The Witness and the Wife-Chapter 1-Reunion

By Marmalade Fever

Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim Harry Potter and any/all related insignia, which is the
property of J.K. Rowling. No profit is being made.

Hermione didn't know what possessed her to go into that pub on that particular night. It was most
definitely five times as foul-looking as the Hog's Head, and she certainly didn't approve of that
particular establishment. As it was, she was cold, a bit lost, and in no hurry to apparate while it
was raining so torrentially. So she entered. The place was dark and musty, but there was no lack
of customers, despite the late hour. No one seemed to pay her any heed as she took a few
tentative steps toward the bar. A large, brutish woman jostled by her, sloshing a fair amount of
ale down Hermione's front.

"Pardon," the woman grunted. Before Hermione could reply, the woman left. Now slightly
dampened and smelling of ale, Hermione continued to squeeze through the crowd and onto a
barstool.

"Butterbeer," she told the bartender, trying her best to blend in. The man gave her an appraising
look, but slid her a bottle.

"I know that voice." Hermione jumped as the man on the stool next to hers clutched at her arm.
He had extremely greasy, unkempt blond hair, but there was no mistaking his identity, despite
the red that encircled the gray of his eyes. Hermione began to reach for her wand, but Malfoy let
go and sort of shrugged in means of a white flag. "S'okay Granger," he slurred.

"I'm afraid it isn't okay, Malfoy," she replied curtly, though she allowed her wand hand to rest at
her side. "You're a very wanted man."

"Wanted?" he asked, looking blearily at her. "By whom?"

Hermione stared at him in minor disbelief. "The law," she said, as succinctly as possible.

"Oh, good. For a second there I thought ya meant you." He teetered in his seat before downing
his drink, which the bartender refilled.

"Are you… entirely well, Malfoy?" she asked, as he took a swig and missed his mouth, causing
drink to slide down his chin.

He paused to think while his drink continued to drip from his chin onto his blood-stained and
tattered designer shirt. "Do you mean physically, mentally or emotionally?" he asked. He
allowed his head to slide down and rest on his crossed arms.

"All three," Hermione replied, having forgotten all about her butterbeer.
 Malfoy shifted toward her. "I believe the answers 'ould be no, no and no," he said. His eyelids
drifted closed for a moment. "I'm tired, Granger. So tired." He expelled a large, shuddering
breath.

Hermione had a feeling that she was going to come to regret what she was about to say, but she
couldn't suppress the sympathy that was rising up in her. "Come with me," she said, offering him
her hand. His right eye studied it while his left stayed closed lazily.

"I always liked you, Granger." A moment later his arms were around her in a sloppy, almost
child-like embrace.

"Yes, well…" Hermione said awkwardly, pushing him away and patting his shoulder
reassuringly. "Why don't you, er, pay your tab, then? And then we'll get going, shall we?"

Malfoy nodded and pushed a handful of coins toward the bartender. It was quite obviously too
much, but Hermione didn't feel a need to mention it. He then stood on wobbly legs. "Floo?" he
asked the bartender, who pointed him toward the back. Hermione paid for her own drink and
followed Malfoy to the fireplace. "Where to?" he asked, eyes only half open and leaning heavily
on her.

Hermione hesitated for a moment. That was a very good question. Her flat came to mind, but that
might raise awkward questions later. "12 Grimmauld Place," she said, finally. She sincerely
hoped that Harry would not only be up, but in a… benevolent mood.

Malfoy, without even slight hesitation, took up some floo powder and left, for once not slurring
his words. Hermione followed quickly.

"This yer house?" he asked, still acting in a way that could only be termed as slobbering drunk.

"Well, no," she admitted.

"Bit… black, ain't it?" he asked, finding a couch and crashing down on it.

"You have no idea…" Hermione muttered, knowing full-well that this was, in fact, the House of
Black. But her companion was already snoring away. She wondered how he would react in the
morning, once he'd figured out that he'd been led like a puppy into enemy territory. She quickly
tip-toed up the stairs to Harry's room and knocked, shivering slightly because of her still-damp
shirt.

There was a rustle of bed clothes and Harry Potter answered the door, blinking bleary-eyed at
her. "What? Is it time? Is it…" he paused, apparently to make sure his scar wasn't prickling.
"Great Merlin, Hermione, you reek!" He pinched his nose.

"Yes, well… someone spilled ale on me," she said, frowning.

"Oh, is that it?" Harry said, waving away the vapors. "How was your mission?"
 Hermione sighed. "Complete failure. Contact didn't show up."

"Blast," Harry said, scowling. "Why'd you wake me, then?" he asked, as an afterthought.

"Well… that, er… for that, Harry, you're going to have to come downstairs and see." She led
him, her heart hammering against her chest for some unknown reason, and stopped in front of the
Draco-Malfoy-occupied couch.

"What the?" Harry began, feeling little need to finish his sentence. "Malfoy? Draco Malfoy? The
boy who would be murderer? Hermione, what on Earth is going on in that labyrinth you call a
brain?" His tone had changed from sleep-deprived to utterly peeved in two seconds flat.

"Well," she said, speaking quietly as to not wake the brute, "you'd have done the same thing in
my position."

"Really?" Harry asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I ran into him at this pub," she started, ignoring Harry's obstinate stance, "and he was
completely inebriated." Harry snorted. "Anyway, he was acting so oddly… I, er… felt sort of
sorry for him and I asked him if he was okay, which he said no to… and…"

"And what?" Harry barked, giving her his signature death-glare.

"And he said he was tired," she said, gesturing broadly.

"Tired?" Harry repeated.

"Tired," she replied. "I don't think he just meant physically either. I think he wants out."

Harry snorted. "Of course he does. The Great Slytherin Prince doesn't want to do his civic duty.
Then what happened, eh?"

Hermione hesitated. "Well, then I asked him to leave with me. You know… sort of like giving
him a way 'out.' Then he… er…"

"What?" Harry asked, scowling.

"He said he'd always liked me and he gave me a hug?" It hadn't been meant as a question, but it
had confounded her so that she felt a need to reaffirm it.

Harry shook his head, a slight smirk creeping onto his features. "What sort of like and what sort
of hug are we talking about here?" he asked, making Hermione squirm under his sardonic-look
of accusation.

