A/N: This fic is absolute nonsense and pure trope indulgence and I apologize. Hopefully it will all be over in three chapters. Please forgive me. 3

CHAPTER 1 - Courtship

"Have you read the report?"

Hermione rolls her eyes; she bites her tongue. She has read it cover to cover six times, along with the rest of the file. She does not need to be asked if she has read something, but it's a nervous point, the stress of incredulity in Harry as he leads her to the Ministry holding cells.

They stop at the heavily guarded entrance located in the depths of the building.

"So you understand what this is?" Harry says.

Hermione hands over her wand, stands with arms held wide as the auror on duty casts a detection spell for hidden weapons. "Who; who this is—" she begins.

She passes the security check, but Harry grabs her by the elbow. "You haven't seen them yet."

He keeps hold of her as he guides her through. His grip is too strong, but she doesn't bother to tell him that. She walks with her shoulders back and her eyes fixed forward. Prisoners bang on the doors. There are yells and cries and muted thuds. The dissipation of contained magic, trapped by the strongest wards in existence.

A familiar figure waits at the end of a long hallway. Ron's lanky frame is hunched but straightens up when he sees them.

"She came?" he says to Harry, disappointment clear.

"I came," she says and snatches her arm free. She looks between the two men. "Well?"

Harry and Ron commence a heated non-verbal exchange as if she's not there.

"I'd like to see my client."

"'Mione—"

"Auror Weasley, that is the law." She should know; she was the one who wrote it. The right to legal representation for all magical creatures. She resigned from the Ministry as soon as the act was passed, allowing her to be the one to do the representing.

"You shouldn't go in there alone," Ron says.

"I have a duty of confidentiality that I intend to respect. Now get out of my way."

More glances are shared until Ron and Harry turn to the great door behind them. Ron waves his wand over a panel and several locks can be heard retracting. The door swings open, and more aurors await.

"Another security check?" she says.

"This is the most heavily protected unit we have," Harry explains. "The guards will take you through."

Hermione nods and begins to move but Ron stops her this time. "Be careful, 'Mione. We'll be waiting out here."

The door shuts with a loud echo behind her. Six aurors scan her and remove her outer robes and shoes, take her bag and wand. She is not given them back this time. One of them, a tall witch with short black hair and a cold face, fixes a band about her wrist.

"Break this and we'll come running. It also acts as a short distance portkey."

Hermione nods. She didn't know what she was expecting. Certainly not this. But she maintains an air of having seen it all before.

Another guard leads her to the final door. "He's not very talkative," he says.

She snorts. Who would be? Bolts are magically opened and the final door, a twelve-inch thick panel of reinforced iron pulls back to reveal darkness. Hermione enters. She is immersed by the shadows now as the door silently closes, the lack of sound unnerving her more than the lack of sight. She blinks and listens. A spotlight appears overhead, but she cannot see into the furthest corners of the room. She has no grasp of its dimensions, of where another living creature might be.

"My name is Hermione Granger," she says, "and I'm your ministry-appointed counsel for defense of magical creatures."

There is no reply. Nothing. Not even the echo of her own voice, barely the whisper of her breathing. She remains in stasis for several uncertain, immeasurable moments until—

"Granger."

The voice is distorted, low and grating, like layers upon layers of speakers caught in the range of a faulty microphone. It is like no voice she has ever heard.

"I can't see you. Can I see you?" she says.

"You don't want to see me."

"I'll be the judge—"

"I thought you were my lawyer."

Was that a joke? Surely they cannot be so scary.

"I am if you'll let me help you. But I need to see—"

A scratching noise begins, quiet at first then growing; like nails on slate, like a finger swirling along the edge of a wine glass, like an entire murder of crows screaming.

Stop, she does not say. She wants to cover her ears, twist them, and squeeze her eyes shut before the monster can reach her. Be brave, you stupid Gryffindor!

What difference does it make?

