Draco tossed and turned for hours. It was not only that the couch was extremely uncomfortable (for he had protested sharing a bed with Granger after what she had done), but the image of his parents' faces when they learned how he had totally fucked up would not stop playing in his head. There had been so much they had allowed him to get away with in past years because of their shame of what his life had become during war—but this? For fuck sakes, his mother still went throughout their refined circles looking for a suitable wife for him. They had lost the war and suffered a terrible downfall after it, yes, but one thing did not change about Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy—and that was their pride. Their family will remain pure upon their very lives. They cherished their family tree more than they did the gold in their vaults (and that was saying a lot considering that money was very important to them). Now Draco had damaged it, and he doubted they would be forgiving over such a reckless act.

The moonlight pouring in through his living room window turned to sunlight by the time Draco managed to sleep. Unconsciousness impacted his exhausted body like he was rammed into a wall of bricks. Blackness hazed over his mind for three hours. Then it turned to a nightmare. What woke him up was not a memory plagued by the Dark Lord, Death Eaters, or the consequences of war. No, what woke him up gasping, his heart erratically banging in his chest, was the flashback of his naked body over Granger's.

They had just apparated to his flat—miraculously un-splinched since their sense of directionality was blurred by the alcohol running in their veins. Draco shoved her against the wall, pinning her against it as his mouth devoured her and his hands pulled on those tight garments she looked unexpectedly delectable in. When her hands began to do the same with his attire, clothes now flying everywhere, he got a glimpse of how stunning she was. Of course he had appreciated her appearance back in his club, but now, with her chest heaving, her curls tangled from his fingers tugging at them, and her lips swollen from being passionately kissed, he saw her beauty. It took his breath away; just as it did back in their Fourth Year at the Yule Ball (not that he had ever admitted that to anyone). But he wasn't there to recount old memories. He was there to devour her. To make her his—even if for a night.

He grabbed the back of her bare thighs and hoisted her up. She instantly wrapped her legs around his waist as he made way for his bedroom. Her mouth had been on his neck, tentatively biting into his skin as he finished undoing his trousers. He threw her onto his bed and she eagerly awaited for him to be just as bare as her. Although his conscience was fogged by liquor, a part of him kept waiting for her to backtrack, to realize who she was with and run as far as she could. But that never came. Instead her finger motioned him forward, inviting him in. And, really, who was Draco to deny her anything?

It was odd how they fit. It was odd how it felt like home. It was odd that he felt anything at all beyond the obvious physical sensations. There was so much more happening than he could comprehend in his drunken, lustful state. As he looked down at her drowning in the waves of passion, at her brown eyes glittering gold with ecstasy, all he knew was that she was dangerous. And that thought itself is what woke Draco up.

Muttering a curse to himself, he rose from the couch. He stretched his limbs, hearing them crack after hours of restraining discomfort. The smell of savory food was in the air. He scowled at the direction of the kitchen. Thinking that was where Granger would be, Draco grabbed his wand from the center table and marched to his bedroom.

He was about to enter his room when he stopped at the voices inside. He pushed his back against the crook of his door, slyly peering in. Granger was there, but she was not alone.

"You are courageous, I'll give you that," Pansy said to Granger. She sat at the edge of the bed, watching as the latter fretted over a selection of dresses.

"Thanks," returned Granger as she picked up a floral dress.

"I didn't mean it as a compliment," Pansy added as she shook her head at the item Granger had decided on. "Why the hell are you putting yourself in this position? You're risking humiliation for Draco. Although I want to beat him senseless most of the time, I love him, for some bizarre reason, but this? He isn't deserving of this. Don't let him see you get torn to pieces by his parents. Call this thing off."

Draco would have been elated that Pansy was trying to convince Granger of backing off on her ridiculous plan, but how she regarded him did not go unheard. What the hell did that bitch mean when she said he wasn't deserving? He was deserving of everything—which is why he had everything. Just because she settled for the redheaded weasel she had to shit on everyone else? Her poor tastes were her own fault.

