The sun had risen above the picture window by the time Lavender and Rosemary paraded out of Draco's flat, chins high and faces hopeful.

Hermione shut the door behind them. One question nagged at her, so loudly that it wouldn't stay put between the newly updated saga, Bad Decisions and Silliness, and its companion, Young Rosemary, Timid and Mild.

"Why?"

Draco raised his eyebrow at her, perhaps because he had no context or perhaps because he thought it an obvious answer.

"Why," he asked, "have I volunteered to bring down a corrupt company? To assist our blackmailer?"

Hermione shook her head. She understood that, now that she saw him. Specifically, now that she saw the streak of nobility he largely hid from the world. She wanted to know, "What made you investigate Lulawitch? You must have started weeks ago."

A slow smile spread over Draco's face, and he moved to the huddle of fur on his couch. Furry hissed at him as he gently disentangled her from her boyfriend. "You named your cat after me."

"Yes, and you only discovered that today, so—"

"Do you remember when I told you my cat's name?"

Hermione shook her head. Though it had only been three months, it seemed like years ago that Draco had barged his way into her apartment building and upended her life.

"It wasn't during your hospital stay, during our daily dinner dates. It wasn't the first time you met her, which would have been logical. No; it wasn't until I ran to you, terrified that my cat had been possessed, that I finally told you."

"Well, now that you mention it, it was a bit odd."

"And then I told you her name was 'Furry,' of all things. Frankly, I was shocked you didn't call me out on what a stupid name that was. But I could see it here." He stroked the spot between her eyebrows with his fingertip. "You were so confused, and inside I was panicking. What if you discovered the truth? It was so undignified."

Draco pulled his wand out of his back pocket. "Accio collar."

From somewhere deep in Draco's flat, a bell tingled. A brown blur whizzed around the corner, and Draco caught it.

"I took this off her when we moved in, as a precautionary measure. But there's no point in hiding it now. Not anymore." He held it out in the air between them and gave Hermione a tiny nod.

It was exactly the kind of collar she'd expect Draco to indulge in. Sleek, subtle—it screamed of understated luxury. And there, dangling from what was probably a silver link, was a round pendant. She leaned forward and squinted at the engraved letters: Furmione Grangrrr.

Draco's eyes were earnest and open, a startling contrast from the controlled expression he normally wore. "Hermione, I began investigating Lulawitch because I hoped it would lead to the end of Lavender's blackmail. I wanted you to have peace. But I found something better; I found a way out. I enjoy teaching, but it was never my dream. You were."

Draco set the cat down and twisted one of Hermione's curls around his index finger. "I took the position as Potions Master because the sight of your smile as I lectured in your classroom year after year stayed with me long after I exited the castle. I needed more of you in my life. I hope I don't need to be your coworker to have that any longer."

Hermione swallowed, her throat heavy. "No. I suppose you don't."

"Good." There was a sharp clink as the cat collar hit the floor, and suddenly Draco's hands were in her hair. "Because I didn't get nearly enough of you last night."

His lips against hers were soft, sultry—even divine. Last night she had been sleepy, a tiny bit tipsy, and overwhelmingly relieved that he was still hers. But today was different; today she could taste every drop of sweetness he poured into her. Had his kisses always been this slow? Had they always been this adoring?

Hermione wasn't sure, because she'd never allowed herself to believe them before. Finally, Draco pulled back and pressed his forehead against hers. His fingers traced her cheek until her eyes blinked open.

"I realize you didn't mean what you said this morning; that you were actually talking to your cat."

Hermione bit her lip. "Well, I—"

"Shh, it's ok. Perhaps you didn't mean it, but I do. Hermione Granger, I love you. I have loved you ever since I saw your mouth make that adorable little 'o' during the last five minutes of my first speech in your classroom. Maybe even longer."

Awe blossomed in Hermione's heart. He'd loved her the whole time; she'd just been too blind to see it. She kissed him; brief, but sincere. "Oh, Draco. I love you, too."

Epilogue

Tomás was building firecastles. Literal castles made of fire complete with tiny waving flags and knights in armor marching back and forth on the walls.

"Excellent. Now try to change the color." Like a first-year in Honeydukes, George rubbed his hands together, the lapels of his violently purple suit flapping as he bounced on his heels.

Hermione smiled, shaking her head. George really did have the most ridiculous fashion sense. If anyone would appreciate a visit from Lavender, it would be him. Lavender might not have gone bankrupt if she'd tried to sell to George, but then, of course, this year would have been very different.

She might not have ever been compelled to kiss Draco. Even the thought of it was tragic.

"Aw, Tomás, look at this! I got a flame!" Yellow sparks, small but steady, shone on Teddy's face, completely overshadowed by his smile.

Eddie, Johnathan, and Eunice gathered around to celebrate Teddy's victory.

"No fair! I've been trying all week and I still haven't managed it," said Eddie.

