All of Saturday was spent in shock. Draco, still clad in his day-old trousers, did not move from his position on the couch; his silver eyes were agape, clearly lost in thought as his palms held his chin up. He ignored the throbbing of the headache caused by his hangover by swallowing poison to combat the symptoms. By no means, however, was his body reacting to the alcohol. After three shots and no tingle of numbness, he set the bottle at his feet and continued to hold his silence.

He had fucked up. He had really, really fucked up. This was not like when he was nineteen and he demolished his family's home in France during a wild party and was deported back to England. This was far worse than the time he slept with the Spaniard princess on the eve of her wedding to his own cousin. This even trumped the time he had gotten so plastered he slept with Astoria Greengrass before seducing her mother when he snuck out of her bedroom, then got caught by Mister Greengrass, who was so enraged he had a heart attack and almost died. 

Yeah...Marrying Granger and possibly impregnating her was definitely the dumbest thing Draco had done.

Sunday somehow came and Draco was only brought back to the present when he heard Delta's voice calling for him.

"Master," said the house-elf, "there is a woman in the kitchen, Master. She says to Delta she is making Master lunch, but Delta always makes Master's lunch."

"Can you make someone disappear for me?" Draco muttered slowly. "I'm not saying kill her, but perhaps knock her over the head with a hard object, snap her wand in half, and then apparate her to the most remote place on Earth. Make sure she has no way of getting back to Britain, if you are so kind."

"I is sorry, Master," Delta replied with complete displeasure on not being able to follow an order, "but Ministry checks on Delta's activities to makes certain Master is behaving."

Draco scowled. He knew the Ministry even kept tabs on the company that made his boxers to ensure he was being a model citizen, but that did not have the power to aggravate him at the current moment. How the hell was he going to get rid of Granger?

Speaking of the devil, she entered the living room carrying a tray. Just as Draco was still in his clothes from the night this disaster occurred, so we she. All Granger had covering her lacy undergarment set was his button-up. She smiled tentatively when she rested the tray on his center table, picking up his bottle of whiskey in the process.

"Eat," she instructed him. "You'll feel better. There's also a Sobering Potion in there because I know you must still feel sick."

"I'll feel loads better if you fucked off, Granger," Draco replied, not bothering to be cordial whatsoever (not like it was in his nature, anyway).

She took a calming breath. "We've been over this. I am not going to leave until we are sure I am not pregnant."

"You are not!"

"How do you know that?"

"Because!" he retaliated, clearly not his best use of logic (not like any of this was). "You can wait as long as you bloody want, but do it at your own place."

Granger narrowed her brown gaze at him, ready to counter-argue, but there was a knocking at the door. Delta hurried off to tend to it.

"Who the fuck is it now?" Draco growled. "Potter and Weasley ready to fight me for shagging their best friend?"

"It's Blaise," informed Granger.

Draco snapped his neck to glare at her. "What'd you mean it's Blaise?"

On cue, the mentioned man appeared at the entrance of the living room. He was without his Auror robes, suggesting that he had taken a day off and was clearly not pleased that he found himself in Draco's flat once more (especially since his days off were usually spent with a girl he refused to give identity to or having tea with a mother he resented).

"What's so bloody important—" Blaise halted his complaint when his eyes found an almost naked brunette in the presence of his best friend. The complete shock Draco must have sported when he first saw Granger exit his bedroom was now on Blaise.

He took a wobbly step further into the sitting area. He turned from Granger to Draco, clearly using his Auror skills to solve the mystery at hand. Both half-naked suspects could only lead to one possible crime.

"Okay," Blaise whispered, clocking in on the bottle of liquor in Granger's hand. "A drunken bender usually ends in mistakes. Hermione, you've been stressed at St. Mungo's and, Draco, you are prone to stupidity. Fine. A one night stand. Okay. I'm just warning you, though, mate, I'm not arresting her."

Draco was about to oppose his last statement when Granger interjected with, "Actually, Blaise, it was me that owled you."

