Draco Malfoy did not fuck Hermione Granger. Well, he had (once or twice, or he really could not remember how many times because alcohol impaired that specific memory), but after that kiss in Perth, they returned to the flat without any intent of repeating their wedding night (yeah, shocking; he thought so, too). Instead, Draco had stripped down to his boxer briefs, climbed into bed, parted the sheets, and invited Hermione in. She joined him after changing into his old Slytherin jersey, cuddling up beside him. He was not sure who moved first, only that they were a tangle of limbs when they tightly embraced one another.

"Don't regret this when we wake," he had murmured into her hair, sleep weighing his eyelids heavy.

"I won't," she returned after a second of silence, of letting his words sink in for what they were, to understand and accept the unusual sincerity behind them.

Draco may not have fucked Hermione that night, but he had bared himself to her. He showed her what was behind his skin, what secrets and regrets he hid from exposing light. It was as intimate as he had ever gotten with anyone. It stirred insecurities within him he thought he'd never get to acknowledge, but one look into her warm, brown eyes and he let her trace a fingertip over his Dark Mark. When he felt like recoiling, like spewing venom to fight off the vulnerability, she kissed his forearm before reaching up for his lips.

"I thought I was cursed," he had also said to her. "I asked Nott to check if you had bewitched me."

Hermione let out a tired laugh.

"Yeah, I know. Amusing. Astoria said I wasn't bewitched, just fucked." He ran a hand up her hip to settle on the indent of her waist. "I think she's right."

"That doesn't bother you?"

"Does it bother you?"

"I'm the one who threatened you into staying married, Draco."

"Threaten," he snorted. "Well, you see, I'm not exactly a stranger to chaos, Hermione. This time instead of a tattoo, I got a wife. And possibly a baby."

"A family," she murmured, looking away from Draco's silver eyes to her thumb drawing lazy circles on his naval.

Nothing else had been said. They let her comment suspend in the small distance between them and echo off the bedroom walls like a lullaby. The weight of it followed them into their dreams—dreams Draco had no idea he wanted before...

When sun poured in past the parted curtains, Draco found himself awake before Hermione. He watched her for what felt like a brief moment, counting the freckles on the bridge of her nose and the few stray ones on her cheeks, listening to the peaceful pace of her breathing waltzing with her heart at a slow tempo, but the vibrating cellphone-device-thing she carried signaled it was well past eleven.

Hermione stirred at the noise. Instead of reaching to answer the blasted thing, she further snuggled up into his side.

"Make it stop," she grumbled against his throat.

He lifted his torso a few degrees to get a better look at the phone; with a few seconds of concentration, the thing went flying against the furthest wall, silencing itself. When he then went to press her firmly against him, he said, "You're incredibly late to St. Mungo's."

She shook her head. "Called off."

"You called off?" he scoffed and she pinched his side. "Chang-Patil was okay with that?"

"Patil-Chang," she corrected before she pulled herself a few centimeters back to bore her big, brown eyes at him. "I told her I wanted a lie in with my husband. She understood. After all, I gave her and Padma both a month off when they married. One day hardly seemed like too much of a request."

Draco hummed before pressing a kiss at the tip of her nose. "And this sudden day off has nothing to do with the fact that we are supposed to meet my mother for lunch?"

"I am not nervous if that's what you are implying," she scolded him, jabbing a finger at his chest that he quickly swatted away. "I don't need a whole morning to mentally prepare myself for that, or if by some horribly unfair twist of fate she decides to invite your father, too. I really did want to spend this morning right here, beside you."

"Well, just because Hermione Granger decides to skive off work, does not mean I can afford that luxury," he told her.

"Malfoy."

"What?"

"Hermione Malfoy," she was not looking at him when she said this, but the pink of her cheeks was hard not to see. "It's customary for the woman to take her husband's name, is it not? I mean, it's all a bit medieval and all, because I can and will keep my surname if I please it, but Malfoy is not an entirely awful—"

He silenced her rambling with a kiss.

She might have expected the morning sun to be oblivious to what she had said when the moon was out, but it was still lingering in the back of his head, repeating the same phrase over and over again: Family, family, family, family.

That was what she was giving him.

