Darkness drowned the room, entrapping the stench of death. Everything that once had been so refined was now shattered and useless—including them. The Malfoy family had fallen from Pureblood grace and were now servants and prisoners of their Master. They had been guaranteed the promise land but were deserted in the treacherous underworld. Lucius and Narcissa were dejected by the injustice they received at the hand of their Dark Lord, but Draco faced the sharp, disillusioned reality of what his parents and their bigoted devotions brought him.

It all came covered in blood.

The first time he saw a prisoner being taken to the cellar of Malfoy Manor, Narcissa had promptly escorted him away, trying to hide the gore that came with war. She only managed to shield him twice more before Draco was used as a weapon of torture.

He threw up the first time he had to cast the Cruciatus Curse on a captive. The anger was easy to conjure, for he was defeated and full of resentment for the world he was forced into, to endure the lowly status they now had, but the screaming of his victim scaled up his spine and electrocuted him. The older Death Eaters laughed at his inability and showed Draco what treatment prisoners of war actually received.

Then came the day he recognized one of the faces lined up for questioning. It was Luna Lovegood. She had been dragged in from the cellar by her hair; she had kicked and flailed to no end, but her obvious undernourishment was no match against hefty, horrible men. Draco had never thought much about the Ravenclaw before, but he had seen her as others did: harebrained like a child. Certainly that was how she appeared when she was surrounded by Death Eaters ready to begin their tireless investigations on the whereabouts of Harry Potter. Lovegood was beaten, but not once did she beg for mercy or shed a tear in their presence.

When they were at the end of using her as a punching bag, a line of freshly apprehended prisoners were brought in by the snatchers. Included had been one Dean Thomas. One look at Lovegood and he fought several Death Eaters until he ended a heap beside her. When Thomas' dark eyes found Draco's in the midst of darkness, his disgust could light up the room.

"She's just a girl," he hissed as Draco led the captives back to the cellar. "Only cowards do what you just did."

Lovegood dragged her bruised body back to a corner of the cell she had taken as her own space. Mister Ollivander crawled to her, running a comforting hand through her hair, whispering fatherly words of comfort that could never heal the wounds she now owned. Draco was sure he heard a small sob choke past her lips before hiding her face in her broken kneecaps.

"If they're going to kill us," said Thomas, gripping the bar of the gate before Draco could close it, "then you do it. I've seen what they do to girls they capture...If you have some compassion, Malfoy, kill her before the Death Eaters get their hands on her."

The worst Draco had seen had yet to arrive. It took only a few weeks following Christmas for the Golden Trio to be brought in.

He had been present countless of times for an investigation led by his Auntie Bella. She was the best executioner in the game (especially since she aspired to meet every expectation her Master had for his followers). Mental as she was, Bellatrix was brilliant and creative. Her interrogations were never boring to those on her level of insane. Draco had been able to cope as best as possible through her creations, but with Hermione Granger on the floor, twisting, crying, bleeding, screaming, her skin carved on after being set on fire inside out, Draco was certain he would never be the same again. In the spectrum of Bellatrix's bloodlust, Granger did not rank the foulest, but there was something about innocence being destroyed right before his eyes that was far more gruesome than mutilation and murder. Or perhaps he saw in Granger what he felt.

Years came and went, but Draco had won at suppressing the nightmares of his time as a prisoner. Then came the news that his Evaluator was no longer a pathetic, middle-aged, balding man who never had the interest to rehabilitate Death Eaters. No, now it was time for Luna Lovegood (who, as she said to Draco in their first session, wanted to really get an understanding of the misunderstood) to take on the Ministry's dedicated mission to save the souls of the already condemned. Having Lovegood as his Evaluator was tolerable at best (given that he was only required to see her twice a month), but having his worst nightmare replay over and over, day in and day out, was something he would not stand for. Especially if he was now married to that terror.

So there, on his side, laid Draco, glaring down at Hermione Granger's sleeping figure wrapped in his sheets. She was so small, but she packed a hurricane in her chest. Draco had to come up with something quickly before he got caught in her storm.

She turned to the left, facing him. He held his breath. When her eyes did not flutter open, Draco paused his disdain for her. How could she sleep so calmly? He was up half of the night because he could feel her body heat radiate into his side, pressing against him, making him warm through the cold, British weather. It was such an odd thing. Uncomfortable did not even begin to cover it, but there she was, sleeping so peacefully.

