Their Greatest Mistake

I'm sorry for the long wait! But here it is, the longest chapter I've written so far!

**

Tuesday

When he awoke the next morning, it was to the sunlight washing in through the windows – the curtains had been tied back from on purpose, he was sure – and the water running in the bathroom. He groaned and pulled a pillow over his face to keep the noise and light out and had almost succeeded in falling back asleep when his alarm went off.

It was really time to get up at that point, so he rolled out of bed and walked over to closet to get dressed. The house-elves really had done a fantastic job of putting his clothes away; he was almost positive that, as Head Boy and Girl and Duke and Duchess of Windsor, they had gotten the top house-elves. They were the same ones who took care of Dumbledore and the Head of Houses, and there was one assigned to each.

He wondered who their personal elf was.

But thinking about that took time away from the fact that he had to get ready, so, shaking his head to clear the distracting thoughts, he pulled out his clothes for the day and was busy tying his tie when Hermione came out of the bathroom.

With a brief smile and a “good morning,” his wife – who wore her bathrobe and had her hair wrapped up in a towel – walked into her closet and closed the doors to get dressed in privacy.

He still didn’t understand why she did that. Every time that she got dressed, except if it was after sex, she would close herself in a closet or a bathroom for privacy. It was an odd thing to do, and completely unnecessary seeing as he had seen her naked multiple times. But it was probably because he would ogle her if she dressed in front of him.

He couldn’t help it: she was his wife, and she had large breasts, so he was entitled to stare as much as he wanted. Except for the fact that apparently it made her uncomfortable.

Walking over to the closet door, he knocked twice before calling out, “Hermione? Are you almost ready to go down to breakfast?”

He stepped back just in time for her head – which was now towel free – to appear around the corner of the door. “Why don’t you head down, Draco. You can catch up with Pansy and Blaise and the Slytherins who are going to want to know what the hell is going on. I’ll be ready in about fifteen or twenty minutes, and then we can eat at the Head Table together,” she suggested.

Nodding his head in agreement, he snagged a quick kiss before replying, “Sounds like a plan. I’ll meet you down there in twenty minutes.”

Leaving her to her closet, he left their bedroom, smirking at the state of their bed and the reminder that came with it of their escapades of the night before – which had happened on a day that wasn’t Friday, he happily noted.

As he walked down to the Great Hall for breakfast, he passed a couple of students, to whom he gave a brief nod of acknowledgement, regardless of whom they were or their House, since as Head Boy he did have to be polite and nice to everyone. At least, the Head Boy should be, he mused. It was still rather early for students to be going to breakfast, so he wasn’t all that surprised that he didn’t run into many people.

When he reached his destination, he pleasantly noted that Pansy was sitting with her morning cup of tea and talking to Blaise and Theo. He walked over to them and sat down next to Theo, but didn’t fail to notice the look that Blaise gave him or the fact that the conversation instantly stopped.

With a sigh, he asked the group in general, “Were you talking about Hermione, me, or the both of us?” He knew that he would run into this, as he had not been able to find Theo or many of his Slytherin friends asides from Blaise and Pansy at the party. If it was not for the fact that every member of Society had RSVP’d “yes,” he would think that they had not come.

Theo turned to him and said, his tone clearly accusatory, “Draco, are you fucking serious? She’s a Mudlbood – ” Draco paled “ – and a stuck-up bitch of a snob,” he spat.

The only outward sign of Draco’s anger was his paling, but Pansy and Blaise exchanged a worried look as their friend stood up and looked down his nose at their other friend.

“Hermione is an amazing woman and the woman that I love, and I would appreciate it if you would remember that the next time you decide to use disgusting words about her. Also, if you decide to be a snob yourself, she is descended from one of the oldest Wizarding families in the world: the British royal family. I don’t know if you’ve been living under a rock – which I know you haven’t because you were at our wedding party – but she is also a Duchess, and although she ranks higher than me, I am a Duke.

“Yes, she knows a lot. Quite a lot more than you and me, actually, as well as a lot of other random information that will come in handy some day. But that doesn’t make her a stuck-up bitch, or a snob. She simply has a lot of enthusiasm for learning – ” here he smirked, causing Pansy to groan “ – which is most definitely not a bad thing.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Hermione had entered the Great Hall, and he was suddenly keenly aware of the fact that the entire Hall was silent listening to his voice, which had risen in volume over the course of his tirade.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, gesturing Hermione over, “I’m going to go have breakfast with my wife.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as she wrapped one of hers around his waist, and they walked up to the Head Table together.