Her response to the kiss deepened when her fingers sunk into his hair, tugging at the roots when he hiked her leg over his hip. He tried for a brief second to rack his brains to remember if it had felt this good having Hermione's warm body beside him as he devoured her lips, but he let that go when he decided to live in the present moment. Because right now, it had to be better than a memory he could not recall; especially when she rolled on top of him, kissing him harder as she ground herself down on him.

If Heaven was this, trying to press every blissful spot on Hermione's body, then Hell was the Floo Network lighting up with emerald flames to spew his mother out.

Instantly, Hermione launched herself off of Draco, nearly missing her side of the bed. Draco reached for her arm, reeling her in just in time before she collided with her night stand.

"I've got to start locking that blasted thing," he hissed to himself as he aimed a frown at his mother. "What?"

While the two newlyweds were red (one out of sheer embarrassment and the other out of rage), Narcissa was completely unruffled by the state she had caught them in. She narrowed her blue eyes at her son, warning him about his tone directed at her without having to say the words. Then, in a clear and almost sweet voice, she said, "Good morning. Skipping breakfast along with work, I see."

"Father sent you?" asked Draco when he tried to keep himself from scoffing at his mother (or tell her he was about to have Hermione for breakfast).

"How about I have Delta whip something up for both of you?" Narcissa said, already walking out of the bedroom.

Draco frowned, but Hermione let out the groan she had been containing. "If I wasn't worried about your mother's perception of me before, I am now."

"As much as it pains me to acknowledge this, I think my mother is well aware that married people have sex."

"We weren't having sex," she hissed at him, eyes wide in outrage as she lept off the bed, finding the nearest robe to throw on herself. When she had secured the ties, she fetched for the cellphone he had thrown. "It was Olive. She said she just wanted me to make sure you had a morning shot of whiskey. Why does she want me to give you alcohol so early in the day?"

"Why is Olive contacting you?" he demanded. "When the hell did you two even exchange numbers?"

"We didn't," she said as she skimmed the device again. "But she's really good at tracking people down, I'll give her that."

Draco scoffed as he grudgingly stood from the bed, too. "Stalking my wife is definitely enough reason to fire her, right? I've been looking for an excuse that will hold over with human resources."

Hermione rolled her eyes at him as they both exited the bedroom. They were heading off to the kitchen, but found Narcissa already sat in the living room, pouring tea into the three cups laid out on the center table. Hermione leaned back on the balls of her feet, looking ready to march back to the bedroom, but Draco took her hand, lacing fingers together to move them to the open couch.

"Mother," he said as calmly as he could, "one of your best qualities is never showing up unannounced. Why are you tainting your track record?"

Narcissa handed him a cup as she said, "As loyal as Olive is to you, sweetheart, she could not keep your father from finding out you had yet to show up at the office. When three hours passed, he was positive you had run off to another country for a day-long bender. Of course, I had to remind him you are a married man now and Hermione would never allow you to do such a thing."

"Why would I—" Draco stopped, recalling Olive's text to Hermione. If she had asked Hermione to fill him up with liquor and his father assumed he had left the country...that only meant one thing. "Fucking hell."

He would have thrown the teacup if it not been for Hermione taking it when his hands balled into fists.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked.

"I'm not going," Draco said to his mother, not hearing Hermione at all when anger pulsated in his eardrums. "I went last year. Father promised I was in the clear for at least three more years."

"Yes," Narcissa conceded, "but things were different last year. You did not have Malfoy Industries backing up a foreign, startup company that still needs the approval of half our partners."

Draco pressed his lips into a tight line. He could not argue his mother on that, could he?

"A dinner is to be had this evening for all of the partners of Malfoy Industries," Narcissa informed Hermione when the latter was looking skeptically at Draco, obviously wondering what had changed his mood so quickly. "Draco is an incredibly savvy businessman, but a complete brute when it comes to dealing with the partners. Usually he takes Blaise to these, but seeing as you are his wife now—"

"Yes, of course I'll go," Hermione said before Mrs. Malfoy could finish her sentence. She placed a hand on Draco's knee, making him blink those silver eyes of his at her brown ones. When the silent question of 'you will?' played in his eyes, she said, "I may have passed on the offer for Head Healer, but I am still required to meet and dine with the donors of St. Mungo's. Most of these events are completely grim, so I understand your distaste for them. But like your mother said, you have me now."

Draco thought he was going to lean in and kiss Hermione senseless (and he really wanted to), but instead he took his teacup from her hands. He granted her a small smile before taking a sip out of the cup.

