10.

It took another few days before Draco was seen out in public again, not that anyone could blame him.

Ever since the papers got wind of his panic attack, the gossip hounds were nipping at every heel they could find. Not even Draco's payments of anonymity could be accepted, considering how much gold the Prophet, Wizard Daily and Witch Weekly were making in Draco's stead on Draco's drama, it was an understandable move.

Draco did a good job of displaying his frustration.

Hermione couldn't help but feel conflicted at how "on track" the whole thing was.

"It wasn't planned, obviously, but it works in our favor."

"I didn't want them to see you like that," she murmured in apology, tracing her fingers over his – outstretched across the table to meet one another as they shared a pot of tea.

Dryly, with fingers tangled together, he reported, "It was potent and visceral, and it worked. Nothing gets them going more than flaming authenticity."

That, she couldn't deny.

The papers were up in arms against one another over what was the truth, and the people that read them were arguably even more divided.

Hermione had heard enough whispers around the Ministry to cause glass to shatter and objects to spontaneously combust as she passed - wasn't it great that Malfoy broke down in the Astronomy Tower? Doesn't he deserve to be upset and haunted? Isn't it a terrible pity he wasn't ruined!

Others sympathized; it was a sign that they not only believed in Draco's goodness and in Hermione's belief of him, it was also a sign that together - they would be acceptable.

Draco had some good in him, and whether or not Hermione brought it out was irrelevant, as a person it was there; he felt remorse and regret – and that was a step up from an unfeeling monster who stood in court and took the verbal beatings of his personal failings as a person because he happened to have no choice. After all, "Harry Potter had such good role models, what did Draco Malfoy have?"

That was all the motivation both of them needed to step up their appearances one day at a time.

They attended them cautiously and as unobtrusively as possible; opportunism would be sniffed out and splashed out all over the papers to change the narrative all over again – and there was no room for error or mistake. Neither of them had the time or taste for failure.

"Prudent," Lady Augusta observed with a tip of her head.

There was no lying to the crone, one look at them and she had the skeleton of their plan in her mind's eye, and whether it was old age or just a tendency against giving less shits about pretenses, she asked outright.

Draco was surprisingly obliging.

"Your mother was much the same as a girl," Lady Augusta said upon his confirmation of her suspicions. "Frank was always a little frightened of her in school, fragile looking as she was."

Draco smiled a little at that before observing, "Fragile like a bomb rather than glass."

Chuckling quietly, Lady Augusta echoed, "Quite." Before adding, "Malfoy men always have a way of picking roses; beauty with thorns."

Hermione despite herself, blushed.

When Neville came back into the parlor, something changed in the way Lady Augusta spoke to her grandson, and with a huff, she shooed him away once more.

Exchanging a curious glance with one another as Neville was once again dismissed from their visit, the matriarch of the Longbottom family smirked. "When you're my age you find pleasure in simple things, annoying my grandson tops them all."

"So you aren't trying to get him married?" Hermione found herself asking, making her friend's grandmother snort. "Please, he would sooner set fire to his greenhouse. He'll likely call it a way to start afresh, something or other. Bah, at least this way I can find a way to push his buttons just enough that he finally steps up and runs this family like he should. I've been through three wars, and I'm tired!"

To this, Draco snickered, and their visit was completed with Lady Augusta's support secured.

Following thereafter was a visit to the Janus Thickey Ward in St Mungo's, and though Draco had bowed out immediately and offered to wait outside while Hermione and Neville paid a visit to the latter's parents, his presence at all was enough to garner attention.

For two months, the pair of them bided their time – appearing in small gatherings, events and casual chats over tea with anyone they needed to.

Bertina rightfully thought it was to aid in their department, and it thrilled her unendingly that Draco's good sense and political awareness was encouraging Hermione to branch out for perceived help, rather than go it alone on her crusades for justice. Their pace suited Bertina just fine as well, and again, she thought it was simply Hermione taking her advice, however cautiously it was.

As their third month as a still-rumored couple rolled around, Bertina had to nip it in the bud and sent Hermione's invitation to the Ministry Gala with a plus-one attached.

Hermione could only comply.

.

They were met with silence when they were finally introduced, though Hermione told herself she much preferred it to the scattered applause that met the other couples.

Draco, for his part, was used to having his picture taken by the press, and being intimately acquainted with the dimensions of her body, knew exactly how to hold her to get that perfect shot even as they descended the staircase.

It was decided, by one and all, that they made a stunning pair - according to the self-proclaimed leader of the gossip mill, Lavender Brown. Despite the frosty reception, Hermione was convinced the hushed comments would be working in their favour for the night. And that was a major achievement considering both of them had worked so hard to sway public opinion in their favor especially once Draco had given her the go-ahead to do what was needed.