Draco flicked the tip of her nose before standing from his bed.

Trying his best to proceed as normally as possible, Draco went to his regal bathroom to start his day. He was halfway through his shower, letting the hot water rain down on him to undo the knots in his back caused by all his current mishaps, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He spun around, opening his silver eyes to find that hopped up Granger in there with him.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, ashamed by how embarrassed his voice echoed off the tiled room.

"Showering," she said casually, reaching her right hand to grab a shampoo bottle from behind him. "Do you mind?" She gestured to the water.

Draco wasn't aware how he managed to move because he was, regrettably, very dumbfounded by Granger. It was not as if they were the best of friends (or tolerable human beings coexisting in the same city), but she was easy to figure out and label. She was a damn prude through and through. That was not debatable. In their school years she was always a frumpy sort of girl, always obeying the dress-code regulations of skirt lengths, properly fitted button-ups, and modest casual clothing on the weekends. Even as they got older her fashion sense was that of a nun let out into the world for the first time with a wardrobe of years past. Yet, there she was, naked and unabashed before him. Again.

He watched the way the water fell on her, pushing her curls to fall down her shoulders and cling on to her skin. Her eyes were shut, but the droplets danced on her eyelashes. They fell and his gaze followed their path. He was definitely unsure who stood before him, but there was no denying she was exquisite.

"For fuck sakes," he grumbled as soon as that thought formed in his head. He slid the crystallized door open with a little too much force. He grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his waist, and made way to his bedroom.

When he entered the room he found that, once again, his personal space was invaded by an unwanted guest. This time it came in the form of his mother.

Narcissa Malfoy, ever so poised and refined, sat at the edge of his bed, ankles crossed, with a book on her lap. When her sapphire eyes met the silver of her son's, she picked up the book and asked, "Pride and Prejudice?"

Draco's teeth clamped down as he stopped himself from letting out a curse word. After he was done hexing Granger in his mind, he returned with, "Are you snooping, Mother? It does not become a woman of your status to lower yourself to such extent."

"Oh, be assured, sweetheart, women of all statuses resort to any means in order to uncover the truth that is being kept from them." Narcissa smiled too calmly at her son. "Now, shall we discuss why our lawyer was summoned to the Ministry by Blaise this morning?"

"It's nothing of importance. I'm planning a holiday to Rome and need to handle legal affairs with the Department of Magical Transportation before doing so. You know, a labeled Death Eater isn't allowed to travel to another country without the Ministry's knowledge."

Narcissa raised a sharp eyebrow. "You do not require a lawyer for that, Draco. The truth, now."

"Do I really need to tell you everything, Mother?" he snapped as he marched forward to snatch the book from her hands. "I'm not five. I'm twenty-four. If ever there was a need for you to be concerned about my every move, it should have been when there was a fucking lunatic living in our house making me do his bidding—and I'm not referring to the Dark Lord, either."

He knew he shouldn't have. Yeah, Draco was a complete arsehole to anyone that crossed his path (and he would never feel a single shred of remorse), but this was not just anyone. This was his mother. She had her faults, and, yes, he held a great deal of resentment toward her, but his flaring anger (for today) had nothing to do with her. It was everything that was starting to surface, everything he worked so hard to stomp on.

Still, if he had not exactly meant it, his mother did not pay it any mind. She never did—neither of them did, really. That was the glorious factor of a dysfunctional family. They suppressed until delusion blurred with reality. She did not exactly bore the mark of the devil on her skin, but she had been raised by it, married into it, subjected to following orders; so just because she saved Harry Potter's life once in a fleeting, selfish moment, it did not mean that Narcissa Malfoy escaped her own legal punishments. Alike all convicted Death Eaters, she was forced to see an Evaluator to discuss her time as a servant for the beast. There were countless cases of recovery made, ex Death Eaters becoming compliant, truly reformed citizens with newfound open hearts, but the Malfoys were not among them. Therapy did not work on those who had their light irrevocably snuffed out.

Naturally, as it was expected, Narcissa cleared her throat as she calmly stood. She smoothed out the wrinkles of her dark, expensive pantsuit. "I came to inform you that I intercepted our lawyer's owl before your father got to it. It was sent to the office. There is a board meeting this afternoon, if you recall. If they hear one single rumor about you in legal scandals, Draco, they will vote you out. Remember who we are partnered with."

