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Assistant: Title: Marriage, Murder, and Other Misfortunes
        Author: Spookyandcooky Spookyandcooky 
        Chapter: 10/26 
        Summary: Five years after the Battle of Hogwarts, the wizarding world is what you might call “a godsdamned mess.” The population is dwindling, the economy is suffering, and Hermione Granger has decided to pursue an arranged marriage—but only so she can be nominated to the antiquated Wizengamot, of course. After all, the Wizengamot is ignoring the world’s problems, and Hermione is determined to fix them. Granted, she never expected to be matched with Draco sodding Malfoy—the newest DMLE consultant who wears his Azkaban tattoos as proudly as his childhood sneer. But admittedly, between the turbulence of her farcical relationship, corrupt politicians, and a serial killer on the loose, nothing in Hermione’s life is going according to plan. Maybe hate s@x with her husband will help?
  [Updates every 1-2 weeks]
        Contents: Chapter 10: A Mother's Intuition
    

    


      
        
          
          (See the end of the chapter for  notes.)
          
      
  

  
  
    
    
  

   June 15, 2003 
Hermione Granger had experienced many strange things in her life, and she had done even stranger. She had befriended a giant, destroyed a Horcrux, set a Professor on fire, blackmailed (and imprisoned) a shoddy reporter, created a secret (and illegal) student organisation, and erased every memory of herself from her parent’s minds. But nothing was stranger than learning that Draco Malfoy was truly attracted to her—a fact proven by the g@dd@mn@d erection that he pressed into her stomach like a h@rny teenager.How dare he! she scowled, her body swaying with shock. How dare he mock me! And antagonise me! And…and touch me…A sudden rush of heat passed over her skin, sending a warm blush into her cheeks and—to Hermione’s profound horror—a throb of want between her legs.It only made her angrier.“MALFOY!” she yelled, her feet finally leaving the viridian kitchen. “Come back here, you snivelling coward!”She stomped through the halls of the Manor, tracking the remnants of Draco’s warm, amber cologne—a smell that she had unintentionally memorised.“Malfoy! Apologise to me right this second, or I’ll—”What Hermione planned to do when she found Draco Malfoy, she wasn’t certain. But as she crossed into the Manor’s entryway, it didn’t matter. She froze where she stood—all anger, uncertainty, and reluctant arousal fleeing her body—as she was met with two Malfoys staring back at her with pale grey eyes.Narcissa Malfoy had returned home.“Hello, Miss Granger,” the woman drawled, a familiar smirk playing at her red-painted lips. “I apologise for intruding on your…conversation.”Despite six years of etiquette courses from ages five to eleven, Hermione’s face contorted into the exact sort of expression that her mother would have classified as “tactless mouth-breathing.” But Hermione found her reaction rather fair, considering that Narcissa’s presence was entirely unexpected—and almost as surprising as the image of Crookshanks sitting in the matriarch’s lap, purring happily as she indulged his obsession with ear scratches.Hermione could hardly believe it.She hadn’t seen Narcissa in five years—at the Malfoy family trial, to be exact, where the proud woman had looked worse for wear. But now—sitting on the emerald chaise by the massive front door, with a purring cat in her lap and her slicked hair in a bun—Narcissa looked like the elegant woman she remembered. And it wasn’t until after a sufficient amount of gawking that Hermione attempted to mumble an intelligent reply. But to her dismay, all that came out was an awkward hum of discomfort.It was all frightfully embarrassing, suffice it to say.“I informed my son that I planned to cut my holiday short,” Narcissa continued, her eyes stern and piercing. “But it seems that Draco has stopped reading my letters, along with any attempts to keep me informed of his own life events.”Draco shook his head with a toneless laugh.“The Daily Prophet has aided my attempts to stay in touch with the comings and goings of England, but I’m afraid their boorish details have left much to be desired. So, Miss Granger, do tell me…is it true that you agreed to marry my son?”Hermione pushed back her shoulders to present a confident composure.“I…I did.”“And were you married at the Ministry last Friday?”“…We were.”Narcissa pursed her lips with obvious disapproval, and Draco—to no surprise—delighted in his mother’s distaste.