A few strategic "leaks" of his accounts – his charity work and financial contributions in an attempt to correct his past wrongs – left his naysayers tight lipped and the Ministry red-faced. Bertina, however, managed to put a stop to any suggestions of Draco being the benefactor, though encouraged the good press all the same; it suited her too that Draco was seen in a good light after all.

Hermione fretted that Draco would regret not releasing the information himself sooner, if that was all it took to change the minds of many. Instead, however, he turned Hermione into his official liaison at the Ministry, and the press ate it up.

Just last week when he refused to meet with former Minister, Cornelius Fudge, the Ministry's go-to puppet, and walked right into Hermione's office, the Daily Prophet was in hysterics about how Hermione was colluding with the former Death Eater.

Witch Weekly had turned it into a love story about the reform of a bully by the most famous Muggle-born in recent history. Wizard Daily was more conservative with its reporting, sticking to the verified facts, though the tone of skepticism lingered still. The Daily Prophet, on the other hand, turned Hermione into a confused young woman blinded by the urge to recover someone unsalvageable.

The Quibbler, however, told the truth with the most accurate report of their union: Hermione using Draco's coveted last name to gain a foothold in the tumultuous Pureblood arena, with Draco using Hermione to reestablish his family's prestige.

Neither were surprised that Luna knew what she did, and the three of them were under no illusion as to the percentage of people that would find it credible now that the Quibbler had published it. It was, after all, the magical version of the National Enquirer, and now that the truth was masked as a conspiracy under "Loony" Lovegood, the Ministry wouldn't be able to flirt with the mere suggestion of it.

Luna was just happy to stick it to the Ministry in her own way.

The general public, for all intents and purposes, looked like they were split between the Witch Weekly and The Daily Prophet set-up, which left Hermione and Draco with the task of bending the "truth" to their purpose.

There were still opinions that needed to be changed, after all, belief that needed to be won over, but every battle won was assurance that the war would be too. The more exposure they got, the more people they could get to believe their legitimacy; the better it looked for them.

No publicity was bad publicity.

"Hermione! I…There you are." Ron had the perfect timing, Hermione thought, exchanging a triumphed look with Draco as she slowly turned to acknowledge her former beau.

She didn't bother trying to hide her frosty tone, "Oh, hello Ronald; you're here?"

"Yeah, I was late." His brows were furrowed as he glanced between her and Draco, his complexion gradually reddening by the second. Clearly, he hadn't thought Draco would still be around.

Still, Ron was nothing if not stubborn. Determinedly, his focus zeroed in on her, "I was in Bulgaria, I don't know if you heard."

She didn't, and frankly she didn't care, not that it should surprise Ron.

Even when they flamed out during arguments, time and distance hardly helped.

Hermione could think her way around anything from any angle, and depending on the reason for the argument, she'd only be amenable to a compromise - something Ron never seemed to understand. He was far more willing to hope she conveniently forgot that they spit venom on wounds that were still gaping open.

After their spat in her office, which felt already like a lifetime past, Hermione knew better than to think that whatever fantasies Ron had of rekindling their relationship were over. In fact, it seemed that the time apart (and distance) was just enough to give Ron amnesia:

"I actually went to speak to Viktor," the redhead continued, resolute in ignoring Draco, even as he – affectionate and territorial as he was – slipped his arm around her waist, and raised a brow in vague curiosity.

"He has a girlfriend now, lovely witch really," Ron added, "almost as pretty as Fleur."

Hermione had never forgotten the way Ron had praised his sister-in-law, how he moaned about how if only you put in the effort like she does, conveniently forgetting about Fleur's lucky dip in the Veela gene-pool.

Besides, any attempts to clean up, to make him happy or impress him a little were always laughingly rebuffed with, "What are you trying to do, 'Mione?" It was clear, the standard was unfairly high, and she'd never reach it.

It wouldn't hurt to remind her of that fact, he thought, but instead the curly-haired witch shrugged.

"Good for him," Hermione echoed, her disinterest clear, already half turning to give her date her attention once more.

If only Ron realized how little his approval had come to be worth.

Flashing Draco a smile, she offered, "Dance with me?"

Her partner smothered the shit eating smirk into something familiar to Ron, before he squeezed her hand in agreement. As he was about to lead her off, Ron grabbed her by her forearm. "Are you even listening to me?"

The crowd's attention was more palpable at the contact, and there was a collective breath held.

"I heard you," she said, calmly, brow raised in question. "I just don't see how any of what you said affects me at all." The crowd around them tittered. Lowering her voice mockingly, she advised, "Don't make a scene, Ronald, I'm busy with my date."