Granger turned from the vanity (that she had apparently brought into his bedroom without his permission). From the crook he was hiding in, Draco could see a twinge of fear in her brown gaze. It manifested outward as her fingers fiddled together over the material of another dress.

"I agreed to stay with Malfoy, didn't I? If I had to drag my friends and family to this unexpected union, then there should be no reason why the Malfoys should remain clueless. I'm his wife—"

"They hate you," Pansy interrupted. She rose from the bed, grabbing a black, lace, classic midi dress from the pile, handing it to her as she grabbed the yellow garment Granger had settled on. There was no taunt in Pansy's voice. "People like them don't change."

"You changed."

"Because I found Ron. He's light—just as you are, Hermione. People like Draco and me...We're fucking poison."

"I don't believe that. Ron wouldn't have fallen in love with you if you were."

"He trusted me when he gave me his heart. But the Malfoys—Draco especially—aren't careful with fragile pieces. They're not capable of love."

"You're his friend. How can he not love you?" asked Granger.

"Draco sold Nott and Zabini for a box of chocolate frogs our Fifth Year, Hermione. And they're his best friends. I'm his ex-girlfriend. He'd exchange me for the gum beneath someone's shoe without a second thought." Pansy rolled her eyes. "But if there is anyone that can give them hell, that'll be you. So if you insist on going through with this, own it."

Pansy handed Granger familiar red pumps before she entered the Floo and was gone. Once alone, Granger threw her dress and shoes on the bed, turning hastily to the mirror of her vanity. In her reflection Draco saw her anxiety double. Her fingers gripped the edge of the furniture, her breathing becoming shallow.

He never thought she was this afraid of them. When he was a child, Draco could admit he would thrive on that fear; for all he wanted then was for her to know her place, to know she would always be beneath the Malfoys. Of course he still wanted her to know her place, but that would be as not his wife, as some jumped up woman who was impossible to tolerate. He didn't want her to fear them to the point of panic, either. That type of apprehension could only be caused from tragic, life-changing events that continued to haunt Granger. And Draco knew exactly what that event had been—he'd been present for it, after all.

Deciding against the automatic inclination he had to be rude to her, Draco made way for his bathroom to get ready for the day.

Granger had been in the kitchen by the time Draco emerged back to his bedroom. Everything was tidy and smelt of vanilla and spice. He was never fond of scents other than his own, but he did not wrinkle his nose at this. He went into his closet, picked an expensive suit from the bunch, and marched out completely put together and attractive as always.

The wards around his flat vibrated, signaling to him that someone had apparated outside his door. He took a deep breath before facing reality.

Granger stood before the door with a hand reaching for the silver handle to let their guests in. She paused in her intention when Draco came in. She turned to him. She wore that black dress Pansy had suggested, the contrast against her skin made her an ethereal white; even her brown hair was far more vibrant against it, loose curls past her shoulders. Her makeup was minimal, as always enhancing her already lovely features. Her eyes found Draco's and for a moment he thought she was going to say something to him, but instead she twisted the handle and exposed Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy outside their son's front door.

The silence was so prominent it buzzed in Draco's ears as his parents entered his flat. His father's eyes narrowed when he looked upon Draco, the color of them becoming a dangerous metal. He had to turn away. His mother, on the other hand, examined the woman that stood opposite her. He was used to that from his mother, but the lack of judgement in her examination was unexpected. Especially since it manifested as soon as she blinked in his direction. And in all of this, Granger appeared as if this terrible choice was finally settling on her. Draco half expected her to find a way to paralyze time so she could prevent this from ever happening. Of course, as it was to be expected from a bloody Gryffindor, she was courageous.

A clearing of Hermione's throat made the present snap back into motion.

"We're happy you could join us this morning," she said ever so politely, a smile illuminating her face. Draco briefly wondered how she managed to effortlessly fake it. "Breakfast will be served in the dining room."

Hermione hooked an arm through Draco's. He managed to suppress his flinch at the contact while she motioned his parents to make way to the designated location. They obliged quietly.