The first thing she sees are black taloned toes. They enter the edge of her circle of light, huge and scraping on the cold stone. The feet are barely human, more like a werewolf's, but there is no fur, only washed out gray skin. It has the slight sheen of scales, too small to be individually discernible. The feet lead up to the length of large, thickly muscled legs. The torn remains of trousers stretch over the thighs. Two feet, two legs and a wide torso, heavy with muscle too. The creature must stand over seven feet tall for she cannot see its head. She is distracted by scars, which criss-cross in silver-white over the chest, jagged lines bisecting from left shoulder to right hip. An arm swings into view with claws almost as long as those on the feet. The gigantic hand is narrow-fingered, held loose. It raises palm up towards her, and Hermione steps back.

"See?" the voice says.

"I… I can't see all of you."

The terrible screeching noise ceases, and she understands. Wings, great black leathered things, stay folded but still stretch high into the darkness. Talons at the base spark across the floor. A head leans down from the shadows. Horned and with protruding fangs on the lower jaw and a shock of white-blond hair and eyes with blood-red sclera. But the irises are human somehow, a rare blue-gray. Even with the twisted lips and protruding teeth, his smirk is just the same.

"How about now?"

"Malfoy," she says.

"What was it that gave me away?"

The first sign of trouble had been a flare of unclassifiable magic deep in the heart of Wiltshire. Its surge had shattered the Manor's ancient wards. It had also alerted the auror department, given the current residents' enduring probationary status.

An inconsolable house-elf had met the response team at the mangled gates. They entered to find all the windows broken and dangerous cracks running along the floors and walls and ceilings. Portraits hung askew and cried out in mourning. Some hissed threats at the heavily armed interlopers. A young Lucius Malfoy blinked mutely, all the paint from the mouth below slowly dripping from the frame.

The whole building shuddered and groaned in distress. Careful progress was made until the source of the disturbance could be discovered amongst the remnants of a drawing room located on the first floor.

In the center of the room stood Narcissa Malfoy, covered in dust and bearing several cuts, yet somehow as poised and regal as ever. At her feet lay the unconscious body of Astoria Greengrass. And hovering above them both was a monster, its twelve-meter wingspan embedded through plaster and brick.

"Care to explain?" Hermione begins. "I've read the official version, but I'd like to hear it in your own words."

"From the hideous deformed hell-beast's mouth so to speak?" The hell-beast crouches down. "Did you ask for this case?" This close, his voice blows back the hair from her face; his breath is hot but not unpleasant. His blood-soaked eyes appear amused.

"I represent all magical creatures, even those not yet known."

"I was hoping you could tell me."

"I'll try to find out. Are you scared?"

Malfoy folds himself into a sitting position, crossing his legs and hunching over his wings. The force of his weight makes the ground tremble. "Aren't you?"

"You haven't hurt me yet." Hermione sits too. "I don't think you will. At least not with physical violence. Your preferred weapon was always words."

"Words like mudblood?"

"Yes."

"Well, what about my blood? It must be a dirty, contaminated thing. Have at me, Granger. Now you can get your revenge."

"You don't seem to care that you're here."

"Where I am doesn't matter. My life is over. I assume my mother is maintaining her vow of silence."

"What do you remember?"

"Having tea with Astoria. I'd laced mine with firewhisky. We were supposed to be getting to know one another before our engagement. I was learning we had nothing in common so I kissed her, thought we should try for physical compatibility at least. She responded. Things progressed. Then Mother came in."

"And?"

"That's it. Next thing I know, I'm trapped against the ceiling with fifteen aurors all firing hexes at me."

"Were you hurt?"

"They didn't do anything. I agreed to come here if they would keep my mother out of it. Shockingly, the Ministry refused to keep its word."

"I'm sorry about that."

"How's Astoria?"

"Physically well, but she has no recollection of anything, not even arriving for tea."

"Obliviated then?"

"Most likely."

