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The Best Of...	By : T-W-O Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 13808 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I own nothing of HP nor do I profit in any way from these missives. I almost own the laptop I'm writing this fanfic on, tho'.

Chapter List
- 22
- 23
- 24
Thanks to Draco’s distractions on their arrival Hermione’d missed seeing the Manor’s exterior resplendent in holiday trimmings. Thanks to Pansy’s unanticipated entrance, Hermione’d missed seeing the heart of Malfoy holiday decorating.

The parlor doors opened at Narcissa’s approach to reveal a Christmas wonderland. Not even the displays at Harrods could compete with Narcissa’s holiday decorating extravaganza.

Green fabric wallpaper sported interwoven strands of golden threads and large swags of golden silk slung along the wainscoting. Red crystal prisms dangled from the bobeche of the antique chandelier (never Hermione’s favorite lighting source in this particular house), capturing light from every source in the room and refracting rainbows onto the unadorned sculpted white ceiling. Hermione expediently made her way to the trolley where five flutes of her new favorite bubbly remained unclaimed. Edging every wall, sconce and nook in the elegantly cheerful space was more mistletoe than Snape used to store in his potions locker at Hogwarts.

The combination of Zabini, mistletoe and women guaranteed a riotous end to the evening.

“Lord and Lady Malfoy, grazie mille for your hospitality. Cara, I will owl a list of my favorite ‘desserts’.”
“Oh for fu—” Pansy started before recalling her location, “for Rosemerta’s sake, Blaise, can we just leave?”

Rosemerta — the Celtic goddess, not the innkeeper — bestowed fertility and abundance, a fact that should have informed Pansy’s choice of blasphemous phrases…

…if she’d managed to stay awake in Blinn’s class when he covered the topic.

“Pansy,” the Italian seducer purred like a big cat, “where are your manners —”

— and the handsome North African prince swept up Narcissa’s hand and laid a lingering kiss to the back of it that had Lucius first wide-eyed, then seething followed by possessive.

“Surely the wine hasn’t confused your limited reasoning, Mr. Zabini? You are aware that the hand you are slobbering over belongs to my wife?”

…and not that mudblood wench who should be leaving with you and not Draco!

“Lucius, leave the child alone! You should commend his impeccable manners. I quite enjoy the attentions of courteous — and handsome — young gentlemen.” Narcissa drawled, letting her hand linger in Zabini’s until her husband actually growled.

Lucius matched the decor when Christmas crimson colored his entire upper body. Rising swiftly from his favorite chair, Lord Malfoy stomped to his wife's rescue, snaking a territorial arm about Narcissa’s waist to claim his property.

“I should encourage him by hexing his bollocks off and toying with them before feeding his useless sac to the foxes on the Manor grounds as punishment for touching my wife,” the seriously pissed-off husband snarled for her hearing alone.

Narcissa’s shiver of arousal did not go unnoticed by her long-time sex partner. “Caveman” behavior always sufficed as foreplay with the Lord and Lady. Engaged in flirting as they were, both missed Blaise’s efficient withdrawal from Lady Malfoy.

“Don’t be a stranger, Blaise,” the Lady called out to the retreating Italian — much to Lucius’ visible upset, “we’ll be back from France on Monday. Do visit over the holidays.”

— and with that invitation, Narcissa ensured Lucius’ complete investment in her pleasure while in Alsace for the weekend. He’d have her every way he could for hours on end after Zabini’s “show” (and the sly wink his naughty Slytherin wife sent to Draco’s best friend) — no matter how she “restrained” him.

Draco and Hermione stood, nearer the fireplace, in pain from holding in their own laughter at the sight of Lord Malfoy competing with Zabini for Narcissa’s attentions. Engaged in a battle for control so as not to trigger more of Lucius’ jealous wrath, both missed telltale signs of Blaise’s next “Italian goodbye”.

“Cara, until ‘dessert’ —” and Blaise quickly stepped to Hermione Granger, spun her into his arms and kissed her full on the lips under a hanging swag of mistletoe.

Had she been a more powerful magic wielder, Pansy’s stare would have ground Zabini’s spine to powder from where she stood.

Of the three men Hermione’d ever kissed like this, the Slytherins had it all over the one Gryffindor.