"The… er, chummy kind," she said, not liking Harry's double meaning at all.
Harry's smile finally managed to smooth into a straight, firm line. "So what are we going to do
with him, then?" he asked, staring at a long strand of spittle that was hanging from Malfoy's lip.

Hermione smiled and reached into her purse, drawing out a pamphlet. In big, bold lettering were
the words, "Ex-death Eater and Witness Protection Program." Then, just below, was a second
caption. "Targeted? Keep seeing that big skull in the sky? We can help." Harry stared at the
pamphlet for a good thirty seconds before staring at her, and then back at the pamphlet.

"You're really mental, aren't you?" he asked. "You know as well as I do that this piece of scum
here belongs in Azkaban. Not," he flipped through the pamphlet and pointed to a picture of a
cottage with a white picket fence, "living it up undercover."

"Harry," Hermione said, crossing her arms and giving him a scathing look, "have a heart!"
Malfoy rolled over in his sleep and snorted loudly.

"He is asleep, isn't he?" Harry asked uneasily. "He's not just pretending?"

"With the amount of alcohol in his system?" Hermione shook her head. "Trust me, he's asleep all
right."

"Well, take his wand off him, will you? Just to be sure."

"Me?" Hermione squeaked.

Harry shook his head. "You brought him here; he's your responsibility."

Hermione groaned. "Well, thank you, Harry. That's just so gentlemanly of you." She very
carefully reached toward the blond and felt around his robe pockets for any sign of a wand. As
her hand grazed his chest, she could have sworn she'd heard him giggle. Hermione removed her
hand quickly as if it had been burned. "Accio wand," she said, feeling foolish for not thinking of
it sooner. Suddenly, Malfoy was awake.

"What?" he half-shouted, sitting up and looking about frantically. His eyes rested on the two of
them and he slowly calmed. Hermione, and perhaps Harry too, noted the faint glisten of tears in
his eyes. "I…" he began, still trying to get his bearings.

"Well, that answers that question," Harry muttered. "He was definitely asleep."

"I…" Malfoy continued, a crop of sweat on his brow, "really need to vomit," he finished. He
stood and ran quickly in the direction he'd assumed to be the lavatory, but was in reality the
kitchen.

Harry frowned in disgust. "Sick."

 "He'll be dehydrated," Hermione muttered knowingly, conjuring a glass of water and hurrying
off in Malfoy's direction. She found him huddled over the sink, shaking. "Here," she said. "Drink
this." She handed him the water and he looked at it warily. "It's not poisoned, you know."

Very slowly, Malfoy drank all his water. "Granger," he said. "I… we were at the pub…" He
made a sudden search of his robes.

"I've got it," Hermione said, brandishing his wand, which Malfoy watched with trepidation.
Although he was in fight of flight mode, she could tell that he was having difficulty keeping his
eyelids from drooping.

"Is Potter going to kill me then? Or am I to go to Azkaban?" he asked.

Hermione gave him a small smile—the type she might give a frightened child. "Don't worry,
Draco." His name came unnaturally from her tongue. Instead of soothing him, he tensed further.
"I'll make sure Harry doesn't do anything he'd regret."

"And Azkaban?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Not if I can help it. Look, I'll set you up in the spare room and we can talk
more in the morning. Would you like that?"

Slowly, he nodded. He took two steps forward and stopped as his eyes rolled into the back of his
head and fainted in a heap on the floor.

A.N. Please vote for your favorite of the following. Winner will be the title of this fanfic.
January 31, 2006: Voting has ended, sorry.

A) Death-Eater Indigestion

B) The Witness and the Wife

C) Then There was You

D) Playing House with You

E) Our House

F) Mugglish Façade

The Witness and the Wife-Chapter 2-The Appointment

By Marmalade Fever

Draco woke feeling warm. He was dimly aware of the light shining in through his eyelids. The
mattress he was lying on was soft. Simply put, he was very comfortable. That feeling came
 crashing down the millisecond he opened his eyes and the bright light rattled through his brain
like a thousand cymbals. He had a horrible hangover. What was worse, his memories were
rapidly returning to him. This was Potter's house. Harry bloody Potter's house. His bed, his
pillow, his… was that a mounted elf head? Now why would Potter have that? Why would
Granger let him keep that? Why was the bird in the tree outside squawking so terribly loudly? He
clutched at his ears and willed himself somewhere quiet, like the womb.

After a minute or so passed of him simply trying to block out all outside disturbances, some
horrid person actually had the indecency to knock at the door. "Malfoy?" It was Granger.
"Malfoy, are you awake? We need to talk."

"Shut up," he grumbled, sitting up and clutching at his pounding head.

"Malfoy?" she called again.

"Will you be quiet, woman? I'm coming already!" he shouted.

He could hear her sniff. "There's no need to be rude. I'll be waiting downstairs." He heard her
steps retreating down some very creaky steps.

Getting dressed took no time at all. The fact of the matter was that he didn't have anything to
change into. Potter and Granger hadn't bothered to take his shoes off of him, it would seem. He
found a mirror and ran his fingers through his hair and straightened his robes. When he was
finally somewhat satisfied with his appearance, he left the confines of the room and headed
downstairs and into the same room he had collapsed onto the couch in the night before. Here he
found Potter looking irritable and drinking a coffee. Granger had her arms crossed, tapping her
foot rapidly.

"Ah, so there you are!" she said, giving him a very small, nervous smile. Draco ignored her,
preferring to stare enviously at Potter's coffee. His head was pounding like the Dickens.
Granger's smile dropped and she frowned. "Malfoy, over here," she said, snapping her fingers.
Draco rolled his eyes, but turned to look at her.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Like I said, we need to talk," Granger said.

"Goody," he replied. The smell of Potter's coffee was driving him mad. "I don't suppose you
know a hangover charm, do you?" he asked, glaring at her.

"Are you asking for my help, Malfoy? I'm shocked." Granger pulled out her wand and waved it
at him. Instantly he felt the clamor in his brain die down. He let out a sigh of relief. "Now what
do you say, Malfoy?" she asked.

"Thank you," he intoned.

"Good." She sniffed. "Now, we have an appointment with a ministry official in," she checked her
watch, "fifteen minutes. Breakfast is in the kitchen. I suggest you hurry."