"I can't charge him for being bad at sex, Hermione. Unless—Draco, did you force yourself on her?"

Draco returned Blaise's disgusted expression.

"No," Granger spoke again, "it was consensual."

"Why?" Blaise grimaced.

"Cheers, mate," scoffed Draco.

"Come off it. She's the most intelligent person on this planet. It would be wrong not to question her judgement on this."

"She has always been fucking mental. I've said that since Hogwarts, haven't I?"

"True. But she's never been that—"

"Draco and I got married!" shouted Granger as the two Slytherins weighed in on her like she was not three feet from them.

That seemed to stop the interaction between the two friends. Hell, even Delta stopped picking up the mess Pansy had left behind when he came looking for Granger the day before. Draco cringed at the reminder, the house-elf gasped, her eyes widening with sparkle, and Blaise appeared to be having an aneurysm.

"That's why I owled you," Granger continued. "You are our friend and I wanted you to know. As well, as an Auror, you have some knowledge of the law. You can tell us how to proceed from here."

"Salazar," Blaise let out his version of a gasp. "Yeah, of course I can help. We can get this settled—not revoked because our marriage system is more binding than Muggle law, but we can have this figured out. I am so sorry this happened to you, Hermione."

"Why does everyone feel sorry for her?" hissed Draco as his friend approached Granger with the intent of giving her a comforting hug. "Feel sorry for me, for fuck sakes! I'm married to Granger—Granger, Blaise!"

"I don't want to get the marriage revoked," explained Granger. "I want you to tell him that legally speaking I am his wife and as such I am entitled to his flat. He cannot throw me out."

Again, Blaise looked like he was hit beside the head with a beater's bat. "Why would you want to stay married to this sod?"

Draco did not take offense to that statement. "That's exactly what I said! Make her go away, Blaise. She's clearly a nutter."

"Blaise," demanded Granger, her hands on her waist, parting Draco's button-up to reveal what very little she wore underneath. For a moment, both Blaise and Draco could not help the side of them that was governed by their hormones. Silence fell as they shamefully oggled the exposed skin of the woman before them. Of course, she used this to her advantage (the saucy minx). "Tell him I cannot go. As his wife I can live here, too."

"Draco," muttered Blaise distractedly, almost as if he was in a trance, "she cannot go. As your wife she can live here, too."

"Okay," said Draco unbeknownst to himself.

"Brilliant," said Hermione, closing the button-up again. "I've had your Floo connected to mine so I can start moving things in."

"Delta will help, Mistress!" cried the house-elf happily.

"Call me Hermione, please," she was heard saying to Delta as she turned on her heels and headed for the bedroom.

As she left the spell broke. Draco's aggravation returned tenfold. "You have to help me get rid of her!"

"She's so incredibly fit, though," offered Blaise, who was still looking at the trail Hermione had left behind. Draco elbowed him roughly on the ribs. "Well, she is. You can't deny that. You shagged her, after all."

Draco kept his lips in a tight line for a moment. He was not about to divulge that he, in fact, did not remember how sex with Granger was like (let alone what she looked like in her naked glory, trembling underneath him). He would never live it down (not like he would live down marrying her!).

"You are definitely fucked, mate," continued Blaise as he grabbed a potato wedge from the tray of food Granger had prepared. "Legally she does have every right to everything you own—given that you did not sign a prenup after your drunken vows, right?"

Draco flipped his friend off. "I just have to make her hate me."

"Doesn't she already?"

"Obviously not if she refuses to divorce me!" Still, the thought popped into Draco's head. Hadn't Granger hated him before their regrettable night together? For Salazar's sake, last time he was in her presence she broke his nose. How could they go from that to bound by marriage? "I'll just make her realize that this will only end up in disaster. Even if she is pregnant, she would rather have it all on our own than—"

"She's pregnant?" interjected Blaise, brows high on his forehead. His shock settled when he, too, realized that was impossible. "Hold on, mate. You're a terrible fucking person who has no experience whatsoever in what good parenting is—which, I obviously understand given our similar upbringings—but to abandon your kid? Not even you can fall so low."