“I see…well, I felt the need to confirm, considering the Prophet also stated that my son has taken up knitting and baking.”Draco looked far less amused by this particular comment.“It's true that he has a sweet tooth and a peculiar fondness for cashmere, but Draco’s leisurely activities have always been focused on Quidditch, reading, and—as of late—aggravating me to my wit’s end. I assume that’s why he chose to hold your ceremony in the Ministry courtrooms, and not at his family estate. Or perhaps his decision was rooted in some newfound sense of frugality.”Narcissa’s wit was something to be admired—and, frankly, something that Hermione found rather unsettling.Almost as unsettling as the matron’s next question.“So, Miss Granger…this marriage is a farce, is it not?”Hermione’s eyes widened, and Draco let out a choke of outrage.“Erm,” she stammered. “I…”“Mother, what are you—”“Quiet, Draco,” the woman waved. “Let’s not play games.”“Games? I don’t see how—”“Let the girl speak for herself.”“She’s not a girl, she’s—”“My word, your generation is so touchy with language. Fine—let the woman speak for herself. Is that better?”“Yes,” Draco growled. “And you would do well to remember that she—”“Are you still speaking? My question was for Miss Granger, in case you’ve forgotten.”“I haven’t forgotten!”“Well, what a comfort.”“Bl@@dy hell—was there some sort of course you attended while I was in Azkaban, or does this irritable demeanour come naturally with age?”“How odd that you would be the one to lecture me about irritability, Draco Malfoy.”“I am not lecturing you! I’m—”“Yes!” Hermione interrupted, feeling breathless and entirely unprepared for the present conversation. “Yes…the marriage is a farce.”Draco whipped his neck to look at her, his expression all the more aggravated.“Granger! What the f@ck!”“Draco Lucius Malfoy, don’t use that sort of language in—”“Then don’t say his name in front of—”“Malfoy!” Hermione interjected. “Listen—there’s no sense in denying it! If your mother intends to stay at the Manor, then it would only be a matter of time before she learned the truth!”Draco scoffed darkly, flexing his hands as Narcissa gave him a smug sort of look.“Perhaps your brilliant mind has forgotten, darling, but I agreed to this arrangement specifically to aggravate my mother! And considering that you’ve just spoiled my fun, perhaps you can imagine why I’m not exactly enthused by your confession!”Hermione rolled her eyes as she countered, “But you’re still married, which means that you’re still exempt from any Pureblooded betrothals—”“Granger, I don’t think you—”“—And our marriage will still serve to improve your blemished reputation.”“Fine!” he hissed, throwing his hands in the air. “Bl@@dy hell, I don’t know why I even bother with either of you.”The entryway fell quiet for a long moment, interrupted only by Crookshanks’ consistent purrs.He really was the feline Judas, Hermione decided.“So…” Narcissa finally mumbled. “Draco, are you suggesting that you married one of the most beloved, accomplished, and eligible witches of your generation to…upset me?”Draco let out an odd noise in response—a cross between a choke and a growl, by Hermione’s estimations. And she might have enjoyed his spluttering display had she not been preoccupied with the fact that Narcissa Malfoy—a woman who supposedly hated Muggles, Muggleborns, and all Blood Traitors—had just complimented her.“My dear boy,” the woman sighed. “When it comes to plans of deceit, I’m afraid you are truly like your father…misguided and ill-prepared.”Hermione couldn’t remember the last time she felt so baffled—which was saying a lot, considering…well…everything.“Miss Granger,” the woman continued, her long fingers still idly petting Crookshanks. “Is this cat part Kneazle?”
  “…What?”
“Your cat, Miss Granger. Is he part Kneazle?”“Well…yes. He is. But I don’t understand why—”“I had a pet Kneazle when I was young,” Narcissa continued. “After my own wedding, I asked Lucius to buy me a Kneazle as a present for Yule…but he told me no. He said he didn’t like the fur—which was nonsense, of course, considering a simple housekeeping charm could have remedied the problem. But, alas, I agreed. I said that I understood how he felt…and perhaps I did, for a time.”Narcissa sighed and ushered Crookshanks onto the chequered floor. And when the witch stood to her feet, Hermione couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t vanish the orange fur on her robes.