Narcissa was five minutes into explaining the function to Hermione when Delta popped into the sitting room. Hermione gave a little jump at her appearance (seeing as she was the only one who had never been accustomed to having a house-elf serve her), but Draco and Narcissa only greeted her with a nod.

"Sorry, Mistress," Delta's ears drooped as she approached Hermione, her big, purple eyes wide with true apology, "but there's a Floo Call for you, Mistress. Delta tells Misses Ginger Mistress is busy attending to Master's mother, but Misses Ginger insists."

"Ginger?"

"Weasley," huffed Draco into his teacup. "The Weaslette to be specific."

Hermione furrowed her brows. "You made Delta call Ginny 'Ginger'?"

"It's a better alternative than what I originally wanted her to call that menace," he said with an unapologetic grin.

Hermione grabbed the nearest throw pillow and smacked him on the face with it. "If you can't seem to remember your manners, Draco, neither will I."

It was strange to see Draco react in any way that was not aggressive and cold, but somehow Narcissa was not exactly shocked to hear her son's laugh ringing throughout the sitting room. There was something different about him. Something Hermione Granger was responsible for. Draco was a glimmer of what Narcissa had hoped his life to be; something close to happy and carefree.

"Go ahead, dear," Narcissa said with a smile directed at Hermione, "answer your call."

With a sly pinch to Draco's elbow, Hermione excused herself before following Delta to the master bedroom of the flat. When Narcissa heard the immediate muffled conversation being exchanged, she let her inquisitive blue eyes roam over her son.

"I know all about your slip to Daphne Greengrass."

Draco's grip tightened on the fragile handle of the teacup again, his jaw squaring. "Father told you, I see."

"Quite the contrary, sweetheart. He thinks he can keep this from me, but he forgets that I know everything that happens within my family. Lucius instructing you to use your marriage to Hermione for the company's gain is one of them."

"Now is not the time, Mother," he said, but there was a hint of a warning in the words.

"Of course not," Narcissa returned, "but do not forget who your enemies are."

Before Draco could question his mother on what exactly she had meant, Hermione strolled back into the living room, a dilemma flashing across her her brown gaze.

"Bad news?" he asked when he reached for her hand, pulling her back to the space beside him.

Hermione shook her head. "No, not bad, just that I'm a terrible person. With everything that has been going on, I completely forgot it's Mr. Weasley's birthday today. They are expecting us for a celebratory brunch at the Burrow."

"Us?"

"Oh, that is perfectly all right, Hermione," said Narcissa with a laugh at her conflicted expression. "We can reschedule lunch for another time. After all, I will see you two later tonight."

"You will?"

"Yes, Draco, I will," it was Narcissa's turn to lace her words with a heed she expected her son to follow. "Now, you two go and get ready. Do not keep the Weasleys waiting."

The day he had to meet the Weasleys and Co. as Hermione's husband, Draco was dreading the idea for such news to come to light. Now, with that truth revealed, with that truth now fast becoming a concrete bond rather than a terrible mistake in his mind, Draco found himself embarrassingly nervous about stepping foot at the Burrow. She must have sensed his hesitance, because as they dressed in silence Hermione would often come around to his side and trace comforting circles on his back. She did not say the words he was not entirely sure he wanted to hear, but knowing that she was there, that she was willingly allowing him in on an intimate moment with the people she considered family, well...Fuck.

Once dressed in casual attire (well, Hermione was, but somehow Draco still looked like he was going to the fashion capital), warm cloaks over their shoulders to protect them from the cold, they walked to the nearest apparition point with clasped hands.

"Hermione!" squealed Mrs. Weasley the second she and Draco crossed the threshold that led to the garden. Arms were wrapped around Hermione, followed by kisses to the cheek; before he knew it, Draco was caught in the same whirlwind of red hair and genuine sentiment. "Draco! So happy to have you both here. Come, come! There's plenty of food!"

Draco wanted to whisper to Hermione that he now understood why the Weasel had packed on a few pounds since their Hogwarts days (Mrs. Weasley always seemed to have some sort of feast prepared), but the words died in his throat when he came upon a woman he had only ever seen in old photographs.

Andromeda Tonks had the misfortune of inheriting all the essential Black traits. She was all dark, cascading hair and dark, unnerving eyes; tall and poised, austere and cold. He could have mistaken her for Bellatrix, but Andromeda's ice cracked and melted when a little boy with bright turquoise hair tugged at her left hand, pointing a finger forward.

