The Taming of the Shrew - Wizard Style - COMPLETE

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6-25-10 F

Well, we've come to the end of the story. I want to thank all the readers who took the time to write me a review. Reviews are your gifts to an author for their work, and I know it takes extra time and effort to compose one. Your appreciation has made me very happy.


I know the beginning was uncomfortable for some of you; the story of the Taming of the Shrew is a tale of initial acrimony, but my (rather skewed) version brought two lonely souls together through adversity, finally making both their lives richer and full of a lasting love.


I've tried to fold all the various requests you asked for into this epilogue except for the smut, which I gave you last chapter.


And so...


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EPILOGUE

Warning – Warm Fuzzies Ahead


“Lucius, where is the bag with the nappies? Phaedra needs a change.”

Lucius looked up from the amusing tableau in front of him and slewed around to find his wife carrying their 4-month-old daughter over to a suddenly appearing changing table just the right height for his petite wife. A minute later the nappie bag popped up at her elbow and she murmured her thanks as she delved into it. Lucius smiled and turned back to the fascinating scene in front of him on the main back terrace of his home.

“Don’t you get tired of maintaining your stodgy traditions, Lucius?” Severus inquired in a pseudo-pleasant tone. “Really, why couldn’t a Malfoy have a perfectly good Anglo-Saxon name? What does it really matter if generations of Malfoys have named their children only Greek names?” Severus was sniping at Lucius, but carefully keeping his vocal tones moderate so as not to scare his petite hairdresser. His effort was wasted; little Circe Malfoy wasn’t afraid of her godfather in the least.

“Godpapa!” seven-year-old Circe scolded as she balanced on the back of the outdoor wicker sofa behind Severus. She pulled his hair more firmly into the ponytail she was trying to make of his inky locks. “I like my name. It means ’chantress and I’ve chanted you, oh, many times. You said so. Don’t you remember, Godpapa?” The little girl chattered on confidently, “Be still! You move your head too much. You need to grow your hair longer like Father.” Her coltish legs hung over Severus’ shoulders as he held onto her little ankles so she wouldn’t fall over backwards (and also so she’d not kick him in the chin again).

“Where have I heard that phrase before?” Snape wryly smiled at the Senior Malfoy standing in front of them. “Be still? One of your favorites, isn’t it?”

“I gave up on that phrase. It has no meaning to my rambunctious brood. And I clung to that rule for Malfoy names in self-defense,” Lucius replied. “Hermione had the disgusting idea of giving my children Muggle names. Really! Can you even imagine a child of mine named Leroy? Or John or Arnold or Dick?” Lucius shuddered theatrically. “When I pointed out that her name is actually of Greek origin, she gave in. There will never be a Willy Malfoy in this family.”

“I don’t know why you’d object to Dick or Willy. They’re quite descriptive of one of the famous Malfoy…erm,” Severus glanced behind him at his tiny listener and modified his comment, “ancestral eugenics results just as much as your pale hair and gray eyes are. Ouch!” He winced as little fingers corralled a few black hairs that had escaped from her. Snape sighed in resignation as his special small Malfoy inexpertly scraped back his hair, putting it into a fabric bow with yellow daisies dotting the material. “Do you think my goddaughter got the hair-pulling gene from her mother? The bossiness could have come from either of you.”

“I have ‘a thestral angelic’ hair and eyes, too, Godpapa,” the tiny hairdresser announced. No one was surprised that the little girl had been listening carefully, trying to use the big words she’d heard from Severus. With her father’s eyes and hair color, her mother’s curls and the Malfoy looks, Circe was going to be a beauty, but she also had an uncanny talent for absorbing all conversations. Lucius and Hermione had to lock doors and set silencing spells to have any chance at intimacy.

“Of course you do, sweetheart,” Snape’s smile was soft, but his eyes danced, amused at the slight blush blooming on Lucius’ face. Circe, being a girl, would never have the particular Malfoy ‘dick and willy’ trait Snape alluded to.

With a bemused smile Lucius decided the conversation needed to change. “You look quite fetching, Severus,” he quizzed the dark-haired wizard, ignoring his friend’s ornery jabs as usual. “The yellow of the daisies brings out the color of your teeth.”

