How Hermione Granger Got Her Ring

By: Drcjsnider Editor: Kazfeist

This ebook was made by the Untold Story Project. To find more fanfiction stories being made into ebooks or how your story can be made into an ebook, please visit untoldstoryproject.webs.com All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the intellectual property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of JK Rowling and Bloomsbury, and is being used without their permission. No copyright infringement has been intended. Creation and

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Part I: Perfect Proposal

Draco Malfoy had a wonderful life. He was rich, handsome, and charming. He had fought on the winning side during the war, managing to earn the title of 'hero' while at the same time saving the Malfoy name from being completely tarnished by his father's actions in support of Voldemort. In addition, he had a good-looking, intelligent, and brave girlfriend, who let him bury himself balls deep inside her every night. Or at least, she had until two days ago when his entire life had suddenly gone to hell. It had started out like any other

Saturday morning. They had woken late, shagged before showering, and apparated to their favorite bagel shop. He settled down with a tall black coffee, a sesame seed bagel, the Daily Prophet, and a copy of People Magazine - his sole nod to muggle culture. She had gotten a light mocha latte, a blueberry muffin, copies of The London Times and The London Economist, and the latest issue of The Journal of Hexes, Spells, and Jinxes for the Professional Curse Breaker. They sat in silence, each enjoying their own reading material, until Draco gasped in surprise. "Granger, you'll never guess who Lindsay Lohan just got engaged to!"

Hermione looked up from the article she was reading, "Who is Lindsay Lohan?" "God woman, you are the muggleborn one in this relationship. Don't you care about your own heritage?" "Trashy, American, celebrities are not my heritage," Hermione told him for what felt like the 100th time. Draco shrugged and was about to go back to reading, when Hermione spoke up. "That story does remind me, however, that we should go ring shopping this weekend." Draco raised an eyebrow and peered

over the top of his magazine. "Don't be daft, Granger. You can't cook and don't even have a formal dining room set, why in the world would you need to shop for napkin rings?" "I don't want to shop for napkin rings, you idiot." Draco's eyes got wide. He slowly put down his magazine, nervously glanced around the shop to make sure no one was listening to them. He then leaned in to whisper, "You want to shop for cock rings? I don't mind telling you that this is extremely disconcerting. I have always been very suspicious of

sexual enhancers. Seriously, what if it falls off when we are doing the deed and gets lost in you? Every time we have sex after that, I'll feel like I'm searching for a set of misplaced house keys. Or even worse," Draco's eyes got wider. "What if it is too tight and cuts off the blood flow to 'the Dark Lord' and he's left permanently incapacitated?" Hermione bit her lip to keep from rolling her eyes, "I still can't believe you call your penis 'the Dark Lord.'" "Granger, pay attention to my main point!" Draco barked, almost in a panic.

Hermione smiled. For all the talk of Malfoy being a sex god and having shagged every available witch during the war, he was really the more conservative member of the couple when it came to trying new things in the bedroom. "Keep your knickers on, Malfoy. I don't want to buy a cock ring." Relieved, Draco leaned back in his chair. "Then what in the bloody hell are you talking about?" Hermione lifted up her ring-less left hand and waved her fingers in front of him. Comprehension finally dawned on

Draco's face. "You want to get engaged?" he asked astounded. "Bingo! Give that man a prize." "Granger, I've told you before that your muggle sarcasm does not impress me. In fact, I have it written down on my 'Things that Annoy Draco Malfoy' list." With a flick on his wand a piece of parchment appeared on the table. "Look right here, number 127 on the annoying list Hermione's muggle sarcasm." Hermione flicked her eyes to the list and sure enough, there it was, sandwiched right between 126. Potter's inability to hold his liquor

and 128. Eating with chop sticks. With a flick of her wand, Draco's parchment was replaced with another list. This one was titled: 'Things that Annoy Me about Malfoy'. Hermione transfigured her wand into a quill and wrote at the bottom of the page - 53. When he makes a lame observation about muggles, my friends, or my hair in an effort to change the subject. Draco pointed down at the parchment, "I think you meant to write 'an accurate observation' instead of lame." "No," Hermione responded dryly. "I

wrote down exactly what I meant." Draco looked like he was getting ready to protest, when Hermione held up one hand. "It is time we got back to the real issue under discussion." At Draco's look of confusion, she continued, "Our engagement." "Granger, we are NOT engaged. In fact, just bringing up the idea of ring shopping before I've proposed breaks at least half of the rules in Wizarding Etiquette for the Betrothed and Soon to Be Betrothed." "Well, excuse me if I've never read

that book," Hermione responded snappishly. Draco cocked an eyebrow at her again. "Okay, so I've read it," she admitted. "But it is a lot of pureblood, oldfashioned, out-of-date tripe!" "Old-fashioned and out-of-date mean the same thing, you know?" Draco informed her. Hermione crossed her arms in front of her chest, sat back in her chair, and gave him her - I am not impressed with your ability to parse the English language stare.

Draco shifted in his seat uncomfortably; he never could withstand that look. "Let's assume you are right and all the rules about actually getting a marriage proposal before becoming engaged are 'oldfashioned tripe'. I am still baffled by why you think we are ready to get married." "Do you really want me to list the reasons?" Hermione asked him, tapping her foot. "Well, I don't need a dissertation on the subject, but I think that a well thought out rationale for why we should embark on this course of

action, isn't too much to expect," he replied. Draco did not understand why Hermione looked so annoyed. He was, after all, a rational man and rational men needed logical explanations before they made life altering decisions. Draco felt especially compelled to question and quantify any changes to his and Hermione's relationship since from the beginning it had been the most irrational thing he'd ever done. Dating the bossy, bushy-haired, Gryffindor know-it-all had been completely out of character for him, made to no sense to anyone who

knew either of them, and had left him feeling particularly vulnerable. Hermione pursed her lips before replying, "You know, I find this side of you completely unattractive." "Bollocks, Granger. I know there is nothing you like better than explaining to me why I should be doing something." Hermione felt like she should protest Draco's unflattering depiction of her, but they both knew he was right. She did enjoy being in full lecture mode. She started with the Socratic Method, "Do you remember why no one thought we would last as a couple?"

she asked him. "Because they assumed that Potter and Weasley would kill me, cut me up in little pieces, and then feed me to the giant squid at Hogwarts?" Draco guessed. "No," Hermione responded. "I think Ron and Harry have been perfectly civil about our relationship." She'd never told Draco how she had disarmed Harry and stupefied Ron in order to prevent them from beating him to a bloody pulp, after they'd learned she was dating the former Slytherin. "Try again." "Because they thought that Lucius

would break out of Azkaban and attempt to perform his own sick version of a muggle blood transfusion on us?" "No, but what a lovely family reunion that would be. Guess again" "Your inability to recognize a good thing when it is standing right in front of you?" "No," Hermione replied, starting to look a little exasperated. "Your pathological need to categorize everyone as one of four character types?"

"No. And it is not a pathological need, just a way of organizing my thoughts," she hissed through gritted teeth, now sure that Draco was deliberately provoking her by not really trying to answer the question. No matter, she could do it herself. "No one thought we would last as a couple, because they couldn't imagine us spending more than two hours alone together without hexing each other into oblivion." "Oh yes," Draco winked at her. "That one kind of had me worried as well." "Well, now that we've been living together for almost a year - and no

permanent physical harm has come to either of us - I see no reason why we shouldn't assume that we'd survive marriage just as easily," Hermione told him, rather smugly. Draco gave her a smile that most people reserved for the mentally unbalanced. "Your point might be valid, Granger, except for the fact that we don't live together." "Excuse me?" Hermione looked stunned. "We do not live together." "You sleep over every night!"

"No offense pet, but you get a little violent if I reach for my boxers and trainers before fulfilling your mandatory hour and a half post-sex cuddle," Draco told her with a grimace. Hermione glared at him. "If we don't live together, then why are your hair care products spread out all over my bathroom counter? Why have your taken over the closet in the master bedroom for your robes, forcing me to hang my things in the guest room?" "Mere convenience," Draco replied with another condescending smile.

"Why do you pay half the rent every month?" "Those galleons aren't for the rent, but to cover other services." "That better not be some disgusting reference to paying for sex," Hermione warned him. "Of course not, Malfoy's don't have to pay for sex. The money is to reimburse you for the food and utilities I consume when I visit." "Well, you've been visiting nearly non-stop for ten and half months. If you don't live with me," Hermione questioned sharply, "exactly where to

do you live?" "The Manor, of course." "That is rubbish, Draco. You haven't been to the Manor in ages!" "Granger, I was just there a week ago Sunday for brunch." "I was at the Manor for brunch last Sunday too. Does that mean I live there, as well?" "Don't be a twit, Granger. You can't live there, mother has wards up to keep you from going within 100 feet of the sleeping chambers on the second floor."

Hermione bit her bottom lip and was silent for a minute. Draco's reminder of how his mother refused to allow Hermione to venture into the private rooms of the Manor stung. "Why does Narcissa not like me?" she finally asked him, sounding a bit hurt. "Merlin, Granger. Don't be offended. She doesn't like anyone. She barely tolerates me and I'm her own flesh and blood." "She doesn't have wards up to prevent Pansy from going upstairs," Hermione stated a bit jealously. Draco smirked. Gods, he got turned on when Hermione was possessive.

There was something arousing about having one of the most influential witches in England acting jealous about his old girlfriend. "Well, don't take it personally, pet. She probably put the wards up because I let it slip that you wanted to shag me in the Malfoy ancestral bed to see if the world spun off its axis." Hermione grinned slightly, "And here I thought that was one of my better theories. I guess you never told her about my hypothesis that the Manor's foundation would crumble to dust should we ever have sex on the desk in Lucius' study?"

"Hell, no. I learned my lesson after she put the wards up around the bedrooms. Besides the desk shagging theory is one of my all time favorite experiments. In fact, we should try it again on the anniversary of Lucius' imprisonment in Azkaban just to see if timing makes any difference." Hermione was tempted to agree with him that further experimentation really was needed, but she had no intention of letting herself become distracted from her still unengaged state. "That shouldn't be too difficult to arrange seeing as how you LIVE there," Hermione told him sarcastically.

Draco replied in a satisfied tone, "I'm glad you finally see the light, Granger. Now we can stop all this silly talk about engagement rings." "Waaaaait, wait, wait, wait." Hermione broke in before Draco could successfully end their discussion. "You surely don't think that I have no other reasons why we should get married?" "Of course not," he sighed. Being in a relationship with Hermione Granger taught a man many things. First, that there was a God, who not only offered redemption, but also provided a sexy witch, with a

shaggable body to lead a man to it. Second, that it could be dangerous to one's physical safety to make fun of defenseless magical creatures, ugly children, and Hogwarts professors in the company of certain righteous, bushy-haired, do-gooders. And third, when a smart woman wanted something - really wanted something - it would always involve a long, multi-explanational discussion. "So tell me, Granger, what is another reason why you think we should become engaged?" Hermione gave him her most dazzling smile, determined to sway him with her other justifications.

"Well, despite my initial fears that you didn't have the attention span to maintain a long-term relationship, as well as my concern that your less than admirable qualities would drive me into the arms of another bloke, the fact that we've been dating exclusively for two years suggests that we have the staying power to make a marriage work." "Merlin's beard woman, we are not in an exclusive relationship," Draco exclaimed. Hermione looked shocked. "Who else have been you dating?" she demanded to know.