"Well, it wasn't me."

He stares at Hermione with a shared understanding, and she decides to take her chance. "Can I speak with your mother?"

"You can try."

"I'm going to get you out of here and make things right. I think you've been cursed."

"Quite the brilliant deduction."

"Cooperation would be to your benefit. Sarcasm is not."

"At least give me my sarcasm, you sadistic witch." Despite the disturbing timbre to his voice, there is no detectable venom. "It's all I've got left."

She smiles. "If you really think it helps."

She moves to stand and the gigantic form of Malfoy follows. She offers him her hand, and he looks at it.

"You're still you," she says.

"But we never shook hands."

"Perhaps you're evolving."

He snorts and it reverberates like a sonic boom. One large hand curves around her own, swallows it inside the palm. The flesh is cool and smooth as snakeskin. She feels the magic pulse from inside, a thousand voices joined in chorus, calling out for another. It pulls on her. She blinks, and the lights flicker off.

"Malfoy?"

Behind her the door flies open. Malfoy growls. "I can't let go." His wings are around her as the aurors rush in. Spells are cast and colors flash through flesh and bone. She can just see his eyes, the same silver-gray irises but the surrounding red is leaking out and fading into white.

"I…"

"Don't leave me," he begs.

She doesn't want to, cannot if she tried. Malfoy's grip tightens but the flesh feels different, the dimensions altered. His voice is changing too, the patrician tone of Hogwarts replacing the monstrous drone. His wings are sinking, growing smaller. Hermione is pulled to the ground.

"Stand down!" a voice yells and the light returns. She lifts her head and looks down. A warm body lies beneath her, the scarred pale skin of a human man's chest. Malfoy's eyes are closed, his face returned to the sculpted beauty she remembers. Both angel and demon. He still holds her hand.

"Move back, Miss Granger."

His magic is tickling at her fingertips, not the thousand desperate voices but a warm, welcoming hum. It calls to her; her magic sings for it.

I won't let go, she thinks, but the choice is made for her. Several hands are gripping her arms and she is pulled from him, struggling and screaming as another grasps her wrist.

The band is snapped. She feels a tug on her navel and stumbles into a cold, bright corridor.

"'Mione?!"

"Don't let them hurt him," she hears herself mumble and her body collapses into Ron's waiting arms.

It is several hours later before she is released from St. Mungo's. There is no detectable damage to her magic and thus no reason to keep her in. Ron waits by her bedside, but he won't tell her anything. She ignores his pleas as he follows her to the floo and back to the Ministry, apparating twice and disillusioning herself until she is able to lose him.

She takes the elevator sideways and up and alone, deciding to try her luck with Harry.

The auror department is in chaos. Dozens of aurors are gathered, along with other Ministry officials, including her replacement in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and a close aide to the Minister of Magic. They all pause in the midst of whatever they are doing when she enters, staring as she crosses the floor and knocks on the door to Harry's office.

"What is it?"

Auror Potter is normally professional and polite. His terseness is unexpected. She steps inside and prepares to scold him for a lack of manners but is prevented by a sudden, swift hug.

"Are you okay?" he says.

"Harry, I'm fine. What happened to Malfoy?"

He guides her into a chair and leans on the edge of his desk. "What happened to Malfoy?" His arms are crossed and his face twisted in a frown. "Why don't you tell me?"

"He shook my hand and returned to his human form. Then I was removed against my will and passed out from the shock of the portkey."

"Really? That's all?"

"What did you do to him?"

"Nothing! Our spells couldn't touch him. He destroyed all the wards of our most secure unit. As soon as you were gone, he turned into a monster again. Everyone got out before he was fully awake and we reinforced everything as best we could. He's still in there now refusing to talk and pacing around and making the entire Ministry nervous. We've never seen any magic like this."

"He didn't hurt me."

"But he did something, didn't he?"

"It wasn't his fault!"