Draco blanched at the kid's action, but he quickly realized it was Hermione whom he was looking at.

Andromeda released his hand and the little boy ran forward, throwing his skinny arms around Hermione's hips.

"Oh, no," she gasped dramatically, "this can't be Teddy Lupin. Last I saw him he was this small," she gestured to her knee, earning a laugh from the child, "now he is way up here. Men that height do not get lollies from their Aunt 'Mione."

Teddy lowered himself from the tips of his toes. "I'm still a boy," he laughed again, "just one who's determined to be taller than Vic."

"Victoire is half Weasley, sweetheart," Hermione said lightheartedly, ruffling Teddy's hair, "she is always going to be taller than you. That family has to be part-giant."

George threw a balled napkin at Hermione from his seat next to his girlfriend Angelina Johnson. "You can't pick on us just because you're a Malfoy now."

While she frowned at him (even though George and some of the others laughed), Teddy blinked grey eyes at the man standing next to Hermione.

"Nan says you got married," he told her.

Hermione glanced over at Andromeda, who remained in her position, carefully surveying the situation with narrowed eyes. All Hermione needed was one look; if she did not want Teddy to interact with Draco, Hermione would not overstep. After all, it had to be Andromeda's choice to allow her living relatives in and mend the bloody rift that had forced them on different sides so many decades ago.

Andromeda nodded once, eyes flickering between the newly married couple before turning to the table to pick up her flute of champagne. Hermione did not miss Ginny squeezing Andromeda's elbow, silently thanking her for the decision.

"I did get married," Hermione said, bent on her knees to get a good look at Teddy. "Would you like to meet my husband?"

Teddy nodded immediately.

"Ted, this is Draco Malfoy. Draco, this is little Teddy Lupin." Hermione rose back to her height, smiling at the two despite her heart banging unevenly in her chest.

Draco had no experience whatsoever with children. In fact, he often avoided them whenever a partner's wife or husband tried to bring them to Malfoy Industries for a look-around. But this was not any child. This was Teddy Lupin, his second cousin. Son of his mother's niece. 

He was family.

"Do you love 'Mione?" asked Teddy, his head tilted to the side as he observed Draco. "Because Nan says you need to love someone to marry them."

"Not true, Ted," chimed George from his seat again, biting into an orange wedge with a smirk. "Look at Harry and Ginny."

Harry turned red at the reminder, but Ginny reached for the butter knife at the side of her plate. "Just think about how much it'll hurt, George," she said, pointing the silverware at him. "I've always wanted a sister."

George was not easily intimidated, but when he was, Ginny was the cause.

"You'll be good to 'Mione, right?" Teddy then asked. "Because she's the best."

Draco swallowed the uneasiness to say, "Yeah, kid. I will be good to her."

That was all Teddy needed to hear to grant Draco a toothy grin and pointing out the feast Mrs. Weasley had made. He told Draco to try the mince pies, his favorites.

Hermione smiled, proud of the exchange. She reached for Draco's hand again, pulling him in the direction of the table. She first made them stop beside Mr. Weasley to wish him a happy birthday (she gave him a tight hug and kiss upon his cheek), then they took their seats next to Bill and Fleur Weasley.

Draco did not miss the fact that they were strategically seated away from the Weasel and Potter (the redhead numpty had not stopped glaring at Draco and Hermione since they arrived, and Saint Potter was actively ignoring them). He was more than perfectly okay with the arrangement, but he could tell from the slight crease on Hermione's forehead that she was not. Grudgingly, Draco had to admit that it must not be ideal for her to be quarreling with her best friends (even if he thought they were undeserving of that title).

Fortunately (surprisingly) the eldest of the Weasley children and his veela wife proved to be more than pleasant companions. While at first they only addressed Hermione (something about Fleur's pregnancy), Bill mentioned he had read in The Potioneer that Malfoy Industries was going green with their potions department.

Hermione grinned to herself as Draco explained all the details of this new investment. He was so wrapped up in it, he did not notice when Pansy came out huffing from the kitchen, eyes narrowed in frustration, demanding Hermione to take over baking the sugar cookies Mrs. Weasley had asked her to bring to the brunch.