Draco lost some of his composure then. "Fifteen minutes?" He looked down at his ratty outfit.
"Wait, ministry official?" He turned to Potter, hoping for a bit of explanation. The other male
seemed determined to stay out of it, though, and simply continued to sip at his coffee.

Granger reached into her purse and shoved a pamphlet into Draco's hands. "Read this while you
eat… and don't worry about your clothes. I'm sure he won't mind."

Draco was about to further protest, but Potter sent him a withering glance, as if telling him that
there was no use in arguing with Granger when she got an idea into her head. "Fine." He skulked
off into the kitchen to eat and read, finding himself becoming more and more uneasy with the
idea that had lodged itself in Granger's brain, especially because it involved him.

When he'd finished, he returned to the other room and was surprised to find that they were no
longer alone. "Ah, you must be Mr. Malfoy, I presume?" asked a tall, bulky man with his hair
tied back in a pony-tail. "My name is Mr. Ayers and I represent the Ex-Death Eater and Witness
Protection Program. I'm here, on Miss Granger's request, to interview you in order to find out if
you might be a suitable candidate." He then gestured to a smaller man that had been completely
hidden from view behind his back. "This is my associate, Mr. Tibbs. Let's sit down, shall we?"

Draco sat, frowning at the lot of them. "I'm sorry, I was under the impression we were going to
meet you at the ministry, Mr…"

"Ayers, and no, my clients much prefer… secrecy. Going to the ministry is a bit of a giveaway."
Mr. Ayers leaned back and cracked his knuckles. "Mr. Tibbs, if you will." The small man opened
his briefcase and sat poised with a quill and the necessary paperwork. "A few questions, Mr.
Malfoy." He cleared his throat. "Your age when you became a death-eater?"

Draco continued to grimace. "Sixteen."

"Ah, very good, very good indeed. You're age as of now?"

"Seventeen," Draco said, watching the quill move in Tibbs' hand, warily.

"Excellent…" Ayers continued. "Now, what's the worst thing you've done since you became a
death-eater?"

Draco crossed his arms and huffed. "Attempted assassination."

"Attempted? Very good word. Just what we like to hear." Ayers cracked his knuckles again.
"Well, Mr. Malfoy, judging from the viewpoint that you became a death-eater as a minor and
have not as of yet committed any serious, or, in the very least, successful crimes, I think it's safe
to say that you're in."
 Draco gave the man a disgusted sort of smile.

"Now, Mr. Malfoy, before we actually set you up in the program, it's company policy to require
you to complete a few things."

"Such as?" Draco asked, feeling more annoyed than excited.

"Number one, you must participate in one session of the D.A."

"D.A.!" Granger and Potter both shouted simultaneously.

Ayers looked at them strangely. "You're familiar with Death-Eaters Anonymous?"

"Er, no," Potter admitted, sitting back down and looking sheepish.

"Might want to have him attend the A.A. as well…" Granger muttered.

"Second, we'll need you to provide us with an R.S.O.D."

"R.S.O.D.?" Draco asked, grinding his teeth.

"Reasonable situation of death or disappearance," Ayers answered, quickly.

Granger frowned. "Wouldn't that be an R.S.O.D.O.D.?"

Ayers shrugged. "Too long." The man took another look at Granger. "And, Miss Granger, we
will, of course, need an R.S.O.D. from you as well."

Granger's mouth dropped open. "Excuse me?"

"I assume Mr. Malfoy is not accustomed to the muggle world?" He gave Draco a pointed look.

"Of course I'm not bloody accustomed to the muggle world! I'm a Malfoy!" Draco shouted.

"Then, Miss Granger, we hereby assign you to Mr. Malfoy, as his guide to all things muggle,"
Ayers said, easily.

Potter stifled a laugh.

"What?" Granger asked, her tone flat.

Ayers reached over and took the forms from Tibbs. "Article 2, paragraph 3, clause C: If said
Death-Eater is unable to function on his own in the muggle world, he must have a guide,
preferably a witness." He looked up again. "You, Miss Granger, are a witness. If you do not act
as Mr. Malfoy's guide, he will be stricken from the program and sent directly to Azkaban."
 Draco clutched the arms of his chair and turned frantically to Granger.

"I…" Granger began, "suppose I could…"

"Excellent!" Ayers said. "Now, let's move onto something a bit more fun, eh? We already have a
lovely little cottage picked out for you in the small town of Gelding. Your names from this point
on will be Derek and Samantha Jones. You are newly-weds…"

"WHAT?" Granger asked, her eyes large. "You said I was his guide. Not his wife!"

Ayers took this in stride. "Would you rather be two young adults, living together, unwed? In
sin?"

Granger's face screwed up horribly. "No…"

"Good. Well then, Mr. Tibbs will be in charge of your new appearances. Take it away, Mr.
Tibbs!"

Draco felt horribly sick again. He hadn't asked to be put in this program. At least… he didn't
think he had. His memory of the night before was dreadfully foggy.

Mr. Tibbs stood and brandished his wand. "I think," he began, his voice very creaky as if he
seldom used it, "that for you, Mr. Malfoy… your blond hair will have to go." With a wave of his
wand, everyone in the room gasped.

"What?" Draco asked, frantically, having a faint suspicion that he was now bald. He tore across
the room and stared into a mirror. His hair was red. Not a horribly bad red… but still red. Titian,
really. He felt downright like a Weasley. It was a dirty, horrid feeling.

"And for you, Miss Granger… your hair is much too noticeable as well." Draco watched with
some small satisfaction as Tibbs aimed at her as well. Her hair gave a violent shudder, but rather
than straightening, nothing happened. "Your hair is very strong…" Tibbs mumbled. He aimed
again, and this time, her hair went into perfect boticelli curls. "Ah, that's better," Tibbs said,
adjusting his glasses and sitting down. "Your hair cannot be restored to its original form unless I
personally remove the charm." Granger joined Draco by the mirror, clutching at her ringlets.

Mr. Ayers cleared his throat. "Lastly, you will be age twenty-four."

Draco and Granger both turned, jaws dropping. "Twenty-four?"

