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The Essence of Life	By : ckllsdam Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 17114 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Harry Potter universe and I make no money from this work of fanfiction.

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The Essence of Life – a Gift for UnseenLibrarian

By cklls – June 1, 2011

Draco Malfoy sat in his father’s study, staring blindly at the amber liquid in his glass. The elder wizard in the seat opposite him was droning on and on about “duty” and “responsibility” and “contracts,” and – not for the first time – Draco was both grateful and horrified over the arranged marriage that he’d muddled through for nearly seven years.

“You realize, Draco, that if she doesn’t conceive in the next four months, you’ll have no choice but to divorce her,” his father concluded.

“I’m well aware, Father,” Draco acknowledged with a deep sigh. “And we all know that if it hasn’t happened by now, the likelihood of a miraculous pregnancy occurring in the next several weeks is pretty damned slim. Shagging her more often is not the solution; it never has been.” He set the nearly full glass on the mahogany side table. The alcohol never helped to dull the ache, anyway. It, like so many other things in his life, had become nothing more than a prop.

“What have the Healers said? Are there any new developments?” Lucius inquired.

Another deep sigh was followed by a slim hand running through short, layered blond hair. “There’s nothing new. We’re having the same problems that many other pureblood couples are having. It seems our gene pool has become in-bred to such an extent that conception is nearly impossible. The so-called lucky ones are having children with no magical signature at all, or with severe birth defects. Astoria is more frightened over that possibility than over the fact that we’ll no longer be married in a few months. However hopeless it is, the Healers still tell us that they continue to search for solutions. It just seems that Astoria and I will run out of time before that effort succeeds.”

Lucius took a long, deep drink from his own glass of Ogden’s. “How do you feel about that?”

“Father, I’m fond of her. You can’t have relations with someone for seven years without creating some kind of bond. But I can’t say that I’m desperately in love with her. I didn’t choose her; she was chosen for me. In some ways, that makes this a little easier. We’ve both always known that this was a possibility. It probably caused us each to remain somewhat protective of our hearts, recognizing just how likely it was.”

“So you’ll be…”

“I’ll be as fine as I can, given the circumstances.” He rose and paced the room, moving to stare out a tall, narrow window. His next words were barely audible, but the anguish behind them was clear. “I feel like such a failure. The most fundamental thing a man can do…” Draco did not turn; he didn’t want his father to see the tears that had gathered in his eyes.

Lucius was not a demonstrative man, but neither was he as heartless as some would have thought. He stepped behind his only son and placed his hands on the younger wizard’s shoulders, offering what comfort he could. “You know that your mother and I had similar problems before you came along, Draco. She miscarried five times before you were conceived, and her pregnancy with you was very difficult. We tried again after you were born, to see if we could cheat fate once more, but she was never able to conceive again. That’s one of the reasons she’s always been so protective of you; you were our miracle.”

“I know that we’re not the first couple to suffer this fate, not by a long stretch. It was one of the arguments that we heard in the lead-up to the war, but I always thought it was just propaganda. I was too young and ignorant to recognize the truth of it. Now, I know better. If I’d understood it back then, I’d have refused the marriage and tried to find a Half-blood.”

“It was too late by then, Draco. If you remember, those contracts were entered when you were twelve years old.”

“But I didn’t know about them until I was seventeen,” he protested. “There were loopholes that we could have exploited, if I had really understood. You and mother were so intent on us going through with everything.”

“There were other advantages to the family with that alliance, Draco. The Greengrasses were neutral during the war; it was politically expedient as well as what we thought to be the boon of maintaining our blood purity. And, you seemed to like her well enough. We all thought it was the best we could do, at the time.”

“Yes, and with you in Azkaban for five years, I was not as privy to your counsel as I might have been otherwise,” Draco noted, with just a hint of bitterness.

“It could have been much worse, if not for your mother’s late, though timely, aid to Potter,” Lucius retorted.

“Water under the bridge, Father. We have a more immediate problem to solve. I assume that you’ve seen to all the provision clauses? Her needs will be met?”

“Of course, Son. The divorce will be amicable and mutual. Your mother has been in contact with her family. They’ve known as much as we have that this day was coming.”

The younger Malfoy nodded. His marriage, his life as he’d expected it to be, was over. That, unfortunately, didn’t mean there weren’t hurdles yet to clear. He had three years before things would change again, and this deadline had much more dire consequences, at least to his financial health. At the cusp of such cruel fate, he recognized that it was more than just his own life that was to change; the collective future of the wizarding world had no choice but to shift at the same time.

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Hermione Granger-Weasley watched impassively as her now-ex-husband packed the last of his clothing into a trunk nearly identical to the one he’d used throughout their years at Hogwarts. If she hadn’t personally disposed of the old one, she’d have mistaken this for the same item. As much as things change, they do always stay the same, she mused. Their split was not exactly amicable; she’d caught him in flagrante delicto with the same witch who’d come between them as their relationship was in early bud, back before the war had even begun. Now, as far as she was concerned, Lavender Brown could have the lout; she was well rid of him.

As he closed the lid of the trunk, Ron turned to the woman he knew he’d wronged. “When can I see the kids?” he asked, hoping that the witch’s fury would subside long and often enough that his two young children would be able to maintain some kind of relationship with their father.

“The decree says every other weekend, beginning on the first of next month. You can visit them here next weekend, if you want. Make sure you call or owl me first, though.” She was being generous; there was nothing that required her to allow him access to the children other than on their Wizengamot-mandated schedule. In truth, it had nothing to do with him; Rose and Hugo missed their daddy. She would not hurt them in her anger at what Ron had done to her.

“Thanks. That’s nice of you. I, uh, guess I’d better be going, then,” he stammered. When he automatically leaned in to peck her cheek, she shrank back. “Sorry,” he mumbled, an embarrassed flush staining his cheeks. “Force of habit.”

She glared at him, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. “Goodbye, Ron.”

When his graceless pop of Apparition stopped echoing in her ears, the lonely witch sunk to her favorite worn leather armchair and wept in sadness, frustration, and relief. Her marriage, and her life as she’d expected it to be, was over. There were pieces still to pick up, and children to care for, and a job which needed more of her attention than she’d been able to give it lately. Things were going to be different from this point forward; of that, she had no doubt.

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Astoria had been as gracious as she knew how to be during their “friendly” divorce. She didn’t love Draco any more than he had loved her; she was, unabashedly, enamored of the Malfoy lifestyle. If the “no-fault” clauses in their marriage contract hadn’t been iron-clad, she’d have had to fight for pittances. Thankfully, her father’s solicitors had been diligent in ensuring that she would want for nothing, should her marriage to Draco dissolve through no wrong-doing on her part.

Draco had been insistent that she take the home they’d bought shortly after their marriage, regardless of its exorbitant value. He had a perfectly adequate flat in London, and assuming he could navigate his way through the latest legal and familial challenge, Malfoy Manor would someday be his. Both of his parents had invited him to move back to the massive property; they reasoned that, with over thirty-four thousand square feet of space, it wasn’t terribly likely that anyone would feel under-foot. He had declined, grateful for their offer, but insistent on his independence. He had a marriage to grieve, and he’d prefer to do that in solitude.

“I think it best that we not see each other for a while, Draco,” Astoria told him as he packed the last of his personal belongings for his move to Wizarding London. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but…”

“I know, Astoria. I don’t think I can, either. We’ve been good for each other in many ways, and I’m so very sorry that it’s come to this,” Draco finished her thought. While neither was exactly heartbroken, they had formed a bond. It would be more painful to re-open that wound continuously than to allow it to heal without interference.

“Be well, Draco. I wish you all the very best,” Astoria offered through a sniffle.

Draco wrapped her in an embrace, and kissed her softly. “Goodbye, Astoria. I hope you find happiness.”

