A/N: As it turns out, I got this chapter back from my lovely beta and couldn't wait until Wednesday to post. So happy Sunday!

Chapter 12: Absolutely Mental

Seeing Draco's name scrawled beneath an article title in French was a slap to the face.

Not only did the lack of professional tact make her want to scream, but the total disregard for her dislike of Giselle sent such a flare of rage through Hermione that she had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming.

Draco sodding Malfoy.

Nevermind that he'd likely taken one of the articles she'd edited for him to that harpy, but he'd done so the day after he'd snogged her to within an centimetre of her life and then left without fighting for her.

Red-hot fury boiled up inside her as she snatched the periodical up, glaring down at his name.

"When did this hit the shelves?" she seethed, a flick of her wand already summoning her briefcase and jacket.

Daphne spluttered, watching her fly about her office in a fit of rage. "I only just got it. I wanted to talk to you about Harry yesterday, but your Floo was locked and you didn't answer my owls…" The witch trailed off, voice growing smaller. "I didn't want you to find out from someone else, and I thought I'd soften the blow with some good news first."

A pang of regret flashed through Hermione—an emotion she was becoming incredibly too familiar with—and she paused in her frantic summoning, facing her friend fully. "I appreciate it, Daph. I really do." Crossing the room and throwing her arms around her friend, she whispered, "And I'm so happy for you and Harry." She pulled back, hands wrapping firmly around Daphne's forearms. "I promise we'll have a girls' day to discuss this all properly when we're back."

Daphne sniffed, nodding once, and she held up the glossy magazine cover. "And this?"

Lips flattening into a thin line, Hermione sighed. "Draco and I had a misunderstanding, and it seems like he's not willing to confront it head on. Slytherins," she muttered, shooting an apologetic smile at Daphne's noise of protest. "You know I've always thought of you as more of a Claw than a snake."

Daphne harrumphed at her, but helped Hermione gather the remainder of her belongings. Settling Hermione's coat in the crook of her arm, Daphne asked, "What are you going to do?"

The short answer was Hermione didn't know, but she shrugged, picking up her briefcase and smiling wanly at her friend. "If I said ream Draco Malfoy's arse, would it be too harsh?"

The question earned her a short laugh. "Given that?" Daphne gestured at the magazine Hermione clasped. "Not at all, but—" She aimed a sympathetic look at Hermione, an expression Hermione knew all too well. "Maybe give him some slack. He's heartbroken, after all."

Breath catching in her throat, Hermione turned away. "Daph, don't get my—"

"It's true, though," Daphne answered, following her to the door of her office. "I wasn't kidding when I said it looked like the two of you had fallen in love. Not you and Theo." Daphne shook her head. "I've known Draco for a long time—after Hogwarts, he dated Tori. Asked her to marry him, even."

The information shocked Hermione; she assumed news like that would have been all over the seedier tabloids.

"Tori never was good at exclusivity, especially not when it came to getting what she really wanted. When she finally got Marcus back, she left Draco." The witch paused. "I had never seen him so shattered before, but this—running away, making less than desirable locale changes no matter how it would benefit his career—this is classic heartbroken Draco Malfoy."

That… was incredibly insightful. Clearing her throat, she faced her friend. "So you're saying he loves me… because you know what he's like in love?" When Daphne nodded, Hermione groaned, wishing she had a free hand to ring her friend's neck. "Hey, Daph?"

"Yeah?"

"You get to deal with Davison for not telling me that," she quipped, then added, "Next time you have a secret that could alter my love life, do you mind sharing?" Turning on her heel, Hermione strode across the lobby to the elevator.

Daphne's echoing laughter followed her into the lift, the resumed ringing of her Floo the last noise she heard as she zipped downwards.

After a two-hour long argument with Avonlea, a terrible trip to France using a piece of old bubble gum wrapped in paper—a gift, she was sure, for making Avonlea give her an emergency Portkey—and an unexpected rainstorm, Hermione stormed into La Sorcière de Paris's main office.

It was ridiculously posh, reminiscent of Hôtel Plaza Athénée in its swanky white and gold furniture. No less than six receptionists—six! Honestly why in Merlin's name would they need that many?—minded the front desk, each of them flipping through copies of the periodical.