"Why are you so defensive of him? I know he did something to you. Don't give me that bullshit about the portkey."

"Whatever it is, the nature of this curse, when he touched me I think my magic soothed him somehow. There was this desperate hungry rush, like he was looking for something, like I could save him."

"Don't talk like that."

"Like what?"

"Do you know what it sounds like?"

She does but she won't be the one to say it. "I need to speak to Narcissa. Where is she?"

"She won't speak to anyone. We're waiting on the Wizengamot to allow forced use of veritaserum."

"What?!" Hermione stands. "That's an act of torture, Harry. You can't! Does she even have legal representation?"

"No—"

"I want to see her. As her lawyer."

"You can't represent them both!"

"I can and I will. All I need is their permission. Plus Malfoy doesn't count since he's a magical creature. All the archaic Ministry laws no longer apply to him."

At that moment, Ron barges in. "I tried to stop her!"

"Too late," Harry says, fingers rubbing at his eyes beneath his glasses. "Meet the Malfoys' new consigliere."

Narcissa Malfoy sits behind a table inside an interrogation room. She is dressed in simple beige robes, standard issue for Ministry prisoners but an unpleasing clash to her complexion and hair, the latter somewhat lank and ragged given the lack of her usual grooming. Still, she wears them with unnerving grace. Her back is straight, her head held high. Her hands are clasped before her and rest on the table.

"Miss Granger," she says.

"Mrs. Malfoy." Hermione pulls out a chair. "May I sit down?"

Narcissa gives a slight nod, and Hermione takes her seat, removing a file from her bag. "I wanted to speak to you about your son's case. And your own. Do you have a lawyer?"

"That won't be necessary."

"Why not?"

"I have nothing to say. I believe it is my right to remain silent. Is that not the Muggle saying?"

Hermione feels her eyes widen, as much as she wants to hide her surprise. "It is. But I'm not sure it's in your best interests not to cooperate." She tries to regain her composure by flicking through the file, busying herself by unfurling a roll of blank parchment and readying a quill. "As your lawyer, I'm sworn to maintain my client's confidentiality. Anything you tell me I won't share with anybody else. But it would help to understand—"

"Have you seen Draco?"

"Yes." Hermione stares down at the white page. "Have you heard?"

"Have I heard what?"

She places the quill down, threads her fingers together to mimic Narcissa's pose. "What happened when I saw him."

Narcissa gives away nothing. Being a lifelong Slytherin who lied to Voldemort's face, Hermione should have expected nothing less.

"Tell me, Miss Granger, does my son remain unharmed?"

"He's… unharmed. At least not any worse off than he was before."

A single eyebrow raise is the only response she gets, but even the subtle movement feels accusatory. "What happened when you met?"

"He appeared in his new form. He told me his version of events and we shook hands and then—"

"He touched you?"

"Yes."

"And what did you feel?"

"What did I feel?"

"When you touched. What happened then?"

"I could feel his magic. I… it somehow drew us together and then he changed form, changed back into a man—"

"Miss Granger." Narcissa is gripping her arm, nails cutting into skin. Her face is pulled taut, pupils blown wide in distress. "Are you… I must… I must ask you a personal question."

"What is it?"

"Are you unclaimed?"

"I am unmarried, single, yes."

"And you… you have not lain with a man?"

"With a…? Mrs. Malfoy!" Hermione tries to snatch her arm back but the older woman's grip is as strong as a vise. "What has that got to do with—?"

"Answer the question. Are you intact? Are you a virgin—?"

"Yes!"

Narcissa lets go. Hermione cradles her arm. Both women stare at each other, breathing hard, eyes wide and searching, uncomprehending.

"My son is twenty-four years old," Narcissa says, a most unexpected non-sequitur, which seems as important as a comment on the weather. "He will be twenty-five in June, in less than six months. If he is not wed—"

"Your son is in prison, in the Ministry's most secure cell and yet his magic still broke the wards. He's a seven-foot demon, an unclassifiable magical creature. And until I know what he is, I cannot do anything for him. He will never be free. So tell me. Help me to understand. How can his marital status be relevant to any of this?"