Once they were seated Hermione had conducted a wandless choreography of magic to serve their meal. It reminded Draco of their time at Hogwarts, how the food appeared from nowhere for them to enjoy. Knowing that Delta had definitely not assisted Granger in the cooking process, he was impressed by the spread she produced by her own efforts. She had everything from omelets, baked potatoes, thinly sliced ham, fresh vegetables delicately chopped, crepes (sweet and savory), croissants (with butter or melted chocolate), colorful fruits, tea, coffee, and milk.

Draco smirked to himself; Granger stress cooked.

While he found the amount of food amusing, Narcissa was the first to take a bite. She gave a pleased hum, but the glint in her blue eyes signaled her surprise at how well it tasted.

When it was indirectly stated that breakfast was up to standards, the four adults ate. No conversation was produced for almost half an hour before Lucius was the one to start it. It was all because of the attentiveness this woman gave his son. It was nothing obvious to the untrained eye—but it was in the things that were subtle, Lucius found, that were the loudest. She had poured his tea for him. That, of course, was hardly the reason for his attention; it was what followed that made him frown. She had served Lucius, too, but she had done so plainly, as tea should be drunk. It was how he and Narcissa took it since the beginning of their consumption, but Draco? Draco had picked up the disagreeable manner of taking his tea with milk and honey. It was how, Lucius then noticed, she took it, too.

"I was under the impression you and Miss Granger had no contact since your Hogwarts graduation," Lucius addressed his son. "Surely, if the case had been the opposite, your mother and I would have been informed of it."

Draco refrained from frowning. "We weren't in contact, Father."

"Then how did she end up your wife?"

Draco's grip on his fork tightened. As guilty and shameful as he felt for dragging his parents into the aftermath of his drunken mistakes, he was not accustomed (any longer) to explain his life to them. He was a grown man who lived apart from them. He did not have to share details of every shag he had (or else they would know by now that Mister Greengrass broke all connections with the Malfoy family because he caught Draco doing his wife over the desk of his home office).

"I, for one, think marriage suits you, Draco," said Narcissa, surprising everyone at the table. Her tone suggested muffled delight, but her gaze remained analyzing the environment. It then settled on Hermione. "I was worried he would not settle down, you see. He is past his marriage prime."

"I'm twenty-four, Mother," Draco returned.

"My point exactly. Seven years past the normal wedding age for the members of our family."

"Twenty-four is still young enough," her son informed indignantly.

"Inexperienced, too," said Lucius with obvious disapproval.

"I would hardly say he is inexperienced. Need we bring forth every magazine article written about his dating life?" Narcissa returned with a taunt glittering in her blue eyes before she gave her attention back to the brunette on her son's right. "I do hope you know what you have gotten yourself into, Miss Granger."

"Hermione," corrected the latter. "Please, Mrs. Malfoy, call me Hermione. And, yes, I am aware of what I face beside your son."

Draco picked up a bitterness in Granger's tone. He frowned; not at it, exactly, but at not knowing why something dark loomed over her. It dimmed the warmth of her brown eyes.

"Do you, Miss Granger?" cut in Lucius. "We have a respectability to uphold in this family. Something I care to maintain unblemished."

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy, I am acquainted with how far you will go to keep your family pure."

Ah, that was the bitterness, then, that Draco had previously detected. The reminder finally came to the surface—the reminder, for Granger, that the family she had married into was led by a man who worked relentlessly to kill her and her friends years past, who deemed her unworthy of breathing. Now they were all sat together eating crepes and drinking tea.

Draco expected the dining room to break out in chaos, but instead he felt Granger's hand grip his knee beneath the table. From the corner of his eye he saw her battling with the demons the Malfoys had given her. He was not entirely sure what possessed him to do so, but he slyly lowered his hand beneath the table, too. He placed it over hers, locking their fingers.

Hermione took a deep breath.

"Which is why, you will be satisfied to know, Mr. Malfoy, that I live a quieter life than most. I am not particularly interested in the limelight."

"Let me make myself clear, Miss Granger. Draco's media attention I excuse because it comes from foolish, fanciful women magazines that hardly hold a shred of reputability—"

"I'm the second most eligible bachelor and men's best dresser for three years now," muttered Draco.

"—Yours stems from every angle, and not just in Britain."