Snape snorted, “At least my hair ornament isn’t pink with frolicking lambs on it. Did you know that pink makes you look washed out?” Snape eyed his friend’s similar, lopsided ponytail in amusement. Both men wore identical, pained grins, hoping that Lucius’ eldest daughter would abandon her pretend hair salon soon. Their only consolation was seeing Narcissa’s and Hermione’s hair in floppy ponytails, also. The sympathetic looks the women were giving their husbands boded well for some later private compensation in the bedroom.

“Maybe the pink would look better on you, Godpapa,” Circe started to undo his yellow bow and Snape said, panic in his voice, “No, Circe! I… I… love the yellow. I was only teasing your father. He looks wonderful in that pink. See? It matches his cheeks!” Snape held his breath, hoping his words were enough to save him.

Lucius took pity on his poor comrade. “Circe, you made fine choices for us both. Severus needs to… um… help Narcissa with the refreshments now. Finish up, please.”

“Yes, Father. Oh! I can help Godmama Cissy with the food. Let me down, Godpapa!” Snape got one last yank on his hair and he thankfully lifted the little girl from her perch and watched as she ran off to ‘help’ Narcissa.

Dragging fond eyes from the retreating child, he turned to Lucius, “Thank you. I owe you one. May we take the bows off soon?”

“You were a good sport,” Lucius grinned. “She loves you, you know. I got the lambs, but her favorite flower is the daisy, so she gave you the best ribbon.” At Snape’s rueful expression, Lucius added, “Wait until she’s involved with the boys. She’ll get her broomstick in a minute and then we can take off the bows. I’m sure a sudden freak breeze will accidentally blow them right out of our hair.” Snape nodded in relief and left, wandering over to make good on Lucius’ assertion that he was bound for the refreshment table.

It was a warm day in July and the Snapes and Malfoys were enjoying the sunlit afternoon with the Potters, the Ronald Weasleys, and the Longbottoms on the back terrace and lawn of the Malfoy mansion. The scents from the roses in the garden edging the side of the terrace perfumed the gentle breeze fluttering through the nearby trees, which in turn offered some shade to the large group.

A year after the twins’ birth, Hermione and Ron smoothed out their discomfort with each other and became best friends again. They both knew their strained relationship was hurting Harry and so decided to fix it. As Ron and Lavender began to visit Hermione at the manor, Lucius eased into their circle with some games of chess with Ron. After being soundly beaten a few times, Lucius saw Ron’s potential and offered him a position in the Malfoy Industries Planning Department. Anyone who could master chess the way Ron did, had attributes Lucius could use.

Ron had repaid Lucius’ astute assessment by swiftly rising until he was running the entire Malfoy planning operation for the British Isles, freeing Draco to concentrate more on company personnel issues and, as a sideline, architectural designs, which he liked to do. With Malfoy siblings now available, the burden was no longer entirely on Draco and he could enjoy some of the more artistic possibilities of wealth. Lucius retained financial control of the empire and all investments, while training Draco in the nuances of the money he would someday need to know. Harry was head of a special branch of the Aurors working on subversive cases for the Ministry. True to Snape’s hope, Neville had weeded the School Governors into a much more effective unit and Hogwarts was thriving under his administration. All in all the young wizards and witches who had survived the war had been tempered in its fires to become strong, successful, and yet compassionate as adults.

The sunny July day was a happy one, and the children were all playing according to their particular ages and abilities. Five-year-old Damien Malfoy, his sister, three-year-old Zoe, and four-year-old Alice Longbottom were running around the lawn trying to catch the pretty, colored ribbons that wafted above them on the moving air. As the children caught one, it would wrap around their sturdy little bodies and tickle them, then disappear, only to change color and float just above them again. All of the children’s pale blond locks danced in the gentle zephyr. The Malfoy tots’ silver gray eyes shone with joy in a game they could sometimes win, while Alice, who was an exact, blond miniature of her mother, Luna, was starry-eyed with excitement at the pretty game.

Three-year-old Lily Potter wriggled away from her mother to join in the fun with the ribbons, her face only half cleaned of the strawberry jam from her sandwich, some of which had also migrated into her bouncy red curls. Ginny shrugged as she caught the eye of Harry as he was supervising a fledgling broomstick practice; Circe’s twin brother, Tycho, and his own seven-year-old son, black-haired, green-eyed Arthur, were competing at catching a very slow-moving snitch, which was held aloft by the benign breeze. Ron and Lavender’s two sons, nine-year-old Ben and seven-year-old Calvin were on the other team, flying after the snitch, too. Ron was calling out directions for defense, but none of the boys wanted to protect the floating goals if they could catch the snitch, so their antics looked more like ‘Follow the Leader’ than a Quidditch game.