He turned on his heel and, with one more nod, he was gone. An hour later, he was settling in to his flat, unpacking the last of his clothing with the aid of Tuppy, his personal house-elf, when he heard the chime of the Floo indicating that a visitor was requesting entry.

The familiar, if infrequently heard, voice of Blaise Zabini echoed in the cavernous sitting room. “Hey, mate, I heard the news. Need a pal?”

Draco snorted in amusement. Even if he hadn’t heard from his school chum in months, he could always count on Blaise for two things: first, to be thoroughly aware of all the latest gossip (thanks to his ever-so-well-connected wife, Pansy), and second, to be there when he needed him most. “Come on through, you arsehole, but you’d better have Firewhisky with you,” he warned, only half-joking.

Blaise laughed aloud as he stepped out of the green flames, holding a bottle of Ogden’s Finest in each hand. “Will this do?” he asked, arching an eyebrow to underscore his sarcastic tone. He set the two bottles on the table between two overstuffed leather armchairs and approached his old friend. “Come here, you arsehole,” he repeated, giving the taller, slimmer man a bear hug. “You all right?”

Pulling away, Draco shrugged. “I guess. It’ll take some getting accustomed to.”

“What now? How much time do you have?” Blaise inquired, knowing that Draco wouldn’t be offended by his prying. So many of them were in the same boat.

“I turned twenty-seven three weeks ago, so… one hundred fifty-three weeks,” he calculated, removing the cork from the bottle of alcohol nearest him. He drank, wiping his lips with the back of his hand as he pulled the bottle away.

“Then what?”

“Then, I’m poorer than a church mouse, as the saying goes.”

“Nah, not that bad,” the dark-skinned wizard scoffed. “You’ll still have your own assets.”

“True, but that’s a paltry sum in comparison to the Malfoy legacy,” he pointed out, truthfully.

“What are the terms?”

“Married, and an heir conceived, by my thirtieth birthday, or it all goes to Cousin Francois’ branch of the family.”

“Tough luck, mate,” he commiserated. “Any idea what you’re going to do now?”

Draco shrugged and swigged another drink. “I need to see the Healer again - see if there’s something new on the horizon that might help. The bigger issue, though, is that I need a witch to reproduce with. I happen to be without one at the moment.” He snorted derisively.

“They were absolutely certain that you and Astoria…?” Blaise’s unspoken question was clearly understood.

The blond shook his head, slowly and sadly. “No way, no how. There’s a strong possibility that she won’t be able to conceive with anyone, but definitely not with another pureblood. It seems that my problem is slightly less… calamitous.”

“And they wouldn’t allow adoption to satisfy the terms of the charter?”

“No. It has to be a naturally conceived and blood child of a Malfoy.”

“What do you mean by ‘naturally conceived’? What other way is there?”

Draco arched an eyebrow. “Blaise, you’re not that dense.”

“No, seriously, mate. It depends on the definitions. Pansy and I were able to use in vitro to satisfy our contract. Would it not allow that?”

“No, in vitro is an option if both partners are fertile. The issue is with egg or sperm donation. That’s a deal breaker, and that’s what Astoria and I would have had to do.”

“I’m so sorry, mate. I didn’t realize your terms were that stiff,” Blaise consoled, lifting his own bottle of Firewhisky in a salute.

Draco drank again. “Yeah. Sucks.” He scratched at his neck, and rested his elbows on his knees. “Now, I need to go back for more testing, to see for sure what my own potential is. I do that first thing tomorrow.”

“At St. Mungo’s?”

“Mmmhmm, with the specialist Healer. This is the one who is trained in some Muggle fertility methods as well as in Wizarding techniques. He helped guide us through that maze up to this point. Since we’ve looked at all the traditional wizarding remedies, I figure it can’t hurt to look at all perspectives.”

“Well, here’s to new methods and opportunities, my good man, wherever they may take you,” Blaise drawled as he dragged on his bottle once more.

After an evening of getting as wasted as he’d been since his bachelor party, but with far fewer companions, Draco dragged himself to his empty room. It had been a very long time since he’d been without a witch to warm his bed. He slept fitfully, anticipating the poking, prodding and waving that he’d undergo in the morning. When sunlight crept over his face, he pulled a pillow over his head and groaned. This was hangover to beat all previous hangovers in the history of mankind, or at least that’s how it felt at the moment. When the spinning stopped, he forced himself out of bed to make it to the loo before his bladder burst. Done with his business, he inspected his bloodshot eyes in the mirror and was momentarily surprised to see a flashing arrow on the glass, pointing downward to the grey granite countertop.

“Ah, Blaise, I owe you one, buddy,” he croaked, reaching for the bottle of hangover potion that his best mate had left for him. He downed the appropriate dosage in one and re-corked the vial, placing it in the cabinet where his toiletries had already been stored.

After a quick trip back to his bedroom to retrieve his wand – how it had ended up on his nightstand, he could only guess – he returned to the en-suite to shower and shave. He had just over an hour before he needed to be at the Healer’s office. He’d probably have time for a quick breakfast; scones and tea would have to suffice.

Dressed in summer-weight navy blue wool trousers, a light blue oxford shirt, and his navy blue robes, Draco entered the Healer’s reception office five minutes before his scheduled appointment. He was called in to the examination room ten minutes later.

Healer Amedee Hubert, as Draco had told Blaise, was not only a specialist in wizard fertility issues, but had studied the newest Muggle methodology and sought to combine the best of both worlds’ medical knowledge to improve the chances of conception for desperate couples. He had been testing and treating the young Malfoys for a few months, focusing first on strictly wizard methods. His testing had encompassed Muggle technologies, but the results had not provided any solace for the couple.

He had been very disappointed to be unable to help them achieve their wish. He had told them that their largest problem was that the two of them were so physically incompatible as to have significantly less than a one percent chance of conceiving together. Each would have a better chance with someone other than another pureblood, but Draco’s chances of becoming a father, someday, where marginally better than Astoria’s of becoming a mother. That likelihood, in almost any scenario, was less than five percent. They had decided to stop treatment, and the couple had divorced, as was required in their marriage contract. Now, Draco Malfoy had returned on his own to see if there was some hope for him, potentially with another partner.

“Healer Hubert," Draco acknowledged as the physician entered the room. He extended his hand, which the other man accepted.

“Hi, Draco. How are you?”

“I’m okay, considering the situation,” Draco replied.

“I can’t imagine that this would be easy on you or your former wife,” he noted, sympathetically.

“We were… fond of each other, but as you know, our marriage was arranged. Our contract required this; we always knew it was a possibility. What I’m really interested in now is, where do I go from here?”

“Is there a particular reason that you’re in such a hurry, Draco? Most people take a little time after the end of a marriage to figure out what they want to do with the rest of their lives.” The Healer was concerned, apparently, for the young man’s mental health along with his physical well-being.

“I have responsibilities beyond myself, Healer, and strict time limits in which they must be achieved. If it will be as difficult to conceive as it has been thus far, I haven’t a moment to waste.”

The Healer had heard this story before; Draco wasn’t the only old-family heir he’d been treating. “I’ll do what I can to help you, Draco. You know there are no guarantees, and there are some possibilities that you may find… challenging to accept. We’ll run a few more tests, and go from there.”

Draco nodded. “What’s next, then?”

“It’s been about three months since you’ve given me a sample, so we’ll do that first. I want to check motility again, and do another round of DNA and genetic testing. I have my suspicions, but I’d like to get them confirmed before we talk about them in any detail.”

“So, you, um, want a sample now?” Draco stammered. While it was a clinical necessity to “deliver the sample” on-site, and as many times as he’d had to do it, it never failed to unsettle Draco that people knew exactly what he was doing in that little room. They’d tried the stasis method – producing the sample at home and placing it under a stabilizing spell – but the sperm invariably broke down beyond the lab’s ability to test each necessary factor, particularly motility, which was a highly critical measure.