"Why would she ask me to bake?" Pansy stomped her heeled foot, dusting herself from the flour on her tight dress. "I've told her plenty of times that I don't even know what a kitchen looks like, let alone how to use one."

Hermione patted her shoulder gently. "Sugar cookies are rather simple to make from scratch, Pansy." This earned her a glare. "But in Molly's defense, she told you to bring them, not bake them. She doesn't judge you for not being able to cook, especially since she taught Ronald how to fend for himself."

Pansy flashed her glare at her fiance currently stuffing his face among his family. "That bastard said he didn't even know how to make scrambled eggs."

"Ron's lazy," Hermione reminded. "That's hardly a surprise."

Before Pansy could get more upset, Hermione told her to take her seat, enjoy the lemon cake Fleur had delivered from France, and drink an entire bottle of champagne if she needed it. She then walked to the Burrow's kitchen, grabbing an old apron from the stack as she waved her wand to clean up the mess Pansy left behind.

She was placing a new baking sheet on a tray while the first batch was baking when Draco entered the kitchen. He stayed by the door for a few minutes before moving to approach her.

"I've been thinking," he said while resting his chin on her shoulder, arms wrapped around her middle, "I should meet your parents."

Hermione's fingers stopped kneading the cookie-dough laid out on the baking sheet. Draco felt her hold her breath for a second before turning around, careful not to touch his expensive attire with her hands covered in flour and sugar.

"You want to meet my parents?"

There was an unquestionable apprehension in her voice that Draco could not blame her for. He did not have the best record when it came to dealing with her Muggle heritage, after all.

"Hermione," he said, hands on her waist again, "You've willingly sat through a meal with my parents—people you have a complicated history with. Fuck, this entire marriage is a constant reminder to a terrible past between us, yet you're still here. The least I can do is meet your parents."

"Don't do it out of obligation," she mumbled.

"It's not. I want to get to know your family. Hell, I want to get to know you."

It took Hermione a moment, but eventually a smile appeared on her pink lips. Happiness made her glow inside out as she raised herself on her toes to kiss him.

When his left hand went to the back of her neck to pull her closer to him, she forgot all about her dirty hands when she gripped the front of his grey jumper. Having started off jubilant and sweet, the kiss now intensified; Draco felt his blood burn, eager for more of her, and by the way she hooked her leg over his hip, he knew she felt the same.

Unfortunately, they were not alone. Or in their flat. Alike that same morning, they were interrupted, but this time by bare feet stampeding down the old wooden floor, bringing in Teddy and Victoire to the kitchen with Harry close behind them.

"Draco, come play with us!" Teddy exclaimed, rushing up to Draco to tug on his arm, effectively pulling him from Hermione. "George and Charlie let us use their old brooms!"

Hermione could not help the laughter that bubbled in her chest from ringing out when Victoire launched herself at Draco, too, clutching on to his knees while standing on his shoes.

"I wanna be on your team!" she said, giant blue eyes beaming up at him. "Teddy and Uncle Georgie cheat!"

"We don't!" protested Teddy.

"Do too!"

"Don't!"

Draco automatically flashed Hermione a pleading look, but it then quickly transformed to an unexpected smirk when his silver eyes met Victoire as he said, "Good news, kid: I cheat, too. We've got this."

As he was being dragged off by the two excited children, Harry moved to place an empty glass in the sink. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the sink to watch his best friend kneading cookie dough. It took him a moment to say, "You're happy."

"Yeah," she breathed as a pink flush took over her cheeks, "I think I am."

"Did you not expect to be?"

"Harry," warned Hermione. "Don't start. I get enough grief from Ron, I don't need it from you, too."

"Can you blame him? You married Malfoy. Malfoy, Hermione."

Hermione punched the dough after sprinkling in more sugar. "Yes, I'm aware I married Draco. I do sleep next to him every night, Harry. So if you and Ronald are waiting for me to ask for your permission for it to stay that way, you've got another thing coming."

Harry left the side of the sink to approach her. He has known her for years, what seemed like so many lifetimes now, so he knew better than to close distance between them when she was upset, but he did so anyway. He put a hand on her shoulder, making her turn so she could get a good look at him. He needed her to see the affection in his green eyes that would always be there for her.

Hermione slapped his chest three times, leaving handprints on his red jumper.