Ayers nodded and Tibbs brought a bottle of aging potion from his bag. "It's not permanent,"
Ayers said. "We keep the antidote in our office." He cracked his knuckles again. "Mr. Malfoy,
there is a D.A. meeting this afternoon. I suggest you attend. Don't worry, the word 'anonymous'
is taken very literally in these proceedings. Miss Granger, if you will take care of the rest of
this…" He handed her a list of things to do. "I suggest haste. Good day." With that, the two men
disappeared with a pop, leaving the bottle of aging potion behind.
 A.N.: Didn't especially like that chapter. Here's hoping you did! I might use some of the losing
names for future chapter titles. Ta ta.

TWATW-Chapter 3-Death-Eater Indigestion

Hermione stared at her hands. "What just happened?"

Harry took a deep breath. "You just signed an indeterminate amount of your life away to pretend
to be Malfoy's wife, in order to keep the git out of Azkaban because you're completely and
utterly mental."

"I thought as much," Hermione said, beginning to sob.

Malfoy was still staring into the mirror, looking at his new hair color from all angles. "Should we
drink the potion, then?" he asked, turning with a sour expression on his face. Without waiting for
an answer, he took up the bottle and read the directions. Then, without further ado, he took a
swig. It took a moment to take effect, but then his face morphed ever so slightly, maturing seven
years so that, with the new hair color, he wasn't nearly as recognizable as before. "Bottoms up,
Granger," he said, tossing the half-empty bottle at her.

Hermione scowled at him. He'd drunk it straight from the bottle! Well, there were worse things
in life than Malfoy germs, she supposed. (Assuming the large quantities of alcohol he'd
consumed hadn't killed every last germ in his system, that was.) She downed the rest of the
potion and watched her reflection as she changed into a twenty-four-year-old.

Draco looked at the D.A. pamphlet Ayers had left him and did as instructed, placing a paper bag
with holes punched out for his eyes over his newly-red hair. He felt ridiculous. Upon entering the
room, he came to realize that there was very little possibility of being recognized. Aside from the
paper bags, the room was dimly lit, and he could barely see anything, never mind identify
another death-eater. Besides that, there was a hum being emitted from a slot in the ceiling that
disguised all voices and also made it difficult to concentrate, thus making legilimency near
impossible. Draco sat down, feeling somewhat comforted that everyone else was sporting a
grocery bag over his head.

A tall man, or at least he thought he was a man, (it was just that dark,) stood and called the
meeting to order. "Welcome to Death-Eaters Anonymous," he (or she) said in a squeaky voice.
"To all newcomers, welcome! We shall now begin by going around the room."

The next Death-Eater in line stood. "I was a Death-Eater for many years. Me brother said I
should go into the family business, as it were, but I wanted to kill muggles instead. Then, one
day, me thinks… killing muggles is boring! They always scream the 'xact same way. Anyway,
me bro won out and I decided to quit, like. So here I am." Everyone clapped politely.
The next Death-Eater stood on wobbly feet. "I only became a Death-Eater two days ago… and I
want out!"

"We'll help you, sister!" someone called.

"I'm a man!" the Death-Eater added, enraged.

"Right, sorry," whoever it was said, holding up his or her hands.

The next Death-Eater stood. "There was a time when I felt a need to follow the ways of the Dark
Lord. I was foolish and young. But as the years passed, I began to feel worse and worse
concerning the way I had been acting. I had eaten my share of death, if you will, and had horrible
indigestion from it. I realized that it was my own conscience that had started eating away at me.
But… I must confess I still hold the utmost respect for my Lord. Not only respect, but fear." The
Death-Eater sat abruptly, turning hollow eyes that barely peeped out from the paper bag toward
Draco, who felt himself shudder.

More and more men and women told their stories, until it was Draco's turn. He'd been dreading
this. "I found myself at a bar last night," he said, finding his voice to be low and dull, "and kept
ordering more and more whiskey until I was completely wasted…"

"This ain't the A.A.!" someone objected.

"Shh," someone else said. "Let him speak."

"Then along comes a girl I know, a muggleborn. She… offered to help me. I was so drunk at the
time, I can't remember the finer details. That's about it."

"That's it?" asked the same person who had hushed the other.

"Well, I'd rather not say more. I don't want to give away my identity," Draco said.

"Hmm," the Death-Eater said, crossing his or her arms and slouching.

After everyone had a chance to speak, the leader had them play bonding games, which was very
awkward considering who they all were. They went on for several hours like this, boring Draco
to the verge of tears.

Hermione drew a nice, straight checkmark next to the final item on the list. She was done. She'd
arranged an R.S.O.D. for each of them, had money withdrawn from their Gringott's vaults, sent a
wordy explanation to her parents, and had taken care of many, many other tedious little details.
She'd read all the fine print as well, discovering the crucial fact that neither she nor Malfoy
would be allowed the use of a wand, unless in dire circumstances. The reason behind it was
 simple: magic could be traced. Harry was well aware of the fact, having broken the statute for
underage wizardry on several occasions.

And now there was really only one thing Hermione needed to do: tell Ron. Heavens only knew
how long she'd waited for him to make his move. Last year, she had fully expected him to ask
her out, once and for all. But no. Ronald Weasley was an idiot, and that was certain.

If Harry had taken Hermione's altruistic stance toward Malfoy badly, no doubt Ron would take it
ten times worse. Ron would, (or at least she secretly hoped he would,) be jealous.

Well, Ron had had his chance, she figured. (He'd fully lost it when he'd started snogging
Lavender.) But she still felt nervous as she watched him step out of the fireplace, red hair
flaming.

"Oh, hey Hermione," Ron said in greeting. He looked about. "Harry sent me an owl—told me to
come."

Hermione nodded. "You might want to sit down, Ron."

Ron raised one of his bright eyebrows. "Maybe I'd rather stand," he said, crossing his long,
somewhat apish arms across his chest.

"Suit yourself," Hermione said, choosing to sit down. Ron stood resolutely, looking almost
flushed. "Look, Ron, you see…"

"Is this about McLaggen?" he blurted, his ears turning purple.

Hermione blinked. "W-what?" She shook her head. "No, Ronald, this is not about McLaggen!
Now, will you sit down so I can tell you something?" Ron sat, still flushed. Hermione took a big
breath. "It's about Malfoy."

Suddenly, Ron was on alert. "Malfoy? What-did-he-do?"

Hermione pulled at her collar. "It's not so much what he did… it's more what I'm doing for him."

Ron scrunched his face up. "S'cuse me?"

"I…" Hermione faltered. "I got him into an Ex-Death Eater and Witness Protection Program and
I have to go with him!" she said in a rush.