"I do not deny their fixation on my life, but I hardly think they have much to write about, either. I am a full-time Healer. My days consist of St. Mungo's."

"And now my son," supplied Lucius.

"And now your son," Hermione agreed tentatively.

Beneath the table, she pulled her hand away from Draco's.

X

Draco was not entirely sure how he managed to survive the morning without his head being blasted off his shoulders by his father. The rest of breakfast had gone by relatively quiet; his mother and Granger provided the light conversation that acted as the background noise to their time together. The meal and social aspect of it felt like a lifetime to him, but when his parents had made their leave, the time was only an hour and a half.

When the door closed on his parents, Granger took a deep breath and her shoulders slackened from the rigidity they had taken. She glanced once at Draco with an unreadable expression before she went in the direction of his bedroom. Hardly in the mood to discuss the event, he pocketed his wand and took the Floo to his office in Malfoy Industries.

His secretary, Olive Crabbe, (favorite cousin to the late Vincent Crabbe, who Draco felt cornered into hiring when she showed up asking for employment after her family had disowned her for marrying a muggle) greeted him with a happy smile and a glass of scotch at his arrival.

"What's the liquor for?" he asked with a frown. Olive was used to that from him; he had told her countless of times her peppy attitude got on his nerves.

"You said to hold your morning meetings because you were having breakfast with your parents. I can't imagine that went well considering that you had a shotgun wedding."

"What the hell is a shotgun?" Draco took the glass of scotch and downed it. He extended it back to her with a light tap to the side of the glass, signaling an immediate refill.

Olive used her wand to disappear the glass. His frown intensified at her action, but he said nothing about it as he sat behind his desk. She only allowed him to have two alcoholic drinks in stressful days, one in the morning and the other before his departure.

"Never mind that," she dismissed. "How'd it go? Did they like your bride?"

"She's not my bride. She's a mistake."

"Did they like your mistake?" Olive amended with a roll of her eyes.

"Any mail?"

"Oh, come on! Tell me how it went—or at least who the unfortunate witch is. Oh, God, it's not a witch, is it? Well, welcome to the muggle side, Malfoy!"

Chucking an old Witch Weekly edition into the rubbish bin (Pansy insisted on sending him every issue he graced the cover of), Draco aimed a warning glare at his secretary. "I will demote you to custodial duties and inform the Ministry that you're harboring a muggle in Wizardying London. And it's Mr. Malfoy, you insolent wench."

Olive snorted, but knew well enough to diverge the topic (not that he would tip-off the Ministry that her husband was a resident in their magical society, but he made her scrub toilets before when he was annoyed at her). She handed him a stack of mail.

"Oh," she spun on her heels before she was out the door, "Your Evaluator Floo Called earlier to cancel your session tomorrow. Apparently her friend got married the previous weekend and she's hunting for a wedding gift in Brazil. She rescheduled for two weeks."

"How many times have I told you not to have an entire fucking conversation with her?"

"Luna's adorable—and a friend," said Olive before leaving her boss to his own, troubled thoughts.

Although he was angry Lovegood was now apparently informed about Granger and his marriage, Draco was pleased she cancelled their next session. He absolutely loathed when she scheduled their meetings so close together. She always said it was to maintain their progress, but he wondered if she was secretly sadistic and enjoyed toying with the minds of others.

He took the first letter from the pile. The Ministry crest was on the front. It was from Blaise. When he opened it a small, thin vial fell on his lap. The note attached to it read:

Send the memory of ol' Lucius' face when he saw you and Hermione together.

Cursing, Draco shoved the vial back into the paper. He crushed it into a ball, the glass shattering inside. He threw it across the room and, for once, decided to give his undivided attention to his work.

Most of the day went on uninterrupted for him. Olive had come in twice (to bring him lunch and more mail), and he managed to get all his research and presentation sorted for the next day's meeting with Malfoy Industries' partners. Before calling it a day, however, Draco had to get a few papers signed by his father. He could have Olive get the task done, but he also knew that sooner or later he would have to face his father.