Narcissa then made her way over to the fireplace in her son's bedroom. She could see that his eyes were narrowed when they quickly glanced at his feet, somewhat ashamed for his temperament, but she could not help the small tug of a smile at the corner of her lip. 

When she grabbed a handful of Floo Powder, she released that smile and turned to him. "I like her already."

"Who?" Draco asked as he looked back up at his mother, a brow raised.

"The girl you are dating, sweetheart. I accidentally," Narcissa smirked at this, for she had been obviously been caught snooping, "saw odd trinkets in the drawers of your night stand. The book being the strangest of them all. At least this one reads, and classic literature, no less. That cannot be said for the other girl you kept around for a while."

"Pansy's an editor, Mother."

"For Witch Weekly. Hardly a respectable, groundbreaking illustration. Unless, of course, you care to know about the adapting of that Muggle exercise Yoda and the five ways you can look flattering in proper attire."

"I think it's called yoga. And, really, I'm not dating anyone. Haven't the time or the patience," Draco said as he crossed his arms.

"You cannot keep sleeping around, Draco," she said, making him look beyond uncomfortable. Just because it was not proper to speak of such things did not mean that Narcissa did not keep up with her son's life, especially if his flings were publicized for all of the world to see. "One day someone is going to catch your eye and you, sweetheart, alike all poor, daft men, will relinquish this bachelor lifestyle for something more cemented."

Instinctively, Draco hid his hand behind his back to cover the tell-tale ring on his finger. "I've never been the commitment type."

"I don't believe that." Narcissa kept her smirk for a short moment before throwing the Floo Powder into the fireplace and disappearing in a wave of green flames.

Draco looked down at the book in his hands. There was something about the fact that Granger had brought one of her beloved companions to his home that irked him. At first he contemplated that, yes, she was certainly unlike others. Even if most of their interactions ended in some form of assault, either physical or verbal, Granger kept up with him. She was witty and intelligent. Could he say that about most women? Of course, Draco let go of that thought when he grudgingly flung the book to the wall behind his headboard.

She brought something personal to his home. That only meant that she intended to stay, and Draco was not going to let that happen. He was going to get rid of her one way or another. This was not a battle she would win. He was going to make sure of that.

X

It was not that Hermione Granger was a hypocrite. Far from it, actually. She had practically sworn to Malfoy she would tell Harry and Ron about their unexpected nuptials—she just did not think she would do it by crashing their lunch hour with some of her other friends and making a giant spectacle of it. So, really, her less than elegant fashion of doing so had all been Fleur's fault.

After a very tensed breakfast with Malfoy (that Delta had so kindly prepared and thanked Hermione for eating it), she went to St. Mungo's for her morning shift. Her life as a Healer hardly granted her much free time, but, obviously so, she had cashed in some (an excessive amount, actually) collected personal days to deal with what had transpired in the weekend. That, of course, was hectic and tiring, so she enjoyed the normalcy of the hospital. It distracted her from most things in her life that needed her attention but she refused to acknowledge.

It was strongly suggested to the students during their years at the Healer Institution not to invest affection and attachment in their future patients, but that heed did not stay with Hermione for long. She developed a bond with everyone who came to her. How could she not? They placed their lives in her hands, after all. After so much war and bloodshed her eyes had seen, Hermione had been determined to save all those that she could. Of course, assuming that she could cure every malady was a dreamer's notion; she was well aware that she would lose patients to Death. Still, she carried on, loving and tending to those who sought for it. Especially when the majority of her patients were tender and innocent children.

Five hours into her shift Hermione received what she had thought at the time to be a pleasant surprise. She opened the door to Room 394 and smiled brightly at the beautiful child waiting patiently on the bed with her even more radiant mother on a chair beside her. Victoire Weasley was essentially more Delacour when it came to appearances, with her glowing golden hair and shimmering blue eyes, but her manner of being was all Bill. She was far more calm than the average four year-old, but when upset her rage was definitely all Weasley.

"Vic, you're back so soon. I guess we can give you your next set of vaccinations now, then," teased Hermione when she closed the door behind her.

"I'm not here for me, silly," replied the child with giggles. "Mummy is here for sissy!"

"Ah, of course. I thought it was odd Victoire's file was missing. Fleur, how are you holding up?"

Despite being seven months pregnant, Fleur was nothing short of breathtaking. She had that glow about her that expectant mothers were said to acquire, but added to her veela allure, she could easily be mistaken by a star in the night sky.