If Ron hadn't been sitting already, he'd have collapsed onto the couch. "You what?"

"Look Ron. I know you hate him, trust me, so do I, but… He needs help! After my meeting with
my contact last night, I ran into him at this pub and he was so drunk and pitiful… You know
what he did when I offered him help, Ron? He hugged me, that's what! Me—a muggleborn!"
Red patches were now cropping onto Ron's cheeks. "Great! Just absolutely… positively," a vase
on the mantle shattered, "great!"

"Oh, Ron," Hermione moaned, cradling her head in her hands.

"What? You going to start dating him too?"

Hermione slapped him. "You're pitiful, you know that?"

Ron glared, face now more red on one half than the other.

"You act like you know me, Ron, but… That just can't be. If you did, you'd know why I was
doing this! And another thing! You've been here for what? Five minutes, and you haven't noticed
my hair?"

"What about your hair?"

Hermione stamped her foot and made a series of growling noises. "Curls, Ron! I've got curls!"

"You've always had curls!" Ron bellowed.

"No! I haven't!" she screamed. Hermione felt like she was about to break down into tears.

"I don't see what all the fuss is about! You look the same as always!" Ron argued.

Hermione made a throaty noise, like a frustrated grunt. "You never notice anything, do you?"

"I do, too!"

"Yeah, like what?"

"I noticed… I noticed… You snogged Krum!" Ron yelled, changing the subject.

"What?" Hermione cried, pulling at her hair. "I did no such thing, Ronald Weasley!"

"You…" Ron stopped. "No?"

"No!" Hermione shrieked.

Just then, Malfoy walked in. "Trouble in paradise?" he drawled, crumpling his brown paper bag
in one fist.

"YOU!" Ron screamed, before distorting his own features by squinting horribly. "Your hair!"

"Great…" Hermione grumbled. "So you noticed Malfoy's hair, but not mine. Lovely…"
 "Yes, well," Ron said, shrugging. "You!" he shouted at Malfoy again.

"Yes, Weasel, 'tis I." Malfoy did a sort of mock bow.

"You're the cause of all this!" Ron yelled.

"Your little girlfriend didn't give me much of a choice." Malfoy shrugged.

"I'm not his girlfriend," Hermione said vehemently. "And you did too have a choice. You could
have not come with me when I offered you the chance."

"I was drunk!"

"Or," Hermione said, ignoring him, "you could have gone to Azkaban."

"See? Lovely choices, the lot." Malfoy folded his arms, scowling.

"There is no way Hermione's going with you to this… this…" Ron began.

"Ex-Death Eater and Witness Protection Program," Hermione supplied.

"Bloody long name," Ron complained.

"Well, it's too late Weaselby, she's already committed. Unless you'd like to force her to send a
very nice, very innocent chap to Azkaban," Malfoy said.

"Nice? Innocent? You?" Ron barked. "I think not!" Hermione shook her head in agreement.

"Well, you aren't sending me, are you Granger? And we've already filled out all those forms and
things. We even drank that aging potion."

Hermione grimaced. "You didn't notice that, either, Ronald!" she said in a huff.

"I…" Ron began to protest. "Oh, forget it! I'm leaving! Tell Harry I'll be helping him and not
you!" With that, Ron disappeared with a violent pop.

Malfoy sat down. "You have positively the worst taste in men, or should I say boys, I've ever
seen."

"Sod off," Hermione grumbled.

A.N.: Anyone notice how much longer the chapters are than in my previous fics? Okay, I need to
study for an exam. Bye bye!

TWATW-Chapter 4-Moving In
 By Marmalade Fever

Harry sat tapping his foot and looking extremely annoyed. Hermione sat across from him, nearly
shaking with nerves. Malfoy sat at that far end of the couch, head in one hand and staring out the
window. Hermione checked her watch. "It's time." No sooner had she said it than a loud crack
reverberated throughout the room and Ayers and Tibbs appeared.

"Ah, just in time," Ayers said, checking his pocket watch and dropping it back in his inside
pocket. "Now, then, are we all set to go?"

Hermione grimaced. "Yes."

"Excellent!" he replied. "And I must say, Miss Granger, that those were wonderful R.S.O.D.'s I
read in the Prophet this morning!" He tossed a paper forward with two headlines. One read,
"Malfoy Heir Melts." The other said, "Ex-Gryffindor Meets Doom."

"I melted?" Malfoy asked, frowning.

"Potions accident," Hermione replied, resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at him. "Or
maybe Dorothy threw water on you," she added under her breath. Harry chuckled.

"Now then, do you have everything?" Ayers asked, looking around at their luggage.

"I think so," Hermione replied. "It is all right if I bring my cat, isn't it?"

Ayers nodded. "Certainly, my dear."

"I don't like cats," Malfoy objected, looking more sour than usual.

"Too bad, Malfoy," Hermione said, smirking.

"Just don't let her anywhere near me," he said.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Crookshanks is a he."

Malfoy smirked. "I know, I was talking about you."

Hermione shot a look of annoyance at him. "Can we go now?" she asked, rising to give Harry a
very large hug.

"Yes, of course. The sooner the better," Ayers answered.

"Good-bye, Harry," Hermione said, hardly daring to leave her friend.

"I can't… breathe," he squeaked. "Bye 'Mione," he added, as soon as she had loosened her grip.
"Ready?" Ayers asked. "Good. Now then, if you'll take hold of this portkey, it will transport you
into a muggle automobile. Your things will be transported to the trunk. Here's a map to your new
home and also of your town. Also, here's a packet of important papers. Proof of insurance,
drivers' licenses, et cetra." He stuffed these into Malfoy's arms. "Oh, and of course! I nearly
forgot to give you're your rings!" He chuckled as he withdrew two boring, gold bands from his
pocket and thrust them at each of the two "newly weds."

"Ministry wouldn't spring for something a little… fancier?" Malfoy asked, staring down at the
ring with distaste evident on his face.

Ayers pretended not to hear him and pointed to a set of keys on the floor. "We'll be in touch
through a hallway mirror. Tap the glass three times to activate it."

"Take care, Harry," Hermione added one more time before stepping toward the keys. Harry held
Malfoy back and whispered something in his ear, making the new red head roll his eyes and
scowl. He and Hermione both stepped to the keys and put a finger to them.