“Yes. You know the drill. There should be sample cups in the room, and the usual inspiration, should you need it.”

When Draco rolled his eyes, the Healer laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Okay, mate, have at it. I’ll see you in a few minutes.” With that, he opened the door and directed Draco to one of the available “Privacy Rooms” that were reserved exactly for the purpose of male patients delivering semen samples into sterile plastic vials.

Draco entered the small room, locking the door with his wand, and settled into the reclining chair that was covered with a new sterile sheet after each patient. A plastic vial, with his name and patient identification number already labeled, sat on the side table in arm’s reach. As the Healer had reminded him, the “usual inspiration” was indeed available. A selection of wizard and Muggle magazines and video, each depicting some kind of titillation, were available to aid a wizard in getting where he needed to go. Draco rarely needed to use the visual aids; his own imagination was generally sufficient. Today, however, he thought the help might be necessary. Although he hadn’t had sex in a couple of weeks – it had just felt wrong once he and Astoria had separated in anticipation of their divorce – the mood just wasn’t there. Since his wife had often accompanied him to these appointments, it was not uncommon that she would “assist” him, as recommended by their Healer. She could no longer be his inspiration; that would just feel morbid and creepy. Chalk up one more little change that in the moment felt monumental.

He couldn’t stay in the room forever, though, so he needed to create some inspiration from his own mind or take advantage of the material provided for him. With a sigh, he unbuttoned his fly and tugged down the zipper, lifting his hips to remove the trousers completely. There was absolutely no comfort in achieving erection and orgasm with his knees trapped in pant legs. His whispery black silk boxers were removed next; while they didn’t impede movement, they could interfere with catching his ejaculate in the sterile vial; that was a lesson he’d learned on his very first appointment, a mistake never to be repeated. He reached for the stack of magazines, favoring the wizard version over the Muggle ones; the pictures moved a little, certainly an advantage over the stationary Muggle version, but not so much that they became totally pornographic. He’d seen the videos a couple of times, but they actually turned him off. It wasn’t so much the visuals – the background music was just horrible. If he could figure out how to mute the sound on the Muggle deeveedee, they might do the trick. For whatever reason, the infernal device refused to respond to Silencio spells.

Therefore, Draco decided to stick with what he knew: wizarding skin magazines. He was grateful that there were a couple of newer ones that he hadn’t seen before. He knew that men all over the world were very visual in their approach to sexuality; he was no different. He flipped through the pages, pausing now and again to gaze a little longer at a particularly good-looking witch or tantalizing pose. There was one in particular who was very interesting to him. Rather than being blatant in her nudity, she was teasing, drawing bits of silk over swaths of skin, hiding and revealing her assets. She wore a mask and a scarf over her hair, adding to her mystery. Her body was petite, but not overly skinny. Draco liked a woman with a few curves; Astoria had been… acceptable, but her waif-like shape was not exactly his ideal.

The vixen on the page blew him a kiss, and Draco chuckled. She turned onto her stomach, revealing a most delectable derriere, and then removed her scarf, displaying long, curly chestnut hair. Draco thought that it reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t place who that might be. Next page, please, he decided, turning the glossy paper to another view. The next image was far less appealing: the woman could have been a twin for his ex-wife, right down to the color and cut of her hair. Draco was certain he didn’t want to go there. The girl on the previous page was infinitely more attractive to him at the moment. He flipped the page back.

He decided to let his imagination run wild. Why not? It surely wasn’t hurting anyone. He (finally!) felt a stirring in his groin. Setting the magazine aside, Draco closed his eyes, picturing that dark-haired temptress teasing him with coy glances and glimpses of ivory skin through brightly colored silk scarves. In Slytherin green and silver. His hand found its way toward his quickly burgeoning organ. The beauty in his mind’s eye crawled to him on a large bed, made up with cream silk sheets, and took his dream-penis in her mouth, thoroughly enveloping him. Her tongue teased and lips nibbled, while Draco’s hand stroked firmly, up and down, picking up speed as he imagined her head bobbing, taking him deep in her throat and moving back to his glans, tongue swirling and sucking hard. He could feel his sac begin to tighten and knew that orgasm wasn’t far off. As he reached the point of no return, he suddenly remembered that he needed to capture his ejaculate, and reached for the plastic vial just in time.

“Hunh,” he grunted, partly in a natural reaction to his release, and partly in surprise. He’d rarely been so involved in his fantasy that he forgot the purpose for his manual stimulation. As he cleaned up and got dressed, it came to him that the woman in the magazine and then in his fantasy had reminded him of an old schoolmate whom he hadn’t seen in many years. Hermione Granger, he mused. Even if she was a pain in my arse, if pressed I would be forced to admit that she wasn’t unattractive after fourth year. He shook his head in amusement. This was one secret fantasy that he’d take to his grave.

When Draco opened the Privacy Room’s door, Healer Hubert was waiting in the hallway, hand out to receive the sample vial.

“The fresher, the better,” he told his patient. “Make yourself comfortable. I want to run these tests right now, before you leave.”

Draco, his skin still slightly flush from his so-recent orgasm, was grateful for the opportunity to catch his breath for a moment. He returned to the Privacy Room as the Healer had indicated. He sat in the recliner to await the test results, flipping through the magazines somewhat distractedly. It would likely be a little while before there was another witch in his bed with any regularity; he might want a little fuel for his nocturnal fantasies.

A sharp rap on the door twenty minutes later alerted him to Healer Hubert’s return. As the man opened the door to deliver his findings, Draco couldn’t help but notice that his expression was decidedly grim. Draco swallowed his fear and prompted the Healer to speak. “Give it to me straight, please.”

“Well, there is a little good news, but most of it is, at the very least, limiting for you.”

“What does that mean?”

“The good news is that your sperm production and motility both seem to have improved. Have you been abstaining from sex recently?” he asked.

“Well, Astoria and I have only been apart for a couple of weeks, so I haven’t been out tomcatting, if that’s what you mean.”

“Yes and no. I take it you’ve also not been masturbating very often.”

“No, not until just now. I just haven’t really felt…” Draco’s voice trailed off.

Healer Hubert raised his hand. “Not to worry. That’s normal; you’re grieving the end of your relationship. But the upshot is that your sperm seems to have recovered some if its vitality. I think in your desperation to conceive, you and Astoria were actually having intercourse too often. I know we talked about that at some point, but it’s one of the strategies that most people seem to find counter-intuitive and often ignore, sometimes without even realizing that they’re doing it. In any case, that can degrade the quality of your sperm. There is a balance, though. You can’t completely abstain from ejaculating; it’s just as unhealthy.”

“The truth is that we were accustomed to having sex nearly every night, except when Astoria was menstruating, and that’s a difficult habit to change. So, I’m newly divorced, Healer. What do you recommend?” Draco asked with a little frustration.

“I wouldn’t go off with every filly on the farm, but the best case scenario would be to ejaculate about twice a week.”

“I’m not really interested in screwing around, to be perfectly frank with you. I need to protect my reputation if I’m to find another wife relatively soon. Will self-stimulation provide the appropriate results?” Draco wondered.

“Absolutely, but again, not more than twice a week. Can you handle that?”

“Sure. Not a problem.”

“Good. Okay. Another strategy is to ensure that you either wear boxers or nothing for undergarments. It helps to keep your body temperature lower, and that also aids in sperm production and motility.”

“That’s my preference, anyway. Most pureblood wizards don’t wear undergarments with their robes. I only do when I’m wearing wool trousers.”

The Healer nodded his acknowledgement and then paused before continuing. “That’s the easy part, Draco. I’m afraid you won’t be so happy with the rest.”