'It must be why Bill got her pregnant again,' Ron had commented casually months back, earning him a sharp blow to his ribs from Pansy. Still, he was not wrong.

Fleur placed a hand over her stomach, stroking gently. "Ma fille iz an energetic one."

"Sissy dances in Mummy's tummy," said Victoire with a proud grin. "I've been showing her my dance routines, 'Mione. She's going to do ballet with me."

Both women smiled tenderly at the blonde child. With a tired sigh, Fleur looked back at her Healer. "Molly says I 'ave another Ginny in zee making."

"I think you'll be lucky if she's not a Fred and George," Hermione laughed lightly. "Vic, let your mummy on the bed, please. I have to inspect that dancing sister of yours a little further."

Just as Victoire hopped off the bed, squealing with excitement for the process that allowed her to see Dominique in their mother's stomach, Hermione offered a helping hand to Fleur. Being whom she was, the latter did not miss the unmistakable silver band around Hermione's finger.

"Oh mon dieu," gasped Fleur, tugging on Hermione's, forcing her practically to her knees as she raised her hand so the light of the hospital room could shine on the ring. "You are married! 'Ow did zis 'appen? Oh, 'Ermione, please tell me zat you did not marry zat awful man!"

Hermione bit down on her bottom lip. The name was not mentioned, but she knew who exactly Fleur was thinking about. Her despicable, backstabbing ex boyfriend. The one that had taken Hermione almost a year to get over.

Mistaking Hermione's silence for an admission, Fleur stood from her chair, blue eyes burning with determination. Years back there was hardly a cemented friendship between her and Hermione (especially because she was too busy trying to save the world with Harry and Ron while Fleur juggled being a fiancee and an Order member), but after the war had settled, and time had allowed not only Hermione, but Ginny, too, to get to know her, Fleur was a fierce lover. She would not only die or kill for Bill, she would do so for all her family—and that included Hermione, too. If there was a chance, then, that she had been bewitched again by that terrible man, Fleur would not allow it. Hermione might be caught up in honeymoon stage with her new marriage, but she would do anything and everything to assure Hermione saw reason.

Fleur had not given Hermione the chance to organize her thoughts before she stormed out of the room, Victoire hurriedly following along as her mother ranted in French in a record speed. Although she had not grasped much of what she said, Hermione picked up on Harry and Ron's name.

And that was how Hermione found herself racing a pregnant woman to find her best friends.

Given the time she knew Harry and Ron would be having lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, a habit they picked up whenever they were on business in London and wanted a quick catch up with Neville. So as soon as the Floo stopped burning green, Hermione dodged out of the fireplace like she was an expert gymnast and raced to her friends' favorite table.

"I got married!" she proclaimed, hissing in air while her heart banged away in record speed.

Harry had stopped laughing at whatever had been so funny, while Ron froze, a chunk of steak on a fork still in his mouth as he zeroed in on her. It was bad enough that Hermione had to inform her best friends in such manner, but there were added guests to her humiliation. Neville was beside Ron, his cheeks settling the pink of his previous laughter while Hannah Abbot, his girlfriend for a few years now, sat on his lap, blinking skeptically at her. On opposite ends of the table were Dean and Seamus, who had clearly been in the middle of a drinking contest given that each had a large pint in their hands.

Silence was held for what seemed like the longest minute. It was only broken when Hermione summoned the courage to raise that same hand so they could see the same wedding ring that had sent Fleur into a rage.

"I'll kill him!" roared Ron, throwing his fork back onto his plate.

"I warned him about getting near you again," grunted Harry.

"You go with them, Neville," said Hannah. "He needs to know that he cannot play with our Hermione."

Before the shuffling began Hermione squeaked, "It's not him! I didn't marry him."

Her friends paused. Confusion slowly began to settle on their faces.

"So you're not married?" asked Dean.

"I am," Hermione breathed. "I got married this past weekend."

Another fragment of silence fell on the group of friends. It was Harry's turn to break it. "What do you mean you got married, Hermione? Who the hell to?"

There was no other way around the unavoidable, right? No matter how much she wanted to stall, to Obliviate them so they could forget her sudden burst and what was bound to come, Hermione had made a promise. A commitment. She was married to Malfoy and there was no escaping that.

With her resolve, Hermione held her head up high to say, "I married Draco Malfoy."