“Miss Granger…would you like to have tea?”“…Tea?”“Yes. I’m told that it's a popular drink here in England.”Hermione frowned, realising where Draco inherited his sense of humour.“But…why do you want to have tea with me?”“Do you dislike tea, Miss Granger?”“No…”“So you like tea?”“…Yes, but—”“Then that is reason enough to have it. Now, follow me.”“Mother,” Draco hissed, stomping after his mother’s confident steps. “You can’t force Granger to—”“Correct,” Narcissa snipped, not bothering to stop. “And if you’ll notice, your wife is following me to the Tea Room on her own volition—isn’t that correct, Miss Granger?”“Erm…yes?”Technically, Narcissa was right—even if Hermione she couldn’t understand why. Under any other circumstances, she would have refused the invitation. She would have rebuffed with something like, “I certainly do not want to have tea with the woman who let her sister torture me!” Or, “No, I don’t want to spend any time with the woman who practically begged her son to identify Harry to Voldemort!” But instead, Hermione followed along.It was odd, she thought, that Narcissa could manipulate her curiosity. In fact, it was odd that both Malfoys could influence her so successfully.For all the years she had known him, Hermione had always assumed that Draco was just like his father. But as she followed the clink of Narcissa’s heels, Hermione realised that Draco had far more in common with his mother than she realised. They were both reserved, but undeniably charismatic. Confident, but strangely introspective. Their loyalties were selective and their pragmatism was rather blunt. But even so, their wit and humour made them oddly…endearing.“Mother,” Draco snapped, stomping across the chequered floor. “I don’t think tea is—”“If you’re going to follow us,” his mother hummed. “Then you should join us for tea.”“…No thank you.”“Then let me rephrase—I am telling you to join us for tea.”“I’m a grown man!” Draco scoffed. “You can’t tell me what to do in my own—”“I already did. And considering that you didn’t invite me to your wedding, I think I’m owed a moment of your company…don’t you?”Draco ran an aggravated hand through his silver hair, grumbling something about “…Bossy witches…can’t have peace in my own home…two of them now…bl@@dy ridiculous…” And yet, despite his many complaints, the wizard continued to follow them down the hallway.“Here we are,” Narcissa chirped, leading them through a door near the kitchens.The Tea Room welcomed them like an overdue hug—a feeling aided by the various Victorian effects, like tufted chairs and rows of gilded family portraits that covered the mulberry-coloured walls. An arched window provided a view of the rose gardens, and Hermione could even see a flock of white peacocks strutting by in the distance.Their resemblance to Draco was uncanny.“Melie!” Narcissa called, claiming a seat at the centre table.A loud “CRACK!” announced the House Elf’s arrival, who curtsied to the waiting party.
  “Oui, Mademoiselle?”
Melie—like Wopsey—was particularly short, with brown eyes and a nose that looked like a ripened tomato. But of course, Hermione was most interested in the Elf’s ensemble—a black shirtwaister dress and the tiniest Prada heels that she had ever seen.“Melie, would you mind setting the table for tea?”“Oui. Black tea, Mademoiselle?”“For myself, yes. Draco and Hermione, what would you prefer?”“Black tea,” Draco grumbled, claiming the seat at Narcissa’s left.“Same for me, please,” Hermione nodded, choosing the opposite chair.“Wonderful,” Narcissa smiled. “Then my son and his wife will have black tea as well.”
  “…Sa femme?”
The Elf stared at Hermione for a moment, her wide eyes examining the witch’s leggings and cotton shirt with thinly veiled distaste.“Oui, Melie,” Narcissa warned. “Hermione est la femme de Draco. Leur mariage a eu lieu vendredi dernier.”Melie pursed her large lips, clearly fighting a scowl. And as she Disapparated from the room, Hermione could hear a tisk of disapproval.“Melie is the Head of the staff,” Narcissa explained. “But I do hope the others were accommodating while Melie and I were in France.”“The Elves are perfectly acceptable,” Hermione grumbled, awkwardly adjusting her collar. “I’ve only met Wopsey, but I’m sure the others are just as lovely. And I expect that fair wages and personal autonomy have made them all the more amicable.”Narcissa pursed her lips—a comical imitation of Melie’s expression—but it was Draco who earned Hermione’s attention.“F@ck@ng hell,” he muttered, shaking his head with a laugh.
  “What?”