Draco left his fiancée, Astoria Greengrass, and her parents watching the children fumbling after the snitch, to step over beside his father, avoiding catching his half-sister Circe’s eye as she ran past with her child’s broomstick to join the game. He didn’t want a bow in his hair. Keeping his voice low, Draco said, “Astoria has just expressed concern – again - that I’ll want a large family like you’re producing, at an alarming rate, may I add. I’ve lost count of the times she’s mentioned my numerous siblings since our engagement three years ago just before Zoe was born. I don’t want her to cry off. Merlin’s balls, father!” Draco pleaded, “Can’t you and Hermione let up on the baby factory, at least until I can get married? Did you know you are ruining my love life? With your unending procession of progeny, some of the witches in our circle have even begun stealing sideways glances at me as though being anywhere in my vicinity will make them pregnant. You’re making me a pariah.”

“Sorry, my boy,” Lucius said, unperturbed. “You’re on your own. I rather enjoy knocking up my little witch. I get the fun and she spends nine months first throwing up and then getting fat and unwieldy.” He grinned, a glint in his eye, “It makes up for her ability to carve me into pieces with her tongue when she’s upset.” The older Malfoy considered his words for a moment before adding, “Of course, she’s more often upset when she’s fat and unwieldy.” Then he shrugged, “I suppose it all evens out. And we get another beautiful baby. Her tongue-lashings fall off for at least a month after she has a new baby.”

“Why do you put up with her preachy diatribes, Father?”

“Ah,” Lucius smiled, throwing a companionable arm across his son’s shoulders. “Listen more carefully next time, Draco. Every lecture she reads me is laced with unconditional love. I adore her fuzzy little vituperations.” Lucius felt his bow start to slide off his hair and he let go of Draco to hurry and tighten it before his daughter saw and decided to re-do it for him. Lucius returned to the discussion when his bow was secure again, shrugging with a quizzical quirk of his lips at Draco’s snicker.

“Hermione never stops trying to make me a better man, futile as that is. The day she doesn’t light into me for whatever she’s arsed about is the day I start worrying. It’s my constant reassurance that she cares.” Lucius grinned, “Sorry. I guess I’m just happy.” He looked more closely at his son, “I never asked. Aside from your love life floundering in the dustbin, I hope you’re still fine with me having more children. I don’t know that I could have made any other choice.”

“As if my opinion would influence you to keep your trousers zipped,” Draco scoffed. “I’m fine with you increasing the Malfoy presence in our world – in theory. It’s the rapid proliferation that is slowing down my own efforts to convince Astoria that she won’t be another Molly Weasley. That woman terrifies her.”

“She terrifies me, too,” Lucius joked. “But Astoria will have to decide what is important. She loves you. It will all work itself out.” He wasn’t worried about Draco’s joking assertion that he couldn’t keep his fiancée. Hermione complained that she was constantly accosted by witches wanting to know about Draco. Lucius shrewdly figured Astoria knew that. “I love my wife and I’ll do what she wants,” he said simply.



“I know you love Hermione, Father, but do you need so many pledges of your affection to prove it?”

“I’ll stop when Hermione wants to stop. To tell the truth I’m not calling the tune on the number of children we have. She is. I think she’s reacting against having been an only child.

“Which reminds me,” Lucius turned a more focused stare on his oldest son. “What precisely were you doing in the Room of Requirement during your tenure as Potions Professor that year? You looked like you got caught with your hand up McGonagall’s skirt, so very appalled and guilty about something.”

Draco blanched. Sidling away he said, “Uh, oh, I think my fiancée is waving at me to return. I’ll see you later -” Draco’s upper arm was unceremoniously grabbed, keeping him from escaping.

“I’ll have an answer now, Draco,” his father said genially, but his hand tightened on his son’s arm. “I’m certain it can’t be anything worse than what lurks in my own dissolute past.”

Draco knew he wasn’t going to dodge his father’s inquisitive demand this time. Damn. At that moment Draco looked down at his feet to see his sandals morphing into oriental brocade slippers with the toes curled up. Then the slippers changed back into his sandals. “Oh Gods,” he exclaimed, flushing with embarrassment.