Draco balled his hands into fists. "Are you going to help me get rid of Granger or not?"

"I don't want to get involved more than I have to be, actually. This is your mess. You have to fix it on your own this time."

With a grunt, Draco dismissed Blaise from his home. Though he knew that Blaise was now an accepted member in the community for his hard and impeccable work as an Auror, earning him respect and friendship from the Golden Trio, that did not lessen the fact that Draco and he were best friends. They had history. They were brothers—and the fucker was ruining that comradeship by being sensitive to Granger. He had helped Draco get rid of clingy women before, what was the difference now? Just because he got married to her? What was the sanctity of marriage to bachelors like them?

Draco marched to his bedroom with the intent to lock his Floo Network, but, of course, the Brightest Witch of Her Age had prepared for such reaction. No spell in Draco's repertoire could compete with whatever she conjured. She was a far better witch than he was a wizard, he had to admit—but he came very damn close and he was very proud of that.

He sat at the edge of his bed, staring down at the gold band on his finger. He tried to pull on it, to remove it, but it was stuck. That was the power of a marriage bond for wizards. Until the separation between a married couple was deemed legal, the ring would never come off; it was meant to uphold the respect for the union that had been fused. Draco never thought he would end up with such promise. Sure, in the past, as an obedient, fearful, proud child he knew that he would take a wife for the sake of continuing his pure lineage. Then the war came, bringing exposure to the lies he had been fed, destroying the only way of life he had known. When he survived the Dark Lord's defeat, Draco had sworn to himself that he would live the life he wanted, away from tradition and expectations. Marriage was on the list of things he surrendered to his rebellion.

He was not sure how long he spent staring down at the ring when the flames in his fireplace burned green. Out came Delta, carrying a box and wearing an elated smile (the traitor). Closely behind came Granger, now changed into a casual dress with a suitcase in hand. Draco expected them, just not the person that later followed.

He tossed his back onto the mattress, burying his face into his palms as he cursed repeatedly.

"Yeah, fuck me sideways, too, Malfoy," said Ginny Weasley, dropping the rucksack she was helping Granger bring over. "You are the last person on Earth I want married to Hermione."

"Oh, fuck off, Weasley," Draco said back. "How does it feel to be a pathetic old maid? Pansy's marrying your dimwit brother soon and Granger screwed me over by marrying me, but Potter has not even gotten down on one knee for you. I'll let you in on something, if he's waiting this long it means he doesn't want to marry you."

Ginny's cheeks grew deep red. "For your information, ferret, I was the one who chose not to get married until after I retire from my Quidditch career and Harry agreed. That's what love and compromise is—something you clearly know nothing about since you had to get my friend plastered to marry you."

When Draco sprang upward, Hermione put her palms up at the other occupants of the bedroom. "That's enough," she said with her parental tone. "Ginny was waiting for me at my place. I had no other option than to tell her."

"You just don't tell her," snapped Draco. "Why are you so set on informing the entire world about this, Granger? It's not going to last so quit it."

"Don't talk to her like that—"

"Seriously, enough!" Hermione cut across again. "As long as we are married, Draco, you and my friends will have to learn to tolerate each other."

"Tell me you didn't tell Potter and Weasel," Draco almost begged. "I fucking swear if they cross my Floo right now I am going to blast every single hair off their heads."

Granger sighed. "I haven't told them—yet. But I will, Draco. They are my friends and we are married. You'll have to learn to deal with that."

"Yeah, Draco," teased Ginny with a giant smirk, "you'll have to learn to deal with that. In fact, I have a match next weekend. You should bring him, Hermione. Bill and Fleur are returning from their trip to America and Charlie is coming in to see me play. It is the semi-finals, after all. The entire family will be present. Oh, and most of the D.A, too."