Hermione’s mind was still spinning at the defense that Draco had used. She knew that she was smart, it was just something that everyone at Hogwarts had accepted, but hearing it phrased like that tickled her. That was the sort of thing that you didn’t just make up on the spot; you had to believe it.

Draco pulled her out of her reverie, holding her chair out for her to sit in, which was quite usual for how they had been living for the past month. Looking at him, deep into his eyes, Hermione said, “Thank you.” It was quiet, it was deep, and they both knew that she was thanking him for more than just pulling her chair out.

Wedneday

“Hermione! Wait up!”

Hermione turned around blindly, looking for the source of the voice in the crowded corridor in between classes. She had just left NEWT Transfiguration and was on her way to the library to brainstorm ideas for her Seventh Year Thesis Paper that all students had to write.

For wizards, sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts were equivalent to Muggle University, and as well as taking the NEWTs, each student had to write a thesis paper in their seventh year. It was the type of thing Hermione thrived on, and she was looking forward to getting started. So who was it that called her?

As the corridor thinned out, she didn’t see anyone, so she shrugged it off and was continuing on her way to the library when suddenly someone grabbed her and dragged her into the nearest secret passageway. Now she was frightened, but one didn’t be an instrumental part in a war without learning some skills to defend oneself.

With a swift side kick to where she thought the person was, she grabbed her wand with her free hand and cried a spell or two to release herself when, suddenly . . .

“Merlin, Hermione!” Harry cried, the Invisibility Cloak slipping off his shoulders. Hermione released her attack.

An angry Hermione was a dangerous Hermione, and now Harry found himself faced with both. “What the Circe’s Wand was that about?” she cried, not caring that her voice carried and that a first year’s transfiguration class was happening just down the hall.

This time she let him lead her to the passageway, where she stood with her arms crossed, waiting for him to begin. When he didn’t, she asked tersely, “What’s up, Harry?”

Sheepishly he scuffed his toes together. “Sorry for that, I just wanted to talk to you,” he finally replied after a moment. When he quickly looked at his friend and found her hands on her hips and her left foot tapping ferociously, he launched into his speech. “Listen, okay, I know that I’ve been a prat recently about you and Malfoy and I’m sorry. I always just sorta hoped that you and Ron would get back together, and twenty years from now we’d being taking our kids to Hogwarts together,” he said.

“Only if you named one of your kids Albus Severus,” she interrupted. Harry made a face, and a giggle escaped from her.

“Why would I name one of my kids that? It’s a horrible name! And I hate Snape.” He frowned in confusion, and Hermione smiled at him. “Basically, I wanted to officially apologize for my behavior. It was uncalled for and probably didn’t make things any easier for you.”

Drawing him to her for a hug, she said, “You’re forgiven. And thank you, Harry, because it’s been so stressful. Everyone thinks that I’m pregnant or that I was raped or something equally awful.”

They went back and forth between their apologies and acceptances. His almost-easy smile quelled her fears, and they walked to the library together. “So, what are you going to write your thesis on?” Hermione eagerly asked.

Barely hiding his smile at her child-like wonder of learning, he said, “Oh, I don’t know specifically yet. Something about the influence of Death Eaters on the current tactics used by Aurors.” She threw him a sharp, questioning look, and he asked, “What?”

“Oh, I just didn’t expect you to want to do anything related to the war,” she said airily. “I mean, the Aurors I figured considering that’s what you want to do. But the Death Eaters? I had no idea.”

He smirked. “Dare I ask what you’re going to write yours on?”

A dreamy look reminiscent of Luna Lovegood permeated Hermione’s features. “I haven’t decided which one yet,” she mused. “I’m torn between discussing the effects of past Potion’s failures on today’s discoveries, the Ministry’s choices in the past couple of years and their effects on the future, Muggle technology and the Wizarding world, and a history of ruins and modern divination.” Her tone of voice dripped with the disdain she felt for the last “art form.” Shaking her head as if to clear it, she added, “Or I could even combine some.”

