A/N: Surprise! This story is official back in commission. I know it's been such a long time... aside from an extended hiatus due to life and all that nonsense, I actually lost my chapter plan and forward writing for this story. Miraculously it was located recently and I'm deep into writing both this and The Shadow and The Soul. Enjoy!

...One day to D-Day...

It was here, so to speak. Time had literally swallowed up all vestiges of her heretofore happy existence, and in less than 24 hours it would have swallowed all traces completely. Hermione wasn't ready to be married, let alone to someone she could barely tolerate. And telling herself it was a sham and that it didn't mean anything was no help.

Because it did mean something. It was marriage for goodness sake, and once she took those vows it meant that she would, forever, be tied to Draco Malfoy in a legal and binding way. Even if they did manage to swing a divorce, which she refused to believe would not be the case, it would still be noted for all to see that at one point in time he had been her husband.

Somehow she had always assumed that if and when she did get married, it would be to some intelligent and lovely man who treated her as his equal—never even mind the issue of magical creatures—and who got along splendidly with both her parents and her friends. And whilst Malfoy was clearly of reasonable intelligence, he exploited such ability in totally unscrupulous ways. He treated her like so much baggage that he was stuck with and, in turn, her friends with complete abhorrence. She supposed that it was something of a cloud and silver lining that her parents would never have to bear witness to her marrying someone like him. They would have known incontrovertibly that she could never love such a man.

She could only hope that whilst she was stuck with him any latent redeeming qualities might come to the fore. And in the instance that such a wish was beyond the realm of possibility, she was simply going to keep to herself and go about her business. She would use his name and connections, for whatever they were worth, ruthlessly to support her cause. Despite how the whole mess had begun, she knew now that it wasn't worth what had followed, but she had reconciled herself to that. To a degree, in any case. For now she would have to be satisfied with the vindictive sort of pleasure it might bring, which frankly was her due.

Hermione huffed irritably at the line of these thoughts, and trudged further along the never ending corridor, lined with all manner of expensive ornamentation and stuffy portraits. She was, at present, being led to the East Wing of the Manor by a very nervous looking house-elf called Pimmy.

She tried not to think about just how many house-elves were actually enslaved in the grand house. The mere idea of roomfuls of the innocent creatures locked up here had her itching to pull out her knitting needles.

In addition to this prevailing thought was that fact that, really, who needed a house with more than one wing?

"Miss is coming?" A voice squeaked up at her.

"Oh, right. Yes, Pimmy." As she followed the wayward flapping ears with her gaze, she softened her voice. "Tell me… are you treated well? Because I think—"

"Granger, stop harassing my elves. Mufty already quivers in fear at the merest whisper of your name." She tried not to grind her teeth at the interfering tones of Draco Malfoy. He seemed to never be around when she was battling with his mother, and was always there when she wanted a reprieve.

"Master I is very sorry!" The sob-like cry was wrenched from the clearly distressed house-elf, shaking tremulously before her.

"It's not your fault, Pimmy. You may go."

Hermione's eyes narrowed at the deeply reverent bow directed at Malfoy, before Pimmy disappeared with a loud and relieved crack.

"Go away, Malfoy. It's my job to ask these things."

"If I recall correctly, as I often do, it was this excessive need to cross the lines of your job that got us here in the first place." He raised a brow as though to challenge her. Obnoxious really, because it was hardly her fault he was always up to no good.

"Right, because your illegal proclivities and general shadiness had nothing to do with it," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "In any case, your extreme reluctance to allow me to even speak to your house-elves only further convinces me that at least some of them are not so… brainwashed." She arched a brow at him.

He assessed her coolly for a moment. "Granger, did it never occur to you to direct this," he gestured in her direction, "fervour in a more receptive direction?"

"My fervour, as you call it, is really none of your business. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to see my room." She sniffed with as much hauteur and disdain as she could muster.

That was a lie. She had zero desire to see her room, indeed the notion of even having one in this ridiculously large and cold house gave her the creeps. Though she had to display some semblance of domestic bliss with the infernal man, she would not be giving up the lease on her own flat. Indeed, she planned to spend as much time there as possible. She wondered, briefly, whether there might be a fireplace in her suite. That would be delightfully convenient.

Malfoy interrupted her musings once more. "Since you scared off yet another house-elf, I'll have to show you. Follow quickly and stop slouching."

She glared at his tall frame as he walked ahead of her, leading the way. After they turned another corner, he waved expansive arms to signify their arrival at what she assumed was the East Wing. It was a large area, not unlike the main entry hall to the Manor, though of smaller dimension, and from here she noted a great many doors.