“Just tell me. I’d rather know than worry about how bad it is.” Draco’s face had gone pale, which was not an easy feat, considering his typical nearly-translucent complexion.

“Your genetic testing is quite definitive. You will not be able to conceive with a pureblood witch. The chances are so remote as to add up to zero. Further, your chances of conceiving with even a Half-blood witch are nearly as slim, less than one percent. Do you understand what this means?”

Draco looked as horrified as any man had ever been, his eyes wide and jaw slack. "I have to come in a Muggle?" he exclaimed, utterly repulsed by the very idea and quite certain his 'equipment' would refuse to function.

“Well, there are some alternatives and options available, but…”

“No! You don’t understand. My family will never accept that as a valid marriage!”

“Draco, it doesn’t have to be a Muggle. It could be a Muggle-born witch,” Healer Hubert said, trying to placate the clearly distraught young man. “And although best results are usually achieved with natural conception, we can still explore treatments such as in vitro fertilization, surrogacy, and ova donation.”

“What’s the difference? Seriously?” Draco had pushed out of the recliner and was pacing the small room, pushing his hands through his hair in frustration and fear.

“Draco, don’t you think your family will understand and support you, if this is the only option available to you if you hope to father a child?”

“I don’t know for certain, but I doubt it. My family charter may not even allow it. The British Malfoy family could very well end with me.” Draco sank into the recliner once more, devastated and stunned.

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Hugo and Rose were spending the day with the Weasley family, allowing their mother a rare day to herself. Hermione planned to soak in a tub for at least an hour, ensuring that her wand was at the ready to keep the water at the perfect temperature, read something strictly for pleasure, and eat a meal that did not include bland, child-friendly flavors. A nice, hot curry came to mind.

The transition from wife and mother to divorcee with two small children had not been quite as horrid as the erstwhile Gryffindor had feared. Hermione Granger (she’d dropped the Weasley, despite the protests of many of her former husband’s relatives, who insisted she’d always be part of the family), was not one to back down from a challenge. She had, after all, faced Bellatrix Lestrange and lived to tell the tale.

The children were attending day school, as they always had, and were cared for by their grandmother for two hours after classes, as had been the case for the last two years. Molly had been furious with her youngest son and had only allowed him to stay at the Burrow until he managed to save enough money for a small flat of his own. He hadn’t moved in with his paramour as she still lived with her parents, a fact that was sorely testing his own patience. He got no sympathy from any quarter.

Molly gave her son a deadline of four weeks, which he met only by borrowing a stack of Galleons from Harry, who had reluctantly agreed to help only because he knew his mother-in-law would throw his brother-in-law out on his no-good arse without hesitation. Ginny had been furious when she found out, but figured it was a better solution than Hermione suffering the possibility of running into the bugger when she picked up the children each evening.

Hermione had taken a couple of days off from work immediately after their divorce had been final. She was grateful that Harry had been able to talk Ron into allowing it to proceed uncontested, but the lack of Wizengamot hearings hadn’t meant that no stress was involved. They had known each other for sixteen years – nearly two-thirds of their lives - been in a relationship for more than half that time, and created two children together. For the change alone, it had been earth-shaking. The betrayal, with someone whom she’d once considered a friend, was wrenching and painful. While she knew she would certainly focus on being a good mother to her two children, who were only four and six years old, and earning a living, she really had no idea what she’d do next with her life.

The only thing Hermione knew for sure was that she wanted and needed some time to be a young woman again, however she could do that while still meeting her children’s needs. Someday, she might like to have a relationship again, if she could find a man who would love both her and her children and give her the intellectual and emotional respect that she deserved. She was convinced that finding such a man would be a tall order; she was not terribly optimistic about the prospects, as nearly everyone she knew in the wizarding world was already married, and the remaining handful of men anywhere near her own age were only interested in other wizards. While she hadn’t yet resigned herself to a life alone, she anticipated that it might be a very long time before another man shared her bed. That idea was just a bit depressing.

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Draco had retreated to his flat for a few hours after his appointment with Amedee Hubert. He had to absorb what he’d learned; there was no doubt that his future had just taken a radical turn. He was debating how to break the news to his parents. They certainly knew the general problem, but the myriad ramifications and eminently distasteful solutions were almost as bad as if he’d been told that he was completely sterile. It was small consolation.

While the “how” was still up for debate, the “when” decision had been taken from him. The Floo chime had rung not two minutes earlier, and his father had summoned him to Malfoy Manor. Since his parents had known about his appointment with the fertility specialist, the likelihood that the meeting was for any other purpose was as slim as that of Draco keeping the Malfoy empire intact. Avoiding the discussion would not change its content or outcome; he’d suck it up and face the music.

When he stepped through the Floo in his father’s study, Draco was met by the concerned and vaguely hopeful faces of both of his parents. His mother greeted him first, not with words, but with an enveloping and teary embrace. She’d been doing a lot of that lately. His father’s greeting was less demonstrative but no less emotional. “We’ve been anxious to hear, Son. Are you… all right?”

Hearing such heartfelt concern from his parents was Draco’s undoing. The stress and tension of the last few weeks came fully crashing down on him, and he shook his head slowly as his eyes filled with tears. He released one sob before forcing himself to regain control, though his grip on that was tenuous, at best. He hadn’t felt so lost, so young, since the day he’d been branded with the Dark Mark a more than a decade earlier. He allowed his mother to hold him again while he tried to slow his breathing and his racing heart. He heard her whisper into his ear, “Tell us, my little dragon, and we’ll do whatever we can to ease your pain.”

Draco straightened and removed a silk handkerchief from the breast pocket of his robe to wipe his eyes. “Mother, the news is quite dire. I fear that my future – our future as a family – has met its end.”

Lucius and Narcissa glanced at each other, and by silent agreement, the head of the family took control of the conversation. “Draco, you need to tell us exactly what the Healer told you. I’m no physician, but we need to understand exactly what our position is.”

The younger Malfoy nodded, recognizing that he’d not be able to keep the brutal truth to himself. “Healer Hubert has told me that my chances of fathering a child with a pureblood witch are effectively zero, and less than one percent with even a Half-blood witch.”

Narcissa stifled a gasp at hearing the definitive pronouncement. She’d hoped against odds that the bigger difficulty had been with her former daughter-in-law. It now seemed that the problem between the young couple was mutual. Lucius glared at her.

“That’s certainly troubling, but not really unexpected, Draco,” his father stated. “What else did he tell you? I sense that there’s more.”

“There is. The only good news, if you can call it that, is that I am not sterile. He says that my… potency has improved since our last test.” The humiliation the young man felt at discussing such intimate detail with his parents was evident in the bright red flush on his cheeks.

“So, you could father a child under the right circumstances?” Narcissa concluded.

“Technically, yes. The circumstances, though, are quite unpalatable.”

“What are they? If there’s anything we can do to facilitate success for you, it will be done.” The offer from his mother was vehement.

“Don’t make promises you won’t want to keep, Mother,” Draco warned, trying to ensure that she wouldn’t get her hopes up, only to be so quickly and thoroughly dashed.

She scoffed at his rejoinder with a wave of her hand. “I can’t imagine anything that would preclude us going to any lengths on this, Draco.”

“I have to mate with a Muggle,” he nearly shouted in one breath.

Her gasp this time would not be held back.

“Except that?” Draco bit out.

“Are you sure? Is it the only way?” The desperation in Narcissa’s voice nearly matched his own.

“Well, technically, it could also be a Muggle-born witch, but essentially, yes.” Draco sighed, all of his disappointment and despair finally on display.

Lucius had been strangely silent through the latter part of his son’s exchange with his wife. The family patriarch was absorbing and calculating, a habit that had usually served him well. He had a question or two before he would outline any plan that he might formulate.

“Did the Healer tell you what the cause of the problem is?” he inquired.