Harry whistled appreciatively. “Yikes, Hermione, that’s crazy. I mean, how are you going to decide what to do with your life after Hogwarts?”

They had reached the library, and as Hermione opened her mouth to respond, Madam Pince shushed her loudly, and nothing more was said on the matter. As they sat down at a table, Hermione pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill and began drawing up a list of pros and cons of each of her possible topics. Harry just shook his head at her.

Thursday

Last period on Thursday found the N. E. W. T. Potion’s class waiting outside of the dungeon’s for their first class of their seventh year. Hermione, Harry, Ron, Draco, Pansy, and Blaise all stood together talking in low voices while they waited for Snape to finish up chastising a first year. As the door opened and the unfortunate girl ran out past the twelve seventh years, eyes streaming, the quiet chatter stopped and they all filed in silently.

Snape stood at the front of the room, waving his wand in a seemingly random way to the untrained eye as he righted the classroom for the smaller group. They all hung back a little, waiting for him to finish rearranging the tables before they could take their seats.

When at long last he finished, the students moved forward, and Hermione was unsure what to do.

There were four seats at each of the three tables, but she wasn’t sure whether she should sit with Draco or Harry and Ron. Or maybe with Pansy, or Padma Patil?

“Do not take your seats,” Snape hissed, and all movement halted. “Due to a change in this class’s social norms--” Hermione and her group blushed a little, knowing that he was talking about them and their befriending and dating Slytherins “--I have decided that it would be in the best interest to have a seating chart. At Table 1, Potter, Patil, Malfoy, and Bones.” He paused to let them sit, but frowned when only three seats filled up.

“Excuse me, sir,” Hermione piped up. “But which Malfoy do you want at that table?”

Understanding briefly lit his eyes before disappearing as he answered mockingly, “Your husband, Your Grace.”

Holding her head high, Hermione responded, “Thank you for clearing that up, Professor, but please, Mrs. Malfoy will do.”

Snape’s eyebrows raised, but he said no more. It was clear to her, and to the rest of the class, that marrying Draco, Snape’s favorite Slytherin, meant gaining a small amount of respect from their professor.

“At Table 2, I want Weasley, Turpin, Brocklehurst, and Zabini,” he continued, and again waited for them to take their seats before continuing. “And, finally, at Table 3, Malfoy, Parkinson, Entwhistle, and Corner.” They all took their seats, and Snape stalked to his desk at the front of the class again.

Once the class was quiet, although there wasn’t much noise to begin with, he began to talk. “As you know, this year is your last year at Hogwarts. I expect you to do your best work this year, and as such, will grade some assignments next term on a pass-fail basis. If you do the assignment correctly and to my standards, you get an O. If you do not, you will get a T. There will be nothing in between.” Hermione swore she could hear Ron swallow noisily. “Luckily for you, the Headmaster disapproves of this practice and will not allow it until next term. So you have until January to work up to my standards.

“Which brings me to the next order of business,” he continued, staring deep into the eyes of each and every student, as they dared not to look away. “If you receive two failing grades, you and I are required to speak about your progress.” His voice was icily cold, and that, combined with his sneer, made Hermione absolutely positive that she never wanted to have that conversation. “If you receive one more failing grade after that, you will not be allowed to return to class,” Snape finished.

The dungeon was deathly silent. Not a student moved a muscle until Snape suddenly whisked around and threw the cover to a book open on his desk. The sound echoed, and every student jumped – except for Hermione, Pansy, Draco, and Blaise, who had all be raised to only make such sudden and unexpected movement when it was completely necessary – at the sound and the bellow that was Snape’s voice as he called out, “Turn to Chapter 1! I want an essay on it on my desk by the end of the period. It must summarize each potion in the chapter, connect each of them, and explain which one would be the most beneficial for the class to brew. Talking will not be necessary.”

As the class drew to a close, Draco and Hermione were the first ones to finish. Dismissing them with a wave of his hand, Snape began to peruse their essays as they left.

Once out in the hall and the door safely closed, they each breathed a sigh of relief. “That was intense,” Hermione breathed, and Draco took her hand as they came in sight of many students coming and going at the end of the day.

Draco snorted. “I’m surprised he didn’t make the Weasel cry,” he said, snickering, a hint of his old malice coming through. Hermione stopped and dropped his hand, looking earnestly up into his eyes and she saw the horror that he felt as he realized what he said.