"No one, but that is not the point." "I think that is the point," she told him haughtily. "If you are not dating anyone else and I am not dating anyone else, then ipso facto we are in an exclusive relationship." "It is a good thing you didn't have to take a NEWT examination on the rules of dating, Granger, because your definition of exclusive is so far from correct that you'd have earned a negative score." Hermione raised both her eyebrows at him. Draco had to be feeling pretty confident if he was bringing NEWT scores into the discussion. The

fact that she had done considerably better than him on the examinations was one of the sore spots in their association. "Pray enlighten me, Malfoy. What is your definition of being in an exclusive relationship?" He smiled at her condescendingly, because it wasn't often that he got to correct her. "Being in an exclusive relationship means that you CAN'T date anyone else. While, we currently aren't dating other people, we could if either of us were so inclined." "You aren't serious?" she squeaked out, wondering if this was some sort

of elaborate joke he had cooked to drive her slowly insane. She could just imagine him writing a bulletpointed list entitled '101 Ways to Drive Hermione Granger Crazy' down in his journal of Plots and Malevolent Campaigns, right underneath his '15 Step Program To Get Snape Laid'. Draco shook his head, "Granger, not being exclusive was your idea to begin with." "What? When did I ever say that I wanted to be in a non-committed, open relationship?" "The first time you agreed to go out with me. I distinctly remember that

you made me pledge to uphold two conditions before you'd join me for dinner. First, I had to promise not to be my usual snarky self - whatever the hell that meant. And second, I had to accept that our date would never lead to a romantic relationship or any physical contact between us." "At the time I set those conditions," Hermione informed him wearily, "I believed you were asking me out either because you'd lost a bet with Remus or because you thought I would be an easy shag." "And yet you still went out with me," he winked, smirking his - You wanted

to shag me long before I asked you out - smirk. Hermione hated that smirk, primarily because it was so accurate. She'd be damned, however, before she'd admit it to him. "I wanted the free dinner," she told him. "Touch," Draco replied, obviously not buying a word of it. "Nevertheless," Hermione continued, trying to get back on topic. "Given that this pre-relationship conversation about relationships took place two years ago, and neither of us has dated anyone else since then, I think it is safe for you to assume

that my feelings on the matter have changed." "Obviously, since you can't keep you hands off my masculine bits these days." Hermione rolled her eyes, "I meant about us being in a committed relationship." "Granger," Draco began patiently, as if he were Nicolas Flamel explaining a complex piece of magical theory to Neville Longbottom. "Issues like exclusivity or commitment, are only obligatory if they have been verbalized. Since neither of us has ever voiced the desire to be in an

exclusive relationship, we therefore are not in one." "You are telling me, that if I decided to go to a club, get wasted, and go shag some good-looking wizard, you wouldn't have a problem with it?" "No, what I am saying is that if you went out and shagged some other wizard; I would have no RIGHT to be upset about it." "Your understanding of our relationship is seriously fucked up if you believe that," Hermione sputtered. "I'm letting you know right now, Draco Malfoy, that should I ever catch you being intimate with anyone

else while dating me, your little 'Dark Lord' will suffer a fate rivaling that of Voldemort." Hermione thought for a moment that Draco blanched, but she could never be sure with the pale-faced bugger. "Granger, first of all, the Dark Lord is not little. Second, while I appreciate your deep passion for me and your unwillingness to share such a fine specimen as myself with any other witches, your vengeance would be utterly unjustifiable since we are not in an exclusive relationship." Draco wondered idly if it was possible for a person to literally

explode with rage. If so, he would have to get his robes dry cleaned, because it looked like Hermione was about to blow. Her hands were clenched into fists, her lips were pressed into a thin line, and she was developing a tic above her right eyebrow. At the sight of Hermione's anger, all of Draco's considerable survival skills kicked in and he made haste to placate the furious woman across from him. "Granger, just because we aren't exclusive, doesn't mean-" "Shut up." "I am still enthralled with your mind

and your beauty and your-" "Shut up," she snarled. Alright then, Draco thought to himself. Perhaps an honorable retreat was in order. Survive first, and then worry about regaining any territory lost during more favorable circumstances. He began to slowly push his chair away from their table, careful not to make any sudden moves. He'd just apparate home, wait for Hermione to calm down, maybe take her out for a nice dinner as a surprise"Stop," Hermione demanded, as she noticed him preparing to leave.

Draco gave her a weak smile, as his eyes darted around the room looking for a fortification or an innocent bystander he could take cover behind in case he had to dodge a hex. "I have one more thing to say about us getting engaged," she told him in a low voice that crackled with emotion and power. All of Draco's instincts were telling at him to run, to flee, to put his fingers in his ears and sing "La La La" at the top of his voice so he wouldn't have to hear whatever Hermione wanted to tell him. Some other part of him, however, his heart or his mind or his

soul - the part that had convinced him to stand against Voldemort and to pursue the Gryffindor Golden Girl in the first place - kept him in his seat. It didn't, unfortunately, keep him from being an asshole. "Of course, pet. I'm on pins and needles." Hermione's eyes narrowed, yet she spoke calmly with only a slight edge to her voice. "Today not withstanding, I love you, Draco Malfoy. I love you more now than I did a year ago. Moreover, I can see myself loving you even more in the years to come than I do now. And it's not unheard of, you know, for people

who are in love to get married." Draco swallowed hard. He felt faint as his gut twisted painfully and his heart tried to come bursting out of his chest. "Granger," he whispered, reaching out and grabbing her hand. Hermione simply continued to stare back at him, as if she was waiting for him to deny loving her the same way he had denied them living together or being in an exclusive relationship. Fuck, he needed a glass of water, he needed his brain to start functioning again, and he needed to answer Hermione without being a git. But of course, as with all the rest of his

miserable life, knowing what he should do and actually doing it wasn't always accomplished on the first try. "Damn it, Granger. I thought we had a deal." "A deal?" she whispered, her eyes starting to get moist. "We are only suppose to say the Lword, when are alone, in bed, with the lights off." Hermione shook free of his hand and stood up. "I want out of our deal," she stated quietly. "Granger"

"I'm going back to my flat. Good-bye, Draco."

Part II: Setting the Scene

Draco Malfoy had fucked up. No real surprise there, it wasn't like he was known for having experience in dealing with matters of the heart or being emotionally mature. But bloody hell, he was a Slytherin. Shouldn't his innate cunning and sly disposition have kicked in to help keep him out of trouble? Shouldn't his astute understanding of human nature allowed him to placate Hermione before she'd fled in a temper? Merlin's balls, he was a Malfoy those genes alone should have provided him with the insight to foresee what Hermione wanted and

redirect her attention to something Draco wanted, like a warm, wet, blow job. Whatever impulse had led him to piss off Granger in the first place, obviously also addled his wits causing his DM's Plan #1 - To Win Back Hermione Granger (admittedly a hurriedly devised and inadequately developed plan) to completely fail. Plan #1 had involved three steps. 1. Apparate to Hermione's flat. 2. Reassure Hermione that he adored her and could not imagine spending his life with any other witch. 3. Shagging her until she forgot all about engagement rings and

wedding bells. Draco's pride still stung that he hadn't even been able to complete step one of the plan successfully. He had attempted to apparate directly into Hermione's apartment, but ended up lying on the sidewalk outside her building missing both his legs. She had obviously changed the wards causing him to splinch himself in a most painful and embarrassing manner. Moreover, his injury hadn't even earned him any sympathy from Granger. She'd actually looked out of her bedroom window and laughed at his legless state. As healers arrived to tend to Draco's injuries, he'd

yelled up at her that she could be a real bitch sometimes. "That makes two us Malfoy," she'd shouted back, as he was taken away to St. Mungo's for treatment. Now that Draco could reflect on his current situation, he knew exactly who was responsible for undermining his Slytherin good sense and intuition - Ron-Fucking-Weasley. During the war, Mad-Eye Moody had insisted that Draco and Ron team up for missions. Moody had claimed that Draco's calculating manner would balance out Weasley's impetuousness and that Weasley's courage would stop Draco from

acting like a 'complete-and-utter pussy.' While the blond and the redhead had eventually become quite a successful team, taking out more Death-Eaters than any other pair of Order members, obviously Weasley's lack of tact and bumbling behavior had rubbed off on Draco. Therefore, it was only appropriate that Weasley end up on Draco's list of 'Men and Women to Bully, Torture, or Maim.' "I thought I was already on your torture list," Ron said from the side of Draco's hospital bed. "You are," Draco replied, not bothering to look up as he amended

his list. "But I'm moving you from number eighteen to number four. You are now right behind Lucius, Bellatrix, and Blaise." "Blaise?" Ron looked confused. "What did Zabini ever do to you?" "He once publicly mocked my choice of dress robes." Draco spat, glaring at Ron for reminding him of Zabini's perfidy. "Bloody hell, Malfoy. If Zabini is number three why did you have to pick me to check you out of St. Mungo's?" Ron complained, looking a bit put out. While he and Draco could have tolerably civil conversations

because of Hermione and he did owe Draco for saving his ass several times during the war, the obnoxious, palefaced git would never be one of Ron's best mates. "Stop being a moron, Weasley. Obviously Zabini isn't going to go to Granger after getting me settled in the Manor and tell her how sorry I look and how miserable I am without her," Draco explained. "In fact, when you see her, make sure you let her know that I am even willing to forgive her for getting me splinched." "You are nutters if you think I'm going to serve as an intermediary

between you and Hermione," Ron told him bluntly. Draco quirked an eyebrow at him, "And why, pray-tell, would you refuse me this simple request?" "Well, you are a wanker with too much baggage to make Hermione happy for the long-term," Ron replied candidly. "Besides, she is seriously scary when mad. I have no desire to get my bits hexed off by going over to her flat and speaking well of you." "Sweet Circe, Weasley. I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be courageous? Now locate your balls and agree to help me smooth things

over with Granger," Draco demanded, not giving a shit whether or not Weasley thought he was good enough for Hermione. "Forget it Malfoy. I'll check you out of the St. Mungo's and help get you back to the Manor, but there is no bloody way I'm going to interfere with whatever punishment Hermione has planned for whatever offense you committed this time," Ron told him, secretly hoping that Hermione was determined to dump Malfoy for good. Although Ron had gotten over any romantic feelings he'd had for his brown-eyed best friend during the war, he had never believed she and

Malfoy were a good match. Moreover, it was bloody exhausting to be around them when they were fighting. They could never have a simple shouting match to clear the air. Instead, their fights always involved elaborate plans, nefarious schemes, and diagramed escape routes that too often drug their friends into the cross-fire. Draco glared at the red-head, but decided that Ron could still be of use to him with only minimum manipulation. "Fine Weasley, be a chicken-shit. However, after you get me to the Manor, I'll need you to floo to Hermione's to pick up a few of my

personal items." Ron nodded quickly, happy that Draco had stopped bugging him to play peace-keeper. The poor sod never even suspected that the sneaky Slytherin had an ulterior motive in mind. An hour later, Draco had been checked out of St. Mungo's and settled into his room at Malfoy Manor. He was supposed to spend another 24 hours on bed-rest before his legs would be completely reattached to his torso. "Alright, now what exactly do you need me to pick up from Hermione's

place?" Ron asked him, in a hurry to complete his good-Samaritan deed and clear out of the Manor before he became collateral damage in Draco's and Hermione's latest row. "Just bring me back my dressing gown, my toothbrush, and a couple of pairs of clean boxers." Ron nodded, threw a handful of floo powder into the fireplace, and disappeared into the flames. Draco allowed a small smirk of victory to cross his lips. While Ron might be determined not to get involved, Draco knew that Hermione wouldn't be able to resist asking

about how he was doing. Ron would undoubtedly reply with some stupid comment that would end up making Draco actually look worse in her eyes, but that minor setback would become the launching ground for DM's Plan #2 - To Win Back Hermione Granger.

Plan #2 would begin when Ron returned from Hermione's flat to discover a thoroughly chastised and depressed Draco. Draco would be so visibly pining over Hermione, that even someone as dense as Weasley could figure out something was wrong. After weaving a tale of woe and misery, Draco would then beg

Ron to return to Hermione's flat to retrieve one more item. Hermione would be surprised to see Weasley again, question him about his return, and then Ron would have to tell her about Draco's heartrending behavior. Finally, Hermione would realize just how ghastly Draco felt, would forgive him, and then welcome him back between her sheets. Draco wondered idly if it would be going too far to make himself cry so that Weasley could describe to Hermione his emotional breakdown. Before he had a chance to poke himself in the eye with his wand, however, Ron stumbled back through

the fireplace with a huge trunk and two large cardboard boxes. Draco was so surprised that he forgot to act depressed and melancholy. "What the fuck is all that?" he demanded to know. Ron looked confused, "Ur... it's your stuff." "Damn it Weasley, I didn't want you to bring back everything! Why the hell can't you follow simple directions? This is just like the time we had to take on those giants, because you just had to think outside of the box!"

"Calm down, Malfoy," Ron replied, holding his hands up in front of him in a gesture that was suppose to indicate that he intended no harm. He'd taken two muggle psychology classes as part of his Auror training, and was happy to finally get a chance to use some of the techniques. "Hermione already had everything packed up and I wasn't going to dig through all your stuff to find a toothbrush. Besides, Hermione said that she didn't want the boxes laying around cluttering up her flat." Draco's was hit by a wave of nausea as it felt like someone had kicked him hard in the stomach. Hermione

had packed up his stuff? This was not good. Usually when the two of them fought, Hermione just threw his stuff at him. She typically aimed for his head. Draco's mind began to race. Just what the hell was Granger doing? This couldn't be a break-up, could it? The chit had wanted to get married just two days ago. If this was just a bad fight, it was unlike any fight they'd ever had in the past, and Merlin knew that the two of them had had some spectacular brawls in the past. Draco's uncertainty made him want to fidget, but great bullocks it had been drummed into his head since he

was a tot that Malfoy's did not fidget. Malfoy's plotted, they planned, they schemed - they did not fidget. His fingers dug into his palms, but his hands and his arms did not move. His body remained still. His mind, however, continued to race. Truthfully, racing didn't even come close to describing Draco innerturmoil. His mind, more accurately, was careening down a steep hill. It was out-of-control and it was headed for some large tree-rock-wall type object. Draco knew he needed to fucking swerve immediately if he as going to get out of his predicament intact.