“Genetics. His testing confirmed what we feared and suspected. Apparently, as we were warned years ago, there has been too much in-breeding within pureblood circles and we are all too closely related for us to… successfully reproduce. As I know you’ve heard, Astoria and I are not the only couple, by a very long measure, who have had… difficulties. It seems that the purer one’s bloodline, the worse the problem is. We Malfoys certainly fall into that category.”

“What did he say about your chances of conceiving with a Muggle-born witch?”

“He said that they were near normal,” Draco answered, feeling no comfort in the news. Truth be told, it made him feel worse.

“Then that’s what you will do,” his father pronounced.

Draco’s eyes flew wide. “You can’t be serious! Destroy thousands of years of tradition to preserve a few Galleons?”

“Well, it’s more than a few, Draco, and the tradition clearly no longer serves us. In fact, it has potential to become our ruin.”

“But doesn’t the family charter preclude marriage and procreation with anyone but another pureblood? Wouldn’t that cause forfeit of the legacy in itself?”

“In normal circumstances, yes. But this is not the case. You have made a good-faith attempt in your first marriage to a pureblood witch. The terms for a second marriage would be slightly different, and a bit less restrictive. If your physician certifies that there is a medical cause that no pureblood witch is an acceptable match, you may choose anyone who is capable of giving you children to carry on the family line.”

Draco was stunned. He’d never heard of this exception. “Anyone? And you wouldn’t object?”

“Why would we? If it means the difference between you having children and continuing the family line, or having it all end with you, there is no discussion. I’m sure your mother and I would prefer that you select a Muggle-born witch than a Muggle, but whatever you decide, we will support.” Lucius’ matter-of-fact tone was as surprising as anything Draco had heard in the last twenty-four hours. He could really choose… anyone. The idea was immensely liberating, even in the face of having to pair with someone whom he would have thoroughly rejected just hours earlier.

“We would counsel, however, that you are very deliberate in your selection. Any witch you pick must be of stellar reputation and magical strength. You would also want to have as much proof of her fertility as you can reasonably obtain.”

Draco snorted. “What am I supposed to do? Ask someone if they’re ovulating?”

“I feel confident that you will figure out a way to solve that issue,” Lucius replied. “There is one thing, though, that you should keep in mind.”

“That is?”

“The time table does not change. Your thirtieth birthday is still the deadline for you to achieve your legacy. There is nothing I can do to change that requirement,” his father informed him, not without empathy.

“I expected that to be the case, but I’d rather know than guess,” Draco allowed.

“You’ll need to give some thought to how you’ll proceed. There really isn’t a lot of time to play the bachelor,” the elder wizard cautioned.

“I sowed plenty of wild oats when I was younger; I see no need to screw around for fun’s sake. I have responsibilities, and I will take them seriously. Give me a few days, and I’ll craft a plan to find a new wife.”

“You will let me know if you need introductions, dear?” Narcissa suggested.

“Mother, while I appreciate the offer, I sincerely doubt that you will be much help.”

At her affronted huff, he explained his comment. “How many Muggles and Muggle-born witches do you actually know?” Snitch in hand; match to Draco, he thought.

Narcissa had the good grace to accept his mild rebuke with a nod and a smile. “Of course, Draco. Then again, how many do you know?” She had not been a Slytherin for nothing.

“Not many, at least not terribly well, but I’d venture a guess that someone in my social circle will have an idea or two.” Draco was thinking of Blaise and Pansy. Since Pansy was the biggest gossip in all of wizarding Great Britain, he felt sure she would know every person who was single and available, regardless of their blood status. It was time for a gathering of old friends, Draco concluded.

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Pansy Parkinson Zabini never simply walked anywhere; she flounced, even when exiting a Floo. Draco’s smirk on seeing her do just that into his sitting room earned him a resounding smack to his shoulder. “If you want my help, Draco Abraxus Malfoy, you’ll behave yourself,” she scolded.

“Yes, Pansy, I want your help,” he chuckled. “Where’s your idiot husband? Isn’t he joining us?”

“He’ll be here in a few minutes. He wanted to stop off to get a bottle.”

“What? He thinks I wouldn’t have the appropriate libations to serve my guests?”

“I’m sure he simply wanted to be certain of the highest quality of those libations.”

Draco shook his head. The one-upmanship between the two of them never ended. If he served the seventy-year-old version – at forty Galleons a bottle –the son-of-a-bitch would insist that only the hundred-ten-year-old blend was remotely acceptable. Whatever the reason, it did mean that the two would drink nothing but the very finest. Draco was accustomed to that.

“Besides, I wanted a few minutes alone with you before he joined us,” Pansy confessed.

“I don’t think Blaise would object to you and I having a private chat, Pans. We’ve known each other since before either of us could speak.”

“Of course he wouldn’t, and if he did, I’d hex him into next week and freeze him out of the bedroom for good measure. It was just a convenient ruse to protect macho pride and posturing,” she added with a laugh.

“Fine – I get it. So what did you want to discuss without your hovering husband?” Draco prodded.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re really okay. You’ve always hid your pain, Draco, and I’m one of only two people you’ve ever truly let see you at your worst. One day in the summer of sixth year comes to mind.”

She was right. After he’d been coerced and manipulated into taking the Dark Mark, Pansy had held him into the wee hours of the morning as he’d wailed through the pain. It was good to have a sister. She never judged and never made him feel like a lesser person; she was the closest friend he’d ever had. It was unspoken that the other person who’d served that role was his mother.

“I’m coping. I loved Astoria in my own way, but I was never in love with her. I miss her, but I think it’s more the companionship that I find lacking. I guess there’s just a lot of… disappointment all around.”

“And?”

“Now it’s clear that I need to remarry, but my usual choices are no longer an option.” Draco met his friend’s eyes, confusion and worry quite evident in the steely grey.

“What else? Don’t hold back on me, Draco. You know I’ll get it out of you sooner or later,” she cajoled.

He blew out a breath. “For all my life, I’ve been told, and if I’m honest, believed that anyone who wasn’t a pureblood was a lesser person. Half-bloods were fine to have as friends, but considering one for my spouse was unacceptable. ‘Mudblood’ was a term that I learned before we ever got to Hogwarts, and I’d never even met a Muggle. Until I was in my mid-teens, I thought they’d kill me for just being a wizard. Now, I’ve learned that my family’s entire existence, and my own well-being, are dependent on me being able to form a relationship with one of those people that I was conditioned to fear and revile. I can’t say that I feel as I did about them ten years ago, but being tolerant and civil is a far cry from mating with someone.” He stopped abruptly, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “This is all just… surreal.”

“So, what do you plan to do about it?”

Pansy, ever the practical one, Draco thought, at least when it comes to affairs of the heart. “I haven’t much choice. I need to find a Muggle-born witch, or worst case scenario, a Muggle, who will be willing to marry me and have my child before my thirtieth birthday.”

“What are the consequences to you if you don’t do that?”

And she boils away the excess. “We forfeit the bulk of the Malfoy fortune to a distant cousin and his family. Any marriage I have would be childless. Apart from that, not much.” His talent for sarcasm, at least, had not suffered.

“So what? Do either of those things really matter to you, Draco?”

Damned good question, Pans. He took a moment to deliberate over that, staring at the hands he’d clasped over his knees. “You know,” he finally answered, “the money doesn’t matter as much as I thought it would at one point in my life. I have enough of my own investments and inheritances from my mother’s side of the family that I’ll never go hungry. It’s more the role we play in society that matters to me now. I’ve been groomed for this my whole life. If I lose it now, who am I? If you had asked me about fathering a child a few years ago, I’d have given you the same answer that I give you now, but for a different reason. I do want to be a father, but when Astoria and I were first married, it was all about fulfilling my destiny.” He laughed without humor. “Kind of like the royal family, you know? Produce an heir and a spare. Today, I still want that child, and the responsibility is part of it, but it’s more now. When you can’t achieve such a basic, natural, human thing, it becomes consuming. I want to know what kind of man I can be, through what kind of father I will be. My parents shocked the hell out of me when they told me that they would support me in marrying a Muggle-born. I’m not foolish enough to think that there’s no dynastic motivation behind that, but I know they understood that I’m hurting for the lack of that child, not just as a symbol, but as someone I want to groom and guide and nurture. They want me to be happy as much as they want me to carry on the Malfoy line. I want that, too.”

