Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was a knock on her office door and Hermione looked up to see Kingsley’s long-suffering assistant Armendie standing in the doorway looking bored, folded arms covered in gold bangles. 

“A message from the Minister of Magic: Hermione, please come to my office to chat,” Armendie huffed, smoothing down her fringe.

“He sent you to say that? Why wouldn’t he send a memo?” asked Hermione. 

Armendie gestured to the pile of roughly 40 memos, folded up paper planes all jostling in place behind an enchanted barrier Hermione had thought was rather clever to restrict them from flapping in her face, “How would you have received a memo?”

Hermione’s lips quirked, “Fair,” she conceded, “OK, I’m coming.” 

She wove her way through the towers of clutter in her small office and around the desks of the main office in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Her office was a sanctuary of controlled chaos, she knew precisely where everything was despite Harry mentioning that it looked like a bomb had gone off inside it. 

“Back in a moment, Ida,” she called to an elderly witch who was scribbling down furious notes whilst a house elf sobbed in the chair facing her desk. 

Hermione could already tell what this was about, Kingsley never summoned her - it was always the other way round. It was always her banging down his door for what she perceived to be egregious injustices at the Ministry, for him to help straighten out Harry and Ron or else for him to consider her latest stroke of inspiration. 

In the last few weeks, the Marriage Act had passed in the Wizengamot. Following two wars, a rise in the cost of living, unemployment and people choosing to settle down later in life, the magical population had been facing a negative birth rate which was getting worse every year and it was nothing that lower childcare costs or tax breaks seemed to remedy. 

Hermione did agree that the negative birth rate was a problem, she thought as she followed Armendie into the lift, and she agreed that something needed to be done about it but as far as she could see the government incentives hadn’t helped and they weren’t wrong when they said that time was running out. And now she was being summoned to the Minister’s office. Had he already heard who she’d been matched with? No. It had to be too early for that, surely. And the matching system was reportedly tamper-proof, even for the Minister, surely.

The lift dinged and she was brought to her senses, “Head right in, he’s waiting,” nodded Armendie, settling back to her own desk outside of Kingsley’s office. 

Hermione knocked before cracking the door ajar. 

“Hermione Granger,” said Kingsley, wheeling around in his chair. 

“Hi, everything ok?” She smiled, taking a seat in the office. 

“That remains to be seen,” said Kingsley, “Who did you ride with the night Mad Eye died? 

“You,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes. 

“Ok. Just checking…You’re suspiciously agreeable about this whole Marriage Act business,” said Kingsley, furrowing his brow. 

“Did you expect me not to be?” Hermione asked. 

“Well… yes, frankly. I was waiting for you to be tearing down my office door the last few days. I didn’t think you’d be on board with marrying a stranger.” He shrugged. 

“Aren’t you getting married to a stranger?” she pointed out. 

“I’m the Minister, and unmarried and under 50, I have to be seen to… you know, be sporting. I thought that once you’d heard, you would pair off with someone you knew…” He studied her expression. 

“Who? I’m not exactly very… compatible with most men. Or… any men so far for that fact,” she said irritably. 

This felt like an understatement when she considered her and Ron’s failure of a relationship, the dates with muggles where she felt like she had to hide her entire personality to satisfy the Statute of Secrecy and the parade of creepy dates she’d been on with wizards all hoping to bed the golden girl or else get close enough to be BFFs with the Harry Potter. 

“Really? You’re not going to fight me on this?” pressed Kingsley. 

“No. It’s a good idea, something needs to be done and… if I can be paired up with a partner who is found to be magically compatible with me then so much the better.” She shrugged glumly, “I mean don’t get me wrong, it’s not exactly how I pictured finding my husband but…” she trailed off.

“But?” probed Kingsley. 

“It is logical,” said Hermione, frowning as if she wasn’t happy that it was the best option, “I do want to have children.” 

“They’re hoping it will reduce unemployment…” said Kingsley, starting to cringe. 

“That’s nice,” sighed Hermione but she was hardly listening, the perfect match of a husband was potentially something to be excited for. 

“Did you already submit your blood sample and get your wand screened?” he asked. 

“Yes,” she nodded. 

“I’m going later today, with a photographer from the Prophet,” he groaned to Hermione’s laughter. 

“Oh, very nice.” She smirked. 

The matching algorithm had been hush-hush but through some careful questioning of the right people, Hermione had discovered it was calculated based on a mix of magical power, arithmancy and divination. 

“Hm. The letters should go out next week. You know…” Kingsley tore his gaze away from the scroll he’d been fiddling with to look up at her, “it isn’t too late, and Ron-“ 

Of course, Hermione thought bitterly, the eternal public theory that she was somehow meant to be Ronald Weasley’s property as part of the fairy tale ending. Despite him having zero chemistry with her after being stuck in the friend zone for years on end, no shared interests and a wandering eye. 

“Why don’t you marry Ron, if you love him so much?” said Hermione, rolling her eyes. 

“Point taken,” said Kingsley, holding up his hands in defence. 

* 

“I’m not ready to get married,” huffed Greg. 

They were sitting inside Draco’s trailer on the built-in wraparound bench seating. Just him, Greg, Pansy, Millie and Theo. 

“Why? What are you busy doing?” asked Draco with some disdain. 

“Just… you know… this…” complained Greg, gesturing to the inside of Draco’s trailer. 

Draco looked around the trailer to see what it was that Greg meant. The Ministry said they were supposed to call them ‘static caravans’ but Draco thought that was being overly generous. Slim one-bedroomed trailers, the bare essentials and everything seemed vaguely dated and depressing. 

At least 50 cramped trailers practically on top of each other, wedged in like sardines and full of ex-convicts on probation under close watch on the Norfolk coast. It sounded nice when you thought of ‘the Norfolk coast’ but Draco’s view was of the back of someone else’s yellowing trailer. 

“We always knew we’d have arranged marriages,” said Pansy, sounding resigned. 

“I’m married, it’s not so bad.” Theo shrugged and said brightly, “it really hasn’t changed my life much.”

“You’re married to Daphne,” grunted Greg. 

“Daphne is one of us,” said Millie, “who knows who we’ll be paired up with… or what.”

“They’ll be political matches, I bet,” said Pansy coolly, taking a sip of her drink. 

“We always knew we’d have political matches.” Draco shrugged. 

“They said they’d be compatible matches, magically compatible,” offered Theo. 

“They’ll still be political, it will be compatible with the Ministry’s agenda. After a war? It’s the smart move to make and Shacklebolt’s no fool,” said Draco darkly.  

“God, I hope I get a pureblood. I’ll just die if I don’t get a pureblood,” huffed Millie. 

“As if that matters anymore.” Draco shook his head. 

“If old Lucy heard you saying that, old Lucy-“ started Theo. 

“-is in prison, for life,” finished Draco bitterly, “there’s no escaping this time unless we all got married fast and I mean… who’s on the market?” He screwed up his nose. 

“Don’t you have a betrothal contract to my wife’s sister?” asked Theo thoughtfully, bottle hovering near his lips as he considered this. 

“I did, but that went by the wayside with my father and I have no interest in renewing it. I’d rather roll the dice… maybe someone who was compatible with me…” Draco trailed off hopefully. 

“You could marry Greg,” said Pansy, turning to Millie and bumping her gently with her shoulder. 

Greg just shrugged. 

“We’ve known each other since we were toddlers,” said Millie with a grimace. 

“I’ve known Daphne since I was a toddler,” said Theo. 

“And are you in love with her? Is there sexual chemistry?” asked Pansy. 

“Err… I mean not yet, but it’s early days,” said Theo, looking around for encouragement. 

“You’ve been married for over two years haven’t you, mate?” asked Draco. 

“Mm,” conceded Theo with a nod and they all drank, deep in thought. 

“Pans and I should be off, the curfew is coming up,” said Theo, consulting his watch. 

“Ugh,” responded Pansy, forcing herself to get up. 

“Hang in there, yeah?” said Theo, as Pansy air kissed Millie, Greg and Draco goodbye. 

“Bye,” said Draco glumly. 

Millie and Greg got up to leave too, “This is so depressing,” sighed Millie, bumping Draco’s cheek as she kissed him goodbye. 

“See you at work,” grunted Greg to Draco who nodded. 

Draco looked around the empty trailer and sighed. What woman would want to live here with an ex-Death Eater in the shabbiest corner of wizarding Britain? The Ministry must really be desperate if they wanted him to procreate. 

* 

The flames fired up as the floo glowed and Harry, closely followed by Ginny got out of the fireplace in Hermione’s flat. Ron was already here clutching a letter and looking ashen-faced. 

“Did you open them yet?” asked Ginny, looking from her brother to Hermione. 

“No, we waited for you,” said Hermione, sounding more cheerful than she felt and also clutching her letter that had been delivered today.

It was true that they had waited to open the letters but it was also true that Hermione felt like the letter was burning a hole in her hand every second she held it and didn’t open it. Her future husband’s name was in this letter. How could one letter contain so much weight? One name to steer her entire future to happiness or ruin. 

Once again, Ron had explained, as they waited for Harry and Ginny that they didn’t have to go through with this, they could marry each other. Once again, Hermione had politely declined. Next to Ron, a random match sounded like hope. Ron was a good man but after all this time she had zero attraction to him and they were really better as friends - a fact Ron was not quite grasping, now that the pressure was on. 

And then an invasive thought blossomed in Hermione’s head at the same time that Ron voiced it, “What if we’re holding each other’s names?” he chuckled. 

“What if we’re not?” he then said moments later. 

And that was how they’d sat waiting to open their letters, in a silent horror on Hermione’s blue sofa until the Potters found them. Harry and Ginny were without letters, having gotten married last year in a beautiful ceremony obsessed over by Molly Weasley. 

“Well, go on then,” urged Ginny. 

Although he was famous for his bravery, Harry took the chair furthest back from his friends with their letters and adopted an expression that clearly told anyone watching that he expected a bomb to go off at any moment. 

“I’ll go first,” offered Ron, easing his thumb under the Ministry seal and straightening out his letter. 

Hermione, Ginny and Harry watched Ron’s eyes skim the letter and saw his expression grow worried. 

“That can’t be right-?” said Ron, rubbing his eyes. 

There was a silence as he reread the letter until Ginny snatched it from him. “It’s Eloise- oh… Eloise Midgen.”

Ron shook his head looking stunned.

“She’s nice,” said Hermione timidly, but she soon abandoned her attempt to console Ron as he threw a filthy look her way as if this was all her fault. Maybe it was. 

Hermione took a deep breath and read her own letter aloud, “Dear Miss Granger, following the Marriage Act and your compatibility submission, we are pleased to inform you that your future husband’s name is… Draco Malfoy,” her voice grew quiet. 

“What?” asked Harry as if he’d mistaken her. He leant forward and gestured for the letter which she passed him weakly. 

“Draco Malfoy,” read Ginny faintly over Harry’s shoulder, “well, fuck.”

Harry squinted. “Please see attached profile and details of your wedding date, on behalf of the Ministry of Magic we congratulate you and wish you all the best for your… future? Fucking hell.” 

Ginny went to snatch the letter from Harry but he took the profile on the second page out and read, “Draco’s hobbies include drinking alone and… hugging house elves? What the fuck?” asked Harry, turning over the letter to flash a photograph of Draco Malfoy to Hermione and Ron. 

“Those are his hobbies?” asked Ginny, confused. 

“They’re automatically generated,” said Hermione vaguely, curling her legs up under her on the sofa. 

How could this be possible? There had to be some mistake with the algorithm. Yes, Hermione had to concede that Malfoy was second to her in many classes, a similar age… many similarities now she came to think of it but what the algorithm had failed to consider, surely, was their shared history?! Her childhood bully! A Death Eater and blood purist. 

“Alright,” said Ron, leaning in, “so we go to the Ministry and we ask Kings to just-“ 

“It’s done, Ron, once the matches are made it’s all done,” said Hermione looking worried. 

“Malfoy, Hermione, Malfoy,” said Ron, shaking his head again. 

Harry and Ginny exchanged worried looks. 

“Well. It is… logical. His magic was always… proficient in classes so… compatible to have… children with,” said Hermione, her voice breaking at the end as her eyes welled up with tears. It was logical. And devastating. 

“Ohhh, no, no,” said Ginny soothingly as she moved over to Hermione and put an arm round her, “You will barely see him, I bet. Just procreate and then bring the kids round to Auntie Ginny’s house. We’ll have so much fun, he will just be an after-thought.” 

“And we won’t stand for any of his bullshit, this isn’t Hogwarts anymore, your best mate is in law enforcement,” said Harry, nodding along with Ginny, “if he tries anything we’ll lock him back up.” 

Hermione nodded dumbly. 

“Eloise Midgen,” said Ron, frowning, rifling through his own letter to see what her hobbies were and scrutinising her photograph. 

*

There was a sharp and insistent rap at his door early that morning and Draco got up with a groan. He made his way to the door and had just unlocked it when Millicent Bulstrode shoved it open pushing him aside. 

“Did you read it?! Did you-? Did you read yours?” she demanded. 

A miserable Greg trailed in after her and sank silently onto the sofa. 

“Read my-? They came?” said Draco, spotting letters in his friend’s hands.

Millie frowned as she opened the small casement window to let an owl in that held a leg out to Draco who plucked his letter from it. 

He started to rip open his letter but paused. “Are they bad?” 

“They’re so bad,” said Greg, who looked like he was in mild pain. 

Millie’s mouth opened but she was apparently too outraged to even speak because she just held out a hand and shook her head. 

“Who-“ Draco started to ask. 

“Neville Longbottom! NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM, that pathetic loser from Gryffindor who could hardly… he could hardly stand up straight let alone do anything else worthwhile!” exploded Millie. 

“He’s a pureblood,” said Draco unhelpfully, grasping at straws. 

“So?! And who the fuck cares?!” said Millie with a face like thunder. 

This was bad. It was just as he had suspected, a political match. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. 

“And you?” Draco asked cautiously. 

“Lovegood,” Greg grunted. 

Draco grimaced and considered his letter with suspicion. 

“Go on,” ordered Millie. 

He sighed and opened the rest of it, straightening out the parchment, the words bleeding into his brain. 

“Oh fuck!” he whispered, his hand closing over his mouth in shock. 

“Who?” asked Greg. 

Draco sat down like the wind was knocked out of him and when Millie went to take his letter from him he shook his head and held it close to him, silently. Granger. It had to be Granger. Was this just further punishment for him? But then surely it would also be a punishment for her? Could the Ministry really be sacrificing one of their poster children just to spite him? 

There was another knock at the door and before anyone had had a chance to open it, Pansy Parkinson strode in, “George Weasley!” she shrieked. 

“George bloody fucking Weasley! His hobbies include composing limericks and making things explode!” she let out a deranged laugh, “What the fuck am I going to do?”

“Neville Longbottom,” said Millie with venom. 

Pansy stopped in her tracks and looked at her three friends. 

“You all got duds too?” she hissed. 

Greg nodded but then looked pointedly at Draco who sighed and held his letter out to Pansy, still unable to speak. 

She read it and screamed, “Hermione Granger! What the fuck is happening to us?!” 

Greg moaned and Millie just closed her eyes. 

“All these people hate us!” said Pansy, her voice high and reedy. 

“Sit down, Pans,” said Greg, guiding the nearly hysterical Pansy onto the bench seat. 

“Her hobbies include writing complaint letters and… taping TV shows she’s missed?!” asked Greg, twisting his face to read the profile that Pansy held upside down. 

“Taping TV shows? What is that?” asked Draco, momentarily distracted. 

“They’re little black boxes that play pictures of muggles moving,” said Millie darkly. 

“And she puts tape over them?” asked Draco confusedly. 

“What if my babies are ginger,” asked Pansy gravely. 

“What if my babies are mental,” scoffed Greg. 

“I’m not having babies with fucking Longbottom,” Millie shook her head. 

“Granger would never have sex with me,” said Draco, still looking shaken.

“She won’t have a choice,” said Pansy frowning, “none of us will.”

“Oh god, I can’t bring her somewhere like this,” groaned Draco, looking around the trailer. 

“Maybe you’ll get to live with her?” suggested Pansy tentatively. 

“They won’t bend the probation terms for the Golden Girl,” he snorted, “fuck!” 

“Do you think Lovegood still wear vegetables for earrings?” sighed Greg. 

Draco patted his friend’s back in solidarity because he had no good answer for that. 

Chapter Text

He was sitting on a hard wooden chair in the visiting room. The stone walls bore a poster that said ‘The Ministry of Magic reminds you that no touching is allowed in the visiting room’ in cheery script. Draco couldn’t help but feel the same relief every time he left Azkaban after visiting, even though he knew he was leaving his father to rot there. They had gotten rid of the dementors now, that was one thing, but the prison itself oozed a feeling of dread and depression that the walls couldn’t quite seem to shake. 

The door opened and his father, flanked by a guard, his wrists handcuffed, made his way into the room to sit at a chipped table across from him. 

“Hello, Son,” his father smiled. 

“You know the drill, Lucius,” said the guard. 

“Yes, thank you, Perkins,” said his father with an air of dismissal. 

The guard nodded and ducked outside of the room to stand at the door. 

“So…?” asked his father, reclining slightly in his chair and sounding expectant. 

Draco sighed. 

“I saw in the Prophet that the letters have gone out,” prompted Lucius. 

“Yes,” said Draco dully. 

“Not a good match?” asked Lucius, turning his head to better inspect his only son. 

“Well… I mean some would say… it is match that many would have desired…” answered Draco, weighing up his answer, “No. Ok. It’s not a good match.” 

“Not a pureblood?” His father wrinkled his nose. 

“Decidedly not,” said Draco. 

“I thought they would do something like this- a halfblood?” his father prompted, looking for confirmation of his worst fears. 

“No,” said Draco, not meeting his father’s eyes. 

“Seriously?!” asked his father indignantly. 

“Yep,” said Draco grimly, “and we know her.” 

“We don’t know any…” his father looked around at the guards at the door, “muggleborns,” he said with a glower at them. 

Draco sighed again. 

“Out with it, put me out of my misery, son,” Lucius shook his head hopelessly. 

“Hermione Granger,” said Draco, wincing internally. 

“Potter’s mudblood,” said Lucius deadpan. 

“Watch your mouth!” called Perkins from the doorway but Lucius waved him away with a careless hand. 

“The one you were obsessed with?” asked his father, staring at him as if this was somehow his fault. 

“I was not obsessed with her!” said Draco hotly, rounding on his father. 

His father gave him a look but didn’t press further. “And this was better than the match your mother and I secured you?” 

“Well, it’s done now,” said Draco, fingering one of the chips in the table. 

Lucius scoffed and shook his head.  “Probation in a trailer park, community service in a shop and now bred with a…” he glanced at the door, “muggleborn. Your bed is made now, son.” 

Draco glared at his father in disbelief, “I had a little help making my bed, didn’t I?” he challenged. 

“Yes,” muttered his father reluctantly. 

The two men sat in silence both in their own thoughts. Dracos eyes slid down his father’s face as he watched him try to decide the best spin on this. Some things never changed. 

“And you have to have children?” his father asked after a time. 

“Yes,” answered Draco patiently. 

His father nodded, “She is a celebrity, that much is true.” 

There it was, the cogs were spinning now and Lucius would be making the best of their lot, as always. 

“And our reputation is…” Lucius tilted his head is if to say ‘not good’. 

Draco gestured with his hand for his father to get to the point. 

“Perhaps this isn’t the worst thing,” said his father thoughtfully. 

Draco rolled his eyes. 

“A little blip on the tree, yes, but she is certainly known to be capable,” Lucius reasoned. 

“She hates me,” Draco stated. 

“Hm,” said his father, “So you lay down the law, you tell her how things are going to be. She’s won the wizarding breeding lottery, she should be thanking you on bended knee!”

Draco snorted, “You have met her, haven’t you?”

“More times than I would care to,” mumbled his father with a tut. 

Draco smiled in spite of himself. 

“Does your mother know?” his father asked. 

“No,” Draco sighed unhappily. 

Unluckily, or perhaps luckily in this case, it was tedious and difficult to be able to visit his mother while he was on probation. At least a quick penned letter to her would suffice on this occasion. 

Later that day when Draco was shut away in the holding pen he called his trailer, Theo was round to commiserate. 

“Lucy told you to lay down the law? To Hermione Granger?!” Theo’s eyes were wide. 

“Yeah. Honestly, he has no clue,” Draco shook his head. 

“Well, obviously you should do the opposite, I mean- don’t listen to him,” said Theo, looking concerned. 

“Obviously,” sneered Draco before adding as an after thought, “he said I was obsessed with her.” 

“Oh,” said Theo, not meeting his eyes. 

“That’s all you have to say? Oh?” asked Draco, sitting up straight from the bench seat he’d been reclined in.

“Well-“ said Theo in a pleading voice. 

“Oh, not you as well, fuck off,” said Draco, throwing a crumpled up piece of parchment at Theo with venom. 

“It doesn’t matter now, Dre, you’ve got her,” said Theo and Draco tutted, “you should write to her.” 

“Saying what? Sorry you’re stuck with me until death do us part?” said Draco sardonically. He collapsed backwards onto the bench seat.

“Ask her to meet,” suggested Theo, “when Daphne and I got matched we met up to discuss how we wanted things.” 

Draco pulled the single cushion from the bench seat onto his face and screamed into it. 

*

Harry knocked on the door to Hermione’s office carefully and entered, tripping around the general detritus and collapsing into the single free chair that wasn’t covered in files. 

“Hermione, you didn’t come for our Thursday lunch,” said Harry. 

“Sorry, Harry, I’ve been busy,” said Hermione, looking up from her work with a wince. 

Truly, she hadn’t meant to blow Harry off but she had been working like a machine today to take her mind off of her present situation. Her hair was frazzled and her outbox was taller than she was. Unusually, there was just a single letter in her inbox which any other day would have been snowed under a ton of work. It sat there like a cursed object and she wanted to incendio it the moment it had arrived but then she would never know what he had said. What he thought. 

“What’s that?” asked Harry, eyeing the letter. 

“I don’t know. Nothing,” said Hermione nonchalantly, as she continued to write evenly across her parchment. 

Harry leant forward to grab the letter but Hermione was quicker and she snatched it out of his grasp. 

“It’s a letter from Malfoy, there, are you happy now?” she asked, turning it over to reveal an ornate ‘M’ stamped into dark green wax. 

She’d been avoiding the letter all morning and it was probably the most productive day she had ever had as she steamrollered through her work to avoid the inevitable. 

“What does it say?” said Harry, edging his seat forward. 

“I don’t know. I didn’t open it yet,” sighed Hermione, setting the letter down and continuing to write. 

Harry waited for a moment, watching her write before making another attempt to grab the letter which Hermione blocked him from yet again. 

“Fine! Fine, I will open it, ugh!” said Hermione, ripping the envelope unceremoniously and then scowling as she pulled out a number of small rolls of patterned spellotape.

“Why has he sent me tape?” she asked Harry confusedly. 

“What does the note say?” asked Harry, taking the rolls of tape from her gingerly and examining each one in turn. They were from a decorative line and each roll had different designs on it. 

“He wants to meet me for coffee on Saturday at 11:30… well that won’t do, that’s when I work over time,” said Hermione, muttering to herself, “the evening would be better.” 

“He can’t leave his house in the evening,” Harry pointed out and she frowned. 

“Why not?” asked Hermione. 

“He’s on probation, isn’t he?” said Harry reasonably. 

Hermione groaned and tore off a new piece of parchment, “Fine,” she read aloud as she wrote. 

“That’s all you’re writing?” Laughed Harry. 

“Yes, that is all I am writing, Harry Potter, you busybody. Now get out, I’m working,” said Hermione grumpily. 

She didn’t need to joke or simper or impress Draco Malfoy, there was no need to write more. 

Harry’s eyebrows rose but it was with a smirk that he picked his way carefully through the rest of the office. As soon as he was gone she let out a sigh as she re-examined the rolls of spellotape. Was this some in-joke she had forgotten? A metaphor for fixing their broken past?  A bizarre pureblood gift? 

* 

Malfoy stood as she entered the coffee shop. Hermione noted that he hadn’t chosen one of the new trendy coffee shops that had popped up after the war but had instead opted for a traditional pureblood establishment that was less likely to spit in his drink. 

“Granger, thank you for meeting me,” he greeted her, he looked mildly pleased that she’d actually shown up. He looked annoyingly well for someone out of Azkaban on probation. 

“What can I do for you, Malfoy?” she asked, unimpressed as she sat down across from him and he followed suit. 

She wore a blue dress that hugged her hips and she caught his grey eyes lingering on her body before flickering up to her own, no doubt disapproving of something a pureblood girl wouldn’t wear. He was handsome in school before becoming exhausted and drawn during the war and his prison time - now he a grown into his looks. His pale blonde hair was artfully styled and he was taller than she remembered. 

“I thought we should talk about our match before the big day,” he offered casually, as if they weren’t there to discuss their entire future shackled together. 

“I don’t want to marry you,” said Hermione, without missing a beat. She thought she saw him flinch but he seemed perfectly composed when she looked again. 

“Right. Well, it doesn’t sound like that’s an option unless we leave the country,” said Malfoy. 

“I was on the run with Harry for months, half starved in a tent. I can’t go back to that again. Not to mention that they’d find us,” Hermione laughed humourlessly. 

“I’m not going back to Azkaban,” said Malfoy, taking a sip of his coffee. 

“What are we going to do?” she demanded. 

“What do you mean what are we going to do? Nothing. Get married,” he shrugged. 

“But… don’t you think this is crazy? Our match?!” asked Hermione. 

“I can see why we’re matched,” he said, pausing for Hermione to scoff, “We both did well in school, we both went through shit in the war, I’m a pureblood you’re a… muggleborn. Both well known. I’m rich, you’re good looking. It’s a… it’s an expected match to me.” 

Had he just called her good looking? He, who never spoke to her but to insult her. 

“You’re not rich, the Ministry confiscated your family wealth, it was in the papers. And what do you mean expected? You expected this match?” she shook her head. 

“Well, no, honestly, I thought I’d do much worse but this match makes a lot of sense to me, logically,” said Malfoy, echoing her own words to her friends back to her. On paper it was a good match. On paper only. 

“Surely, you expected to be with a pureblood,” she stated, it wasn’t a question. 

“I don’t think they’ll put any of the Sacred 28 together if they can help it. It’s all political,” Malfoy took another sip. 

“And you’re… ok with this?” She furrowed her brow. 

“I always expected to have an arranged marriage. I know that’s not how they do things in muggle culture but… I’m used to it,” he shrugged. 

Hermione felt like he was not understand the gravity of the situation, “And you’re fine that it’s me?”

Malfoy shrugged once more, “Name a witch our age who’s smarter and more powerful magically or politically than you. I could do a lot worse honestly.”

“Well, I couldn’t!” Hermione felt her voice boom loudly around the coffee shop. 

He snorted with laughter, “Bad luck, Granger.”

Hermione folded her arms with a sigh. Malfoy leaned forward and nodded slightly to her untouched coffee and she glowered at him before taking her first sip. 

“I didn’t see you shacking up with Weasley to avoid the mandate though…” Malfoy reasoned. 

“He wasn’t right for me,” she said primly. 

“No, he wasn’t,” Malfoy agreed and her eyes shot up to meet his. He held her gaze until she looked away. 

“That doesn’t mean that you are either,” she mumbled. 

“We’ll see, won’t we?” he smirked. 

“How are you so calm about this?” Hermione asked, taking a deep breath to stuff down all her worried thoughts. 

“Why wouldn’t I be? I got the best witch of our age or whatever they’re calling you now,” Malfoy said dismissively, “I landed on my feet.” 

“But you hate me. You’ve always hate me. We’ve always hated each other,” she said almost pleadingly. 

“We’ll have to learn to get along,” he said quietly. 

Hermione dipped a biscuit in her coffee and Malfoy made a sound like ‘tsk’ and shook his head at her disapprovingly as she did so. She made a big show of savouring the biscuit as she ate it and he rolled his eyes. 

“Why did you send me tape?” She asked, suddenly struck by the question. 

“Your profile said you liked taping TV shows,” said Malfoy. 

“Oh… OH. Thank you,” she said, realising his mix up and deciding not to say anything on the matter. 

She frowned at his misguided attempt at kindness before realising her manners and arranging her face into something more neutral. 

“You’re welcome,” he said, sounding satisfied. 

* 

“The last time I was out this late the Dark Lord was in power,” said Draco in an undertone to Greg. 

Greg laughed gruffly and then stopped as if he seemed to recall why they were here, “Can you see them?” 

They looked around at their state mandated stag/hen party. All of the parolees who were getting married had arrived together on the same ministry bus that dropped them to their community service placements. There was no sign of Granger or Lovegood and Draco breathed a sigh of relief when all he could spy was Pansy’s black bob making a beeline for them and Millie. 

“George Weasley just asked me if my hair doubles up as a helmet,” Pansy hissed. 

Draco fought hard to keep a straight face and replied, “Mmm!,” with his mouth firmly shut out of loyalty. 

“Let’s get a seat,” huffed Millie, clearly spying Longbottom edging towards them and taking off in the opposite direction, dragging Greg by the shirt. 

They found a table at the back and put their heads together. 

“What’s the plan then?” Asked Pansy. 

They all looked at Draco to lead them like he always had. But that was before. Now, he couldn’t lead them out of a paper bag, let alone into the travesty that was their lives.

“I don’t know… enjoy the free food and drink? Enjoy our last night being single before…” Draco stopped as he caught sight of two thirds of the Golden Trio and let out a small groan. 

There she was, all curls and curves, smiling modestly at friends and fans alike. He watched her scan the room until her gaze got closer to his table to Slytherins and he studiously looked at the table cloth. 

“Right, well, if I don’t go get a drink I’m going to start clawing out my own eyeballs,” he said, lurching up from the table suddenly as if burnt. 

“Mm,” mumbled Greg and as they trekked to the bar, Draco vaguely wondered if Greg even wanted a drink or if he was just used to following him after all these years. 

“Whatever you do,” said Draco, looking left and right cautiously as they approached the bar, “we just need to avoid any contact with-“

“Hello Gregory,” said a dreamy voice, causing both Draco and Greg to wheel around. 

“Gregory?! Oh, it’s you,” said Draco, disappointedly eyeing Luna Lovegood whose blonde hair was styled into a wispy cloud around her head. 

Greg took a step back, he looked nervous. 

“You’ll wear sun colours at the ceremony, won’t you?” asked Lovegood, her wide eyes focussing creepily on his friend. 

Greg nodded looking bewildered. 

“I think we’ll have some good fun,” said Lovegood, patting Greg’s shoulder and floating off to her friends which included Granger. Draco’s head whipped round, away from Granger immediately. 

Greg looked terrified. 

“Come on, a drink,” nodded Draco and Greg grunted in agreement and stepped shakily forward. 

When they returned to the table with drinks for themselves and some to spare, Longbottom was sat at the table trying to peer around Millie’s back. 

Longbottom waffled on in a high pitched ramble, “And I was saying to Gran, we-“ 

“Are you pureblood?” Said Millie, turning in her seat and cutting across him with thinly veiled loathing. 

“Yes,” Longbottom squeaked. 

“Then you’ll do. Leave,” said Millie, turning back around to speak to Pansy.

Longbottom sensed his dismissal and stood. The moment he spotted Draco, he flinched, stumbling backward into the table. 

“Are you lost?” Draco smirked. 

“Just going… over… there,” said Longbottom edging away. 

“His hobbies included herbology and rehearsing conversations in a mirror,” said Millicent, wrinkling her nose. 

Draco passed a drink to Pansy who was distracted, her attention was on George Weasley who was currently sitting on top of 6 chairs, balanced on one another and teetering precariously as he yelled, “Waheeyyyyy!”  

Draco stared morosely over at Granger who was tugging on Weasel’s sleeve asking him not to do something and before he could look away, the Weasel was striding over to his table, having shaken Granger off. His face was flushed although Draco hadn’t noticed a drink in his hand. 

“I want a word with you, Malfoy,” Weasley said as he approached the table. 

“I have nothing I wish to discuss with you,” said Draco, rolling his eyes. 

“Fine, then we’ll have an audience if you don’t have the decency to speak to me one on one,” said Weasley hotly, “If I hear that you’ve hurt Hermione or… or treated her badly, you’ll have me to answer to.”

A slow malevolent grin spread across Draco’s face and the table seemed to grow more quiet, “I was very surprised when she didn’t marry you… and she still hasn’t. Who did you get matched with?” 

“That’s none of your business,” Weasley answered roughly. 

Draco’s eye caught on Eloise Midgen standing next to Granger and looking on at Weasley worriedly. Draco’s grin widened as he made a show of looking at Midgen. 

“Ah… a perfect match, so well suited,” he said delicately. He knew it was a low blow but Saint Weasley started it. He would finish it. 

“Fuck you, Malfoy,” said Weasley, growing redder. 

“Let’s not, I’ll save that for my wife,” said Draco and he heard Pansy snort with laughter from across the table. 

Weasley gritted his teeth and turned, walking back to his friends who leaned in for the report. Draco saw Granger turn around to look at him and fix him with a disgusted look before turning back for more of the story. He was sure he would pay for that later. 

“God. I’m marrying a clown. Are we sure about all of this?” Sighed Pansy, her pupils following George walking on his hands to cheers. 

“No. But there’s one silver lining,” said Draco, examining the bottom of his glass. 

“Which is?” Asked Pansy. 

“We won’t become our parents,” Draco shrugged. 

Greg grunted and took a shot. 

Chapter Text

The probation bus had dropped a small crowd of them off at the Ministry of Magic for their collective wedding day. Not all of the unmarried occupants of the trailer park were here, Draco noted. Maybe the Ministry was rolling out matches in phases so as not to overwhelm Hogwarts with a baby boom. 

“At least we got the day off of Community Service,” Greg pointed out with a shrug as he sat in the robes he had worn for his court hearings at the Ministry. 

All of the probationers were wearing their court robes which gave off a distinctly depressing vibe, like they were all attending a funeral. Only Greg wore a bright colour, his cravat, which he had humbly begged a guard of the trailer park to charm yellow, lest Lovegood complain. 

As for Draco, he felt like he was dressed somewhat morosely. He hadn’t worn his best robes for court, his lawyer had advised him that this could make him seem haughty or inaccessible to the Wizengamot or a jury. This certainly wasn’t what he would have worn to get married in, at any rate. 

Inside the Ministry, they were all ushered through to rooms that seemed newly in use and bore the plaque ‘celebration rooms’, which Draco thought was ambitious seeing as it looked like a large healer’s waiting room. The ceiling tiles were cracked in places and the whole place gave off a smell of parchment.