Lucius saw the brief transformation and his smile became feral. “Let’s walk a few paces, shall we?” he whispered. “Just out of the hearing of anyone else.”

The two men walked over under an oak tree to stand in the cool shade and Lucius waited for Draco to start talking.

With a sulky glare, Draco said, “Very well. But this is between us. No sharing pillow talk with your wife. Promise!”

“I promise,” Lucius said. “It’s that good then, is it?”

“It’s that embarrassing,” Draco returned. He sighed, “When the Room of Requirement made known its… opinion about being used for sexual entertainment, I knew it was aiming at me.”

“Draco, we were all using the Room for sex. Is that all?”

“Well, maybe. Oh, well, no. I suspect I was using it for a bit more than all of you. Everyone else had partners; I didn’t. So I… erm… asked the Room to create a partner for me.” A sudden flurry ruffled Draco’s hair, knocking some of the pale strands into his eyes. “All right, all right. Sweet Hecate, Room, I’ll tell him. You don’t have to nag.” The flurry died down and a burst of warmth caressed Draco’s cheek.

Every year, ever since it had negotiated its holiday month, the Room of Requirement had settled itself onto the Malfoy estate for the sunny days of July. Today’s group of wizards and witches was enjoying an annual outing with the odd sentient being; the Room was responsible for the ribbons teasing the little ones and the slow-moving snitch for the boys. And for helping Hermione with the changing table and the nappie bag.

They had discovered the Room had an enormous soft spot for tiny children, the only ones who were pure and innocent enough not to want something from it, except in sweet, pristine baby ways. And as Lucius and Hermione had a large supply of small children and an extensive, beautiful estate, their home was perfect. The time with the tots replenished its energies for another year in its Hogwarts home. As far as anyone could tell, the Room never came inside the mansion, preferring to stay outside on the extensive grounds for the month. Lucius and Hermione’s children were able to roam anywhere on the grounds safe in the care of the Room.

“Draco?” Lucius prodded. “Quit stalling. You didn’t have a partner, so…the Room made one?”

“I… kind of had more than one partner.” Draco’s eyes slid away to fasten in apparent absorption on the tree trunk.

“So? I’ve had more than one partner in my life.” Lucius was getting exasperated with trying to get at Draco’s secret.

Draco straightened, deciding to just get on with it. He sighed and, catching his father’s eyes boldly, said, “I had what one might call a harem.”

Lucius tried hard to keep a serious face, but it was too much. He barked out laughter, “Really? How very enterprising of you. And was it the perfect fantasy? Or did you discover that more than one partner at a time in bed could be somewhat enervating?”

Draco’s eyes went to slits, scenting a scandal of his father’s making. “Is this your experience talking, Father? Does Hermione know?”

Lucius merely chuckled, “Oh yes, she knows. And no, I’m not going to tell you the particulars even though I want them from you. A father’s privilege. May I ask how many? I’d like to know just how grandiose your fantasy was.”

“And to see if it compares with your experience, Father?” Draco jibed. He thought briefly of keeping the number to himself, but his baser self wanted to outdo his sire if possible. “I decided on a round dozen. It was fun designing them to my specifications and having them do what I wished. I styled myself an Arabian Nights potentate; it was fun and… erm… etcetera.” Draco would never tell anyone that he got the idea to make himself a potentate from that disgusting ‘Potentate Pomade’ that had the vermin pheromones, which he’d got rid of to the house elves.

“And were your ‘creations’ all female?” Lucius audaciously inquired, then bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing again at the outrage on his son’s face.

“Father!” Silence sat between the two for a moment, then Draco blurted, “All right, I tried a male, but it really wasn’t my cup of tea. So I changed it to another female. I guess I’m just depressingly heterosexual.”

“Nothing wrong with experimenting, son. What did the male creation look like?”

At that weird question Draco laughed and said, “He looked very much like me. I couldn’t seem to think of any other man I would be attracted to. It was the main reason I gave up. I hadn’t the same problem with the females. They were easy.”

“Did any of your female creations look like Astoria?” Lucius asked the most insightful question of all and Draco’s eyes widened in surprise.

“That’s amazing, Father. I tried to make a lot of different looks for my harem, but several of them did turn out to look quite like her. I think I was leaning in that direction even then.”