"Ah, that's because you haven't tried my patented fire-boosting serum, my young Padawan." George sidled up to him with a smile that could only mean trouble and whipped a tiny blue flask from his jacket pocket.

Eddie cocked his head to one side. "What's a Padawan?"

Hermione groaned. Ever since Harry had introduced George to the magic of television, he'd been insufferable. Scratch that—George had always been insufferable. But at least now he had a better outlet than stuffing Teddy's pockets full of joke shop contraband.

He seemed to be taking his role as an extra-curricular facilitator with a dose of pride, even if it also came with a healthy portion of mischief.

"George," Hermione said, "No poisoning the students."

"Poison?" George gasped, placing one hand over his chest like a little old lady who'd overheard a naughty word. "Hermione, do you even know me?'

"Too well, I'm afraid. Eddie, don't drink that."

Some days she regretted bringing George in to channel Tomás' endless energy. But the number of detentions she'd had to assign had dramatically decreased ever since the advent of Magical Engineering club. With McGonagall finally approving of her job performance, Hermione wasn't willing to risk upsetting the balance.

George slipped the vial back into his pocket and turned to Tomás and his impressive magical display.

But Tomás wasn't looking at his firecastle; he was looking at the door. A grin spread slowly across his face, lighting up those mischievous mismatched eyes. "Hey Professor Granger, your boyfriend's here."

Draco looked harried. Or should she say… hairy? So much fur clung to his normally pristine robes, it looked like he'd been held captive in an animal shelter.

He rubbed the back of his head, his eyes shifting wildly around the room. "Hermione? I… she was so—and then she meowed, but it was—and then the tree, oh Merlin the tree, but—"

Tomás grinned. "See ya later, Granger! Don't forget about my Fire-crafting competition on Saturday."

Draco must have been extremely distressed, because he didn't comment on Tomás' failure to show proper respect to his teacher. In fact, he was silent, staring around the room with wide eyes and parted lips.

"You got this, George?" Hermione called.

"Actually, I'd really prefer if—"

"What?" She asked, not feeling the least bit guilty. "Sorry, didn't catch that. I was thinking about the time I had to clean literal spaghetti off of my classroom ceiling."

Poor Draco was practically hyperventilating. Curbing his impending panic attack was more important than Mr. Anenome-Inspired-Exploitation's feelings. With a small smile, she slipped her arm around Draco's back. "You're ok. Everything will be ok."

"Should we call a vet? Dr. Calamity?"

Hermione guided Draco off the Quidditch Pitch. "No. Not Dr. Calamity." Hermione shuddered. "The literature discourages inviting strangers to a Kneazle birth. It stresses them out."

Draco nodded, but he still looked paler than normal. She squeezed his side. "It's going to be fine. Everything is just fine. If at any point it's looking 'not fine', we can always call your mother."

Draco's eyebrows furrowed. "My mother?"

"Yes, your mother. She was complaining about you, you know. She told me to give you a message." Hermione raised her eyebrows and the pitch of her voice in a poor imitation of Narcissa. "Tell Draco not to get so caught up in his lawyer business that he forgets to owl. He's only spoken to me twice in the past two weeks. It's disgraceful."

A weak smile broke through the sheen of sweat on Draco's face.

"Ah, here we are—the apparition point. Best be as quick as possible, right?" Hermione pulled out her wand and squeezed him close. Draco was in no shape to apparate.

Once they popped onto the stoop in front of their apartment building, Draco bolted. He didn't slow down until he was kneeling next to the cat chaise, panting down at a startled-looking Furmione.

Hermione frowned. "A cat chaise is no place to give birth. Haven't you set up a box for her?"

"Oh." Draco scrambled to his face. "I had a spot over there, but…"

Next to the cat tree was a velvet-lined box, filled to the brim—with pillows, every single leaf from the cat tree, and what appeared to be an entire book, the pages ripped to shreds. Draco Meowfoy must have had a little panic attack of his own. Hermione sighed. "It's ok. Did you know that in first year, I fell into Devil's Snare and completely forgot I could use my wand to start a fire?" She cast a spell to replace the leaves onto the cat tree's branches and restored the book. "There. That's better."

With another flick of her wand, she pulled the box forward so it was inches from the couches. "Much better."

With her new, secure box, Furmione looked visibly relieved. She meowed at it, and Hermione lifted her, gentle as a mother, and placed her inside. Meowfoy hopped down from the round hole in the tree and poked his head over the edge of the box, his dark tail twitching and writhing.

Draco frowned. "Now what?"

"Now we wait."

Draco's aggravated groan and uncharacteristically hunched shoulders hinted that this waiting thing would not be so easy. "Distract me," he said. His eyes searched the ceiling for two whole minutes, then snapped back to Hermione. "What was that thing with George? Did you finally solve your classroom mystery?"