"Weasley, hand me my father's cane and get me over to the floo," he demanded. "I'm not sure that is a good idea, Malfoy," Ron began, but didn't bothering continuing as Draco's eyes flashed with some emotion Ron had not seen since the war. Instead, he bit his tongue, handed Draco a silver, snake-headed cane, and helped the wobbly Slytherin to the fireplace. Dropping a pinch of floo powder into the flames, Draco stepped from his room into Hermione's flat. "Granger!" he yelled. Hermione looked up from the book

she was reading on the couch. "There is no need to shout, Draco. I'm right here." He didn't immediately reply. Instead, he gave her a piercing stare. She looked good - composed, calm, and confident. He had expected anger or vulnerability, maybe even tears. Some emotion he could use to smooth over their little situation and hopefully end what was rapidly becoming his worst nightmare. His silence, far from disconcerting Hermione, seemed to amuse her. She raised an eyebrow and gave him a little smile, "Is there something you

wanted?" Draco's face remained impassive despite the fact that was he hit by a moment of sheer panic. He did not have a plan. He was completely at a loss over what he could do to edge his way back into Hermione's good graces. It was extremely unnerving because Draco ALWAYS had a plan. He was always working the angles and evaluating different options, determined to insure his interests were protected no matter what the situation. Shit, he didn't even know how to get through supper at the Burrow without a plan, let alone improvise a response to an outwardly

serene but inwardly outraged Hermione Granger. He decided to just rely on his standard backup plan - using his good-looks, wit, and charisma to sway opinion. So he flashed Hermione his most charming smile, because when push came to shove Draco Malfoy could be a charming son-of-bitch, and told her softly, "I missed you, pet." Hermione's eyes momentarily softened, but almost as quickly the look was gone. "I hardly think we've been apart long for you to miss me." "You underestimate just how

essential your daily presence is to me, Granger." Draco told her, leaning heavily on his father's cane. "This from the man who can't even admit he loves me in the light of day," Hermione scoffed. "I think we both know that if I was really essential to you, our little disagreement the other morning would never have happened." "Granger, cut a bloke a little slack, won't you? You know I don't do well with change or surprises. I need time to wrap my mind around things and let them sink in." "Really," Hermione replied, not

sounding the least bit convinced. "Well, it has now been over two days since we last spoke. I suppose that means you've brought a ring with you this afternoon?" Draco choked. Actually it was more of a combination of coughing and choking. It was not one of his most attractive moments. "Lovely," Hermione told him with a roll of her eyes. "Damn it, Granger. That is the second time in 72-hours that you've tried to kill me." "Please," Hermione looked even

more annoyed with him than she had mere seconds ago. "We both know that if I wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead and Pansy Parkinson would be rotting away in Azkaban for the murder." Draco couldn't keep a slight smirk from lighting his face. Hermione was simply too-fucking-sexy when she was confidently plotting violent death and destruction. Although everyone assumed that their relationship started after a drunken, post-victory shag; truthfully, Draco had lusted after the bushy-haired witch from the moment he heard her plan the mostdeserved, yet bloody execution of six

Death-Eaters two years into the war. And since Draco would rather be shagging Hermione than wanking to her memory, he swallowed all of the snarky replies that popped into his mind. "What do I need to do to make things right between us?" he asked her instead, plastering a 'I'm a caring and sincere man' look on his face. Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I would have thought that was clear, Draco, even to someone as arrogant as you." Draco blinked once, and then twice in rapid succession, before his eyes lit up in comprehension. "You sent all

my things to the Manor with Weasley because you are trying to coerce me into marrying you!" he exclaimed, torn between outrage at just how sneaky and cunning a witch was his girlfriend, and pride at just how sneaky and cunning a witch was his girlfriend. "Don't be daft," Hermione complained. "Not only would a marriage arranged through intimidation not fulfill the few silly, girlish dreams I've managed to retain in spite of getting involved with you, but how can returning your robes be considered coercion? If I wanted to force you into marriage, I'd hold your

clothes hostage and send you random sleeves, buttons, and collars by owl until you collapsed under the weight of your own vanity and agreed to buy me an engagement ring." Draco looked suitable impressed with her deviousness. "You wouldn't have touched my Armani robes though, right?" Hermione gave him a sly smile. "Oh, I suspect that the cuffs from that robe would have been the first to go. Otherwise, you might not have believed I was serious." Draco shook his head slightly at just

how manipulative Hermione had become. It was obvious that she had spent way too much time with him. "Well pet, if you weren't trying to blackmail me into marriage, why did you pack up all my things?" "Since you don't live here," she explained in a condescending voice. "It is no longer convenient for me to store all you things in my closet." Draco barely prevented a large smile from crossing his face. What good luck. It appeared that all he needed to do to dig himself out of the relationship cave-in he had created was move in with Granger. She

would be placated and there would be no more talk about marriage or love or engagement rings. Moreover, moving in with the witch would hardly be a sacrifice, considering he enjoyed waking up with Hermione's legs wrapped around him. "Granger," he purred, "let me take you to dinner tonight so we can discuss moving in together." Hermione gave him a smile that had Draco not been so giddy about avoiding any wedding talk - would have had him cowering in a corner. It was her 'Now, I have your balls in a vice' smile. "I'm sorry, Draco. But I can't do that."

The blond wizard was stunned. "What? Why not?" "Number one," she replied, "I don't think I should live with someone with whom I'm not in a committed relationship. And number two, I already have a date for this evening." "What?" Draco repeated, tightening his grip on his father's cane until the knuckles on his right hand turned white. Draco was instantly infuriated and no longer found Hermione's little sly and scheming act amusing. In fact, if it wasn't for knowing she could out draw him in his weakened state, Draco would have cast a

binding spell on her and locked her away until she came to her senses. As it was, he was forced to simply growl under his breath at the audacious witch. "Don't sound so outraged," Hermione cautioned him, making no move to back down from the sight of his anger. "After all, you are the one who said we are free to date, makeout, or shag other people." "Sweet Merlin, Granger," Draco spit out through clenched teeth. "That wasn't an invitation for you to go out and round up some random bloke off the street!"

"Don't worry, Draco," Hermione cooed, deliberately pushing him further and further towards being unable to contain his rage. "I'm not going out with some random bloke off the street." Draco's tried to quickly calculate the possibilities. It wouldn't be Potter or Ron Weasley; they both were scared shitless of interfering in his and Hermione's relationship. Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, or Seamus Finnigan might be options, but he knew that Granger would never seriously consider getting involved with any of them. His former Slytherin housemates, on the other

hand, were gits enough to enjoy backstabbing Draco by shagging his girl then rubbing it in his face. Fuck it, he wasn't going to waste time trying to eliminate the various candidates. "Who is it?" he demanded in a quiet, but deadly voice. "It shouldn't be that difficult to figure out," Hermione told him, a small smirk still covering her lips. "He's asked me out several times since the war ended, but I've always turned him down since I thought we were exclusive. But now that I understand you have no right to be angry at me for dating other wizards, I've decided

to stretch my wings - sow some wild oats scutz around." The air around Draco crackled with his magic. He now knew exactly who Hermione was going out with that evening. "That ruddy bastard," he ground out viciously. "I'm going to fucking kill him." Draco turned slowly, threw a pinch of floo powder into the fireplace, and stated clearly before stepping into the flames, "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."

Part III: The Romantic

Draco Malfoy swept into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes like a dark avenger. His eyes blazed with righteous anger and his robes billowed out behind him. At least, that is how he planned to portray it in his memoirs since the truth was much less flattering. In reality, Draco had stumbled out of the floo at the twins' shop, lost his balance, and staggered into a grubby little girl, who not only smeared Merlin-knows-what on his designer robes, but also began to scream for her mother. "Oi, Malfoy," George Weasley barked

from the behind the counter, "stop harassing my customers or I'll have to toss you out." Malfoy glared at the tall red-head. Although he wasn't the man Draco's hands were itching to strangle, he did look much too similar to cad for the former Slytherin's comfort. "Weasley," Draco demanded, hobbling up toward the front of the store. "Where is your no-good, idiot of a brother?" "You'll have to be a bit more specific than that," George grinned. "Some people might argue that I have five no-good, idiot brothers."

Draco's eyes narrowed because he recognized the twinkle in George's eyes. The git clearly knew exactly what was going on and planned on making the most of this opportunity to torture Draco. George had apparently forgotten that Draco had been tortured by the best, and if Voldemort hadn't broken him, no joke shop proprietor was going to do it. "I want to talk to your brother who is the ugly backstabber, with a cocksucker as a twin," Draco growled. "Malfoy, that hurts," George complained, much more offended by the aspersion cast on his looks than

the comment about his sexual orientation. "I'll have you know that Fred and I were runner's up in Witch Weekly's Best Looking Wizards of 2004 edition." "Oh yes, I remember. That was the year the blind troll from Serbia was editor. Didn't you get beaten out by Longbottom?" Draco sneered. George held both his hands over his heart as if he had been wounded. "You seem a little out of sorts today, Malfoy. Perhaps I can interest you in one of our 'Cheering Chocolates'? They are a brand new product." "I don't want to purchase any of your

damn chocolates. I want-" George interrupted him, "A love potion perhaps? You look like a bloke who is nursing a broken heart from unrequited love." That was it. Draco lunged. At least, he lunged as much as a man with two bad legs can lunge. He managed to grab a hold of George's lapels. "I am not fucking around," Draco hissed under this breath. "Fred is out of line. You know it. I know it. Fuck, I'm sure Fred knows it. Just tell me where the hell he is so I can hex the living shit out of him." George's face sobered. "You have to

cut him some slack, Malfoy. She asked him. And Merlin knows, he isn't going to refuse her anything. Although, I wish sometimes..." As George's voice trailed off, Draco released him. "Where is he?" Draco asked a little less harshly. Flicking his eyes toward the ceiling, George indicated that Fred was in the flat upstairs. "Thanks. Can I apparate up there?" Draco asked. Just the thought of climbing a flight of stairs sent waves of pain shooting along his legs. "Sure," George replied, his grin

returning. "That is if you don't mind losing your legs again." 0-0-0 As Draco climbed the stairs toward Fred and George's flat, he was dealing with three types of pain. First, he was feeling pain in his legs. With the way his week was going, Draco figured he end up permanently crippled by having ignored the healer's advice to stay off his feet until completely mended. Of course, Granger would be so horrified by his invalid status, that she'd probably tend to his every want and need for the next 130 years. Draco decided

that becoming a cripple would be his fail-safe plan should all his other attempts to reclaim Hermione prove unsuccessful. Draco's second pain was in his heart. That organ he had ignored for the first 23 years of his life was now pounding, clenching, and tightening in an effort to warn the wizard of what lay in the future should he bugger this up. There would be no returning to the status quo simplicity of pre-Hermione life. His heart would not put up with any live and let live, fuck and be fucked attitude. Oh no, should he lose Hermione there would be despair, weight-loss, and tears.