“Then you’ve made your decision for a life partner and your fantasy life confirms it,” Lucius smiled. “Hermione and I both like her very much. Her family is a good one, and I mean that more in the light of being congenial people than bloodlines.” They both looked over at the Greengrass family by the small Quidditch pitch.

The bizarre conversation at an end, the two men wandered back over to the larger group and Draco went to stand by his fiancée, taking her hand in his. Lucius picked up Phaedra from Hermione’s arms, swinging her gently up in the air, then holding her, eliciting a toothless smile from his baby daughter.

“What were you and Draco talking about, Lucius?” Hermione wondered about the strange array of facial expressions she’d seen on Draco.

“Just a bit of father-son bonding, my love,” Lucius tickled his daughter and was rewarded with another smile.

“Hmmph, if I’m not meant to know, just say so,” Hermione groused.

“You are definitely not meant to know,” Lucius instantly answered. To avoid more probing he asked, “Do you tell me every tidbit of information you and Ginny exchange? Or you and Cissy?” At the peeved, balked expression on his beloved’s face, Lucius grinned. “No, really? You don’t tell me everything? Then you understand that some things are private.”

Taking his wife’s hand he strolled over to the refreshment table where Severus and Narcissa were passing out plates of food. Severus was watching to make sure the children didn’t sneak any desserts until they had eaten their meals. He was always put on dessert duty because Narcissa had too soft a heart and let the children talk her into ‘just one’ biscuit before their meals.

And after the meal no one could wheedle an extra biscuit from Snape with a heartrending tale of losing the one they already had. The children giggled to see his ferocious, black frown at their lies about purloined or transfigured or hexed biscuits just to see what Godpapa Severus would do. In reality, it gave the wizard quite a laugh to listen to the creative tales of woe, when the evidence of biscuits consumed left obvious traces of crumbs around little mouths.

At first the dark-haired wizard couldn’t understand why, the more he frowned, the more the children were attracted to him. When he asked Narcissa ‘why the little buggers were always flitting around and annoying him’, she kindly explained that the little ones knew instinctively how Severus felt about them inside, even if it wasn’t reflected on his face. To them, his grumps and growls were a game he played with them, and they tried ever harder to get to the smiles they knew he was hiding from them.

Snape digested that astonishing bit of logic, and examined his tightly held control over his feelings. It was a revelation that the little tots were right; he was hiding his smiles from them. After a few hesitant efforts at offering a somewhat rusty smile here and there, the process became easier, but as his reward he reaped the whirlwind. They began climbing on his lap, too.

Now, years later, he had the basics of dealing with the midget crew formulated into a handy potion recipe for himself. One part crusty glare on general principle; one part severe stare when listening to wheedles, excuses, or fledgling Slytherin manipulation (Hermione still held out hope that one of her children might be a Gryffindor, but Snape knew that covert connivance was as bred into a Malfoy as their hair and eye color); two parts pat on the shoulder with a bracing admonition to be more careful if there was small injury, followed by a quick healing spell, and three parts sympathetic hug and listening ear if the child’s distress was more severe. With his formula tested and found mostly adequate to each interaction, Snape relaxed into his role of godparent and found his lap full of little blond charmers whenever he and Narcissa visited the Malfoy estate.

With all the children returning to play, having finished their meals and desserts, and all the parents belatedly enjoying their own food, the afternoon floated by until a warm, expectant breeze stirred through the garden and lawns. In response, leftovers were whisked away, small toys and other belongings were stowed and the children and babies were gently put into the care of the Malfoy house elves, who guided them together, holding little hands and letting the older ones distract the tots. The adults rose in twos and stood smiling. Everyone looked to Lucius.

Are you ready?” Lucius asked his wife.

“Always, with you,” Hermione replied.

Her husband caressed her cheek, then ran his fingers into her curls and his gray eyes softened, “Then come.” A light pressure turned her toward a clear space of lawn and as they began walking, the other couples slowly merged into a loose line walking two by two behind them.

In front of them a distance away, out of the air, a tall, shimmering gothic arch formed, rising from the grass. Several tall pillars of marble stood on both sides of the arch, spread out toward the nearing couples; otherwise, except for a few faintly seen pews filling space on the outer sides of the pillars, the whole was still open to the air. A kaleidoscope of stained glass colors in a large circle appeared toward the apex of the arch, catching the sun’s late afternoon rays and turning the lawn into a carpet of jewel colors between the pillars.