X

His home was off limits. That was one of his three rules. There was a time and place for debauchery (unless it was meaningless sex), and it did not belong inside his walls. He would hex anyone that dared to even present the idea—but desperate times called for desperate measures.

That was how Draco came to be at the center of an out of control, last minute festivity taking place in his flat.

He had Flooed to his office that morning with The Grandiose Granger Fuck-Over (as he was calling) shoved far back into his mind. He had other pressing matters to resolve, and these were all corporate based. Unlike any other reasonable, responsible business man would have done, Draco had left the office last Friday night intent on drinking away his troubles until the demons in his head were comatose long enough for him to summon strength to keep ignoring them. Of course, that had been the beginning of TGGFO (The Grandiose Granger Fuck-Over). And that could have been dodged if he had gone home to do his share for the Malfoy Industries' potential partnership with Tierra Pura, a Mexican potioneer lab on the rise. Presenting a new business venture to ancient, unchanging partners was always difficult, so Draco was more on edge than he typically would be.

As it was to be expected, the presentation went to shit after the first five minutes. Draco could not provide solid numbers to his partners because he had not gotten to researching them. His lack of preparation, of course, had not gone unnoticed. The partners were not to waste time on a boy who wanted to play the head of a powerful corporation, but they stayed in their seats when Lucius Malfoy so decreed it with a simple, 'Draco will deliver this meeting in two days time. Until then, let us move on to our stocks in Japan.'

Draco sat, gritting his teeth, balling his fists, until some unimportant twat finished delivering his part. After that, he stormed to his office, throwing a useless paper-weight through a window. He had made a fool of himself in front his working peers—the people who he no longer could afford to crumble in front of. And there was only one person at fault—Granger.

Uncaring about his workload and expectations, Draco took the Floo to Nott Enterprises. He crossed the flames and caught Theodore pressed up against his secretary, a hand under her skirt as she fumbled with the zipper of his trousers.

"Trust me, love," Draco had called out, startling the two fleeting lovers, "you'll be disappointed with what you find. Tracey Davis wrote all about Theo's small, dysfunctional problem in her autobiography. You should definitely give it a read."

The secretary no longer flushed from her passionate flames, but due to embarrassment. She pushed against Theo, buttoning up her shirt as she hurriedly made her way out of the office.

Theo slammed his forehead against the wall. He raised a hand, indicating he wanted Draco to stay at the distance for a few moments. After a deep breath (and a settling of nether regions) he flipped his middle finger at the blonde, finally facing him.

"You complete arsehole," grunted Theo. "Do you know how long I've been working that angle? A week, mate. A fucking week." He removed himself from the wall to walk behind his desk, grudgingly pulling out his chair to sit down. "And you damn well know Tracey's book is a lie. She married that beater from Puddlemere United and she's suddenly famous? We all know her husband bats for the other team—pun intended. As does she, the lying, bearded bitch."

"You outted her," reminded Draco.

"Okay, I did not out her on purpose," snapped Theo. "I simply disagreed that she was shagging that Gryffindor girl for house-rivalry purposes. How was I supposed to know the news would travel and her family would find out? This is the modern century. It's not my fault they're bigoted against their daughter's lesbian tendencies."

"Yeah, known Death Eaters prejudice toward something widely deemed unacceptable? Who would've thought," returned Draco, quickly dismissing the subject. "That's not why I'm here, though."

"Oh, so it wasn't to ruin my morning lay?" Theo huffed as he shuffled a stack of papers before him.

"I'm throwing a party at my flat." That got Nott to look up, confused and intrigued all at once. He was well aware of Draco's rules. "And it needs to be mental."

The music blared all around him, rattling the frames on his walls that he had not secured with magic. The scent for the night was smoke, sweat, spilled alcohol, and sex. Everyone who packed inside the flat, grinding on each other, losing themselves to the burst of neon lights, was tangled with the smell. The more they inhaled it off one another the louder it got. They could shatter the night sky with their sound.

Draco took a long swing from a tequila bottle in his hand. The poison traveled to his blood, loosening the tension on his shoulders.

Across the room, dressed in tight red, was a blonde that Draco had caught staring back at him. Need flashed in her emerald eyes; they told the truth of her desires, of everything she wanted him to do to her. He was, of course, a selfish prick who thought only of himself, but Draco was never one to deny a beautiful woman was she so longingly craved.