The probationers took seats and looked around, Greg uneasily and Millie angrily. Draco wrinkled his nose when he tried to angle his chair for a better view of the front of the room but found it connected to the chairs on either side of it. Draco knew that Pansy was getting married on a different day and didn’t expect to see her but his eyes roamed over their fellows, recognising some of them. Some had parents or friends with them to witness their ceremonies and others, like the probationers, had no one. 

He was filled with a burst of apprehension when he heard her before he saw her, her bossy voice travelled down the hallway, “No, Ronald.”

“I’m a pureblood, just the same as he is, we can go to Kingsley and-“ said Weasley’s voice and Draco stood immediately, his senses prickling. 

Hermione Granger strode through the door and stopped to survey the room. Heads turned, she looked magnificent in a large white and silver muggle wedding dress. Her hair was smoothed back into an updo that it was clearly trying to rebel against and half succeeding.  She looked so out of place in comparison to the lacklustre room and its occupants. 

“This is madness, ‘Mione, it’s not too late-“ hissed Weasley, aware that there was an audience. 

Granger’s eyes which had been roving the room stopped on Draco who held a hand out to her, one eyebrow raised, “Over here.” 

He was surprised and almost proud when Granger actually obeyed him, she looked relieved as she took his proffered hand. Draco smiled lazily at Weasley who looked livid. He turned on his heel without a backwards glance at Granger and stormed out of the room. 

“Not his wedding day?” Draco asked with feigned mild concern. 

“No. And I suppose he doesn’t feel like witnessing,” said Granger, rolling her eyes. 

She dropped his hand and sat in the empty seat next to Greg whose eyes widened although he said nothing as he was instantly enveloped by a quarter of her dress. 

Words flashed up on a chalkboard at the front of the room reading ‘Daisy Summerby - Fergus Finnegan’. The couple stood up and went through double doors to be married. 

“This isn’t exactly how I had imagined my wedding to be,” remarked Draco, his eyes roving down Granger’s body with an appreciative smile. 

“Where is your idiot friend? I am anxious enough-“ snarled Millie, pointing an accusing finger at Granger. 

“He’ll be here, sometimes he just gets lost…” shrugged Granger helplessly. 

“He’d better get unlost or else I’ll make sure he’s never found!” huffed Millie, whilst Greg next to her looked confused about this concept. 

“Oh look, Luna!” said Granger, standing and waving, “Luna!” She called. 

Whereas Granger, although in muggle attire, looked elegant and show-stopping, Lovegood was show-stopping in an entirely different manner. Draco thought she looked like her robes had been shredded and then charmed back together, odd stripes of yellow material twirled apart with her movements and she drew a number of amused looks from the waiting room. 

“Hello,” she said simply, sinking into a chair next to Millie and giving them all a knowing smile. 

Draco’s eyes flickered to Granger who gave him a warning look that plainly told him he wasn’t to say anything. He sighed and watched the board flash ‘Romilda Vane - Thorfinn Rowle’. Whispers erupted in the room as heads turned from the front. 

Draco sat up at once, giving Greg and Millie a significant look. Granger was craning in her seat to watch Rowle and Vane, Draco saw that neither of them looked happy with the match. 

“Do you think she’s in danger?” whispered Granger, turning to Draco. This deference would have made him feel special, were it not for their present company and he clearly being the only competent person to ask. 

He shrugged, his mouth forming a grim line. 

Longbottom jogged into the room, raised a jovial hand to the group and collapsed next to Lovegood, still doing up his robes. Millie glowered at him. 

“Gran is coming soon,” he said as though this would please Millie but she turned away from him. 

‘Luna Lovegood - Gregory Goyle’ flashed across the board and Greg stood up as if struck by lightning. 

“Will you come and watch us?” asked Lovegood, “Daddy is away in Morocco,” turning to Granger who nodded and stood. 

“Come on,” said Greg, beckoning Draco to follow which he did with a shrug. 

There was a clicking and a few puffs of smoke and Draco realised that the matches were being photographed by the Prophet. Just what they needed, he thought bitterly. 

A small witch at the double doors ushered them forwards, “Lovegood and Goyle?” she asked. 

“We have arrived,” nodded Lovegood. 

“And-“ the witch looked to Granger and then Draco in turn. 

“Witnesses,” supplied Granger. 

“Very nice, just through here to the Ceremony Chamber, if the witnesses would take a seat,” she gestured to chairs facing an ornate wooden lectern in steep contrast to the bright overhead lighting. Greg grabbed hold of Draco’s robes and pulled him through the room alongside him before letting him go. 

Draco and Granger sat down, Draco straightening out his robes and taking a deep breath of musty air. 

“Now, your last name is to be-?” the little witch looked between Lovegood and Greg. 

“That is a good question… I don’t know that I feel Goyle would suit me… but nor would Lovegood suit you, especially with your elemental colours,” reasoned Lovegood, “why don’t we mix both of our names?” she asked excitedly. 

“Yeah,” said Greg, shrugging. 

Draco looked to Granger who was already giving him a confused look in return. 

“Lovegoyle? Goood? Goygood? Goodgoyle?” Lovegood started listing off. 

“What the fuck?” whispered Draco to Granger. 

“Goodgoyle,” said Greg, standing up to his full height. 

“Goodgoyle,” Lovegood repeated. 

Granger’s mouth hung open, her hair was already half undone and Draco flicked one of her errant curls earning him a dig in the ribs with her elbow. 

The small witch began the vows and Draco whispered under his breath, “Malger?”. 

Granger rolled her eyes as they watched their friends. 

“Granfoy?” he offered which earned him a “Sh!” from Granger. 

At the end when invited to kiss the bride Greg hesitated looking flustered whilst Lovegood, or Luna Goodgoyle as Draco supposed she should be known, stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Greg kissed and received a mouthful of her hair. 

“You may continue through these doors, witnesses please return to the celebration room,” gestured the small witch. 

“Can’t we stay for theirs?” asked Greg. 

“If you would like,” shrugged the witch. 

The four of them trooped back through to the waiting room where Millie was now pointedly ignoring Longbottom and his grandmother. 

“How was it?” he asked as they approached the chairs. 

“Very special,” smiled Luna, placing a hand on Greg’s who appeared to freeze in shock. 

“Will your family be coming, Millicent?” asked Mrs Longbottom. 

“They’re in prison,” said Millie shortly. 

“We’ll be your family now,” said Longbottom gently as ‘Jocasta Fawley - Derbion Richards’ shot across the board. 

“Here, can I just-“ started Draco, attempting to free Granger’s hair from a clip that the majority had escaped from, “it looks better like that, anyway,” he finished as her curls sprang around her face. 

“Thanks,” she sighed, “you know the sooner all of this is wrapped up and we get on with… children,” she swallowed, “I’m sure you’ll be able to remarry some nice pureblood… well, a pureblood anyway and move on.” 

“Purebloods don’t divorce,” said Draco, shifting in his seat, uncomfortable at the thought of it. 

Was this to be his life? A prison sentence, probation and then a short miserable marriage and shared custody of his future children? 

“Won’t you need some pureblood heir for your legacy,” she said the word with scorn. 

“No,” said Draco simply. He had long since given up caring about such things. 

“Oh,” Granger smoothed her dress, “well once the children are old enough, I shall be divorcing you and you had better compliant when it comes to custody and finances being divided equally,” she said, her speech gaining momentum and ending in a pointed finger. 

“I’m not afraid of you, Granger, your little prefect voice won’t work on me, it never did,” said Draco carelessly, eyes on the board, “Oh, I know you intimidate the other men but I lived with Dark Lord,” he said silkily as he looked back at her, “You pale in comparison.”

Granger scoffed. 

“Are you afraid of me?” Draco levelled at her. 

“No,” she said defiantly. 

“Perhaps that’s why we got matched,” he smiled sarcastically as she flipped him off. 

“Cute,” he said patronisingly with a wink. 

They were disrupted by more clicking from the front of the room and puffs of smoke. 

*

“I would have thought you’d have brought your parents along,” said Malfoy. 

Hermione swallowed, “I obliviated them during the war for safety, they don’t know me.” 

He looked taken aback, “Huh. So the rumours were true.”

“Mm,” said Hermione. She didn’t feel like discussing this today of all days and not with him of all people. 

“You didn’t deserve that,” said Malfoy. 

“Neither of us won the after-war parent lottery, did we? I have two people who can’t remember my name and you have your mother on house arrest and your father’s a convict,” said Hermione, feeling ruthless. 

“Well, let’s not forget that I was a convict too for a time,” smiled Malfoy wryly. 

“Gosh yes, carrying on the family tradition,” she snorted with laughter and several people turned to look at her, “It’s just you and me.” 

“I think I prefer it that way,” he sighed. 

“No one to witness our mutual downfall?” asked Hermione. 

“No one who doesn’t have the same misfortune themselves,” he indicated with his head at the line of their friends who were in various stages of discomfort, bar Luna. 

The board flashed ‘Hermione Granger - Draco Malfoy’ and a chorus of whispers erupted as it had done for Rowle and Romilda. Hermione stood, feeling all eyes on her. 

“Shall we wait for you after, Neville?”

“No need, I’ll be seeing you soon,” he said with an easy smile. 

Millicent said nothing. 

Once again, Goyle, Luna, Malfoy and Hermione made their way to the front, the Prophet photographer darting to get the best angle as he clicked his camera. 

The small witch greeted them once more, “You know the drill, folks.” 

Hermione stood at the lectern, ready for battle. 

“We’re keeping Granger,” she said, the second that the double doors had closed. 

“No, we are most certainly not,” said Malfoy rolling his eyes. 

“No need for choice actually, Miss Granger, you need to become a Malfoy,” smiled the small witch cheerily. 

“What?!” answered Hermione incredulously. 

She had just convinced herself that she could keep everything separate and that this farce of a marriage could become some sort of co-parenting type deal. 

“Mr Malfoy is the last of his wizarding line,” said the small witch as if this explained everything. 

“So? I’m the only one of my line too!” she screeched. 

“Would that we could keep it that way,” Malfoy muttered. 

Hermione prided herself on never flaunting the fact that she was a war hero, but right now she wanted to scream it into this woman’s face. Her last name wasn’t good enough to keep just because it didn’t come with a family crest and a low vault number at Gringotts? 

“If you would join hands,” said the small witch. 

Malfoy grabbed both of her hands smiling as though he had won the war and Hermione dug her thumbnail hard into his hand to remind him that it was only the battle. He pushed his hand into her nail even more and her nail that she had magically grown long snapped off, tearing at one side and she glared at him. She would make him pay. 

“Do you vow to take each other in a bond of matrimony?” asked the small witch. 

“I do,” said Hermione at the same time as Malfoy.

“Do you vow to forsake all others?” continued the witch. 

“I do,” they answered, Hermione trying to focus on deep even breaths. 

“And keep only unto each other for as long as you both are wed?” the witch looked up at both of them. 

“I do,” said Hermione. 

“I do,” said Malfoy softly. 

“I now pronounce you man and wife, you may kiss your bride,” said the small witch with an encouraging nod. 

“Um,” said Hermione, her voice sounding pitchy as Malfoy, never letting go of her hands, pulled her closer to him and kissed her lips chastely. 

Stars shot from the witch’s wand and Hermione felt warmth in her hands as a golden band snaked around her left ring finger. She noticed Malfoy’s band was silver, the same colour as his signet ring on his thumb. 

“Oh,” she said as he righted her and let go. She pressed her lips together at the unfamiliar feeling of his mouth on hers. 

“Congratulations, please make your way on,” said the witch. 

Luna clapped alone but Goyle nodded cheerfully and patted Malfoy on the back.

The door at the other end of the room led to the strangest wedding reception Hermione had ever attended, although she had actually only been to a handful of wizarding weddings. 

Surrounding a dance floor there were small tables with only two chairs, clearly meant for the married couples. Malfoy tilted his head to a cluster of them at the back and then gave another nod to Goyle to help him move three of them together. 

“Settle in brides and grooms whilst we wait for the last few couples, feel free to help yourself to drinks,” said a man in the middle of the dance floor, voice magically magnified. 

“You sit, we’ll get them,” said Malfoy, pulling out a chair for Hermione and indicating they should wait. Hermione looked at him as if he had grown three heads as he walked off. 

The room was decorated with yellow streamers, yellow stars and a large disco ball spun to no music. Hermione examined her ripped nail and tapped it with her wand to repair it, huffing as she then scourgified the blood from it. 

“This is very-“ Hermione gestured to the uninspiring room at large.

“An auspicious start,” said Luna, seeming pleased. 

Couples would come through the same door that they had every now and then, and eventually Neville and Millicent came through, sans grandmother. 

They quickly made their way over and Neville held the chair next to Luna out for Millicent who ignored it and sat on the other side, leaving Neville next to Luna and all of the Slytherins on one side. 

Malfoy and Goyle returned with drinks and began doling out punch. 

“What’s in it?” asked Hermione suspiciously. 

“Fucked if I know, cheers” said Malfoy wearily, raising his glass to her before taking a sip, shrugging and then taking another. 

“This is so bizarre, we shouldn’t be here,” said Hermione. 

It was like a Moonies wedding, she thought, only with wizards, although she didn’t bother to share her thought with the group as none of them would have understood what she had meant. 

“You wouldn’t want to miss all this, surely?” Malfoy mocked. 

She regarded him as they both ignored the introduction of the mass wedding reception by the man on the dance floor, “You don’t look as posh as I thought you would, Malfoy.” 

“Yes, I’m rather low rent at the moment. And you look far more posh than I would have imagined you could,” he said, his eyes sliding over her dress again. 

“I didn’t want you to show me up,” Hermione said. 

“No chance of that in the present circumstances, unfortunately,” said Malfoy, shaking his head. 

“And now, dinner is served,” the wizard waved his hand at a line of empty tables that were suddenly laden with food. 

“A buffet… at a wedding,” Malfoy wrinkled his nose, “Thank god my mother isn’t here.” 

“Your mum would flip,” nodded Goyle.  

“Come on,” said Malfoy darkly and all six of them lined up. 

Whilst Hermione didn’t consider herself to be a snob, she did feel like she was more at a school dance or a seminar than her own wedding. 

“There are… lots of nice options,” shrugged Neville optimistically as they picked at the buffet. 

Next came dancing, which none of the table was inclined to do except Luna and Neville, with each other. Again, Hermione wasn’t sure this was really hitting the mark as she watched her friends twirl around the dance floor. 

Malfoy looked pained, “You don’t want to dance here, do you?” he asked and let out a dramatic sigh of relief when Hermione politely declined.

Miniature wedding cakes appeared at each of the little tables about 30 minutes later, the Ministry was hurtling through to tick off the wedding checklist at breakneck speed. Malfoy wrinkled his nose again with distaste but Hermione was glad to be done with this farce of a wedding. 

Hermione shrugged and attempted to cut the miniature cake with plastic cutlery from the buffet, she offered Malfoy some, but he was distracted. Millicent had sullenly risen and allowed Neville to escort her on to the dance floor. They were moving at an alarming speed and it was not clear who was leading whom.

“God her and Longbottom are going to make the clumsiest kids ever,” said Malfoy as he watched them. 

“She’s clumsy?” asked Hermione with a vague interest. 

“Heavy-handed, she used to break everything in the common room all the time,” he answered. 

“She had me in a headlock once,” said Hermione casually, taking a bite of the cake which wasn’t bad. 

“I remember that,” he laughed, “Well.. Longbottom had better hope she doesn’t get him in a headlock. Or perhaps that’s why they matched, maybe he’s into that,” he added with a wink and Hermione pulled a face but laughed. 

“Neville asked me to marry him, before the matches came, but…” she trailed off. 

“Did he?” Malfoy asked, considering Neville as they spun past the table again. 

“Mm,” sighed Hermione, “all those friend marriages though… they’d feel so awkward.” 

“You know, I can’t help but be incredibly flattered that you turned down two war heroes to marry me, a convicted criminal,” Malfoy smirked. 

“I always thought you’d take after your father,” she smiled sweetly. 

He laughed in spite of himself, “I’d say that he’d be so proud, but he never is.”

The night wound down and it was announced that they could come to the exit desk in couples to receive their instructions as they left. Even Luna seemed ready and they rose as one. 

“Well, this was an experience but I suppose we won’t see much of each other until your probation is over,” said Hermione brightly to the group. 

“Err… I don’t think so, Granger…” said Malfoy, his head tilted. 

They stepped forwards in line as another couple departed. 

“Well they won’t release you from probation early,” she said, tossing back her hair. 

“I know,” said Malfoy, agreeing with her. 

“Exactly,” she nodded, like he was being obtuse.

They moved up again and reached the desk, a balding man sat at the desk with a long list and looked up at them expectantly. 

“Draco Malfoy and Hermione… M-Malfoy” said Malfoy, faltering on the last word. 

“Ah yes, congratulations Mr and Mrs Malfoy, you’ll be returning to Caravan 32 in Hemsby, Norfolk. You both have tomorrow off from work and will receive correspondence from the Ministry with further instructions tomorrow. The bus to the probation park is waiting just outside to your left and will be making runs all night. The Ministry thanks you for your cooperation for the future of wizardkind,” said the man, looking up from his list. 

Hermione’s jaw dropped and she sputtered, “I am not on probation,” she said, gripping both sides of the man’s desk. 

Malfoy bit his lip and then sniggered, which he covered with his hand and turned away, she could see his back shake with poorly suppressed laughter. 

“Your husband cannot leave the probation program early, Mrs Malfoy,” explained the man in a manner which suggested he had already had this conversation. 

“Then I should be allowed to go back home! To my home!” she argued, ignoring the insult of being referred to as ‘Mrs Malfoy’.

“Ministry elves have packed you a travel bag as a surprise from us to save you the trouble, and further information shall reach you tomorrow,” said the man. 

“Well, they shall have to send it to my flat where I shall be apparating to,” said Hermione, drawing herself up haughtily. 

She looked to Malfoy who nodded, egging her on with a look that clearly said ‘you tell him’, he seemed to be enjoying himself thoroughly. 

“It’s been sealed, you won’t be able to gain entrance to your flat,” the man glanced up to security guards that Hermione hadn’t noticed before and then licked his lips nervously, “I am sorry, now if you wouldn’t mind…” 

Hermione made a noise between clearing her throat and a short scream. She had been completely deceived and what was worse, she felt partially responsible. She had allowed herself to go along with this absurd law because deep down she felt that she would have never been able to find a life partner who could live up to her high standards and would actually want to be married to her and it had blinded her. Now she was being ushered out of the Ministry to a probation park for her troubles and quite frankly, she would have rather been alone for the rest of her life. She felt like her ears were ringing with the shock. 

“Come along, Mrs Malfoy, we’ll… fight the man tomorrow,” said Malfoy gently, steering her by the elbow towards the exit. 

Hermione allowed herself to be guided numbly until she got to the door of the bus and came to her senses wrenching her elbow out of Malfoy’s grip and marching up the stairs of the bus herself. She stopped at the top as she caught sight of the occupants of the seats and swayed on the spot suddenly, backing into Malfoy who steadied her. She felt surprised that him being there comforted her. 

“They can’t do anything, come on, let’s sit,” he said soothingly, watching her gaze sweep across minor Death Eaters and war profiteers. 

The bus smelt stale and Hermione sat at the front of it on the cracked leather seat, furthest away from everyone and folded her arms. She turned her body away from Malfoy until their friends joined them. Luna babbling rapidly away to Goyle who grunted from time to time and Neville who bowed Millicent on to the bus seat with a flourish and then reached over to give Hermione a reassuring pat on the shoulder. As the bus drove off into the darkness Hermione took deep calming breaths as she mentally drafted the howler she was planning to send Kingsley in the morning. 

Chapter Text

The bus glided through the dark night and Draco spent the ride exchanging foreboding looks with Greg. Luna was on one side of them humming and gazing through the black window and Granger on the other side, ignoring them. When they pulled up at the trailer park, Draco stood in the aisle, silencing the impatient crowd behind him with one look. He gestured for Granger to get off as if trying to coax a frightened animal. She stood looking sulky and brushed past him, close enough for the smell of her hair to hit him, sweet and warm. 

The crowd filed off behind them as she looked around the probation park and Draco couldn’t exactly take pleasure in bringing her to a place like this. He didn’t like her, but he did have a grudging respect for her and besides which, it was hardly fitting for a Malfoy bride. When was the last time one of those had come home to anything but luxury on their wedding night? Not since the Dark Ages, perhaps. A flash in his imagination thought of what it would have been like to bring someone home to the Manor on their wedding night who loved him or liked him even. 

“Good luck,” said Greg, jogging him from his thoughts and motioning for Luna to follow him which she did, wittering on about moths. 

Millie left without a word and marched erect to her trailer with Longbottom waving to Granger as they left. Draco thought he looked scared. The place did look worse at night, he allowed. 

“We’re over here,” said Draco gently.

Granger nodded coolly and began to follow him. The outside of the static caravan was a yellowing white although the yellow was really lost in the dark of the night. Around his trailer was a small garden, just a patch of grass really, the size of two parking spaces and a white fence with the paint peeling off. One side of the grass was boxed in by the side of another trailer. 

Draco held the gate open for Granger but she paused looking a few trailers over. Draco saw Longbottom dithering alone in Millie’s garden, he seemed hesitant to go inside. In the other direction, they could see Luna twirling on the dirt path. Greg spotted them and looked to Draco shrugging, clearly wondering what he should do. 

 Draco mouthed annunciating, “I don’t know? Ask if she wants a drink?” he mimed drinking. 

Greg began to usher her inside like he was directing air traffic and Granger allowed herself to be led into the trailer, her dress rustling on the sides of the doors. 

“So…” there was a pregnant pause, “this is sort of it,” Draco finished lamely. 

He saw Granger’s brown eyes trail from the dated galley kitchen to the dinette and the beige bench seating. She gave him a look as she turned to see the rest of the trailer and Draco had never in his life felt so inadequate. For the first time in his probation, instead of bitterness or apathy, he felt shame. Guilt that he had brought a woman here and that it was her of all people. His insides prickled uncomfortably. 

“That’s my room,” he added unnecessarily as she slid open the thin pocket door to reveal a double bed and built-in wardrobes with sliding doors to one side of the room, “you can sleep there next to me or… not.” 

“Not, thanks,” said Granger acerbically. 

“Right,” he acknowledged. He didn’t know why this irritated him. He didn’t want to share a room with her anyway. 

There was a suitcase on the floor next to the bed and Granger reached in to grab it before stalking off to the bench seat which she began charming to become something suitable to sleep on. 

Draco watched her become frustrated as her spells fizzled out. Her mouth formed into a pout and he drew his eyes away from her lips 

“There’s a magic ban on spell work level 2 and over… I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow if you like,” he offered quietly. 

She looked up glowering at him but said nothing before returning to her task at hand. Realising she couldn’t transfigure the seats into a bed she elongated them instead. Draco turned to reach for spare blankets which she snatched from him as he held them out to her. 

“And don’t think you’re going to get lucky tonight, Malfoy,” she warned him. 

“If you’re staying on that side of the caravan away from me, then I’m already lucky,” he said witheringly. 

She scoffed as he rolled his eyes and retreated to his room but as he lay on top of the bed listening to the sound of Granger brushing her teeth, he couldn’t help but wish he had more to offer her instead of a shitty name, a criminal record and relative poverty. 

He could hear her shout-whispering tersely in the next room as she threatened to avada someone and then went on to assure him that she could do it with her bare hands and it occurred to him that she was sending a howler to Kingsley Shacklebolt.

If his mother ever found out that he slept in the bed without giving it up for his new bride she would murder him, Draco thought as Granger turned off the lights by magic and the trailer was plunged into darkness. 

*

Hermione flexed her back muscles as she woke up. The night had been rough and uncomfortable to say the least. Malfoy was already up and she could see him styling his hair in the mirror of the cramped bathroom with the door half open. It was irritating that even living with next to nothing in a place like this, he still managed to look so well groomed. 

She was suddenly aware that she was in her pyjamas and began rooting around her suitcase for something suitable to cover herself up with. She was not ready to be seen in her sleepwear by Draco Malfoy. 

“Did you sleep ok without me?” he batted his eyelashes mockingly at her as she pulled a jumper over her pyjamas. 

“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth as she returned the living room back to normal and folded the blankets with a flick of her wand. 

“Hm. Do you want some toast? Tea?” he offered in a tone that suggested he didn’t care if she ate or not. 

“Sure,” she said. 

“The post just came,” said Malfoy, nodding to the table as he turned to put the kettle on. 

He gestured to a pile of letters and she sat at the dinette table and flicked through them making a neat pile of her letters and a separate pile of Malfoy’s. He had a surprising amount of letters and she turned each one over curiously when he wasn’t looking. 

Hermione opened a short note from Ginny that read: ‘Tell me everything, now! G (and H) 

She smiled in spite of herself. The other letter was from the Ministry and she sighed deciding to wait for breakfast, she wasn’t ready to tackle that yet. 

“Who are your letters from?” She asked Malfoy as he set a plate of buttered toast in front of her. 

“The Ministry, looks like, and those are just junk, you can throw them out,” he nodded to where the bin was. 

Hermione frowned, “Junk?”

Malfoy made a noncommittal noise as he filled mugs of tea. 

“Can I open them?” She asked. 

“I’d rather you didn’t,” sighed Malfoy, but she was already ripping open the first envelope. 

She read aloud, “You Death Eater scum, I hope you are boiled alive,” before snorting with laughter, “Well, isn’t that charming?” 

Malfoy smiled wryly but looked as though he found the subject boring. He didn’t even flinch. Hermione wondered just how many letters like this he had been receiving. 

She ripped open the next letter which was in loopy script, “You don’t deserve a girl like that, I hope she hexes you into the next life,” she paused for dramatic effect and added, “That is true, you know.” 

Malfoy made no answer but rolled his eyes, swiping the rest of the letters from her hold and leaning over to the bin. The trailer was so narrow that he didn’t need to leave his seat to throw them out. 

“What’s on the agenda today?” Hermione asked him. 

“I don’t know… nothing,” he shrugged and took a sip of tea. 

“So, you just sit around here drinking tea and receiving hate mail? How riveting,” she scoffed. 

“So glad I have you to narrate my life now,” he said dully, “that’s not all we got…” he pushed today’s paper to her. 

Hermione unfolded the Daily Prophet to reveal a photograph of herself flipping Malfoy off and him winking at her with a smirk on a loop under the headline ‘Doomed Matches Of The Ministry’. 

 “Well done Granger, that is the only thing that both of my parents will have to commemorate my wedding,” he sighed. 

“I rather like it,” she smiled, “I’m going to frame it.”

At least it would raise some pulses at the Ministry, she thought. Picturing Lucius Malfoy unfolding the paper in his cell and being greeted with this treasure filled her with a sort of vindictive joy. 

Malfoy raised both of his eyebrows but said nothing, pulling the Ministry letter towards himself which he read making tutting noises every now and then. 

Hermione scrabbled to reach her own, not wanting to be left in the dark. Although the letter was typed there were spaces where handwritten words had been added in italics and the letter read: 

‘Dear Mrs Malfoy, 

The Ministry hopes you are settling in well with your new spouse. In three days you will be accompanied by a ministry representative to pack two suitcases of your belongings from your former residence. You have chosen not to combine finances with your new spouse and accordingly, your Gringotts account is now locked.’

“What?!” she gasped and her mouth remained open for a beat before she screamed. It was a high-pitched piercing scream that he had heard her make only once before. He stumbled back in shock as she continued to scream, tripping over his own legs to make it to the door. Malfoy wrenched open the door and found Harry Potter in his Auror robes advancing on him with a wand. 

“I didn’t do anything! I didn’t do it,” said Malfoy, his eyes wide and his hands up. 

“I’m not here for you, I’m here for…” he grimaced, “her… Hermione!” Harry shouted and she stopped screaming. 

“Hermione, what-?” He started but she brandished the letter in his face, waving it. 

“Harry! My… my money has been locked! And my flat is sealed off from me,” she sobbed. 

“I read… in the papers that that would be happening this morning to those marrying people… on probation,” Harry said grimly, looking around at Malfoy who gave him a sardonic smile. 

“So you came to check on me?” she dabbed at her tears. 

“Err… not exactly. I’m here in an official capacity. Did you err… make a threat on the Minister’s life last night?” Harry asked awkwardly. 

Hermione drew herself up, drying her face with the ends of her sleeve, “I- I don’t-“ her insides flashed hot as she realised she had threatened an elected official’s life. 

“My wife was very emotional last night, Potter, and she can’t be expected to remember every little thing she did or did not say. Do you have evidence or a recording of this so that we might refresh our memories?” Malfoy cut across Hermione, his voice was so smooth when he lied. 

She caught on at once, “The Minister probably misheard,” she said hurriedly.

She was thankful for once that her miscreant husband seemed to have picked up some sense when dealing with the law that she was still clearly lacking. 

Harry looked from Malfoy to Hermione and raised an eyebrow in disbelief before saying, “The perfect match.” 

“You-“ started Hermione, taking a step forward. 

“Luckily we do not have a recording, Hermione, I’m letting you off with a caution. No more howlers to the Minister though, please? You’re going to get in trouble,” Harry said, looking tired. 

“Rough day, Potter?” Malfoy asked lightly. 

“I’ve had a lot of stops today actually, you weren’t the only one to… not send the minister a howler,” sighed Harry, “I’ll be off then, you’re ok?” 

Hermione shrugged, “As can be expected.”

Harry nodded and patted her on the arm before leaving. 

Hermione hesitated as if she was about to thank Malfoy for getting her out of trouble so effortlessly but the words stuck in her mouth and she said nothing. 

*

“Potter, a word,” said Draco, racing out of the trailer to catch him before he left, “I need a wand.”

“You know you can’t have one yet,” said Potter. 

“You know that I need a wand if I am to live with her,” Draco reasoned, jabbing a thumb backwards in the direction of Granger. 

“You’re not getting a wand,” said Potter deadpan. 

“You know what she’s like…if she kills me-“ began Draco.

“-then I will help her make it look like an accident,” Potter finished coolly. 

Potter held out a hand in a half wave and gave a grim smile as he apparated. 

Draco swore to himself. They hadn’t even made it 24 hours yet and already death threats and an auror visit. He trudged back up the steps into the trailer. 

“Well, now that you’ve successfully evaded capture for another day…” said Draco as he opened the door. 

“I was the second most wanted person in all of wizarding Britain for quite some time if you’ll recall, I don’t need your help evading capture,” Granger said, her voice laced with disdain. 

“Oh, I remember, I had your wanted poster in my quidditch locker 7th year,” he smirked. 

The look she gave him turned from astonishment to contempt as she realised he was joking. 

“What did your letter say?” She demanded. 

“That my vault remained open and I will be receiving a small increase in my wages… if you could call them that…to support you,” said Draco as he flung himself down into a seat. 

“Oh, you chose to share your finances,” she paused, “Did yours mention work?” She frowned. 

“No,” he said, examining his letter again. 

“But-“ she unwrinkled her letter, “just here, it says  a further letter will follow tomorrow regarding my employment.” 

 “Mine doesn’t have that in,” he shrugged, showing her. He watched her brown eyes skim his letter with suspicion before she sat back deep in thought. 

“You want me to show you around?” He offered. 

“Fine. I’ll get dressed,” she sighed. 

Fifteen minutes later Hermione Malfoy was dressed and ready to go, and Draco couldn’t help but be impressed because the last time it took any woman of his acquaintance only fifteen minutes to get ready was… he thought back… it had never happened. She wore a floral sundress and white cardigan that she fingered with displeasure. He couldn’t help but notice her curves from the cinch of her dress. 

“I don’t think the elf who packed for me really appreciated the aesthetic of where you live,” she said. 

“Where we live, Granger,” joked Draco as she gave him the look of death, “come on, let’s walk a lap.”

The weather was grey to match their moods and the air seemed like it could rain any second, but it didn’t. 

“There are about 50 or 60 static caravans on the site,” Draco drawled as he and Granger walked around the dirt road loop of the park, “the guard station is there, you need a permit to visit but we are allowed visitors so long as they aren’t on house arrest or probation elsewhere. You have to be outside of the park to disapparate.”

“But Harry-“ she interrupted. 

“-Is an auror and has special permissions,” Draco cut across her, “everyone here is pretty much here for petty war crimes like profiteering, war funding, hate crimes, use of unforgivables, grievous bodily harm, human trafficking,” he listed off unconcernedly, “but no murderers or anything like that.” 

Granger made a soft noise of disgust and Draco paused remembering that he had allowed himself to become desensitised to it all - this was new for her. 

He continued on with more caution, “The probationers go to community service on a bus every day at the entrance gates, there’s an 11pm curfew within the park so no one should be out after that without permission. I can’t leave the park except to go to work unless it is on the weekend between the hours of 11am-3pm and I have to give them my location and spot checks can be made. That’s the grocery shop.”

He pointed at a small shabby unit that looked similar to a budget corner shop. 

“Can you go down to the beach?” Asked Granger, angling herself to see the sea between a crowd of trailers. The wind curled her hair to one side and for a moment Draco was hit with the full force of how little she belonged there with him. 

“Between the hours of 11am-3pm, on a weekend, with permission,” Draco rattled off automatically, “Don’t go in that corner of the park,” he pointed. 

“Why not?” She asked. 

“Some of the old crowd live down there, Rowle for instance, you might not like to come face to face with them,” he said. 

“I’m surprised you’re not there,” she said, raising an eyebrow. 

“So am I,” he purred charmingly, “No extension charms, nothing above level 2 spell work, no potions to be brewed on site. They audit our bank accounts also, so no receiving money from places we shouldn’t.” 

They had already made it back to their trailer. 

“Well, that was scenic,” sighed Granger. 

“Remind you of your muggle home, does it?” Draco asked with an unpleasant smile. 

He couldn’t help but bait her. She reminded him of all his inadequacies and it stung. 

“Do you remember the time I slapped you in school?” She turned to him. 

“Vividly,” he admitted. 

“Keep going if you need your memory refreshed,” challenged Granger. 

Draco shut the door behind him only to hear fresh knocks the moment he did. He recognised that sound. Not today, he begged internally, any day other than today would have been better. Granger didn’t seem to have heard the knocks, she was rummaging in her suitcase muttering to herself. If he could open the door quietly and just mime out… the knocks peppered the door again and he opened it a crack. 

“Master Draco,” cried Sprig loudly, throwing himself around Draco’s ankles. He could smell the whiff of butter beer waft over him. 