All the couples slowly stepped to the aisle in the middle and, smiling, began to walk to the front toward the arch.

“Draco?” Astoria’s hand clutched her fiance’s as he led her into one of the pews at the side and settled her into place so they could see the translucent altar and the lead couple.

“You’ve seen this before, Astoria,” Draco soothed. “It’s only Father and Hermione renewing their wedding vows. They do it every year on their anniversary with the party and the Room helping.” He chuckled, “The design is always the same. I think the Room plucked the design from Father’s and Hermione’s minds the first time, when she wished in the Room’s hearing that she could have had a real wedding. I suspect the arch is from Hermione’s mind – it looks like a Muggle religious feature – and the pillars from Father’s mind. That’s more like a Greek temple.”

An elderly, official-looking man in white robes stood at the translucent altar waiting for the couples to arrange themselves behind Lucius and Hermione, each couple holding hands in a trail down the center of the aisle. The children had gravitated toward the other side of the edifice from Draco and Astoria into pews that had adjusted to cots for the little ones who had fallen asleep after being fed. Even Astoria’s parents had joined the queue. They had seen the phenomenon before also and enjoyed the brief ceremony.

“Draco?” whispered Astoria.

“Shh,” said Draco, turning to his fiancée. “They are about to begin. I want to hear the words.”

“No! Draco!” She shook his hand more urgently, “You don’t understand. I want to join the line. With you.”

“We can’t, Astoria. This isn’t a mock ceremony. It’s real and legal.” He turned back to watch his father whose gray eyes glowed with his feelings toward his wife.

Draco had wanted to join the ceremony for three years, ever since he’d asked Astoria to marry him, but she’d been reluctant to hurry into marriage, being two years younger than he, and still nervous of his reputation as a lady’s man, even though she loved him. The proliferation of his Malfoy siblings had further unnerved her.

Sitting at his side, seeing his yearning to participate plain on his handsome face, she realized those feelings were for her and always had been, from the moment he’d asked her to marry him. Her skittish behavior was stupidly missish and ridiculous. She saw that he was just as committed to family life as his father and suddenly she knew what she wanted to do.

“I know it’s legal, Draco. I want us to be married with the others. Today. Now. Please?” Astoria squeezed Draco’s hand in entreaty.

“WHAT?” barked Draco, shocked. He turned to look at the young woman who meant everything to him, asking with his beautiful eyes what he was afraid to put into words.

All the other couples turned to the two in the pew, and the ceremony paused before it quite got started. A hush fell as they saw Astoria rise and pull Draco up with her. Lucius and Hermione saw Draco grin and hug Astoria before leading her to the back of the line, holding her hand proudly in his. Everyone looked up toward Lucius in silent question.

“Draco, Astoria,” Lucius said, getting Hermione’s brief nod that this year they could transfer the ceremony, “come forward. This is your wedding now.” As one all the other long wed couples moved to sit in the side pews, leaving the center aisle free for the young couple. Lucius and Narcissa waited with Astoria’s parents till the young couple came up to them. Lucius and Narcissa hugged Draco and his mother kissed his cheek, happy tears already falling. They gave way to Astoria’s father and mother, who went to her, kissing her and murmuring their pleasure before both older couples joined the other guests in the pews, Lucius sliding in next to Hermione, while Narcissa rejoined Severus, who silently handed her a handkerchief.

The Room softened the ceremony and the surroundings to sparkle with the pastels of young love, cocooning everyone in the abundant joy and commitment of the day as Draco and Astoria said the words committing themselves to each other as husband and wife.

When the official finished, Draco kissed his bride and turned with her to face their many witnesses who were all smiling, quite a few joining Narcissa in joyful tears.

The official pronounced, “Please welcome Mr. and Mrs. Draco Malfoy!” and the group erupted in delighted applause.

“We don’t have any marriage contract,” Astoria whispered to Draco as he stood there proudly beaming, a new husband.

Draco laughed, then kissed his newlywed wife again, just for the pleasure of it. “Love, you don’t have to worry about that,” he said. “Father knows all about acquiring marriage contracts. Right, Father?”

Hermione landed a soft punch on her husband’s arm in the first pew as he gave Draco a beautiful, if slightly crafty smile and arrogantly replied, “I’m an absolute expert, son.”

Finis


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