“Nothing, Granger. I am merely amused by your obsession with House Elves.”“I am not obsessed with them,” she defended. “I only care about their right to dignity and respect!”“Yes, I remember your little club at Hogwarts—S.P.E.R.M., was it?”“S.P.E.W! The Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare!”“Ah yes, that’s right. I recall the name making me want to spew the contents of my lunch.”With another loud “CRACK!” Melie appeared with a tray of tea, sugar, milk, and cucumber sandwiches—perfectly timed after Draco’s mention of vomit.“Thank you, Melie,” Narcissa sighed, dismissing the Elf with a nod.The room filled with companionable silence as the trio shuffled the blue-and-white kettle between them. Hermione could feel Draco watching as she stirred her tea but chose to ignore him—something that had been so easy in the past, but was now decidedly difficult.Surely he can’t expect me to apologise for my comment. I mean…these are the Malfoys, for Merlin’s sake! I can’t just forget all the vile things that they’ve done—and their treatment of House Elves is only part of it! Gods, they wanted me dead! How can I ignore our history, or the way Draco treated me, or the way he just touched me in the kitchen, or…or…Hermione placed her spoon on the floral tablecloth—perhaps a bit too harshly—and hoped that no one could hear her rapid heartbeat.“Mother,” Draco drawled, interrupting the silence. “How long are we expected to suffer this little reunion? I’d like to temper my expectations accordingly.”Narcissa gave her son an annoyed look.“The conversation has barely begun, Draco—besides your bickering with Miss Granger, that is.”“Then what would you prefer to speak about?” he snipped. “Shall we chat about the weather? Or knitting patterns? Or, perhaps we could gossip! Did you hear that Madame Snufflecunt wore the same robes as Lady Twiddletwat to Sir Chucklef@ck’s gala last weekend? It was quite the scandal.”“How fascinating,” Narcissa drawled, not missing a beat. “But truthfully, that’s not the sort of conversation I had in mind.”“Then what do you want to speak about? Do you honestly expect us to pretend as if we don’t hate each other, or do you intend to address the Erumpent in the room?”Hermione stared at Draco, almost surprised to hear him articulate her same concerns.“Actually,” Narcissa muttered. “I do.”She returned her cup to its saucer and neatly folded her hands in her lap, assessing the young couple with unnerving stoicism.“Miss Granger…it’s clear that you’re a woman of profound moral conviction, so I assume that you value honesty. Correct?”“Of course I do.”“Good. Then I’d like for us to have an honest conversation about this marriage. Is everyone amenable?”“Do we have a choice?” Draco scoffed.Narcissa’s smile curled as she answered, “No.”“Then I’m amenable,” Hermione sighed.“Lovely. Well…the first Erumpet I’d like to address are the House Elves. Miss Granger…I can assure you that all the Elves at Malfoy Manor are well-paid and well-taken care of, just as they have been ever since my husband’s death.”Hermione narrowed her eyes.“So…you’ve been paying them before the House Elf Emancipation Act?”“I have indeed.”“But…why?”“Why?” Narcissa laughed. “I thought you wanted Elves to be well-paid and well-taken care of.”“Obviously I do! But I don’t understand why…well…I didn’t think that you cared about House Elves.”“Your assumption is fair, but wholly incorrect—something, I think, that is true about many of your beliefs for this family.”“I…don't…"“Miss Granger…what do you actually know about me?”“Well…I know that you were married to Lucius and—”“No, Miss Granger. I did not ask what you know about my husband. I asked what you know about me.”Hermione’s cheeks ran hot with frustration. Narcissa wasn’t wrong, and it was both aggravating and strangely humbling. Hermione knew she was prejudiced against traditional Purebloods, even if she wouldn’t admit it out loud. But even so, her prejudice was rooted in survival, whereas the Malfoy’s was rooted in revenge. The ethics were hardly the same, but a wave of guilt overcame her regardless.And suddenly, Hermione felt rather small.“I…I suppose I don’t know very much.”“An honest answer,” Narcissa smirked. “And I share your sentiments, Miss Granger, for I don’t know much about you either. At least, not beyond the information provided by my son and the Daily Prophet…but I don’t suppose they’re very reliable sources, are they?”“No,” Hermione whispered, ignoring Draco’s uncomfortable shuffle. “They’re not.”“I thought not. And this leads me to the second Eurumpet in the room…the matter of our past, and all its terrible details.”Narcissa took a slow sip of tea, sighing before she continued.“I won’t pretend as though there is anything I can say that will excuse the sins of my past. However, I want to be forthright nonetheless.” She paused, steeling herself as she whispered, “Miss Granger…I’m sorry.”Hermione’s hands tightened around her teacup.“I was raised with rigid ideologies, and I was rarely exposed to anything beyond my family’s prejudice. I was taught to fear Muggles and to hate all Muggleborns. And while my past doesn’t excuse my actions, I feel it’s important to understand that propaganda is rarely identified as such to its believers. Instead, it is often referred to as ‘wisdom.’ And for years, I thought I was very wise…until my son’s life was threatened by the very ideologies I held dear.”Draco cracked his knuckles and stared at the ceiling with unblinking eyes.