in a complimentary tone, but Granger had not seen it as that. Unbeknownst to him, as he continued to point out she was going to end up alone, the relationship Granger had been in had just ended when she discovered her boyfriend was actually a married man.

Now she stood before him again and something had changed in her appearance. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it caused him to admire the way she sparkled under the light like a new diamond. He was not fond of Hermione Granger, but he could appreciate a stunning gem when he saw one (even if it was not in his tastes).

"That'll be great, Hermione. Thank you," Draco came back to the present when Blaise gave the brunette a charming grin. It was a rare sight to see, given that Blaise, alike most everyone in their circle, only pulled their lips upward to seduce or to gloat. This expression, however, was genuine and kind.

She leaned in to Blaise and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "And bring hibiscuses," Granger said before leaving the corridor.

There was something about her audacity to not even give Draco an aggravated glance that made him frown. He was not meant to be ignored.

"Is your newest conquest Granger? Mate, you have seriously downgraded. Do Nott and I need to have an intervention? I've got slags on waiting. One Floo Call and they're yours."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "I don't fancy your sloppy seconds, Draco. Nor Theo's for that matter. Besides, you know I'm dating Daphne Greengrass."

"No, you're screwing Daphne Greengrass. There's a difference."

"My business with Hermione is my own. Now, run along to your appointment before they ticket you again."

Draco scoffed at Blaise, but he did as he was advised. The last time he ran late to a Ministry summons Kingsley Shacklebolt had ordered a confiscation of his wand. It was an extreme punishment, but when you are a labeled Death Eater your rights are easily stripped away (after all, there weren't any members of council whom sought to amend the treatment those tattooed with the Dark Mark underwent).

He knocked twice on a grand door and waited with a balled fist for it to open. When it did, he marched in and took a seat, narrowing his silver eyes at the person before him.

At the desk, nose shoved into a file, was Luna Lovegood. She hummed quietly to herself for a few more moments before putting the paperwork down. Like it was accustomed to see upon her pale features, Luna smiled dreamily at whomever was before her (and it never wavered even if the other person hated her with an extremity).

"Good morning, Draco. How are you today?"

"Busy," he replied through gritted teeth. "Can we hurry this along? I've got a meeting with my board of directors in an hour."

"This session might run late, I'm afraid. I went to Africa since our last meeting and picked up calming herbs I would like to try," Luna returned, picking up a large, lavender box with flowers and other plants. "Don't worry, everything is approved by Regulation. I promise I won't poison you."

"Could you, please?" Draco huffed. He'd rather gladly end his own life than to spend another minute with the mental woman.

She pretended not to hear him (or maybe she hadn't) as she accio-ed a teapot and its set. "Now, the new calming droughts are for the Legilimency I scheduled."

"What?" he snarled as he shot up from his seat. "We did that last meeting, Lovegood. You are not allowed more than one Legilimency a month."

"That is true, Draco, but, if you remember, you stormed out of our last one. Impressive as it was, your use of Occlumency is the best I have ever seen, we never finished it. I could have reported you to the Department of Rehabilitation of Former Death Eaters, but I chose not to for the sake of second chances."

"I don't want your pity, Lovegood."

Luna glanced over him gently, like she was searching for something. When she seemed to have found it, she nodded to herself and wrote something on the notepad over her desk. 

"It's not pity. It's blackmail, actually. It's my first time trying it. How am I doing?" Draco grew aggressively confused. "If I report you to the Head you are sanctioned, then put to house arrest for three months without your wand."

Draco pressed his lips into a tight line, grudgingly taking a seat before the younger woman.

"Okay," she said in a cheerful tone that was incredibly misplaced in the current setting, "we will start again on the night you were inducted to the Death Eaters."

X

All throughout the day Draco kept waiting for his mind to snap back into place but it had not happened. He could still feel Lovegood inside his brain, picking at it, pulling out memories he had suppressed into the shadows of his skull walls. It was stretched like an elastic band, but it was not retracting. He tried to ignore it as best as he could, pretending like he could not feel the cold chill of death and evil on his skin. He failed, of course. That shit happened even to the best of them, so Draco could not berate himself for it. Still, it drove him mad. 

The only way to battle that side of him was with loose women and expensive alcohol.