“Sprig-“ he said in a half whisper, “you can’t be here-“

“Master, please! Please let Sprig take care of you, I can see there is cleaning to be done,” the house elf cried, looking into the trailer. 

Draco could hear Granger’s quiet footsteps as she advanced on them but he couldn’t face her. 

“Sprig, you’ll get me in trouble, you know if the Ministry found you here-“ Draco said. 

“Who will cook for Master Draco,” sobbed Sprig.

“Sprig-“ he sighed and patted the elf’s back softly, “I wish that you could stay, but you have to go, I’m sorry.”

The elf let go of his ankles, still sobbing before disappearing with a loud crack. 

“Does that happen often?” Asked a deeply amused voice from behind him. 

He had reached a new level of pathetic and she was here to bear witness. 

“Fuck off, Granger,” he said darkly. 

Chapter Text

Hermione woke the next day to the sound of Malfoy’s wardrobe doors opening and shutting. The thin door between his bedroom and the rest of the trailer represented their nighttime barrier and freedom from each other and it was about to be broken. 

He briefly raked his eyes over her lumpy blanketed form as he made his way into the bathroom and she sprung up to get dressed for work. Back to normality, back to her own space and back to unrestricted magic. Her single suitcase contained none of her work clothes so she ruthlessly severed parts of her wedding dress and tinted it a slate grey as she was unable to transfigure it. The end result was a mix between disaster and couture and certainly not a normal look for the office. 

Malfoy walked in to her finished look, surrounded by the offcuts of dress about her feet, and raised one eyebrow. 

“That’s what you wear to work, Granger? God, you’re lucky Hogwarts had a uniform,” he muttered. 

She scowled at him and as she pushed past him to get to the bathroom, she charmed a grey tulle offcut to loop itself around his head with a neat bow ending over his mouth. The door to the bathroom slammed hard in her face before she could reach the handle and she gasped and turned to face Malfoy. The back of her neck prickled. 

“I thought- you didn’t have a wand?” she asked quietly, unnerved. 

“I don’t,” he said, glaring at her. He flexed his fingers as he pulled the bow off of himself. 

She let herself into the bathroom and locked the door, pressing her back to it. She wasn’t afraid of him. She wasn’t, she wasn’t, she wasn’t. How much more wandless magic could he do? And what about when he got his wand back? 

By the time she emerged from the bathroom, she was poised once more. 

“Do you want toast?” Malfoy asked her carefully, their spat lingered in the room with them. 

“I’ll eat at work,” she answered coldly. 

An owl tapped at the window and she rushed to untie the letter which was from the Ministry. She went to open it and then set it down on the table. Why would they have reason to write to her like this? Why were they not writing to Malfoy? She picked the letter up again and examined the Ministry seal, dithering. 

From the dinette, Malfoy wordlessly held out a hand for the letter and she hesitated before placing it into his hand. He ripped it open and read to himself before cringing. 

“I have bad news,” he said. 

“What’s the bad news,” she asked at once, always wanting to prepare for the worst. 

Malfoy’s grey eyes flickered up to her standing over him and he gestured for her to sit. The trailer felt too quiet. 

“You don’t have a job anymore,” he said. 

“What do you mean?” she frowned. 

“Effective immediately you will be relieved of your position at your workplace of The Ministry of Magic in order to better focus on your homemaking duties,” he read aloud. 

Her nostrils flared in indignation at the words ‘homemaking duties’.

“It says that after the two children required by the Marriage Act have gone to Hogwarts you may reapply to your former job if the position is still open,” said Malfoy quietly, wincing a little as he spoke. 

“I-“ she said, feeling the injustice rise up inside of her. 

“Before you scream…” he interrupted, holding up a hand, “once we’re out of here we can find something for you to do and we’ll just manipulate the finances so it looks like you earn nothing. It will be ok, we’ll find something you like. Just a temporary blip.”

“I’m going into work anyway,” said Hermione quickly. 

“Of course you are,” Malfoy muttered to his toast. 

She stowed the letter in her bag and nodded at Malfoy in farewell. On her power walk to the gate, she fumed. Marriage Act or not, how was it fair to forbid women from working? And what if she absolutely refused to have children? What then? She would just never be allowed to work? 

And how dare Malfoy minimise this all by saying they would find ‘something’ for her to do. Such as what? The only way around this she could see would be to start some sort of business and that took a lot of money which they definitely didn’t have on Malfoy’s ‘pay’ if it could be described as that. Not to mention even after his probation was over - who would hire an ex-Death Eater? 

As she reached the gate the guard stood to attention, “Name please?” she asked. 

“I am not on probation,” said Hermione waspishly, “and you are already aware of who I am.”

The guard stood wordlessly and gestured for her to go ahead. Hermione strode through the gates and apparated on the spot to the Ministry entrance. 

When she entered the telephone box and the voice asked her for her name she was so wound up that sparks could have been flying from her hair and she wouldn’t have noticed. She stormed across the atrium making her way to Kingsley’s office coming face to face with his assistant Armendie. 

“He is expecting you,” she said, with a tilt of her head in the direction of his office. 

“He is? Oh. Well, good,” said Hermione striding in. 

“Hermione Granger,” said Kingsley looking grim. 

“It’s Malfoy now, actually,” she said archly, taking a seat uninvited. 

“I heard. I am so sorry,” he grumbled. 

The curtains were still drawn and his office was dark. He looked like he’d aged since she last saw him and she could see a new gold ring shine on his ring finger. She wondered whether his new match was as problematic as her own and whether he had needed to sacrifice a single thing.

“And now my job has been taken from me, as well as my name,” she jabbed an accusing finger at him. 

“We spoke about that-“ Kingsley interjected. 

“We did not ever speak about that,” she said, her tone escalating once more. 

“When you and I spoke about reducing unemployment, what did you think that I meant?” he asked, rubbing his forehead as if the conversation was painful. 

“That this would create more job opportunities or that people might choose to stop working once they had children, not that… not that jobs would be stolen from women!” Hermione cried out. 

“I’m sorry, Hermione. I have let you down. Things are dire at the moment and this was the only way that we could see to salvage some of our world after all of this. I don’t like it either,” he sighed.

“Why is it always me who is paying the price and doing the hard work? It’s always me who has to make the sacrifice,” her voice broke. 

Kingsley ran a hand down his face once more but said nothing. 

“I am so sorry,” he said again. 

“I don’t even have any of my belongings,” she said, defeated. 

“I can fix that. Go home, I’ll move you up the packing list. I can have an elf there at your house first,” nodded Kingsley. 

*

“He talked all night,” said Millie, throwing herself down next to Draco on the bus. 

“Longbottom?” Draco raised his eyebrows, 

“All. Night. What did Granger do?” she asked. 

“Sulked, cried… threatened the Minister of Magic’s life,” said Draco. 

“I’m surprised she didn’t hex your dick off,” Millie snorted and Draco gave her a tired smile. 

“Mine just kept talking to herself,” said Greg, looking unhappy as he slung himself into the seat behind them. The ageing cushion creaked under his weight. 

“Did yours get the letter about not being able to work?” asked Draco. 

Millie shook her head but Greg nodded, “She didn’t seem to care,” he shrugged. 

“Granger cared,” Draco sighed as he stared out the window. What fresh hell would he be returning to? 

“Group one,” said the driver and Millie rolled her eyes and got off the bus for her Community Service. He and Greg held on as the bus lurched off again, too fast. 

Draco and Greg were serving their Community Service in a charity shop in Godric’s Hollow. Mostly they were out the back, sorting through donations but every now and then Draco had to work up front and man the checkout and he hated those days more than any other. 

It wasn’t just that he was being ‘paid’ a pittance or that he couldn’t quit, working in a shop went against everything he had been raised for. And what a shop - full of junk, unwanted crap he didn’t think you could pay most people to take away. The customers were the dregs of society, people he wouldn’t dream of mixing with, given the choice. 

Threadbare cloaks, thumbed-through spellbooks, chipped china and general magical detritus cluttered the shelves. Draco always thought the shop had a certain smell to it of elderly people mixed with lemon bleach and he mentioned this to Greg later as they sorted through donation bags. 

“What do old people smell of?” grunted Greg, examining a plate. 

“I don’t know,” he answered roughly as he unfolded a holey cardigan, “death?”

Greg took a deep sniff and shrugged, “It doesn’t smell the same as death to me.”

Draco placed the cardigan into the recycling pile next to a collection of used potion bottles. He wondered how Granger was getting on at the Ministry and whether or not she would be having a second auror visit tonight. 

“Things with Granger are very tense,” said Draco after a time. 

“Oh,” said Greg, reaching into another bag. 

“I keep… getting at her,” he admitted. 

“Ah,” nodded Greg. 

“She keeps provoking me and I feel like we’re back in school again and I don’t know how to be married to someone, let alone someone who hates me,” Draco pulled a candle out of the bag. 

Greg nodded. 

“Well?” Draco asked, remembering why he never went to Greg with problems. 

“What?” said Greg, gormless. 

“What do you think I should do?” Draco held up his hands as if it were obvious. 

“Try not to get at her?” suggested Greg, looking out of his depths. 

He supposed it hadn’t even been a full two days yet. There were bound to be growing pains, especially given their history. Granger was going through a lot and it was natural that they should both be bickering somewhat, wasn’t it? She was nothing if not a worthy adversary. It could have been worse, the Goodgoyles were living proof of that.

Draco blinked for a moment and sighed which became a groan when Mrs Carver called him out to the front. 

“You never ask Greg,” he grumbled. 

“Well, you have such a way with the customers, dear,” she said fondly in her knitted woollen waistcoat as she bustled him to the front of the shop. 

“Mm,” he said. 

“I saw you in the papers, I said to my Tim, I said there’s my young chap who volunteers in the shop!” Mrs Carver laughed to herself, her lurid pink lipstick slightly crooked. 

Draco tilted his head, “This isn’t exactly voluntary.”

“How is married life? What’s Hermione Granger like in real life?” asked Mrs Carver, ignoring his comment. 

“I have a ministry assigned job, then I go back to my ministry assigned place with my ministry assigned home and my ministry assigned wife - none of which I am pleased about,” he shrugged, checking the till drawer. 

Mrs Carver hesitated as though unsure of how to put a positive spin on this. 

“And Hermione Malfoy hates me with a passion,” he smiled at her, “Will there be anything else?” 

“Uh- carry on!” she trilled with a little wave. 

There was no chair at the charity shop checkout and so Draco leaned on the wall behind it, waiting, and sure enough the customers began to trickle through. 

“Alright, Malfoy? You see this ‘ere? I was thinking the price is really not reflective of the value and you might knock a few bob off?” said Mundungus Fletcher as he sidled up to the till holding a cut glass dish. 

“It’s three sickles,” said Draco, reading the price tag. 

“Yeah,” agreed Mundungus. 

Draco stared at him for a beat, “If you think it’s too expensive, don’t buy it.” 

“The shop would make more money if they priced-“ Mundungus explained, gesturing to the dish. 

“I don’t give a shit about the shop, it’s three sickles,” said Draco. 

“Ridiculous,” grumbled Mundungus, reaching into his robes and laying down three silver coins and slinking off. 

Next, an elderly man approached the front of the checkout holding a pair of black velvet women’s boots. 

“Do you have these in size eleven?” he asked. 

“It’s a charity shop, it doesn’t work like that,” Draco sighed, “what you see is what there is.” 

“I need an eleven,” said the man. 

“Just buy the shoes and then enlarge them to fit,” suggested Draco. 

“They’re not for me,” said the man, looking deeply affronted. 

“It doesn’t matter, just whoever they are for, enlarge them,” said Draco. 

“I would really like to buy them in an eleven already pre-made that way,” explained the man. 

“Ok, give them to me, they’re not for sale,” said Draco, taking the boots and storing them under the checkout desk. 

“But-“ spluttered the man. 

“Thank you for coming, goodbye,” said Draco, ushering the man out cheerily. 

“Such a way with the customers,” Mrs Carver smiled jovially as she walked past with a duster. 

He glanced at the clock and wondered if Granger was home yet. 

*

Hermione picked through her flat whilst the elf waited patiently. She had offered her a seat next to a window overlooking the park whilst she surreptitiously stuffed books into her beaded bag (which she assumed would not be allowed) under the premise of organising them before she left. 

The basics of her clothes went in, a mixture of staples and a couple of nice dresses which she privately doubted she would ever need. Most of her toiletries had been packed in the single suitcase back at the trailer. 

She gathered up a woollen blanket that she and her mother had made together when she had been learning to knit as well as her knitting supplies. After that, she had an unusual amount of space left thanks to her beaded bag and she used it to stuff in framed pictures, some candles, throw pillows (because the single beige cushion on Malfoy’s pathetic excuse for a sofa was not cutting it) and a box of tea. 

It struck her that for all of her complaining about having her flat sealed off, she really didn’t have a lot of possessions. It was disappointing. Her whole life was packed into two suitcases and her beaded bag. What had she been working all those late nights for? Years of loyalty and going the extra mile and for what? To be dumped off at the probation park with a war criminal? 

By the time she bade the elf goodbye and apparated back at the probation park, it was getting dark. Malfoy was already in the trailer and he cast his eyes over her before continuing with his food preparation.

“Do you want some toast? I have some cheese to put on it,” he greeted her. 

“No thank you,” she said, opening the first of her suitcases on the bench seat. 

“Hey, do you think you could cook this for me?” Malfoy asked, turning to her and looking at her wand appraisingly as if recalling her one use to him. 

“Sure,” she said, pointing her wand at the bread in his hand and reducing it to charred dust. 

“You’re a great help,” he tutted, rolling his eyes, tipping his hand over the bin. 

He set about making his dinner for a second time and then sat at the dinette watching her flit about putting out her belongings. 

“Well?” he looked up at her expectantly. 

“Well, what?” she sighed. 

“I know you’re bursting to tell me all about it,” he gestured as if she should go ahead. 

Hermione rolled her eyes and folded her blanket up neatly. As she laid her beautiful colourful blanket made with love onto the weathered beige bench seat she wrinkled her nose. 

“Granger! What happened at the Ministry?” he prompted her. 

“It was a waste of time, I don’t work there anymore and I won’t even be allowed to volunteer with no pay,” she took a deep breath after saying this in the hope of calming herself. 

“I wasn’t entirely sure you were getting paid there anyway, after seeing your outfit this morning. I assumed you were either devoid of style or money,” Malfoy said and Hermione looked up at him ready for a fight only to see a gentle teasing smile, so unlike his trademark smirk.

“Maybe I’ll marry rich for my second marriage instead of being with white trash like you,” she flashed him a sarcastic smile back. 

He snorted with laughter, “Ahh, there she is, asshole.”

“Prick,” Hermione tried to smile genuinely but she couldn’t quite make it, she was on edge. 

“I got paid, the Ministry is constantly taxing me wrong so I’ll need to apply to get some of my money back,” Malfoy sliced cheese and arranged it carefully for toasting. 

“Why are they taxing you incorrectly?” asked Hermione, furrowing her brow. 

“I assume on purpose because someone along the paper trail doesn’t like me,” he shrugged looking unconcerned. 

“Looks like the Ministry is at odds with both of us,” she said, sitting at the dinette and leaning back against the wall. 

“If the Ministry did this to you, do you really want to work for them?” he asked, checking on his toast. 

“That isn’t the point,” she muttered. 

“At least you don’t have to work. I thought most women would-“ he said cheerfully. 

Hermione scoffed, “Oh, please, Malfoy, please tell me what most women would love. You’re such an authority on the subject,” she interrupted, eager to rip into someone. 

He hesitated, “Well, now it’s just going to sound stupid.”

She nodded mockingly, “You’re right, I’m the one who made it sound stupid.”

“I thought most… people… not just women, would be happy to take some time off work,” he said cautiously. 

“Oh gosh, surely not? Surely, you wouldn’t want to take time away from your award-winning charity shop career?” her voice was dripping with disdain. 

“Don’t be a bitch, Granger. I was just trying to cheer you up,” he turned to look at her. 

“Mmm that’s right, it’s ok for you to hurl insults at me all through Hogwarts, but this hurts your feelings, doesn’t it?” she asked in a baby voice. 

“Do not pick a fight with me,” he said sounding bored, “I certainly would prefer that you were at work. You know, I asked around when I saw our match and I heard you’d work all the hours of the day and I thought good; I won’t have to see her often. Instead, now you’re going to be rattling around this trailer all hours of the day like you’re haunting it. “

“I’m a reminder of all your failures, I’m sure,” she said witheringly. 

“Amongst other things,” he muttered and took his toast outside to eat. 

Chapter Text

Hermione didn’t even bother getting up when Malfoy did the next day. She heard the soft noises of him getting ready in his room and when he went to use the bathroom she turned away from that side of the room, pulling her blankets up higher. What need was there to get up? There wouldn’t be anywhere to go. 

She heard Malfoy’s footsteps leave the bathroom and approach her.

“Granger,” he said and she ignored him, hoping he would give up and leave. It was bad enough that they both had to be here, let alone that they would need to converse. 

“Granger,” he tried again. 

“What?” she replied grumpily, reluctantly turning around to face him. 

“Can you fix this stain on my robes?” he asked, pulling the material out to show a bright blue toothpaste smudge. 

Hermione stared at him for a moment before reaching for her wand and turning his entire outfit the same bright blue, “There, now you can’t see it.”

He gave her a look of utter loathing, “Very funny. Just forget it, turn them back, I’ll keep the stain.” 

“Sorry, Malfoy, I can’t. I’m tired, you know mudbloods can only do so much magic before it tires them out,” she said. 

“Granger, do not give me that shit, I’m going to be late,” said Malfoy and he waited until he himself seemed to realise it would be fruitless and strode back to the bedroom muttering to under his breath. 

She noticed that he didn’t bother to shut the door and as much as she wanted to turn back around, away from him, she watched. Her eyes skated across his broad bare shoulders and down his back as he removed the robes and donned new ones. He straightened his robes over his faded dark mark and shook his blonde hair out of his face. She looked away. 

“You’re just going to stay like that all day, are you? “ he filled up a glass of water at the sink which he gulped down. 

“Maybe,” she considered. 

“You’ll go stir crazy in here, I should know,” he said but she didn’t answer him. 

“We need to go grocery shopping later, be ready when I get home,” he warned her. 

Hermione said nothing as Malfoy buttered the toast that he ate religiously and took it to go without a second glance back at her. Every day with the toast. When the door slammed shut she released the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. 

She slowly rolled and got up. She picked through her clothes disinterestedly and by the time she was ready and she’d tidied the caravan, only 20 minutes had passed. She still had 8 hours, easily, until it was time to grocery shop. She mentally ticked off the friends she could go and visit before realising that they would all be at work. And so it was that she concluded the only option was for her to visit Luna. 

As she wrenched the door of the caravan open she came face to face with Neville and Luna. 

“I thought you’d be at work?” said Hermione to Neville. 

“Summer holidays,” shrugged Neville cheerfully. 

“Will you join us in the gardens?” asked Luna. 

Hermione nodded, “I need to see people that aren’t Draco Malfoy.”

Neville, who had also had the pleasure of being endlessly tormented by Malfoy, smiled in understanding, “How’s it all going?”

“Terrible, thank you, and you both?” said Hermione as she followed them in the direction of the Longbottom trailer. 

It was easier to face Neville and Luna than it would have been to see any of her other friends. There was a camaraderie that they could at least understand how she felt. For a brief moment, she considered whether she would have rather been matched with Goyle than Malfoy and then shuddered internally. At least her future children would have good genes if nothing else. 

“It’s ok, but doesn’t seem to be very… aware of forces outside of us,” hummed Luna. 

“Mine is going well,” said Neville with a cheerful nod. 

“You’re getting on?” asked Hermione with interest. 

“Well… no, but we aren’t fighting,” he smiled. 

“Are you speaking?” she asked delicately. 

“No, not really,” he admitted, opening the gate, “It’s very tiring. I feel like I’m alone most of the time when she’s right there.” 

“Gregory is more of a listener,” said Luna. 

Hermione looked at Neville’s patch of grass which was worn down to dirt in some places. And he gestured to it cheerfully. 

“I brought the seeds from home,” he held up packets, “Come on.” 

“So, Malfoy and I pretty much argue constantly,” sighed Hermione. 

“Gregory doesn’t argue but he doesn’t do much else,” shrugged Luna as she blasted away the grass, “I keep trying to set him tasks to see if he’ll wake up a little.”

“Is that working?” Neville asked, ripping open a packet.

“Not so far,” Luna shook her head, “and I left my dirigible plum earrings out yesterday and he ate them.” 

Methodically the three of them dug up Neville’s garden until the entirety of the grass had been lifted away and replaced with neat lines of planted beds for fruits and vegetables, which with a tap of their wands were already sprouting. They looked at their hard work. 

“I needed this,” said Hermione nodding and dusting dirt from her hands, “I’m going to shower.”

“See you tomorrow?” Suggested Neville. 

“Maybe,” said Hermione, but part of her just wanted to curl up in her blankets and wallow. 

*

Draco was sitting at the same chipped table as last time in the visiting room. He wondered if there had been other Malfoys over the years that had served a life sentence in prison or if his father was the only one. Once a week there were visits offered directly from the probation park for seeing relatives in Azkaban.

“Hello, son,” said his father, the handcuffs clinking against the table. 

He was here visiting sooner than normal and he could say that it was because his father needed him or that is was to deliver news of his marriage but the truth was that he had always come to his father for advice. Now that he was an adult, he could see that the advice he received from Lucius was often terrible but sometimes that guided him on what not to do and after all, traditions could be hard to break. 

“Father,” Draco nodded, “how are you?”

“Doing well, your mother had a friend send some new books. How is married life treating you?” asked Lucius. 

“So far it’s a complete disaster,” Draco gloomily picked at the table. 

“The photograph in the Prophet was… not the best look for the family,” his father said and Draco made a face. 

“All we do is argue. They took her job from her, her gold and made her move in with me at the trailers and she hates it. Every time I try to be nice to her we end up fighting,” finished Draco.

“They took her gold? So what are you living off of?” asked his father, frowning. 

“The money I get for community service,” said Draco. 

“So maybe you don’t share the wealth, make things difficult until she complies,” advised Lucius with a dismissive expression. 

“I already don’t give her gold, it goes on our groceries mainly, I get paid next to nothing, there’s hardly any extra,” Draco rolled his eyes. 

“So maybe you approach it the opposite way. Perhaps you visit Uncle LeMarque?” his father nodded thoughtfully. 

Draco knew immediately what he meant, one of their code words. One of the Malfoy stashes of money and valuables in France. His father thought he should buy Granger’s favour. He didn’t have an Uncle LeMarque.

“Finance audits, weekly and at random,” he answered and his father tutted sounding irritated. 

“She doesn’t want to do anything, she just mopes around the trailer and reads. She wouldn’t even come grocery shopping with me the other day. She hardly eats anything,” Draco sighed. 

He didn’t know why this bothered him so much, many a pureblood couple led completely separate lives and so long as the family tree continued on, nobody seemed to be troubled by this. 

“Is that what they’re usually like in their own settings?” asked his father with mild interest. 

“Who?” replied Draco. 

“The…” he looked at the guards outside of the doorway, “the differently blooded,” he said with a significant look to Draco. 

“Muggleborns?” Draco offered and shook his head, “No. She’s usually very industrious.” 

His father sat forward looking curious, “Does she know you had the mark?”

“Yes,” he nodded. 

“Hm. You know - I think the Dark Lord resented our purity, he would have loved this match,” said his father, sounding half bitter and half amused. 

“They all resented our purity. Even the other purebloods resented our purity,” Draco said archly. 

“This is a good thing. Perhaps you’re right, times have changed and we need to preserve our line at any cost. Bit of new blood might help keep things more… diverse. Modern,” said Lucius as if testing out the word. 

“You could always bring her along here,” suggested Lucius and Draco threw him an incredulous look. 

“No… perhaps not,” his father chuckled. 

When Draco got home from Azkaban, Granger was still on the sofa exactly where he had left her and the sun was setting. She lay flat on her stomach, book propped up and her bare legs in the air. She completely ignored his presence as he removed his travelling cloak and approached her. 

“Did you eat?” asked Draco, feeling more and more like her caretaker each day. 

“Yes,” she replied, not taking her eyes from her book. 

Draco nodded but then paused frowning, “When?”

“Lunch time,” her tone lacked any of her usual contempt. 

“When I asked you, I meant had you eaten dinner. It’s dinner time now,” he said, although he may as well have been talking to the trailer wall. 

This wasn’t how he had imagined married life would be. 

“Oh,” she said, turning a page. 

“Did you see your friends today?” he tried again. 

“No,” Granger said. 

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair “Come with me.”

“I’m reading,” she replied. 

Draco took a slow deep breath in to calm himself, “Granger…” 

She paid no attention to him but when his patience snapped and her book slammed shut, apparently of its own accord, she looked up at him nervously. He liked the feeling of making her notice him, he always had. 

“Come,” he nodded to the door. 

She followed him to the side of the trailer where the bins and the bay window of the bedroom popped out. He indicated that he would give her a boost and she wrinkled her nose. 

“Today would be nice, Granger,” he drawled, motioning for her to hurry up. 

He followed her and together they sat on the roof of the trailer with their legs dangling off the edge. 

“You can see the sea,” she said quietly. 

There was a light breeze in the darkness of the evening and he watched her look out towards the ocean. 

“It won’t always be like this,” he said and they sat in silence for a while. For all the ups and downs in his life, his faith in this had never wavered. 

“I did everything right, and you did everything wrong and yet somehow we have ended up in exactly the same place,” sighed Granger. 

“Yeah… it’s kind of fucked up when you think about it isn’t it? This whole thing is fucked up,” he leaned back to look at the stars. 

“Yes,” she said, lowering herself next to him on the roof. 

“I think we should have a party. Have some friends over in the garden, the weather is still dry… cheer you up a bit,” he suggested. 

“Pretend that everything is fine?” she said in a falsely cheery voice. 

“Not necessarily but… I think you being cooped up alone all day is not good for you,” said Draco, choosing his words carefully. 

“We can’t afford a party, you said yourself that we can hardly afford groceries,” she pointed out. 

“Why don’t we ask everyone to bring something?” he shrugged. 

“The great Malfoy parties have really gone downhill lately, hm?” she mocked. 

“Oh, you have no idea, truthfully it’s best my mother can’t see me now,” he laughed and then stopped because he missed his mother. 

“So we’ll have a poor person party,” she looked sideways at him. 

“We’ll theme it, everyone will wear their shittest outfit. Only we won’t call it a party, we’ll call it a gathering, more exclusive,” he nodded. 

“We can’t call it a party?” she frowned. 

“No. Trust me, if there’s one thing I know, it’s parties,” he assured her. 

*

The next day was Saturday and as they had to wait until 11am to be permitted to leave the park together, they had spent the hour beforehand writing out letters to send as invites to their group of friends. Luna, Goyle, Millicent and Neville’s invitations were hand delivered before they left for the day but for the rest, they required a trip to the post office. 

At 10:59am Hermione turned her face to look witheringly at the guard who quelled under her gaze. The guard seemed more afraid of her than any of the probationers and she avoided Hermione’s gaze, busying herself with paperwork. At 11am Hermione ignored Malfoy’s smirk, stepped through the gates and gave the same guard the look of death as she linked her hand in Malfoy’s and side-alonged them both to Diagon Alley. 

“Already making friends at the park, eh?” he asked delicately, tugging playfully on her hand. 

She dropped his hand deliberately, “Come on, let’s go to the post office.” 

Malfoy stopped smiling and set his mouth into a sullen resolve, he squared his shoulders and she soon saw why. Passersby were already staring at them. Hermione was used to getting looks of admiration in public and smiles from small children but now she was caught between Malfoy and the loathing stares of the Diagon Alley shoppers. When any of the passerby looked at her it was with pity or confusion. 

“Does this happen every time, or is it because I’m with you?” she asked him quietly. 

“Every time,” he admitted reluctantly. 

“Yikes,” she raised her eyebrows as a woman shook her head in disgust at them both. 

“Have you tried looking more contrite and less up yourself?” she asked with a straight face as he held open the post office door for her. 

He gave her a look but the corners of his mouth twitched. He guided her through the door, his hand grazing her lower back lightly and she turned to look at him but he had already stalked off to the perches. She tried to recall if he had ever touched her voluntarily without any need or agenda before. Where was the Draco Malfoy who thought that mudbloods were dirty? 

They selected their owls to send off the invites bar one, they had agreed to deliver George and Pansy’s invite in person as they had permission to be in Diagon Alley. Weasley Wizard Wheezes was still alive and well, even without Fred. The loss of Fred had never really felt real to Hermione and every time she entered the shop she felt like he was going to come out of the back room grinning at some point, as if he was frozen there in time. 

The shock of purple and orange could be spotted from far down the other side of the street and as they got close enough to see through the shop windows, Hermione could spy an orange bob. 

“Welcome to Weasley Wizard Wheezes,” said Pansy sarcastically as they entered. 

“More gusto!” came the shout of George’s voice from the store room. 

“Fuck OFF, George!” screeched Pansy looking irate. 

She sighed and came around the counter to Malfoy with her arms tucked around herself and sort of leaned sideways into him, he put his arms around her and patted her back. 

“What’s with the hair?” he asked. 

“Don’t,” hissed Pansy with a dry sob, “he… he… every time I do something he doesn’t like or I’m rude to him he plays a prank on me and- I can’t take it anymore.” 

Hermione watched Malfoy smirk behind Pansy’s back before she drew back from their hug and he arranged his features into a sombre expression and nodded as if he shared her hardship. Privately, Hermione couldn’t help but think Pansy was getting a taste of her own medicine but she said nothing. 

“He dyed it the same colour as his and I didn’t want to let him know he’d gotten to me so I said I liked it and now I can’t change it back without admitting - I hate it,” she sounded almost hysterical in her hushed whispers. 

Pansy seemed to notice Hermione properly and threw her a hard look, “Your little friend is in the back, probably cooking up more ways to torture me.” 

“I’ll go and give him the invite,” said Hermione, taking the envelope from Malfoy but George came to meet them at the front of the shop. 

“Ohhhh, man alive, it’s Hermione Granger!” George cheered as he hugged her and checked her over, “The ferret treating you well, is he?” 

“It’s a thrill a minute,” said Hermione, “How come you’re allowed to work?” she looked at Pansy. 

“As if I’m getting paid, Granger,” scoffed Pansy. 

“It’s Malfoy now, actually,” Hermione replied, and spiting Pansy was the only time she took any pleasure in that being true, “We came to bring a party invitation,” she added to George, handing him the envelope. Malfoy was staring at her. 

“We’re having a little gathering,” Malfoy clarified to Pansy, tearing his gaze away from Hermione. 

George ripped open the envelope and frowned slightly, “Why are we having it at the probation park? Why not at one of our houses?” 

“Malfoy can’t leave the park in the evening,” explained Hermione and George snorted as if he was deeply amused by this fact, “nor can Goyle or Millicent Bulstrode… well, Longbottom.”

“What a guest list…” whistled George. 

Malfoy and Pansy looked at each other and seemed to be communicating wordlessly with only their eyebrows. 

“They come with Neville and Luna,” Hermione shrugged. 

“Package deal… alright, we’ll be there, heaven knows I could use some friendly company, eh sweetheart?” George smiled at Pansy and she glowered at him. 

Chapter Text

Hermione wrinkled her nose as she stepped over the threshold of the so-called ‘grocery shop’. It certainly didn’t look like a place she would choose to store food, that was for sure. 

“You get used to it,” Malfoy smiled grimly, following her gaze. 

“Mm,” she hummed, doubting him. 

The small dimly lit unit had a pale green floor that was worn and was covered in large cardboard boxes, ripped open roughly and people were reaching inside of them to extract their goods before paying. There were shelves that were sparsely filled here and there; everything else loose was precariously stacked without care. It smelt musty. 

“We’ll just go in and out and then leave. I need more bread. Have a look at what you’d like for the party,” said Malfoy, gesturing around the shop with a hand. He started to examine the goods as if he fit right in but he looked so out of place here. There was something that was naturally upper crust about his looks, no matter if his bank account said otherwise. 

Hermione looked at the large torn boxes and sighed before double checking a tag and mentally calculating the exchange rate to pounds, “Malfoy? Malfoy! Is this the price?!”

“Yes, Granger, when wizards want to sell something they put a label on the item to indicate the price,” he said sardonically. 

“How much is that bread?” she pulled the bread out of his hands, ignoring his jab. 

“Oh please, be my guest, feel free to just snatch things from my grip, why don’t you?” He rolled his eyes. 

“This is such a rip off… they’ve marked these prices up so high!” She said, giving him back the bread and picking up a can from the shelf which she rotated, scoffing as she did at the price. 

“Don’t buy this, give me the money, we can do better than this,” Hermione commanded. 

“Where are we going?” asked Malfoy, looking mistrustful. 

“I am going to Gringotts to change this into muggle money and then I am going to the muggle supermarket. They’re price gouging,” she shook her head disapprovingly. 

Malfoy tilted his head, “How much money do you need?” he asked slowly. It felt like they were playing a particularly sexist game of house.

“Whatever you were going to spend here. Tell me what you want other than bread,” she ordered him bossily, holding out a hand for the money.

“Bread, cheese, a tin of tuna, more butter and then… whatever you think for the party. Drinks for us and something to share but I don’t think we can afford all of that, so maybe leave the tuna?” he reasoned, tipping the gold into her hand. 

She power walked back to their caravan and he strode after her to keep up. 

“I can’t believe those prices, and for what?” she muttered it more to herself than to Malfoy. 

“One moment,” she said breathlessly, shutting the bathroom door to change. 

“I am going to sort all of this out,” she said bursting out of the bathroom like a woman on a mission. 

He watched her in the doorway as she smartened herself up in the mirror, brushing her hair and taking care of her appearance for the first time since they had seen George and Pansy. 

“Won’t be long!” she told him and he nodded. 

Hermione’s first stop was Gringotts where she exchanged the chunk of change that Malfoy had given her for muggle cash. She was glad that the trip was too last-minute for Malfoy to have accompanied her because she dreaded the smug face she could picture him making when she had to deal with the goblins. 

Ever since she had robbed Gringotts with the boys, even though it had been with Griphook, even though it had been for the good of wizards and goblins alike - the goblins had never forgiven her. Woe betide the person who stood behind her in line at Gringotts because it was bound to move at a glacial pace and then when she actually got to the counter there was always a ‘random’ security check that just so happened to land on her. She could understand it to some extent but it still didn’t make the experience any more pleasurable and she certainly didn’t need Malfoy’s punchable smirk for company. 