Despite her surprise and her shock, Hermione enjoyed Zabini’s technique — so different from Draco’s yet just as pleasant. Her ability to compare the kisses while in the middle of the act told them both that they’d never be more than friends — Hermione couldn’t think when Draco’s lips were touching her anywhere — and both were comfortable with that outcome when he ended the “gift”.

Draco, on the other hand, presently stood to their side — wand out and steam coming out of his ears.

“Z — don’t do that again. Ever. Are we clear?”
“Si, Drake. My apologies; the mistletoe, you know? Cara —”
“Her name’s ‘Hermione’. USE it.” Draco corrected.
“Hermione — bella, I’ll send my preferences for ‘dessert’.”

Never had the word “dessert” been used so… erotically… in her presence, causing the less “experienced” Gryffindor to flush.

“It’s HERMIONE — and I’LL be making your ‘dessert’. Capisce?” Draco corrected again, reinforced by his wand tip at Zabini’s crotch.
“Si, Drake. I only wished the ladies ‘Buon Natale’ like we do at home under the mistletoe.”

Zabini’s hand waving in the direction of the mistletoe deflected Draco’s glare not one inch up or down.

“We can discuss your ‘wishes’ when I floo to your villa tomorrow to discuss the broom development.”
“Si, Drake. See you tomorrow, Cara.”
“It’s HERMIONE and she won’t be coming!”

The wicked smile Blaise sent Hemione came with a witty barb attached.

“You’re wrong, compagno, she’s always becoming.”

— and before Draco could hex his (former) best friend into celebacy, Blaise swung an arm around Pansy and hurled a pre-loaded convenience packet of floo powder into the flames. The expediency of his departure left Hermione with the thought that these types of “escapes” were common in Zabini-World.

“I’ll escort you back to our tower. Mother. Father. We enjoyed our visit,” came the formal courtesies from the young aristocrat.

Both witches marveled at Draco’s ability to speak with a jaw shut tight with rage. More convivial than her flatmate, Hermione grasped both of Draco’s mother’s hands in a fond farewell, receiving a tiny token of her visit from the gracious hostess.

“Thank you for inviting me. I’ve enjoyed it — even our disagreements about the broom, Mr. Malfoy.”

The fake smile the Lord of the household flashed at their departing guest instigated a further poke from his wife.

“We’ll plan on a return visit before the holidays end, Hermione. Thank you for everything.”
“Yes, why don’t we plan on that,” Lucius huffed, “and don’t let us keep you from working on that broom.”
“On that note,” Draco sighed, “we’ll be leaving.”

In a flash of green the elder Malfoys were alone in their parlor.

Strong arms, wrapped around her still slender waist, prevented Narcissa from sitting in her favorite chair.

“Lucius, please!” came his way flirtatiously.

Malfoy-hot lips — elder edition — aggressively claimed Narcissa’s while familiar hands snaked their way into the hidden flap at the back of her gown. Every gown Narcissa owned sported this “quick release” seal to keep Lucius from ripping her clothes off in impatience. The bodice of the gown bunched at her waist to expose her smoky grey bustier. Kissing his playmate slowed Lucius not one second in unlacing the back of the seductive undergarment, sewn with openings over her dark-fuchsia nipples.

“I had hoped to wait for Draco’s return. I’m curious to know if Miss. Granger enjoyed her visit or was merely being — ahhhhh!”

The sensual sigh could only have come from Narcissa as Lucius’ capacity for speech was impeded by a mouth full of her tender flesh.

“Draco will see us!”

A nonchalant hand wave expanded the waistline of her skirt and petticoat to give his hand room to maneuver to the source of her true power over him.

“As he has before. I doubt we’ll surprise him. The impudent boy would do well to take notes.”
“Lucius! You’re incorrigible! Circe!”

Narcissa forcibly exhaled her call to the ancient nymph as pressure from his hand near the split between her legs titillated the soft tissue underneath. Finally free of laces, the bustier flapped open and fell to the floor. As Lucius’ fingers weren’t quite in her preferred position, his partner poked him playfully again.

“Such passion from you tonight! Jealous that a younger man desires my ‘assets’?”

She hadn't missed Lucius’ sexually provocative compliment to Hermione Granger earlier that afternoon. Her reminder ripped away the last of his control.

