The wedding ceremony was strangely large, but it was all Draco's. His family, at least what part of them aren't in jail, filled the pews. It's a chapel in the ministry, used for all the new weddings. She said her vows bitingly, and he stated his in a flat, angry monotone. The silver bands are slipped onto their fingers, and people clap respectfully. People quietly congratulate the couple, and the family files out of the building, mumbling gossip about the newlyweds.

Hermione groaned through clenched teeth, flopping down on an overstuffed couch to wait for the ministry representative. Draco paces, walking circles around the room. The silver ring feels like it's burning, pressing too hard onto her skin. A woman in a blue pantsuit walks in, clenching a binder against her chest.

"Hello Mr. and Mrs…Malfoy?" She crosses the room quickly and sits down on the chair opposite from them, motioning for Draco to sit on the couch. He reluctantly sits, on the opposite end.

"I assume you're aware of the pretense for the Law?" She nods, and Draco does the same. "We are hoping to re-populate the wizarding world as quickly as possible after the war."

"If we know why the law is here, why did you tell us." Draco is boiling, and his teeth seem close to shattering from being clenched. The woman mirrors his expression, if only for a second.

"Please, Mr. Malfoy. It's my job." She pulls out papers from her binder and laws them out neatly on the table, placing pens beside them. She runs through the obligatory paper-signing part of this, before taking a deep breath in.

"The marriage has to be…consummated within 48 hours. If not, you will both be subject to disciplinary action." The two nod, both with a raging blush. The woman nods and gathers up the papers, walking quickly out of the office.

Hermione and Draco sit there in silence for almost a half hour before Hermione stands up and walks to the doorway, turning right before leaving. "We should be getting…home."

The apartment is small, but lovely. It's modernly furnished, and has a beautiful view. The kitchen and living room are adjoined, with an intimate dining room off to the side. A guest bedroom is next to the bathroom, and a wide door opens to a main bedroom.

"Bloody…" She mumbled, rolling a small suitcase in behind her. It's a gorgeous apartment, but it's hard to get past the fact that Draco bloody Malfoy is the one she's going to have to share it with. She'd been trying to forgive him, since the war, because of all he and his family lost, he was starting to realize how awful he had been. At the same time, she was having trouble adjusting to the fact that she was now married, to him, of all people. It's a painful reality, but one that she easily avoids by walking over to the other bedroom.

She pulled her suitcase into the side bedroom, slamming the door behind her. 48 hours. 48 hours until it becomes real.

He wakes up splayed across the bed, to the smell of pancakes. Light is filtering in through the window, hitting him right in the eyes. He groans loudly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and padding out into the main room.

Hermione is working at the stove, pouring spoonful's' of the batter onto a griddle. Her movements are calculated, stiff. Draco stands there for some time, just watching, until she spins around to place a few on a plate.

The pancakes were speared with a fork, and in the process of being dropped when she processed that he was standing there. Her jaw tightens immediately. Her knuckles clench and turn white, and she carefully places the cakes onto the plate. She spun across the counter at him, slamming the fork down next to her.

"Syrup's in the pantry if you want it." It wasn't a courteous offering. It was formed out of anger, and if tone could kill, Draco would be lying on the floor, dead, by now. The next batch of the pancakes is slapdash at best, but she eats them nonetheless.

Breakfast passes in silence. As soon as Hermione's fork clinks onto the plate, Draco takes a deep breath in.

"I think we should talk about this." It was the worst possible thing he could have said, of course, and that's evident when she slides her char violently backwards and stands up.

"Because talking is going to make this so much better?" Her arms cross defensively across her chest as she leans against the fridge.

"No, bu-"He's cut off by her starting to pace.

"Draco, would you stop being so bloody selfish all the time? Because, honestly, talking isn't going to make me any less unhappy with this. I'm going to have to..." She pauses and shudders slightly. "Consummate this marriage-which, by the way, I would kill to get out of- with the boy who spent the past seven years trying to kill me." Her hair has gone wild, the curls seem to have grown a mind of their own. It takes all the willpower he has not to swipe the few in front of him out of her face. She crosses the room quickly and leans over his chair. Their faces are close now, but it's not in any way romantic or tense. The only energy there is anger. Pure, blinding hatred.

"Just know this. Consummation…" She says it with a bite in her voice."…Doesn't require love." His chair is soon pushed back, and he joins her standing. The height difference is enormous. He's an easy 6"2' to her meager 5"9', but that doesn't make her any less intimidating.

"Granger, you honestly think I'm any less miserable?" It's escalated from a quiet yell to almost screaming by this point, and his normally pale face is turning red. "This isn't going to make me hate you any less. And let's not forget that my family is the one who dragged me into this. You may be a mudblood, and one of the most annoying creatures to ever be created, but I wouldn't kill you without a damn good reason. And right now, you're giving me a pretty damn good one."

"Oh, your reason is because I'm pissed?"

"My reason is so I can get out of this bloody marriage!" He says the word marriage with his classic sneer, and the contortion of his face in this moment of anger is almost comical.

"It's not just a marriage, you blooming idiot! It's about repopulation. In three months, I'm expected to be pregnant!"

"Oh for god's sake! Why do you keep focusing on that part?" He takes a second to comb his hair back. "It's just sex, Granger." His tone hushes slightly, and he sits back into his discarded chair. "Unless…" The sitting doesn't last long. "Oh my god. You're a virgin, aren't you?" A cheeky smile is playing across his lips. "Not that it's a surprise to anyone. The perfect Gryffindor girl is a prude? No way." The sarcasm is palpable.

"So what if I am?" Her chin juts out in anger. "It wouldn't change anything. I'd still spend every waking minute thinking about ripping off your head." Even with her back turned, you can tell that her eyes are starting to fill with tears.

The door to the spare room slams behind her, and soon enough, muffled sobs leak through the cracks. He flops down on the couch and stares up at the ceiling, trying his best not to just run around punching walls. It might work better with drywall, though. At Hogwarts, all he ever got were bloodied knuckles from the stone.

24 hours until it's real. 24 hours until he's going to have to be with Granger.