They got all of three feet before he did exactly the opposite of that.

"He's a Death Eater, or have you forgotten? It's Malfoy! Bloody Malfoy! Don't tell me that trash from Witch Weekly is true!" The ballroom grew silent, and Ron whirled around looking for an ally. "He's a Death Eater, for Merlin's sake! Are you actually believing this shit?"

There were murmurs, some siding with Ron, though not enough to get involved. That, she found, irritated her more.

Hermione scowled. "For your information, Ronald, Draco and I are just friends."

"Friends who go to dinner, who have suspiciously late night meetings in your office, in your flat; get caught kissing in alleyways?" he demanded furiously. The side that was with him faltered at the reminder.

How much of it was a lie then, if one of Malfoy's worst enemies acknowledged how much time he was spending with a witch he should have hated on principle?

"Did you hear? Malfoy sent a warning to Witch Weekly for that spread of him and Ms Granger in that alleyway, caught in an intimate embrace. He was angry about it, of course, but only because it was such a breach of privacy, you know. He didn't want to put Ms Granger on the spot like that, didn't want to make their private lives public opinion. Isn't he such a gentleman?"

Hermione had the decency to blush, even as she retorted furiously, "What I do is none of your business, Ronald Weasley."

"He'd never go for you, though," the redhead persisted like the stubborn arse he was, and if that just didn't cross the line.

He had already humiliated her with that in the privacy of her office where he still had the chance to apologize and take it back, but now, here? In front of all these people?

"Even on the fucking fringes of society, he still gets treated like he was whacked with a golden spoon! He came out of that fucking shit war smelling like roses! Roses! He's richer than he was in the beginning, and he still gets looks from witches – there!" He pointed accusingly at them, female bystanders who were suddenly shoved before public scrutiny. "Looking at him like that! Like he could fuck them in the arse and they'd thank him – and you?" Ron turned to her, eyes wide with a mixture of sympathy and disbelief. "You think he'd pick you?"

The scandalized gasps rose, his side dissipating while Hermione had to clench her fists and breathe through the curses running through her head, Draco took a step towards him and began to speak so quietly even she had to strain her ears to hear him:

"I sincerely hope you have alcohol to blame for this disgusting behavior, Weasley, or you'll find out the extent at which I had to prove my worth to become the youngest Marked. Best I remind you as well that just because you couldn't appreciate Granger for the brilliant witch she is when you had her, that there are others who are more than willing to take your place."

"Exactly, you're just filling her Ron-shaped slot until she comes to her senses," he sneered.

"Your slot could be filled by my pinky."

Around them there was ripple of laughter, and despite it, Ron licked his lips with an almost feverish smile. "You won't last, Malfoy. Cormac didn't. That bitch will chase you away just like she does everyone else."

Hermione saw the punch coming, but it was almost a pity that Ron didn't.

.

She hadn't wanted to stay in the aftermath of the Ron episode, even though she had predicted his reaction down to the insults he plied them both with.

Draco knew with a certainty that just because he knows what attacks he would have to fend off, didn't make them hurt any less.

"I think you're secretly good at Divination," he informed.

"Don't insult me," she grumbled, her words slightly muffled. "I've had a rough night."

"Of being right? Problems only Hermione Granger could have, I'm sure." Her arms were crossed to stave off the cold, and that familiar urge to protect her made his hands twitch, and without protest, he gave in. Draco hugged her from behind, resting his chin against her crown, and in answer, her body and his practically sighed in relief. "Though, you missed the part about the weather being too shit to stand outside in a dress like this."

She nuzzled the arm he had thrown around her neck, and glanced at him from over her shoulder. "Is he gone?"

"All gone." He squeezed. "Considering the witnesses and the extent of his verbal abuse, you'll be able to get a restraining order against him without a problem."

Playing with the fabric at the arm around her neck, Hermione muttered, "You should know that what he said was true, though."

"Which part?"

"About chasing people away," she divulged, looking back to glimpse the sky again. "I'm good at leaving. I'm good at getting people to leave."

"Only those who weren't sure whether they wanted to stay in the first place," he remarked, adding with amusement. "Efficient of you, really; the undeserving end up weeding themselves out."

They stood in silence until she garnered up that Gryffindor courage to ask, "Do you want to stay?"

His arms tightened around her, memories of him standing helplessly as he watched her struggle, of him causing her pain, of him being inept in giving her what she needed. He dug his fingers against her ribs. "I don't deserve to."

"But," she persisted hesitantly, "will you anyway?"

His kiss against the side of her head was pressed hard, and she closed her eyes against the sudden well of emotion it dredged up, barely hearing over the roaring in her ears his reply, "I want to."