Failure was not an option if Draco wanted to avoid having his heart turn him into an emotional basket-case. As bad as his legs and heart felt, however, it was Draco's third pain the pain in his mind - that was the worst. It was the worst because Draco's mind believed in karma. It also believed that karma was a bitch. Moreover, it believed when bitchy karma caught up to Draco Malfoy it would insure that Hermione ended up married to Fred Weasley. The reason karma was out to get him is because long before Draco was interested in Hermione, long before he desired her, or wanked to her

image, he had known that Fred Weasley was in love with her. Shit, every witch and wizard in the Order, except Hermione, knew that Fred loved her. Fred had fallen for Hermione soon after Moody had teamed them together during the war. The two Gryffindors had immediately become a brilliant match both on and off the battlefield. On the battlefield they coordinated their hexes, shields, and attacks so efficiently that both of them emerged from the bloodiest battles of the war without a scratch. This was an accomplishment that neither Moody, nor McGonagall, nor

Harry could claim. Off the battlefield the two colleagues had developed some particularly nasty amulets, potions, and wards that had decimated the Death Eater population. Fred had been drawn to Hermione's insightful inventions and her single-minded focus on defeating Voldemort. He believed that wartime Hermione was a kindred spirit, in a way that the swot intent on becoming head girl had not been. Despite his affection for his bushyhaired partner, Fred had not dated her during the war out of fear of ruining their working relationship. If Draco had been a stand-up guy, or

a comrade-in-arms, or anything other than an utter bastard, he would have ignored his initial interest in Hermione and given Fred a chance to win her once the war concluded. But Draco was thoughtless and selfish. Moreover, he believed that Fred deserved what he got for not acting on his feelings for over two years. As the muggles say, 'You snooze you lose.' Therefore, Draco had pursued, dated, and shagged Hermione months before Fred even realized that anyone else wanted her. And because Hermione was one of the most loving, faithful, and loyal women in the wizarding world, she had not considered dumping Draco

even after Fred had revealed his feelings. At least she never had considered it until now. Thank you very much, fucking karma. When Draco reached the top of the stairs, he opened the door to the Weasley twins' flat without bothering to knock. Fred stood before a mirror in the entryway adjusting his robes. He gave a sly grin at seeing Draco. "What a pleasant surprise, Malfoy. I'm afraid I can't stay to chat, however, because I have a hot date." Although Draco had not been sure how he would react upon seeing Fred, once the red-head opened his

mouth there was no longer any doubt in Draco's mind. He dropped his cane, gave a low growl, and tackled Fred to the ground. He immediately began pummeling the Gryffindor in the ribs and face. As soon as Fred recovered from his shock at Draco's physical attack, he used his superior weight, height, and experience from wrestling five brothers, to flip Draco on his stomach and dig a knee into his back to keep him from moving. "Get off of me, you miserable wanker," Draco snarled. "Ask nicely," Fred mocked, grinding

his knee even harder into Draco's back. "I'm going to cut your fucking bits off and then shove them down your throat, you pile of monkey dung." "Definitely not nice," Fred spat. He then knocked his elbow into the side of the blonde's head hard enough to elicit a muffled gasp of pain. "It isn't a real date," Draco taunted, from his prone position. "She is just using you to make me jealous." He felt Fred loosen his grip slightly and with a huge effort, Draco bucked the prat off his back and kicked him in the side. Out of breath and his legs

feeling like they were about to come off again, Draco pulled himself into a sitting position and leaned back against the wall. Across the entryway from him sat Fred, holding his ribs and glaring. "That is exactly why you are going to lose her, Malfoy. You don't understand Hermione at all. She wouldn't use anyone, let alone me. When are you going to figure out she isn't like your wartime conquests? She's got a conscience, a heart, and desires that will take a lifetime to fulfill. She isn't looking for a shortterm fuck. She wants the whole thing - love, marriage, babies - and soon

she's going realize that you won't give it to her. It might hurt her to leave you, but she'll do it rather than settle for the wretched deal you are offering her." "And that is exactly why you aren't with her, Weasley. You insist on putting her up on a fucking pedestal. She isn't some porcelain virgin, who needs to be handled with kid-gloves. You know as well as I do the destruction and cunning of which she capable. Shit, we have both seen her go after what she wants no matter what or who was in her way," Draco sneered. "But for the sake of argument, let's pretend you are right

and Hermione's intentions tonight are innocent, are you going to try and convince me that your intentions are innocent too? That you are going out with her tonight just to talk and be a good friend?" Fred grinned and Draco wanted more than anything to try to bash his face in again. "Of course, this is more than me just being a good friend. I'm going to make the most of my opportunity. The way I see it, your and Hermione's spat can end in one of three ways," Fred informed the seething blond. "First, Hermione goes out with me tonight. Enjoys herself immensely with someone who

actually cares what she thinks and listens to what she has to say. She discovers what a real man has to offer, leaves you, and immediately becomes mine." "How is she going to discover what a real man has to offer?" Draco sneered. "Are you bringing Bill along on your date tonight?" "The second possibility," Fred continued, as if Draco hadn't spoken, "is that you continue fucking things up. Hermione turns to me for comfort and I kiss away all her tears. Then, before you can say, 'Malfoy is a dimwit', Hermione is agreeing to become

Mrs. Fred Weasley." Draco's eyes narrowed as he speculated on the fewest number of pieces Fred could be cut into, yet no longer be recognized as a Weasley. "Of course the third possibility, while not the one I hope occurs, would be that you come to your senses and realize that Hermione is the best thing that will every happen to you. You marry her; make her miserable, and then three to five years down the road she is back on my doorstep. She and I then spend the next 100 or so years raising curly-haired Weasleys and developing a line of

joke store products that won't offend Hogwart's prefects." "Your fantasy life is quite amusing, Weasley," Draco scoffed. "But, you forgot to imagine the fourth way this could end." "And, exactly how is that Malfoy?" Fred asked, glancing down at his watch. "Make it quick, my date will be here soon." Draco drew his wand. "It could end with me transfiguring you in a blastended skrewt and keeping you penned up at Malfoy Manor!" Before he had a chance to cast a

spell, however, Fred had his wand drawn as well. "Just try it ferret-boy. I've wanted to have a go at you since the war." A soft pop startled them both and they turned, wands pointing toward the sound. "Expelliarmus!" Hermione shouted, and before either of them could respond they had been disarmed. The witch gave what at any other time would have been a charming smile. "Nice to know I haven't lost my wartime reflexes. Apparently, the same can't be said about either of you." While both men were initially

speechless, Draco recovered first. After all, he had faced the business end of Hermione's wand before. "Granger," he nodded toward her, grabbing his cane and awkwardly rising to his feet. "Of course your skills are still top-notch; you work as a curse breaker. You can't expect the same speed or reaction from someone like me, who serves as CEO of the largest corporation in the wizarding world, or from a mere cashier like Weasley," Draco sneered, rolling his eyes slightly toward the redhead. "Speak for yourself, Malfoy," Fred groused, rising from the floor. "I'm

just as fast as I was during the war." "Of course you are still fast," Draco agreed. "If I'm not mistaken that is why your most recent girlfriend left you. However, Weasley, the proper terminology is 'early ejaculation' when it occurs in the bedroom." Draco barely managed to get his shield up before Fred's hex was flung at him. "Fred!" Hermione gasped. "What?" Fred asked, sincerely surprised that Hermione's had spoken harshly to him. "He started it!"

"'He started it,'" Draco mimicked after taking a step to the right, so that Hermione now served as a convenient barrier between him and Fred. "What are you eight?" Hermione wheeled around to lecture Draco, but before she could speak, Fred replied, "I'm at least eight times the man you are Malfoy. I can see past my own selfish desires and try to do what's best for the people I love. When is the last time you thought of anybody but yourself?" Draco ignored the Gryffindor's words and grasped Hermione by the wrist. "Granger, it is time to end all this

nonsense. Let's not drag Fred any further into our little disagreement." Hermione cocked her head to the side, "Perhaps, you'd like to share with me exactly what 'nonsense' you are referring to, Draco? Could it be my desire to get married that you find nonsensical? Or perhaps it is nonsense to expect that after two years of dating someone that person might actually want to be in an exclusive relationship. Personally, I think it is nonsense to threaten your girlfriend's dinner companion after explicitly telling her she was a free agent."

"I never said-" "Yes. You. Did." Hermione responded, enunciating each word in an effort to forestall any further discussion. Unfortunately for her, however, Draco was quite adept at ignoring verbal cues when he so desired. He tightened his hand around her wrist slightly. "Granger, you know damn well I was only discussing the 'concept' of exclusivity. I wasn't giving you permission to go out with this git," Draco drawled, waving his hand in Fred's general direction. "Permission?" Hermione repeated

astounded. "I haven't asked permission to do anything since I was sixteen years old. I am not about to start now. And I am definitely not about to start asking you what I can and can't do." Fred, who by this time had retrieved his wand and straightened his robes, came up behind Hermione and placed his hand lightly on the small of her back, he smirked at Draco, his eyes dancing with delight at their fight. "We have to get moving if we are going to make our reservation," he reminded the bushy-haired girl with a wink.

She grinned up at him, "Great, let's head out." Hermione then looked down at where Draco still held her by the wrist, raised her eyebrows at him, and shook her arm gently to break free. Rather than release her, however, Draco pulled her closer. Although his body language revealed nothing, Draco was panicking. This was NOT supposed happen. Weasley was supposed to be dead or seriously incapacitated by now. Hermione was supposed to be in Draco's arms, reassuring him that this entire date debacle was just a bluff to force him into a commitment. She was NOT

supposed to be shaking him off so that she could go out to dinner with the man who had desired her for the last four years. Draco knew he needed to do something immediately if he was going to salvage the situation and prevent Hermione from leaving the flat with Fred. "I need to talk to you in private," he told her, staring deeply into her dark brown eyes, urging her to give into this one request. "I don't have much time," she said softly, some emotion he couldn't read passing over her face. "It won't take long."

She looked up at Fred and he gave her a little nod. "You can use my room. It's down the hall-" "First door on the right, I remember," Hermione finished the sentence for him. Draco's eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open slightly at her reply. "What?" she asked. "I helped him decorate when he moved in here, you know that." Draco nodded curtly, because he really didn't remember her helping Fred decorate, but she most likely was telling the truth. That was one of

the dozen or so things he loved about dating a Gryffindor they rarely lied and when they did, they typically sucked at it. He opened the door to Fred's room and ushered Hermione inside. Closing the door behind them, he cast a silencing spell and slowly turned around to face her. She looked lovely. Her hair was gently piled on the top of her head, she wore a dark blue robe over a form-fitting grey muggle dress, and she had put some mascara on to highlight her eyes. Draco felt a stab of anger when he remembered that she had done all this for another wizard.

The Slytherin considered his options. He could yell at the girl, accuse her of rankest blackmail and dirty dealings. Such emotional displays, however, weren't his style and typically failed to accomplish the desired result. He could apparate Hermione away and chain her in the Malfoy dungeons until Fred was safely married to some other witch. Unfortunately, there was no telling how long that would take because Weasley was really quite unappealing - and there was a very good chance Hermione could outmagic him. Draco enjoyed breathing too much to risk the girl's wrath. His final option was almost too awful to

contemplate, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Draco would tell the truth. "You're gorgeous, Granger," he told bushy-haired beauty. "I was an idiot to suggest that it would be acceptable for us to date other people. You have forced me to recognize how much sense it makes for us to be in an exclusive relationship." Draco grabbed both of Hermione's hands and gave them a squeeze before continuing. "I do want you to know, however, that even before I considered us exclusive, there was never anyone else but you. All other women pale in

comparison." Hermione reached up and ran her fingers lightly down the side of his face. "Oh Draco," she whispered. "It has always been you, too." Before Draco could pull Hermione into his arms, she took a step back, breaking contact. "That is why I'm so sorry," she said sadly, "that exclusivity isn't enough. I want to be with someone who can admit to himself that he loves me, who isn't afriad to say it in front of our friends and family. A man needn't shout his feelings from the rooftops of Diagon Alley, but at the same time, he

should not be ashamed of being in love." "Bloody hell, Granger, it sounds like you want a self-effacing, romantic, ponce with no self-respect. You've got the wrong wizard if you want someone to be all maudlin, clingy, and publicly demonstrative. It is dangerous to be that open and exposed. It should be enough that you know how I feel. Why should the entire wizarding world need to know as well? I can't be a Weasley, or a Potter, or whatever other vocal poof you have in mind." "And I can't be with someone who is

so scared of appearing weak and vulnerable that he can barely admit to himself that he cares for me. I love you Draco Malfoy, but I'm no longer willing to settle for half a relationship." Draco and Hermione just stared at each other for several seconds, neither of them moved or spoke. Finally, Hermione gave a deep sigh, "I going to dinner with Fred now. Please, don't follow us." She opened the door and left Draco standing by himself in Weasley's room. It was several minutes after he heard her and Fred apparate away,

before he could make himself leave the empty flat and return to Malfoy Manor alone.