Her next stop was the muggle supermarket, she selected Malfoy’s items but also branched out for his array of toasts. She got him jam, a tin of spaghetti shapes and peanut butter, mainly to show off how brilliant she was in comparison to him at shopping. For herself she got dried pasta and a bag of apples. For the party she got crisps, dip, mixed nuts and fruit cider - all for less than the probation park shop, Hermione thought bitterly. She had about 60 pence in change and she pocketed it like a prize before ducking around a corner to bewitch the shopping bags to be light as a feather before disapparating. 

She burst into the caravan with the swagger of victory and put down her bags on the counter. 

Malfoy frowned as if confused, “You bought all of that?”

“From the muggles,” said Hermione with a sanctimonious smile. 

“Hm,” he hummed in response as he gingerly inspected the contents of the bags. She was pleased to see that he looked impressed. 

“I also found this, it was being thrown out,” she said, pulling out a dirty miniature plastic chair from one bag with a flourish, “I’ve shrunk it for now but I thought I’d repair and clean it and then just make copies of it so everyone has a place to sit on the grass.” 

“God, give you a project, Granger, and you’re revived once more. You’ve done well,” said Malfoy with a crooked smile.

“Thank you,” she answered primly, not wanting to allow herself to be seen enjoying his praise, “now come along.” 

“Come along for what?” he asked. 

“To set up!” she said, pulling his arm. 

She traipsed outside to their bland patch of bare grass where they discovered that Hermione could not gemino the dirty plastic chair inside of the park confines and so she stormed just outside of the gate muttering. She geminoed, enlarged and then thrust the chairs at Malfoy one by one through the gate that he could not cross for him to carry back to the garden. 

She watched him ferry the chairs, expecting him to bitch at her for the effort but he never did, which she found suspicious. 

“We could really use a table of some sort…” she sighed. 

“Oh, well,” he shrugged, “it is meant to be a party with a theme of poverty.”

She laughed ruefully and shook her head, “I can’t believe I let you talk me into it being themed.”

“I can’t believe Harry Potter is coming to my probation caravan for a party with my wife, Hermione Granger,” said Malfoy, looking confused by the prospect. 

“It’s Malfoy now, actually,” she pointed out, they caught each other’s eye and he smirked. 

“Don’t antagonise Ron tonight,” Hermione said, suddenly serious. 

“Fine. Don’t let Pansy rile you up,” he said in turn. 

“She wouldn’t. They’ll be here soon, time to get changed,” she said, heading back inside. 

“Into what?” asked Malfoy with a vague frown. 

“My poor person outfit,” she laughed.

“Aren’t you wearing it?” he asked, which she felt was uncalled for. 

*

The party was a strange success. The Goodgoyles arrived first bringing lavender gin and grapes on cocktail sticks which Draco eyed dubiously, they looked somewhat blue. The Longbottoms brought wine and popcorn. By the time the Potters, Notts, Weasleys and Weasleys had arrived, the party had divided into two separate groups which seemed to be mainly connected by Granger and Draco flitting between them - neither of their manners would let them ignore their duties as hosts and they found a camaraderie in it. The Potters had brought a portable radio along and tuned it to a muggle station which Potter and Granger seemed very pleased about. 

Draco wore his regular clothes, he was poor enough he reasoned, but he was pleasantly surprised to find out that Granger’s idea of a poor person outfit was her roughest pair of ripped jeans and a small stained white strappy top that he noticed clung to her figure. The more he drank the sickly sweet fruit cider she had bought, the more he was mesmerised by Granger’s top riding up to show her midriff, it was distracting. 

Daphne insisted loudly on dyeing Pansy’s hair back to its original shade and Draco thought he heard Pansy whimper with relief when it was no longer neon orange. Longbottom waited on Millie who kept giving the Slytherins long suffering looks whilst he brought her drinks and snacks. 

“Not been blasted into oblivion then?” asked Potter quietly when Draco went round to offer his guests drinks. 

“Not yet,” he inclined his head to him with a smile, “but you know how she is.”

They both looked over at Granger who was dancing near the radio with Weasel King. Weasley was completely ignoring Eloise who didn’t seem to mind and was deep in conversation with Luna. He spun Granger round, singing along to the song carelessly as she laughed, clearly tipsy. 

Draco felt a prickle of unwanted jealousy as he watched them. They were only dancing in a crowded area of their friends. It didn’t matter. She didn’t choose Weasley, she chose him and yet Weasley’s hands were around her waist. Draco felt an irrational surge of irritation and his smile grew tight. 

Potter must have sensed danger because he got up to sing too, completing the golden trio and diffusing Draco’s moment of discomfort. Draco caught Granger’s eye and nodded for her to come over. 

“I don’t want you dancing with Weasley,” said Draco quietly, hating that he was even daring to have this conversation. He could hear how petulant he sounded. 

Granger laughed as though this was the funniest thing she had heard and it pierced through his pride, “And what makes you think I care what you want?” 

“I don’t want his hands on you,” he said, sounding churlish. He would never have said this to her sober and even in the moment he could feel that, but the words came tumbling out of their own accord. 

“It’s just Boyzone,” she said and then went on when Draco didn’t seem to understand, “the boy band? This music,” she gestured. 

When he didn’t react she continued, “I can do what I-“

“You argue and fight with me in private,” he whispered, “but outside, in front of people? In front of our friends? We present a united front. We’re the Malfoys.” 

He sounded like his father. He could see his father in his mind’s eye saying this to him as a child. It wasn’t enough that he looked like his mirror image but now he was parroting him too? They were the Malfoys, and yet they weren’t. The Malfoys he knew were formal, civil… and yet here he was half-drunk and wishing he could fight Weasel King. 

“Ok,” she mocked him, pulling a face and taking another sip of her drink. 

Draco tried to regroup, “This is going… well,” he gestured to the party. 

Luna had grabbed hold of Greg’s arm and was gesturing wildly to the night sky whilst he nodded uneasily. 

“Yes, yes, another brilliant Malfoy party, you must write your mother,” she said over one shoulder as Ginevra linked an arm in hers and swung her off to dance. 

He watched her disappear into their group of friends, curls bouncing, her laughter bright and lively. Her jeans hugged her hips and he thought about how different things could have been if they had been on the same side of the war. 

*

The night wore on, and before long it was just Hermione and Malfoy tidying up the last few things on the grass before making their way into the trailer as curfew went into effect.

“That was fun,” she said, stumbling up the stairs. 

She had always had trouble with stairs after a few too many drinks and Malfoy’s hand shot out to her hip as he steadied her. 

“Thank you,” she sighed as she made her way to her makeshift bed and took out her pyjamas. 

Hermione turned. Malfoy was still there, watching her. He had to be more than tipsy too but where she grew louder the more she drank, he had become quieter. 

“What?” she said in a stage whisper. 

His eyes roved over her but he said nothing. He looked at her like she was a puzzle he hadn’t worked out yet. 

“You have something rude to say about my outfit? Or my hair? Or my teeth?” she suggested with an eye roll. 

“No,” he shook his head almost imperceptibly. 

“Did I not behave in the accepted Malfoy way? Is that why you’re staring?” Hermione mocked, it was even easier to goad him after she’d been drinking.

She saw his eyes tear away from the hem of her shirt and look into her eyes as if he was considering what to say. 

“Oh,” she laughed derisively, “here, take a picture if you like, husband,” she flipped her top up with one hand, “it’ll last longer,” the glamour over her mudblood scar had worn off. 

Malfoy’s mouth fell open and she smirked as she watched his eyes travel over her breasts. She was tipsy enough not to care and bold enough to want to make him flinch. 

She flipped him off with the hand that held her top before yanking it back down and turning around to get undressed and into her pyjamas.

“Are you going to watch me get undressed too?” she called out sweetly over her shoulder, but he had gone by the time she turned back around. She felt smug, like she had won. She bet the pureblood girls didn’t have the nerve to do that. And he had left, without a word, no witty remark or rude comment. What had she expected? 

The next morning Hermione was not quite so smug. Her head pounded when Malfoy opened the curtains and she grimaced at the light. She heard him make a noise of amusement and the telltale sound of water boiling for tea. 

Last night had been a good idea, fun even, and it had definitely helped her out of her pity party. Things with Ron had felt more like their old friendship finally when there was no chance of them being together. The Slytherins had skulked in their own group of course but it had felt less uncomfortable and now there were little connections between them all whether they wanted there to be or not. 

She turned under her covers and watched Malfoy pour out tea. He cast his eye over her and smiled an arrogant smile, one eyebrow raised. Hermione froze and it all came flooding back to her. It was like little flash bulbs of embarrassment, frame by frame. His slack jawed shock. Her flippant drunken flashing of her nipples. Him unable to look away. Her drunkenly swaying slightly with a smirk. God, how mortifying. 

“Good morning, wife,” said Malfoy, flashing her a wicked smile, “tea?”

“Sure,” she mumbled, reaching for a jumper to pull on over her pyjamas and then sighing and abandoning this as he’d already seen her topless. 

“It’s just like old times, the Malfoy party in the papers,” he said lightly, setting down the tea on the dinette table, tossing his daily hate mail into the trash and straightening out the newspaper for her. 

Hermione’s brow furrowed and she got up at once, peering at the paper.

MALFOYS HOST MOCK POVERTY PARTY

There was a large photo of Ginny and her spinning around arm in arm laughing, Harry talking to Malfoy and the rest of their guests mingling. 

“Did you see someone taking photos?” she asked, studying Malfoy.

She had never gotten used to her celebrity status and the fact that it had now followed her here, to this rundown caravan park, was surreal and unsettling. Although, even she had to admit that as far as photojournalism went, the photograph was bound to get a reaction from the general wizarding public. The golden trio amidst former Death Eaters and other war heroes alike. Gryffindors with Slytherins, arranged marriages, richer to poorer, the celebrity and the infamy all intermingling amongst the plastic chairs she’d rescued. The best of British… and the worst. 

“No, but I bet it wasn’t a Prophet photographer, look there’s no one credited,” he pointed at the article, “I bet someone in the park sold the photo for money.” 

Hermione skimmed the article and scoffed immediately, “They think you’re pretending to be poor for a party… but you are actually poor?! And what do they mean you’re trying to acclimatise me from my muggle roots? My parents were always very comfortable!” 

Malfoy snorted with laughter, “I’m such a kind husband to you, Granger.”

“How are you finding the paper insulting me to be hilarious but yesterday you were all like ‘Malfoys have to stick together’, united front my arse,” she complained. 

“Malfoy’s stick together in public, it’s just you and I right now, so it’s allowed,” he grinned wolfishly, “Anything in that article about you flashing me your breasts?”

“No!” she retorted, as she felt her face flushing.

“Shame,” he smirked and took a sip of his tea.

Chapter Text

There was a knock at the door. It had been raining all day but Draco could hear the tiny fisted knock as clearly as if it had been imprinted on him from birth which… it sort of had been. He sighed and drew himself up to answer the door. 

Rainy days were the worst because if both he and Granger were home, there weren’t many places to be outside of the tiny tin can they reluctantly called their home. Granger was reading, as always. Predictably that morning, she had delved into her moth-eaten bag (that he doubted was even fashionable when she bought the thing, let alone now) and retrieved a new book. Tomorrow there would be another book, no doubt, and Draco had to admit that he wasn’t sure exactly what she kept in that bag but it seemed endless. He wanted to know what was inside of it but he was far too smart to give her the satisfaction of hexing him, and he had no doubts that the bag would hex him were he to rummage around in it. 

As she read, Granger would fidget. She’d start sitting up, slope to one side, lie on her stomach, put her legs up, put them down, twirl her hair in her fingers, bite an apple loudly or sip tea - all the while ignoring him. Today was no different. 

Draco opened the door and saw Sprig, this time with another elf, Fawn, hanging behind him and dancing uneasily, as if she was all too aware they were not meant to be there. He furrowed his brow. He missed his elves and he felt guilty that they had been freed and now suffered because of his poor choices.

“Stew, Master Draco! Stew!” said Sprig desperately, holding out a large container. 

He sighed unhappily, “Sprig… now isn’t a great time.” 

“Please, Master, Sprig worked hard over a hot stove,” pleaded the elf. 

“Sprig, I can’t, you’ll get me into trouble,” Draco hissed. 

“Master Draco is thinner! Sprig knows it,” the elf wailed with tears in his eyes.

“Stop it!” Draco waved his hands at the elf to make him shut up, “Fine fine, I’ll take the stew. I order both of you not to come back for at least two weeks, and I order you to enjoy your days off.”

He took the container and Sprig fell down to his knees with joy, throwing his arms around as much of Draco’s ankles as he could. 

“Don’t kiss my feet, it’s weird! Go, go!” he hissed, gesturing for the elves to leave which they did with a pop. 

He caught Granger watching him as he went to place the stew on the counter, her eyes wide with an amused delight. 

“Don’t fucking start,” he warned her sullenly. 

“You have a lot of issues,” she raised both eyebrows, now turning back to her book. 

“Yeah and you’re my biggest one,” he muttered, but even to him the insult felt lacking. 

It was close enough to lunch time and at least he could destroy the evidence of a secret elf visit, he reasoned, as he served himself some stew. He eyed Granger begrudgingly before serving her some too and placing it by her side. 

“Eat something, Granger, the only time you don’t have something smart to say is when your mouth is full,” he said witheringly. 

Again, she didn’t rise to the bait but merely flashed him a smug smile and he wondered if he was losing his touch. 

* 

It was a Wednesday and usually that meant Malfoy would be ‘working’ at the charity shop to ‘repay the community’ but today he had been excused. It was what Hermione had been dreading. In fact, after the party, she assumed it was what they both had been dreading because Pansy and George had already had their fertility visit with the Ministry-appointed healer and in a word, it sounded brutal. They had both regaled the party with the tale of their visit, and it had been the one point in the whole night where they had all been united there on the grass, listening with an awed horror. 

She could tell that Malfoy was, at the very least, tense about the thought of having someone in their home. He had gotten up early and cleaned the trailer thoroughly. She could have cleaned it much faster with her wand but he didn’t even bother to ask her and she didn’t bother to offer. 

He didn’t even ask her to get up, he cleaned around her as if she wasn’t there, stuffing her books into cupboards with a few he left on the nightstand in his bedroom, along with her suitcases which he moved under his bed, as if she was sleeping in the same room as him. Normally she would have protested him touching her things, but for one of them to be doing something, anything, in preparation for their unwanted guest seemed to steady her nerves. 

“Are you trying to make them think I already sleep with you?” she asked mockingly as she finally got up and he whisked her blankets away, folding them into the closet in his room. 

“They don’t need to know all the details of our personal lives, it’s private,” Malfoy said, looking as though he found the intrusion distasteful.

“My clothes are still in the suitcase,” she pointed out, as he gestured for her to change the bench seat back to its usual form with her wand. 

“Go and get dressed in the bedroom,” he chivvied her along. He was lacking his usual bite today. 

He rammed the pocket door shut behind her in his bedroom and she felt the sudden strangeness of being in Malfoy’s bedroom alone. Of course, it really should have been her bedroom, if he was a gentleman. He had offered for her to sleep there next to him on the first night but not alone. The room smelled of him. Like forests after rain, old books and something warm and clean but masculine. It smelled annoyingly good. 

At ten minutes before the healer was due to arrive, they sat on the bench seat, closer than usual as if rehearsing to leave space for their guest and Malfoy drummed his fingers on the wall which he stopped after Hermione gave him a look. 

“No wait - you sit here,” he said, nudging her to swap places so that he would sit between her and the healer. 

“Why?” she asked, brow arched but he didn’t answer. 

Was he going to protect her in case the healer lost their mind and launched themselves at her? Was he hoping to be imposing? 

Finally, the healer arrived, exactly on time and their pre-scheduled torture commenced. 

Immediately, Malfoy was coping poorly when the healer asked Hermione to plot the dates of her last menstrual cycles on his calendar. 

“Is it really necessary to ask my wife that?” he said, sounding insulted. 

“It’s the main piece of information we require to discover Mrs Malfoy’s fertile days, so I would say yes, it is,” said Healer Rutherford patiently. 

As Hermione reluctantly plotted down the last dates, Malfoy busied himself with removing non-existent lint from his clothes.  

“These dates here are your most fertile days,” said the healer, making a copy of a list of dates which he handed to Hermione. 

“So, these are the days we’re allowed to have sex?” asked Malfoy, still looking thoroughly uncomfortable.

“You can have sex with your wife on whatever days you would like, Mr Malfoy, but these are the days that have the greatest chance of her becoming pregnant,” said Healer Rutherford with a cheeky grin that he quickly retracted at the look of death Malfoy gave him. 

“And we have to have sex on these days or it’s just advised?” asked Hermione, passing the list to Malfoy to distract him. 

“I don’t want to say that you have to have sex on these dates but if you are found to not be making any real attempts to conceive children over a long period of time then you could be found to be in breach of the Marriage Act and you do at the very least need to consummate your marriage before two months have passed,” Healer Rutherford sounded as though he had had this conversation repeatedly. 

“The Ministry can tell?” Malfoy furrowed his brow. 

“They can,” said the healer simply, “if attempts are being made to conceive with no results there are tests we can run on you, Mrs Malfoy-“

“My wife does not require any tests to be run,” said Malfoy sharply, the volume of his voice rising. 

Hermione pressed a hand gently on Malfoy’s forearm, concerned that he could escalate, and he stilled, taking a breath. 

“Of course. I was only speaking to allay any concerns you may have. It’s natural for couples, especially arranged couples to worry,” finished the healer tactfully. 

“Now, you know that the Ministry requirement is for two children to be born of your union, but we’ll focus on just the one for now,” the healer laughed at his own joke and Malfoy turned back to give Hermione a look that indicated he was suffering greatly. 

Healer Rutherford cleared his throat, “We have been recommending lust potions for our arranged couples which has seen great success-“

“My wife and I do not require a lust potion,” Malfoy said, cutting across the healer, his tone sharp as a knife. Hermione tried not to look surprised at this but she was. Why would Malfoy not want a lust potion? Or was this just for show?

“Of course,” nodded the healer, “but please know if you would like a lust potion or a fertility potion that could make twins more likely-“

“I don’t want to encourage the chance of twins,” said Hermione, her voice sounding unnaturally high. She imagined running after two Malfoys in miniature in the cramped trailer. 

She felt Malfoy’s hand close over the top of hers, still resting on his forearm and felt his reassurance. He wouldn’t let that happen to her. 

“I understand, Mrs Malfoy, I only mention it because some witches are eager to increase the chances of multiple births in order to get back to work or to divorce their arranged partner,” the healer gave Hermione a courteous nod. 

“No multiples, no potions of any kind,” said Malfoy, not releasing her hand. He had a commanding air of superiority which usually she despised, but she was all too glad of today. 

“Do you have any questions for me?” asked Healer Rutherford. 

Malfoy looked at Hermione, who shook her head, before saying, “I think we have all that we need.”

Malfoy let go of her hand only to stand and shake the healer’s hand before politely leading him out of the trailer. It felt nice to let someone else lead things for once. 

When he sat back down next to her, neither of them seemed able to look at the other. Draco reached over for her hand and held it for a while in silence before the spell was broken and he announced he was going for a walk. 

As the door shut behind him, Hermione couldn’t help but imagine how that meeting would have gone with Ron by her side instead of Draco and once again congratulated herself on a decision well made. He could be relied upon at least. For some things. 

* 

By the time Draco had gotten back from his walk, Granger was gone. He made himself a cup of tea but abandoned it when he heard movement on the roof and guessed where she had gone. 

By the time he hoisted himself up to sit next to her, he already regretted it. Granger was clearly having some sort of lone reflective time that he had not been invited to and she stared off at the sky away from him. He said nothing and allowed his mind to drift off watching their neighbours walking around the probation park, before she finally spoke. 

“In my first year I thought that I was born to be the Minister for Magic,” she said, as if she was admitting something she thought he would laugh at. 

“I could see that,” reasoned Draco. 

The sun had turned the sky a beautiful pale orange as the afternoon wore on and Granger stared hard into the horizon. 

“Later, when it was clear that couldn’t happen, I thought that I was born to die at Harry’s side,” she sounded completely emotionless at the past terror of their youth, but her thumb skated absentmindedly across the patch of skin where he knew her scar was glamoured. 

A discomforting feeling turned in Draco’s stomach, as he thought back to the drawing room at the Manor. The one he had planned to completely demolish once he bought back his old home.

“And now what is it that I was born to do? By the time I’m allowed back to work, I’ll have lost so much progress on my career. And I’m not even sure I want to work at the place that did this to me… us,” she corrected herself, giving him a cursory glance before staring back into the orange sky, “I’ve lost my purpose. Now what was I born to do?” 

She sighed and turned to him, waiting for an answer.

“Now… you were born to have my children,” he gave her a gentle smile to show he was teasing her but there was truth in it. 

Granger must have thought so too because a pink blush crept up her face and her mouth moved as though searching for a response. A quick flickering thought of Hermione pregnant with his child flashed into his consciousness but he pushed it down. That was too much to consider right now. 

“You’re far too intelligent to remain idle for long… whatever’s next will come to you,” he said. 

He let a moment pass in silence before taking his opportunity to ask something that had been on his mind since their match had been made, “Why didn’t you match with someone else before the act?”

“For all of the reasons you used to insult me with I assume,” she answered with a slight roll of her eyes, “Too bossy, too know-it-all, working too hard, wrong blood status, not cool enough,” she listed. 

“I’m serious,” he pressed her. 

“So am I,” she turned to face him. 

He knew that couldn’t be the reason, she was of a different calibre. 

“I would never have been brave enough to try to make a woman like you be interested in me,” he said, and he wasn’t lying.

Granger rolled her eyes again but said nothing. 

“I really thought that you and Weasley-“ he started.

“Ron and I were like two pieces of a jigsaw that never quite fit. We were forced together by everyone else that was convinced we should,” she sighed, “Let’s go in. I can hear the Rowles arguing.” 

And that was the subject changed. Draco could tell that Granger regretted their conversation because when he got back to his tea that had been forgotten inside and asked Granger if she could warm it up using her wand, she warmed it so hot it scalded his mouth. 

“Do you want a charm for blisters?” she asked him sweetly as he swore profusely. 

“No,” he glowered, tipping the rest of the tea down the sink. 

“Now, why do you suppose she did that?” Draco asked Greg after recounting the whole story to him the next day at the charity shop. 

They were sorting bins of old robes in the back room and Greg gave him a sideways glance. 

“What was I supposed to do differently?” Draco pressed.

He had thought it was going well, the fertility appointment and the talk they had had afterwards but Granger seemed to think otherwise, judging by her attempt to melt his insides. 

“I’m not really the best at this sort of thing, Dre,” Greg said, looking uncomfortable. 

“Well, who else could I speak to about it?” he asked helplessly. 

He would have to wait to speak to Theo or Pansy, but even then, Pansy had a grudge against Granger and Theo seemed to have few issues with his own marriage to give him any sort of experience.

Millie wouldn’t care enough to weigh in. Longbottom and Mrs Goodgoyle were both clearly barking mad. 

He could ask his father, he supposed, but no visits were scheduled in the upcoming days. His advice was always horrible but at least he could gain some sort of clue of what not to do. 

Potter, of course, was not worth considering. Only a true emergency would ever compel him to open that can of worms. Weasley could only end in violence. 

“Maybe you could speak to…” Greg frowned and tilted his head to one side in thought, clearly struggling, “or there’s…? Hm.” 

Draco watched his old friend make the same expression he used to make every time he had to take notes in transfiguration. 

“Exactly,” Draco held up his hands in a shrug of defeat. 

Greg nodded to himself and seemed to resign himself to the fact that, for now, he was the best person to ask, “I don’t know? Maybe you should…?”

They worked in silence for a long stretch and Draco gave up expecting an answer, focusing instead on searching for size labels on robes from yesteryear. The first fertility date on the list was ticking ever nearer and Granger and he hadn’t discussed it any further, though he knew they would have to. 

Greg cleared his throat. He had reached his verdict, “Luna says that sometimes it’s hard to be vulnerable.”

Draco paused, blinking at him as Greg ducked his head down and continued to work in silence. 

Was that it? Had Granger felt too vulnerable? Was it too difficult to be vulnerable in front of him after all that they had been through?

He was unsure if Greg had arrived at such a good observation deliberately or by accident but it was definitely something to consider. 

Chapter Text

Fertile day crept up on them both before they knew it. Malfoy had been extremely and unexpectedly polite since she had blistered his mouth with scalding tea and Hermione had avoided him at all costs. In the morning on days he worked, she would pretend to sleep in before he left and time a walk or a visit to friends for when he got home so they passed like ships in the night. The weekends had been harder. 

Fertile day was a weekday and after Malfoy had left for the charity shop, Hermione started her usual routine of making tea whilst she read through Malfoy’s hate mail. There were two letters today. One that complained at length that rehabilitating Death Eaters was a waste of time, and the second had individual letters cut from the prophet that read ‘dOnT fuCK tHaT dIRty MuGGle bitCH’. Hermione scoffed and saved that one to show Malfoy later because for him, it was practically fan mail - and so fitting for the date. 

They hadn’t discussed fertile day at all which was both a relief and nerve-wracking. Any sort of intimate discussion with Malfoy made her feel immediately awkward, that was a given, but she hated not having a plan. If they didn’t consummate the marriage within the two-month mark, they could be prosecuted. 

When Malfoy got home that evening, he looked surprised to find her waiting for him at the dinette. 

“Hi,” he said cautiously, hanging up his cloak. 

“Hi, how was work?” she asked politely. 

“Fine,” he said sitting across from her, one eyebrow raised as if this was a test. 

“Good,” said Hermione and she hesitated before sliding him the hate mail she’d saved. 

His eyes skimmed the note and his lips quirked looking irritated. 

“An auspicious sign,” she joked and his eyes flickered to hers. 

“It’s your fertile day,” Malfoy stated neutrally. 

“Yes. Are you wishing you’d agreed to have the lust potion?” she tried again for humour to diffuse the awkwardness. 

“We don’t need lust potion,” he answered curtly.

“Why?” she asked. 

“I’ve never not been attracted to you, Granger, I just didn’t like you,” he looked reluctant to be having this conversation. 

“What? What do you mean?” Hermione was starting to feel disoriented, she was suddenly aware that she’d been holding her breath and focussed on breathing normally. 

“I mean I’ve always found you attractive… um… sexually,” he was studiously looking out of the window as he spoke, “Do you like the way that I- I mean… physically-?” 

“Yes,” she answered too quickly. It was true, it was widely accepted that Malfoy was handsome, his looks had never been the problem. 

He nodded, “So, I don’t think that we need…” he looked back at her, “you know…”

Hermione nodded. 

“So… today?” he prompted. 

She nodded again and swallowed. Malfoy stood and she mirrored him, the silence in the trailer was deafening. 

She looked up at him, inches between them in the crowded walkway of the trailer, “Should we have dinner firs-“

But he’d caught her face in his hand and kissed her, pressing her against the counter and sending plates crashing down onto the floor. 

Hermione went to turn to look at the damage but Draco shook his head slightly as he kissed her and pulled her closer. He slid his tongue around hers, a hand snaking down her body. 

He pulled the hem of her shirt up and pulled them towards the bedroom, still kissing her, as he removed it. At one point her foot caught on the doormat and she would have come crashing down to the floor had he not dragged her to him. In her nervousness, her fingers undid half of his buttons and the rest she accidentally pinged off onto the floor. She saw Draco wince as he stood on one after kicking off his shoes. 

They stumbled into the bedroom, still tangled in each other, mouths and hands working fast. He reached past her to drop her wand on the bedside table at the same moment she reached into his waistband and were both startled as the lamp crashed to the floor.

“Drac-“ she started. 

“Leave it,” he murmured against her lips, already pulling her back into him.

He pulled at her underwear and it ripped but she didn’t care. She barely registered the sound as he guided her down onto his bed, his hands skimming her thighs.

Draco kissed her again, slower this time but it was all-consuming. She felt his hand run between her thighs, two fingers sliding through her slickness, testing, coaxing and she felt herself clench. She bit back a moan, and her legs opened wider for him without thinking.

He traced his thumb over her clit and she gasped. Her back arched into him as his ring brushed against her. She felt its warm metal drag over her skin as he slipped a finger inside her, then another, curling them just so. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, she could feel the slightly raised skin of the runes on his tattoo from Azkaban. 

Hermione’s breath turned ragged, her chest rising and falling. Was she even breathing? She didn’t need to cum like this, she couldn’t wait. She needed him inside her and she pressed her hips to his. 

“Draco,” she whispered and he seemed to groan with relief. 

He positioned himself over her and she could feel how hard his erection was at her entrance. He pushed in slowly and Hermione whimpered breathily as she felt the stretch, full and deep.

His breath hitched and he held still, just for a moment, whilst he searched her out and their eyes met. The intimacy was so intense, so raw, that Hermione couldn’t look away but nor could she stand to keep his gaze. He kissed her lips softly and then he started to move. The rhythm was steady, each thrust deliberate, dragging friction and heat from where they met. She moaned, quiet at first, then louder as his thumb found her again.

She couldn’t stop the way her hips chased his. Couldn’t stop the way her body betrayed her, needing more, needing him. 

She buried her face in his neck and cried out when he changed the angle, when he hit just right. He inhaled sharply at the sound and sped up. She was already close and edging closer. His hips slammed into hers and she gasped for breath.

His rhythm lost pace as his control left him and was replaced by his want for her. She reached her peak, climaxing as she looked into those grey eyes, her breath stuttering as she gave herself to him fully. Draco’s grip tightened as he panted and came, thrusting deep inside of her and moaning loudly. 

They lay there like that for a moment, eyes wide, breathing fast before he moved to one side of her and drew her into him, kissing her hair. 

As they caught their breath, Hermione could feel his fingers roving her body almost lovingly and he held her. She couldn’t believe that they had done that. She shut her eyes tightly. She had slept with Draco Malfoy and now he was holding her in his bed and she could feel his fingers grazing gently down her stomach. She could feel wetness between her legs which were still entwined with his.

What was she doing? Why was she cuddling him afterwards? They’d been forced to marry and consummate and now that they had she was cosying up with the man who hated her? He still hated her, she was just there. A body. And she had stopped him from doing any foreplay, what must he think of her? 

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder and she flinched. She felt his hold loosen. He sat up quickly and edged away from her. Suddenly the thought of having a baby with a man who despised her was too overwhelming. She reached a shaky hand over for her wand and tried to cast a contraception spell but her magic fizzled out and she looked at Draco, her mouth half open. He placed a palm gently over her lower abdomen and she felt herself flush hot momentarily. 

“Of course, you learned to do that wandlessly,” she said, half impressed and half scornful. 

He wasn’t listening, his wide eyes were looking around the room and into the main room of the trailer. 

* 

They had wrecked the trailer. Draco looked around the bedroom at their ripped clothing and his strewn buttons. Fragments of the cheap plastic lampshade rested across the bedside table that he had meticulously emptied that morning in an effort to make his bedroom more neutral for Hermione. 

He got up, wincing as he stepped on a piece of lampshade and gingerly pulled on a clean t-shirt and underwear. Hermione scourgified them both and the wreckage was all that remained as evidence. He held out another t-shirt to Hermione which she accepted. It was long on her, covering the tops of her thighs. 

He cringed at the broken china scattered across the floor and one of his shoes was in the shower. 

“Do you mind if we don’t mention this,” he gestured to the caravan, “in our next Ministry check-in?” 

“Mm,” said Hermione, pulling the t-shirt lower over her thighs and nudging the doormat back into place with one foot.

He pushed down the mental image of her being bare underneath his t-shirt and the fact that he had just been inside her and said, “Maybe we don’t tell people about… they might think-,” he sighed, “let’s just tell people it was… adequate,” he said, wincing. 

She nodded and the plates leapt back together again and stacked themselves in the sink with a flick of her wand. 

They both stared at the plates for a moment and he scratched the back of his neck, unsure of what to do next. 

“I’ll repair the rest,” she said, turning back to the bedroom. 

“I’ll put the kettle on,” said Draco with a shrug. 

After righting the trailer, she sat at the dinette, still wearing his t-shirt, and he poured out two cups of tea. He was very aware of her bare legs in the corner of his eye. He forced himself not to look but failed almost instantly. The cup of tea shook slightly in his hand and he put it down to make himself get a grip. 

Sex with Hermione had been incredible. Definitely the best of his life, it had never felt like that before. He hadn’t wanted to come down from the high until she practically recoiled from him and he remembered the truth; she hated him. He’d hardly even started with any foreplay after she’d dismissed it, how rude she must think he was, he should have insisted. 

Against his better judgment, he asked, “Is it normally like that for you?” 

“No,” she answered, “was it for-“

“No,” he agreed, looking worried as he sipped his tea, “Do you think it’s the marriage bond?” 

“It can’t be,” she shook her head, “Why offer us the lust potion?”

He hummed in agreement, she had a point.

“Well… we’re all consummated,” he announced to no one in particular. 

“If we want to start t-trying,” she stumbled over the last word clumsily, “then we should probably stick to the next dates on the parchment.” 

He nodded and she announced that she was going to shower. He would get to do that with her again. Most likely multiple times. 

“You know, you are still welcome to sleep in the bedroom with me, if you want,” he called awkwardly through the bathroom door. 

He could hear a noise of acknowledgement through the sound of the shower spray but acknowledged or not, Hermione slept on the enlarged bench seat once more that night. Of course she did. 

* 

“I wore his t-shirt afterwards,” Hermione groaned into a cushion from Ginny and Harry’s overstuffed couch that she lay across like she was at an old-fashioned psychiatrist’s office. The cushion, they had agreed, was necessary to counterbalance the shame spiral. It was the only way she could tell her old friend the gory details. God, the t-shirt, so cringeworthy. 

“That’s nice, isn’t it? That he even offered? The Malfoy we used to know would have made you do it from behind and kicked you out of bed without letting you cum… you did cum, didn’t you?” said Ginny leaning forwards. Harry was mercifully out. 

“Yes… and it was mortifying,” complained Hermione. 

“Why?! You’re supposed to cum,” Ginny reasoned. 

“I was so loud and I came so hard and afterwards when I realised how I must have sounded it was just… embarrassing. And I feel angry that the best sex of my life so far is with him. And then I got into my head about how he’s only with me because he’s being forced-“ 

“Well, so are you!” Ginny interrupted. 

“But he hates me!” Hermione wailed, “I had amazing sex with someone who hates me, yet he can just flip it on and off like a switch. It’s so awful!” 