Hermione's shoes squelched as she crossed the floor to the desk, drawing their attention as she dripped rainwater all over the pristine entryway. Finally, she drew to a halt, depositing her briefcase with a sickening smack on the countertop.

After clearing her throat and throwing back her shoulders, she said, "If you could be so kind as to point me to the loo, that would be lovely."

The left-most receptionist rolled her eyes, aiming her file towards a hallway just off the main entrance. In a heavy French accent dripping with disdain, she responded. "Up ze stairs. To the right. It will be ze first door on ze left."

Nodding her thanks, Hermione squeaked across the floor, holding her last thread of dignity tight as she disappeared through the door and deposited her sopping bag on the counter.

She'd never believed in karma before this weekend, but something out there had it in for her bad.

As quickly as she could, Hermione dried herself with her wand. By the time she was done, her clothes were dried though slightly stiff, and her hair was a ball of frizz.

Swearing to herself, she ran her hands under the faucet, using some of the water to soothe the manic curls that haloed around her head. One last glance in the mirror proved that it was as good as she'd be able to get, and she summoned her briefcase as she marched out of the loo, wiping her damp hands on her trousers.

She'd only just exited the loo when the door to the conference hall opposite opened, a small brunette witch flitting through while a familiar voice trickled out.

Giselle, her French rapid and animated.

With another curse, Hermione paused, casting a quick translation charm so she could understand the woman's words.

"As I'm sure you're all aware, we have a new staff writer joining us." Smatters of applause punctuated her statement, and Hermione crept to the nearest window, trying to peek between the curtains. "He's signed on for a quick two-article tester to see how well he gets on here, but given the response to his first, I think he'll be right at home. Everyone, I'd like to introduce you to Monsieur Draco Malfoy."

Before she could convince herself that the proper way to go about this whole thing was to wait until after the meeting to snag Malfoy and shout at him in the privacy—or, well, relative privacy of the loos—she shot upright, marching to the door and wrenching it open.

"How dare you?" she spat, all eyes turning toward her.

Draco had half risen from his seat, his eyes rounding as she stormed in, alternating her glare between him and Giselle.

The woman in question lifted her shoulder delicately. "I thought the deal was off the table until I received an owl from Monsieur Malfoy yesterday morning, stating that he had reconsidered my suggestion." Her expression was very much that of the cat who ate the canary, but Hermione turned from her, ignoring the whispering that had erupted around the table.

"And you," she seethed, uninhibited by his flinch at her tone. "How could you do this? You know how important Witch Weekly is to me. You know what Davison will do if our numbers go back down." The emotion clawing at her throat made her voice crack, and she was dismayed by the tears that threatened. "We needed you." A deep breath. "I needed you."

But Draco didn't respond, staring owlishly at her while his jaw worked. Finally he landed on, "That's rich. You need me because I'm the only ticket to keeping your job."

Scoffing, she rounded the table, jabbing her finger in his chest. "I don't even want to hear it, Malfoy. You took the job gleefully when you figured out it would be me you'd get to torment."

"Oh, we're back to surnames now?" His eyes blew wide and incredulous. "I took the job because we made a deal." He rubbed at his wrist absently. "Which, in case you hadn't noticed, both of us made good on. End of deal, end of partnership." He turned away, aiming an apologetic grimace at Giselle and her team.

Anger flaring, she grabbed his elbow, forcing his attention back on her. "I don't give a hypogriff's arse about the bloody business deal. If I did, I wouldn't be here!" Her breath gusted out of her in giant puffs, desperately close to losing the remaining hold she held on her temper. "I care about you!"

The declaration stalled his argument for only a minute before the skin around his eyes pulled taught, an ugly sneer marring his beautiful features. "You'll have to forgive me if I don't believe that, Granger. I felt the Unbreakable Vow signal its fulfillment, saw it flare with my own eyes, right after you went back into your room with Nott. Presumably mid-shag."

Throwing her hands up, Hermione shouted back, "I wasn't shagging Nott, you insufferable, pompous prat. I was telling him that I'd fallen in love with you!"

Stunned gasps sounded around the table, the witches and wizards obviously having cast their own translation charms to eavesdrop on Hermione and Draco's argument. Her declaration left her chest heaving, disbelief transforming her own expression into shock.

After a moment, Draco finally responded, tipping his nose to the ceiling. "I am not insufferable."