Part IV: Pulling the Trigger

Narcissa Malfoy's nerves were frayed. She had not been this on edge since the Dark Lord had attempted to recruit Draco into the ranks of his Death Eaters. Fortunately, Severus Snape had anticipated Voldemort's strategy and was able to not only prevent Draco from becoming a murderer, but also convince him to join the Order of the Phoenix. After the war ended and her son had emerged relatively unscathed, Narcissa's major concerns had been on developing new bridge strategies and thwarting Draco's attempts to shag his new girlfriend in every room

in the Manor. That had all changed five days ago, when Draco had splinched himself and come to the Manor to recuperate. At least that is what Narcissa had initially suspected. A boy always wants his mother, even one as squeamish and generally unsympathetic as Narcissa, when he is recovering from a nasty injury. She had revised her original impression, however, when once fully recovered Draco had not Apparated away, but instead stalked the Manor's halls with a brooding glare on his face. The first several times Narcissa had

rounded a corner and run into her gloomy son, she had actually let out a startled little scream thinking that Lucius had somehow escaped from Azkaban. Even as she grew used to Draco's presence, however, it was unsettling to have an angry, muttering, young man always lurking around one's home. As a woman, Narcissa was extremely curious about what had put Draco into such a snit and why he was haunting the Manor rather than spending his time with the Granger girl, but as the wife of a Death Eater she had learned very early that it was dangerous to know too much or ask too many questions. It was better for one's health and

sanity, not to mention plausible deniability, just to be observant and let others offer to tell you information if and when they were ready. Unfortunately, Draco had not opened up to his mother prior to her Friday afternoon bridge gathering. Therefore, Narcissa had absolutely no answers to her bridge partners' inquiries into Draco's foul mood. "Darling, you must have some idea," Olivia Nott declared after opening the bidding with one club. "I swear to you that I am completely clueless." "Isn't that the same line you used

before the Wizengamot to avoid Azkaban?" Sophie Parkinson asked snidely before bidding one diamond. "Oh really, Sophie. Just because your husband avoided being sent off to keep company with the Dementors doesn't make your hands any cleaner than the rest of us," Imogene Bulstrode informed her caustically. "I never said it did, dearest," Sophie replied with a phony smile. "Well, if the boy is upset, you know it has to be about one of five things," Olivia stated confidently. "What makes you so sure?" Narcissa

inquired. "He's a man," Sophie interrupted, "and men are so uncomplicated." Olivia and Imogen nodded in agreement. "When did I ever give you the impression that I did not understand men?" Narcissa asked smugly. "Never, darling. But we are talking about your child. It is so difficult for mothers to envision their sons as men," Olivia Nott said thoughtfully. "I always picture Theodore as a happy, little, eight year old, torturing frogs and pulling wings off of Pixies." She

then laid down a card, "I'm leading with the 10 of spades." "It is hard for mothers to see her girls as women too," Imogen Bulstrode appended. "I suppose that is especially true with a daughter like Millicent," Sophie remarked cuttingly. "Queen of spades, I win the trick!" "You know I still have use of my wand, right?" Imogen inquired through a tight fake smile. "Girls, girls!" Olivia interrupted. "We are supposed to be helping Narcissa, not vying for the 'Vicious Witch of the

Year Award.'" "Especially, since the same person wins year after year," Imogen commented. "Where do you find room for all the trophies, Sophie?" "Imogene! Please behave," Olivia told her exasperatedly. Holding up her hands and giving a 'who me' innocent look to the rest of the women at the table, Imogene Bulstrode made a great show of locking her lips shut. "Well, the five things that upset men are politics, work, money, pride, and women," Olivia informed the rest of

the table. "Which do you think is bothering, Draco?" "It's difficult to say," Narcissa commented, as she laid down a trump card and took the trick. "He doesn't seem to be interested in politics, work and money shouldn't be a problem, he appears fully capable of defending his honor, and he's dating that muggle-born friend of Harry Potter. So he should be extremely happy and satisfied with his life, but he is not. The boy is in a very a difficult mood." "Leave it to us, dearest," Sophie responded, leading with a 5 of

hearts. "If there is anything that the wives of Slytherins know, is that it's more fulfilling to pursue and attain knowledge..." "-than it is a man!" the rest of the women at the table finished before dissolving into giggles, as if they were teenagers back at Hogwarts. Twenty minutes later, Draco's pacing brought him into the hall outside of the card room. Sophie Parkinson called him over to the bridge table. "Draco dearest, it has been ages since I've seen you," she gushed, holding out her hand to him and forcing him to enter the room to

greet her. Draco gave her hand a slight squeeze and responded politely, "Mrs. Parkinson, so good to see you again." He brushed his lips across his mother's cheek briefly, and then turned to the other women at the table. "Mrs. Nott, Mrs. Bulstrode, I do hope you are both doing well." "Better every day, dear boy," Imogene Bulstrode replied. "Soon the political situation will be completely stabilized and it will be like the second war never even occurred." Draco gave a small shrug, thinking to himself that Mrs. Bulstrode seemed

remarkably blas about a state of affairs that would probably leave her husband in Azkaban for the rest of his life. "To tell the truth, I find politics these days completely uninteresting. It doesn't seem to matter who is minister or what is on the agenda. The bureaucracy just keeps advancing along the same inept path." The women at the table exchanged a quick look. Apparently it wasn't politics that had Draco upset. "You must have to deal with the bureaucracy a lot," Olivia Nott commented. "Isn't Malfoy Industries

heading up a number of the rebuilding efforts?" Draco nodded. "The company has a role in a little under three-fourths of the ministry directed rebuilding projects." "All that work must be a tremendous burden," Sophie speculated. Raising an eyebrow at the suggestion, Draco shook his head slowly. "No, not really. Ever since the company changed its hiring policies," everyone a the table realized this was code for Malfoy Industries no longer employing only purebloods in management positions, "I've been

surrounded by a array of talented people, who make it very easy to be CEO. In fact, the company is on track to make record profits this year." "That is just wonderful, darling," Narcissa cooed, as if she didn't read the company's financial accounts weekly. Draco gave her a piercing look, while the other witches exchanged glances. Work and money they silently concluded could be ruled out as irritants. "Given how well you are doing," Olivia conjectured, "you must be irritated with the amount of space devoted to Potter and the Weasleys

in the papers. One would think from picking up the Daily Prophet that no one else had played a role in defeating the Dark Lord or was working to help the wizarding world recover." Draco cast a suspicious eye at all of the ladies at the bridge table. What in the hell were they up to? "The Prophet is only interested in selling papers. They'll write about me when it fancies them or they think they can earn a few more Knuts for their efforts. I don't, however, judge my worth to society based on the number of columns written about me each week."

"I'm so glad to hear that, dear boy," Sophie chimed in. Draco's problem clearly wasn't his pride. "Nevertheless, you are sure to be featured in the paper this weekend, what with the ball at Hogwarts celebrating the Second Anniversary of the defeat of the Dark Lord." Draco began to glower. The ladies all raised their eyebrows; apparently Sophie had struck a nerve. "I have yet to decide on whether or not to attend." "But surely darling, you'll have to escort Hermione?" Narcissa questioned him. "I am positive I read

about her being one of the honored guests at the event." Draco ground his teeth together before replying in clipped tones, "I will not be escorting Hermione to the ball." No one spoke for several moments, then Sophie Parkinson broke the silence with an abrupt, "Well, it is about time." "Sophie!" Imogen gasped. "It's true. Maybe the war changed some things, but it didn't change what really matters - blood. And while it is all well and good for Draco

to indulge in youthful excess and rebuild the family name and by dating a mudblood, you can't really expect him to be satisfied slumming forever. It is about time that the boy grew up and settled down with a nice pureblooded girl." Draco drew himself up to his full height and stared down his aristocratic nose at Mrs. Parkinson. His eyes flashed with rage and Narcissa was once again reminded of Lucius. "If anyone was slumming in my and Hermione's relationship, it was her. And if you ever use the term 'mudblood' in my hearing again, I will ensure your family is not welcome in

any parlor throughout wizarding London for the next decade." With a slight bow to the rest of the ladies at the table, Draco turned on his heel and stalked out of the card room, slamming the door behind him. "I can not believe how rude that was!" Sophie exclaimed. "Neither can I," Narcissa concluded. "I am going to have to ask you to leave, Sophie. Your prejudices are not appreciated in Malfoy Manor. Until you can learn to respect the feelings of my family members you will not be welcome back into this house."

Sophie stood proudly, "Trust me Narcissa, this is no great loss." And with those final words, Sophie Parkinson Apparated away. The two remaining witches at the table shared a sympathetic look with their hostess. Olivia began to speak, but was startled by the sound of glass breaking from behind the card room door. Narcissa gave a wan smile that did not reach her eyes. "I only have Limoges and Wedgwood out there. Nothing of any consequence," she assured them. After her guests left, Narcissa went

out in the hallway and found Draco sitting on a bench hunched over, his head resting in his hands. She sat down besides him, causing him to turn his head and look into her eyes. "Mother, in my clumsiness earlier, I overset a vase on the entry table. I'll send a replacement." "The Meissen vase," Narcissa said thoughtfully. "I'd forgotten that one." "Just so," Draco agreed. Running her hand through his hair and down his back, Narcissa asked him if he would like to talk. He was silent for several moments,

but finally shook his head, stood, and walked up the stairs toward the bedrooms. Narcissa gave a deep sigh. If only Lucius had been less of a tyrant and a better father, then perhaps Draco would have had a man he could turn to when troubled. Coming to a quick decision, the stately witch went into the parlor to floo the only person who might be able to get Draco to open up. 0-0-0 Forty-five minutes later, Severus Snape Apparated into Malfoy Manor. After exchanging brief pleasantries

with Narcissa, he made his way up to Draco's bedchamber and knocked on the door. At Draco's mumbled reply, Snape entered the room and observed the boy glowering into the fire, while nursing what appeared to be a glass of brandy. "Afternoon, Draco," Snape murmured. "Your mother tells me you need a man with whom to talk." Not bothering to turn toward his former mentor and potion's teacher, Draco snarked back, "And you are the best she could up with?"

Snape chuckled a bit at the sarcasm. Although he would never be a conventionally happy or content man, he had become far more human in the years since Voldemort's defeat. "What is it the muggles say about beggars can't be choosers?" "Malfoys don't beg," Draco responded. "As you wish," Snape replied, conjuring up a chair next to Draco's. "As I've made the trip here, however, you could at least offer me a glass of what looks to be some of your father's most exquisite brandy." With that Draco finally turned toward

him. He gave Snape a piercing stare, but eventually rose, crossed the room, and filled a second glass from a crystal decanter that contained Lucius' 'Old Havana' brandy. After both men were ensconced by the fire, sipping away and dulling their senses, Draco finally told Snape, "Granger left me." "Bollocks," Snape replied, allowing the rich burgundy liquor to slide down his throat easily. "She did!" Draco protested. "Hermione Granger, Gryffindor alumna, brains of the Golden Trio,

heroine of the Second Wizarding War, left you?" "Yes!" "I don't believe it," Snape repeated. He then added, "What did you do?" "Nothing," Draco snapped. "Well," he amended, "I didn't jump at the opportunity to get married." "Bah, marriage," Snape shuddered, making a sound a reminded Draco of a cat getting sick. "Then you are well shod of her. Bachelorhood is the only life to pursue - freedom to do what you want, no one to answer to, never having to worry about changing dirty

nappies or cleaning spit-up, evenings spent all alone, no one to share your bed, dying unhappy and unloved. You have definitely made the right decision, my boy." "Sod off, you wanker," Draco growled. "Seriously, Draco," Snape told him. "If you don't love the chit, it makes no sense to marry her." "But I do love her," Draco admitted. It was the first time he'd ever told anyone besides Hermione about his feelings toward her. Surprisingly, it wasn't that painful and didn't leave him feeling any more self-conscious

or exposed than usual. However, he did not particularly enjoy the look of conceit on Snape's face. "So what is the problem?" Snape asked. "Is the sex not good? I always suspected that Granger would be frigid in the bedroom." Draco's eyes narrowed. What in Merlin's name was Snape doing imaging Hermione's sexual habits? "The sex is fine," Draco told him distrustfully. "Of course it is," Snape responded, sounding amused. "Because 'fine' is such a ringing endorsement."

"It's better than fine. It's great, it's hot. In fact, she does this thing with her tongue that-" "Enough!" Snape interrupted. "I do not need that image burned any further into my brain." Giving himself a slight shake, Snape continued. "If you love the witch and the sex is good, why aren't you interested in marrying her?" "Well," Draco replied hesitantly, "getting married wasn't my idea." "Oh, why didn't you say that in the beginning? Obviously that is a deal breaker. After all, there have only been several hundred-thousand good

ideas throughout the world's history that did not originate with Draco Malfoy. We definitely wouldn't want one more upsetting the delicate balance." Draco glared at the greasy-hair git and decided that he liked Snape a lot more when he was harassing Potter and Weasley. Finishing off his brandy, not at all concerned with Draco's growing anger, Snape asked, "Why don't you tell me what the real problem is, boy?" The young wizard did not respond immediately. When he did reply, he

asked his former head of house, "What do I owe my Malfoy ancestors?" "Owe them?" "What does being a Malfoy mean? Is it the money? Is about having an estate and an important business role in the wizarding community? Is it about social status? Is it about being one of the few families never to have intermarried with a muggle or muggle off-spring?" "This is about blood?" "No!" Draco growled. "Well, maybe a little bit. I don't believe in the theory

of pure and superior magic that Lucius spoon-fed me growing up. I see Hermione as my equal in all things - except perhaps hair care. Yet, at the same time, I am the descendent of hundreds of years of social manipulation. My father, my grandfather, my great-grandfather, and his great-grandfather all married pureblood witches in order to ensure that the Malfoy family would retain that distinction. Do I have the right to throw generations of attentiveness, supervision, and sacrifice away just so I can be happy? Do I have the right to sentence all Malfoy descendents from now on to lives as half-bloods?"