She removed the cushion for fresh air, “And then I don’t feel ready for a baby yet even though I know I’m running out of time and I’m just ruining this one chance we took to conceive for both of us, but I went to do the charm and of course, the sodding park blocked my spell!”

Ginny gasped. 

“-And… and- Malfoy performed it for me wandlessly,” Hermione stuffed the pillow back onto her face miserably. 

“Oh, that’s smooth,” nodded Ginny sounding impressed, “Oh!” she added, realising that this meant that Draco had likely had a lot of need for this particular charm. 

“He said I could sleep in his room with him, like it was no big deal,” she huffed into the cushion. 

“I thought you already were?! Where do you sleep?” asked Ginny, sounding mildly outraged. 

“On the built-in bench sofa, I enlarge it each night before I sleep,” she muttered. 

“Hermione… I know this isn’t what you were looking for but I don’t see you joining those protests outside of the Ministry with that Florrie Hayworth or sleeping outside Kingsley’s office like I thought you’d be trying to. If your plan is to make the best of it then maybe you should sleep in the same bed?” Ginny grimaced at her own advice. 

“You wouldn’t understand… I just can’t,” Hermione shook her head. She hated that she wanted to. She couldn’t curl up into that man’s arms and pretend he was just a convenient body, not when it was him. 

“Maybe you could start small… hold out the olive branch? Cook him dinner?” which was easy for Ginevra to suggest, Hermione thought, having grown up under the careful culinary tutelage of Molly Weasley. Whereas Hermione had grown up with her busy working parents buying up half of Marks & Spencer’s pre-prepared food section. 

“Maybe…” Hermione tilted her head, trying to picture what she could feed Draco. Cooking to impress a man felt horribly unfeminist and bordering on desperate, and it was then that Hermione realised that this was the perfect description of her life at present. It would have to do. 

* 

Draco sighed as he walked down the path to their caravan. It was now ‘theirs’ rather than ‘his’, since Hermione spent more time in it than he did, except for when he was actually there, of course. A few weeks into their cohabitation, Marcus Flint had remarked that he saw her leaving just before Draco arrived home each day and although Draco had indicated as a reply that this pleased him, he was actually mildly insulted. 

He had tried to be polite since the party. She hadn’t always made it easy but he had been making an effort. If purebloods didn’t divorce, then Malfoys certainly didn’t and besides, there had always been something interesting about Hermione Granger - she just wasn’t interested in him. Which was why he was all the more surprised that night when she was actually home. 

“Hi, Mal- Draco,” Hermione greeted him with a smile. 

“Err…” he looked around the trailer cautiously. 

“I made dinner,” she gestured unnecessarily to the dinette with the table set for dinner. 

“Oh! That’s kind of you,” he said. 

He felt nervous as he sat down, as if a bomb was about to drop. What was she playing at? She had a gentle smile on her face and had made some sort of potato bake dish. Why now? Why not yesterday after they had slept together? 

“This looks nice,” said Draco tentatively. 

Hermione had dressed nicely and braided her hair to one side. 

“I thought maybe it would be nice to have a meal that wasn’t toast, although I know you really like toast,” she joked. 

“I just don’t know how to make much else,” he admitted with a grin. 

Neither did she, it turned out. The potatoes were burnt on the outside but also raw on the inside. The cheesy sauce was tepid and had small balls of flour in it that seemed to burst unpleasantly in Draco’s mouth and to top the dish off there were sprinkles of raw carrots that he unexpectedly crunched into. 

“Is it good?” Hermione looked up at him expectantly. 

He couldn’t decide whether this was a trap up until this point but her genuine smile and enquiry about his food made him think that she really didn’t know that her cooking was terrible. He missed his house elves more than ever. 

“Mmm,” he answered, nodding with his mouth half full, “It’s good, thank you.”

She sighed with happiness and then launched into a rapid account of her day and visit with Ginny. It was the most she had voluntarily spoken with him ever, she scarcely drew breath. Is this what she was like unguarded? Happy? 

“How was work?” she paused. 

The spotlight was suddenly on him and he forced himself to swallow another horrible mouthful, “It was fine, uneventful. Greg scarred me mentally.”

“How?” Her fork was suspended next to her lips and Draco looked down, away from them. 

“I asked if he and Luna had consummated their marriage yet and I suppose in a way, they had but er… the other way round?” he was trying hard not to laugh. 

“I’m not following you,” she shook her head slightly. 

“She consummated him,” Draco smirked. 

Hermione looked dumbfounded, “What?” she tilted her head to one side. 

“They had sex in a way which would not result in conception, let’s say that,” he answered. 

Hermione’s hands flew to her mouth.

Draco laughed delightedly, “I knew you would be horrified.”

“She pegged him?! Oh my god,” she was blushing furiously and Draco couldn’t help but enjoy the flush of pink creeping up her cheeks. 

“Did you know her hobbies included-“ he had cracked up laughing again and had to recover, “her hobbies-“ Draco drew a deep breath, “her hobbies included smoking weed and bondage?” 

“Did they really?!” Hermione’s eyes were wide. 

“Nah, I’m just fucking with you,” he grinned and then stopped as he bit down into raw potato. 

Chapter Text

Hermione was waiting for him as he stepped off the bus from work, she had that look - like she was a woman with a mission. She was holding a rolled copy of the Daily Prophet which she brandished like a weapon. 

“Malfoy, did you see today’s paper?” she started at once. 

Draco turned back and gave a nod to Greg and Millie before gesturing for Hermione to walk beside him. 

“No, go on,” he prompted her. 

Hermione straightened out the front page, “They’re releasing Yaxley.”

“Corban?!” Draco grabbed the top of the newspaper and tugged it closer to read. 

“No, Wolston,” said Hermione, shaking her head and her curls with it. 

“Oh, I was going to say…! Well… and?” he looked at her. 

“And he’s going to be living here!” complained Hermione. 

What was one more enemy on their doorstep at this point, he thought. Wolston had been rather enthusiastic as a Death Eater though, far more enthusiastic than required, actually. 

“Oh. Well… that’s not so surprising. All of his major crimes lacked any evidence,” Draco grimaced as they reached the trailer and he held the door open for her. 

“Why no evidence?” she frowned and stopped in the doorway to turn and look at him. Her brown eyes seemed startlingly close. 

“Dead bodies can’t speak,” he shrugged and ushered her through, “you’ll be fine, he won’t go near you.” 

Hermione scoffed as though she doubted him. Her arms were crossed and resting nearly under her breasts and Draco had to turn away. 

“Why not ask Potter to cast protection charms around the caravan if you’re worried?” he offered as he hung up his cloak. 

“Hm,” she hummed as if she might, “anyway… it was all just a diversionary tactic.”

“For what?” he asked sharply. 

“All the couples who are in the age range of the Marriage Act but were already married? The women had their jobs taken away, the same way it happened to Luna and me,” Hermione bristled and Draco could tell that now was the time to pretend to be outraged. 

“I can’t believe it!” he took the paper from her to flick through to the story concerning this news several pages back, straightening it out on the dinette table and sitting to examine it. 

He thought his acting was perhaps too convincing as Hermione launched into more of the story with increased moral outrage. 

“And then Ginny owled me, and you can imagine she’s upset, so that’s why Luna and I will be going round to the Potters’ tonight,” she finished.

“Sorry, why are you going there?” he asked, realising he had missed some of the story. 

“Because Ginny is upset, she got let go by the Holyhead Harpies - the whole team has been let go. Obviously, none of those women have had two children yet; they’re in their prime!” Hermione tutted as she folded the paper back up. 

“Right! Right,” Draco nodded. 

“Oh your elves visited earlier,” she said, grabbing her cloak from the hook. 

Draco sat up straight, “What? Why?”

“There were 5 of them this time and they were crying and holding this,” she passed him a scrap of newspaper that had been ripped out from the copy of the Prophet that had photos of their party in it, “and they kept saying that they hadn’t realised I was their new mistress, and they were throwing themselves on the floor.”

“Oh god, I’m sorry, they don’t understand-“ said Draco. 

“I know, I know they don’t. That’s why I marched them all to the guard’s office and had them request via the Ministry to meet you for a lunch date,” she said matter-of-factly, turning to root around in the fridge. 

“What?! You did what?!” Draco froze, “What do you mean date?!”

“I mean they will come here and you can serve them lunch and they can visit with you,” she set down a container on the table. 

“Granger-“ he protested. 

What in the ever loving fuck was going on? Why would she think he or the house elves would want him to be serving them lunch? The elves would explode if he suggested such a thing. 

“Now, I’m off to Ginny’s. I made you chicken casserole for dinner,” she rapped the top of the container. 

“You did?” he asked stupidly. 

“It’s all set, you just heat it up when you’re ready,” said Hermione, 

“With the toaster?” Draco peered into the container. 

“Oh, my sweet summer child,” she tilted her head as if pitying him, “in the oven.” 

“How-?” he started, but she was already out of the door. The breeze of her departure may as well have been a tornado. 

Draco eyed the oven dubiously and flicked the switches on and off before giving up and trying a forkful of the casserole lukewarm. Immediately, he spat out a piece of raw chicken and then dry heaved. 

Was she still fucking with him? She seemed so genuine and pleased with her efforts to feed him, there was no acerbic smile that she usually wore when she was fucking with him, but even so… there was no way he could keep eating like this. Was it a prank? What if it wasn’t a prank and the food she had made for him was her best work? Fuck. 

*

The Potters’ house looked like a bomb had gone off. Kreacher was long gone and it always got like this when Harry was working overtime at the Ministry because Ginny was not a cleaner. This was a fact her mother knew all too well as Molly would periodically visit and clean the house from top to bottom to preserve the domestic harmony of her youngest child. It had clearly been a little while and the chaos of the house seemed to reflect Ginny’s mood. 

“My whole career! Down the drain!” Ginny moaned, tear-stained, “So I can just pump out babies like my mother!”

This was a train of thought Hermione knew all too well but she had never asked Ginny how she felt about the number of children the Weasley family had. Hermione said nothing but topped up everyone’s wine glass to the brim.

“It’s an injustice,” Luna nodded, she was stretched out on the floor. 

“To all of us! And Harry and I were thinking of trying for a baby soon, but it just seems so bad when that option is taken away from you and it’s forced!” Ginny brought the glass to her lips and then stopped. 

“I’m sorry, I’m complaining about the exact same thing that’s already been forced upon you like I’m the only person that exists,” she shook her head, swiping her cheeks with her sleeve. 

“You’re still allowed to be upset by it, it’s a shitty circumstance,” sighed Hermione. 

“At least I have Harry. I can’t imagine going through this with-“ Ginny trailed off and looked to Luna and then Hermione. 

“Malfoy is trying and so am I, it’s just baby steps,” said Hermione. 

Baby steps to what end? They were being more civil, perhaps this was as good as it would get. A polite existence where they bickered every now and then. Still an improvement on their school days. 

“Draco often asks Gregory’s advice about relationships and I think it makes Gregory reflect more on our own relationship. He’s so thoughtful,” Luna smiled. 

Hermione and Ginny gave each other an incredulous look while Luna answered the door for the pizza delivery. 

“Thoughtful?!” sniggered Ginny while Hermione did an impression of an ape thinking which they whisper-laughed to until Luna returned and their faces adopted a painfully neutral expression. 

“What advice has Malfoy asked Goy-Greg for?” asked Hermione curiously. She wasn’t sure whether to be irritated at Malfoy for sharing their personal business or impressed that he cared enough to ask for advice to improve it. 

“Oh, just trivial things in passing, you know, like we all do,” Luna gestured to the three of them and passed around the pizza. 

“So it’s going well with Greg?” Ginny looked skeptical. 

Hermione had a flashback to what Malfoy had said about the pegging and took a deep sip of her wine to keep from showing her expression. Perhaps if she drank enough she could drown the mental image. 

“His closed-mindedness is improving. I said that the quest for knowledge is realising that you know nothing and he was so open to that idea. He said ‘that’s me, I know nothing’. And really from there he’s just been really interested in hearing about new theories,” Luna smiled as though she had accomplished something beautiful and Hermione turned the laugh that bubbled up inside of her into a delicate cough. 

Ginny had her mouth clamped firmly together and she nodded and hummed encouragingly. 

“You know, his hobbies included spending time with childhood friends and existentialism,” Luna added. 

“Um, what?” snorted Ginny, who was clearly unable to stay diplomatic for much longer. 

“That’s what it said,” Luna shrugged.

“So what are you going to do? Will I see you in the news joining the picket lines?” asked Hermione, steering the conversation back to the present issue. 

Ginny shook her head, “I don’t like it, but we do need to do something about our population. If we somehow got things overturned… what then? The problem is still there.”

This was the crux of the matter and they all drank deeply. Hermione knew deep down that she would have been more likely to protest the matches, the career loss, the babies, everything, if it didn’t mean succeeding would call things off with Malfoy. She wasn’t ready to do that and she buried this shameful idea under wine. There was a connection there - however much it scared her, however much she hated it - it existed. 

*

Draco was just drifting to sleep - on the cusp really - but annoyingly he kept starting awake. Hermione wasn’t back home yet. It was past curfew but she wasn’t a probationer so he didn’t know what that meant and he couldn’t quite rest without knowing she was in. Surely she wouldn’t have been allowed to stay at her friend’s house? At 10:40pm he had checked with Greg and Luna hadn’t returned from Ginevra Potter’s house either. Between 10:40pm and midnight he had paced the trailer but at midnight on the dot he had forced himself to bed on the principle that if he didn’t, Granger would have known that he was waiting for her and he couldn’t abide that. 

At 1:06am there was a loud crash followed by female giggles and he froze, listening. He heard the gate swing back on itself and the laughter getting closer. He sprang to life as if an electrical current had gone through him and opened the door in his pyjama bottoms. There on the steps to the trailer, half falling off was Hermione. She was clutching Luna around the neck for dear life with one arm and what looked like a porcelain leopard with a lampshade on its head in the other. Hermione was failing to suppress giggles whilst Luna laughed with a little whimper at the end as if the joke was so funny she was struggling. 

“My wife; the lush,” Draco rolled his eyes, reaching for Hermione but being presented with the leopard lamp. 

“His name is… is… Patrick!” Hermione whispered and she and Luna dissolved into giggles again. 

“Right,” Draco said, setting Patrick down on the counter and then reaching once more for Hermione, “I’ve got her,” he added to Luna who blew them both a kiss and set off for Greg’s trailer. 

“A good night was it?” he asked amusedly but Hermione was winding her arms around his neck and pulling him closer to her. 

“Carry me to bed, Malfoy,” she pouted. 

“To the sofa?” he clarified, removing her cloak for her. 

“My bed!” demanded Hermione, pointing as if she were a knight on a quest. 

“Err ok,” he steered her into the bathroom and waited outside for a time before realising she wasn’t going to brush her teeth herself. He took things over as she swayed from side to side and he got toothpaste foam everywhere. 

“Take me to bed,” she complained. 

“Right, yes,” he agreed and he half-carried her into his room. 

Her hands were all over his bare chest and her lips found his, “Hermione!” he protested but she pressed her tongue into his mouth and he moaned, kissing her back. 

“No, no, come on. You’ve been drinking and I can’t take advantage of you,” he said reluctantly, holding her back slightly. 

All he wanted to do was have a repeat of fertile day. Every cell in his body was screaming for it and she was being so forward. 

“There has to be some advantages to being married to you,” she snorted and climbed on top of him. 

Hermione brushed back his hair and sighed, “God, you’re so fucking handsome, it’s so unfair.”

“You’re drunk, Granger…” he reminded her and she shifted on top of him. 

“We’re married and you’re hard,” she replied rocking slightly and his breath caught in the back of his throat. 

“How about a compromise?” he offered, inspiration striking him. 

She tilted her head and he went on, “You let me go down on you?” 

“Sixty-nine,” she countered. 

“Deal,” said Draco, moving her off of him so he could pull his pyjama bottoms off. 

Her eyes looked triumphant in the dark and she began to pull off her own clothes which he helped her with. 

He was pretty certain that if Granger was sober she never would have agreed to this particular position, with her on top of him, but all thoughts of this disappeared as she enthusiastically sucked his cock into her mouth. 

“Fuck, Granger,” he groaned, “move this leg,” he pulled her so she was straddling his face and the view of her was glorious. 

“Why?” she asked sounding breathy and girlish. 

“So I can do this,” Draco licked firmly from her clit down to her entrance and heard her whimper. 

“Good girl,” he said holding her in place and sucking her clit. 

He felt her working her mouth down his length and almost came right away but he focussed his mind on her. He could feel her legs tensing as he sucked and licked. Occasionally he couldn’t help twitching or moaning his own pleasure as he enjoyed the wet heat from Granger’s mouth. 

They were both edging closer, he needed this, needed her and he sped up. The second he heard her cum, her high-pitched whimpering climax, he found his release and came, filling her mouth. 

The second it happened he wanted to tell her how much he loved and adored her, that he never wanted to let her go, that he wanted to meld their souls together. Instead, he took a deep shuddering breath and exhaled, pulling her up to him. 

“That was so good,” he breathed, wrapping his arms around her. 

“Draco,” she cuddled up into his chest and he kissed the top of her head, this time she didn’t flinch. 

He flinched when she pressed her cold feet onto him. 

“God, your feet are cold, you’re stealing all my warmth,” he said. 

“Just like I stole your magic,” Hermione jeered and mumbled “Mudbloods,” with a snicker of laughter. 

“Sleep,” he smiled fondly to himself in the dark. 

*

Hermione shifted as she woke up before going rigid. She was naked in Draco’s bed and he was still in it. For the second time, she had been drunk in front of Draco Malfoy and for the second time, she was completely mortified. She had practically thrown herself at him and not taken no for an answer. She had even bargained to let her blow him. How embarrassing. She was never drinking again. 

 All of her clothes and her wand were on a small set of drawers and she would have to get there naked and risk waking Draco or purposefully wake him by using the bed sheets to cover herself. She had never done the walk of shame and now the first time that she was, she would be going from one room to the next. 

He looked so beautiful asleep with his pale skin and his perfect nose. His dark mark was out, unglamoured and uncovered by long sleeves, it had faded and bled into his skin like white ink. She wanted to examine every inch of him up close like this but she knew she only had a limited amount of time to escape unseen. Silently, like her life depended on it, she moved the covers back in slow motion, sat upright and began to gradually edge her legs out of bed. 

“Good morning, Granger,” said a smug voice and she cursed inwardly. 

“Hello, Malfoy,” she sighed, closing her eyes shut tightly as she winced. 

“Going somewhere?” he asked. 

“Just- just going to the bathroom,” she said as a sudden excuse struck her and she turned round to face him. 

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” he smiled pleasantly. 

“Can you pass me my clothes?” she tried. 

“No, I don’t think that I can,” his smile never left his face and he let his eyes wander down her body. 

“Fuck off, Malfoy,” she groaned, covering herself and walking to the bathroom and grabbing her clothes on the way. 

“Looking good, Granger,” he called after her with a chuckle. 

When she had composed herself enough to finally dare to leave the bathroom, Malfoy was ferrying her things into his bedroom in his boxer shorts. 

“What are you doing with my things?” Hermione demanded. 

He didn’t reply and she followed him into the bedroom watching him set up her books and pyjamas on one side of the bed. 

“Are you moving me in?” she asked. 

“Yes,” he answered as he took out his clothes to get ready for work. 

“You didn’t ask!” she said. 

“No,” Draco agreed, “I didn’t,” he pulled his shirt over his head. 

Hermione eyed her cluster of things on the bedside table suspiciously, unsure of what to do next. The bed was more comfortable but this was all wrong. 

“Don’t overthink this, it’s time. And don’t even think of moving your things back or else I shall be sleeping with you on the couch,” he held a hand to his chest like a promise, “now, would you like some toast?” 

He waited, watching her for a beat whilst she made up her mind. “Yes.” She settled on and he nodded as if she had chosen correctly, leaving her alone. 

He popped his head back around into the bedroom holding the leopard lamp, “Where do I put this?” 

Hermione mouthed wordlessly before shrugging. 

Chapter Text

Draco stood at the checkout, leaning on the wall. It had been a quiet day with few customers or donations, which suited him fine. There was a big quidditch match on the radio and Draco assumed this was occupying most people’s time. On days like these, it was all Draco could do to watch the clock. 

Greg announced his presence by clearing his throat and leaning on the patch of wall next to Draco. 

“You two don’t need to do everything together you know, you’re like conjoined twins!” Mrs Carver laughed at her own joke as she walked past them, a quill taking inventory on an unfurled piece of parchment had been enchanted to follow her around. 

“I’m bagging things up for the customers,” grunted Greg. 

Draco watched her go through to the back room and then turned to Greg. “Granger is poisoning me.”

The previous night had been another home-cooked horror of a meal but Draco didn’t dare disturb their new equilibrium. It had been polite… quiet. 

“I just don’t get it, how can someone be so good at potions and so bad at cooking?” He shook his head. 

Greg grunted as if giving permission for him to go on. 

“At least when she really hated me I would cook for us both. But we fucked and now she’s torturing me with home cooking made with affection,” said Draco with a pained expression. 

“You’d cook?” Greg raised his eyebrows. 

“I mean… I’d cook toast,” Draco clarified, “Different types of toast, she didn’t usually want any - that’s beside the point. What have you been eating?”

“Fuck knows. Weird soup and stews she makes out of food she finds - at least I think it’s food.” Greg scratched the price tag off of an item absentmindedly, “I hallucinated for hours the other day, I don’t think the mushrooms Luna foraged were right.”

“If I confront Granger, it’s going to cause problems but if I don’t do something I’m going to get food poisoning. I don’t know what to do,” sighed Draco. 

“I don’t know what to do!” Greg shook his head. 

“We got invited to the Weasleys’ hovel for Sunday lunch at the weekend and I think she was expecting me to refuse but honestly I’m just so relieved at the thought of an edible meal,” admitted Draco. 

“Yeah, that’s lucky.” Greg touched his stomach with a bleak look on his face before switching gear, “You think she’s pregnant yet?” 

“Granger? No. You two?” Draco shook his head. 

“No. But I keep thinking about being a father. I don’t know what I’m doing.” Greg looked down at the thought. 

“None of us do,” Draco took a dramatic sigh, “I don’t think I’m ready to disappoint yet another human.” 

Sunday arrived before he knew it and the day of the Weasley lunch happened to coincide with the day that Wolston Yaxley arrived in the probation park. 

Draco and Hermione were waiting at 10:59am to leave the park and apparate to the Burrow when the bus bearing Wolston pulled up. He was drawn and his skin looked sallow, a souvenir from Azkaban, he looked smaller than he remembered him. He clutched a duffel bag which Draco knew to be the standard issue of items one received when they arrived at the trailers. 

His eyes darted around defensively. Draco thought he saw a flicker of recognition as Wolston’s eyes crossed over him but they locked onto Hermione next to him and flashed with hatred. 

“You fucking bitch.” he stepped towards her. 

Draco held an arm out in front of Hermione and moved in front of her. “Stay away from my wife, Yaxley,” he warned him. 

“May I remind you, Yaxley, that you are here to start probation? It will be your only reminder,” shouted a male guard descending the steps of the bus behind him. 

Wolston’s gaze dropped to the floor but he looked mutinous and they watched him and the guard shuffle off to the part of the park Draco and the others stayed away from. 

“Are you ok?” Draco asked Hermione. 

He was surprised to see she looked mildly amused. “You call me that under your breath every other day.”

“It’s different when I do it,” he said stiffly as they walked through the gates and Hermione held a hand out to him, “No one insults my wife to my face… even if she is a fucking bitch,” he added as they turned on the spot and he could have sworn he heard her scoff with indignancy. 

*

A sharp crack rent the air as they materialised into the dirt yard of the Burrow. Draco gave it a vaguely disgusted grimace, which he turned into a weak smile and a thumbs-up when he noticed Hermione observing him. 

“You promised to behave.” She pointed a finger at him. 

“I said nothing!” Draco held up his hands. 

Hermione regarded him mistrustfully before nodding that they should enter. Before they had set out, Draco had been a good sport, never once complaining as she picked out his most ‘approachable’ looking clothes for him to wear: some dark muggle jeans and a navy pullover. The blue made his grey eyes more noticeable and she tried to remind herself not to look at him more often than was normal in case she gave him an opening to make some sort of snarky remark. 

She rapped on the door before opening it and the Weasleys descended. Arthur shaking hers and then Draco’s hand cheerily, Molly giving each of them a fond hug which Draco froze into like a statue, Ginny dancing around them holding salt and pepper shakers like maracas in time to the wireless and Harry raising a hand from a corner armchair. 

Percy rose solemnly from his chair and presented Penelope whom he had been dating for many years and married before the matches were made. Ron gave Hermione a hug and then nodded with an “alright,” in Draco’s general direction. Eloise gave them both a cheery wave from the kitchen. George hugged Hermione and then went to hug Draco who shoved him off and lastly, there was Pansy. Pansy sat alone in a corner, her lips quirked at Draco in greeting and she completely ignored Hermione. 

“No Bill?” asked Hermione, guiding Draco to a seat that she had judged to be not too far away from her, nor in the line of fire. 

“He and Fleur are visiting her family,” said Molly, passing her knives and forks. 

Hermione began to set the table, and Eloise launched into conversation at top speed, “I’m so glad you could come though, Hermione, and Draco.” She glanced over at him and he nodded reluctantly, “Ron has been looking forward to - well we’ve all been looking forward to getting everyone together - and I’ve made so many dishes, haven’t I, Ron?” 

Ron started to answer but Eloise cut over him and Draco gave him a look that looked suspiciously like pity. “I’ve been cooking all week, Molly and I, I should say,” she tittered a giggle and then was suddenly quiet and flushed pink. 

“I’m sure everything you made will be just lovely.” Hermione nodded encouragingly. 

“Molly and I have been in and out of the garden and cooking up a storm, a very productive week if I do say so myself,” Eloise said enthusiastically. 

“I didn’t realise you were both living here.” Hermione looked round at Ron. 

“Couldn’t really stay in the flat anymore with George, it was big enough for two of us but not for four. We were deciding where to live and Mum invited us so…” He shrugged. Ron seemed uninterested in his mother and Eloise discussing the various foods they had made and wandered off to sit with Harry. 

Draco and Pansy seemed to be having another one of those silent conversations across the room. Pansy came and sat next to Draco wordlessly before throwing Hermione a look that clearly said ‘What are you staring at?’ and Hermione looked away. 

Draco and Pansy’s years of closeness were evident to her and she wanted to move as far away from them as she could, the discomfort was suffocating. She went to stand but Draco pressed her back into her chair with one hand on her leg. 

“Stay,” he said simply before turning to Pansy and indicating for her to go on. He didn’t remove his hand and it was the only thing keeping her tethered, she was like a balloon that might fly off were it not for Draco keeping her grounded. 

“The mother keeps being overly friendly to me, like we’re best pals,” she whispered. 

“Mmm.” Draco made a face. 

“And George has been tormenting me! I can’t eat anything in our house without it making me bark like a dog or turning my skin blue,” she said in a hushed tone, “and-“ 

Pansy stopped herself and glanced at Hermione as though she didn’t want to go on. It was too much. Hermione excused herself and went to sit with Harry and Ron, where she wouldn’t feel like an intruder. Draco watched her go with a grim look on his face before he and Pansy continued to speak in hushed tones. 

“How’s it going?” asked Harry cautiously. 

“Fine,” Hermione sighed, budging Ron along the sofa, “better than when we started I suppose. Eloise seems nice?”

“Yeah, nice,” nodded Ron. 

“This is awkward!” said Ginny cheerfully as she launched herself across Harry and her brother’s legs to annoy them and they both groaned. 

“How’s the life of leisure?” asked Hermione, pulling a face. 

“Dull as shit, so the Ministry is winning because I’m actually thinking that having some children could liven things up a bit.” Ginny rolled her eyes and Harry looked uncomfortable. 

“Dinner is ready!” trilled Eloise as Mrs Weasley placed a proud hand on her shoulder. 

“She is the daughter she would have preferred to have, so this is all working out perfectly,” said Ginny in an undertone, eyeing Eloise as they all got to their feet and made their way to the table. 

“Granger,” Draco nodded to the seat next to him that Hermione had left earlier. Hermione shrugged but Draco nodded pointedly. 

She was reluctant to rejoin the Pansy Parkinson… no, Weasley, show. Draco raised his eyebrows questioningly as she sank into her chair. 

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” muttered Hermione. 

Draco gave her a look but said nothing and everyone started to serve themselves. Pansy had hardly anything on her plate Hermione noticed and kept glancing at George suspiciously until Draco sighed and swapped his full plate for Pansy’s and then continued to serve himself. The table was busy with conversation and the clinking of cutlery. 

Hermione focussed on her plate quietly, but couldn’t help but eavesdrop on Pansy’s murmured conversation with Draco. 

“How was the fertility appointment?” Pansy asked. 

“Fine,” Draco answered shortly. 

“And how was…” she trailed off leadingly. 

“Adequate,” he replied, sounding uninterested.

It was what they had agreed to say and yet it still stung. Hermione felt irritated with Draco even though she couldn’t pinpoint exactly what he had done wrong. What would she have wanted him to say? To brag? To fawn over her? 

“Hm,” Pansy sounded amused but they were interrupted by Arthur. 

“How is Lucius, Draco?” asked Arthur with interest. 

“As well as can be expected, he always makes the best of any situation as I’m sure you remember,” answered Draco. 

Arthur chuckled, “Some things never change. It must be hard for you with both parents at a distance. You know, if you ever need a friendly face, you come over and visit us.” 

“Thank you, and thank you for your hospitality, the food is wonderful,” smiled Draco politely. 

“Try one of these.” Eloise thrust a plate across Hermione, narrowly missing her nose, to stop in front of Draco, “I made them myself, everyone always wants my recipe, cheese straws!”

Hermione pushed back from the table and Draco took one. She had completely lost her appetite, she wanted to go home, to her real home with her own things and no guard. Draco was looking at her, she could feel his eyes on her. 

“Are they good?” she asked in a bright tone that didn’t sound like herself. 

He took a bite before whispering, “Nothing to write home about.”

The good thing about sitting next to Eloise was that Hermione got to stew quietly in her own thoughts as Eloise wittered on happily. All she was required to say was, “Mmm,” and “Yes,” every minute or so. Ginny caught her eye and gave her a bracing smile like she could tell she was having an awful time and Hermione checked her watch. 

Hermione was glad when the meal started winding down and she got up to clear the table but was thwarted by Draco who insisted she sit and that he would clear with Penelope and Harry. Hermione returned to her chair defeated and met the hostile gaze of Pansy Weasley before turning round to be talked at by Eloise Weasley once more.  

“You seem so happy with how everything has worked out, Eloise, I’m glad,” Hermione chipped in, attempting to make an effort for Ron. 

“He’s so dreamy,” Eloise sighed at Ron, “I am so lucky.” 

“You make a good match,” Hermione smiled politely. Eloise was staring at her husband but Ron was busy explaining something in depth to George. 

Hermione took a cheese straw before the plate was cleared and the delicious flavours melted in her mouth. They were very much something to write home about, Draco was a liar. 

* 

Draco had hoped to corner Potter as his safest bet today and as he cleared plates, he seized his opportunity. 

“Potter… pst! Potter,” Draco nodded with his head for Harry to approach him and he did so with a confused frown on his face. 

“Well… what?” asked Harry quietly as they stepped out of the kitchen door into the dirt yard. 

“I need some help with… with my marriage,” said Draco. He had dreaded even starting this conversation but desperate times called for desperate measures. 

“Pft, I can’t fix that shit, that’s a match made in hell.” Potter shook his head. 

“No, no it’s not that… well it is that… but- more specifically… have you…” Draco leaned in closer and murmured, “have you ever tasted Hermione’s cooking? Muggle cooking I mean.”

“Oh. Oh! Oh god. Yeah… it’s.. it’s not good, is she cooking?” Harry craned round to look back at the table where Hermione sat. 

“No magic level 2 or above on the compound,” Draco reminded him.

“Oh crikey, yes, I’d forgotten.” Potter grimaced. 

“What should I do? Should I tell her-?” suggested Draco. 

“No! Do not do that. When we were on the run, her cooking was so bad that Ron left us and shouted about going back to his mother’s house to get a home-cooked meal,” said Potter and Draco laughed softly. 

“I’m only half joking… that really happened. She never got over it, I think it’s the reason they never worked out,” added Potter. 

Draco’s face fell, “Oh shit.” 

This was it, his marriage was teetering on the brink of failure and how he handled his wife’s cooking could tip it over the edge. 

“Yeah, shit, um… maybe you could race her home after work and cook for her instead? Can you cook?” asked Potter. 

“Yes. I can cook toast,” Draco nodded confidently. 

Potter raised an eyebrow. “What else?”

“Mainly just toast, but with different toppings of course. I learned how to use a toaster,” Draco explained. 

Potter considered him. “Right. How about if I get you a muggle cookbook? A simple one? Would that help?” 

“Maybe it would,” Draco shrugged, “You would do that for me?”

“For Hermione,” Potter corrected him. 

“For Hermione,” Draco repeated, “Thank you, Potter. I owe you one.”

“Psh, you owe me more than one, Malfoy, you must owe well over ten by now.” Potter rolled his eyes. 

“Let’s not forget that you did try to kill me once,” Draco grumbled as he followed him back into the Burrow. 

“Shall we talk about all the people you tried to kill?” asked Harry, sounding bored. 

“No, we shall not.” Draco gave him a withering look, snagging another heavenly cheese straw on the way through. 

Hermione had seemed miserable and prickly for the entire lunch, even though Draco had tried to be on his best behaviour for her. She and Ginny had their heads together in deep discussion in a corner to themselves which was cut short abruptly as he approached - which made the topic of their conversation somewhat obvious. 

Back at the caravan that evening, Hermione had been quiet but by night-time she was silent. They had been like this every night since she had moved into his room - their room. Silent with her on the edge of the bed, not touching, not speaking. 

Draco still took it as progress. They were in the same room. She could let her guard down enough to sleep next to him and that wasn’t nothing.

“Granger,” he said.

“Mm?” she mumbled, not troubling to turn to face him. 

“Granger,” he tried again. 

“What?” she asked. 

“Why are you being pissy with me?” Draco asked her, propping himself up in bed to address her back. 

“I’m not,” she said. 

Draco let his eyes wander in the darkness of the room. “I know that some of my friends can be… an acquired taste,” he started, attempting to test the waters, “Pansy is having a difficult time.” 