"His lack of a suitable wife is wholly the cause."

Hermione knows this is dangerous territory. The marriage prospects of Draco Malfoy, the outdated practices of purebloods with their arranged matches and forced bonds and how it all relates to this current curse; none of this can lead to anywhere good. But Hermione is caught now, drawn into his world, fascinated by the glimpse of his undefined magic that still echoes inside her.

"Does this have to do with Astoria?"

"Clever girl." Narcissa returns to her previous controlled state, hands still atop the table, thumbs pressing together. "We have a long history with the Greengrass family. The older daughter, Daphne, is already married to the youngest Nott. We missed our chance with her due to the restrictions of our probation. I would have had Draco matched much sooner, you see." And then she sighs. "There has not been a Malfoy who has been unwed past the age of twenty-five for more than sixteen generations."

"Is this the curse?"

"Yes. But it's slightly more complicated."

"I was hardly expecting simple."

Narcissa tilts her head infinitesimally, clearly unamused. "Lucius was twenty-two when we wed," she continues on. "I was barely twenty. We were not matched. We fell in love. I had saved myself for him. There was no question—"

And now Hermione understands. "The Malfoys require virgin brides," she says.

"Do not look so horrified, Miss Granger. It is pureblood tradition and one I believe was once promoted by the elders of the Muggle world."

"The Muggle world has learned to move beyond such sexist—"

"Save your righteous preaching for your friends. This is not about tradition; this is how we save Draco's life."

"We?"

"Astoria was promoted as the ideal wife. I had uncovered no reason why this would not be the case. But two things came to light when I found her in flagrante with my son."

"She caused him to change?"

"I could sense the magic building in the room. The wards already were disturbed. When I entered, it was like an explosion. I managed to pull them apart and activate a shield. Draco was transformed; he was screaming. There was little time before the aurors would come. I have some skill with legilimency, though not as much as with my occlumency, but it was enough. Astoria had been with another. And on top of that, her family carries its own curse. Her blood was tainted and somehow woke the latent beast within my son. I obliviated her and waited. I could not calm him; I could not help him, not then. But I will do everything I must to protect him now."

"If what you say is true… if Astoria triggered the curse then that means when we touched…" Hermione does not want to finish the thought, but it does not matter for Narcissa does.

"You can cure him."

"As his wife?"

"If you must."

"Are we like soulmates?"

"Do you love him?"

"No."

"Do not be mistaken. This is no cosmic match, no magical bonding. Your virgin status brought him back when you touched. But it is not enough. There must be marriage. There must be a consummation."

"Oh god—"

"Think on it, Miss Granger. Speak to Draco. You are an intelligent woman and a compassionate one. I have not forgotten how you and Mr. Potter spoke in our favor during our trials. You kept my son out of Azkaban. Now I ask that you free him from this new prison."

"What about my blood?"

"Is a virgin not pure?"

"What about a Muggle virgin? Would your husband be okay with that?"

"My husband can be convinced of many things when it comes to the wellbeing of our son." A sadness sinks into Narcissa's eyes. "Does Lucius know what has happened to us?"

"It's unlikely, unless the guards in Azkaban used it as a way to taunt him."

"Can I ask you another favor then? I have already asked for so much but I—"

"Go right ahead. I doubt it can be more than you've asked already."

"Will you go see him? Tell him all that we have shared. Tell him we are well and we will solve all of this and that I love him. I miss him. I carry him every day in my heart."

Being exposed to the inner workings of the Malfoys' marriage is something no one can prepare for. "Okay," Hermione says slowly.

"Thank you, Miss Granger. You may not feel anything beyond a sense of obligation to my son but you are what I would wish for him."