Hermione cringed. Thinking about this was terrible for her blood pressure. "Apparently, George is not only a scoundrel, but also a saboteur."

Draco's shoulders straightened right out of their unnaturally curled pose. "Really?"

"Sure, Tomás had a troublemaking streak from the start. And sure, Teddy was out to prove himself to his peers and had some ill-gotten idea that his mother would smile down at him from beyond the veil if only he caused a little mayhem."

"And by ill-gotten, I'm assuming you mean a certain red-headed devil."

"George! I can't believe him. He bribed my students to spy on me, to set off his pranks in my classroom, all as a ploy to bring us together."

"What, you and your students?"

"That would have made more sense, but no." She told him about the Frenenanenomes, about how Teddy must have told George that Draco and Hermione were detention partners, and how they'd been getting into trouble on purpose.

"So the Frenenanemones were right."

"No. George said that pink meant—"

"—that the pair was destined for love. I mean, I was pursuing you anyway, but the repeated detentions did give us a helpful push."

"Please tell me you are not taking his side." Hermione reached forward to scratch behind Furry's ears. She looked so stressed, with her panting tongue and her gasping breaths. "If George ever needs a blind date, I'm recommending Dr. Calamity to him out of pure spite. Those two schemers deserve each other."

Draco laughed. "Imagine George bringing a pygmy puff to Dr. Calamity, and she kidnaps it because she 'doesn't believe in creating magical constructs to be sold as pets.'"

"Sounds like something she would do. If she wasn't so ridiculously self-righteous, I'd almost wonder if George put her up to failing to neuter Meowfoy."

Draco sighed. "Unlikely. Theo's done a pretty thorough job gathering evidence against her. Apparently, Meowfoy was just one in a series of endless lies she told her customers."

It was exactly seventy-nine minutes and two tubs of gelato later that the first kitten entered the world, wet, squirming and helpless.

Draco tried to hide it, but Hermione saw him dab at his eye with a silk handkerchief. "That's one," he said.

Furmione licked the kitten's fur, jet black and damp from birth. "What should we call him?" asked Draco.

"I think that's rather obvious, don't you?"

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Maybe to you."

"His name is Hairy. Hairy Pawter."

"Why would I name my grandkitten after The Chosen Git?"

A notepad, worn shiny with use, sat on Draco's coffee table. Hermione snatched it and turned past page after page of legal notes. Ever since he'd quit his job, Draco had been studying relentlessly for the bar exam, as if he didn't already have every law memorized. But the sooner he became certified, the more he could help the legal team he'd scraped together for the case against Lulawitch.

"There. Finally," Hermione said, pulling a pen from the table. She wrote "Hairy Pawter" on the last page in the book, the only one left empty.

Draco snickered. "Fine, but I get to name the next one."

Kitten number two was a tabby, silver with black markings. "Tuna Lovefood," said Draco.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's a thousand times worse than Hairy Pawter."

He crossed his arms. "You promised me I could name this one, and that is the name I choose. Tuna Lovefood is a brilliant name for a cat, and you can't convince me otherwise."

From the padded box came a meow that sounded oddly irritated.

"See?" Hermione said. "Furmione hates it."

"Well, then it's too bad we had a verbal contract. But if you like, we can name the last one together."

Hermione nodded. "Sounds fair."

"I'm thinking Sir Catogan."

"It hasn't even been born yet. Shouldn't we wait to see what it looks like?"

"Sir Catogan is a perfect name for any cat."

"Yeah, unless it's a girl."

"For a girl…. Rowena Razorclaws."

"Huh. That's actually not half-bad."

"You see? Your boyfriend isn't a complete idiot."

"Sssshhh. The last one's coming!"

The room went so quiet, the only sound was the soft panting of Furmione's breath and the thump of Meowfoy's tail against the side of the box. Then the last kitten arrived, fur stuck in slick clumps. But the most surprising thing about the fur, even more shocking than its pure white color, was the sheer amount of it.

Furmione's sandpaper tongue worked over the fur, combing through it until the kitten resembled a giant cotton ball.

"Flufflepuff."

Hermione tore her eyes away from the precious baby. "Sorry, what?"

"Flufflepuff. This one has to be Flufflepuff."

As furious as Hermione was with Dr. Calamity, she had to admit it was exactly as she'd predicted—three sweet, precious blessings. And even though this year had been a nightmarish mess, Hermione couldn't imagine a happier ending. She had her cat, she had her classroom back in order, and she had her Draco. Who could ask for anything more?

AN: Dear friends, dear readers, I'm a little bit sad and a little bit excited to post this final update.

Thank you so much for going with me on this journey and being my support through it all.

Thank you to Ethan, Bex, and Gallagher8 for their tireless beta work and all their helpful suggestions.

And thank you to JKR, whose lovely Harry Potter Series (which I do not own) inspired this story.