“I was taught to fight against those who might harm my family. So when the Dark Lord became the one harming my family…I finally saw him for what he was. And I saw my past for what it was, and the villain that I had become.”Narcissa paused again, running a manicured nail over the edge of her cup.“While my ideologies have changed, my family continues to be my utmost priority. And while I disagree with my son’s marital approach, his decision cannot be undone. As such…you are my family now, Miss Granger. For better or worse.”Her words punched the air from Hermione’s chest.It reminded her of Draco’s explanation for Pureblood rings, and the loyalties expected through bonds of kinship. But for Hermione, family was just a phantom wound—something that felt real but was absent in all forms except pain.And so she blinked hard and fast, pushing down the grief as she had done so many times before.“So,” Narcissa continued. “With all that said, I’d like to know why you chose to entertain a marriage with my son. I’m under no illusions that you two have ever been cordial, let alone romantic. If you consented to a farcical marriage, then I expect that you had your own motivations as well…correct?”“Correct,” Hermione ho@rs@d. “And my motivations are…complicated.”“I’m sure I can manage.”Draco flexed the tension in his jaw and interjected, “Granger and I were matched.”“At Spellbound Connections,” Hermione added.“…Spellbound Connections?”“It’s a matchmaking service in Diagon Alley. Malfoy sought them out because he wanted to avoid a Pureblooded betrothal, and I needed a husband so I could qualify for a seat on the Wizengamot.”“The Wizengamot? So…the marriage is relevant to your recent nomination?”“Yes,” she nodded, pushing a poof of curls behind her ear. “A seat became available after Griselda Marchbanks died, and I wanted it.”“I see. And may I ask why?”“Well, frankly, I’m displeased with the court’s continued apathy towards the working class, and an appointment to the Wizengamot would give me influence over their decisions—or rather, the lack thereof.”“Indeed,” Narcissa hummed, pursing her lips in thought. “And marriage was the requirement for your nomination? Why?”“The Minister,” she answered. “As you know, the Wizengamot doesn’t like change, and Kingsley wanted to appeal to their sensibilities so they wouldn’t challenge a nomination this close to the election.”“My…how diplomatic.”Her tight expression told Hermione exactly how much Narcissa trusted said diplomacy—which looked to be as much as Draco trusted toasters.“So, if I’m understanding properly, you’re feigning a marriage to advance your political aspirations?”“…Yes.”A low grumble of approval rang out from the nearby portraits—who, apparently, had been listening.
  Nosey Pureblooded bastards.
“And you both view this marriage as a matter of convenience…but nothing more?”“Yes,” Hermione and Draco answered in unison.Narcissa quirked a brow at them both.“But you were matched together…because of alleged compatibility?”“It’s an anomaly,” Draco huffed, just as Hermione grumbled, “The algorithm was clearly misguided.”Narcissa’s brows raised even higher towards her tight hairline, and Hermione could see the questions in her eyes. But instead of asking them, she turned her gaze to the black ring on Draco’s finger.“You chose rings from the Black family vaults?“Yes.”“Why?”“Well, rings are used in marriage ceremonies, you see, so I—”“Draco, I asked you a simple question and I would like a simple answer.”“Fine,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Yes, I selected rings from the Black family vaults because black metal felt appropriately sombre and because…well…I didn’t think Granger would care for a Malfoy family ring.”Hermione forced herself not to gape at the wizard’s answer, because she was tired of looking like a surprised, stupid mess.But inside, she was a surprised, stupid mess.Why the hell would Malfoy care about something like that?Narcissa, it seemed, had no such concerns.“I see,” she answered yet again. “And you’ve found these rings…amenable…to your union?”“…Yes?”And, yet again, the matriarch looked surprised.“Well,” Narcissa sighed. “Thank you both for the explanation. This has certainly been…illuminating.”For a moment, Hermione wanted to ask questions of her own. She wanted to know why Narcissa seemed surprised, and she wanted to know if there were any hidden spells that Bill might have missed in the rings. But truthfully, she just wanted the conversation to be over. Hermione could only take so many surprises, and the Malfoys had already provided enough. So when the conversation slowed, she breathed a sigh of relief.But when Narcissa finished her last sip of tea, the torture peaked.“I want to help you.”“You what?” Draco and Hermione choked in unison.“I want to help,” Narcissa repeated. “And in the interest of continued honesty, I should clarify my distaste. This marriage means that I now have the arduous task of scheduling several uncomfortable conversations with the parents of previous prospects that I had in mind for my son. However…my distaste is not directed towards your personhood, Miss Granger. And even I can admit that this marriage might work to this family's advantage. Should you both accept my guidance, that is.”“Guidance?” Draco scowled. “What makes you think that we need guidance?”