When Draco looked up again, Pansy’s cheeks were wet, and she’d reached over to hug him “Oh, Draco, you’ve really, finally grown up.” She kissed his cheek, which was equally not-dry. “Some witch out there is going to be very lucky to have you, and you will be a fabulous daddy.”

“I feel like I still have so much to learn. If I’m so freaked out about having to mate with a Mudbl… I mean a Muggle-born – see, I can’t even remember that that’s a nasty, taboo term! – how can I build a real life with that person? Is my prejudice so ingrained that I can’t overcome it? How can I do this, Pans?”

“I think you ought to start by giving yourself a break, mate.” The voice that answered Draco’s semi-rhetorical questions was significantly deeper than he’d expected. “Hey arsehole, why are you hanging on to my wife?”

“I believe that, in fact, she is hanging on to me, arsehole,” Draco retorted, releasing his hold on Pansy to greet Blaise with a quintessential guy-hug.

“Yeah, mate, because you’re such a loser, she has to hold you together. Find your own damned wife to keep you in one piece, why don’t you?” he teased.

“Had one of those; didn’t work out the way I expected,” Draco replied with a sardonic grin. He paused for a brief moment. “Actually, guys, that’s why I asked you to come over tonight. I know both of you are better connected than I am to the social network. I need… information and guidance.”

“No need to flatter. How can we help, Draco?”

Draco smirked at Pansy. “Since when is calling you an incorrigible gossip flattery?”

“Hey, for someone who wants our help, you’re awfully snide, Mister.”

“Okay, I give. It just wouldn’t be any fun if we didn’t take the mickey out, would it?” he reasoned. “I am serious, though. I don’t really have many – fine, any – true Muggle-born friends. The dozen or so acquaintances that I have are all married. I need to find a witch who’s available and might be convinced to give me a chance.”

“Hmm. Not an easy task. Age range?” Pansy wondered.

“Old enough to be legal and young enough to be fertile.”

Blaise arched an eyebrow. “Seriously, mate?”

“Well, maybe not literally. I’d say… five years younger or older.”

“Any preference on whether they’ve been in a previous relationship?”

“Couldn’t care less. As long as they’re not currently married, it doesn’t matter. I’m divorced, so I can’t really expect them to be free of romantic history.”

“What other preferences or requirements do you have?” Pansy asked.

“I’d prefer someone with some intelligence. I know beggars can’t be choosers, but I’d hope that they have a decent personality and not… unpleasant to look at.”

“Can we assume you’d rather not have a Millicent clone?” Blaise taunted.

That earned him a swift kick to the shin from his wife.

“Hey!”

“I’ll thank you to remember that Millie is a dear friend. She may not be the most beautiful girl in the world, but she’s always been very kind to me.”

“Regardless,” Draco reminded them, “she’s a pureblood. Automatically disqualified.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I never thought I’d ever hear the day that phrase would come out of my mouth.”

Draco’s guests were quiet for a moment, considering the criteria he’d outlined.

Finally, Pansy spoke up, but it was clear from the expression on her face that she wasn’t optimistic about Draco’s reaction. “I’m sorry to say this, Draco, but there aren’t a lot of available women who fit your specifications. There’s one who comes to mind, but I don’t think you’re going to like the idea.”

“What’s she like?”

“Well, she’s undoubtedly very smart; she finished first in her class. She’s got a sharp wit and many friends, so that probably speaks well of her personality. She’s also recently divorced. I’d say that she’s pretty in a natural, earthy way. You should also know that she has two young children from her previous marriage.”

“That could be an advantage, though. At least I’d know that she’s able to have children. Who is she? Do I know her?”

“You most certainly do, although I don’t think you’ve seen her in a while.”

“What’s her name?” Draco asked, now curious and intrigued.

“Her name is Hermione Granger.”

The silence in the room was deafening.

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Twelve weeks had passed since Hermione had kicked her bum of a husband out of the house. Harry and Ginny were encouraging her to emerge from her funk and quit moping over the man who’d treated her so abysmally. (Along the way, she’d learned that the creep had been playing around with the slaggy Miss Brown almost since the beginning of their marriage. Ron’s appetites, it seemed, were not satisfied by just one witch, no matter how accommodating she’d been to his desires.) Thus, the invitation to hang out at the Swish & Flick, a new night club that had opened in Diagon Alley, for a few hours was offered and accepted. Hermione didn’t think she was ready to beginning dating again, the slim pickings of available wizards notwithstanding, but going out for an evening with friends sounded like an enjoyable proposition. She’d arranged with Molly to have the kids stay overnight at the Burrow, and Ginny had arrived via the Floo, insisting that she was going to help her former sister-in-law “get all dolled up” for her first night out as a newly single woman.

Hermione had protested that there really wasn’t any point; she couldn’t imagine that there would be anyone there that she’d want to impress. Ginny had rejected that argument, saying that it was simply for her own self-esteem. That was a contention that was hard to refute; Merlin knew it had taken a bit of a hit with her husband’s infidelity. She’d reluctantly allowed the red-head to select her clothes (soft, sensual silk in a rich burgundy v-neck sleeveless dress that skimmed her still-trim shape and flattered her coloring), corral her hair (with the shorter cut she’d recently had, it wasn’t nearly as untamable as it had once been), and apply subtle makeup (to emphasis her pretty eyes and well-formed lips). They had giggled over the whole process much as they had done when the two were newly out of school and trying to impress their boyfriends, back when everything was bright and optimistic, when they’d been fresh from their victory over darkness. Once or twice, Hermione had drifted away into melancholy; Ginny didn’t dwell nor comment.

They had met Harry, Neville and Luna, Seamus and Hannah, and Dean and Justin just before half eight. The rest of the crew was already two drinks in, and they cajoled the new arrivals into two shots of Firewhisky apiece to “keep things even,” they’d said. Two rounds more ensured that everyone was feeling a little less pain and the laughter and conversation flowed a little more freely. When the small live band began to play covers of The Weird Sisters’ greatest hits, Justin even tore away from his lover to allow Dean to dance with Hermione for a handful of upbeat tunes. It had felt like an age since they’d all had so much fun together.

In the opposite corner of the dark pub, another group of friends imbibed and chatted. Blaise and Pansy Zabini, Theo and Daphne Nott (who were also childless after nearly six years of marriage), and Draco Malfoy had arrived together just after nine. Draco had graciously inquired about his ex-wife’s well being when his former sister-in-law arrived, but the two had, by silent assent, not spoken of her further; everyone knew that the circumstances were both difficult and beyond their control, further complicated by the similar position in which the Notts would soon find themselves, if something didn’t change for the better. The group could not help but notice their former schoolmates having a grand old time just a few meters away, and Pansy was the first to make a comment.

“Looks like the old crew is still intact,” she observed.

“Except for the King Weasel,” Blaise noted, snidely.

Daphne was insatiably curious. “Anyone know what happened between him and Granger? I heard they split up.”

All eyes fell on Mrs. Zabini; the group had every confidence that she would know, and she didn’t disappoint. “He was screwing around with that Brown slag from school and Granger kicked him out. It had apparently been going on for quite some time. Or so the rumors say.”

Theo, never one to hold back an opinion, offered his commentary. “He was fucking Brown when he had that at home? What an ass! And I’m talking about Granger, here. She grew up good.”