A disbelieving laugh huffed from her lips as she released her hold on his arm, eyelids closing in defeat. "I just told you I loved you and all you heard me say was that you're insufferable."

But then he was there, stepping into her space, and she allowed her gaze to latch onto his. "You love me," he said, studying her. "Why?"

Holding her breath, she allowed her hands to rise up, settling on his chest. She thought for a moment, vacillating between a sarcastic response to get a rise out of him and the truth. In the end, though, she settled on, "Because you saw me. The real me. Even when I tried my best to be anyone but who I really am."

The same, quirked half-smile—the one she'd realised he reserved just for her—met her declaration. "You're an absolute swot, and your fashion sense is atrocious without help—" She swatted his chest playfully, unable to wipe the stupid smirk from her face. Catching her hand in his, he finished his statement. "But I've had you figured out for a long time, and I've always liked what I saw."

This time, it was Hermione who closed the distance between them, pressing her lips softly to his. He quickly deepened the kiss, and it was only the hoots and clapping that broke out from the other journalists that broke them apart. His hand snaked up between them, allowing his thumb to trace over her bottom lip as he whispered, "You're absolutely mental, but I love you too."

Clearing his throat, Draco turned to Giselle. "I'll get you the second article, but I'll uh—" He cleared his throat. "I'll be returning to Witch Weekly. Permanently."

Six Months Later

"Granger!" The front door slammed shut, Crooks abandoning his post by her hip to greet Malfoy.

"In here!" she answered. She was lounging on her bed—their bed—enjoying a lazy afternoon for once. Malfoy had taken the articles she'd edited into the office, and they had plans for dinner later that evening.

It was nice, normal, and she didn't often bother to scramble to change out of the faded pyjama bottoms she wore—mostly because they were his.

Today, though, she did.

Leaping off the bed, Hermione shed the baggy pyjama bottoms and old t-shirt, readjusting the lingerie she'd slipped on just after he'd left that morning.

She'd just arranged herself on the bed in the most enticing manner she could while still holding her book upright in a picture of innocence when he padded down the hall, his high-pitched Crookshanks-voice announcing his approach.

"I know, buddy. She just lies about all day and doesn't give you any—sweet mother of Merlin." Crookshanks hit the floor with a squawk of protest that had Hermione's shoulders shaking with laughter.

Peeking over her shoulder, she eyed him, his gaze firmly planted on the smooth expanse of her back. "Oh, hi. I didn't hear you come in."

A wicked smile curved his lips and he entered the room, deftly nudging Crooks out with his toe, much to the half-kneazel's displeasure. He slowly approached the bed, unknotting his tie. "Hmm, do you often lie on the bed in your knickers when I'm not home?"

Laughing, she turned back to her book, pretending to read a paragraph and lazily flipping the page before she responded, "Nope," with a pop of the p. "Do you always wear a tie to work when I don't accompany you?"

His hand landed on the small of her back, slowly tracing the valley of it down until he reached the line of her knickers. "Only when I'm finalising the acquisition of a long-running periodical and know the Prophet will have their reporters waiting for me." Ever so gently, he slipped his thumbs beneath the band of her knickers, kneading the flesh there.

"Shame," she sighed, closing her eyes and leaning her head back until her hair tickled her shoulder blades, reveling in the feel of his touch. "I'd hoped that you'd get back into the habit of wearing those."

He shifted behind her, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her shoulder blades. "And why is that?"

"It'd go to your head if I told you that it added to your appeal, so I'll go with adding it to the list of things you can try in the bedroom," she quipped, infusing as much cheek as she could into the statement even though she could barely focus through the haze his fingers were infusing.

She shifted, arching so he could lave his tongue over the spot he'd learned drove her crazy over the last few months.

"Lovegood says hi."

Rolling, she stared up at him, watching his eyes dilate as he took her in. "Nott."

"Why are you talking about your ex-boyfriend when you're in bed with me?" he breathed, unable to tear his gaze away.

Laughing, she reached up, pulling him down to her. "She's a Nott now—you know that."

But he captured her lips, silencing her with a muttered, "Semantics, witch." Their kisses were breathless, lingering embraces that kindled the inferno he stoked in her every time.