"I'm not waiting for you to ask for my permission—Ron might be, but luckily that's your mess to deal with and not mine," he said with a slight chuckle that made Hermione scoff in annoyance. "I just worry about you. Especially after what happened with Finn and Lottie Conrad. You can't blame me for that, can you? You're my sister, Hermione. I don't want to see you get hurt again."

It was difficult for Hermione not to flinch when that name was mentioned. Just because skin and bone hid it, that did not mean the wound that was Finn Conrad did not still bleed and sting. It was a betrayal that would need more than a year to mend. Still, she could comprehend Harry's wariness (for that and more) when it came to her marriage to Draco. There was one important thing, however, that they needed to understand. Herself included.

It was this: "Draco is not Finn."

"He's not," said Harry with a solemn nod, "but Conrad isn't Malfoy, either."

"Do you condemn him for being a Death Eater? Because there are many who were once associated to Voldemort that you now call friends, Harry."

Harry pressed his lips into a tight line. When a long minute of silence had passed between the two, he sighed in what Hermione knew was resignation. "I'm no better than Ron, am I?"

"No," Hermione said with a frown. "You both seem to be able to forgive others, but not Draco. If I can, why can't you?"

It was complicated, yet it was not; Harry could not exactly explain it. As such, he settled on saying, "For what it's worth, Ron nor I think there's anyone in this bloody world good enough for you. It's not an excuse for us to be shit people, but it's all I've got."

"It's all you'll give me," she corrected.

Harry leaned in to press a kiss on her head. "It'll try," he promised with a twinge of hesitance. "The past is the past and Malfoy is in your future."

"You sound like Luna."

"She might have popped around the Auror Department a few days ago for what was a bizarre scolding," Harry said with a laugh before heading back out to the garden.

The rest of the afternoon passed without a hitch (well, except for the impromptu Qudditch match that ended with Ron sporting a broken nose and Harry not calling foul on Bill and Draco's team). Hermione could not remember when was the last time she enjoyed the company of her friends. Regrettably, she knew it had been too long. She did visit the Weasleys whenever she could get away from the hospital, but it had been a rare thing the previous months. The hit she took from Finn Conrad had caused far more damage to every aspect of Hermione's life than she originally thought; she could not look good, honest people in the eye and not feel like an abomination. So she poured herself into her work, often going seventy-two hours straight without stepping foot in her own home. Everyone worried, of course, and Hermione would always say she was fine. Then Draco Malfoy happened.

"You're staring at me, Hermione," he said, silver eyes peering at her from the reflection of the long mirror in his walk-in closet. "Do you hate the tie?"

Hermione stood from the small stool at the corner of the closet, letting the tail of her gown pool around her bare feet. His eyes roamed her body, appraising for the hundredth time the long-sleeved, tight, icy silver dress with the plunging neckline. As she moved toward him, the light of the room beamed off the material of her dress, making her a beacon. She could see him focus on her blood-red painted lips; she wanted nothing more than to kiss him, test the expensive lipstick's staying power, but instead her fingers moved to help fix his tie.

"I have to tell you something," she whispered, her tone uneven.

It made Draco furrow his brows. He touched her chin, gently pulling it up so her eyes found his. "You do hate the tie?"

Hermione laughed, smoothing down the satin, silver tie that almost perfectly matched the color of her gown. "No, your mother's gifts are of great taste. I just...I need to tell you...Thank you." She smiled now. "For coming with me to the Burrow. I know it couldn't have been easy given our pasts, but it meant so much to me."

While she could not kiss him, that did not mean Draco could not kiss her. He tenderly pressed his lips to her cheek before saying, "Weasleys aren't as dangerous as you make them out to be, Hermione. But the pit of snakes we have to walk into tonight, that can be. Thank you for agreeing to it."

She hummed when he then moved his lips to her neck for a sinfully short kiss. "Do I still have to wear heels?"

He spun her around, swatting her butt and then telling her they had five minutes before his mother returned to tug them both by the ear and into the Floo for the dreaded dinner party.

The first partners dinner of the year was held at Malfoy Manor where Mrs. Malfoy outdid herself every time, but the ones after that were held at one of the board members homes. This year—because Fate was a downright bitch—the honor belonged to Wulfric Macnair. If Draco did not hate the old bastard, he perhaps could have something positive to say about the scenery he and Hermione walked into.