Draco was ever so tempted to look, but just couldn’t bring himself to give in to the urge. The last thing he needed was to be perceived as accepting the suggestion offered by Pansy and Blaise when they’d identified the new divorcee as Draco’s best prospect within the wizarding UK.

Fate had other ideas, however, when a passing patron, far too tipsy to be walking unassisted, stumbled and spilled a full tankard of ale onto Draco’s lap. The cold, wet, foamy substance soaking into his trousers forced him to stand abruptly and make a trip to the Men’s loo for a little clean-up; it was a bit too much for a quick Scourgify to handle. That trip forced him to walk past the spot where Granger and her friends were enthusiastically dancing to a particularly lively number. He had no choice; she was right in his path. And fuck him if Theo Nott wasn’t spot on in his assessment of said female’s… assets.

But she’s Granger, his brain argued. No way, no how, not in this lifetime. It was hard to admit, but the subtext was just as insistent: as much as he struggled with the idea of her, she would never have him. In the loo, he’d had to use two applications of a siphoning spell, another to dry the damp fabric, and yet another to remove the offensive odor from his good trousers. As he made his way back to their table, he noted that the dance floor had become more crowded and he lost sight of the group his friends had been curiously watching.

Fate intervened once more when he plowed directly into the very person he’d been hoping to… avoid. He tried to mumble an apology without making eye contact. He tried to move away from the crowd of bouncing, weaving, swaying bodies. The universe had other ideas; the song was one of the most popular dance tunes in recent memory, and it seemed that everyone in the pub had decided to surge to the dance floor en masse. He was trapped, face to face, mere inches from Hermione Granger. He resolved to not be rude or nasty; that would damage his overall reputation, and there was clearly no need to renew any rivalry or animosity they might have had as children. It would serve no purpose.

For once in his life, at least when it came to Gryffindor-Slytherin relations, Draco Malfoy took the high road and began to move, rolling his hips as he picked up the beat. “Hi, Granger,” he drawled into her ear over the way-too-loud music, “Fancy meeting you here.”

She gasped in surprise at the sight of the man who’d been her tormentor for so many of her formative years. Recognizing that neither of them had any possibility of moving out of their position, and being just tipsy enough to not really care, Hermione shrugged and continued to dance, returning his greeting. “Malfoy, it’s been a long time.”

The music was way too loud for there to be any further conversation, but their involuntary dance had not gone unnoticed. Two Zabinis whispered to each other, and a pair of Potters arched eyebrows in surprise. Neither couple could say that they knew quite what to make of the unexpected development, but both would swear that they had a felt a tectonic shift. That could be the only rational explanation for the stunning sight of these two one-time antagonists moving in tandem before their eyes. In a sure sign of the approaching apocalypse, when the music changed and the crowd thinned, Draco was seen speaking to Hermione without sneering, lifting her hand to his lips, and dropping a swift, gentlemanly kiss on her knuckles. She was witnessed responding with a laugh, a smile, and a disbelieving head shake.

Both returned to their friends to complete the evening’s fun. Neither would have predicted what came next.

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In the comfort of Draco’s large, open sitting room, four Slytherins peppered a fifth with questions.

“I thought you said Merlin would walk the earth again before you considered Granger,” Blaise taunted, his smirk looking significantly more dastardly than one Draco could ever produce.

“Who said I ‘considered’ her for anything?” Draco pushed back.

“You asked her to dance!” Pansy observed.

“No, I didn’t.” His reply was firm and definitive.

“Oh, so she asked you to dance,” Daphne concluded.

“No, she didn’t.” There was no equivocation in his response.

“Then how in Salazar’s name did you two end up practically screwing on the dance floor?” Theo accused.

“We weren’t even touching, and we were both fully clothed, so how could we be screwing?” Draco retorted, beginning to get a little annoyed with the Inquisition Squad. He could easily clear up the whole thing, but it was, he decided, much more amusing to tease them with nothing than to give in to his momentary irritation.

“Hips generally only move like that when you’re going deep, mate,” Blaise teased, “or when you want to be going deep.”

“Whose hips?” He resolved to drag this out as long as possible, just because he could.

“Yours and hers. There was enough hip movement for somebody to get off at least a couple of times.” Blaise earned a punch to the arm from his wife for that smart remark.

“Must you really be that crude? Tease all you like, but have a little respect for the ladies.”

“Where? Who?” Blaise made a big show of searching the room.

That earned him a stinging hex. He hadn’t even seen the wand under his wife’s folded arms.

Draco watched, grateful for a few seconds’ reprieve while his best friend and her husband sparred. It was not to last long, however.

“So, you claim that neither of you asked the other to dance. How, then, did you end up hip to hip with her?” Theo questioned, sounding every bit the aggressive Solicitor that he was in his day job.

Draco shrugged, maintaining his disinterested mien. “Just happened, I guess.”

“How does something like that just happen? You accidentally start to dirty dance at the same time she also accidentally starts to dirty dance, while you both just happen to be facing each other with less than three inches of space between you?” Incredulity, thy name is Daphne Nott.

The blond wizard shrugged once more. “Close enough.” He coughed to hide a laugh that he couldn’t prevent from escaping for every Galleon at Gringotts. He became Pansy’s next victim. “Ow!”

“The next one will be worse. Spill it, Malfoy. How did you end up dancing with Granger?” Pansy was getting annoyed now. It generally wasn’t a good idea to allow her to progress past that into full-blown angry. Draco decided it was time to end the group’s misery and speculation.

“I wasn’t lying. Neither of us requested a dance of the other. It actually was sort of accidental, but I decided to not make an issue of it.” He paused as he saw more bewilderment than comprehension. “Okay, what really happened was that when I was coming out of the loo after cleaning up the ale on my trousers, I literally bumped into her. Totally unintentional and accidental, I swear.” He placed a hand over his heart, as if to demonstrate his sincerity. “The band was playing that dance cut and everybody seemed to come to the floor at once. I couldn’t move; I had absolutely nowhere to go. So I figured, why not? I said hello to her, she said hello to me, we danced, and I thanked her. End of story.”

Pansy and Blaise exchanged the same glance that Theo and Daphne did. “So when are you going to see her again?” Since all four had spoken in unison, Draco only had to answer once.

“Uh, never?”

“You didn’t make a date with her?” Pansy shrieked her disappointment.

“Of course not. Why the hell would I?”

“Mate, if you two can move together like that when you’re both vertical and three-quarters to pissed, the sex would be outrageous.”

“Blaise, I’m not looking to get laid. I’m trying to find a wife.”

“Exactly my point! Can you imagine tapping that every night for the next forty years? Why wouldn’t you want a wife who sets your blood to boiling?” Blaise sounded just a little too enthusiastic on the point for his wife’s liking, and it earned him another stinging hex, after which he summoned her wand, tucking it beside his own in the deep wand pocket in his trousers.

“Look, I’ll freely acknowledge that she’s not bad looking, but with our history, there’s just no way it would ever work out. I’m going to need to expand my search beyond Great Britain,” he concluded.

“No!” Pansy said firmly.

“Why do you care, Pansy?”

“Because I love you and I actually think you and she could be compatible if you could get past your childhood crap.”

“What makes you say that?” Draco was curious about what Pansy seemed to see that he clearly didn’t.

She starting ticking off her fingers as she spoke. “First, you’re both ridiculously smart. Neither of you would be bored with the other. Second, it’s pretty clear that you have at least a little physical attraction to her, and it didn’t seem like she thought you were heinous, either. Third, she’s got a great reputation in the wizarding world. For Morgana’s sake, she’s a heroine with an Order of Merlin, First Class. It really doesn’t get much better than that. Fourth, we know she’s generally a well-liked person, even if she wasn’t terribly nice to us. I can excuse and understand that, because we weren’t terribly nice to her. Fifth, she’s not married or in a relationship. Sixth, I’d bet every gem I own that she wouldn’t care at all about your money, and last but not least, we know she can have children.” She stared at him pointedly. “Think about it, Draco. You could do one hell of a lot worse.”