He took another drink from his golden bottle and sauntered over, compelling the dancing bodies from his path so he could reach the blonde. He didn't ask for her name—he didn't really need it, did he—when he pressed her against the cool glass window that overlooked the skyline of his city. Draco captured the stranger's lips with his, biting into her bottom lip before proceeding to a heated kiss. She tasted of illicit substances and chances—chances to make him forget, to unravel.

Her hands flew into his hair, tugging at the roots before letting them fall onto his shoulders. This stranger was too high up to care about the crowd around them; after all, no one saw anything when the lights beamed and hot potential stood centimeters away. These sort of nights were meant to be indulgent. She would let Draco Malfoy have her in front of everyone— and she would have, too, if it had not been for a painful squeal that tore at her eardrums and a vibration that shook the ground in a wave.

Draco pulled away from the unknown woman, smacking his hands over his ears. He turned to the source of magic and found the eyes of Hermione Granger sparking with flames of fury.

The music had come to a stop, the colorful bursts of light had disappeared into a shade of reality, and the swaying of bodies had paused. All eyes were on that woman everyone in the world knew.

Hermione took one slow, dangerous step into the flat.

"Get out," she said in a low voice.

All eyes moved to the owner of the flat. Draco, now standing tall, unaffected by her unnerving magic, narrowed his eyes at her.

"Stay," he commanded his guests.

Everyone turned back to Hermione.

"Leave my house." She pulled out her wand from her pocket. There was a loud, unison intake of breath. "Now!"

The crowd immediately stormed out of the flat, careful to avoid shouldering past the dangerous brunette.

"Did you not hear me?" Hermione hissed when her eyes zeroed in on the blonde woman beside Draco, the one he had been about to devour. "Step away from my husband and get out of my house before I remove every strand of that pretty hair off your head—without magic"

"When are you going to get it through your head? This is not your house!" Draco shouted as the stranger, alike all other easily intimidated dimwits, scurried off on Granger's order.

Hermione grabbed a discarded bottle and threw it at Draco. "And when are you going to get it through your head that I'm not leaving?"

Although he was slightly impaired, he dodged the bottle. It broke against the window. He bared his teeth like a beast on the prowl. "I've had it with you, Granger! We are getting a fucking divorce and you are going to—"

"You married Granger?" Coming out from inside the hall, zipping up his trousers, was Theodore Nott. Behind him was an equally disheveled Astoria Greengrass.

"When the hell did this happen?" continued Theo. "And why the hell wasn't I invited?"

"Fucking hell," added Astoria, approaching the scene with bare feet, her heels in one hand and her blouse unbuttoned. "I'm so sorry, Granger. You poor thing."

Draco threw his arms up. "Why is everyone fucking sympathetic for her? She's mental and I accidentally married her! This is suicide!"

"Hardly so," snorted Theo. "She's bloody fit, mate. If you want to get rid of her I'll be happy to take her off your hands."

Draco frowned at this, but it was Astoria who shoved her elbow into Theo's ribs with a warning stare.

"I'm not going to tell you again, Granger. Leave my house," hissed Draco. "In fact, all of you get the hell out."

"I'm not leaving!" Hermione shouted back as Theo had begun to make for the exist.

"If I may," said Astoria, pulling on the back of Theo's collar to keep him in place. "As a lawyer, let me settle this domestic dispute free of charge. Draco, you can't force her off your property as it is now hers. Everything you own is hers. You can thank active feminists who fought to protect our fellow kind from complete bastards like yourself."

Hermione raised her wand and pointed it at Draco. "You think you're going to scare me away with a party? Or because you were kissing some random stranger? Let me assure you, Draco, this is not a war you're going to win. It shouldn't be that new to you, losing. So I suggest you surrender now before you continue to embarrass yourself."

Theo's eyes were wide, completely entertained by Hermione.

"I love her," Astoria muttered to him. He nodded back in agreement.

"Oh," Hermione added before turning to the direction of the master bedroom. "And clean this place up. Your parents will be arriving for breakfast tomorrow, and I gave Delta two days off."

"Tell me you did not inform my parents about this," hissed Draco.

"I told Harry and Ron earlier today. I figured since they know about you, my sweet husband, it was time your family met your new wife." That was all Hermione said as she turned on her heels.

"Granger!" roared Draco.

"Your ex boyfriend sleeps with your mother and you sort of expect karma will be his terrible, agonizing death," said Astoria with an alluring smirk on her face as Theo wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they headed for the door, "but this—oh, this is so much better."