“Well, I’m sure your little talk about our sex life cheered her right up,” said Hermione shortly, confirming his suspicions: she was angry about Pansy. 

Draco paused, “I thought that was what we agreed to say?”

“Yep,” she answered. 

Draco sighed and curled an arm around Hermione’s waist which she tried to shuffle out of but he held her fast, “Pansy is to me what Ronald is to you,” he said, pulling her backwards to him, “If I’d have wanted to pair off with her, I would have done so before the matches. Hm?”

“Mm,” said Hermione quietly. 

Draco pressed a line of kisses down her neck and felt her back arch. “I’m married to you,” he reminded her. 

“Not by choice,” she breathed, baring her neck to him. It surprised him that she seemed hurt that it hadn’t been his choice. 

“That’s a good thing. You know, I always make the worst choices, I can’t be trusted,” he said playfully as he continued to kiss her neck and she laughed. 

That night he held her and she let him and he’d never slept better, not that he would ever tell her that. 

Chapter Text

There wasn’t any sleeping on the edge of the bed after that night. Every night, even if Hermione pulled away, Draco wrapped an arm around her and pulled her to him and that’s how they slept. They never discussed it, it just seemed to be something both of them needed and had settled upon and it felt so easy to let it happen. 

Hermione wondered if it was out of habit - was Draco just accustomed to sleeping next to a woman each night? Was it automatic? When he pressed his face to her hair or her neck and inhaled her scent, was he thinking of women from his past? Part of her felt comforted by his warmth and safe in his arms but the rest of her felt insecure. 

When the sun rose, this small intimacy flickered out like a light. Their mornings were always the same: tea, toast and post.

Hermione clicked her tongue at the probation park owl to bring their letters to the doorway instead of the window. All of their letters were still screened by guards for safety and then delivered. She turned over the letters in her hand. 

“Oh, a letter from your mother,” she said, noting the seal and handing it to Draco. 

She made tea as he slit open the envelope and read it before setting it down again, seemingly uninterested.

“What does she say?” asked Hermione, setting down a mug in front of Draco. 

“It’s private,” he said stiffly and she made a face as if doing a silent imitation of him. 

Draco regarded her as she screwed up her face into a haughty expression, “Fine, read it,” he said, pushing the letter towards her, “Nothing of consequence.”

Draco hardly ever mentioned his mother. Even at Hogwarts she had been a silent figure who had sent him sweets in the post. When talking about his parents, it was always Lucius who got mentioned by him. Hermione could admit it; she was curious. 

Her first instinct, as she skimmed the letter, was to burst out laughing. This idea that anything about this letter was private was ludicrous but Hermione carefully schooled her expression. She could feel Draco watching her as she read. If she laughed at him he wouldn’t trust her again. 

The letter started ‘Dear Son’ and went on to discuss the gardens, the weather at great length, her visits to Draco’s father although only briefly and a few mentions of some pureblood society who had recently married. Only at the very end of the letter did Narcissa Malfoy mention her own son’s marriage with a faint wish that the match was suiting Draco well. She had signed the letter off with ‘fondest regards’ and here Hermione fought her second instinct of indignation. 

Who was this woman who wrote to her own son so seldom? What had happened to the woman who lied to Voldemort? Although she had been the same woman who had allowed him to be signed up to Voldemort’s service in the first place she reminded herself. 

“We don’t really have a close relationship,” said Draco, guessing the train of her thoughts. 

“You seem to enjoy seeing your father,” said Hermione delicately.

“He… I mean he’s awful, I know this but he always invested a lot of time in me. He always took me places, did things with me and taught me things and most of it was tinged with his…” Draco gestured with his toast as though searching for the right word. 

“Prejudice?” she arched an eyebrow.

“Yes,” he admitted, “but even throughout all of that… I always felt as though he loved me.”

“He’d tell you he loved you,” Hermione nodded. 

“What? No. Merlin no, we never said that. Don’t be ridiculous,” he laughed, “but - I felt it.” 

He took a bite of toast and looked at the letter thoughtfully before adding, “My mother can be very cold. Formal.”  

 Hermione pressed a hand over his and Draco shook it off looking irritated. She could tell he didn’t want her pity but she couldn’t help but feel it. Her parents would never have sent her a formal letter like that. As though it was from a stranger. 

“What do you have there?” asked Draco, changing the subject with a nod to the next letter. 

“Oh, I’m not sure,” she broke open the envelope and pulled out a flyer, her eyes travelled down it and she flipped it over, “it’s an invitation for those protests. The woman who is heading the lawsuit, that Florrie person from the papers-“

Draco took the flyer from her that listed all of the details of the protests against the Marriage Act at the Ministry. Hermione watched him wrinkle his nose with distaste at the note from Florrie on the back that said ‘Would love your support on this, Florrie’ in blue ink.   

“There’s been a lot of stories in the Prophet about the protests,” he remarked casually, sipping his tea. 

“Yes,” Hermione agreed. 

There really had. Every day the Prophet was covering strikes and protests at the Ministry. Photographs of Florrie Hayworth who was suing the Ministry appeared next to bold headlines. Hermione could see why she had been asked, she was still an influential household name after all and this sort of thing would usually have been her main focus at a time like this. In fact, usually, she would have been heading the protest herself. 

“Are you joining their efforts?” Draco asked lightly. 

“No. Are you?” she looked up into grey eyes watching her intensely, at odds with the airiness of his tone. 

“No, I’m not” he shook his head, holding her gaze. 

“I’ll write her back now, tell her I don’t want-“ Hermione began. 

“Don’t reply,” he shrugged, picking up his cloak.

Hermione nodded and he seemed satisfied because he smiled and the intensity left them. 

“Any plans today?” he asked. 

“Luna is coming grocery shopping with me later, it will be a thrill a minute,” Hermione cleared the table.

“Bring us home some bargains whilst I work tirelessly for charity, won’t you, Granger?” he smirked as he left. 

It occurred to Hermione later in the day as she was pushing a shopping trolley around the local supermarket with Luna, that Draco could have joined the weekend protests and still met the terms of his probation. She also hadn’t seen Greg, Pansy or Millie in the photographs of the protests either. Was it just as Draco had said? Purebloods didn’t remarry? Or was it something else? Luna and Greg, or Luna at the very least, seemed to be pleased with their match. What would happen to them if it were overturned? 

A middle-aged muggle man staggered back from their trolley in shock as they turned a corner. Luna was experimenting with muggle fashion and had recently discovered muggle puffer jackets which she had replicated into the style of a shiny pink dress, with the largest puff over her head like a hood. Hermione found she cared less about reigning Luna in these days, let the Ministry deal with it, they had no problem interfering in every other facet of their lives. 

“I am so glad I have you, Hermione, being in the caravan park together has given me the opportunity to learn so much about muggle culture and it’s splendid,” said Luna, happily placing a pack of Frubes in her trolley. 

“That’s a good way to look at things,” Hermione shrugged. 

“It’s nice for the boys too. The boy’s friendship is such a positive bond for both of them considering they’ve been through so much,” Luna nodded. 

“Are they still close?” Hermione asked, fishing for information about Draco. 

“They talk about everything. I heard that lunch with the Weasleys went very well,” Luna looked back at Hermione and her shiny dress rustled noisily. 

“Yes actually, I suppose it really did. As well as it could have gone at any rate,” she reasoned. 

“And I heard one of the new Mrs Weasleys made the best cheese straws and that Draco would be happy to go back just to have more,” Luna laughed, “What a relief that he’s getting on well with them.” 

“Oh, yes,” agreed Hermione as a sinking feeling inside her settled. She knew he had lied about those fucking cheese straws and now here was the proof. 

“You and Draco seem closer. I thought at first you might be giving him a run for his money, with all of those little spells to annoy him, but I thought they were very amusing myself,” Luna shook her head with a little laugh. 

Hermione seethed. She had not told anyone about antagonising Draco and yet he had been blabbing to Greg, possibly all of his friends, about all the little details of their personal life. 

She got through the rest of the grocery shopping by quietly smiling and nodding along to Luna. She stewed for the rest of the day and when Draco came home later with an easy smile to greet her he was not greeted with a dinner cooked for him but a plate of plain cold toast and a glass of water. 

“Did you already eat?” he asked her, looking confused. 

“Yes,” said Hermione curtly, striding off to the bathroom to take a shower. It was hard to stride in a trailer the size of a matchbox but it was still satisfying. She was itching to start a fight with him. 

She got into bed in her pyjamas and started reading, the repaired lamp cast a vaguely yellow light over everything. 

After a time Draco came into the bedroom and sat on top of the bed cautiously, “It’s 6pm,” he pointed out. 

“It is,” she agreed, turning a page. 

“Has something happened…?” asked Draco, studying her. 

“Why don’t you go and ask Gar,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes. 

“Gar?” Draco frowned. 

“Mm,” she sniffed, not taking her eyes off her book. 

“Who is Gar?“ he asked nonplussed. 

“Goyle,” answered Hermione shortly.

“Goyle? Gar… gargoyle… well, that is just unkind,” Draco snorted, “Why do I need to ask Goyle?” 

“Today I heard all about our private business that you’ve been gossiping about to Goyle,” said Hermione. She couldn’t face mentioning the cheese straws, it was all too humiliating. 

Draco raised an eyebrow, “Well, why don’t you speak to tic?”

Hermione put her book down to scowl at him, he looked annoyingly handsome even after a full day of work. 

“Get it?” he grinned, “Luna… tic?”

Hermione huffed, fighting her mouth not to laugh and Draco kissed her mouth, “I’m sorry for gossiping. I’m used to confiding in my friends, will you forgive me?” 

Hermione opened her mouth and then closed it, “You can confide in your friends just… why do you have to make me sound like such a… bitch?”

Draco gave her a look, “Why indeed? Get the trio out of retirement, there’s a mystery to solve,” he drawled as she scowled at him once more and he kissed her again. 

She let him until she sighed into his mouth and she got up, tutting loudly. She couldn’t fall prey to his charm. 

* 

Potter visited the charity shop that week and Draco thought that Mrs Carver might faint away. He exchanged tired looks with Greg as Mrs Carver danced around Potter offering him various refreshments, personal favours and at one point, gold from the cash register - all of which Potter politely declined. 

“Malfoy,” said Potter, finally waving off Mrs Carver, “I brought you this.” 

He held up a blue and white children’s cookbook cheerily, “It’s a children’s cook book with illustrations. It was the best I could do, all the others had more than 6 ingredients and I thought you’d panic.”

Potter was here with cooking advice and Draco couldn’t be more grateful, a new low. 

Draco thought back to his array of toast dishes, “Yeah that’s fair honestly. Good call. So I just…?”

“Just follow it like potions, you know, you get the ingredients and then follow the method,” Potter said encouragingly. 

“Ok,” Draco reasoned, “Ok, I was good at potions.”

“So was Hermione…” Potter said in an undertone to Greg who nodded at him solemnly. 

He had a point, thought Draco, Hermione had been top of potions every year. She’d been top of everything every year. 

“Shit,” Draco made a face, “Thank you.” 

“Maybe you don’t mention my involvement? Maybe you just frame it as something romantic for your new… relationship,” Potter fudged his way uncomfortably over the last word. 

The following evening, Draco chose to put his plan into action. He had encouraged Hermione to visit Neville when he’d gotten home from work that night under the premise of his vegetable garden needing assistance. When she’d opened the trailer door to see two cheese and ham omelettes on the dinette table waiting for them, her face fell. 

“I… I made dinner,” said Draco, quelling under the look she gave him before she burst into tears

Draco’s jaw dropped, “I tried really hard, I wanted to surprise you.”

“You hate my cooking,” Hermione said, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. 

Draco felt uneasy at her hurt expression. This was it, the end of their marriage and over omelettes. 

“I just wanted to surprise you-“ Draco held his hands up in defence. 

“No! Admit it! You hate it!” she jabbed a finger at him, “Everyone hates my cooking.”

He mouthed wordlessly, “Listen I don’t want to lie to you…” he teetered on the edge of the truth before blurting out, “you’re a horrible cook. You’re so bad at it. It’s genuinely the worst food I’ve ever eaten in my life and I spent time in Azkaban but I think this is a good thing.” 

“How?! How is it a good thing that my husband hates my cooking?” asked Hermione through tears, sitting down in front of her omelette with a frown like it had wronged her.

“Well,” Draco stalled, thinking of how his father would put the best spin on this, “You can’t have everything, Granger! Intelligence, good looks, an amazing body, smart mouth, war hero… you can’t be a good cook too.”

Hermione laughed through her tears and shook her head. Relief coursed through his veins. If he could make her laugh, he could salvage this. 

“It wouldn’t be fair to the other girls,” he drawled, enjoying her amusement. 

“You think I have an amazing body?” asked Hermione with a look like she didn’t believe him. 

“No, I don’t think, that one is a fact,” he said, his eyes skating down her figure, “you don’t think so?”

“I don’t know, I was bullied about my looks in school, I’ve never felt that confident in them,” she quipped, fork in hand. 

“Terrible! A bully you say? Well, what should we do to him?” Draco grinned and took a bite of his omelette. 

“Hex his balls off?” she suggested lightly. 

“You’ll never get a baby with that attitude,” he laughed. 

“I knew you were lying about those cheese straws. Ugh!” Hermione put down her fork and Draco looked at her questioningly, “This is good,” she said bitterly. 

“I’ll still eat your poisoned dinners, Granger, so long as we can have edible food every now and then,” smirked Draco.

*

By Sunday, Hermione was amused to see that Draco had incorporated toast to his omelette meals and they had just finished an unhurried breakfast before Draco was due to visit Lucius when there was a knock at their door. 

Draco wrenched the door open, paused with confusion and said, “Why are you here?”

A deep voice rumbled, “I’ve come to visit Hermione.”

“Is that… Kingsley?” Hermione asked, craning round to see. 

The Minister for Magic brushed past Draco into the caravan, “Hermione, I haven’t seen you in the Ministry for a while-“

“You fired me,” she reminded him and Draco smirked but said nothing, reaching for his cloak. 

“I wouldn’t say fired exactly - but I thought I’d pay you a visit with a couple of projects you might like to sink your teeth into,” Kingsley sat down uninvited in Draco’s empty seat. 

Draco blinked incredulously at Kingsley before saying, “I’ll be back later, try not to get arrested,” quietly to Hermione. He pressed her hand once before giving one last frown to Kingsley on the way out. 

Kingsley watched the door shut before rounding on Hermione, “Firstly, there are a lot of protests at the moment, I’m sure you’ve seen, and I was wondering if we could get a story on your marriage published in the Prophet?”

Hermione scoffed loudly, folding her arms. 

“Or, or…” Kingsley changed tack, “there is also a new addition to some legislation I would be interested in your-“

“Kingsley, are any of these projects paid employment?” she interrupted. 

He sighed, “No. I’m not allowed to offer you any form of our employment until-“ 

“Then I’m not interested, I think these projects would interfere with my homemaking abilities,” she glared at him. 

The Minister huffed a quiet laugh, “Point taken,” he smiled in defeat, “well, then the rest of my visit is not as the Minister but just as a friend.” 

“How is your new marriage going?” asked Hermione, eyeing his ring. 

Kingsley gave her a look but Hermione was in earnest. 

“You didn’t hear who my match was?” he asked slowly. 

“No,” Hermione shook her head. 

“Florrie Hayworth… or… Shacklebolt as she is meant to be,” he attempted to smile again but didn’t quite achieve it. 

Hermione’s jaw dropped, “The-?!”

“Political activist, yes,” he said dully. 

“That’s… unexpected. Gosh,” said Hermione. 

“Yes. It’s going… incredibly poorly, thank you. What of your own match?” Kingsley sighed. 

“It’s…” Hermione shrugged. What could she say? That she had a small and embarrassing crush on her husband aka childhood bully and Death Eater?

She settled for, “It is what it is.” 

It was much later when she sitting in his spot on top of the trailer roof, that Draco returned home. Hermione let her feet dangle over the edge of the roof whilst she lay on her back, watching the clouds. 

“What did Shacklebolt want?” asked Draco as he pulled himself up onto the rooftop to lie beside her. 

“Free labour, I told him no. How was your visit?” Hermione turned to face him and felt acutely aware of just how close they were to each other. She could see the dip of his collarbone at the top of his shirt and the intricate patterns of grey in his irises before she made herself look back at the sky. 

“My father had noted the date and asked how our… marital relations went. I told him our rehearsed line, that things were adequate and then I had to endure him making what I’m sure he thought were amusing comments throughout. It was not fun,” Draco rolled his eyes. 

They watched the clouds in silence before Hermione remembered something she had wanted to mention and said, “Did you know Greg’s hobbies included existentialism?”

Draco smirked, “That sounds like a fancy way to say he’s wondering why he’s here, which is incidentally what I wondered about him all throughout Hogwarts.” 

Hermione laughed and edged her hand towards his, entwining their fingers together. Draco’s thumb traced the back of her hand and he smiled at her before turning back to the clouds with a relaxed sigh. 

Chapter Text

“Ugh. We got an invitation to the Potters’ house and they addressed the envelope to ‘Mr and Mrs Malfoy’!” Draco called through to Hermione who was still in bed. He had stared at the letter for a moment wondering why a letter to his parents had made its way to him, before realising it was for him. 

“Well, that is technically us,” she rolled her eyes as she came through to the kitchen in floral pyjama bottoms and a thin shirt. His eyes lingered on the outline of her breasts clearly visible through the shirt before he made himself look away. 

“They don’t have to rub it in,”  he muttered, passing her the letter. 

It seemed wrong that Hermione should be called anything other than ‘Granger’, however he couldn’t deny enjoying anytime that she corrected someone to call her ‘Malfoy’ in recent weeks. There was something pleasing about it, like he’d written his name on her. She was his now. 

“Oh, Harry got permission for you to be able to stay out late as there’ll be aurors present,” said Hermione, sounding surprised.

Draco was unimpressed. Once again, Potter was bending the rules to suit him and his friends and now Draco would be forced to attend some disorganised lion’s party. 

She skimmed the letter, “They want me to make mallowsweet fizz like I did for their last party,” she placed the letter down on the counter and sighed. 

“So you can make that alright?” Draco baited her. 

She threw him a look, “No, I can’t. It’s expensive, I can’t even afford the ingredients.” 

Was it not enough that he had to attend the party without having his wife handcraft Potter’s beverages too? Potter must be well aware that they had a very meagre income. 

She sat down and looked out of the window with a huff, ignoring the plate of toast and tea he had left for her, “Ugh god, you were so awful but at least you were rich before, now you have literally nothing going for you.” 

He thought he saw the corners of her mouth twitch as though she was teasing him but she did seem annoyed about the fizz, “This is only temporary, Granger, we’ll be moved out soon. I’ll take care of you, you don’t need to worry about that,” he assured her. 

She folded her arms. “How exactly, they emptied your Gringotts vault and the Manor is for sale with proceeds to go to the Ministry. Harry told me the only things in your vaults are photographs and portraits of your family that no one would want.” Her hair was in a ponytail, dark brown curls cascading down as she sniffed haughtily. 

Draco hesitated. He didn’t have anything to lose if he didn’t tell her all of the details, surely? It wasn’t illegal, there had been no questions asked when the fines were imposed on his family. He hadn’t broken any rules. 

He licked his lips before asking “Do you really think that over centuries of wealth, my family had no fail-safes? You think we didn’t envision our vault or the Manor ever being taken from us?”

“What do you mean?” Hermione turned to him with a slight frown. 

“You’re a smart girl, you know what I mean. Don’t worry yourself about our finances, I will take care of you,” he repeated. 

“I don’t need to be taken care of,” she said slowly. 

It was laughable really, when by his estimations she’d been needing taking care of since her first day on the Hogwarts Express. Every year her idiot friends had placed her in some sort of precarious life or death situation until the Dark Lord had died and then she had tried to work herself to death for a pittance with no family, no gold. She was always taking care of other people when she needed more care than anyone else he knew. 

“We’ll see, won’t we? When the restrictions are over. We’ll see,” Draco shrugged. 

She scoffed, “You think you’re just going to walk back into Malfoy Manor once this is done? The elves will be back saluting?” 

Draco loved it when she was like this. He liked her docile and affectionate too, however rare that was, but when she wanted to spar with him? It was everything that had made her interesting to him since the first day they had met as children on a train. 

“The elves already want to be back, you saw that yourself, they’re practically banging down the trailer door. And the Manor is cursed,” he smiled, “no one who isn’t a relative will be able to take ownership of it, even if they wanted to. I assume it’s not even close to being sold? For one the price, but I suspect the community have guessed it wouldn’t be worth it. I imagine it requires some decontamination but, you and I shall get to that one of these days,” he drawled carelessly. 

“You have a plan for everything don’t you?” Hermione retorted. 

“Yes. I do,” Draco nodded. 

“That still doesn’t help us with buying drink supplies. Instead, I’m stuck in this stupid trailer with you,” she rolled her eyes. 

“Hm. Yes. Tragic,” he said. 

“Stop it, it’s not funny,” she said, throwing out her uneaten toast and starting to do the dishes by hand. 

“No, it’s not. And you said I have literally nothing going for me… a grave accusation. There isn’t a single thing you like about me?,” asked Draco, standing behind her at the sink. 

Hermione ignored him and he grinned broadly. Being so close to her made his skin prickle with awareness, he could feel his own heartbeat. 

“Not talking to me?” he stepped closer, running his hand through her curls but she stayed silent, “Come now, Granger, there must be something about being married to me that you like?” 

*

Hermione had only just stilled from the feeling of his hand in her curls when Draco pressed her firmly against the counter with his hips and she gasped. 

She could feel the hard ridge of his body flush against the curve of her ass and she squirmed instinctively, but his grip on her waist held her steady in place.

“You know,” his lips ghosted across her skin, “you’re being rather bratty with your little temper tantrum.”

He pressed light kisses down her throat and she shivered in spite of herself, still priding herself on ignoring him. 

Draco’s mouth inched higher, closer to her jaw, until she turned slightly and their lips met. The kiss was tentative at first and then firmer when he caught her bottom lip and sucked it into his mouth. She heard herself sigh rather than consciously choosing to. 

“I hope,” he murmured against her lips, “that tonight, when I get home, you’ll make it up to me.”

His hand slid boldly around her front, palm flat against her bare stomach, under the waistband of her pyjamas. She could feel her pulse thundering. She could push him away from her, maybe he expected her to, but she didn’t. 

“You will, won’t you?” he whispered in her ear.

Hermione gasped when his fingers trailed lower, down the length of her, brushing through her folds with a lazy confidence. He kissed her neck as though it were the most natural thing in the world, his touch unhurried, exploratory.

“You’re so wet,” he breathed, lips teasing her earlobe. “I had no idea doing the dishes turned you on so much.”

She bit her bottom lip to stop herself from making a noise, her nails digging into the Formica countertop. Her whole body tightened with each pass of his fingers as he played with her clit. Her hips betrayed her, pressing back into him and she felt his erection grind against her.

“You can feel one of the things I enjoy about being married to you, can’t you, Granger?” his voice dripped with arrogance. 

Hermione forgot her vow of silence and let out a desperate moan, her breath uneven. 

“And yet,” he murmured, fingers stroking her with precision, “you can’t think of a single thing you like about being with me?”

Her breath came in quick bursts, little whimpers escaping despite her best efforts as he touched her. 

“Fuck, Malfoy,” she fidgeted and he held her in place, moving rhythmically. 

“Oh, you’re so close, aren’t you?” he coaxed, his voice rough.

“Yes- yes, please, Malfoy,” she begged him. 

“Such a good girl for me,” he groaned, quickening his pace before slowing deliberately.

A frustrated cry came from her lips and she pressed her hips into his erection.

“What’s the matter?” his tone was mock-innocent, “Don’t want to play house with me? If only you could remember one thing you like about me…”

Her head fell back against his shoulder, breathless gasps tearing out of her as his fingers worked her back up, gliding faster over her clit. 

“Oh! Oh, oh- Draco!” the name burst from her unwilling lips, “Please!”

He groaned into her hair, grinding against her as his hand moved faster. “Do you like this, Granger?”

“Yes! Yes, please-“ she begged, pressing her thighs together. 

“So there is one thing you like about being married to me?” She could almost hear his smile. 

“Yes!” she gasped, body tensing. 

As she came she clutched the countertop panting like she’d run a mile, her climax coursing through her veins. He held her tight, arms locked around her, until her ragged breaths slowed. She turned her face and pressed it into his neck, needing him close to her. 

“I knew we could see eye to eye if we tried,” Draco said softly, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

Hermione couldn’t look him in the eyes, not after she’d just let him do that. 

“I’m going to be late for work. Why don’t you make me a nice dinner tonight, like a good little wife? Hm?” he asked tormentingly. 

She was too shocked to speak but she didn’t need to, he grabbed a handful of her ass as he kissed her cheek once more, picked up his cloak and strode out of the door. 

Hermione gripped the counter again wondering what the hell just happened. She had not been expecting that. Why would she make him dinner? Besides which, he didn’t even like her dinners. Since when was she a good little wife? And since when was Draco Malfoy so insanely hot? 

What had she even been mad at him for? It was hard to remember. She couldn’t possibly make him dinner. What kind of feminist was she? She needed to sit down. Or hex him. Or hex herself. 

Instead, she found herself rifling through the cupboards with a scowl for ingredients, muttering under her breath.

Hours later when he returned home, Draco tucked into noodles with a smug smile. He chewed looking thoughtful and she had to stop herself from holding her breath waiting for his verdict. How pathetic.

“Not too burnt today,” he nodded his approval.

She still couldn’t look into his eyes as she nodded back, mortified. 

*

Hermione had been all but ready to write the Potters back to give her excuses on the mallowsweet fizz. She knew she didn’t have the money for supplies and yet Draco insisted they get permission to go to Diagon Alley. 

“We can barely afford prosecco, let alone champagne and then-“ she pointed out. 

“Let’s just see…” Draco shrugged, looking unconcerned. 

The familiar countdown at 10:59am at the guarded gate still irked her as much as it had done on the first day but Malfoy just smiled like he found her animosity towards the probation guards to be an adorable quirk of hers. 

The gates swung open at 11am on the dot and Malfoy stepped outside of the gate. Hermione raised an eyebrow at the snooty looking guard and took a running leap into Draco’s arms. His grey eyes grew wide in surprise as he caught her and she apparated them away. It was probably the most activity that ridiculous guard had seen all day. 

“Show off,” he said, gingerly placing her down in the middle of Diagon Alley. She had never once doubted that he would catch her. 

She pretended to not notice what he’d said. They hadn’t been there for five minutes and already passersby gave Draco looks of suspicion and dislike. Hermione drew herself up to her full height and slipped her arm comfortably into his as they set off. 

“You don’t have to, Granger,” his voice was gentle. 

“We’re married, they’ll just have to get over it,” said Hermione primly, staring down a woman as they passed her. 

They fell into step with each other and Hermione began to head to the largest apothecary on the street before Draco pulled her towards the one next to Gringotts. 

“Malfoy, if we can’t afford the regular apothecary, we certainly can’t afford Jigger and Son’s,” she tried to steer him back on track but he was having none of it. 

“Let’s just see, perhaps they’ll have a special on the mallowsweet,” he reasoned. 

Hermione never went to Jigger and Son’s - it was cramped, overpriced and stuffy. Yes, they sold rare ingredients and yes, they served the elite but it wasn’t good value for money. 

Draco held the door open for Hermione and she wrinkled her nose at the pungent odour. Whereas the main apothecary had stock spilling from every space in bright colours with flashing price tags on every barrel, Jigger and Son’s was entirely different. The shop was dark inside and nothing had a price displayed.

“Wait just here,” he nodded her to a corner of the shop filled with shelves of extract oils. The walls were dark red and dimly lit, which made Hermione feel as though she were visiting inside someone’s internal organs. 

“But-“ she spun and nearly crashed into Draco, towering over her. She always forgot how tall he was until they were face-to-face. 

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he gave her a withering look before heading to the counter where the shopkeeper bowed deeply to him. Part of her resented how Draco had no money to his name and yet still acted as if he owned the place. The other part of her was embarrassingly turned on by it. 

She fiddled with her nails, unable to hear their discussion. What if he was doing something that could jeopardise his probation? Or if they ran up a debt they couldn’t repay? She watched customers filter in and out for a few minutes before Draco returned carrying a bag. 

“Here we are,” he smiled charmingly.

“How did-“ Hermione turned back to the shopkeeper, bowing them out as Draco steered her out of the door with a hand on the small of her back. 

“Now, Granger, you have your mallowsweet, do you not? That brings the things you like about me up to an even two, doesn’t it? Allow me a secret,” he smirked. 

“You didn’t do anything illegal, did you?” asked Hermione, looking back to the shop with suspicion. 

“I did not. Shall we?” He nodded back to the apparition point. 

Not all of the looks they received in the street were disapproving of Draco. Hermione noticed him getting discreet nods as well which he returned with a minute inclination of his head. She received a wave from a young teenage girl which she returned with enthusiasm making Malfoy snigger. She elbowed him. 

The streets were busy today. Outside Flourish and Blotts was a small crowd of women wearing bright purple robes and carrying signs that read ‘LOVE IS NOT A MINISTRY DECREE’, ‘NO TO EUGENICS’ and even ‘SHACKLE SHACKLEBOLT’. It was hard to disagree with the women and Hermione felt a flood of guilt that she wasn’t joining their cause against the Marriage Act, and yet she didn’t even want to be seen near them. She didn’t want to be associated with those thoughts and sentiments. 

She looked at Draco who furrowed his brow, “Let’s go around.” They crossed to the other side of the road and almost collided with Astoria Greengrass. 

“So sorry,” she simpered, patting down her silky dark hair and smiling at Draco before carrying on her way, slightly ahead of them. 

“God, I feel like I’m out dodging bludgers today, what next?” Draco shook his head and said quietly, “You know, I was almost married to her, can you imagine?” 

Hermione stifled a laugh, “She’s better than who I was almost married to.”

“Ugh,” said Malfoy, clearly picturing Ron, “She used to compliment me all the time, it was off-putting, actually. I know that that sounds like a strange complaint to have but it was sycophantic, she wouldn’t stop.” 

She nodded sympathetically as they carried on down the street behind Astoria, “Ron used to say ‘hi’ during sex,” she added as if this was self-explanatory. 

“I’m sorry, I’m going to need more information… he said ‘hi’?!” asked Draco, huffing out a laugh. 

“Yes! We’d be in the middle of sex and he’d be like ‘hi’ or ‘hello’ with eye contact and a weird grin like we’d just greeted each other, it gave me the ick,” she explained matter-of-factly.

“Huh. Weird,” he shrugged. 

They had reached the line for the apparition point and slowly shuffled forward. Astoria was a few people ahead of them and she looked back and smiled politely at them once more and Draco nodded his head back at her. 

Hermione felt the sudden urge to be closer to Draco. It was ridiculous, childish even. She needn’t be jealous of Astoria Greengrass or whatever her name was now after the Marriage Act. This was a woman whom Draco had just explained at length that he wasn’t interested in. He had had the chance to be with Astoria and he hadn’t taken it, and yet… she needed to touch him. 

She took a step closer to Draco, bumping into him, trailing after him in the line until she got so close to him that he wrapped an arm around her waist and positioned her next to him, not letting go. 

“Do I have to guide you to walk now, Granger? Are you drunk already?” he drawled, stepping forward once more. 

“No. That’s later,” she smiled. She pressed her face into his chest and inhaled his reassuring scent as they waited and he stilled. 

Chapter Text

Draco had preconceived notions of what the Potter party would be like and when he and Hermione arrived early at the Potters’ house to set up, he learned he was completely and totally wrong. 

Potter had inherited a Black house, which had always put his mother’s nose out of joint but after one quick tour of the downstairs, he could safely assure her that she wasn’t missing out. The Potter house was disgusting. Not only was it cluttered but it was revoltingly unclean. 

The moment Ginevra Potter admitted them inside, Draco caught Hermione quietly zapping mysterious stains and vanishing dishes with her wand as they passed whenever her friend’s back was turned. He opened his mouth to protest his wife doing the Potters’ cleaning - the Malfoys may have sunk low, but not this low - but she gave him a warning look not to say anything. Ginevra led them into a living room and then left to get drinks. 

Eloise hurried over to Hermione, her eyes wide, “Ginny wouldn’t let Molly over to clean.” 

“Maybe we could just have a quick spruce up…” Hermione whispered. 

While she and Eloise made quick work of the Potters’ living room, Draco examined the Black family tapestry. When Hermione had finished trying to salvage the Potters’ reputation she came and stood next to Draco and followed his gaze to her own name linked in gold thread to his. It felt so permanent, solid. Did she feel the same? Had his mother seen the tapestry since they’d married? Probably not, the Manor was empty now, surely. What had become of the tapestry? 

“Huh… I forgot about this,” she said, examining where his branch split off from Sirius Black’s. Her finger traced down to Draco’s name and then across to her own. 

“It’s official now.” He gave her half a smile as he twirled her around to meet everyone else in the kitchen, “Come along, your boyfriends are here.” 

“I don’t have any boyfriends, just a husband and he’s such a delight,” she said sarcastically as she let him steer her towards her friends. Any excuse for him to have his hands on her. 

In the kitchen, Harry and Ron were having a furious battle, whipping each other back and forth with tea towels. 

Draco paused in the doorway with a long-suffering sigh, “Look at them… how did you put up with them being so dim for all these years?” 

“You had Crabbe and Goyle,” she pointed out. 

“This is true,” he conceded with a sigh, “you know, Granger, we’re more alike than I realised.”

“‘Mione,” Ron grinned, and Draco wrinkled his nose, “you brought the fizz?” 

“I brought the fizz.” Hermione held up the bottles with a toothy grin. 

“Aw, you’re a legend, I’ve been dreaming of this.” Ron took one of the bottles and poured himself a drink. 

Music was switched on in the living room and Draco leaned against the kitchen table as the golden trio busied themselves with refreshments. The kitchen was shabby at best but then Gryffindors weren’t renowned for their good taste, thought Draco. 

There was a grunt and Greg hovered beside him. Draco jerked his head to the side and they wandered back into the living room where they found Pansy and Millicent. 

“Looks like we have the Slytherin gang back together,” said Pansy glumly. 

“The Slytherin gang and me!” beamed Neville, passing Millie and Pansy drinks. Draco had to stifle a laugh at the women’s expressions of irritation. 

As more guests arrived and the party got into full swing, Draco and Greg chose a safe corner spot so they could camp out in the living room. Hermione and Luna flitted back and forth with their friends, occasionally checking in with them. This arrangement would have been fine for Draco but unfortunately, their spot became an anchoring point for other clueless men to flock to. He found himself in an awkward conversation with Neville, Cormac McLaggen, Dean Thomas and Marcus Belby. 