“I’ll not suffer that brazen bastard’s attentions to your ‘assets’.”

Narcissa found herself hoisted upward, her legs naturally wrapping around his waist. How he got naked from the waist down intrigued her. How she got naked from the waist down confused her (Lucius had impatiently “ripped” the last of her clothing off despite the “quick releases”).

Apparently you could teach an old snake new magic.

A very agitated Malfoy wizard gently held his very powerful witch very close to reassert who belonged to whom —

— and pounded her into near unconsciousness on the parlor sofa in front of the fireplace, hoping Zabini would show his face again and get a lesson from an expert in how to delight a woman.

Writhing naked beneath him, Narcissa beamed between forceful panting as Lucius’ thrusts forced the air from her lungs. This Lucius reminded her of “Wedding Night Lucius” — when years of lust for his virgin betrothed culminated in days of love-making and bruises on parts of her she couldn’t even see. Tonight, knees tucked in a slight kneeling position, he sweated with the effort to angle his hips so that each and every ridge inside her got attention from each and every inch of him.

Draco had Lucius to thank for those ample proportions he’d inherited.

“You are mine, witch and I’ll keep you on your back on this sofa for a LIFETIME to claim you!”
“Yours, my love… Only yours…”

Laying her hands near his armpits, the seductress he’d married used her thumbs to tantalize and stroke his prominent, pale pink nipples — causing Lucius to roar in response as he fought the pressure to let go. Always a gentleman, once he entered her it was always “ladies first”.

Snaking a hand between them, he laid his palm in the curly crop of blonde basal hair and plunged his thumb into the valley where her nub sat swollen and untouched.

“Darling — I-I-I” and she screamed, clenching him tightly with her arms and her walls as the muscle spasms overtook her.

Beyond words, Lucius bellowed incoherently and grunted squirt after squirt of Malfoy “sweets” into her, stuttering as his efforts pleasured her so thoroughly she let go again. When she released him and collapsed on the sofa, he followed — sprawled over her smaller frame completely.

“Lucius?” his sated partner chuckled, “Shouldn’t we pack for France? You’ve certainly earned a holiday. I’ve sent Hatter ahead to install the chains…”

Her small hands lightly stroked his back, almost tickling the white-blonde hairs that covered most of him.

“You’ve been a very naughty wife, love, flirting with that fucking Italian. We will remain in this room while I punish you until you cannot walk.” he rumbled into the ear he nibbled on.
“And if I resist?” she whispered before giving his collarbone a playful nip.
“So much the better, Cissa…”

In the Heads’ tower at Hogwarts, Draco swept Hermione up in a kiss that threatened to melt her clothes off. Forced to break for oxygen, he satisfied himself with leaving Malfoy markings above her gown’s plunging neckline.

“Dragon, Blaise was teasing! You shouldn’t take it so seriously.”
“He crossed a line, Lioness. After we lay out a marketing plan and a production schedule for the broom, I’m going to kill him.”
“Draco, that’s not funny even if you’re joking. You have to trust me.”
“You let him kiss you!”
“How!? By standing in your parlor? Your mother hung all that mistletoe — not me. His goal was provoking your Malfoy response and he —”
“Malfoy response??? What ‘Malfoy response’???”
“You’re very possessive. You’re almost more than I can handle right now.”

By this time his lips had made their way up to her ear where they teased a very sensitive spot under the lobe.

“Dragon…”

Being “possessed” by you isn’ t so bad…

“I’m a company chairman. That’s how we survive.”
“I’m not a company asset.”

You’re mine, Lioness, and I will hex anyone who crosses that line again…

“Yet…” he mumbled into that spot behind her earlobe.

You jealous prat, I’m here with you not Blaise…

“If it bothers you that much, I’ll talk to Blaise. Please don’t hurt him tomorrow.”

You’re not going near that serial seducer, Lioness…

In the Heads’ tower, a very agitated Malfoy wizard gently held a very powerful witch very close to reassert who belonged to whom.

“You’d better get back; your parents are probably waiting up.”
“I’m staying. Sofa or my room?”
“Your room!? Afraid I’ll run off to be with Blaise?”