He pointed at two doors to the left, indicating that they were guest suites. She couldn't help but wonder at just how many guests they planned on having over at any given time.

"That door is off limits," he said indicating one of two doors to the right.

"Why?" she asked, curious about the potentially sinister goings on behind that door.

He must have seen her narrow-eyed suspicion because he muttered something disparaging under his breath. This was a refreshing change since he usually had no qualms about being vocal on such points.

"Those are my suites. If I catch you in there, I won't hesitate to throw you out the window." He crossed his arms not unlike the spoilt little eleven-year-old she so easily recalled. No doubt he hated the thought of her sleeping in such close quarters to him. The thought caused her neck to itch as well.

"Oh… well there's no risk of that, then. So, is this me?" she pointed to the remaining door, eager to see to her things and leave his company. She didn't wait for his response, and moved forward to push the door open.

The door knob didn't budge beneath her questing fingers, and she was just about to turn around and say something, when his hand was planted against the wood, right by her head. She could feel the strange warmth of him uncomfortably close to her, and licked her dry lips.

"Do you mind?" she asked.

He leaned in toward her ear and she felt the errant strands of his hair tickle the side of her face. "Always so presumptuous, aren't you?" He then muttered a quick spell and the door finally gave way. She hurried into the room and as far from him as possible.

"We keep the private rooms locked for this exact reason… so that nosy people can't go rummaging." He was watching her with eyes that might have been amused at her discomfort. Truthfully, it was hard to tell.

She turned away from him to take in her new rooms and noticed that, prison of a sort though it might be, it was a very pretty one at that. It was quite obscenely large, as everything on the estate seemed to be. The furnishings were rich mahogany and the bed was the lavish sort of four-poster one only expected to see in Hogwarts or the very old houses of the British aristocracy. She supposed, in some way, that was rather what the Malfoys were.

"It's lovely," she whispered, having quite forgotten he was there.

"Of course, it is. I rather expect it will be sufficient… given that your house, as you called it, was approximately the size of a bathroom." Something dawned in his expression then, and he pointed toward one of the doorways leading from the main room. "Speaking of bathrooms… your beast of a cat is in there as we speak. Tried to eat Pimmy earlier."

His sneer was beyond aggravating. She glared at him before rushing to let poor Crookshanks out. "He would not do that… he's very well trained, I'll have you know." As though to prove this point to Malfoy, her feline friend rushed forward and purred lovingly as he rubbed along her legs. "Why are you still here?"

"Just leaving," he muttered, not taking his eyes of Crookshanks as he backed out of the suite. It reminded Hermione of the old westerns on Muggle television that she'd watched over many summers with her father. A Mexican standoff they called it.

The door clicked shut and Hermione reached down to scratch her pet behind the ears. Curiosity getting the better of her, she moved toward the other door and found it to be her dressing room cum wardrobe. She couldn't help but bristle to realise that not only had it been filled with a whole lot of clothing she didn't own—but that had clearly been acquired for her—but someone, presumably Pimmy, had gone ahead and packed away all of her existing things. Knickers included.

There were some things that people really should do for themselves. She closed the door and moved toward the bed, and upon finding it rather comfortable, gave an irritated sigh. She didn't want to live here… no matter how luxurious it all was. She wanted to stay in her cosy little flat with her overstuffed bookshelves and tiny kitchen. She wanted more than one wall to separate her from Draco Malfoy, and more than a few corridors and many pointless rooms to separate her from his parents.

In fact, she couldn't deny that she thought it dreadfully outdated for them to live in the Manor with his mother and father—Lucius Malfoy, no less! Didn't even the stuffiest of purebloods move out of home these days? She knew Ron had, and he certainly wasn't married.

Hermione sighed and leaned back on the plump pillows, allowing Crookshanks and his wonderful familiarity to curl up next to her. This would never feel like home. It would always be a stranger's house and she would always be unwelcome. Throughout the whole ordeal, as terrible and confusing as much of it had been, the all-pervasive feeling of loneliness that overcame her in that moment was quite the worst part to deal with.

She was Hermione Granger, and had carried that name with pride, the last connection to her parents in a real and visceral way. Well, she thought, she'd always be just that. The same Hermione, always a Granger, no matter where she lived or with whom.

With some annoyance at her treacherous body, for daring to find the bed so comfortable, she fell into the thick and warm blanket of unconsciousness.

If there was one thing that Hermione really hadn't wanted, it was a Hen's party. It was just so trite given the circumstances. Ginny Weasley, however, was not to be deterred. And Hermione, unfortunately, was still supposed to be playing the happy bride… not that she'd been all that convincing thus far. The only comfort she drew in the fact was that it would be both a night out with friends, and hence a distraction from the prospect of tomorrow, and that it would get her out of the vast house.