“-and wouldn’t you know it? He caught the snitch just as the quaffle flew in, they didn’t win at all,” McLaggen guffawed before clearing his throat, “So, how’s probation treating you?” he looked between Draco and Greg. 

“It’s so much fun, I can scarcely breathe,” said Draco at the same time Greg muttered, “Good.”

“I still can’t believe you got Hermione Granger,” said McLaggen, shaking his head ruefully, “Went out on a date with her myself once.” 

A muscle in Draco’s jaw twitched, “It’s Hermione Malfoy now, actually.”

“No need to fear, Malfoy, it wasn’t that good of a date, if you know what I’m saying,” he dropped his voice and yet they could all still hear, “frigid,” he said knowingly. 

“She’s not frigid, she’s discerning.” Draco’s eyes flickered unwillingly to Ronald Weasley who was pogoing up and down to the beat of the music and he added under his breath, “Well…mostly.” 

Belby moved the conversation on to safer topics but Draco had lost interest. His eyes found hers over the din of the party and Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him as if asking if he was ok. He nodded his head back to indicate she should come over and she did. 

Hermione’s expression was enquiring as she floated over to him through the crowd, her curls caught the light as she moved. He held a hand out to her and pulled her closer, she leaned in to his ear, hair brushing his cheek and he felt her press her hand against his chest to steady herself. He liked her being so close to him in public. 

“Everything ok?” she whispered into his ear.

“This party isn’t as good as ours and McLaggen is being a prick,” Draco’s lips ghosted her skin. 

“You’re right, but… I mean, what did you expect?” she asked, he could hear the smile in her voice. 

She drew back and took a sip of her drink, her eyes flickering to McLaggen for half a second before giving Draco a sly look. 

“Just you mind yourself tonight, Granger. Go easy on that drink, or else you’ll be throwing yourself at me later,” he gave her an arrogant smirk. 

The men around them laughed and Hermione raised an eyebrow playfully and downed the rest of her drink, keeping eye contact with him. Belby and Thomas crowed with more laughter and elbowed Draco but McLaggen looked a little sour. Good, thought Draco savagely. 

“I’m going to get another drink,” she smirked and gave Draco a salacious wink as she retreated to the kitchen. McLaggen now looked like a bulldog chewing a wasp and in that moment, Draco loved being married. 

* 

Hermione had had a whirlwind of a night, dancing and having fun with her friends. The mallowsweet fizz was long gone and Hermione was helping herself to a glass of white wine in the Potters’ kitchen when Greg wandered through. She leaned against the table to steady herself as she poured her drink. 

She could count on one hand the number of times she had spoken to Gregory Goodgoyle alone and yet he seemed to have sought her out because he cleared his throat and waited in the doorway for her attention. 

“I wanted you to know,” he started in a low and quiet voice, “that in prison I learned about muggleborns.”

“Um… ok,” Hermione said slowly, unsure of where this was going. What was the correct response to this? Was he expecting her to praise him? 

Greg’s eyes weren’t bloodshot but they were a little pink and he had been drinking, that much was obvious. “I was wrong - the way I treated you.”

He stumbled slightly and sat at the Potters’ table. She could see Draco at the other end of the hallway and he did a double-take at the scene of her and Greg before stalking towards the kitchen. 

“I love television!” Greg’s voice was unusually loud as he continued and Draco almost sprinted the rest of the hallway, looking alarmed. 

“Steady on, mate,” he said, reaching him and patting Greg’s back. He looked Hermione over as if to check she was still in one piece. 

“I LOVE MUGGLES!” cheered Greg, spreading his hands out wide. 

“Greg, shut the fuck up! Not here, ok?” Draco said hotly. He looked mortified and Hermione couldn’t help but giggle. She was almost as tipsy as Greg but not to the point of shouting about muggles, yet. 

“Shush,” Draco muttered grumpily. Greg merely shrugged with an easy smile on his face. 

“Come along, Granger,” said Draco, ushering her out of the kitchen, “Not you, you sober up before you come out,” he pushed Greg firmly back into his chair.

“I’m so sorry about that, he can be very enthusiastic-“ said Draco as they made their way back to the living room. He reached back for her hand and she took it willingly. 

“Malfoy…s! Two Malfoys in my house! What is the world coming to?” said Harry, pointing his wand aloft at Draco like a pirate holding a sword. Hermione loved drunk Harry. Malfoy, it seemed, did not. 

“Get out of the way, Potter,” sighed Draco, stopping short. 

“En garde!” Harry snickered and Hermione could hear Ginny snort from behind him. Draco was more sober than any of them and not amused. 

Malfoy slapped Harry’s wand with his bare hand and it clattered to the floor as he rolled his eyes, “Expelliarmus, isn’t that your favourite?” 

Harry cracked up laughing as though this was the most hilarious joke he had ever heard. 

“You are aware I’m not allowed a wand, Potter, hardly very sporting of you to ask for a duel.” Malfoy watched Harry grapple beneath them for his wand. 

This time Hermione burst out laughing, “Malfoy, you are the least sportsmanlike person I know! Didn’t you once leap onto the back of Harry’s broom?”

“I’d forgotten about that!” said Harry from the floor, sounding outraged. 

“I am passionate about sports! You wouldn’t understand,” Draco dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

“I’m passionate about you,” Hermione fluttered her eyelashes playfully as they both stepped over Harry to get to the living room. 

“Only after a couple of drinks,” said Draco but he was smiling. 

“That’s how many it takes for me to like you,” she said carelessly and he scoffed in return. 

Draco steered her towards an empty sofa and beckoned for her to sit beside him. She stood for a moment longer and chugged her wine to the cheers of Gryffindors and when she’d drained her glass she climbed into Draco’s lap. He stilled briefly before helping her settle. 

She pressed her face into him and ran her nose up his neck. The drink had hit her and she wanted to fall asleep here in the middle of the party. Her eyes felt heavy. With each slow blink, she could see snippets of the party - Millicent giving Neville orders for refreshments, Harry and Ron peering at her on Draco’s lap curiously before Harry fell backwards into an old bureau, Pansy edging away from Eloise. 

“You have very good thighs, Granger,” said Draco thoughtfully as he ran one of his hands down her bare legs. 

“I do?” she asked sleepily. 

“Mm, you do,” Draco trailed his hands back up. 

“Wifely thighs?” she asked in earnest. In this moment, it seemed important that he find her thighs to be wifely. 

“Oh, without a doubt they’re the most wifely thighs that I’ve ever seen,” he humoured her, smirking. 

“Did you see everyone loved my mallowsweet fizz?” she sighed happily. 

“Yes, you’ve told me several times already. Your arm must be sore from patting yourself on the back all night,” he huffed a laugh. 

“Thank you for getting the mallowsweet for me, you’re a good husband,” she kissed his cheek and he smiled down at her, an unguarded gentle smile. 

“Hermione! Don’t sleep!” screeched Ginny, making Draco jump and swear under his breath. 

“It’s tiiiiime for Mambo Number Fiiiiive,” sang Luna, dancing over to them and gesturing for Hermione to join in. Luna seemed to have parked Greg on a hardbacked chair with a beer and he was cheering for her like a quidditch hooligan as she shimmied. 

Hermione got up as if an electrical current had run through her, she couldn’t let her friends down now. As Lou Bega started up, she, Ginny and Luna conjured more drinks and began to sing and dance. They bumped into one another laughing and dancing, sloshing their drinks on the floor and Hermione could have sworn she heard Draco tell George that “The Order girls can’t handle their drink.”

*

“Did you notice how many Weasleys were there last night? Every other person was a Weasley by blood or marriage.” Draco placed a cup of tea in front of Hermione who was in her underwear and one of Draco’s t-shirts, “And now they’ll each be having more Weasleys. I know the population is in danger but do we really need so many? Is it necessary?” 

“Malfoy, please, quieter,” grumbled Hermione, as she rubbed her head. 

“Not feeling your best, Darling?” He smirked. 

“You could say that… but I need to get showered and dressed. I’m going to a muggle lecture at the British Museum and you have guests coming over,” she wiggled her eyebrows. 

Draco frowned. “What guests?” 

“Theodore Nott and your multitude of devoted elves are coming over. You’re serving them lunch.” Hermione sipped her tea and sighed as though it was curative. 

“What?” There was an element of panic in his voice. 

“Luna told me, that Greg told her, that Theodore told him, that your elves practically raised you both at the Manor. I thought it would be nice for them if he came too,” she said matter-of-factly. 

“Greg is such a fucking gossip. I don’t have any food?!” Draco rubbed his arm where she knew his faded dark mark was hidden underneath his sleeve. 

“It’s a picnic on the grass outside-“ said Hermione, gesturing to the window. 

“What?!” he looked out of the window as if the elves might already be coming down the path. 

“-and I have already bought the food, Theodore-“ she carried on as if he hadn’t spoken. 

“It’s Theo,” he corrected automatically.

“-is bringing more food and some blankets for the grass,” she summoned the food she had bought earlier in the week into a towering pile on one counter and he eyed it uneasily. 

“Oh fuck.” He sat down with a grimace and ran his fingers through his white blonde hair. 

“You’ll be fine, they’ll be here about 11:30am,” she gave him a reassuring nod. 

“Must you meddle?” he sighed. 

“Do you want your probation extended because your house elves keep showing up to your caravan unannounced?” she asked him tartly.

“No,” he moaned. 

“Well then you already know,” she straightened out the newspaper.

As per usual, the headlines focussed on the Marriage Act. Hermione wondered vaguely if the writers at the Prophet were bored with the subject yet but it was clearly still selling papers. Today’s front page was a large photograph of a cheery-looking woman in her 40s under the words ‘MARRIAGE ACT SEER UNCOVERED’. 

Draco set down a plate of toast and then handed her a small letter with black spidery writing on the front. “You got a letter by the way, but I think that it’s just some of my-“ 

“Oh, good,” she snatched the letter from him and opened it eagerly. 

“It’s from that crazy woman though, isn’t it?” he frowned, inspecting the envelope closer. 

“Yes, I replied to some of your hate mail,” she said enthusiastically as she unfolded the parchment. 

“Err… why?” he looked nonplussed. 

“Ah, lovely, she apologised. She won’t write to you anymore,” she took a large satisfied bite of toast. 

He didn’t say anything but Hermione got the distinct feeling that she shouldn’t meddle anymore for the rest of the day. Draco was getting that fed-up look. 

Hermione tried to stay out in muggle London for a good few hours to give Draco some privacy with his elves and Theo. She listened to her lecture and browsed the museum. She even savoured a latte from the cafe there which she had been sorely missing since she was fired from office life. When she thought back to the amount of money she must have frittered away carelessly on her latte habit over the years - compared to now when she had to scrimp and save every last knut, it made her want to throw a latte at Kingsley’s head. 

When she returned to the probation park the elves had already left and Theo was fastening his cloak to leave. 

“Thanks for setting this up, Hermione.” Theo looked genuinely pleased, “You know, you should invite Daphne over, or else come to ours. I know she’d love to get to know you better.”

Hermione snorted and folded her arms, “Oh yes I’m sure she’s dying to make my acquaintance. She was always trying to get to know me better in Hogwarts but I just kept knocking her back. You know, today is finally the day, where’s my quill?” 

Draco smirked at her sarcasm and Theo fixed them both with a look, “Well, I can see why you two were matched.”

Draco looked rather proud of her as he held out a hand to take her jacket from her. 

Theo looked from Draco to Hermione with thinly veiled amusement “You know, I can’t believe he got you in the end. All through Hogwarts he was just obsessed with you-“ 

Draco’s expression immediately clouded over, “Theo.” 

She raised her eyebrows as if asking him to go on. 

“Oh yes, always watching you and going on and on about how annoying you were,” Theo said with a grin. 

“Theo,” Draco repeated, more loudly.

“And now he’s finally gotten what he wanted for all those years,” Theo shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it. 

“THEO.” Draco’s face was like thunder. 

Theo allowed himself a smirk, “I’ve never seen you so… you really seem happy.” 

“Isn’t it time for you to leave? Why don’t you and Daph come over another night for dinner or... well… drinks. Maybe it’s best we don’t make you dinner, we can’t cook for shit.” He shrugged helplessly. 

Hermione sighed but didn’t contradict him.

“I would love that, thank you, Malfoys,” Theo bowed as he left. 

Draco collapsed onto the sofa and Hermione joined him. 

“Did everything go ok?” she searched his face for the verdict of her meddling. 

“Yes,” he said before adding reluctantly, “…Thank you, Granger.” 

She nudged him with her shoulder and he nudged her back before adding, “I missed them.” 

In that moment she wanted to throw her arms around her arrogant antagonising husband and kiss him but she couldn’t do it. She went for the safe option. 

“I had no idea you were obsessed with me at Hogwarts,” said Hermione.

“I was not obsessed,” he muttered darkly. 

Chapter Text

When Draco awakened to Hermione Malfoy giving him what could be the best blow job of his life, he had to bite back the ridiculous urge to tell her that he loved her. 

The feeling of his cock passing through her lips, the way she swirled her tongue around him in her mouth, the hollow of her cheeks as she sucked was just exquisite. 

He didn’t care what the Prophet said about that seer for the Marriage Act being a fake. He wanted to send her flowers. That seer was his hero. Granger was the most amazing match for him. The perfect match. The- 

He stifled a moan as Hermione took him deep into her mouth and he came. He gasped as she swallowed and he stared like it was the most perfect thing he had ever seen. 

“Happy birthday,” she said with a shy smile. 

“Fuck,” he breathed heavily, pulling her close to him, “how did you know?”

“It’s on our marriage certificate.” She nestled into his arms and kissed his chest. 

“Your turn,” said Draco, turning to kiss her, his hand skating down to her waistband. 

“No, we have a day planned already.” She shook her head and sat up in bed. 

“Isn’t it fertile day today?” he asked, like he didn’t already know. Like he hadn’t been counting down the days.

“We already slept in, now we have to get out for a day of 11-3 Ministry approved fun,” she told him. 

“But… doing what, exactly?” Draco fixed her with a look of mistrust. 

“I got approval for us to go into the muggle town and you’re going to discover the world of the British seaside,” Hermione grinned. 

He considered this for a moment. “We don’t have any money.”

“I’ve been saving up our change from groceries, we don’t need that much,” she said. 

“I don’t know what to do in front of muggles.” He was stalling. He’d seen the muggle town from the roof of the caravan, all of them scurrying around from a distance. What if he did or said something wrong in front of them? Would she think he was an idiot for not knowing? 

She ran a reassuring hand down his forearm. “You’ll be with me, it’ll be fun! It’s my present to you.”

“I thought that was your present.” He nodded towards his crotch with a smirk. 

“Second present, come on, shower time,” said Hermione. 

As she left to make tea, she flicked her wand and the covers whipped off the bed and he groaned. 

At 11am sharp, Draco found himself being led into the muggle town. Although he wasn’t sure you could even call it a town, a village he supposed. It was tiny. There was a white sand beach, a quiet walkway along it and then what seemed to be one main road and it was awash with colour and flashing lights. 

Muggles hurried by them. They walked past a human-sized plastic ice cream and a statue of a hotdog preparing to eat itself, Draco craned to look back at them and Hermione elbowed him.

“Don’t act weird,” she said. 

“That isn’t right.” He looked aghast at the hot dog before forcing himself to look away. 

Tiny shops spilt out into the streets, full of children’s buckets and spades, inflated balls, cheap-looking clothes and plastic toys. Draco’s eyes lingered on plastic chairs outside a shabby cafe. 

“This is not a place for muggle high society,” Hermione joked affecting a posh accent, “but it is fun.”

She dragged him into a large pink building, the whole front was glass and a red sign flashed ‘The Mirage’. Draco froze. Surrounding them were machine after machine playing different music, teenagers laughing, children running and the clink of coins. 

“This is an arcade, muggles play games here,” said Hermione, gesturing around them, “we need change first.”

“Change?” Draco asked weakly. This was overstimulating but strangely enough, it was similar to being inside the Weasley shop on Diagon Alley. 

Hermione fed muggle money into a machine and held a small plastic bowl underneath it whilst the machine spat out different money in return. The coins clinked on one another as they landed. 

Hermione flew into action, grabbing Draco’s shirt and pulling him across the garish red patterned carpet. “The first step is to survey the machines and see what prizes there are,” she told him. 

She examined several of the machines that were filled with the same bronze coloured coins she held in the bowl. The machines had moving parts that made a churning noise below the din of music. Her ‘prizes’ as she called them were cheap non-magical toys. Rubber ducks, squishy miniature animals, figurines of half-naked ugly creatures with wild pink fluffy hair, key rings with cartoons that Draco didn’t recognise. He wrinkled his nose up. 

“What do you think?” she asked him seriously. 

“Er… the ones with the muggle bank notes?” He pointed to a machine 

“What? No! You can’t pick those, no one ever wins those, they’re a trap. Pick what prize you want,” Hermione’s tone was bossy and suddenly he was taken back to when they were 11 on the Hogwarts Express and she was just a girl searching for a lost toad. 

“The dinosaur?” He tapped a machine to the left of them that held 3 brightly coloured plastic dinosaurs atop a bed of muggle money, there was a muggle bank note wedged at the back under some of the coins. 

“Yes! Good!” Nodded Hermione, her enthusiasm amused him, “Ok, these are Penny Falls machines and this is a two pence coin, and you put it in that slot, when you’re ready and just… let it go.” 

She held a bronze coin out and demonstrated, it rolled into the machine behind the glass and the machine pushed it, pushing the other coins forwards. The front line of the coins fell and Hermione bent down from a tray and picked up 3 bronze coins triumphantly. 

“You see?” she nodded. 

“Ok… and why do we do this?” Draco was still unsure of what was happening. 

“To earn our prize!” Hermione shook the bowl of coins at him. Draco gave her a skeptical look but sighed and tried one. 

Ten minutes later, Draco was getting obsessive. The plastic dinosaurs had edged forwards somewhat and he was far more invested than he had ever thought he could be in muggle toys that were worth next to nothing. The blue one was heading to the side but the pink and yellow were still fair game. This was fun. He positioned Hermione in front of him, his arms on either side of her facing the machine as they took it in turns to drop 2p pieces and cheered loudly if there was progress made. 

At one interval Hermione had to get more coins for the money machine and Draco fervently urged her back, “We’re so close!” 

They fed their coins into the hungry machine, Draco wanted to shake the machine to move things along but Hermione said they were alarmed. Times were getting desperate, it was their last coin and the yellow dinosaur was so close to the edge. 

“I hope you’re feeling lucky…” Hermione shook her head as if it was a lost cause. 

Draco fed the last coin into the arcade machine and it tumbled down where it rested, pushing no more coins forward. He frowned and jerked his head. Coins came rushing out of the machine, the yellow and pink dinosaurs were in the tray along with the muggle bank note. 

“Oh!” Hermione’s mouth opened in shock, “Did you…?” 

Use wandless magic, that was the question she didn’t ask. She looked surprised and suspicious. 

“I make my own luck, Granger,” he gave her a wink as he rescued his dinosaurs. 

She rolled her eyes but she was smiling. Hermione shovelled coins into the plastic bowl and took it to a counter manned by an elderly muggle to change into yet again more money and Draco was flush with victory. 

“We have enough for fish and chips now, come on,” said Hermione. 

They made their way back to the probation park after fish and chips eaten on the beach with their plastic dinosaurs and a strip of muggle photos of them stuck pulling unmoving silly faces. It had cost hardly anything but Draco thought it was the best birthday of his life. Until it wasn’t. 

* 

Florrie Hayworth was sitting on the front steps of Caravan 32 waiting for them and she stood as they approached. Her tall brunette hair was swooped up into a beehive with a purple scarf tied around it that didn’t match the style of the grey suit she wore. She completely blanked Draco as she greeted Hermione. 

Draco had a sinking feeling that whatever she wanted was something that he didn’t. 

“Hermione Granger! Such an honour to finally meet you,” Florrie said with a sweeping bow. 

“Oh, hello,” said Hermione faintly, “it’s Hermione Malfoy now, actually.” 

Instantly Draco was on alert, Hermione was not one to be shy. 

“That’s what I was hoping to speak to you about actually. I was unsure if you received my letter,” said Florrie, her eyes seemed to flicker in Draco’s direction without her ever looking directly at him.  

“I did. Would you like to come in?” offered Hermione, gesturing for her to head inside. 

They made their way in with Draco hanging back slightly, as though he was not involved. 

“You’ve seen our protests in the paper?” asked Florrie, taking a seat on the sofa. 

Hermione bit her lip before answering, “Um, yes, yes I have.”

“I wrote because I was hoping you might attend one,” said Florrie. 

“I don’t think-“ Hermione shook her head. 

“Or perhaps a piece in the Prophet about you being moved here against your will? The struggles you have faced as a result of this law? That could go down really well with the public from a witch of your stature. I really want to get you involved in what we’re doing.” She seemed to be tiptoeing the line between polite and confrontational. 

Draco turned away and arranged their plastic dinosaurs by the kitchen window. He didn’t want anything to do with this. 

“Draco and I aren’t looking to join a lawsuit or protest at this time,” said Hermione, leaning over to hand Draco the strip of muggle photos. 

Florrie sat forward. “Hermione. You were matched with your childhood bully. We all saw the court hearings in the paper. His father attacked you when you were a teenager, his aunt tortured you-“ 

Hermione flinched. Draco’s eyes were wide. They didn’t talk about those things, they specifically never mentioned them. How could she just take these issues and throw them in the trailer air like confetti, like they were nothing? 

Hermione had worried the hem of her shirt around her fingers and she smoothed it out as she took a deep breath. “Thank you, Florrie, but-“ 

Florrie turned to face Draco and said boldly, “You can’t want this.” 

“My wife has clearly explained her position. If she changes her mind she can owl you,” said Draco. He looked at Florrie coldly and willed himself to calm down. 

“This isn’t a good match for you either and I should know, I have my own bad match. It doesn’t make sense to have children with a muggleborn when you come from a family such as your own who have insisted on blood purity for centuries,” said Florrie, looking from Draco to Hermione as though they were both crazy. 

“Our marriage is none of your concern. Leave, please. Right now. You have said more than enough. Get out,” he said, pointing a finger at the door. 

“You can write to me-“ Florrie grasped Hermione’s hand but she shrank back from Florrie as if her ideas might be catching. 

“OUT,” he barked. 

Florrie huffed angrily as she stood and left, throwing Draco a look as she went. 

The door shut behind Florrie but the past was still floating in the air around them and Draco didn’t want to deal with it. How could she come here and throw those things in their face? On his own birthday? Ruining their special day together. 

Hermione wasn’t looking at him. He sat beside her and pulled her into his arms. She felt floppy at first before curling her own arms around him and holding him tightly. Draco inhaled the smell of her hair. 

It was true they’d gotten off to a rocky start when they had met at Hogwarts, a rocky few years… or a decade, honestly, but that was all behind them now. They might not have chosen each other naturally, they were from different worlds. And yes, perhaps they bickered all day but that was just because they cared. They both cared, they had standards.

*

Draco drew back. “Are you ok?” he asked. 

Hermione nuzzled her face deeper into the curve of his neck and made only a muffled hum to avoid answering. She hated to talk about her feelings, all the insecure and vulnerable raw parts of her she didn’t ever like to expose. She was supposed to be strong, always, she’d made it through a war for god’s sake. 

She felt Draco shift again, “I’m sorry I shouted in front of you, she just-” he paused as Hermione’s lips pressed kisses across the tattoos he’d gotten in Azkaban, “I didn’t like her saying-“ he broke off again with a shudder, his breath catching as she sucked the bottom of his earlobe. 

It worked. Draco tilted his face to kiss her and she grabbed a fistful of his shirt to pull him to the bedroom. Hermione pressed him onto the mattress and straddled him. 

“I need you,” she whispered against his lips. 

Hermione took her time undressing him, brushing her mouth across his bare shoulders and tracing the tips of her fingers down his spine. He kept his hands on her - steady on her ass, tangled in her hair, gripping her hips - as if he couldn’t stand to lose contact. 

Pressing her nose to his skin, she breathed him in as he slid her clothes from her body. She wanted to remember everything. Draco tilted her chin and kissed a path down her throat, over her chest, closing his mouth over her breast. Heat pooled between her legs as he teased and sucked, his white-blonde hair falling into his eyes. Hermione fidgeted in his lap. He was heartbreakingly handsome.

Her hips rocked against him, her slick against the press of his cock. She heard his sharp intake of breath as she rolled her hips. Placing a hand on his chest, she eased him back against the bed still sitting astride him. She looked at him questioningly and he nodded. 

Slowly, she lowered herself onto him, gasping at the stretch as he filled her. For a moment she felt powerful and beautiful. She could feel his eyes on her body as she moved slowly, a soft gasp escaping her lips. She faltered. 

“What is it?” he asked, his voice rough. 

“I- need you more,” she whispered. She didn’t even know what she meant, but he did. 

Draco gave her a soft smile and flipped her underneath him, parting her legs and moving between them once more. 

“Like this?” He watched her face carefully as he thrust into her with care. 

“Oh!” she sighed and nodded. 

Hermione wrapped her legs around his waist, willing him deeper and he obliged, burying himself deep, filling her. 

He kissed her mouth reverently, moving slowly, deliberately. He felt so good inside of her. 

“Is this ok?” she asked, biting her lip. 

“Fuck yes,” he said, moving faster. 

She felt unbearably close to him like this, the intensity was almost too much. She could feel her climax edging closer and it was overwhelming. 

Her fingers dug into his shoulders. “Draco,” she breathed and he pressed his lips to hers, his hips quickening. 

She came with a trembling gasp as pleasure pulsed through her veins and tears blurred her vision. She blinked them away furiously, biting her lip as Draco came soon after, burying his face against her neck as his body shook with release.

If Draco noticed her blinking away tears, he said nothing. He let out a long, shuddering breath as he lay down beside her. He brought his hand over her abdomen and raised his eyebrows in a question. It was unsaid. Did she want him to perform the contraceptive spell? 

Hermione barely had to think about it, she shook her head no. She wasn’t thinking about the Marriage Act or the protestors or purebloods and muggleborns. In that moment, the idea of having a part of Draco to herself conquered everything else. Tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed but she needed him close. 

“No contraceptive spell? Really?” Draco asked hesitantly. He looked relieved. 

“Really,” she said. She studied him to see his verdict and came face to face with a smile which made her laugh. 

Draco shrugged and turned back to face the ceiling. “I’m just happy,” he said. 

“Me too,” Hermione said and in that moment she loved him so clearly. She cuddled into his side and he wrapped an arm around her. 

“I’m sorry Hayworth ruined the end of your birthday,” Hermione screwed up her nose, “I had so much fun with you and now all we’ll remember is her.”

“Granger, that is not what I’ll be remembering,” he drawled, tilting his head down to kiss her again. 

“Sorry I made you go on top again,” she teased, needing her humour to deflect. 

“I consider control freak Hermione Granger asking me to go on top to be the highest of compliments,” Draco smirked. 

“I just-“ she stalled. She just what? Wanted to be closer to him? Had feelings for him? Anything she had wanted to say was just too cringy to bear. 

“I know,” he said, kissing her once more and saving her from embarrassment. 

He moved away slightly and feathered her hair out on the pillow a few strands at a time into a large frizzy halo around her head. 

“Having fun?” asked Hermione, trying to keep still. 

“The most,” he sighed, flopping back down next to her and pulling her close. 

Chapter Text

It was after lunch time at the charity shop and the afternoon was dragging. Mrs Carver was busy bustling around the shop and manning the till. Someone had donated (or possibly died and left behind?) a large amount of books and Draco and Greg had been tasked with pricing them from a listing index and labelling them one by one. It was tedious. The books were old and some had mysterious stains on them. The time crept by sluggishly and Draco couldn’t help but wonder what Hermione was doing at home and playing back the day they had spent together on his birthday to escape the monotony. 

Greg cleared his throat, looked up at Draco and then looked down at the book he was supposed to be labelling again. 

“What?” asked Draco, eyeing his friend with suspicion. They had known each other too many years for Draco to be in any doubt that his friend had something on his mind. 

Greg seemed to be having some sort of internal battle against himself. His expression looked pained. Draco made a twirling motion with his fingers to indicate that Greg should get on with it. 

“I’ve been talking to Luna and things came up and… I wanted to apologise about the last year of Hogwarts, and the battle,” said Greg in a rush. 

Draco made a noise as if to interrupt him but Greg continued, “Things were getting more and more serious and I didn’t realise how much danger we were all in. When Vince-“ his voice trembled on the name and he gulped. 

Draco froze, he hadn’t realised they would be discussing this today and he wasn’t prepared. “Hey, you don’t have to- it’s ok. That wasn’t your fault,” said Draco, shaking his head firmly. 

“It feels like my fault to me,” said Greg quietly. 

“It feels like my fault to me as well sometimes but neither of us cast that fiendfyre,” said Draco. 

He could still feel that moment as if it was yesterday. He could barely see anything in his memory except disjointed still images and blurs of colour but he could still feel the intense heat and the fear seeping into his blood and being pumped around his body if he thought back to that day. Flickers of an image of the flames encasing Crabbe. 

“We just- we wanted to keep up with you. You were being given more and more serious things to do and you know our families never had the connections yours did. You know you were always ahead of us and I- I was so afraid of being left behind,” Greg sighed and tilted his head to one side as if recalling, “And then when I saw you slowing down and not obeying orders… I felt angry. You’d been given everything I hadn’t and you were throwing it away.”

Greg stared down at the book in front of him and mumbled, “I didn’t understand what I know now. I’m sorry, Dre.”

Draco looked at his old friend and sighed, “I should never have involved you as much as I did. I feel like I led you and Vince into it and it just spiralled from there.”

“If I was a better friend I would have tried harder to keep you safe,” said Draco. 

He didn’t need a heart to heart with Luna Goodgoyle to realise that. That particular thought had occurred to him so many times before that it rolled easily off the tongue. He had been friends with Greg and Vince since they were toddlers, they’d grown up together and he had been careless with their trust. 

“We were happy to help you and be involved. Before it all went to shit,” Greg huffed a reluctant laugh and Draco gave him a wry smile in return. 

Greg’s smile faltered and he swallowed. “Will you forgive me?”

“I should be asking you that, will you forgive me?” asked Draco. 

“There’s nothing to forgive,” said Greg gruffly. 

“Likewise,” said Draco before clearing his throat, “Ok that’s done. All good?”

“Good, yeah,” said Greg. 

They priced several more books quietly, both buried in thought. 

“Do you and Luna talk a lot?” asked Draco.

Greg and Luna weirdly seemed to be working out as a match and he wasn’t sure how because they were both so different. 

“Sometimes. When we do, she makes me think of things I hadn’t thought about before.” Greg frowned before adding, “When I understand her anyway. What about you and Hermione?”

“No. We try to avoid topics like that. Too much history. We mainly bicker, have hot sex and cook very poorly,” said Draco with an easy shrug. 

Greg considered this for a moment and grinned. “That doesn’t sound bad.”

“No, I suppose it’s not bad,” Draco said with a smirk. 

He felt lost in thought for the rest of the afternoon, like he was only half paying attention to what was going on at the shop. He had made his peace with what had happened to Vince, as much as his friend’s ending made him wish things had ended differently. 

He mulled over the war in his mind. Usually he tried not to think about it whatsoever, after all, it was done now. What could he change? The war had changed him but he could not change it, that was what his father had said to him one visit. 

And then he thought about Hermione in the war. All the things he knew as a matter of record that she had done in the war. The details had been in the papers, she had had to speak at his own trial in even greater depth than the papers were allowed to report. But reading the papers and even hearing her first hand account was nothing to seeing what had happened to her in person. At Malfoy Manor. His own home. 

It made him feel sick with shame and regret. If he’d had any inkling of what she would become to him it would have been so different. He liked to think that the person he was now would have acted very differently. On the bus he was so deep in thought that Millie had to prod him to get up when it had stopped at the probation park. 

He waved to Greg and Millie as they split off to their own homes but froze on the grass. A steady trickle of black smoke was streaming from the caravan window and he let out a sound of shock and fear. He scrabbled with the door catch, desperate to get to Hermione. He felt a swoop of dread in the pit of his stomach that he hadn’t felt since the Dark Lord was in power. What if it was Yaxley or Rowle? 

He wrenched open the door and found Hermione fanning dark smoke towards the window with an old newspaper. The oven was open and something black and charred was inside of it. 

Draco stopped, his heart was still hammering traitorously. “What the fuck is going on?” he asked furiously. 

“Just a little mishap with the timing!” she said, still fanning. 

“Hermione, I-,” Draco stopped. He had to hold on to the counter and let himself breathe through the panic. 

“It’s only food,” she said, shrugging as though it couldn’t be helped. 

“I thought-“ he paused to take a deep breath,”I thought something had happened. I saw the smoke and-“ he shook his head. 

“Oh,” said Hermione, giving him a sympathetic look and taking his face in her hands. 

Draco held her to him, slowing his breathing. He was over reacting. Nothing bad had happened. He pressed his face into her hair and inhaled her scent to soothe himself.

“Sorry,” he said, drawing back to look at her, “I just- I thought-“

“Shh.” Hermione stroked a hand down his face and kissed his cheek. 

Draco sighed, leant past her, picked a piece of charred mystery food off the baking tray and took a bite out of it before spitting it out into his hand with a look of revulsion. 

“Don’t you ever tell my mother I spat food out or I will have my revenge,” he said as he got himself a drink of water to rinse out his mouth. 

“I swear,” Hermione said, crossing her heart with her fingers. 

“That was horrible.” He grimaced. 

“I know.” Hermione winced apologetically. 

Draco shrugged. “Do you want to drink on the roof and listen to the Rowles argue?” 

“Ooh. Yes, the salad will be safe at least,” she said, turning around and promptly dropping the salad on the floor. 

Draco sighed and gave her a look. 

“I’m bad at this…” she said. 

* 

Hermione took a long sip of her drink and then helped herself to a slice of cucumber - the only vegetable salvaged from their would-have-been salad as she hadn’t added it yet. The drinks menu at Caravan 32 had been getting steadily more fruity as their budget and Draco allowed. The sun had dipped low and the sky was a beautiful orange. 

“I was speaking to Greg earlier,” said Draco, crunching his own circle of cucumber. 

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I realised I never apologised to you properly,” he said, his eyes flickering to her to check what she thought of this. 

“Why? What have you done?” asked Hermione with a smirk. 