He did not believe in signs of the universe, for starters. That crack of shit was left to the naive tossers who were too afraid to step out into the real world and shape their own destinies. Nothing was meant to be. Things happened as you made them. But one glance at a pair of brown eyes in the multitude of grinding bodies made Draco believe in omens. It was a signal from whatever force in the universe he had managed not to piss off; it told him to turn around and go to sleep at a reasonable hour alike all other professional businessmen with an empire under their belt. Yet, Draco was not a stranger to danger or evil forces (that had been proven earlier that morning). This one, however, was not something that would mark his skin with his mistakes, but one that seemed to fuel a flame in his blood.

Granger stood by the bar, leaning against the edge of the counter, sipping on her drink like she was the most carefree person on Earth. Her body language itself was enough to make one wonder if it was really her (seeing as she was commonly known as frigid), but the tight, black mini skirt and white laced crop-top made Draco's eyes wander over her figure until they landed on the red, sleek pumps on her feet.

She caught sight of him immediately, too. After all, years of being enemies trained them to be wary of one another. Her shoulders tensed when he approached the bar, but she held her tongue when he ordered his drink.

It would have been easier to remain silent, but Draco was not the smartest when it came to dealing with things that had the potential to end in catastrophe. Their entire history was proof of that.

So when he threw back his shot of whiskey (asking for a double next) he turned to her and said, "You know I billed you for that broken nose, right?"

Granger took a long sip of her drink. "I know. It ended up in the rubbish bin along with your reputation."

Perhaps it was the alcohol traveling in her system, or the fact that she was in the scene of lost inhibitions, that made her turn to him with mirth in her eyes. Draco was almost confused by it, tempted to look behind his shoulder to see if one of her friends was there. But when she smirked, arrogantly in a way he always knew she had in her but others ignored, he grinned back.

"Being Head Healer has its perks, then."

"Just like owning this club, hmm?" she countered, setting her empty glass on the counter. She tapped the side of it with her index finger, raising a sharp brow at Draco.

He shook his head, scoffing to mask the disbelief at her change of attitude as he snapped his fingers to order the bartender to refill her glass.

"Well, what do you think of the place?" Draco asked as he handed her back her drink.

"I think the darker it is in here the more susceptible people are to sinning.

"That's exactly what I was going for."

Hermione Granger would have frowned and looked upon Draco Malfoy like he was the sickest bastard she'd ever come across, but this version of her before him laughed. She threw her head back, her brown curls sending out a distinct floral scent that made Draco unknowingly take a step closer.

"Did you come in tonight tonight to check on Pansy's hen party?"

Draco momentarily glanced away from Granger to spot Pansy on the dance floor with her group of females. His friend was most definitely drunk (as he would be if he had to be that close to marrying Weasley), but seemed to be having the time of her life. He would never say directly it to her face, of course, but as long as she was happy with her poor life choices he would be so in return for her. She found something that none of them ever thought they would be capable of having (of course, Fate had scammed her by giving her Weasley). So when Pansy demanded that his new club host her bachelorette party with an exclusive guest list that night, Draco allowed her to believe she annoyed him into it when in reality he wanted her to enjoy herself.

"I come to check the business every other Friday," he told Granger as he gave her his focus again. "Despite popular belief, I do work hard for my money and take interest on how my clientele finds the service I am providing. It does not do my stocks any good if the Malfoy name is portrayed negatively. At least not in the corporate world," he added in to save the Death Eater punchline.

"The alcohol and sex is just another day at work, then?" was what Granger responded with, still smirking at him as her pink lips wrapped around her straw, taking another long drink.

Draco chuckled. "Is that not what you get at work?"

Granger's nose wrinkled as she laughed, too. "Afraid not. A hospital is dedicated to curing alcohol poisoning, not giving one."

"Ah, but it seems we are helping each other right now." Draco gestured to her drink. "You are buying from my bar, and at the rate you are drinking, you'll be sent to hospital for overdoing it."

She sipped the content in her glass until it was emptied. "You're wrong there, Malfoy."

"Am I?"

Granger willingly took a step closer to him when the song changed and became louder, earning loud screams from the dancing women. "Yes. I'm not paying for these drinks—you are."

Normally, on any other given day, Draco would have told Granger he would only buy her a drink if she promised to disappear forever, but in that moment, with the way the lights fell on her, with the haze of alcohol settling in his bloodstream, he did not see a bad idea coming even it was to smack right into his chest. He ordered a bottle and two shot glasses and their casual chatter ended up in a competitive drinking game ('I studied to be a Healer, Malfoy,' she had said when he asked where the hell she learned to handle her liquor, 'I was drinking when I wasn't sleeping or studying').