"Three, two, one," Ayers counted.

Hermione felt the tug at her naval and squeezed her eyes closed. Momentarily, she felt herself
plop into the driver's seat of the smallest car she'd ever seen. Malfoy sat beside her, staring
around in distaste. "Mind reading the map for me?" she asked, starting the car and putting it in
gear. Malfoy scowled, but, for once, complied (perhaps scared for his life, having never been in
an automobile before.) He directed her onto a motorway, off of it, onto a side road, and finally
onto a small, unpaved street.

"Number 14," he said, looking up from the map to look at the houses.

"There it is," Hermione said, pulling into a driveway. It was as if they'd been dropped into a
Thomas Kinkade. The house was small, brick, and had so many flowers in the garden it was
actually somewhat funny. On the front lawn, just behind the picket fence, was a realty sign with
the word "sold" plastered overtop of it.

"What a dump," Malfoy drawled, getting out of the car and crossing his arms in disdain.
Hermione joined him.

"I wouldn't call it a dump, Derek, but it is a bit too cutesy for my liking," she said, fingering the
tiny ring she now wore on her left hand.

"That too, Samantha." Malfoy wore the slightest of smirks as he began to unload the trunk,
mumbling about how much he'd like to have a house-elf at that moment. Hermione was
momentarily stunned that he was actually helping, but the moment they entered the house and
were away from prying, muggle eyes, he was back to his arrogant, unhelpful self.

The inside of the house was just as cute as the outside. In the living room there was a fireplace,
several Victorian sofas, a television with a doiley on it, bookcases, and a set of flowery drapes
 hung from the windows. It looked as if Umbridge had been given the task to decorate it, just
without the magical properties. It was actually about three times nicer than the flat Hermione had
moved into two months earlier, but she wasn't about to say so.

The kitchen, on the other hand, was a little much. There were images of farm animals
everywhere. There were chickens on the cupboards, sheep on the tablecloth, goats on the
curtains, and paintings of pigs on the walls. The floor was made to look like grass with flowers
growing on it, which was especially strange because it was vinyl and two-dimensional. Malfoy
made a retching sound when they first entered, and Hermione, for once, agreed with him.

"We're going to have to go grocery shopping," she announced after looking inside the pink
refrigerator.

"We?" Malfoy asked.

"It's a pronoun referring to you and I," she answered, crossing her arms.

"I'm not going to any muggle stores, thank you," he said, looking warily at a chair with a cow
print cushion.

"Would you rather stay here and answer the door if any of the neighbors drop by to welcome us
to the neighborhood?" Hermione asked, knowing full well that it wasn't really all that likely to
happen.

"I just won't answer the door," he said, shuddering at the thought.

"Oh, come on, Malfoy! You do need to get accustomed to muggle life. If you come with me, you
can learn all about how to, you know, buy things! And I know you like to do that, now don't
you?" she said, crossing her arms.

He paused. "Speaking of money… where's it coming from, anyway?" he asked, raising an

eyebrow at her in a generally unfriendly way.

"I went to Gringotts' and had some of both our money converted," she answered.

"So we're sharing, then, are we?" he asked, seemingly amused.

"Yes, Malfoy, we are," she answered.

"Well, I suppose if you're going to be spending my money, I had best come with you and make
sure you don't buy something foolish with it," he said.

Hermione laughed. "Me? Buy something foolish? Like what?"

Malfoy smirked. "Books," he said simply. Hermione froze. He certainly had her there. "And I do
suppose we'll have to practice pretending to be married, as well. How are you at cuddling in
 public, Granger?" The look of supreme panic that spread across Hermione's face did not go
unnoticed. "Didn't think so," he said, his smirk deepening.

Hermione managed to recover from her shock. "Sorry," she said. "I think I just suffered a slight
attack at the very idea of even touching the likes of you, Ferret."

Now it was his turn to scowl. "The feeling is mutual, Muddy."

Hermione took at deep breath and scowled at him. "Let's unpack the rest of the things, shall we,
dear?"

"Of course, love," he replied, shooting looks of utter loathing at her.

A.N.: I'm sorry. I'm just not especially excited about this story. I know it could be a ton better,
but I just lack the will. Maybe it'll get better next chapter.

On another note, don't forget to vote for Courting Miss Granger at Dangerous Liaisons! (What a
campaigner I am. Lol)

TWATW-Chapter 5-Shopping

By Marmalade Fever

After they had unpacked their things, Draco followed his new "wife" outside and into the
machine she kept calling a "car." Frankly, he was more than a little nervous relying on a mere
chunk of metal with wheels to get him to and fro. Granger, on the other hand, seemed to find it to
be the most natural thing in the world, though she cautioned him that she had really only been
driving during the holidays over the last year.

"Does the map point out any clothing stores?" she asked, pausing at some sort of light she
dubbed a traffic signal.

"Two blocks ahead," he answered, if for no other reason than he really wanted to be parked and
out of the crazy carriage once and for all.

Granger followed his instructions and stopped in front of a department store. "You need muggle
clothes," she said, smirking at him. This, he had to admit, was true. He was currently sporting a
gray dress robe that Potter had dug out of the attic and given him. It was just old enough to be
considered retro from a wizard's standpoint, but it was certainly not muggle garb.

Granger led him inside after instructing him on how to lock the car doors, to which he'd scowled
at her. The room was fairly large and had many racks of clothing. Granger made a beeline for the
men's department. It was at this point that she hesitated and a frown marred her features. "Don't
tell me you don't know what's fashionable Gr-Samantha," he said, just catching himself as an
elderly muggle saleswoman walked by them.
 "We can't all be as vain as you, Derek," she said, tentatively fingering a shirt. She pulled it out
and inspected it, her curtain of hair momentarily blocking her face from view.

"That's absolutely hideous; I hope you know that," he said, taking the shirt away from her and
stuffing it back on the rack.

"Well, if you're so smart, you try," she said, cocking her head to the side.

"Easy," he replied. Draco ran a hand along the rack and encircled it. His hand paused at some
blue material and he felt the corners of his mouth lifting. "Here," he said, smiling in satisfaction
as he held the shirt aloft.

Granger's mouth fell open in disbelief. "Fine, then. I'll be in the women's department." She
turned on her heel and stalked away, leaving Draco to chuckle in her wake.