Hermione stands and nods. She thinks she might faint once more, but there's no time for that. There's too much to say and do, too much to analyze and process. She leaves the room and she runs. Back to the most secure cell. Back to the monster's lair.

Back to Draco, her client and quite possibly her betrothed.

I'm not going to marry him, she thinks. But I don't wish him to die. I don't wish him to suffer. He has done nothing wrong. He should not be imprisoned. And it's my job to do everything I can. I must free him.

She paces outside the thick iron door. Six aurors guard the external entry now and the number inside she has been told has doubled. They will not allow her back into the cell. But there is a viewing port through which they can talk. She will have an audience but she doesn't care. Be brave, little Gryffindor. What is a monster to a lion?

After two security checks and the loss of her wand and outer robes and shoes and all the same unnecessary precautions, she is offered a chair. She sits before the door to the cell. One guard uses their wand to create a transparent panel. On the other side, the room is dark.

"Draco?"

What makes her say his first name? It feels so intimate, like she is the abandoned wife reduced to a conjugal visit, a hoard of leering and over-interested wizards hovering behind her and hanging on every word.

"Draco, can you hear me? Are you okay?"

She hears the dreadful scraping across the floor. She can see only black. And then a large clawed hand appears, pressed to what she assumes is transfigured glass.

She hears the guards move behind her, wands being drawn, but she raises her own hand.

"It's okay," she says both to the beast and to its captors. She places her palm against his. Her hand is so small by comparison but she holds his fate inside it. "I spoke to your mother."

"How is she?" The words rumble and grate but she is relieved to hear his altered voice.

"She's well. We talked about how to help you. I'm going to help you both."

"Why would you help us?"

"Because I want to. Because it's right." Her fingers trace the lines of his palms, grooves as deep as canyons. She sees his lifeline as a long winding river. "I forgive you," she says.

"For what?"

"For how you were."

"I deserve this."

"This isn't your fault."

"How can you help me, Granger?"

"I'm going to speak to the press. And arrange a hearing in the morning. I'll tell you the news since I guess you don't get to read the papers."

"Even if I did, the light's not so good."

She smiles. "I'm sorry I tried to take your sarcasm."

"I'm glad you let me keep it. So what's the news?"

"It's a great scandal, you see. A war hero and a Death Eater are engaged."

Claws scratch against the glass. "Granger."

"Call me Hermione."

"You don't mean—"

"I'll see you in the morning, Draco."

Red eyes appear and a snarling mouth. There is an inhuman roar, a fist smashing. The glass is cracked.

"Visit's over," a guard says and the door returns to opaque steel. It shudders as a large weight bangs against it. A panel dints inwards. Hermione is dragged back by the aurors. "What did you say to him?!"

"He'll get over it," she says. "He's not going to mess this up."

"FUCK YOU, GRANGER!"

The voice shakes and cracks the walls.

Hermione's plan is tantamount to shouting "FIRE!" in a packed theater. Maximum publicity. Total chaos. She has not slept, bombarded with owls at her office and flat, howlers from Ron and extra security from Harry. She gave Rita Skeeter the exclusive; the woman nearly combusted with malicious glee by the time they were done.

HERMIONE GRANGER AND DRACO MALFOY ENGAGED. WAR HEROINE PLEDGES TO BREAK DANGEROUS CURSE. "THIS IS A BATTLE FOR THE RIGHTS OF ALL MAGICAL CREATURES." WIZENGAMOT TO CONVENE TUESDAY MORNING.

She is escorted by special floo into the Ministry building since the crowds outside make accessing the normal entrance impossible. Harry meets her like he did the day before, gripping her arm without fanfare or greeting as he drags her back to the holding cells.

"I don't want to hear why," he says. "I gave Ron the day off. He's more trouble than help with the state you've put him in."

"That is quite his own doing," she grits out but she does not struggle as she's led down. "I need to be the one to escort Draco out."

"Not happening."

"Trust me. It's for the best. This is the safest way."