At a later point in time Pansy and her group joined Draco and Granger at the bar. This was when every face and every shape began to blur into one for all those involved. And somehow, some way, Draco and Granger left together to end up on his bed—getting married somewhere in the middle.

X

"No," Draco hissed at the two women staring back at him. "None of that is true. If I saw Granger at my bar I would have had security escort her out. I don't allow animals inside my club."

Granger glared at him, but in record time she settled her ire toward Draco. He thought it was odd she did not retaliate, but instead drew in a deep breath. "Look, Draco," she began, using his first name so gently it unraveled him, "that's exactly what happened. We drank and we left together."

"That doesn't explain how you two ended up fucking married!" Pansy shouted.

"Yes! Exactly!" Draco added in, grateful that his friend was now present. She would make Granger go away.

"It's a little hazy, but we were talking about how good we would be together."

"Bullshit!"

"Is it? We were getting along—"

"Because we were drunk!" Draco threw his arms up.

Granger nodded, not disagreeing with that obvious assessment, but she kept her lips in a tight line.

"For Salazar's sake," Pansy breathed, her expression becoming one of dread. She stepped closer to Granger, putting her hands on her sides. "I'm so sorry, Hermione."

"You're sorry for her?" demanded Draco, aghast.

"I just remembered him leaving with you, which is how I knew to come to find you here when you weren't home," Pansy ignored her friend as she now held her head between her hands. "It's coming back to me now, though. You two were going on about not finding intelligent equals and then I made the suggestion that maybe you two were right for one another. Fuck. Ron's going to kill me."

"I'm going to kill you, Pansy!" Draco turned toward her, marching at full speed. He would choke her with his bare hands—and he would have, if it had not been for Granger and the wandless Protego she threw around the other woman. "Why the fuck would you put idiotic ideas in my head when I'm piss drunk? You know I'm susceptible to recklessness when I'm impaired!"

"I was drunk, too!" Pansy screeched in her defense. "Do you honestly think I would have let Hermione run off with you if I had not been?"

"Yes! You hate her!" he hissed back. "And you are still a bitter ex. How can you not be? I dumped you for that Italian model and you ended up with Weasley. I practically ruined your life, so now you want to ruin mine!"

Pansy picked up a glass bowl from the coffee table and waved it at Draco. "I am not your bitter ex, you idiot! I'm in love with Ron! And now I might end up abandoned at the altar because I sent off his best friend with his worst enemy!"

Draco cringed at her words. "No. No. We can fix this. I'll owl my family's lawyers. We can have the marriage annulled."

"You can't annul a magical wedding! Ministry laws aren't that easily broken, this isn't Vegas," Pansy retorted.

She was right, Draco knew, but the cells in his brain were working fast now; he was not going to settle for defeat. "Shacklebolt will do it for Granger! There is no way in hell he would let her be married to me. The media will have a field day. For fuck sakes, Potter will start a war. The Ministry will be done with this quickly and quietly. No one has to know."

"You're right, Draco," said Pansy, nodding furiously. "You and Hermione get dressed and we'll deal with this before the Daily Prophet finds out."

Draco was quick to start making his way to his bedroom, but he noticed that Granger had not moved. She continued to stand in her place, clad in her underwear, her brown hair wild and tangled from their previous night that Draco could not seem to remember completely. If she was just as eager as him to get rid of their stupid mistake, she did not show it.

"Hermione," called Pansy with a lack of patience, "what is it? We have to get a move on now."

Granger shook her head slowly. "I can't."

Draco spun on his heels, glaring her down. "What do you mean you can't?"

"I'm pregnant," she said, digging her brown eyes deep into his silver.

The heart in his chest gave a sudden stop. Ice cold fear raced down his spine. He was sure his body was shutting off into a coma, but then he remembered that fertilization did not exactly work that fast. 

He shouted at her just that.

"Well, of course I'm not right this moment, but I can be," Granger clarified. "We had sex so many times yesterday and not once did we use a Contraceptive Spell. There might be a chance I'll end up pregnant. If that's so, I am not going to deal with this on my own. A rendezvous wedding you can sweep under the rug, but we cannot—we will not do that to a baby."

"What the hell are you saying, then, Granger?" Draco growled, his headache coming back with a vengeance.

She faced him, eyes so wide and warm it brought forth flashes of her bliss to Draco's mind. Seeing her standing there, perfect, raw, and beautiful made something in his bones briefly long to remember what it was like to have his body pressed against hers.

"A month. Give it one month to see if I'm pregnant or not. Until then, we stay married."