Hermione cast a quick cursory glance in the mirror and decided that she looked about as good as she was going to, without succumbing to all manner of grooming lotions and potions. Malfoy was waiting downstairs for her, she knew. And she derived a great satisfaction from keeping him waiting, though she was rather surprised it wasn't taking him longer to primp. He'd sent a house-elf—a different one again—to inform her of his displeasure at being kept waiting.

They had discussed, with surprising civility, their evening plans while at dinner; they were both off to meet friends for their necessary celebrations. A last hurrah and all of that. Of course, until Hermione was actually married to the git, she had no way of getting through the absurdly large gate in order to Apparate. Her preferred method of travel was not possible within the Manor grounds due to the judicious use of wards.

As much as she was loath to take on his surname and bind herself to him in any way, she very much was looking forward to being able to come in and out of her own accord. It felt far too much like a prison now, and the Malfoys very rarely opened their many fireplaces up to the Floo Network. That would change, however, as to her great delight there was a fireplace in her suite, and Hermione would be damned if she told them of her plans to use it. The paranoia was positively rampant in their house.

Well, she supposed upon reflection, as former Death Eaters and turncoats to their cause, it wasn't all that surprising. They were hated by all who weren't swayed by money. Sadly, as she had discovered, much to her detriment, there weren't all that many people who weren't swayed by money.

When she finally reached him in the hallway she felt an immediate burst of satisfaction at his clear look of irritation.

"Finally," he muttered.

"Sorry," she said, a sickly sweet smile lighting her features, "just thought I'd take in a spot of looting along the way."

He sneered in response, and she absently wondered if it was some sort of facial defect. "How thrilling it is to know that my family will now be responsible for ending the malnutrition of your freckled and bespectacled friends."

She stood before him and tilted her head. "You know, you really ought to consider some new material. The lack of creativity in these insults is getting tiresome."

Something flickered in his gaze, and she almost detected a slight upward curve to his mouth. "Duly noted."

While she definitely wasn't inebriated, that last fruity flavoured alcoholic concoction definitely had her teetering on the edge of tipsiness. And truthfully, this happy and slightly fuzzy bubble was quite a lovely break from reality.

The music flared around her, buoyed further by the rambunctious giggles of the women surrounding. Though she had initially been quite adamant about not wanting to celebrate, Hermione couldn't help but feel glad Ginny had rail-roaded her into it in the end. The brief reprieve, and the delightful frivolity of the evening, was a perfect balm to her highly strung nerves.

The group of women were presently congregated around three small tables in a bar that was bursting at the seams with people enjoying a night of unrestrained fun. And Hermione was definitely one of them. She took another sip of the deliciously pink drink and scanned the group. Admittedly there were a few women there with whom she was only mildly acquainted. Why Ginny had invited them—work acquaintances she only occasionally spoke to—Hermione wasn't quite sure. It had become apparent earlier in the evening, however, that for their part, it was the intrigue that made them accept. An opportunity to glean the inside perspective on the elusive and rather dashing—she'd almost choked at that description—Draco Malfoy was not one to be denied.

Other than one fairly awkward moment, while she was still sober enough to feel the awkwardness, it had all run along smoothly. Hermione could safely say that being quizzed on her sex life with Malfoy, and fielding questions from raptly attentive witches about his girth, was something she never wanted to experience again.

At precisely that moment, one of the aforementioned witches, Amelda Ashford, collapsed in the seat next to her. Her shockingly vibrant dress had Hermione blinking rapidly and wondering if she was, perhaps, slightly tipsier than she'd previously thought.

"It's all so romantic, isn't it?" She sighed before slurping down more of her drink.

Hermione, focused intently on her own beverage, nodded in vague agreement. "Hmm, yes."

"Poor Astoria though. Must be hard, what with her being so… well you know…" Amelda gestured wildly.

No, Hermione definitely did not know, but found herself leaning in, suddenly much more interested in what the other woman had to say. If she reflected on that moment, in a more lucid state, she might have scolded herself for being just as terrible as the rest of them.

Fortunately, Amelda didn't require her to contribute much at this point and continued. "I knew Daphne quite well, you see. Never spoke too much about it, but there's definitely something going on there. Always wrapped in cotton wool, as my mother would say!"

"She's sick?" Hermione breathed, desperately curious now.

"Well, she always was quite delicate, you know. And she and Draco were always going to end up together." Amelda shrugged as if to say that this was the common way of things. "But I suppose it must have been an obligation thing for him… well of course it must have been! He fell in love with you, after all. And so quickly! Must be hard on Astoria, though I suppose it's for the best."