She nodded, and turning in her arms, she looked up at him with those same eyes from nearly a lifetime ago, and said, "Let's go home."

.

They never actually stayed in her flat. As soon as they walked in from one of their scheduled dates, they'd enter the Floo and go back to his apartment.

Tonight was different.

It seemed like the final break in her relationship with Ron, which though romantically it had ended, it was beyond repair in every aspect now. Hermione thought bitterly that she'd probably receive an Owl tomorrow from one of the Weasley clan, or heaven forbid, Harry, asking on Ron's behalf, to talk it out.

But she was done talking, done compromising. There were just some things you couldn't get back from. She slipped off her shoes, and mechanically began to undress.

Draco simply followed her to her room.

There was barely anything in her flat besides a lone couch, and the only part of the open plan that was stocked was the kitchen. Her bedroom, at least, fulfilled the minimum requirement.

She was in nothing but her underwear when she considered her bed.

"It's smaller than yours," she noted, as if for the first time.

He supposed it was an adjustment. They spent the majority of their time together at his place out of convenience. It was so much easier to dedicate time to plotting when there were house elves to make sure all your basic needs were cared for, and no one would bother them. Draco swore he could already hear the owls waiting outside her kitchen window.

"It's fine, we'll fit."

His shirt was undone and over her shoulders as soon as he said it before he ushered her into the bed.

"Wait, I've got pins in my hair," she reminded, and while he enjoyed the view of her neck and back bared without obstruction during the evening, he knew it came at a price.

It took the both of them tugging and pulling at the silver pins to get them all out, the little red accents at the end shining like flecks of blood as he threw them carelessly to the floor. In relief, she sighed, sinking into her bed while he reached for the curls and massaged the scalp beneath it.

If it was possible to melt into a person, she did, and as he adjusted her hair so that he wouldn't choke on it. She fell into him, grabbing his arm so that it was over her waist as she snuggled into his side; her back pressed into his front almost perfectly.

Hermione could feel the caress of his lips against her neck, almost lazily as he nuzzled her.

His warm, large hands found the part in the shirt she hadn't the time to button up, one hand outlined the bone at her hip while the other cupped a single breast protectively, thumb carelessly circling the peak.

She nudged him with her arse. "Draco."

The hand he had at her hip pressed her against his growing bulge, and he hummed his acknowledgement.

In reply, she moved her hips against him in a slow circle, just as his hand returned to her waist, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of her knickers, curling at the sensitive skin just below her bellybutton.

Groaning quietly, her movement quickened, and almost by accident, his fingers slipped lower; the nipple he was teasing pinched and pulled at once, and she gasped his name.

Raising her leg with his knee, he rested her thigh on his hip as he prodded at her entrance from behind. His shallow thrusts were accompanied by barely concealed groans as the wetness between her thighs seeped onto his hardness.

"Remember this?" he murmured hotly in her ear, and when she could only moan in reply, he dove in harder, his clothed form only serving to frustrate them more as they tried to find release through sheer friction.

The stars she had come to associate with him winked in her vision, reminding her of a different time and place, when the war was still in full effect and she and some of the others decided that one night to be a teenager could do no harm to them when they'd probably be dead in a few months anyway.

It had been her birthday, and Dean had insisted, and Neville had agreed. They found themselves shouting the lyrics to songs they didn't know and drinking more alcohol than they had when Gryffindor won the House Cup.

A club in some city they couldn't remember the name of, and music blaring from every orifice; pumping through them like adrenaline as the group of them lost each other in the crowd of swaying bodies; was just the thing they needed after months on the run.

Hermione remembered dancing, remembered feeling his presence at her back; his warm hands flattening on her thighs, her hips and her abdomen, ghosting over her breasts before slipping back down to her thighs. The scent of him took the edge off, like the whiff of the Amortentia potion she was asked to identify in Slughorn's class; parchment and apples and Quidditch leather.

He'd gotten her off just by touching her, just by murmuring in her ear; the words unintelligible in her drunken state.

He had spun her around, squeezing her arse with one hand and cupping her neck with the other, he pressed his lips against hers, and though his face was unfamiliar, she knew it was him; in the taste of his tongue in her mouth, the desperation of his kiss.

Whether he was donning a face that wasn't his, sending her to oblivion surrounded by enemies and strangers at every turn; or in her bed with just the two of them, with only their clothes to separate them, she would know Draco Malfoy anywhere.

It was hard to forget a person you always wanted, but couldn't have.

Something could be said, however, for spoilt rich boys like Draco, and stubbornly determined girls like Hermione – they get what they want eventually.

As usual, all my love and affection to everyone that's read and reviewed so far, you're all incredible!

A huge thank you to Rachel for making this story possible!