Draco was silent as Pansy corralled her husband and the Notts and activated the Floo. The flat’s remaining occupant absently waved goodbye to a completely empty room.

00000000000000000000000000000000

Harry offered to escort Hermione home after their outing to the Swish & Flick; she was marginally too pissed to safely Apparate without splinching, and Ginny had been concerned she wouldn’t articulate her address clearly enough for the Floo network to interpret and deliver her to the proper place. Thus, the ever-chivalrous Mister Potter had wrapped her in a brotherly hug and with desire, determination, and destination in mind, deposited both of them safely in Hermione’s foyer. The wards easily recognized him as a family member and allowed him to release her security measures, ensuring perfect floor-to-door delivery. He made sure she had comfortably settled on her sofa, and went to her bathroom to retrieve a sobering potion. While she wasn’t thoroughly drunk by any stretch of the imagination, she was just tipsy enough that he preferred not to leave her in that condition alone.

“Drink up, my dearest sister, because I can’t leave until you do,” he teased.

The instant the potion hit her bloodstream, she was as lucid and sober as Professor McGonagall during N.E.W.T.s.

“What’s the matter? Is your wife eagerly awaiting your return?” Hermione teased right back.

“You bet your sweet, uh, thing. So go get changed and I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

“I thought Ginny was waiting?”

“Yeah, well, we all have to make sacrifices now and again. Besides, I want to talk to you about something. Tea is required.”

When she opened her mouth to speak, he shushed her immediately. “Not until you’ve changed and the tea is ready. Get.”

“And you call me a bossy-pants,” she grumbled. She did, however, comply with his command.

Ten minutes later, Hermione entered her kitchen wearing a comfortable set of lightweight turquoise fleece running pants and a matching zip jacket. She pulled out a chair and joined Harry at the table while he poured her tea, adding the one teaspoon of sugar and splash of milk that she preferred. “You take such good care of me, Harry,” she said in thanks, stretching in her seat to kiss him on the cheek.

He shrugged. “No more than you’ve ever done for me, love.”

“So, what is it that you wanted to talk about that couldn’t wait until morning?”

He ran fingers through his perpetually messy mop of black hair. “It’s more that I wanted this conversation to be private than that it couldn’t wait.”

“From Ginny?”

“Well, she is Ron’s sister, and while right now I’m certain she’d rather toss him back than keep him, she’ll always have some loyalty, even when he’s been the biggest arse on the planet.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“It’s just that I want you to understand that, even though Ron is my brother-in-law and will always be a friend, I will do everything in my power to make sure that you are happy and taken care of. That includes putting your needs ahead of Ron’s. If I had known…”

“I know, Harry, and I appreciate the thought. I am a big girl, though. Even if I got hurt, I’m still strong and I can still take pretty good care of myself. It’s nice to know that you’ve got my back, and I won’t ever refuse your caring, but there will be things I need to do and decisions I need to make.”

“Even decisions about having another relationship sometime in the future?”

“Well, of course that’s a possibility some day. Can’t imagine it would be soon, though.” She shrugged and sipped her tea. “Why do you ask?”

“I saw you with Malfoy tonight. On the dance floor.”

She laughed heartily. “That was pretty funny, actually. There he was, all of a sudden, bumping in to me. I can’t remember the last time I saw him; it had to be at least three or four years ago.”

“You seemed to be… enjoying each other’s company.”

“Oh, Harry,” she scoffed, “it was just a dance. He said hello to me, I said hello to him, we danced, and he said thank you. End of story.”

“Did you know he’s also recently divorced?”

“I think I heard something about that, yeah. A marriage contract issue, if I’m not mistaken.”

“He’s probably out looking for someone to, uh, warm his cold nights.”

“Geez, Harry. We’re not twelve any more. Besides, if Malfoy wants to get laid, I’m sure he can find an easier target than me. And I’m quite certain I would be on the bottom of that list, no matter how you look at it. Not that there’s anything wrong with wanting a little… warming.” She roared with laughter at Harry’s scandalized expression. Just to tweak him a little more, she added, “There’s no doubt that he knows how to move his hips, though. The man’s got rhythm.”

“Merlin, please don’t tell me you’re attracted to Malfoy!”

“Not in any appreciable way. I mean, he’s not a bad looking man. Even in school, if he hadn’t been such a git, I had to admit that he was easy on the eyes. It’s not like there’s any chance of the two of us even becoming friends, so I wouldn’t worry your pretty little head about it, Harry.”

“How much did you have to drink tonight, Hermione? Because I think you need a little more sobering potion. You only talk like this when you’re half-pissed.”

“I didn’t have any more to drink than you did. I’m completely sober. See?” She extended her hand to show its perfect steadiness as proof. “I’m just feeling… delightfully mellow and relaxed.”

“By the way, I outweigh you by eighty pounds, at least. Drink for drink, that’ll make a big difference.”

“Harry, I don’t know what you’re worried about. The likelihood of me even running into Malfoy again is just about nil. I’m not one of his little pureblood princesses and we don’t run in the same social circles. It was one dance. A nice dance, mind you, but that’s all it was. I probably won’t see him for another three years, so chill!”

“I’m worried because I saw the way he looked at you.”

“And how was that?”

“Like he wanted to eat you up, bite by bite.”

“Oooh, Harry, now you’re going to make me blush!” she teased again, laughing at the absurdity of his paranoia.

“Hermione, just be careful with him. He’s not nearly the complete arse he was in school, but he’s not exactly…progressive, either. I know what men want, and it’s not necessarily good for women.”

“Harry! Will you listen to yourself? Who’s being bigoted and narrow-minded now? I am a grown woman and I will make my own decisions, including whether, when and who I decide to have sex with. I am twenty-eight, not sixteen. So, as much as I love you, brother dear, butt out.”

Harry looked a little stunned and thought for a moment about what Hermione had said. She wasn’t wrong. He had been a bit judgmental about Malfoy’s motives, and it had only been the one dance, even if it had been… quite the display. “You’re right; I’m sorry. It’s certainly possible that Malfoy had no ulterior motive and it was just a, uh, nice dance between two people making peace. Who knows? Maybe his divorce has changed the way he thinks about things. I shouldn’t have been so hasty.”

Hermione stood up from the kitchen table, prompting Harry to do the same. He was being dismissed. She dragged him into as much of a crushing hug as someone could deliver with an eighty-pound weight deficit, and whispered in his ear. “I know you care, Harry, and that you’re trying to look out for me after everything that Ron did. I appreciate that more than you know. But I do need to live a little. I’ll always be the same responsible Hermione, always trying to be the perfect mum and the most productive employee, but I am a woman, too. Someday, if I find the right person, and if he’s good for me and to me, I’ll want to let him in to my life. You’re going to need to be there to support my decisions, but you can’t make them for me. I love you, Harry. Now go home to your wife. She hates it when you wake her up to have sex, so if you want to get lucky tonight, get a move on.” She pushed him away toward the Floo with a grin.

“Did she seriously tell you that?” Harry asked, incredulously.

Hermione arched an eyebrow. “She’s my sister. What do you think?”

Harry shook his head, dumbfounded. There really was no effective response. “Goodnight, Hermione. I love you, too.” He kissed her cheek, tossed the Floo powder into the flames, and called out his address, “Potter Place.” In a flare of green, he was gone, and Hermione was now alone with her thoughts. After everything that Harry had said to her, she couldn’t help but wonder, why had Draco Malfoy danced with her? And why had he called her “Hermione” when he whispered his goodbye?
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The Essence of Life