She smiled blearily at Hermione, quite unaware of the impact of her words. For Hermione's part, she knew very well that whatever else about Malfoy, he clearly cared very much for Astoria Greengrass, obligation or not. She suspected there was a lot more to that story, one she felt certain Malfoy would be disinclined to share.

"Hermione!" Ginny's voice cut through music and the weight of Hermione's tangled thoughts. Her friend thrust another drink in front of her, a wide Weasley grin plastered across her features.

"Oh, go on then," Hermione said, accepting the fruity delight. "Just one more."

Hermione reflected that the Malfoys really ought to consider placing a bench of some sort outside their gates. It was really unbecoming to make guests sit among the pebbles, particularly when wearing a skirt.

She wasn't all that uncomfortable though. No, the night sky, littered as it was with a confetti of stars, was quite soothing to gaze upon. And truth be told, she felt positively floaty now, though she really did hope that Malfoy would get her message and come collect her.

She had arrived at the gates not long before, wobbling on unsteady feet—her shoes were clearly an instrument of torture—and contemplated whether it would be possible to throw one of the sea of stones up at his window. Logic had managed to carve its way through her brain sufficiently to tell her that, no, the distance was infinitely too far, and that with the ridiculous number of rooms in the house there was no way she would know which window was his.

So instead she had whipped out her wand, and in a moment of clarity, cast some pretty fabulous spell work to summon the man in question. She frowned briefly upon reflection that she wouldn't know quite how fabulous it was until he showed up. If, indeed, he did. In fact, it hadn't even occurred to her that he might still be out. A great possibility given that he was the one she caught running an underground poker ring.

A burble of laughter erupted and she found she couldn't contain it. She was getting married tomorrow, to Malfoy. Absurd! Just as the laughter began to subside, only slight chuckles falling from her tongue, she noticed movements in the shadows.

"For fuck's sake, Granger get off the ground," he muttered as he stepped through the gates to collect her. He looked down at her, a weary expression on his face.

"My feet don't work," she shrugged, gesturing at the offending sandals, which now meant she might require amputation.

"Are you drunk?" he asked, eyeing her incredulously.

She uttered a haughty denial as she rose to her feet, quite gracefully, she thought. The illusion was somewhat shattered when she stumbled.

Malfoy stared at her, hands on hips, and shook his head. Hermione reflected that this Malfoy, with his sleep–softened features and bed-rumpled hair didn't seem quite so harsh and caustic.

Sighing in exasperation, he moved forward, leaning down to scoop her up, clearly deciding that this was the quickest route back to his bed. She didn't put up much of a fight against his Neanderthal approach. Her head was suddenly rather woozy, and his grip was firm and his body strangely warm.

"Yet you still managed to send a Patronus-cum-otter gallivanting around my bed at three in the morning?" Did she detect a note of admiration? Impossible.

"It was all the fruit," she murmured. "I needed more when they were asking about your, well… you know." His eyebrows shot up in slight bewilderment, so she clumsily patted him on the head. "Don't worry, I told them it wasn't wonky."

Her vision was bouncing somewhat as he hauled her up the excessively long drive way, so she couldn't quite tell if it was gratitude that lingered in his features or horror at his nether regions being the subject of such speculation.

"You know," she finally said after a moment of silence and constant squirming, during which he cursed repeatedly. "You're an absolutely awful human being, with no redeeming features," she supplied conversationally, "but this is a much more comfortable mode of transport than walking up myself.

They reached the front door and he dropped her like a lump of coal, surely bruising her buttocks as she landed in a heap of limbs on the ground. Malfoy glared down at her, an appalled expression on his face. "Let me be clear, Granger. I don't appreciate the wakeup call, and I am not your personal pack mule. If it weren't for the fact that I have to look at you while saying my vows tomorrow, I'd have left you out in the cold overnight. Would have served you right too."

Having finally regained her footing, Hermione kicked off the offending sandals and stood before him barefoot, feeling ridiculously short. Nevertheless, she found great amusement upon seeing his flushed features. She laughed in a sing song voice. "Me thinks thou doth protest too much!"

He looked at her then, as though she were speaking Mermish—she supposed she might as well have been for the so-called cultured man had undoubtedly never heard of Shakespeare, misquoted or not.

He stormed off then, leaving her to trail in his wake, dragging bare feet through the opulent halls of Malfoy Manor and hoping very much that there were foot print smudges on the hallway floor by morning. Now wouldn't that be a treat for the imperious Narcissa Malfoy.