The Macnair ballroom had been transformed into bright gold. The walls were lined with intricate, yellow gold detail that curved and blossomed into vines roping together into more arches. These enveloped the rectangular glass on the walls that made the room appear wider than it actually was. Along these intricate walls were curious gilded lanterns that gave out overwhelming golden light that drowned the room and brought it to life. This light allowed the guests to marvel at the painted ceiling depicting one breathtaking battle of Good vs. Evil. At the center of the room was a long glass table whose base was the same gold as the walls, but had elaborate white roses engraved and bursting from every aureate leaf. The chairs' cushions were pearl white, while their legs were gold, and the place sets on the crystal tabletop mirrored the color-scheme with golden vases hosting white roses were also placed along the middle of the table.

"I thought you said this was a simple dinner?" Hermione whispered to Draco as they awaited to be greeted by their host.

"We're a bunch of rich arseholes, Hermione," he replied. "Did you really think we wouldn't parade that money around? Especially if other rich arseholes are coming into our home?"

Hermione suppressed her urge to laugh when Lucius Malfoy cleared his throat behind her. She could not help the shiver that ran up her spine at remembering his proximity. It took her a few seconds to school her expression from its automatic, weary reflex.

"Explains my dress," she said when she found her voice. "I thought your mother was overdoing it."

Draco did not care about his parents' presence; as such, he let out a snort just as the couple before them walked off once their pleasantries to their host had been given.

If she were being absolutely honest, Hermione had not been expecting Wulfric Macnair to be a rather charismatic man given Draco's undeniable abhorrence for him. However, the man before them had a welcoming smile that accentuated all the sharp, attractive angles of his face. He had deep blue eyes that were illuminated by the white hair on his head, and a body that still appeared to be strong and defined given his obvious older age.

"Miss Granger—"

"Mrs. Malfoy, actually," Draco interrupted Macnair's greeting, raising Hermione's hand so the diamond ring on her finger could catch the golden light of the room. It beamed iridescently, like a lighthouse giving signal to those lost at sea.

"Hermione will do," she said with a polite smile as Macnair took her hand from Draco's hold. "Thank you so much for having us this evening."

Macnair pressed a kiss over her knuckles, his grin widening with dark mirth when Draco glared at his action. "The pleasure is all mine, I assure you. In fact, I think tonight has to be your night, Hermione, because the Kinomoto family is also present. They are our newest members from Japan, and Mr. Takumi Kinomoto is looking to carry on his charitable work here in Britain. Perhaps you can tell him all about your work at St. Mungo's before our evening begins."

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Macnair—"

"Wulfric, please."

"Wulfric," Hermione amended with another smile, "but I belong at my husband's side tonight."

"Nonsense," said Macnair. "Draco did not marry someone as spirited as you just to tame her. Isn't that right, Draco?"

Draco was sure he had to be the first human in existence to be able to radiate out his revulsion for someone with just his eyes.

"It's settled then." Macnair carefully reeled Hermione closer to him, tucking her arm beneath his. "Tell me, Hermione, exactly how Draco manage to win you over. I doubt it was his charming personality that did it—on account of it being nonexistent."

"I'll kill him," Draco hissed, already taking a step forward as Macnair led Hermione away.

Lucius gripped his son's elbow, keeping him in place. "You will behave yourself like the well-mannered boy your mother thinks she raised," he warned. "He is your deciding vote. It will do you well to remember that."

In years past, when Draco was forced by his father to attend these pointless dinners, he would bring Blaise along so the night could reach a few degrees before tolerable (shitfest was the highest ranking of approval Draco had given these gatherings). They would head directly to the open bar, ordering consecutive shots before the guests were even asked to take their seats. This behavior could have earned him (and probably had, but just less publicly) significant disapproval from board members, but most had children Draco's age that would join him and Blaise at the bar, getting rowdier and sloppier than the former. It provided him with steady entertainment when business matters were being discussed and those light-weight heirs could not stop giggling or hiccuping over their premium steaks.

This night, however, Draco was shocked to realize he had only needed one glass of bourbon to call the affair tolerable. Of course, it was all because of Hermione—his wife. Although she never asked nor needed the attention of a room, her mere presence commanded it. Every eye in that ballroom was drawn to her; every ear perked, intent on catching every word that passed those glorious lips whenever she was asked a question. Her responses were so eloquent and humble and kind that even Lucius Malfoy kept his face free from sneers whenever she was speaking.