Snape glowered at the blond. Draco's anxiety reminded the former Potions Master of the uneasiness about his own bloodline he had experienced while growing up. The way that being around men like Lucius, Sirius, and James Potter made him feel inferior for nothing more than having some muggle blood running through his veins. It was past time that such things cease to matter. "You know that I am a half-blood?" Snape asked the young man. "Yes, and looked at how fucked up you are," Draco replied half-seriously. "Who am I to sentence my children's children's children to that fate?"

Instead of telling Draco that he was being prejudiced, patronizing, and idiotic, Snape approached the situation from a different perspective. "So what lucky witch is going to bear your pureblooded children? Pansy Parkinson? Daphne Greengrass? Perhaps you can charm the Weasley girl away from Potter." Draco groaned. "I don't want to be with any of them. The thought of touching Parkinson's or Weasley's girly bits actually turns my stomach. I only want Granger." "Well, my dear boy," Snape said quietly, "that is what it means to be

a Malfoy." At Draco's look of confusion, Snape elaborated. "A Malfoy pursues what he wants. He takes what he desires and bugger the world if doesn't approve. Do you think your father ever worried about what people might say about his choices? Does your mother ever not attend some event because she is scared of what someone might think? Of course not. They do as they please and as they want because that is what it means to be a Malfoy. All you owe your ancestors is to do the same, go after what you want and damn the consequences. As far as your

descendents are concerned, far from cursing you for sullying the Malfoy bloodline, I suspect they'll be thrilled that you had the sense to marry a woman who has more than a couple of brain cells to rub together, a woman, moreover, who will bring some pigmentation to future Malfoys' skin coloring." Looking hard into the face of the man seated across from him, Draco spoke slowly. "Severus you are an ass a good friend, but still an ass." The older man chuckled a bit at this comment and for the first that day Draco smiled.

0-0-0 The next evening, at the Second Anniversary Ball in Celebration of Victory, Draco sat at a table with Ron Weasley and ten attractive, single, witches. Each of the witches had donated two hundred galleons to the War Orphans' Fund to be near two of the war's most eligible bachelors. The seats at Potter's and George Weasley's table had cost even more and had been purchased primarily by ministry officials and foreign dignitaries. Tables with pairs of other war heroes and paying guests filled the rest of the Great Hall.

The only table Draco cared about, however, was the one at which Hermione and Fred sat. Their table had been filled mostly by businessmen, half of whom were trying to interest Weasley in some new product for his joke shop and half of which were trying to hire Hermione as a curse-breaking consultant. The sole exception to this was Draco's old housemate and professional Quidditch player, Marcus Flint. Flint had apparently purchased a seat at Granger's table for the sole purpose of staring at her breasts. Draco's wand hand itched from the strain of not hexing the bastard.

Draco's concentration on what was happening at Hermione's table had drawn considerable notice. Not only were all the witches at his table frustrated by his unwillingness to engage in anything more than casual, monosyllabic conversation, but several men at Fred and Hermione's table had felt the heat of Draco's glare whenever they engaged in too long or too animated a discussion with the brown-haired witch. In fact, almost all of the men at Hermione's table had developed awkward twitches by the time dessert was served caused by continually looking back over their shoulders to see if Malfoy was still

staring at them. Hermione had noticed Draco's gaze too, but rather than become uncomfortable she had initially glared right back at him. Whenever he caught her eye, however, he would smirk, or leer, or wink the same way he used to do during Order meetings whenever he wanted to set her heart pounding and make her stomach churn with butterflies. For the last thirty minutes, therefore, Hermione had refused to even glance toward his side of the room out of fear that if he continued to flirt with her, she'd end up marching over there and snogging him silly.

Two people unconcerned with the attention Malfoy was directing at Granger's table were Fred, who was so amused by Draco's actions that he waved at Malfoy happily every time the wine glasses got refilled, and Marcus Flint, who was deliberately trying to provoke his former Hogwarts teammate into causing some sort of scene. Draco had counted Flint touching Hermione at least seven times during dinner. At first, it was just a slight brush of his arm against her as he reached for the salt or the bread or a wine bottle, but twice he had put his hand on her shoulder to ask her a question, and once he had tucked an errant curl

back behind her ear. Draco knew that Marcus had never forgiven him for not catching the Snitch during the game against Gryffindor during Flint's last year at Hogwarts. As Flint draped his arm across the back of Hermione's chair and began fiddling with her hair, the gray-eyed Slytherin ground his teeth together and swore he'd kill the Quidditch star if he attempted to exact his revenge on Draco by toying with Hermione. Before Draco could recall the name of the spell that would make Flint's most sensitive bits turn red and itchy,

the Minister of Magic stood up to thank everyone for attending the Victory Celebration. He then asked Harry to lead off the first dance of the evening. Looking far more confident than he had during the Yule Ball, Harry led Ginny Weasley onto the dance floor. As the band struck up a slow song, others who had fought in the war soon joined the couple. Ron took the floor with one of the witches from their table, Neville Longbottom danced with Luna Lovegood, and Fred escorted Hermione to the dance floor. Malfoy grabbed the hand of the witch on his right and dragged her

onto the floor as well. He spun her around until they were dancing close to Fred and Hermione. Draco couldn't hear what Weasley was whispering in Hermione's ear, but he was sure the two were dancing much too close to be respectable. When the first song ended and the crowd turned toward the stage and clapped for the band, Draco pushed his partner in front of Fred. "Weasley, I'd like to introduce you to Crissy Christy Kristen " "Kirsten." "Oh yes, Kirsten, she's been dying to meet you all evening." Draco

blatantly lied to the redhead. Before Fred could respond, Draco had taken Hermione's hand and swept her into the next dance. He confidently maneuvered her over to the other side of ballroom, far from Weasley, Flint, and any other wizard Draco thought might try to interrupt their tte--tte. "That was smooth, Malfoy." "I hope you wouldn't expect anything else from me, Granger," he smirked down at her. "I suppose I should grateful that you waited until the first song was finished before you commandeered

me and foisted that girl on poor Fred," Hermione huffed. "If Fred is a normal bloke and not a poof like his brother, he'll be thanking me tomorrow for the introduction. I believe Kirsten is a bit of a tart," Draco informed her. "And just how would you know that?" Hermione inquired, one eyebrow raised in suspicion. Oh, this was good. If Granger was touchy about how well Draco knew the silly bint currently dancing with Fred that meant she was not completely set against him. "Greatgreat-great-grandfather Malfoy

developed a rather complicated formula for determining such things back in the late 19th century. It has helped the Malfoy's keep the riff and the raff out of the family tree for the last five generations." "At least the riff-raff not born into the family," Hermione mocked. Hermione was prepared for Draco to come back with a cutting reply about how someone who had muggle relatives shouldn't be casting stones, but instead he gave her a half smile that made her heart pound. "I have obviously never shared with you the standard punishment for casting

aspersions on Malfoy ancestry," he teased. "No," Hermione gulped, trying to catch her breath. Teasing Draco rarely came out to play, but when he did, she found it difficult to resist him. Hermione had been certain that she could face Draco this evening without crumbling. She would just stay strong and remember the three Cs Commitment, Confirmation of feelings, and Ceremony (marriage ceremony preferably). Now, however, everything was confusing. The leftside of her brain kept repeating he's a clueless wanker he's a clueless wanker he's a clueless

wanker, while the right-side of her brain pleaded with her to forgive the handsome, charming, beautiful man, who could dance like well, like someone who could really dance well. "Is the punishment very painful?" she asked almost shyly. Draco gave a tiny shrug, "Not painful enough that I'll end up in Azkaban." He then tightened his grip on her waist and whispered, "Hold on." With only that slight warning, Draco swept Hermione into a complicated series of dance steps that brought them into the middle of the floor and drew several pairs of eyes toward the couple. As the song concluded, Draco

dipped Hermione back deeply causing her to link one arm around his neck to keep from toppling over. When he pulled her back up, they were almost nose-to-nose. Now truly out of breath, Hermione panted, "That was my punishment?" "Of course not, Granger. Your punishment was me looking down your cleavage, the dance was just a way to accomplish it in style," Draco smirked. Completely against her will, Hermione could not help but giggle in response.

Draco took a step toward her and gently captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Before he could say anything, however, a scream rent the air outside Hogwarts' Great Hall. Most of the witches and wizards in the hall quickly pulled their wands and congregated into small groups to quietly speculate about what had happened. A few others, men and women like Potter, Ron Weasley, Remus Lupin, and Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin, pushed through the crowd to investigate what had just occurred. Draco was looking around for a group he and Hermione could

gossip with, when she grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him out into the hallway. "Merlin's balls woman," he spat out, "what in the world are you doing?" Hermione ignored him and asked a frightened-looking house elf where the scream had come from. As he pointed up toward the second floor, Hermione began to move again, jerking Draco along with her. Once they arrived at the top of the stairs, Draco wrenched free and demanded that Hermione let someone else deal with whatever had occurred. In response, Hermione stared at him

like he had three heads. "Why would I ever want to do that?" she asked rhetorically. "Now either buck up and come with me or go back and cower in the Great Hall." Draco straightened up and narrowed his eyes at Hermione before replying haughtily, "Malfoys don't cower. We simply evaluate situations as they occur and decide whether or not it is in our best interest to intervene. Since there is no indication that this, whatever it is, will either positively or negatively impact our lives " He stopped talking when he noticed Hermione rolling her eyes. "Fine," he

growled throwing out an arm and waving it about as if he were making some grand gesture on stage, "let's go explore! Maybe I'll die a martyr and posthumously get sorted into Gryffindor with the rest of you idiotic heroes." Hermione had already set off down the corridor, but she called over her shoulder, "Stop being such a drama queen, Malfoy. Get moving!" Had she bothered to look back at him, his look of sly satisfaction would have frozen her in place. Instead, however, she marched unknowing into DM's Plan #3 To Win Back

Hermione Granger.
Not twenty feet later, the pair turned a corner and came upon a hysterical Pansy Parkinson, who was being comforted by Tonks. When Pansy caught sight of the blond and brunette, her sobs became louder. While Hermione had little respect for the former Slytherin witch and felt an unhealthy amount of jealousy toward her for being Draco's first girlfriend, she still asked compassionately, "Is she alright?" Focused on Pansy, Hermione missed the expression of amusement on Tonks' face and the look she gave

Draco before replying, "As good as can be expected." By the time Hermione turned back toward the Auror, Tonks' features were impassive, although the tips of her hair had begun to change from bright pink to neon green. "What's down there that upset her?" Hermione asked, nodding toward the corridor. Tonks glanced from Hermione to Draco then back to Hermione. "I think it is better if you just see it for yourself," she told them enigmatically. Hermione tensed and waited for

Draco to make some sarcastic reply to Tonks' lack of explanation, but he remained silent. She turned toward him; her senses beginning to flicker with suspicion and inquired, "Are you alright?" Running a hand through his hair, Draco responded with a brisk, "Let's just get this over with, Granger." He grabbed her hand and continued through the hall. "Malfoy!" Hermione intoned in an aggravated voice. "Slow down, we don't know what's up ahead." Draco, however, did not change his pace. Instead, he pulled her around

another corner and ran them both into Lupin's chest. Lupin stumbled backwards in surprise and Hermione quickly noted how his shoulders were shaking and tears stained his face. She grabbed his arm tightly, demanding, "Remus, what's wrong?" Rather than answer, however, Lupin pulled her and Draco into a tight hug. "I never thought I suspected of course but surprise doesn't begin to cover it. I am just stunned really stunned. It is just so like James and LilyI really never thought it would happen not like this, at least." Struggling out of Lupin's embrace,

Draco looked at him in something akin to revulsion. "Sweet Circe, man, pull yourself together. You are almost as bad a Parkinson. I suggest you return to your colorful wife until you can gain control of your emotions. I can't imagine McGonagall or the Ministry would be pleased to see Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher as incoherent as a 15th century monk in a Paris brothel." "Draco!" Hermione shouted, rising to Lupin's defense. But even she was stunned to see the former Marauder bury his head in his arms and slump down against the wall. Strange

hiccupping sounds and muffled gasps for air came from his hunched over form. For a moment Hermione's eyebrows drew together. Was Remus laughing? Before she could draw a satisfactory conclusion, Harry appeared at the other end of the corridor, supporting a very pale Ron. Hermione hurried toward them, while Draco followed more slowly. When Ron saw her, he called out. "It's horrid, Hermione! It is like second year all over again!" Hermione froze in her steps. "Is it a Basilisk?" she asked in dread.