Draco froze at her playful threat, fury and insecurity warring for dominance.

“Can I stay?… With you?”
“Dragon, I…”
“No sex, I promise.”

For the first time, Hermione initiated a kiss — slow, soft and sensuous, proving herself a brilliant student of everything Draco’d taught her so far. Her tongue left the pleasant taste of the after-dinner wine in his mouth.

Bloody Hell, Granger! Where’d you learn THAT!?!?

Draco’s “hot and bothered” indicator plumped nicely against her as she stood on tiptoe. Her grin broke the kiss, prompting a groan from both of Draco’s heads when she licked his lips.

“I take back my promise of ‘no sex’ if you keep that up.”
“You don’t need my help to keep ‘that’ up, Dragon.”

Lioness, you are a DANGEROUS flirt…

“Why don’t you change in your room and set up the Commons for sleeping? I’ll make some nibbles.”
“Thank you for permission to prepare for bed, Commander Granger. Set what up?”

Bossy swot…

“The sofa! Where we’ll sleep? You’ve never been camping?”

Ugh! Figure it out, Draco!…

The absurdity of her question pushed both his eyebrows up along with one scornful corner of his mouth.

“Transfigure the sofa and make it up with clean sheets. The fire will keep us warm enough. I’ll have the nosh done in twenty minutes. Now, go!”

For the third time in an equal number of days, Draco offered up an unguarded smile and all was right with the world. Graceful as always, he placed a quick peck on her puffy lips and made his way back to the Commons to prepare their “bed”.

Hermione stayed her curiosity about Narcissa’s gift until Draco’s preparation in his bedroom settled into steady shower noises. Bustling into the kitchen, she opened the miniaturized gift and tapped it with her wand.

A modified howler rose above the book that grew to roughly paperback size before fluttering to the first page. The howler read the inscription:

“Miss Granger,
I hope you won’t consider this too forward of me, but I thought you would enjoy seeing Draco as I knew him here in the Manor. He will always be this little boy to me — a mother’s prerogative.
The Slytherin in me thinks this might persuade you to take that vow we spoke of.”

At this point the howler laughed darkly; Draco’s mother intended to get the best protection available at Hogwarts for her only child.

“Lioness?” he yelled from the shower, “Are you alone out there? I thought I heard my mother.”
“Just me. Hurry up — the sofa won’t make itself up.”
“Can’t rush perfection, Granger. We’ll improvise.” he crowed, every inch a Malfoy.
“‘No sex’; your words, Ferret.”

Not that I’d object to a few lessons in “warming up”…

The howler patiently paused until seconds of silence passed before it restarted:

“I am sure this will provide ample ammunition for your future ‘disagreements’.

Regards,
Narcissa Black Malfoy”

Flipping through the pages required a silencing spell and a glass of water as Hermione’s sides ached from laughing. Gryffindor’s most famous bookworm enjoyed the guilty pleasure bestowed by the devious Lady Malfoy.

These Slytherins don’t give up easily…

At the sounds of cursing, as Draco tried and failed to transfigure the sofa for innocent “sleep”, the Head Girl reluctantly shrank her gift to its travel size and tucked it in her extensible purse.

The redness of her bottom lip, as she worried it, revealed Hermione’s awareness that agreeing to “sleep” with Draco — even platonically — had been a singularly impulsive act. But she couldn’t resist him, standing there cloaked in jealousy and doubt wrapped up in fear she’d reject him. The “No sex” promise eased her conscience some; she’d yet to decide whether to let her body follow the trail her heart had blazed in his direction for months. Not all of her attraction to Draco fell easily under the file topic of “Former Enemy with Benefits”. Thanks to Ginny, if “things” got “out” of “control or protective clothing” she wouldn’t have to worry about a little Granger-Malfoy joining them during summer trials of the new broom. Although, after viewing Narcissa’s gift, the idea certainly merited more attention at some point in her future.

Swirls of her wand like a philharmonic conductor brought a variety of fresh, healthy foods together on a tray. Ahead of schedule, the best cook in the Heads’ Tower levitated their snack tray to a side table near the sofa and sprinted up the steps to her own accommodations to change. For the first time since the Yule Ball, the young woman who seldom cared about impressing anyone with her appearance fretted mightily about her choices of sleepwear, hairstyle and scent application. Showering took twice its normal duration as she considered what the “No Sex” promise did — and did not — include.