Divulging him of his clothes, she lost herself in him, swallowing each groan he emitted at the touch of her hands, the scrape of her nails down the expanse of his pale skin. He pulled away long enough to promise her a thousand more sets of the knickers he'd bought her and vanished them with a snap of his fingers.

When he buried himself in her with a harsh exhale of her name, Hermione wondered how she'd ever thought it could be anyone else.

Rolling, she settled atop him, slowly grinding herself against him as he stared up at her in awe. A constellation of scars marred his chest—the remnants of the war not so long ago—but she didn't mind, tracing her fingers over them as she leaned down. "You're staring."

His fingers dug into the flesh of her thighs, driving into her with a grunt. "That's allowed now."

The laugh that escaped her turned into a drawn out moan when he rolled his hips into her again, warmth radiating outward. "Hmm, I don't know. Sometimes I wonder when you make me edit some of those terrible articles."

He punctuated his protestations with another sharp thrust. "I just do it to watch you bite your lip." He winked as he rolled her again, pulling out and arranging her on her knees before him. "Saucy little minx."

When his hand fisted in her hair and he drove back into her, Hermione was lost for words. Hands settling into the curve of her waist, Draco leveraged himself against her, setting a quick pace that quickly sent her over the edge with a shout of his name and something like he was a god.

She'd never admit that though.

He quickly followed her over the edge with a grunt of her name, and when he collapsed over top of her, they laid there in silence. After a moment, he finally asked, "So I'm a god?"

Cheeks heating, she swatted his chest. "I have no idea what you mean." Trying to roll away from him, she groaned a throaty laugh when he pulled out and pinned her wrists above her head.

"Oh yeah?" Draco hummed, leaning into her. "That's what it sounded like." When she motioned a lock of her lips and throwing away the key, he smiled down at her, his expression brightening. "You certainly looked comfortable," he murmured in her ear, the warmth of his breath fanning over her and eliciting goose bumps along her flesh again.

"Mmm, that's because I was." She turned beneath him, propping her legs up on either side of his body. "How was the office?"

He traced her cheek, smirking down at her. "It took longer than I anticipated to drop everything off, what with all of Colin's questions about the acquisition." He rolled his eyes. "Once I got everything to Daph, it was smooth sailing."

Hermione caught his hand, pulling him down on top of her, humming as he peppered kisses over her cheeks. "Colin's been a tough sell on a Malfoy buying us out of Davison's contract, but I think he'll come around." Tilting her chin to allow Draco access to her neck, she shivered, eyes popping open to admire the ring sparkling on her left hand. "Though he'll have to get used to it since a Malfoy will be editor-in-chief."

She felt his lips quirk up in a smile against her pulse point before he lifted her, his hands on her bum encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist. "I'll never get tired of hearing that from you, Granger."

Sighing happily, she pressed a kiss to the bottom of his jaw. "Won't be able to call me that much longer, will you?"

It was a routine they'd fallen into lately. He'd call her Granger, she'd remind him of their impending nuptials, and then they'd fall into bed for a second time.

But it didn't matter to her.

That was the only kind of scripting she was okay with.

A/N: And that's the end! It's a bit bittersweet because I did love writing this story so much, but you all have made it such a wonderful experience. Seriously, all the love this fic has gotten was a little overwhelming, but I'm so grateful to all of you who have reviewed it as we went along and even those who didn't feel comfortable reviewing but still read each installment. I looked forward to updating this fic more than any other I've written, and it was largely because you were all so kind and encouraging. It was a silly little romance, but it's become of one of my favorite things I've written—even with the soppy tropes.

Endless thank yous to my amazing alphas and friends, LadyKenz347 and mcal, who helped me polish this fic and point out where I could strengthen different aspects. I'm so appreciative of your time, support, and friendship; you both are truly gems in this fandom, and I'm incredibly lucky to have you.

A billion beta hearts to In_Dreams, who is one of the best people I've ever had the pleasure of working with in this fandom! Seriously, I'm still awestruck that one of my favorite authors has become my friend and has worked on my words haha, but I'm grateful that working together on this and Nocturnus has helped us develop a stronger friendship! And if you haven't started reading Noct yet, you really do need to hop on over there and check it out, because she's writing the next big Dramione classic. Calling it now.

Until next time, my friends! Thanks for joining me!