Accidental Magic

Thank you so much again for reading and reviewing. I’m thrilled you liked the last chapter, and the fire and sparks our protagonists ignite in each other. It’s a good thing the Malfoys have the galleons to do all those repairs.



Ayd, thanks again for betaing. I expanded this chapter a bit, thereby making it quite a bit longer – any errors are my own. I hope you enjoy. Only two chapters left.



Onward . . .



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In the month that followed, Draco watched the little termagant, known as his wife, closely.



He noticed her positive traits – worked hard, devoted to her friends, adored his mother, made his father smirk and luscious breasts.



Oh, Draco knew he was an arse, that he’d hurt her. He said he didn’t care but deep down – albeit, very deep – he did. At times, he hoped for a smile or gentle glance thrown his way. It never came. Damn, he hated when his mother was right!



Hermione also, surreptitiously, watched him. He had become withdrawn, sullen and moody. No doubt from lack of sex, she snorted.



Embarrassed after that last row, she made sure to shun Draco as much as possible. Also needing to deal with the incendiary story Rita Skeeter had written, she distanced herself from Troy Davis. Feeling somewhat guilty at having given him the wrong impression, she explained she was still married and would honor the by proxy vows she proclaimed before friends and family. It wasn’t in her nature to lead a man on and had profusely apologized to Troy. Needless to say, he’d not spoken to her since.



The choice to stop seeing Troy was borne from not wishing to cause the Malfoy name scandal, and only out of respect for Narcissa and Lucius, certainly not because of the blond bastard. He could rot for all she cared.



Additionally, she paid a long overdue visit to the insect of a reporter who had inked the nasty piece of gossip. Calmly and coolly, Hermione threatened and frightened Skeeter into issuing a very quick public retraction and apology. For the next month, Skeeter received an empty mason jar with holes poked out on top as a daily reminder of what Hermione would do should she be crossed again.



So, Hermione returned to the grind of a hectic daily schedule, coming home to pass out in a completely knackered state at the end of her day. She made sure to owl Narcissa in advance of her long hours as an explanation for her absence at dinner. Truth be told, she was tired of her life and avoiding the invidious git was taking its toll.



On a Tuesday morning, she was in deep discussion with Harry over the inexplicable nesting of snakes in the woods of Brownsea Island. She’d had this discussion with him at least three times and was at the end of her rope.



“Harry, you’re a Parselmouth, go out there and ensure the snakes cease their encroachment outside of the woods. There’s a group of Porlock’s living there and I won’t have their peaceful existence threatened.” Hermione sneered at her best friend after smashing two fists on the table in sheer frustration. “Just get it bloody done, Potter!”



Staring at her wide-eyed, Harry nodded in trepidation, “All right, I’ll go tomorrow.”



Sinking into her chair, shoulders slumped and head bowed in shame, Hermione rasped out, “I-I’m sorry, Harry.”



“Are you all right?” Concern was evident in his tone.



Looking up at him, Hermione blinked back a set of tears. “No, I’m exhausted.”



“Of course you are. You’re here at seven in the morning and don’t leave until just before midnight. You’re working yourself to death, Hermione. It’s got to stop.” Harry seemed suddenly angry.



Sighing in resignation, Hermione nodded her head in defeated agreement. “Yes, I know. But I don’t know what to do about . . . Dra . . . my husband. Gods, I hate saying that.”



Harry remained silent for a moment before replying. “Look at me, Hermione.” He continued when he had her full attention. “What do you want?”



“I-I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”



Leaning forward, Harry stared at her with stony eyes. “What. Do. You. Want.” He sat back. “It’s not a difficult question.”



Hermione was twisting her hands on her lap. “I . . . want . . . I . . .” With a small cry, she finally choked an honest answer, “I . . . want to be . . . happy.”



He shrugged his shoulders. “So, go be happy. Even if you are married to the arse-hole of the entire bloody Wizarding world.”



Biting her lip, she answered, “I don’t know if he can make me happy.”



Harry nodded seriously. “I agree. But, Hermione, no one can make you happy; you have to decide to want it. Then, let it happen.”



The curly-haired witch grinned. “Like you and Pansy, I suppose?”



Barking out a laugh, Harry nodded and grinned back sheepishly. “Yeah, like us. Wasn’t easy but we fit.” Rising from his chair, he leaned over to give her a small peck on her cheek. “Think about what I said.”



“I love you, Harry.”



“Love you, Mione.”



Feeling lighter for the first time in weeks, Hermione focused on work. At ten o’clock, she finally stumbled through the Floo into the Manor library. Joints stiff from sitting, she arched and stretched her body before trudging her way to the door.



“Long day?”



Startled, she turned to find Draco reclining on one of the settees. “Goodness, I didn’t see you.”



He nodded, “How was work?”



Narrowing her eyes suspiciously, she paused before responding. “Fine.”



“I’ve been thinking . . .”



Hermione didn’t recognize or trust this calm, rational Draco. In fact, he made her uncomfortable. “Bully for you. Good night.”



“Please. Hear me out.”



She halted and turned, crossing her arms and staring haughtily. “Why?”



Draco sighed, running his hands through his hair, “Because we don’t have a choice. Like it or not, we’re married. Like it or not, we can’t divorce. Like it or not, we’re going to have to produce a child. I, for one, am exhausted of living like strangers.”



He took a breath. “Therefore, I propose a truce. I shall endeavor to be more civil, if you agree to do the same. Perhaps, we can make this marriage work, somehow.”



Eyes wide, mouth agape, she was literally shocked. Recovering quickly, she said, “Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?”



“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean . . . er . . . H-Hermione.”



She gave him a deadpan stare.



Slightly irked, he groused, “Would you kindly not stare at me in that fashion?”



“All right . . . Draco.” She smirked when his eyes narrowed to slits, in response she raise an eyebrow. “Something wrong . . . Draco?”



Draco rose from the settee and straightened to his full height. He suddenly seemed to take on a different demeanor, walking towards her slowly. “No . . . Hermione.”



Her smirk faltered. “What are you doing, Draco?” She didn’t like that little glint in his eyes.



“Nothing . . . Hermione.” He reached her and looked down into her now wary brown eyes. “What’s wrong, Hermione?” His voice had dropped an octave as he bent to whisper into her ear. “Do I make you nervous, Hermione?”



Hermione felt as if she’d been Stupefied to the spot. All she could concentrate on was the heat radiating off his muscular frame, his hot breath flicking over her skin, his words caressing and sending small shivers down her spine.



Merlin, was that the tip of his tongue? Galvanized into action, she backed away from the potent male she called husband, very quickly. “Yes, well, your recommendation seems fine.” She nodded curtly, “I’ll be more civil . . .”



“And you’ll try to get along with me?” He brushed a stray curl from her face.



She took a step back. “Yes, of course. As long as you grant me the same courtesy.”



“Of course. And you’ll try to come home a bit earlier? Perhaps, we could have dinner together.” Draco took a step closer.



She was tired, slightly aroused and could feel her defenses weakening. Needing to make a hasty exit before she threw herself at him, she replied without thinking, “Yes, yes, of course . . .” Inhaling deeply, she bid him good night and, as gracefully as possible, bolted from the room.



He grinned wolfishly.