Draco didn’t return her smirk. “You know. All the stuff before…” He clamped his mouth shut as if trapping the rest of the words inside of him. 

“Apologising.” Hermione tilted her head, “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“I regret how I treated you,” Draco said looking sincere, “I have one long list of regrets and the way I was to you over the years is at the top of it.”

She smiled steadily and laced her fingers in his, giving his hand a squeeze. “You’ve improved a little since then.”

“A little?” He raised an eyebrow. 

“Mmm,” she said. 

“I’m sorry,” said Draco seriously. 

“I know,” she said, squeezing his hand again gently. 

Draco pressed her hand to his chest and they lay down side by side on the roof of the trailer, staring up into the clouds. Hermione could feel Draco’s thumb rubbing gently up and down her hand and the steady beat of his heart from his chest. 

“That night at the Manor-“ he started. 

“Don’t,” she said sharply, the word catching in the back of her throat. 

She knew what night. The night at the Manor when she, Harry and Ron had been brought in and she did not want to discuss that now, or ever. She could still remember his grey eyes feigning a cold disinterest in her as they passed over her like a deadly X-ray.   

“Ok. Ok,” he said soothingly. His grey eyes looked so different to her now, gentle and caring. Safe. 

Her mind raced, thinking back to the Manor. The metallic rotting smell of Greyback looming over her. Bellatrix’s deranged laugh as she cut into her. The floorboards of the drawing room, long and even, polished. Draco continued to stroke her hand in his and it was keeping her grounded in the now. 

In the quiet that stretched out before them, Hermione’s thoughts turned to her present worries. The Marriage Act. The protestor’s lawsuit. The healer’s visit fast approaching. The contraception spell she had told Draco not to perform. A baby. His baby. 

Could she be pregnant? Would the tapestry in Harry’s house show anything different if she was? They had only tried once. She knew logically that it usually took couples a long time to conceive, especially magical couples. It was a gamble she had taken only one time. Could it be so easy as to have worked already? 

The healer would tell her, she knew that. Maybe Draco would feel less anxious about a healer visit now that they had made progress in their relationship. She wondered how Draco would feel about either a pregnancy or another missed opportunity. She hadn’t really given him a choice after all, she had called the shots in the moment with little to no discussion. He had said he was happy, was that the same as agreeing to try for a baby though? They hadn’t discussed it then or since. 

What if the healer told her there was something wrong with her? If she wasn’t pregnant would Draco get reassigned to someone else? Would their marriage be annulled? No. She was being silly. There was no indication that there were any issues and even if they were, they could surely be improved upon with fertility potions, the healer had said as much. She was worrying about things that hadn’t happened. 

“Not much longer on probation left,” said Draco.

“I know, it’s gone by surprisingly fast.” She frowned at the thought of it. 

“It doesn’t feel like that to me but ok,” he smiled, “After I’m off probation I can apply to have the Azkaban tattoos removed.” He scratched his neck where the runes were etched. 

Hermione shrugged, “You could just keep them.”

Draco scoffed and turned to her. “You like them, don’t you?!”

She could feel her cheeks starting to flush. 

“I… I don’t hate them-“ she started, her voice sounding squeaky suddenly. 

Oh god did she not hate them, they were so sexy. He was so sexy. 

“Granger! The scandal! I never thought you would like the convict look,” he drawled, looking like Christmas had come early. 

“Shut up, I feel embarrassed now,” she tugged her hand out of his but he pulled it back to him, shaking his head with a grin. 

“Aw, come on, don’t. How about I tell you something embarrassing about me?” he asked, “Then we’ll be even.”

“What?” she pretended to pout. 

He gave a great sigh like he was about to shed some groundbreaking news, “I… used to have the mistaken belief that muggleborns had a special kind of magic to make purebloods attracted to them.” Hermione was staring at him so he added, “You know, so that they could steal their magic by having their children.” 

Hermione snorted, she had never heard a myth about muggleborns that was this bizarre. “Um. Come again?”

Draco sighed again, “My father said - I mean in hindsight perhaps he got told this when he was younger too. Or else he just made it up to try and keep me away from muggleborns but - yeah. I used to think that you had magic like… I don’t know-“ he frowned as if trying to think of the word, “like a Veela, I guess? To make me want you.”

Hermione laughed openly at this and Draco looked at her with a tolerant smile as though he was permitting it, this once. 

“I spent fourth year onwards annoyed that you were bewitching me into imagining sex dreams with you, but really I was just a horny repressed pureblood teenager.” He smirked. 

She tried to control her laughter, “Oh gosh, was I good? In the teenage sex dreams?” 

“What, the Hermione Granger? Best at everything, don’t you know.” He raised his eyebrows. 

 She shook her head and snickered. “I’m flattered. About the sex dream part, not the blood purity part,” she added. 

“Naturally.” He nodded. 

The sky was getting darker now and he took a bite of the last slice of cucumber before feeding her the rest, probably to shut her up, she thought. 

“In hindsight, there were a lot of signs. I was in complete denial,” said Draco studying the sky once more. 

There was a beat before he added, “Did you ever like me?”

Hermione gave him a mocking smile. “I thought you were such a prick… a handsome prick… but still a prick.” She shrugged but he looked pleased, like being deemed a handsome prick was a badge of honour. 

“You thought I was handsome?” he asked her airily. 

“You know you’re handsome.” She rolled her eyes. 

There were voices close by, although it wasn’t the Rowles arguing. A man and a woman’s voice could be heard and neither Hermione or Draco spoke for a moment, Draco tilted his head to listen. 

“I didn’t forget the leftovers,”said the man’s voice, “I have some for compost too.” 

Draco and Hermione sat up quietly on the roof and saw Millie a few trailers over, sitting on the front steps to her caravan with Neville rooting around in his vegetable garden. 

“Tonight wasn’t so bad at your grandmother’s house,” said Millie. Her voice sounded more gentle than Hermione had heard her before. 

“It will be our house too soon. If you want of course,” said Neville happily from behind tall plants. 

“Let’s see what happens. Don’t forget to check the courgettes too,” Millie ordered as Neville placed some vegetables on the step next to her. 

“Yes, love,” he said. 

They watched Neville kiss Millie’s cheek and she huffed. When he turned away to attend to the garden once more she smiled and touched her face where he had left the kiss. 

Hermione fluttered her eyelashes at Draco and he chuckled under his breath. 

“Everyone’s marriage seems to be working out for the best against all odds, doesn’t it?” he said quietly. 

“Yes,” she agreed. 

“Even ours?” He looked at her curiously. 

“Yes,” she admitted. 

He smiled and pressed a kiss to her cheek, as Neville had kissed Millie’s, and Hermione hoped she was carrying Draco’s baby more than ever.

“STAY OUT ALL NIGHT IF YOU WANT TO, YOU FUCKING SLAG!” bellowed Rowle’s voice from the other side of the park. 

“Aaaand that’s our cue to turn in for the night,” Hermione huffed a laugh.

“Yup,” said Draco, rolling his eyes and jumping down from the roof. He reached back and held out a hand to help her down. She landed in his arms like she belonged there. 

Chapter Text

The Ministry sanctioned fertility appointment with a healer was later that afternoon and Draco had the day off. He decided to use the free morning to visit Azkaban. He might have acted as though visiting his father was a duty and nothing more, but today he needed to see him and he couldn’t explain why. Something about his father, albeit in this hellhole, was reassuring. He needed some fatherly advice. 

Once more, he took the depressing boat through choppy waters to Azkaban. Once more he found himself waiting at the chipped table in the visitors’ room. 

Lucius strode in as though he was lord of the prison and his guard hurried to keep up with him. It was amazing really, thought Draco, how well he was doing in Azkaban with the dementors gone. 

“We’ll be at the door, Lucius,” said the guard but Lucius didn’t even acknowledge him as he sat across from his son. 

“Son,” he greeted him with a warm smile. 

“Father, how have you been?” asked Draco. 

“Tolerable. What’s the matter?” asked Lucius. 

“Nothing,” said Draco, shaking his head. 

“You look worried.” His father leant forwards to study him, frowning slightly. 

Draco looked away and his eyes snagged on a Daily Prophet that a guard was reading outside the door. “Have you been following the papers?” he asked his father. 

“There’s precious little else to do here,” his father said with disdain. 

“Things are getting heated over the Marriage Act,” said Draco. 

Lucius merely waited so Draco went on, lowering his voice, “On my birthday, Florrie Hayworth was waiting at the door of our trailer to try and convince Hermione to join her protest or support her lawsuit publicly.” 

“Oh,” said Lucius slowly. 

“…Oh?” Draco prompted him. 

“You don’t want the marriage act to be stopped,” said his father. 

It wasn’t a question but he shook his head, meeting his father’s gaze reluctantly. 

“I thought that when I teased you about your obsession, you said you didn’t want to be with her?” His father ran a hand over his chin thoughtfully. 

Draco shrugged. “Now that I have her and I’ve gotten used to how things are… I don’t want anyone to take her from me,” said Draco. 

He put his head in his hands before running them through his hair and facing his father 

“Did she accept her offer?” Lucius asked. 

“Whose?” 

“Hayworth’s,” said Lucius. 

“Oh. No. She didn’t. But none of that will matter if the law gets overturned,” grumbled Draco, “I like being married.”

His father made a sympathetic face. “You’ll find another marriage, any of the Sacred 28 would be more than happy-“

“I like being married to her,” he admitted. 

Lucius sighed and altered his course. “Think of this as your practice marriage, and when you get remarried it’ll-“

“Father!” Draco slammed his hand on the table impatiently, “I don’t want a practice marriage. Are you even listening to yourself? How is this helpful advice?”

“Hey, Malfoy and… Malfoy! Keep it down in there,” called a guard from the doorway. 

Lucius made an apologetic face at the guards before turning back to Draco, “You’re right, Son. I apologise.”

Draco looked up, concerned that if his father was apologising it could mean that hell was freezing over. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t listen to me anymore, I don’t think I’m very good at this,” his father sighed. 

“Ugh, well then what good are you?” Draco complained. 

Lucius considered this for a moment. “You inherited my hair, didn’t you?”

“Mmm,” Draco grunted in reply. 

“Well then, you’re welcome,” said his father, regaining some of his haughty tone. 

“What am I going to do if I lose her?” asked Draco. 

Ever since Florrie Hayworth had visited, the question had been in the back of his mind. Maybe even before that, if he was honest with himself. He knew deep down that he didn’t deserve her. 

“Try to get her back,” said Lucius, as if the idea was as easy as breathing air. 

“She deserves to be happy not stuck with me against her will,” Draco muttered. 

“Is she unhappy with you?” asked Lucius. 

“No, not exactly but-“

“You have been punished enough, Son” said his father gently. 

“Giving her to me and then taking her away again would be the worst punishment I could endure,” he sighed and rubbed his forehead with his hand. 

He shook his head as if to rid himself of the conversation, “Are they treating you alright?” he asked his father. 

“Yes, you know m-“ his father’s voice was cut off by a loud siren and he rolled his eyes. 

Draco knew that siren, it was a lockdown. He and his father automatically put their hands on their heads and a guard came rushing into the visiting room, throwing his paper down. 

“Lockdown, Lucius. Malfoy- visiting Malfoy, you don’t need to put your hands on your head, you’re not a prisoner here anymore,” said the guard, gesturing his father to stand with his handcuffs visible. 

“Oh,” said Draco, lowering his hands and nodding to his father as he was marched out. 

He waited in his chair for a beat, the alarm was still blaring and then mercifully it stopped and he stood to make his way to the waiting room. 

“Lockdown, Malfoy,” called a guard from behind a glass screen who seemed untroubled by this fact. 

“Yes, I know,” said Draco. 

The guard gestured for him to take a seat and he reached back for the discarded paper and flicked through it as he waited. 

The front page, as always, was occupied by the Marriage Act. A large photograph of the Wizengamot that captured both Florrie Hayworth and her husband Kingsley Shacklebolt, clearly screaming at each other, was featured in the centre. Draco supposed that for all his and Hermione’s poor press, they had not yet reached this level of shame. 

The article detailed that final arguments were to be made in the Marriage Act lawsuit before a verdict would be reached. The further it got pushed out, the better, thought Draco bitterly. 

Draco flipped through the rest of the paper dully before making his way to the glass partition to address the guard, “I need to get going.”

“There’s a lockdown in the prison and all prisoners have to return to their cell-“

“I know but-“ he interrupted. 

“It’s probably nothing, it happens all the time, it’ll pass.” The guard shrugged. 

“Can you search me so I can leave? Or could I speak to the warden?” asked Draco. 

The guard fixed him with a look that plainly said he was being inconvenienced before lumbering off to get the warden.  

Ten more minutes of waiting and the guard returned with the warden. The guard looked out of breath and Draco wondered if this was why he was chosen to sit behind the glass partition all day. 

The warden was a northern no-nonsense sort of man with a thick grey toothbrush moustache. He drew himself up with a nod, not quite meeting Draco’s height. “Contraband.”

Draco blinked. “Pardon?”

“There’s been contraband found which means a lockdown. You can’t leave yet,” said the warden. 

“What do you mean? You know it can’t be me, I’ve been here the entire time being watched,” said Draco, aware that he was whining.

“It’s just Azkaban policy, nothing in, nothing out,” said the warden. 

“How long is this going to take?” asked Draco, glancing at a clock on the wall.

“Mr Malfoy, you have been here yourself, you already know. It takes as long as it takes.” The warden gave him a grim smile. 

“I have to leave before 12, I have an appointment this afternoon,” Draco explained. 

“Nothing in, nothing out,” repeated the warden. 

“Can I send an owl then?” Draco gestured to the cage of owls he could spy inside the offices. 

“Nothing in, nothing out,” said the warden. 

“Can you send an owl?” suggested Draco with an appraising look at the warden. 

“Oh god, it’s like he’s deaf,” said the warden, looking back at the guard behind the glass who nodded in agreement, “Nothing in. Nothing out. Could I be any plainer?”

“Fuck.” Draco swore under his breath before trying a different tack. “Do you know Hermione Granger?”

“Yes, I know of her,” conceded the warden reluctantly. 

“Well, now she’s Hermione Malfoy,” said Draco. 

“I saw in the papers,” said the warden sounding unimpressed with the match, “but celebrity or not-“

“You know that she helped to kill the Dark Lord?” asked Draco. 

The warden looked round once more to the guard and gave him an incredulous look. “You Know Who-“

“She is a dangerous woman and if I am late to a ministry mandated fertility appointment with Hermione Granger, she is going to murder me,” pleaded Draco. 

“Then you’d better buy some flowers like I do for the missus when I’m in the dog house,” the warden raised his eyebrows before making his way back to the office. 

“Fucking hell,” moaned Draco, checking his watch. A feeling of dread prickled uncomfortably in his stomach. 

*

He was late. Draco was so late that he didn’t even catch Healer Rutherford leaving. He could hear Hermione banging things inside the trailer as he climbed the steps and he winced, knowing this was going to be horrible. He took a deep breath before opening the door. 

“Hermione-“ he started. 

“Where the hell were you?” she asked him, clearly furious. Her hair was wild and her face was tear-stained. 

“There was a lockdown at Azkaban, they held me in the waiting room for hours because they have this policy at the prison where there’s nothing in and nothing out and I went to the warden but-“ he said, launching into the story. 

“Do you know how humiliating it was just sitting there waiting for you to show up? Only you never did. I suppose you needn’t have come anyway, we’re not pregnant,” she cut across him with a careless flick of her hand. 

Draco stopped for a moment, thrown off. Had she expected to be pregnant? They had only tried a single time. Was she disappointed or was she relieved and now trying to make her escape whilst she still could?

“I still wanted to make the appointment. I wanted to owl you but I wasn’t allowed,” he said. 

He sat down across from her and she picked up a book and pretended to be absorbed in it, refusing to look at him. 

“You know, some people try to have a baby for years. We only tried a single time. We have to give it longer,” he said gently. 

Hermione sniffed. “I shouldn’t be surprised, this whole thing is artificial, just set up by the Ministry. We’re probably not even really compatible,” she said, her words tumbling out in a rush. 

Draco knew that was untrue, he knew it in his bones. “Hermione-“ 

“Is it any wonder we aren’t pregnant yet?” she continued, her voice frantic, “Our bodies can probably sense the whole Marriage Act will come crashing down soon if the protestors get their way,” she gave a dry sob, “Our magic can probably tell you don’t love me, just the same as I don’t love you.”

His mouth dropped open but she still wouldn’t look at him. “Don’t say that.” He shook his head. 

“Why not? It’s true,” she tossed back, flippant. 

“You don’t mean that,” said Draco, aghast. 

“Yes, I do.” She sniffed again. 

For a moment he was dumbstruck, the bottom of his stomach seemed to have fallen out at her words, but then the reality of the day, the prison, the healer, the lawsuit and her came crashing over him and his hurt twisted into anger. 

“You are so busy pushing me away and avoiding anything real between us that you can’t even tell the difference,” he said as he stood, anger pushing him upright. 

“I can tell!” she shouted, dumping her book aside as she stood up to face him. 

“So you’re not pregnant. The one assignment you didn’t pass the first time and now you’re just going to give up completely? This is divination all over again, the only difference is that you’re an adult now. I bet you’re probably just waiting for Potter to come and rescue you, just like in school, aren’t you? Until then, just bury your head in a book, won’t you, Granger?” he scoffed. 

Hermione’s fists were clenched at her sides. “Anything to avoid interacting with you,” she spat back. 

Draco stopped again, speechless. He made a noise of disbelief and shook his head again. “I don’t need to take this shit from you,” he said. 

“Good, leave,” said Hermione, turning her back on him and picking up her book. 

Draco hesitated, giving her one last look before leaving the trailer. Her eyes never left her book. 

* 

Sobs ripped from her chest the second Draco slammed the door shut. Deep, noisy, soul-wrenching sobs that shook Hermione’s body as she let them out. 

The day had started off so well, they had had breakfast together, she had waved Draco off on his visit and tidied the house in advance of the Ministry Healer. She had done a little gardening with Neville and then returned home, only Draco didn’t. 

She was getting fidgety an hour before the visit when she realised he should have been home ages ago. She stalked over to the gate of the park where the sanctimonious guard had shrugged and told her (with some relish, she noted) that it was not the guard’s job to be her husband’s keeper. When she had pointed out to the guard that it literally was her job to be her husband’s keeper for the time being, the guard had ordered her to leave. 

By the time that Healer Rutherford had knocked on the door, Hermione was so on edge she could barely breathe. She had informed the healer that Draco had not returned yet, mustering all of the composure that she could manage, and then had to suffer through what must have been the most embarrassing appointment with a healer anyone had ever had the misfortune to experience. Healer Rutherford seemed to take Draco’s absence as a personal insult and indication of his lack of commitment to repopulation efforts. 

It was brutal. After firing repeated questions at her about their sex life, where Hermione tried to keep her responses minimal, he had hit her with the news that she wasn’t pregnant. It was the unceremonious way that he said it that got to her, an afterthought that he slipped in after casting a test spell and then checking his watch. 

Even as he caught her expression and reassured her that it was very early on in their attempts she felt like she had floated out of the appointment and into her own mind. Her ears were ringing as if she was underwater. She knew he was right, it was early, but it was also late for her timeline. 

Nothing was guaranteed, the wizarding world had taught Hermione that. Not her safety, not her education, not her freedom or career, definitely not Draco and it hurt. No matter the outcome of the protesters’ lawsuit, a baby could have been the thing to maintain their connection. Now she had lost one of her precious attempts to keep their lives together. 

Long after Healer Rutherford had left, Draco had walked through the door as the embodiment of everything she could lose and she could feel it slipping away from her grip like water in her hands. How could she be enough to make him want to stay? She was being prickly, she knew that, but she wanted to make him feel how she had been hurt without him there. She felt upset that he had let her down and angry, so angry, with herself that she had fallen for Draco Malfoy.  

His accusations of her perfectionism and the way he had looked at her when she had told him she didn’t love him filled her with a deep ache. How could she have said that to him? 

Now it was almost time for curfew and he still wasn’t home. Her tears had dried long ago but she splashed her face clean with water before clutching her cloak around her and hurrying to Luna’s. Surely Draco would be there, gossiping to Goyle about what a bitch she’d been. Only he wasn’t there. 

Greg just shook his head and frowned when he answered the door and Hermione asked. He leaned out of the doorway to look around as if Draco might pop out suddenly. 

“How long has he been gone?” he asked, his eyes sliding back to her. 

“Um… about… a while… maybe 5 hours?” said Hermione, staring down at her shoes and feeling ashamed of herself for leaving it this long to check on him after ordering him out of his own home. 

“Try Millie’s? Curfew is soon,” Greg frowned again. 

She nodded. “I know. Thank you.”

Neville was in his garden as she walked up the path to his and Millicent’s caravan. 

“Hello Hermione, just getting rid of some slugs, they like the dark better!” Neville smiled at her as he stood and dusted off his hands. “Everything alright?”

“I can’t find Draco,” she said, gripping her wedding ring. 

Neville’s smile fell and he went in to ask Millie. Millicent almost knocked Neville aside as she stepped out in a quilted floral dressing gown over a long T-shirt. 

“Draco’s missing?” she asked. Hermione didn’t miss the accusatory tone she took. 

“I can’t find him and it’s curfew soon, he’s not at Greg’s,” said Hermione. 

“Go to the guard station, I’d come with you but… curfew. They’ll know if he’s in the park.” Millie nodded in the direction of the gate. 

Hermione nodded and hurried off. The guard she hated was still on duty and she looked smug as Hermione approached her guard station. 

“I wondered when you’d be here,” said the guard, taking a sip of her coffee. 

“Where’s Draco?” Hermione asked her slowly. 

The guard leaned back in her chair. “Arrested,” she said, arching one brow, “hours ago.”

Chapter Text

The door crashed back into the wall of the auror’s office with some force and Hermione stood framed in it. Her hair was a little bigger with all the running around she had been doing and she was aware that she looked quite alarming. She could tell because Harry jolted to his feet and gave a wide-eyed look of panic to the receptionist when Hermione had strode past her without a word. 

As she advanced on her old friend, who had clearly been drinking a cup of tea at his desk, his fear seemed to grow. The other auror on duty overnight spotted trouble and mumbled something about looking for files in a back office before fleeing. 

Hermione stopped at Harry’s desk. “Where is my husband?” she asked in a deadly tone. 

“You know I’m not meant to talk about individual cases,” said Harry, wincing. 

“But you know.” Hermione jabbed a finger accusingly at him. 

“Hermione, you’re putting me in an awkward position,” he pleaded. 

“Oh I’m putting you in an awkward position am I? I just decided to marry a convicted criminal of my own accord, did I? And I just happened to have misplaced him? I did that - did I? The Ministry had nothing to do with either of those things?” Her voice was playful in a terrifying way. 

“Hermione, you know I’m not allowed-“ he started. 

She drew her wand and Harry’s mouth dropped open, his hands up in defence. 

“If you want to go toe to toe with me, Harry Potter, you just say the word because I am ready,” she said, taking another step forward until her thighs touched the desk.

Harry backed away a step, almost upsetting his tea and stuttering, “H-H-Hermione!”

“Where is my husband?!” she demanded. 

“Hermione I can’t discuss-“ said Harry. 

“You are either with me or against me, Harry, choose.” She pointed her wand squarely at his chest. 

“You’re being crazy!” said Harry, his voice sounding slightly higher than usual. 

Sparks shot out the end of her wand, “You just wait and see crazy, where is he?”

There was a tapping Hermione could hear and she frowned as she listened. Harry closed his eyes in a grimace. Hermione spun around and there, to the side of the door she had entered through and down a short corridor was a row of glass holding cells. In the closest one was Draco, who raised his hand to her in a wave with a half smile. 

Hermione let out a desperate cry as her wand hand went limp and she ran to Draco. 

The glass wall of his cell fell away instantly and Harry shouted, “Hey!” as she melted into Draco’s arms. 

Hermione sobbed whilst Draco kissed her temple, “Shh I’m fine, I’m here, I’ve got you,” he murmured, holding her close. 

“How did you-? Did you get rid of that glass wandlessly? It isn’t supposed to do that!” said Harry, examining the cell and looking troubled. 

Hermione pressed tearful wet kisses to Draco’s neck. 

“Hermione… ugh,” said Harry observing them with distaste, “You can wait with him until the letter from Azkaban clears him, it’s just a formality because they found more contraband… can you put my glass back please?”

“Fuck your fucking glass,” said Hermione, her voice muffled from Draco’s chest.

Draco snorted with laughter. “You had Potter looking more scared than when he faced the Dark Lord.” 

Harry gave Draco a sour look and asked, “Do you want to go against her?”

“No, I do not,” said Draco, sneering. 

“Fuck off, both of you,” said Hermione.  

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Draco said softly, stroking her hair. 

Harry sighed and shuffled off back to his desk muttering that he needed something stronger than tea. 

Draco held her back from him a little, his grey eyes searching hers out. “Hermione, I’m so sorry I missed the-“ 

“You couldn’t even help that. It’s ok,” she said, cutting across him.

“It’s not ok-“

“How could I have said I didn’t love you?” her voice cracked. 

“It’s ok,” Draco pulled her back into his arms. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered into his shirt. 

“I am too,” he said. 

Hermione laughed, “Stop being so reasonable.”

“Well, I’m sorry for that too,” he smirked. 

“And stop making me laugh!” she said. 

He shrugged and kissed her, one hand in her hair and one on her hip to steady her. His thumb brushed the sensitive skin just above her waistband, sending a shiver up her spine. She could feel the endorphins rush through her. He was here, he still liked her, everything was ok again. 

Harry wrinkled his nose and double checked with the receptionist that no owls were waiting. 

“When you didn’t come back and I couldn’t find you-“ Hermione said against his lips. 

“Shh, I know. That must have been scary. I’m here with you now. I’m yours.” He kissed her again. 

Harry cleared his throat and Draco looked irritated at the interruption. 

“Good news, Malfoys,” Harry said drily, “you can go.” 

“Oh, goodie,” said Draco, grabbing his cloak from the cell bench and putting an arm around Hermione. 

“Sorry,” Harry said, more to Hermione than Draco. 

“Oh, I’ll be getting my own back, you’ll see,” said Hermione as she passed him, nose in the air. 

“Wait, what? What does that mean?” They heard Harry’s voice call after them as they left the Ministry hand in hand. 

*

“This is… interesting. I never thought I’d get to have a look round here,” said Ron, casting his eyes around the caravan and taking in the faintly yellow tinge that everything had, the cramped galley kitchen and the muggle kettle. He and Eloise made their way to the built-in bench seating. 

“I made cakes,” said Eloise, passing a large box to Draco who opened it looking pleased. 

“Tea?” asked Hermione to many nods as she passed out plates. 

“How’s work?” Ron asked Draco with an air of politeness that didn’t quite meet his eyes. 

Draco laughed, “Would we call it that?”

“Stop it,” said Hermione, flicking a tea towel at Ron, “What about your work, since you’re the only one of us who officially works.” 

Ron made a face like he didn’t agree with this. “It’s fine, been in Hogsmeade-“

“Working on the new shop with George, been working ever so hard haven’t you, Ronnie?” said Eloise. 

“Er, yeah,” said Ron. 

Draco’s eyes flickered to Hermione’s who gave him a warning look as she passed him a teacup. 

“George is expanding. It’s helpful that he’s got Pansy honestly-“ said Ron. 

“She’s a very shrewd woman when it comes to money,” said Eloise. 

“I don’t doubt that,” Draco drawled.

“Still staying with your parents?” asked Hermione. 

“Yeah-“ said Ron. 

“Molly is a saint, I’ve said it before but I’ll always say it again. A saint! And she’s so accomplished around the home, I’ve learned so much from her,” nodded Eloise as Draco repeatedly jabbed Hermione in the thigh with his finger.

Hermione trod on his foot discreetly.

“So the Goyles live over there then do they?” asked Ron, jabbing his thumb in the direction of Luna and Greg’s trailer. 

“It’s the Goodgoyles now,” said Draco as though he thought ill of it. 

“I still can’t believe that’s what they chose,” said Ron, shaking his head. 

“Can’t you?” asked Hermione, thinking of Luna’s many eccentricities over the years. 

“Fair,” said Ron. 

“Mm,” said Draco, biting into a cake.

“Did you read the Prophet this morning?” asked Eloise, setting down her teacup. 

“No,” Hermione shook her head and looked puzzled, “Actually, I don’t think our copy came this morning.” 

Draco turned to Ron and asked loudly, “Did you see the Falcons lost at-“

“It’s all blown up after that seer. The one from the Marriage Act that they said was a fake?” said Eloise, interrupting Draco, “The Ministry has received over 100 petitions since, asking for divorces!” 

“Oh, gosh, really?” Hermione was amazed. 

“The Prophet had interviews with a lot of them, all printed up as a sort of special before the verdict is read in the courts for Hayworth’s lawsuit,” said Eloise, nodding matter-of-factly.

“It’s nuts,” said Ron, helping himself to a third cake, scattering crumbs everywhere, “There was such a to-do to put all of this in place and then it turns out it might have all been bullshit all along.”

Draco put his cake down and took Hermione’s hand in his, interlacing their fingers. She gave him a reassuring squeeze. 

“Some of the matches have been lucky though,” said Eloise, “I know that Ronnie and I were the right match.” She gave Ron a simpering look. 

“That’s right, I-“ started Ron. 

“He wrote me a love poem the other day,” said Eloise, talking over the top of him. 

“Did he indeed? A love poem you say?” said Draco leaning forwards. 

Ron sat up straighter. “I don’t think we-“ 

“No, no, I had no idea you had a literary bone in your body, Weasley, let’s hear it!” said Draco, goading on Eloise who looked delighted to have a receptive audience. 

Eloise brushed her hair back from her face. “Well, I don’t have it with me but, some of my favourite lines were-“

“Oh I don’t know about-“ started Ron. 

“It’s romantic!” Eloise insisted, “Your eyes are like puddles!”

“Oh!” Draco coughed down a laugh, “Isn’t that something?”

“You’ve hexed my heart!” Eloise exclaimed, nodding to both Hermione and Draco, as if they were all in agreement that Ron was an expert in romance. 

Hermione bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing, her whole body was rigid. 

“Weasley! I had no idea you were such a romantic!” said Draco, “What powerful words.” 

“Thank you,” nodded Ron with a fake smile at Eloise, looking like he would rather be anywhere else. 

“You got a poet,” said Draco to Eloise, “and he got a chef! A lucky match indeed.”

“And did you get a chef, Malfoy?” asked Ron patronisingly, one eyebrow raised. 

“Oh god no, some of her food is hardly edible sometimes,” grinned Malfoy. 

“It’s probably all the hair I bake into the food to try and make him love me,” quipped Hermione sweetly and Draco laughed delightedly. 

Eloise looked to Ron as if she didn’t get the joke. 

“No, no chef. Instead, I got the most intelligent woman of a generation, the golden girl,” smiled Draco, kissing Hermione’s hand. 

“I suppose you’ll be done with probation soon? Will you be moving back to your flat ‘Mione?” asked Ron who looked keen to move the conversation on. 

Draco wrinkled his nose at the nickname.

“We haven’t really made any plans. I think my flat maybe, until we figure out what we’re doing. Draco will have to look for a new job,” said Hermione thoughtfully. 

Draco rolled his eyes as though he had no intentions of doing that. 

“In a weird way, I sort of don’t want to leave here. The house is… horrible. Obviously. In fact, it hardly even counts as a house but I like living by the sea, next door to our friends,” said Hermione, giving a smile to Draco. 

“What, next door to the Rowles?” Draco said sarcastically. 

“We’ve been happy here,” said Hermione, leaning into him. 

“We have,” said Draco. 

“Maybe you could find a place by the sea?” suggested Eloise. 

“We could still live by friends, I’m sure, if they wanted to. We could offer.” Draco shrugged. 

“What, you’re just going to buy a whole neighbourhood are you? I don’t see you even being able to afford even one place since they stripped all of the Malfoy accounts of gold and Hermione’s is locked out,” said Ron. 

“We’ll probably have to rent first,” said Hermione, as if she wasn’t concerned at the thought. 

Draco gave her a look, “I wouldn’t worry, I think it’ll be within our budget,” he said simply. 

“Oh cripes, Ronnie! We told your mother we’d be home half an hour ago!” said Eloise, clutching Ron’s arm. 

“Shit. Sorry, we have to run, Mum’s going to kill me,” said Ron, stuffing the rest of the cake in his mouth and giving Hermione a quick crumb-laden hug. 

“Thank you for having us! Keep the cakes,” said Eloise, hugging Hermione and Draco in turn. “Hermione, you really do make the best of things,” she said before dashing out the door. 

Hermione raised both of her eyebrows as the door shut and Draco snorted with disbelief. 

“That poem,” said Draco sitting back down and pouring them more tea. 

“I know,” said Hermione. 

“It was…nauseating,” Draco cringed.

“I know.”

“I used to see Ron as competition when we first got together. I want you to know that I no longer feel that way. There is no chance,” said Draco solemnly. 

Hermione laughed and kissed Draco’s lips. 

“I’m not sure we’re going to have the budget for a seaside home next to all of our probation park friends though” said Hermione, “How would we afford three new homes let alone one?”

Draco tutted. “I could afford 3 homes, once I’m off probation.” He lounged across the bench seating sideways, his long legs stretched out as though the space was his alone. 

Hermione gave him a skeptical look. 

“I could afford 3000 homes once I’m off probation, Granger. You can invite every single friend you’ve ever had to live by us”. Draco waved a careless hand. 

Hermione tilted her head as if deciding whether she believed him or not. “Will you ask Sprig back?”

“Only if he wants,” said Draco, “The others too. It’s been a difficult time for them. It will be nice to have people we care about close by.”

“Yes,” she said. 

“A good environment for the baby,” he said, tidying cups and plates.

“Do you know something I don’t?” She smiled. 

“Oh, probably.” Draco smirked. “No, but it’s only a matter of time isn’t it?”

“I hope so,” she said, smoothing out her skirt. 

“Me too,” he said. 

She tucked her curls behind one ear. “Do you know where the paper got to?” 

He looked up at her sharply. “I spilt a drink on it, it got ruined so I threw it out,” he said and then paused, “Over one hundred petitions is a lot.”

She nodded and he sat next to her again. 

“Will you be going to the Ministry to file?” he asked her casually. 

“No. Will you?” she asked. 

“No.” 

She reached over for his hand again and he pulled her into his lap, arms wrapped around her. He pressed a kiss to her hair, her curls against his jaw.