Encouragement —

“Granger! You take longer in that shower every time you enter it! I can’t promise to leave you any treats if you don’t hurry up!”

— shouted up the stairs by her flatmate rushed her choices.

Thus Draco — who had sneaked a peek at her nonexistent inventory of lingerie months ago — stood with his jaw hanging as Hermione finally approached their bivouac in a get-up he’d never seen on any human before.

“What is that you’re wearing?”
“M-M-My pyjamas.”
“No — you’re wearing the ugliest flannel tent ever manufactured.”

From throat to toes a one-piece baggy jumpsuit engulfed Hermione, its single zipper — running from her neck to her nether region — allowing the only entry or exit.

She’s wearing a carpet!…

“I get cold easily and I know you sleep without a shirt most nights.”
“And without pants on good nights. Don’t blush — I’m joking!”

Accosted by visions of his alabaster body laid on the green sheets with nothing on, Hermione bolted into the bed and under the light sheet before curiosity and desire got the best of her. She couldn’t look away as he lowered himself onto the mattress, naked but for a generous pair of silk shorts.

As she watched, he maneuvered himself into a sitting posture, his long legs crossed on top of the sheet, and when he settled, he’d pushed her right up to the edge of the cushions.

“Could you possibly get any closer?” she asked in exasperation.
“Yes — if you’ll remove that abomination you’re hiding yourself in. I’ll assume you’re wearing something more appealing underneath?” he snapped back, “Nibble?”

His hand waved a mini-sandwich past her lips before stuffing it through his own.

“Can’t eat this late without putting on the pounds. I don’t have your metabolism.”
“Wait until Quidditch starts — you’ll be cooking for me all day.”
“I’m not your servant, Ferret.”
“All things in time, Lioness. Did dinner suit you?”

Turning on her side to face him in the minuscule space he’d left her, Hermione recognized the deeper concern in his question.

“Wonderful; every selection. Thank you for insisting I go. Your mother surprised me; I had no idea pure-blood’ wives worked.”
“Rather elitist view you have, isn’t it? Lumping all ‘pure-bloods’ into one narrow category?”

The truth behind Draco’s words pricked her thoughts. She’d written off the entire “social club” of pure-blood wives as pampered and spoiled while carving out a mental “niche” for those like Ginny Potter and Molly Weasley. Pure-bloods weren’t the only group capable of prejudiced thinking.

“You’re right; hadn’t considered that.”
“How did the tour go?”

By firelight Draco noted every involuntary tremor or tic related to subject.

“I’d have preferred to skip that but nothing upset me. Your father’s study reminds me of your quarters here — minus the bed — and the music room reminds me of you. Why haven’t you played for me, Dragon?”
“For the same reason you never cooked for me — opportunity. You’ll notice,” he yawned in fatigue, the aftereffect of a very long day spent behaving himself, “the absence of a piano in our Commons. And I’m out of practice.”

Lifting the edge of the sheet, Draco scooted under it and next to her, aware that her breathing accelerated. Signs of arousal were effectively trapped in that fuzzy, full-body “chastity suit” that swallowed her whole.

“Why did you stop playing?”
“I had a cabinet to repair, if you’ll recall, and a Headmaster to kill. Voldemort despised my renditions so Mother sealed the room after the Dark Lord ‘acquired’ my father’s wand.”

He lay on his back, an arm tucked under his head, speaking unemotionally about his time as a Death Eater.

“Why do you care, Hermione? I don’t understand… Why did you do it?”
“‘It’?…” she asked softly, soothing him with light strokes across his stomach.
“My mother. Me. The rescue here at school… Why? What have I done to deserve your friendship?”
“I could ask you why we’re here together, sharing a sofa, and you haven’t called me a ‘mudblood’ since your trial.”

Rotating to face her, Draco answered without hesitation.