He moved to a display of pants and began sorting through them. He'd just been struck by a rather
pleasant idea. He may have been pretending to be a muggle, but no one had said anything about
being unfashionable.

Hermione began perusing the women's department. She was honestly amazed that Malfoy had
such excellent taste in clothing. She'd spent far too long with Harry and Ron, she supposed. She
picked out a lavender dress and a few good blouses and made her way toward the fitting room.

Draco was done. He'd found ten very nice shirts and three pairs of pants. But he wasn't entirely
sure what to do next. He noticed a sign on the wall with the words "Men's Fitting Room" and
decided he might as well make sure the clothes actually fit, since he was no longer able to adjust
them magically.

There was a semi-balding man behind the counter. "You're gonna have to keep some of that out
here. Eight item max," he said, shrugging. As Draco began counting out a few items, still feeling
somewhat bolstered at the man's audacity, the clerk let out a low whistle. "Man oh man! Would
you check out the gams on her!" Intrigued and not entirely sure if gams were legs in muggle
terminology as well, Draco followed the man's gaze… straight to the women's department where
Granger had just bent over to pick something up off the floor.

"You mean the brunette?" he asked, as Granger went behind a clothing rack and out of sight.

"Yeah… Shoot, she's gone."

Draco suddenly felt torn between three entirely different reactions. 1) Tease Granger mercilessly.
2) Give the man a black eye for ogling his "wife." Or 3) go and get a better look. "That happens
to be my wife," he said, curling his lip in a way that only Malfoys seemed to be able to do.
 The balding muggle's face turned instantly apologetic. "Oh! Sorry. Really, if I had known…"

And suddenly all of Draco's conviction left him. "Don't worry about it," he said. Draco's eyes
drifted back to where Granger was now standing. Now that he took a better look… it seemed
he'd just gone temporarily crazy. There was nothing attractive about her legs at all… at least,
that's what he told himself as he entered the fitting room.

Hermione wandered back over to the men's department. She had never imagined that she could
be the first one done shopping when placed alongside a guy. "Excuse me," she said, approaching
the men's fitting room attendant.

"Oh," the man said, giving her a look of familiarity. Hermione frowned. "Your husband will be
right out, ma'am."

Hermione opened her mouth.

"He pointed you out and asked me to let you know where he is if you happened to drop by," he
said, giving her a small smile, his eyes glancing down at her legs for a moment.

"Really?" she asked in minor disbelief.

Just as she said it, Malfoy exited the dressing room. "Oh, hey Sam," he said, tipping his head
toward her. "Hey," he said to the attendant, "would it be all right if I were to come back and
change my clothes after we've been through the checkout?"

"Go ahead," the man said. "Did you just come from a costume party?" he asked, looking
curiously at the robes Malfoy was wearing. Hermione suppressed a snigger.

"We just moved and my luggage got misplaced… this was the only thing we could find," Malfoy
said, looking only slightly murderous. "Come on," he continued, placing a hand on Hermione's
shoulder and steering her away. "Costume party, indeed!" he muttered. Hermione went into a fit
of hysterical giggles.

"The look on your face!" she said, wiping at her eyes. He sneered at her.

"What did you get?" he asked, changing the subject. As Hermione began to calm down, she
pulled out her new dress from the shopping cart. Whether he liked it or not, she really couldn't
tell. "Lavender?" he asked. "And brown," he added, motioning to her hair. "I really would have
thought you'd have boycotted both colors by now." He twisted his mouth into a wry smile.

"For heaven's sake, I don't exactly hate her! I just…"

"Dislike her in the extreme?" he suggested.

 "No…" Hermione said slowly. She dropped her voice. "It's you I dislike in the extreme."

Malfoy wrapped an arm around her shoulder, making Hermione flinch. "Façade," he whispered
menacingly. It took her a moment to get his subtle hint through her brain.

"And I love you, too," she said, a tad loudly. A muggle woman in line turned and smiled at them.
Both Hermione and Malfoy flashed the woman what looked like sincere smiles.

"Young love," the woman commented. "Isn't it grand?"

"Oh, yes," Malfoy said, nodding. His arm was still draped over Hermione's shoulder and she felt
him pinch the back of her arm—hard. They waited in line like this until it was their turn,
Hermione beginning to wonder why his arm was still wrapped over her shoulder. He was making
her nervous.

"Find everything?" the salesgirl asked, pinching her nose and beginning to scan each of their
purchases.

"Just fine," Hermione answered. "I don't suppose you could tell us where the nearest grocery
store is?" she asked.

"Just up the street to the left," the girl answered, her eyes flittering to Malfoy for a moment and
her cheeks turning very pink. Hermione paid and Malfoy, looking a bit pompous, took some of
his new clothes with him to the fitting room again while Hermione waited. He came back a
minute later and she had to suppress a gasp. If Ron had ever attempted to wear red, he'd have
looked like a tomato. Malfoy, on the other hand, had such pale skin that it actually looked nice
on him, despite the red hair.

"Sh-shall we go then?" Hermione managed to ask.

"Of course, dearest," he said, smirking. She really hoped he hadn't noticed her looking at him.

TWATW-Chapter 6-Dinner and its Ramifications

By Marmalade Fever

"So," Hermione asked after an uneventful bout of grocery shopping, "what do you want for
dinner?" Her nerves had become somewhat frayed throughout their day together. Constantly
pretending to be a couple with Draco Malfoy was beginning to feel like a death sentence. They
would bicker quietly amongst themselves and the moment a muggle came into view, they would
automatically paste fake smiles on as if they hadn't a care in the world, which was quite the
opposite. Malfoy seemed intent on reopening her wounds about Ron and Lavender, pouring
lemon juice all over it with his taunts. Hermione was actually surprised that he had even noticed
Ron and Lavender over the last year. She had thought he had been preoccupied with the task
Voldemort had set him. But now they were home and could stop pretending to be Mr. and Mrs.
Jones.
Malfoy shrugged. "I don't care, Granger," he grumbled, sitting down on the sofa and putting his
feet on the coffee table.