"No one trusts you anymore, Hermione. It's all I could do not to have you committed to St. Mungo's."

She is undeterred. "Let them try. I am perfectly sane and cognizant of my actions. The Ministry doesn't like anyone to challenge them. Well, I intend to do just that."

When they get to Draco's cell, at least fifteen aurors are outside. Some hold magical restraints, weighty shackles forged by goblins. Hermione guesses no one has dared entered to try and fix them onto Draco.

"There's no need for that," she says. "Let me see him."

Harry nods as he reluctantly lets her go. The outer door is opened. Inside, the inner door hangs crumpled on its hinges.

"Have at it," Harry says with a resigned sweep of his arm.

She still has her wand and gains passage with a simple Alohomora. Darkness still reigns but she casts a Lumos and waits.

"You're fucking insane," the dreadful voice says.

Hermione holds out her hand. "Let's not be late."

Draco steps forward. He sneers, which should be terrifying in his current state, but she does not fear him. He takes her hand. She feels their magic sing, swirling together, but there is not the shock and uncertainty of before. She guides Draco's body down with her wand as he transforms. She's kneeling beside him when he opens his eyes and looks at her. He's so beautiful, she thinks. She squeezes his human hand and smiles. "I won't let go if you don't."

"That's how you want to do this?"

She helps him stand. His clothes are rags, his torso bare, his hair greasy and feet caked in dirt. She casts cleansing spells and produces a set of robes and shoes from her bottomless bag. "Here." She uses magic to dress him. Her magic and his; it still flows together, sated and happy. He looks down on himself.

"Are these off the rack?" he says.

"You're welcome." She tugs and drags him towards the door. He's still a head taller in his human form but puts up much less resistance.

When they step out, Harry and the other aurors step back. They stare, confused by the sight that greets them.

"Lead the way," Hermione says. They make a strange procession through the Ministry, cramming into an elevator that strains as it moves sideways and down and up and to the atrium. She can feel the sweat on Malfoy's palm. She squeezes gently and glances up at him. His eyes are fixed straight ahead, his face a mask. Occlumency walls are shifting, being built. He'll be calm when he's ready. She's ready. They can do this.

They walk through the atrium together to the Wizengamot court, aurors surrounding them, press and members of the public crowding them in, yelling abuse and threats and casting questions and accusations with all the aggression of spells. One hex barely misses them and the perpetrator is quickly subdued. She can see a flash of red in the sclera of Malfoy, increased strength in his hand as he senses the threat. They must proceed so cautiously. Stay calm, she thinks. Trust me. She must be strong and trust herself.

No press or public are permitted to the hearing, a decision made due to the security risks. The Wizengamot council all sit on high stacked benches, physically looking down upon them as they step into the room. Narcissa waits, sat behind a table in the center surrounded by her own multiple guards. She turns and looks at Draco, her expression betraying nothing except the warmth and worry that leaks from her eyes. Hermione suspects she is the only one to see it beside her son and only because she spent time studying the woman in the precious, intense minutes that they spoke.

"Be seated," the Chief Warlock booms, a small wizened man who smashes his gavel like an excited toddler. "Order! We must have order!"

Voices have been raising since they have seen Draco back to his human form and his hand wrapped around Hermione's. They sit together at a table by Narcissa's, aurors forming a barrier between them. Quiet is returned, and Hermione stands, Draco rising beside her as they stay linked together.

"I come before the council to petition for the dropping of all charges against Draco Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black Malfoy."

"On what basis, Miss Granger, do you believe these charges can be dropped?" the Chief Warlock says.

"Draco Malfoy is the innocent victim of an ancient family curse, a curse that requires him to wed a virgin bride before the age of twenty-five. The incident with Miss Greengrass was an accident. He is no threat once he is married."

"But he is not married yet."

"He is engaged."

"To whom?"

"I'm sure you have all read the papers this morning but in the interests of clarity and for the record, he is betrothed to me."