“Isn’t it obvious?” Narcissa riposted, pinching her thin lips together. “I heard about your embarassing altercation with Dawlish, and—”“The Chief Warlock knew it was a display of loyalty!” Draco hissed back. “So I don’t see why you need you to—”“Oswald might appreciate your displays of loyalty, Draco Malfoy, but the majority of the public will not take kindly to the Head of Law Enforcement being assaulted by a former Death Eater—your coworker, no less.”Hermione grimaced as the image of Dawlish’s d@ck-nose came to mind.“If Hestia didn’t reprimand me, then why are—”“Because your reputation is on the line, Draco! And even if you’re an Auror now—a decision I will not pretend to understand—and even if you’re married to Miss Granger, your work is not finished! Your inclinations to violence and wit-sharpening puns are only going to undermine your credibility. And Miss Granger,” Narcissa huffed, turning to scowl at the witch, “Your obvious distaste for my son isn’t helping.”“Excuse me? I’m hardly the—”“I also heard about the way you practically dragged my son through the Ministry after the wedding. There are even rumours that you yelled at him in the lift!”“Because I did!”“Miss Granger!” Narcissa sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “If marriage is as paramount to your nomination as you say, then you must be more convincing! Your induction ceremony is tomorrow, and you two can barely stand to be in the same room!”Hermione grumbled a whispered retort, crossing her arms as Draco slouched in his seat.It did very little to disprove Narcissa’s point.“You need my help,” she continued. “You need someone to navigate the social politics of this high-profile marriage. Someone who can dissuade any temper tantrums and encourage necessary displays of affection. Furthermore, you need someone who can manipulate the narrative of your inevitable mistakes.”Hermione winced, finding “inevitable” a rather harsh assessment.But the longer she considered it, the truer it sounded. Because even though Hermione hated Draco Malfoy…he wasn’t the only cause of her anger. In fact, he wasn’t even the sole cause of their arguments.It was because she was tired. A deep-in-her-bones sort of tired.And more than anything, she was lonely.Hermione Granger was tired, lonely, and angry…and arguing with her fake husband was the only means of catharsis in her otherwise miserable life. But even if she hated Draco’s lack of apologies, his arrogance, and his m@s@ch@st flirting…Narcissa was right. Hermione didn’t have to like her husband, but she would have to endure him. And even if she couldn’t change their tumultuous past, she would have to accept it. She would have to tolerate Draco’s sneers, and arrogance, and tattoos, and shockingly large—“Your mother is right,” she choked, blinking furiously. “We need her help.”“What?” Draco growled, clenching his gold teeth together. “Granger, you can’t be serious!”“I’m perfectly serious,” she defended. “We need someone to keep us in line because clearly we’re far too resentful to do it on our own. And until we can, we’ll need her guidance.”“So what are you saying? You’re suddenly receptive to my mother’s Pureblooded wisdom?”“I’m saying,” Hermione snarled. “That I’m receptive to a mother’s intuition.”Draco laughed, but his voice was void of all humour.“You know what? Fine. If that's what you want, then I'll give you what you want. But don't blame me when this blows up in your face."
  "Fine."
“Then we are all agreed,” Narcissa declared, suddenly standing to her feet. “I will attend the nomination ceremony tomorrow and manipulate the social politics in your favour. And now that we’re settled, I’ll give you both a moment to…decompress.”She walked towards the door and reached for the handle, tilting her head over her shoulder with one last remark.“And should you both feel inclined to take my advice immediately, then I recommend that you make peace here and now. Apologise for whatever you were arguing about when I arrived, and make your plan for tomorrow. Are we clear?”“Yes,” the couple answered tightly.“Good. Now…I will see you both tomorrow.”And just like that, Narcissa was gone—leaving nothing but stupor and silence in her wake.For a long moment, Draco and Hermione avoided each other’s eyes. The longcase clock in the corner ticked away the moments, intensifying the tension that was already taught. Hermione counted one…two…five minutes of spurious calm, and her fingers tapped on the table as she shook an anxious leg.And the longer they sat there, the more combative the silence became. Hermione felt that she had nothing to apologise for, and Draco refused to entertain humility in any possible form. In fact, asking them to reconcile was like asking a Dementor to laugh—something that was as ridiculous as it was improbable.But it didn’t change their situation.And so Draco and Hermione resigned themselves to make peace in the only way that felt natural.They argued.“Do you even know how to make peace?” Hermione snapped, just as Draco mocked, “Aren’t you going to apologise to me, Granger?”“Apologise?!” she scoffed. “Apologise for what?”“For making me miserable! I told you that I didn’t want my mother involved, but you didn’t listen!”“Oh, Merlin forbid that a Malfoy be miserable!”“I have plenty of experience being miserable, I assure you.”“And well deserved!” she bit back. “And what about my apology?”“What exactly would you like an apology for?”“Take your pick!”Malfoy rolled his eyes, rubbing his ear as though he couldn’t think of a more arduous task.“Shall I start chronologically, or do I get to choose the order in which I atone for my sins?”
  “I don’t care.”