With his last glass of scotch for the day, Draco gathered the paperwork after slipping on his sleek blazer. He took the lift to the floor above his. The level was mostly empty, save for a few employees who averted their eyes when they saw Draco approach. His father's executive secretary (a new one for the month) did not bother to halt him from walking in without being announced.

Draco was surprised not to find his father alone. Sitting opposite him was Cristobal Rivera, owner and lead potioneer of Tierra Pura, the Mexican potions lab Draco was very interested investing in.

"Draco," greeted Cristobal as he rose from his chair. "I was just on my way to see you. I've brought the numbers you requested of my lab's account."

Typically, Draco would have reacted to Cristobal's presence in a much friendlier manner, but him being in his father's office irked Draco. It was not like Lucius to interfere with the work he did for the company. He had never taken an interest, in fact, on the faces of their investments. Lucius only cared about the promising fortunes Malfoy Industries would earn from their business connections.

"I asked Mr. Rivera for a private meeting before the one with our partners tomorrow," said Lucius, leaning against his chair. "His endeavors seem very promising."

"Gracias, Señor Malfoy," returned Cristobal. "Well, I had the meeting and now delivered this file. I better be off. My wife is six months pregnant and not adjusting well to this harsh British weather. I promised her a romantic dinner, and unless I want to sleep with the dogs tonight, I better make it on time."

"Do so, Rivera. One's wife is the last person a man should anger. We will see you in the morning," Lucius said to the man.

There had been a hint of a smile on Lucius' face that soon vanished from existence when Cristobal was gone. His austere expression was back on and aimed at his son.

"You are going to be propositioning a fairytale to our partners tomorrow, Draco," his tone was severe. "How the hell do you think that will go? You are going to make a fool of yourself again."

"I'm not a fool," snapped Draco. "And Rivera's lab is a gold mine in the making. Father, you have seen the extraordinary work he does with so little. His work with natural compounds is not only minimizing the toxins released— "

"Enough," interrupted Lucius. "Save your presentation for the meeting. Look, Draco, I have never doubted your ability to see greatness in the companies we invest in. You have acquired countless of multi-million accounts for Malfoy Industries, but you lack agency."

Draco felt a growl vibrate in his chest.

"Do you think me wrong?" asked Lucius. "You are nothing but a child to them. Yes, the name of the company is yours, but we are hardly the true owners of it."

"Yes," hissed Draco. "I'm aware that we had to sell most of our shares after the war."

"And we rose back to the top after that. Still, our board is composed of enemies, Draco. They will gladly steal Malfoy Industries from you as soon as I decide to retire. Then there are others who do not want you to succeed because they do not trust us. Those will destroy our legacy soon as we turn our backs."

This, of course, Draco knew all too well. No one ever said the life of a convicted Death Eater was easy post-war. Nor did anyone want to make it so. Yes, with a modern world driven by media and drama, Draco and all other offspring of Death Eaters (especially those with social standing) were the belle of the ball, but that was as far as their acceptance went. They were good for entertainment, like trained elephants for a circus act. When it came to the real world, no one wanted them to come out. They wanted all of those with the mark of the devil to stay chained to the shadows.

"What will you have me do, Father?" Draco sighed. "I do my job, and I do it well. They will be the fools if we pass up on this opportunity because of a grudge. If, then, that's their intent, there's nothing I can do."

"There is," said Lucius. "And you have already found it." When his son appeared confused, he clarified with, "You married Hermione Granger."

Immediately, Draco marched up to his father. "I will not use my marriage with Granger for our benefit! I rather let this company crumble than to stay beside her."

Lucius laughed. "I told your mother this marriage was a sham. Miss Granger would never fraternize with the enemy unless they were deemed a changed person. Not to mention that you prefer women of prestige, women that are not yours to have. Tell me, how did she end up with our name?"

"It was a mistake that I will fix, Father."

"No. It is a mistake you will leave be. Understand what I am saying to you, Draco. Hermione Granger is your invitation to a world you will never get access to on your own. She will change everything for you." Lucius picked up the file Cristobal Rivera had brought for Draco, extending it to him. "If you really want to see this revolutionary project to the end, then make your marriage public."