"No!" Harry responded, shooting Ron an annoyed look. "It's worse," Ron continued. "It is like something reopened the Chamber of Secrets and let loose the most awful, frightening thing you could imagine." "One of your former girlfriends?" Draco drawled, smirking at Weasley as he drew even with the Golden Trio. Harry laughed, until Ron elbowed him in the ribs. Hermione took a step away from all three men. They obviously knew something she didn't. It was like

stepping into some alternate universe where the laws of nature worked differently. Hermione did not like it at all. "What the fuck is going on?" she demanded. Draco shrugged elegantly. Harry stared up at the ceiling, refusing to meet her eyes. Ron looked trapped, his eyes darting all around the corridor, as if he was looking for reinforcements or hiding spaces or a big stone statue that might tumble over and knock him unconscious. He was the weak link. Hermione moved in for the kill. She grabbed his wrist and said quietly, "Ron, tell me what's up."

"Bloody hell, Hermione! Don't make me say it out loud. I'll get nauseous," Ron moaned. Harry rescued him always the fucking hero. "Hermione, just go read it for yourself," he said. "Read it?" Harry and Ron both nodded silently, Draco didn't move. Hermione looked down the hall and saw something shining on the wall in-between two windows. She walked slowly down the corridor until she could read the foot tall letters, which looked for all the world like what Tom Riddle had forced Ginny to write during

Hermione's second year at Hogwarts. However, the text now read: Draco Malfoy loves Hermione Granger. Draco watched Hermione intently and smirked as he realized that for the first time in their relationship, the chit was speechless. Finally, Hermione whispered, clutching her hands chest and unable to tear her eyes away from the wall, "Draco, this is the cheesiest thing anyone has ever done for me." Draco's smirk grew wider. "Cheesy and romantic are two sides of the same galleon, pet." He then wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled

her back up against his chest. Hermione relaxed against him and began to giggle. "Are you poking fun at my lovemaking attempt, witch?" Giggling even louder, Hermione turned in Draco's arms, put her hands on either side of his face, and pulled his lips down until they met hers. When she released him, her smile was wide and genuine. It was exactly what he loved about her. "Of course, I'm not making fun of you. This is precisely what any seventeen-yearold girl would want from her adolescent boyfriend. Moreover, it is

a great reminder that you are about five years behind the average wizard when it comes to relationships. And really that is to be expected given how long you dated Pansy." "I knew you would like it," Draco replied smugly. "It's structural. To remove it they will have to take down the entire second floor." Hermione laughed, happier than she'd been in weeks. "Like it? I love it. I love you. This is something real. This is promising. I can build on this. Who knows, maybe in a couple more years we can talk about marriage again."

"Are you mad?" Draco exclaimed, a look of intense concern crossing his face. He pointed at the wall stating loudly, "This is your marriage proposal. I'm not waiting two years to put a ring on your finger. I won't let the world think that I declared my love and then it took me twenty-four months or more to convince you to commit. We are getting engaged tonight, we will be married within a year, and you are going to be the happiest bride in wizarding London if I have to feed you Weasley's Cheering Chocolates for the next six months." Hermione's mouth fell open in shock

for the second time that evening. As she tried to collect herself, Draco slipped a ring on her finger. The ring was stunning. The main stones were large rubies and emeralds surrounded by smaller diamonds. There was even a Gryffindor Lion and the Slytherin Snake engraved on the band. Hermione looked closer at the ring. "Draco," she asked. "Is the snake on here strangling the lion?" "Of course not, Granger. It is simply giving the lion a hug." "By wrapping itself around the lion's neck?"

"That's the way snakes do it," Draco responded confidently. "I can't believe you!" Hermione gasped. "You took the ring that is supposed to be a symbol of our affection for each other and turned it into an emblem of house rivalry!" Draco looked at her proudly. "My pet, now that you are going to become a Malfoy it is time to acknowledge that not everything is black or white, right or wrong, good or bad. In many cases, objects can be one thing and its opposite at the same time." Hermione cocked her head to the side. "Is that kind of like how I can

love you and agree to marry you, but still think you're a jackass?" "Very much so," he nodded, before leaning down and kissing her passionately.

Part V: Epilogue
Draco Malfoy lay perfectly still. He'd already been warned twice by his girlfriend that if he moved at all, she'd stop lavishing attention on his erect cock. And oh Merlin, the attention she was bestowing felt so good and made him so horny that he had no intention of doing anything to make it stop early. He groaned loudly, "Fuck, Granger. Keep doing that!" Hermione had taken the top half of Draco's cock in her mouth and her fingers were wrapped around its base. She sucked vigorously on his

dick, her lips massaging his shaft. Meanwhile, the fingernails on her left hand scratched lightly, up and down his thighs. Draco wanted to buck his hips up into her mouth; he wanted to raise his head and watch her pleasuring him, but to do either would risk her carrying through with her threat of stopping the blow job. Hermione slowly drew off him and began to lick around the head of his cock. "What do you like better Draco? This?" she licked. "Or this?" she sucked. "Yes," he choked out, his mind

incapable of processing the question, but able to tell that the witch expected an answer. Sitting back slightly, Hermione stopped touching the panting and flushed man in front of her. "That was not an appropriate answer, Malfoy." "What?" Draco gasped, his mind was still befuddled and his body was protesting the sudden loss of gratification. "I asked what you like better, when I suck or when I lick?" Draco wanted to move. Hell, the

entire lower half of his body wanted to arch up until his cock found Hermione's mouth again. Instead, he dug his hands tightly into the bed sheets. "Stop torturing me, woman!" "You still haven't answered the question, Malfoy," Hermione teased, enjoying Draco's discomfort. The night before, he had almost driven her mad with his fingers and his mouth constantly bringing her close to orgasm, and then backing away until she had begged for release. Maybe next time he would think twice before playing with her like that. She trailed her nails down his chest grinning broadly at his struggle

for breath. "Suck or lick, Malfoy? Suck or lick?" "Suck me, pet. Please, suck me." Hermione once again lowered her head to his cock. She ran the underside of her tongue across its tip then licked down one side before taking him into her mouth once more. Draco moaned, thankful that her warm, moist lips were once again wrapped around him. His breath caught in his throat as Hermione began to make little humming sounds as she continued to go down on him. "Sweet Circe, Granger. You

sound fucking sexy," he ground out. Draco's fingers curled even more tightly into the covers to keep from burying his hands in Hermione's hair. This was exquisite agony. The wizard would gladly play Death-Eater to Hermione's Voldemort, if instead of using the Cruciatus and the Killing Curse, she tortured with fellatios and copulation. Hermione's left hand unhurriedly switched from stroking Draco's thighs to cupping his balls. She massaged them gently. "Oh fuck, Granger," he sighed heavily. Then, without warning, she pressed her middle

finger firmly against Draco's perineum, causing his hips to jerk up involuntarily. The brown-eyed witch released Draco's cock suddenly with a soft pop. "You broke the rules," she grinned evilly, leaning back on her knees, while her eyes roamed up and down his naked body. Before Hermione could taunt him further, Draco's hand reached out and grasped her wrist, pulling her down on the bed. He then straddled her hips with his legs. "I don't think you play fair, witch," he growled down at her.

Staring at him in shocked amusement, Hermione could see that Draco's eyes were still clouded with lust. "Does that mean you are going to punish me?" she goaded. "Damn straight," he smirked back at her. Hermione grinned up at him, "You'd better savor this Draco, because I'm so rarely bad." "It's all a matter of perspective, pet," Draco replied huskily, leaning down to nip at her lips. When he pulled back, his eyes gazed critically at her still clothed form. Although Hermione was only wearing a black cotton

camisole and matching black knickers, Draco was not at all happy having a barrier between himself and his fiance. "You are wearing entirely too many clothes, Granger." "It's all a matter of perspective, darling." His hand snaked down between their bodies and roughly pushed aside her knickers. His fingers began to stroke up and down her cunt, spreading her wetness along the length of her folds. Hermione's hips arched slightly against his hand and responding to her nonverbal cue, Draco slipped two

fingers into her. "Oh Draco," she whispered, wetting her lips with her tongue. Draco began to pump the fingers of his right hand in and out of her, while his left hand pushed up her camisole and began to massage her breasts. "Merlin Granger, you have great tits," he murmured before lowering his head to suckle her nipples. Hermione made satisfied sounds in the back of her throat, completely enjoying the attention Draco was showering on her, especially once his thumb began to stroke her clitoris. As Hermione began to writhe

beneath him, Draco's cock began to ache to be buried inside her. Despite her muttered protests, he pulled his hand away from her heat and tugged her knickers off. He trailed kisses up her neck and along her jaw before flicking his tongue against her earlobe. Hermione's hips began to undulate, seeking to rub her cunt against the tip of Draco's cock. The pompous and smug blond braced himself on his arms - not moving, and stared down at Hermione's face until she opened her eyes. "I love you," he told her gently. "I know," she replied almost

inaudibly. Unable to hold off any longer, Draco entered her with a deep thrust. Hermione gasped a bit, but adjusted quickly to him. She began to lift her hips up to meet his movements. Soon both of them were panting heavily. As Draco's plunges began to grow more erratic, Hermione pulled her knees up slightly and braced her feet on the bed to better angle her body so that his pelvis would rub her clitoris every time he entered her. "Oh shit, pet," Draco moaned. His arms began to shake slightly as he shuddered to a climax. Hermione

continued to rub up against him until she too came with a loud cry of pleasure. As their breathing returned to normal, Draco pulled Hermione's back up against chest so he could more easily wrap his arms around her. While covering the side of her neck with kisses, Draco teased, "If I knew that an engagement ring would make you so horny, I would have given you one months ago." Hermione giggled, "I guess I should take Fred's advice more often." She felt Draco stiffen behind her. She tried to look around, "What's wrong?"

"What do you mean you should follow Fred's advice more often?" Draco asked quietly, although his tone was laced with irritation. "He's the one who got me thinking about marriage," Hermione explained. "He kept pestering me about when you were going to break down and buy me a ring and he kept asking how long it was typical to date before getting engaged. Honesty, if he hadn't brought it up so often, I might not have thought about marriage for years." "That is because the slimy git was trying to break us up. He's wanted

you for ages, Granger." Hermione wanted to giggle again, but knew Draco would not find it amusing. Instead she replied with a touch of exasperation, "He does not want me." "Then you are blind and stupid," he told her harshly. Draco didn't give a rat's ass about the possibility his words would offend Hermione, it was important that she realize, for Fred's sake as well as theirs, the red-head's true feelings for her. No longer amused by Draco jealously, Hermione told him stiffly, "Fred moved in with Angelina

Johnson a week ago." "What?" "He moved in with Angelina the morning of the Victory Ball." Years of tension, worry about karma, and fears that one day Hermione would wake up and realize that Fred could make a much better life partner than Draco, immediately fled the wizard's body. "Well, that nogood, conniving, miserable, pile of Hippogriff dung! He played me the way a Slytherin second year deceives the Hufflepuffs. Remind me to send him a potted Devil's Snare for a housewarming gift," Draco joked.

"Maybe you can thank Fred by making him your best man," Hermione suggested with a twinkle in her eye. "Not bloody likely," Draco scoffed. "Besides I've already promised that job to Zabini." "What? I thought Blaise was near the top of your Torture list?" "Things change, Granger," Draco told her, before reaching down to pull the comforter over them both. "Fortunately, I'm a lucky bugger so change for me usually just makes my life better."

Hermione smiled sleepily at his confidence, too happy and content to bother bringing her love down a notch tonight. 0-0-0 Fred Weasley was kneeling behind his girlfriend, thrusting his cock into her tight, wet, cunt. She braced her arms against the headboard to keep his momentum from shoving her face first into the wooden slats. Fred snaked one hand around her waist and palmed her right breast, squeezing slightly until she groaned

loudly. "Like that, love?" he whispered, as he continued to pound into her. Angelina tried to arch her bum up a little higher so that Fred's cock would hit her g-spot. "Oh, yeah. Right there, babe," she gasped. Moving his hand from her breast, Fred trailed it down her stomach and brushed through her dark curls before he began to finger to her clitoris. He rubbed it in a slow, clock-wise motion, stopping every few minutes to give it a tiny pinch. Fred's attention to her clit caused Angelina to grow more and more

vocal. As she neared her climax, she kept repeating as if it were a mantra, "Oh, baby. Oh, baby. Oh, baby." As Fred's right hand began to press harder and move faster on her clit, his left hand slid from her hip and began to tug aggressively at her nipples. Angelina became more and more incoherent, growling and moaning in pleasure. When her orgasm hit, she released a primal scream that was loud enough to wake the neighbors. Her arms gave way and she rested the side of her head on the sheets. Fred gripped her hips and began

pulling her forceful back toward him and he pushed vigorously into her. "Merlin, love," he grunted. "You feel so fucking good." The wizard's knees began to shake; he was so close. "Yes, yes, love. So good," he panted. It only took two more hard strokes before he was coming inside her. "Yes! Yes, Hermione! Oh, that's fucking brilliant." As Fred collapsed beside Angelina, she glared at him harshly. "What did you say?" "I said that was brilliant, love," Fred smiled, still out of breath. He leaned over to kiss the dark skinned witch,

but she pulled her head back from him. "What name did you call me?" Fred looked confused. "Did I call you Angie or something?" he asked, knowing that she hated that nickname. "You really can't hold a bloke responsible for what he says in the midst of passion, love." "I can when you call out Hermione Granger's name as you come!" she told Fred, giving him a hard push in the chest. A look that was part-surprise and part-resignation passed over his face.