There are agitated mutterings. Aurors stiffen beside them, particularly Harry, who appears to be vibrating with barely controlled rage.

"And when would you be wed to assure this threat is defused?"

"If it would please the court, we can be married right now."

The ripples of disquiet from before crescendo into outright defiance. "Order! We must have order!" the Chief Warlock yells, drumming his gavel to little effect.

Draco squeezes Hermione's hand. "You crazy, crazy witch," he murmurs but she can see amusement in his eyes. His Slytherin side is enjoying the anarchy. They are both merchants of chaos now.

"SILENCE!"

The room acquiesces. The Chief Warlock peers down into the center of the room. "Mr. Malfoy, do you consent to be wed?"

"I do, your Honor." He is looking at Hermione still, his smirk uncensored.

"Very well—"

"Before we do," Hermione raises her free hand, "I must request that Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy be let go. She has committed no crime—"

"Obstructing the course of justice—" one council member calls out.

"If we are wed and Mr. Malfoy poses no threat then there is nothing for her to obstruct."

"If your marriage resolves this issue then I suppose we have no grounds to hold her," the Chief Warlock concedes.

Other voices speak in dissent. "What about the assault of Astoria Greengrass?"

"There was no assault," Hermione says. "She was hurt in the unexpected surge of magic and it was through the actions of Mrs. Malfoy that she was not more grievously injured."

"How do you explain her memory loss?"

"Concussion. The nature of the magic released may have affected her memory given she was in closest proximity to Mr. Malfoy, who also has an incomplete recollection of events."

"You appear to have an answer for everything, Miss Granger," the Chief Warlock observes.

"That is my job. Now may we proceed with the wedding?"

It takes a few minutes for the ceremony to be arranged. Narcissa and Harry are allowed to act as witnesses, Harry most begrudgingly until he succumbs to Hermione's whispered pleas. "I love you, Harry Potter," she tells him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Isn't that what you're supposed to tell your husband?"

"Hush. It's not what you think."

"I don't know what to think," he grumbles but still takes his place at her left.

The wedding party move to stand before the Chief Warlock's bench. He raises his wand and begins the vows. Hermione repeats them. Draco does too. Magic rushes around their joined hands like a violent stream, growing in intensity until a yellow light glows against their skin. She can feel heat and power and a steady throbbing beat, Draco's heart in time with hers. He is looking at her, eyes wide as she thinks hers must be. They are being joined in a magical marriage and it is changing who they are, how the magic flows inside and between them until something has merged and she cannot tell them apart.

"The binding is complete," the Chief Warlock announces. "The court recognizes the union. I now pronounce you husband and wife."

The shifting magic around them ceases. All is silent. Still, Hermione is looking at Draco, their hands threaded tightly together as if they always were. She casts her eyes down shyly. "You can let go now," she says but instead Draco raises their hands and places a kiss to her knuckles.

"I don't want to," he tells her.

"But you have to prove—"

"Bossy witch." And he drops their hands and pulls his fingers free. Hermione steps back. She waits for the change to come. Waits for the tug on her magic, the dizziness and bottomless need.

It never comes.

"It worked," she can hear Narcissa say in wonder but her eyes are only on Draco, the awe in his face, the joy as he smiles.

"Bossy, brilliant witch," he repeats and he drags her into his arms until he is kissing her, her face cradled reverently in his palms. "You're amazing." His words drift warm across her mouth and her lips part until she is kissing him back. Her arms are locked around his neck and she is pulled flush against his lithe body, slim yet strong, warm and filled with new magic and pulsing life.

"Ahem." Harry clears his throat behind them and they finally separate. Hermione is blushing. Draco is grinning like a fool, a victorious handsome idiot.

"I'm allowed to kiss my wife, Potter," he says and the word makes her heart flutter.

Oh bloody hell, Hermione thinks.

She's Draco Malfoy's wife.