"My daughter-in-law has the highest record of recovering burn victims in the country," he had even said, causing both Draco and Hermione to openly gape at him (both slightly unsure how he even knew that). "People all over the world come to St. Mungo's to be treated by her."

Although part of him missed the freedom that came with being reckless, Draco could not deny what Hermione was offering seemed far more enticing than anything he had done or been in the past. He wanted to tell her just that, but when the meal and the forced socialization that came after was finished, she gave him a look that told him she already knew.

"You're probably tired of hearing company talk," he said, a hand on her back as he steered her back to the entrance hall of the Macnair home. "It's not as entertaining as hearing Charlie Weasley's tales of dragon training, or the new curses Bill creates for Gringotts to protect vast amounts of treasure."

"I find it admirable, actually," she said to him, taking his hand with her own. She squeezed his fingers, smiling beautifully at him before saying, "You're an environmentalist. Pushing for organic compounds and natural ingredients instead of the poisonous chemicals most potion labs use is proof of that. Most admirable of all, Draco, you believe in someone else's work. I'm sure Mr. Rivera is a genius if he has you fighting for his company."

Draco was not entirely sure why his heart picked up in rhythm, practically bruising his bones, but he was sure that all he wanted—needed—to do was appraise Hermione from head to toe. His entire being was begging him to do so; it begged him to take her lips hostage, press her warm, soft body against his and create wave after wave of bliss for them to drown themselves in.

Yet Fate kept cock-blocking his day. First with his mother, then with Teddy and Victoire, and now with fucking Macnair. He strut his way over to the couple once the Kinomoto family disappeared through the Floo.

"You have effectively charmed Takumi Kinomoto, Hermione. He has promised to stop by the hospital later this week to discuss donations."

Hermione blushed, but it was not do to the flattery she was getting from Macnair. She was almost positive the room was filling with the sound of her body reacting to the lustful gaze Draco had given her.

"Thank you," she cleared her throat. "St. Mungo's would not be receiving that donation if it weren't for you, Mr. Macnair."

"You are a brilliant Healer, I'm sure," said Macnair, grinning dangerously again. "But I figured if Draco is getting a good deal from your marriage, there is no reason why you should not be rewarded, too. After all, you are the unlucky soul who married the boy."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"A dickhead as always," Draco said immediately past gritted teeth as he pulled Hermione a little too harshly. "This is where my wife and I call it an evening. Unfortunately, now we must go home and wash off the Macnair stench that—"

"What do you mean 'a good deal'?" asked Hermione, turning on her heels as Draco attempted to drag her into the Floo.

Macnair raised a brow at her. "I am not judging you on it, believe me, Hermione. I just did not think you were that close to Draco to get roped up in this."

"In what?"

"Hermione, let's just—"

"In what?" she repeated, ignoring Draco as he gave their clasped hands another tug.

"In Draco's quest to get all the board members to approve this little business venture of his. That is why he let the news of your marriage slip to Daphne Greengrass, is it not? I will hand it to him, though; he is clever. The board is practically dripping with excitement for what his union to you, Hermione Granger, is going to do to our stocks."

Hermione's hand fell limp against Draco's. She held her breath for a moment before turning to face him. "Did you tell Daphne Greengrass?"

Draco pressed his lips into a tight line.

"Answer me. Did you tell Daphne Greengrass where to find us that day?"

"I didn't have another choice," he said without a trace of emotion, his silver eyes also going void. "You didn't give me another choice. But that was then, Hermione. What we have now—"

Draco did not continue his sentence; Hermione cut it short when her free hand collided with his cheek.

"I was hounded by the media," she hissed, pulling herself back. Draco let her hand go. "I still am—my friends and coworkers, too. For what?"

He tried to reach for her, but she smacked his hand away. He was not sure what he could say, how he could explain this mess to her, but the words were not coming out. Which seemed to be the only thing going in his favor because Hermione was not sticking around for answers.

She grabbed her black clutch from the house-elf at the corner of the Floo. She did not go into it, but instead stormed out past the doors of the Macnair home.

"Spirited," said Macnair with a contemplative tone, smiling at the apparition noise that echoed in the night. "I told you, she is not someone you can tame."

Lucius had warned his son to behave himself, but Draco was past the point of following social propriety. As such, he punched Wulfric Macnair until he heard bone crack.