“Fine,” he sighed dramatically. “Well, first, I am terribly sorry that I’m attracted to you. But rest assured that I take no pleasure in it. It repulses me, truth be told.”“That’s not what I—”“Second, I apologise for what I did in the kitchen—although I can’t promise that it won’t happen again. Despite your many repugnant qualities, I do enjoy the way you look in leggings, so I—”“Just stop it!” Hermione yelled, stretching two palms in his direction. “For god’s sake, I don’t even know why I bothered. This is pointless!”“Good—then we agree. Now can I go?”“No!” Hermione yelled, sitting straight in her seat. “We still have plenty to discuss! Namely, our plans for tomor—”Draco interrupted with a dark laugh, running a tattooed hand through his hair.“Granger, what the hells are we supposed to plan? We’ll show up, act like we like each other, and then leave.”“It’s not that simple!” she hissed. “We have to come to some sort of peace agreement because this—” she waved a hand over the space between them “—cannot happen in public! Not again!”Draco’s scowl deepened.“I thought the entire point of my mother’s meddling was to help with our public appearances. That’s why you asked for her help, isn’t it? Even though I didn’t want her to know about this d@mn arrangement, you made that decision on your own! You just couldn’t help but take another opportunity to annoy me—isn’t that right?”Hermione spluttered a series of offended syllables, none of them intelligible until she grumbled out, “Malfoy, even if I didn’t say anything, you know perfectly well that your mother wouldn’t have believed that our relationship was genuine! Not for one second!”“And how would you know? You confessed the whole bl@@dy thing straight away!”“Gods, you’re impossible!” Hermione snarled. “Malfoy, your mother only has our best interests in mind!”“Best interests?!” he yelled, slamming a fist onto the tabletop. “Granger, the last time my parents had my best interests in mind, I ended up in Azkaban for four years!”Hermione clapped her mouth shut.“Well…I suppose I hadn’t thought about it that way.”“You didn’t think at all! It’s like you reserve your brain for academics alone, but you can’t be bothered with basic sense!”“That's inaccurate and you know it!”“And why the hells are you defending my mother's intentions? You don’t even like her!”“Perhaps not,” she snipped back, angrily brushing the curls from her face. “But I’ve learned how to find common ground with people I don’t like—a skill that you obviously haven’t mastered.”“Are you mad?” Draco laughed, mocking her with an incorrigible stare. “Or are you being willfully obtuse yet again?”“I am not obtuse, you wretched—”“Gryffindors all the same. You’re so bl@@dy self-righteous, but you don’t even see it! You think you’re the gods’ gift to humanity, but how good can you be when you use your accomplishments to build the tower from which you look down on everyone else?”“I don’t look down on other people!” she yelled, ignoring the subtle pain in her chest. “How can you think that I—”“Trust me, Granger, I’ve gotten a very good view up your nose with the amount of times you’ve stuck it in the air.”Hermione instinctively brought a hand to her nose, as if her subconscious wanted to ensure that it was not, in fact, smugly pointed to the ceiling.Thankfully, it wasn’t.“And what about you, you galleon-flaunting braggart?! You are anything but humble!”“Well that’s the difference between you and I, isn’t it? I don’t pretend to be something I’m not! I don’t hide my prejudice, but you excuse yours with moral superiority!”“F@ck you!” Hermione snapped, slapping her palm against the wood. “Just look at us, Malfoy—you’re proving my point!”“HOW?!”
  “BY ARGUING!”
They both paused to scowl at one another, just for good measure.“You are wasting precious time,” Hermione continued, “By fussing about what’s already done, rather than thinking about how we’re going to navigate the ceremony tomorrow!”“What if I want to argue?” he mocked. “What if I enjoy p@ss@ng you off?!”“I think you’ve made it very clear that you do!”“Well, that’s excellent! How thrilling to know that I am an effective communicator!”Hermione couldn’t remember the last time she had entertained such a fruitless, immature conversation. Not even her arguments with Ronald had ever been this intense.“Malfoy, you begrudging arsehole, would you just listen to me for ten seconds?!”“Fine! It’s not as though I could stop you either way! I’m convinced you could talk a ghost’s ear off if you tried hard enough.”“I don’t even think that’s possib—gods, it doesn’t matter!”“So what’s your proposal, Granger? What grand solution do you think will make tomorrow any easier?”“Lying!” she screamed, practically panting from exhaustion. “We have to learn to how to lie about our feelings for one another!”Draco stilled, laughing again with dark, lidded eyes. And when he finally spoke, his voice had tempered into something slow and deliberate. Threatening, even.“…You think I can’t lie about how I feel about you?”Hermione stilled, her anger quickly dissipating into the prickle of goosepimples that crawled up her back.