Happenstance

Draco returned to an empty hallway in time to greet Kingsley Shacklebolt and his wife. The welcomes were strained as they were all aware of the Minister’s opinion of Malfoys. It was a measure of the respect he had for Hermione that he had come to the Manor. Madam Shacklebolt, who had spent most of the War with family in Botswana, breezed into the house and returned her host’s greeting politely. She had some connection to royalty, Draco recalled from his mother’s gossip. Virtuous Shacklebolt was not awed.

He did not attempt small-talk as he escorted them to the ballroom and when he saw the smiles from his guests for the newcomers, Draco experienced the unpleasant sensation of being an outsider. He was not part of the Order of the Phoenix or Dumbledore’s Army. He had been the enemy and he was now excluded.

Hermione had obliged him with invitations for several of his friends, at least the ones she did not find personally offensive but other than Greg they had not confirmed attendance. RSVP was a Muggle convention. Wizarding hospitality was supposed to be inexhaustible. Draco promised himself he would use this opportunity to give the appearance he wanted everyone to believe. That way he would not have to do this again.

Not all of them knew about the werewolf, which meant he would have a very useful chance to establish himself as an adjunct to Hermione. Draco was not going to allow anyone to make him feel inferior. He returned to the hall as his paramour descended the stairs quickly. He watched. She was probably unaware of how much she bounced. He was not going to tell her.

“Crisis averted.” She kissed him on the cheek quite naturally. “I think I’ll dress the triplets in sacks next time. Jon does not like his suit.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and took a deep breath, further distracting Draco from his bitter musings. A gentleman did not snog his mistress in the front hall so he took her arm to lead her into a parlour.

There he kissed Hermione forcefully, his hands sliding over her breasts. He knew they ached and he made her squirm with arousal before releasing her. Draco took a half-step back to let them both catch their breath then gave his witch a wry smile.

“Parties are so tedious if one does not make one’s own entertainment.” He returned her earlier amiable kiss on the cheek. “The Minister is here. I doubt he’ll stay long in this den of iniquity so we might as well mingle now. Bertie will keep an eye on the door.”

“Don’t do that again.” Hermione straightened her dress, unsettled by his demanding mien. She remembered the sofa interlude but his sudden possessiveness brought back bad memories from Fenrir. Her desire did not help. She was wet and intensely uncomfortable. Draco gave her an assessing look then held her hand gently.

“I feel a pariah in my own house. You are the only one who likes me. I wanted to show you I appreciate it.” Draco spoke sincerely, interweaving the apology with truth. He was not sorry. He would have bent her over a chair if she had been amenable but he did not want to alarm her. If she shied, all this would be for nothing. In old fashioned gallantry, the wizard got down on one knee to beseech forgiveness. “Will you...”

Hermione never found out what he wanted because a shocked exclamation from the doorway made her spin around. She had a hand on her sleeve ready to draw her wand but stopped herself in time. It would have been very bad form to hex Mrs Weasley. Draco hastily stood and managed a neutral smile for the elder witch with the less than superb timing.

“Oh, pardon me.” Molly blushed like a schoolgirl. Hermione groaned inwardly. She knew what they looked like. There was nothing she could say that would make this scene less ridiculous so she didn’t try. Instead she dealt with the inquiry that had prompted her former mother-in-law to seek out her hosts. The door to the palatial Malfoy conveniences was tucked away next to a statue of Agamemnon Malfoy, who had populated the formal gardens with suspiciously lifelike statues of people who annoyed him.

It transpired that Hannah Abbott needed the bathroom but was too shy to ask, leaving Molly open to being distracted by a request to help to carry the babies down to the party. Draco kept his face expressionless as the Weasley matriarch cooed over the triplets. He told himself he should not resent her attention or the wistful sigh. Her thoughts were clear on her face; she was wishing the babies were Ron’s. Draco made a point of picking up Alek.

“Malfoy tradition demands I present my firstborn son.” He said it like a challenge. He was not certain whether Molly knew the true paternity of the babies. Regardless, Draco was not going to have some pinch-penny shabby matron elbowing in on his territory. It might be unreasonable jealousy but it would not hurt to be seen to be protective.

Hermione shot him a look as she gave Jon to Mrs Weasley. He met her stare with placidity, cradling the eldest triplet like a good father. She did not say anything. She simply picked up Lind and wondered silently how Draco managed to look so arrogant and so attractive at the same time. For the sake of decorum, she did not say any of the things she wanted. Molly was too delighted with the baby to remark but Hermione knew the keenness of her eyes.

There would be trouble later. For now however, they took the infants to the party and collectively feigned contentment.