He could have hexed her right then and there, but, really, that would only prompt the entire world to come after him. He still was not sure if that was a risk he was willing to take (seeing as he would rid himself of Granger in the end of attacking Ginny Weasley), so he settled on glaring at her. Of course, that did not mean that Granger was not already contemplating that idea even if Draco looked like he rather throw himself off the tallest tower into a pit of burning lava.

"Thanks for being understanding, Gin," Hermione said to her friend when Delta happily took off to arrange the things they had brought over from her new mistress' place.

Ginny glanced over at Draco, scrunching her nose up in distaste before looking deep in to Hermione's brown gaze. "You don't have to do this," she whispered. "This can't end well."

"Ginny—"

"I know why you are doing it. You've given me your reasons, and I am no one to question your judgment, but I worry about you."

Hermione blinked in Draco's direction. He was frowning at Delta making room in his expensive dresser for some of her belongings, but she could see his ears perk at the sound of her and Ginny's quiet exchange.

"You don't have to be," she tried to assure Ginny.

The latter laughed humorlessly. "Don't I? We are talking about someone who has hated you most of his life—who probably still hates you now. What do you think he'll do to get rid of you? Harry and Ron will not be happy about this."

"I don't care what Harry or Ron will think," Hermione said harshly. She settled her ire quickly when Ginny was taken aback. "You said you understood why I was doing this."

Ginny gave her a stiff nod in return. "Fine. I'll leave you to it...Mrs. Malfoy."

Hermione's shoulders tensed for a sliver of time, but then she released a dim smile. "Thank you," she said as she leaned in to give a farewell embrace.

When that ended Ginny narrowed her sharp eyes at Draco. "One scratch on her, Malfoy, and I will cut off your bits and feed them to Buckbeak. And I don't care if it was Crookshanks that caused it. I'll blame you for everything."

"As usual?" Draco retorted.

Ginny entered the Floo and disappeared, leaving the new couple together.

Tension rose immediately, as it was to be expected, but Hermione was not going to let it settle.

"I will help Delta tidy up around the flat. Meanwhile, I suggest you eat something."

Delta beamed as her new mistress started giving her soft-spoken orders on what needed to be done. Draco wanted to instruct his house-elf to forgo anything that came out of Granger's mouth, but that was the thing about marriage bonds and magical creatures—they recognized when someone aside from the original family was given entitlement to them, too.

Draco had eventually walked out of his own bedroom to get away from Granger. He seethed to himself as he downed the overdue Sobering Potion and then proceeded to eat the meal she had prepared hours ago. After two hours, when he heard her enter his second bathroom, turning on the shower, he went back to his room. The moon was now overhead, surrounded by stars, and all Draco wanted was to forget the nightmare he was living.

However, Granger had other plans. Just as he was about to close his eyes, tucked into his thousand thread count sheets, she entered his bedroom. He watched with incredulous silver eyes as she, in panties and a Puddlemere United jersey, stood on the unoccupied, right side of his bed.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"I'm going to bed."

"Here?"

"Where else?"

"I don't know, Granger—the bloody living room. There's a nice couch there. Enjoy it."

She frowned. "I am not sleeping on a couch for a month." As he opened his mouth to protest she added for the hundredth time, "And I'm not going home."

"Aren't you a witch? Magick a bed for yourself. Now get the hell out."

Just as Draco did not take orders from anyone, neither did Hermione. He should have known that. It was exactly the reason why she grabbed the hem of the sheets and undid what she now called her side of his bed.

"You are shy about getting into bed with me now?" she huffed as she climbed onto the bed. "Funny how you did not want me to get out of it before. But if it really bothers you, then I suggest you take the couch."

Draco held his tongue.

"Now that that's settled I'm going to sleep." She leaned in, closing the gap between them. His eyes widened, about to pull back, but her lips grazed his left cheek. "Good night, husband."

She rolled away from him, pulling the sheets up to her neck before using a wandless spell to turn off the lights.

Draco frowned at her silhouette. This meant war.