“You were brilliant, your strategy… Getting Pottery and that dolt Weasle-King to testify for me. A 17-year-old witch backed the Wizengamot into a corner and saved my arse. You were fearless. Lioness.”
“I saw you, Draco… before Harry cast that Sectumsempra… The prefects’ bathroom mirror has a charm to see into the others bathrooms. You were staring at yourself… Frightened…”
“That’s not —”
“When I couldn't lift that Obliviate spell on my parents, I understood. You were forced. No child should be blackmailed to keep their parents alive, Dragon.”
“Why did you save me in that hallway?”
“I despise bullying, Draco, no matter who’s doing it. You didn’t deserve it; your attackers didn’t know you were protecting your family…”

A long, hot finger trailed down the side of her face to the top of the zipper on her sleeping “tent”.

“I don’t want you kissing Blaise, Lioness, or anyone else…”
“I’m aware,” she laughed lightly, trying to lift his mood.
“Except me…”
“I won’t promise that, Dragon.”

Heat rose behind those silver-cloud eyes reflecting the oranges and yellows in the crackling flames of the fireplace.

“I kiss Harry all the time — and Ron when he’s not being an idiot. All the Weasleys. And Neville. They’re my friends and I won’t stop being affectionate with them. But I’ve never kissed anyone the way I kiss you.”
“Not even ‘Weasel the Love God’?

Creaking from the cushions below them gave him a second of warning before Hermione’s lips met his as she rolled slightly forward and into his bare chest. Leaning backwards freed his arms to embrace her and roll her completely on top of him, her weight pushed into his half-full erection.

“I hate these pyjamas, Lioness.”
“Best I have to help you keep that promise of ‘no sex’,” she grinned before kissing him again.

And me to keep mine…

“I want you willingly.”

Right now!…

Playfully he ground his stiffness up and into her pelvic girdle where it lay atop him.

“And I want to wait…”

I think…

“So Weaslebee was right about you and shagging?”
“I didn’t say ‘No’, Dragon; I said not yet…”
“Then we wait. G’night, Lioness.”

In time, passionate snogging gave way to quiet kissing that gave way to drifting off…

“Draco?”
“Hmm?…” his chest rumbled drowsily.
“Do you really go about the Manor garden with no pants on?”

Her laughter escaped in sharp bursts where they lay together.

“I’ll speak with Mother tomorrow. Not a word of this to anyone, Granger or there will be consequences.”
“You have the most attractive bum.”

At those words, Hermione shook with escaped laughter for not the first time tonight. His rising annoyance at her teasing caused Draco to ignore the implied compliment about his physique.

“I was THREE, Granger. You won’t let me prance around our Commons in the round.”

Which I’d GLADLY do if you’d discard that fabric “chaperone” of yours…

Having defended his right to act like a toddler, Draco draped his long arms around his tormentor and cuddled Hermione against his broad chest throughout the night.

No dreams of torture or absent parents bothered her — just fanciful images of a playful and naughty blonde-haired boy (in half a sailor’s suit) scampering through his parents’ garden party starkers from the waist down (while chased by his elven nannies). Overcome by the twilight of sleep at the end of an emotionally exhausting day, Hermione completely missed her dream-child’s graham-cracker brown eyes and heart-shaped face as he rounded a bush to give his pursuers the slip.

In two very different locales, two not-so different witches smiled, well aware their “power” over the Malfoy men in their lives had nothing to do with wand “magic”.

“Are you sure it’s working?”
“Back up! It’s working when you’re not nattering on about it working.”
“Let me hear it!”
“Uh-uh. My invention, my rules.”

Huddled before the fireplace in the crooked building, the “inventor” held the end of a flesh-colored tube to his ear — the other end disappearing into the fire itself. Weasley Wizard Wheezes’ “Floo Bug” represented the next step in the company’s line of covert listening devices.

“If you’d shut it, li’l sister, we’d get better reception. Must be half-a-thousand miles from here to Hogwarts as the Anglia flies.”

Years ago Arthur Weasley’d forced Ron and the Twins to repair the vehicle, with their own money, after their little jaunt to break Harry out of the Dursleys.

“Well, give us something before I have to pee again,” she hissed, dancing from foot to foot to forestall the inevitable.
“Shush! She told him to make up the bed in their Commons.”
“That can’t be right — there’s no bed in their Commons,” Ginny corrected.
“I call’em like I hears ’em,” George snarked back.
“Let me —”
“He’s calling down Merlin’s minions because the sheets don’t fit…”
“He’s transfigured their sofa, I’ll bet,” another, deeper, voice surmised.