It made Angelina angrier. "You still love her!" "Damn it, Angelina. Give me some credit, she is marrying Draco Malfoy." Fred replied, growing a bit angry himself. "If I said Hermione's name it is only because I spent so much time with her last week." "That's a convenient response," she hissed, before pushing him again in the chest. She picked up his pillow and threw it toward the door. "I think it is best if you sleep on the couch, until her name isn't the one that springs to your mind in the midst of having sex with me."

"Come on, love. You don't mean that," he pleaded, trying to look adorable. In response, Angelina placed both of her feet on his chest and with a hard push, knocked him out of the bed. Without saying another word, Fred picked up his pillow and stomped into the main living area of the flat. As he lay down on the too short couch and covered up with a scratchy throw, Angelina could hear him murmuring something about "Fucking karma."

Part VI: An Outtake

"Vincent get your ass in here before someone sees you," Draco hissed through the open window of the Shrieking Shack. The three men on the inside of the shack heard some grunting and groaning and saw Vincent Crabbe's head bobbing up outside the window and his hands desperately clenching at the sill, but he did not enter the room. "Fuck. Greg, help him out," Draco ordered one of the men in the shack.

"This better get me off your fucking list, Malfoy," Blaise Zabini complained, as he wiped dirt off his grey cashmere jumper. Draco narrowed his eyes. What kind of poof wears cashmere when planning on breaking-and-entering a highly-warded educational facility? "Whether or not you get off the list depends on the outcome of the mission." "He's stuck," Gregory Goyle commented. When Draco and Blaise looked over at the window, they saw that Crabbe's arms, head, and chest were now through the window, but

his rather bulky mid-section was wedged in tightly. Blaise flicked his wand toward the opening, which magically became larger. With a hard yank, Greg pulled Vincent into the shack sending him crashing loudly down on the ground. Looking away from the Vincent's attempt to get off the floor, Blaise turned back toward Draco. "What do you mean, it depends on the outcome?" "If we succeed and you end up maimed or dead, I'll remove your name from my list." "What if we succeed and I don't end

up maimed or dead?" Blaise inquired, briefly considering whether it would be worth it to come out of this situation maimed but no longer obligated to be at Draco's beck-andcall. "If we succeed and you are unharmed, I'll consider taking you out of the top ten," Draco informed him. Blaise rolled his eyes. Draco's list of Men and Women to Bully, Torture, or Maim rarely got shorter. The names on it, however, did shift around frequently. Only those names in the top ten magically felt compelled to appear when Draco

called. The parchment his Torture list was written on had been a gift from Lucius when Draco made the Slytherin Quidditch team. It probably was full of dark magic, but since no one had ever asked about it, Draco had never volunteered it for ministry inspection. "How come Greg and I have never gotten out of the top ten?" Vincent asked. Draco glared back at him. "I think you both remember the incident from second year that landed you on the list." Greg got a pained expression on his

face as he tried to remember back to second year. Vincent, however, had the grace to blush. During second year, Draco had gotten Vincent and Greg to serve as look-outs for him as he snuck into in Marcus Flint's room to release a Doxy into the git's trunk. The idiots had not bothered to warn Draco before Flint's roommates entered the chamber. The Slytherin seventh years had blackmailed Draco for the rest of the term into doing their Muggle studies' essays. "Enough reminiscing about what complete fuck-ups you all were in school," Blaise drawled, always happy to point out how he had sailed

safely through the corridors of Hogwarts without getting hexed, slapped, bitten, or blackmailed. "I would like to get this 'mission' over with before the sun rises." "And you have to return to your coffin?" Draco inquired sarcastically, causing Greg and Vincent to laugh. "You are so fucking hilarious, Malfoy. Thanks for reminding me why we don't hang out together more often," Blaise sneered back at Draco. Draco smirked. If there had been one person in Slytherin, who had as favorable an impression about himself as Draco had, it was Blaise

Zabini. "I think we both know you don't hang around me more because you'd hate the poor comparisons you'd receive." "You really do live in your own fantasy world, don't you?" Blaise replied to the blond, blandly. "That is what all the ladies call it," Draco said suggestively, waggling his eyebrows. Zabini rolled his eyes, while Greg and Vincent elbowed each other and cackled. "Where do we go from here?" Zabini sighed, determined to just finish this

stupid 'mission' and return home to a nice warm bed. "There should be a trapdoor located around here somewhere," Draco replied offhandedly, waving his arm in no specific direction. Vincent and Greg grumbled and began to shuffle around the room looking for the door. Zabini just narrowed his eyes and starred intently at Draco. "Exactly how did you learn about this entrance into Hogwarts, Malfoy?" "The Malfoy family still has a number of influential contacts and sources," Draco started to explain.

Before he could get any further, however, Vincent interrupted him. "Granger told him." "He fucked it out of her," Greg grunted. He had found the trapdoor and pulled it open. "Goyle you are so uncouth," Draco grimaced, before lighting his wand and peering into the passageway below the Shrieking Shack. It looked positively dank and dirty. "Er Zabini, why don't you lead the way?" Blaise stared into the tunnel and grimaced. This was so typical of the type of plan Malfoy thought up. Never could he do anything the

simple straight-forward way. Instead his ideas always involved complex steps, hard to accomplish objectives, and unnecessary stealth. Blaise shuddered slightly remembering the preparation and effort Malfoy had put into asking Pansy Parkinson to the Yule Ball in their fourth year. It had left the Slytherin Common Room smelling like dung bombs for the entire month of December. Taking a deep breath, Blaise stepped into the passage and immediately his Italian leather loafers sank into mud two inches deep. "Malfoy, I swear to Merlin, you are going to get a bill for having ruined my wardrobe," Blaise

whined. "Stop acting like a priss and get moving," Draco replied, shoving the dark-skinned wizard in the back. Looking down at his own footwear, he wondered how difficult it would be to transfigure them into something more suitable for tromping in filth. Trust Granger not to fill him in on the most relevant details, like proper attire, when informing him about this secret entrance. Unfortunately, before Draco could remember the Latin term for 'work boots' Greg and Vincent had pushed by, shoving him into the muck.

As the four pure-blooded, highlycultured, and, frankly, molly-coddled wizards trudged through the bleak tunnel toward Hogwarts, Draco wondered if Muggle men had to go to such extremes to please their women. He didn't remember reading anything in People about Brad Pitt going all out to woo Angelina Jolie and that girl had abs of steel. The more he thought about it, the more disgusted, Draco became. By the time, he had reached the school grounds at the base of the Whomping Willow, the unnaturally pale man had decided to add 'How easy life is for them' to his Big List of Reasons to Dislike Muggles.

"We're here. Now how do we get in the castle?" Blaise inquired. Draco shrugged. "I got us this far. It is only fair that one of you blokes figure out how to get us inside." Blaise began to turn purple with rage. "Merlin's balls, Malfoy! This is your asinine plan. How in Circe's sweet name, do you expect one of us to know how to get inside Hogwarts? I swear you are the biggest fuck-up I've ever had the displeasure of scheming alongside!" "You know, Zabini, for someone who was once Head Boy, you are completely worthless in clutch

situations," Draco informed his compatriot. "I loathe you, Malfoy." "Less talking, Zabini, more thinking," Draco replied, tapping the side of his head with his finger for emphasis. Vincent got ready to step in front of Draco, because he really did think that Zabini was about to physically launch himself at the blond. However, before violence broke out, Goyle spoke up. "I can get us in Hogwarts." "How?"

"My father got me a magical key after that one summer I spent living in the carriage house," Greg explained. At Zabini's look of confusion, Vincent described how Goyle had kept forgetting the password for his estate's wards. Since Greg didn't have his apparition license and his parents had been vacationing in the Greek Isles, he'd been forced to live in the servants' quarters for three months. "This key gets you in anywhere?" Draco inquired speculatively. "So far," Greg nodded.

Draco grinned widely, slapped Greg heartily on the back, and marched him to the front entrance of the school. Vincent trailed behind them, while Blaise muttered rudely about how unfair it was when everything seemed to fall in place for fucking pricks. When the Slytherin quartet finally reached the second floor corridor where Draco planned to scrawl his message of devotion to Hermione, all four men were in a better frame of mind. They had not run into any human or ghostly impediments to their undertaking and it looked like they might actually return home in

time to get a few hours sleep before the sun rose. "So," Vincent asked, staring at the wall and scratching the back of his head, "what exactly are you going to use to write your message?" "Blood would be kind of cool," Goyle suggested. "Too easy to wash off," Draco informed him. "Same with bile, excrement, and urine," the blond informed Goyle before he could make another suggestion. Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Done some experimenting, Malfoy?"

Draco smirked at him. "Of course I have. Didn't you ever wonder why your coverlet at Hogwarts smelled funny?" "You are such a dick," Blaise growled. Ignoring the seething wizard, Draco pulled a metal cylinder out of his robe. "What's that?" Vincent asked. "Spray paint. Muggles use it all the time to write things on walls. It doesn't wash off with water and, even better, a cleaning charm doesn't disturb it."

Vincent looked suitable impressed, but Goyle grunted, "Sandblasting." "What?" "Sandblasting removes Muggle paint," Greg clarified, as if he was a bloody physics professor and they were his freshmen class of liberal arts students. Draco really wanted to ask what the hell was sandblasting and just how the fuck Goyle knew about it, but he didn't want to look dense in front of Blaise. Especially when he would have bet his mother's half of the Malfoy fortune that Zabini had no clue what sandblasting was either.

Far from being concerned about looking ignorant, however, Blaise just wanted to get the hell out of Hogwarts and as far away from the Malfoy and the dunderheaded duo as possible. "Is there really that much of a possibility that Filch has access to this sandblasting thing?" he asked in his 'Can we please get on with it' tone. His three companions gave him condescending looks. They, after all, had been a part of Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad and worked along side Filch during fifth year. Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy all knew that the squib could be stubbornly single-

minded about accomplishing certain tasks like removing graffiti if he put his mind to it. "Why not just cast a concealing spell over the spray paint and have it wear off around the time of the banquet?" Vincent suggested. Draco grimaced. "Filch will just blast it off 24 hours later. Since I'm putting so much time and effort into this proposal, I would like it to be around longer than a couple of days." "Personally I wouldn't want a written record of declaring anything to Granger," Greg groused. "If you give her supporting documentation, you

know she'll just throw it back in your face some day with footnotes and a bibliography." Vincent let forth something that sounded like a cough-choking-laugh, while Draco merely raised an eyebrow at the implication that his future fiance was anything but a tender and pliable woman. Blaise was certain that he'd be inflicted with a migraine before the evening ended. The only way to end this horror was to take charge of the situation. "I know something that will work," he said quietly. "What?"

"My family developed a method generations ago back in Italy to mark a dwelling of someone we were unhappy with," Blaise explained. Both of Draco's eyebrows shot up this time. There had been rumors, of course, that Zabini's family was connected to the Sicilian Black Hand Mafia, but nothing had ever been proven. In fact, Draco had dismissed most of the gossip since Zabini didn't appear to be a vindictive bloke. "How long do these 'marks' last?" the blond wizard inquired. Zabini shrugged. "They are structural: to get rid of them you

have to take down the building." Draco gave a satisfied smirk. "And you know how to do this? You can make it so anything I write can't be removed except by tearing down the castle?" "Well," Blaise smirked back, because there really was no feeling like accomplishing something sneaky and underhanded, even if it did mean spending time with Malfoy. "No one will be able to remove it without taking down at least part of the castle." Fifteen minutes later, Draco had scrawled his message to Hermione

on the wall and Blaise had cast some dark magic on it turning it into an essential part of the building. As the former Slytherins stepped back to revel in their handy-work, Draco couldn't help but express his satisfaction. "Zabini, you are a genius. I'm taking you out of the top ten on my torture list AND I'm going to make you my best man." "Good gods, Malfoy. I don't want to be your best man. I hate you and Granger annoys the shit out of me," Blaise exasperatedly informed the pale blond. Draco arched an eyebrow and

wondered, not for the first time, how someone as completely tactless as Zabini ever got sorted into Slytherin. "Fine. You are back in the top ten AND you are still my best man." "You fucker!" Blaise hissed over the laughter of Vincent and Greg.