Before he could say anything, she said, “I’m going to go up to our rooms and put my things away. I’m not feeling all that well, so I’ll just have dinner upstairs. Don’t worry about me. Have dinner with your friends tonight.” It was said evenly and without emotion, but he could see the hurt she felt in her eyes.

He let her go. When he returned to their rooms that night, she was in the bedroom, and when he went to bed, she was already in bed, pretending to be asleep. He lay on his back and looked up at the canopy and ceiling, sighing.

Mouth, meet foot, he thought sarcastically before finally drifting off to sleep.

Friday

Friday afternoon came around and Hermione was still speaking very little with Draco. He knew he had deserved it – she didn’t speak derogatorily about any of his friends, after all – but he also thought that she was over reacting. She should have just shouted at me until my ears bled, he thought as she stared at her from the seat behind during Transfiguration. That would’ve been better.

Abruptly, he realized that class had ended and everyone was up and leaving, so he hurried to do the same. But McGonagall’s voice halted him in his tracks. “Not so fast, Mr. Malfoy,” she said in her thick Scottish brogue, and Draco knew that his lack of attention had been found out.

Once everyone else had left, she asked, almost tenderly “Is everything alright between you and Hermione, Draco?”

To say he was shocked was an understatement. “Excuse me?” he finally managed.

A slight smile graced her lips, and the Head of Gryffindor elaborated. “I merely noticed your inattention, and, although she hides it better than you do, Hermione’s as well. And when she didn’t wait for you like she has the past couple of days, I simply put two and two together.”

“Oh.” What else could he say to that? McGonagall had never been his favorite teacher, far from it, but he was now reaping the benefits of being married to her favorite pupil: advice.

“May I suggest something?” she asked when he didn’t say any more. He nodded, still dumbfounded that they had been that obvious. “If it is your fault, apologize as quickly as possible and spend as long as she needs getting back into her good graces. If it is her fault, attempt to get back in her good graces and wait for her to apologize. She eventually will.”

Draco thanked her, and then left, positively sprinting back to their rooms. He halted, nearly breathless, at the painting, and wheezed, “Young lovers.”

Bursting in, he heard the faint sound of crying, and his felt a twinge in his heart at the sound. Following it, he found himself at the door to their bedroom, knocking faintly. “Hermione? Can I come in?” A click of the lock was his answer, and he pushed open the door.

It was dark, as no lights were lit, but the curtains were tied back from the window, allowing some sun int. The curtains were closed around the bed, and he could hear from her sniffling that she was in there. He pushed one aside just enough so that he could climb on it with her, and it fell back into place, engulfing them in an almost-darkness.

She let him wrap an arm around her shoulders and draw her close, where her sobs doubled. A little awkwardly, he tried to sooth her cries. When they began to subside, he ventured, “I’m sorry, Hermione, I never should have said that. I really need to think before I speak.”

He felt her nod against him. “You’re right. You shouldn’t have,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “And I accept your apology. But that’s not why I’m crying.”

Confused, he pulled away to look at her face in the almost-dark. “Why, then?”

Sniffling, her tears began to flow again as she said, “I just a letter from Dumbledore. He’s at St. Mungo’s with my parents.” Draco stiffened, worried about what was to come. Taking a deep breath of air, she continued. “They were attacked this morning by some Death Eaters who were upset about our marriage and tortured out of their minds. There’s no hope for recovery.”

Draco’s jaw dropped and he felt tears prick his own eyes and he wrapped his arms tighter around his wife as she sobbed.

When her tears began to abate from exhaustion and she drifted off to sleep, Draco left her sleeping form and made his way to one of the doors that went off of their living room. He tried the knob, which didn’t budge, and then he said, for reasons even he didn’t really know, “I am Draco Malfoy, the Head Boy of Hogwarts, and I need to get into the Gryffindor Common Room so that I can get to Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Ginny Weasley.” He tried it again, and it opened.

Once he stepped through into the darkness and shut the door, he found himself in a tiny antechamber in front of another door, which opened easily under his touch and landed him in the Gryffindor Common Room.

**

What do you think? And, in response to my beta plea, no one that applied got the questions right. If anyone has a suggestion of an amazing beta, please let me know!
xx
suzz