“Granger…I've been lying about my feelings for years."With only a blink, the air had gone from the room.Hermione couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t even think.And the feeling that overcame her was the conglomeration of every surprise, revelation, and uncomfortable moment that had overwhelmed her with rapid sequence all day.Narcissa’s apology, and her subsequent offer of aid. The mention of family. The expectations for tomorrow’s ceremony. The fruitless hoping through five years of disappointment. The election. The murders. The man sitting before her.His eyes.His body.His power.It was overwhelming.“What do you mean?” she whispered, hardly audible against the heartbeat in her ears.“You know exactly what I mean,” Draco whispered, his voice raw and angry. “I want to f@ck you, Granger, and I hate you for it. I really,” he leaned closer, “…f@ck@ng…” his long fingers gripped the edge of the table “hate you.”A warm flush crept up Hermione’s cheeks, but the heat between her legs was far more dangerous.He's lying, she told herself. Ignore him. He’s taunting you. What he’s saying doesn’t make sense. What you feel doesn’t make sense.But then again…what did?Hermione held Draco’s stare, her breath ragged and wanting. She could feel them dancing at the edge of everything strange and abnormal, with only the pit of hate and self-loathing between them—teetering like a climax that begged for release.The silence was too much. The anticipation was too much. The tension was too damned much.Until suddenly…it wasn’t.“F@ck it,” Draco whispered.In one swift motion, he tossed the tea table across the room—crashing the porcelain and silverware against the wall, just as his lips crashed into Hermione’s.They were a gnashing of tongues and hands, still fighting each other with every grip and every kiss. Hermione couldn’t understand what was happening. She could barely process her hands grabbing the front of Draco’s shirt, tugging him into her and hoping that she might scratch him in the process. Likewise, Draco lifted her legs to wrap around his waist, and he silently begged for her bruises.“I hate you,” Hermione panted, biting down on his lip.“Shut the f@ck up,” was Draco’s only reply.His right hand pinched her jaw while his left kneaded her arse, and his feet carried them forward until Hermione was pressed against a mulberry wall. A row of portraits screamed as they crashed into them, followed by several slurs and complaints. Hermione ignored them, but Draco ripped the closest frame from the wall and added it to the wreckage below.
  What the hells is happening?
Draco nipped her bottom lip, begging for entry. Hermione opened her mouth greedily, moaning as his tongue flicked against her own.
  This isn’t real.
But then why did it feel like her skin was on fire?
  This isn’t logical.
But nothing was. Not the Ministry’s apathy that led her to a point of desperation, nor the two years of abstinence that made her all the more miserable.“Malfoy…”Draco’s right hand slid down her throat and squeezed as he whispered, “I told you to shut it.”Hermione swallowed tightly and submitted to the sensation.She was so tired of harbouring control.“Malfoy,” she mumbled—tempting him, in a way, to squeeze even tighter.Mercifully, he did.But then his right hand lowered further, and Draco was anything but delicate as he palmed her left breast—his thumb gently stroking the fabric over her nipple.“F@ck!” she gasped. “Malfoy, I…”“Finally speechless are you?” he growled. “Thank f@ck@ng Merlin.”She moaned into his lips again, barely aware of what she was doing.“I knew you needed a good f@ck.”Malfoy was right.He was right, and it horrified her.“I know what you need, Granger.”
  No, you don’t.
“I know what you want.”
  No, you don’t.
“You want to give yourself to me, don’t you?”“…No, I don't!”As quickly as it began, the moment ended.Hermione pushed the hand holding her up and forced her legs back onto the floor, stumbling away as though she was drunk on adrenaline. In turn, Draco’s pale eyes went wide, his powerful body swaying with the distinct shock of rejection.“What are you doing?” he whispered, watching Hermione rush for the door. “Are you al—”“This isn’t real,” she stammered, swiping at her swollen lips as though she could vanish the evidence. “I…I can’t do this.”
  I can't fuck him. And he can’t have me. He doesn’t deserve it…he doesn’t deserve to win.
“This…this was just practice,” she panted, reaching for the brass knob with a trembling hand. “This was just to help for tomorrow…where we can pretend. But this…this wasn’t real.”The tent in Draco’s joggers proved otherwise.“Granger, what are you—”“I…I have to go.”Hermione ran out the door before Draco could finish his sentence. She was only vaguely aware of his angry huff, and she didn’t notice the scandalised portraits watching her bolt up the stairs.
  It wasn’t real.
…But did she want it to be?
  
     
  

  
  

    
      
        
        
          Meddling Narcissa is HERREEE! And we have officially begun the “fast(ish) physical burn.” The sm@t is coming soon! I swear!!Also, I realised that I’ve never shared my Instagram with you! I want to use IG as a centralised place for chapter teasers, art, and any schedule updates for MMOM. I’ll also be sharing some inspiration pictures for certain scenes, because (unfortunately) if I upload too many to ao3 directly it makes the fic too big for Kindle downloads. So, if you have Instagram, feel free to follow along!Anyway, I hope you all are well and I hope you enjoyed the update 🖤'
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
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