The tall, soft-spoken commenter lost track of the side comments as he mentally wandered the Heads’ Commons.

“Sheets are on. Must’ve shrunk ‘em.”
“Where’s Hermione?”
“Headed for bed — like you should be.” an irritated voice announced as its owner entered the house.
“Why are you keeping my son up this late?” Harry asked as he kissed his wife. He’d been on patrol with Ron since the afternoon — typical holiday job for first year aurors.
“Shhh! We’re worried about Hermione!”
“You mean you’re spying on Hermione.”
“He’s spouting off about her pyjamas.”
“She’s wearing pyjamas? With Malfoy?”
“Ginevra!” her father scolded.
“Never get a sprog that way.”
“George!” an older ginger woman shouted as she cuffed his good ear.
“What’s Malfoy saying?”
“Called it a bloody tent. You ever seen them, Harry?”
“Must be her footed ones. She had’em with her the year we were gone. One piece with feet and a zipper. Might’ve had a hood…”
“That’ll take the air outta his balloon, if you catch my —”
“Everyone caught your meaning, George,” Molly Weasley updated to keep any further commentary unspoken.
“He asked her if she enjoyed dinner…”
“And?…”
“Missed it, thanks to your yapping. She said his mother was nice.”
“Narcissa spoke to me in Diagon Alley not too long ago;” Arthur Weasley added, “she’s a brilliant witch; smarter than Lucius I’d say.”
“A troll’s smarter than a Death Eater.”
“Don’t underestimate Lu—”
“He got her in the bed! She’s complaining about space, says he’s crowding her.”
“Didn’t he say ‘no sex’?”
“Malfoy!?” Harry reacted.
“He’s being a gentleman; courting her — although I’m not pleased about that ‘sleeping together' offer.”
“Different times, dear. He’ll take his time with her, though. Quite unexpected.”
“They’re snogging! Hermione asked him to put his hand —”
“THAT’S ENOUGH!” a different Weasley roared into the commentary.

Ron had found his way home from his girlfriend’s.

Thanks to the baby, Megan spent the evening leaving a week’s worth of meals in the toilet at her mother’s. Ron stayed long enough to absorb the brutal tongue beating Megan’s mother gave him at the news then ducked out when his girlfriend nodded off into an exhausted sleep. Popping home hadn’t settled him — he found his family spectating at the ruination of his ex-girlfriend Hermione Granger with that subhuman wanker, Draco Malfoy.

“Oi! Either rescue her from that tosser or leave the stubborn witch to it!”
“You're just bent that Megan threw you out,” George teased.

Harry and Arthur laughed at the expression on Ron’s face. He’d been hoping for a shag before Megan checked out on him.

“I could’ve told you she’d be too tired,” Harry added.
“So could Dad,” Ginny said around the kiss she gave Harry. Harry understood the secret message.
“Leave me out of this. Are you staying, Ron?”
“Time for bed, girls! Those babies need to rest,” Molly announced, “Harry — see to Ginny, please. George — I’ve made up a room for you and Angelina. Wake her gently. Ron, you can have the attic.”
“No choice, really.” Ron muttered before chucking George’s end of the listening device into the flames where it promptly caught fire.
“HEY! That was my only working prototype! You owe me 100 galleons.”
“I’ve got a baby coming! Don’t get paid until — Aaiieee!” Ron screamed as he skidded across the living area.

Had Draco witnessed the result of George’s Redactum Skulllus charm on Ron, he’d have observed that the size of Ron’s new shrunken head (which had been reduced by two-thirds) now matched the normal size of Ron’s minuscule brain. Levitating a groggy Angelina ahead of him, George scaled the creaky Burrow stairs three at a time and barricaded himself and his fiancée in their temporary quarters before Ron regained his limited wits.

Harry or Arthur would have to counteract the skull-shrinking spell. Ron couldn't think the counter-spell and cast it at the same time with a brain that size.

“All accounted for,” Molly smiled as she glanced at the family clock that now tracked Hermione and Draco as well as the blood, promised and married Weasleys.

Harry hurried Ginny towards the steps with every intent of getting a good night’s sleep…

…eventually…
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