"Fine, but you can't complain about it," she snapped, going into the kitchen and putting a pot of
water on to boil. She pulled a package of pasta out of the cupboard and a jar of tomato sauce
before rejoining Malfoy in the living room. She couldn't say how pleased she was that he hadn't
discovered the television yet. She had never been especially partial to it. She much preferred a
good book, which is why she went straight to the large bookshelf and began leafing through to
find something to occupy her time while she waited for the water to boil. She sat down in an
armchair and started reading. Malfoy had his eyes closed and arms crossed, but he steadily
blinked his eyes open to look at her.

"I can't believe you," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"What?" she asked, looking overtop her book.

"Standard Book of Spells: Grade Seven?" he intoned.

"Yes," Hermione said. "Your point being…?"

Malfoy made a noise of disbelief. "Seriously? Studying? During the summer? When you aren't
even returning to school?" He moved his chin into his hand, his elbow on his knee. "What sort of
freak are you?"

Hermione shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Some of us enjoy our higher education, Malfoy."

"Aw yes, I can see the headline now. 'Mudblood Marries Library—Red-haired Git Left
Heartbroken.'"

Hermione snorted into her hand. "You might want to be careful how you phrase things, red-
haired git," she said, smirking.

Malfoy was, apparently, unfazed. "Ah, but I meant naturally red-haired. And I also said 'git,'
Granger, which I most certainly am not."

Hermione couldn't help it, she was laughing uncontrollably now. "You? Not a git?"

He had a faint smile on his face. "Well, I must confess I do make an exception when around
present company, you not being worthy of the title of human being and all."

The tears of laughter in Hermione's eyes literally seemed to freeze in motion. "Is that so?" she
asked. Her muscles were suddenly very tense. He nodded, that stupid hint of a smile still in
place. "Well, then. I guess you don't need me, then, do you? Tell you what, your majesty, you
can make your own dinner. I'm going out!"

Malfoy jumped. "You can't do that!"

 "Oh yeah? Watch me." She rose and grabbed her purse, jingling the car keys in his face.

"But…" he stuttered. "What if I burn the house down?"

"There's a knob on the stove. When you're done, turn it to off." Hermione was halfway to the
door when Malfoy jumped up and caught her arm.

"Don't go!" he screeched.

Hermione yanked her hand out of his grasp. "Give me one good reason why not!"

The doorbell rang. They both turned to face the door as if it had suddenly started singing and
doing a jig. Malfoy gestured toward it in a nondescript way, as if feeling especially confounded.
"What was that?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head. "Put my book away, will you? I'll answer the door."

Malfoy, with a backwards glance, did as she said.

"Hello?" she asked, opening the door. There was a woman, a man, and two identical little boys,
just about ten years old.

"Hi!" the man said, thrusting a hand out. "My name's Bob Brewster. This is my wife, Peggy."

"Hi!" the woman said.

"And these two are Bobby Jr. and Will," the man continued. "We're your neighbors."

Malfoy had come up behind her and thrust his hand out to shake the man's. "Derek Jones," he
said, eerily cheerfully. "And this is my wife, Samantha." Hermione smiled.

"We know it's your first day here and all, but we were wondering if you might like to come over
for dinner," Peggy said. "We have more than enough pot roast to go around."

"Er," Hermione began, looking to Malfoy.

"Sure," he answered, as if he knew there was very little way he could get fed otherwise. "That
would be wonderful."

"I'll just pop into the kitchen and turn the stove off," Hermione said. "Er, won't you come in?"
She shot Malfoy a nasty look while the Brewsters' backs were turned, and she made her way into
the kitchen. She turned the stove off, took a deep breath, and went back out to the living room.
The twin boys were taking turns teasing Crookshanks with a tissue.

"What's its name?" one of them asked.

Hermione hadn't though about disguising Crookshanks's identity before, and wasn't entirely sure
if it was necessary, but she ended up saying the first name to pop into her head. "Oliver." Of
course, cats rarely respond to their names, so there was little harm in it.

"Come on boys, leave the kitty cat alone," Peggy said. "We live in the next house down," she
added, smiling broadly.

Malfoy held the door open for them and followed at a distance behind.

The Brewsters' house was large and modern, not nearly as cutesy as theirs. They followed the
family inside and into the living room. Next to the fireplace was a scraggly-looking poodle.
"This is our dog, Mutton," one of the twins informed them. Hermione couldn't help thinking that
it looked a bit like an old sheep.

"So," Peggy said as they all sat down, "how long have you two been married?"

Hermione looked to Malfoy, wondering which one of them should answer. She couldn't count
the number of times she'd heard of people making up lies and answering at the same time with
different answers. "Only a month," he supplied quickly.

"Oh, how nice! They're newlyweds," she said to her husband.

"What do you do for a living, Derek?" Bob asked, helping himself to some pot roast.

"Oh, I…" Malfoy began, "I'm still looking."

"Oh, of course!" Bob said, nodding. "You're new in town. I can ask around if you want."

"Oh, no… you don't need to do that," Malfoy said, uncomfortably.

"How about you, Samantha?" Peggy asked.

"I was thinking about getting a job at a bookstore, assuming there's one hiring in the area,"
Hermione answered.

"You were?" Malfoy blurted.

"Just a thought," she answered.

"Actually," Bob said, scratching his head, "I think that the Pussy Willow might be hiring."

"You'd like that," one of the twins said.

"Yeah, they have a huge kids' section," the other added. "We go there every Saturday."

Hermione smiled. "What kind of store is it?"

 "Oh, just a little privately run one," Peggy answered. "They're very friendly."

"I'll have to check it out," Hermione answered, eating her broccoli with more relish than before.

As dinner drew to a close, Peggy brought out a large chocolate cake. "One slice boys and then
it's straight to bed," she warned.

"Anyone for a little nightcap?" Bob asked, shaking a bottle of wine near them.

"Sure," Malfoy chimed in automatically.

"None for me," Hermione said, knowing full well that she was still too young to drink, even if
she looked older.

"Why not?" Bob jested. "A little bit won't hurt you!"

"I…" and suddenly she couldn't think of a single excuse more plausible than that she simply
didn't drink.

"She might be pregnant," Malfoy answered, with a small glint of malice. Hermione's mouth
closed abruptly.

"Oh, how lovely!" Peggy cooed. "I wish I had know earlier."

"Me too," Hermione muttered.

"What was that?" Bob asked, setting a glass of milk in front of her instead.

"Oh, nothing," Hermione answered, uneasily. Malfoy was going to pay for this. She sent him a
forced smile, which he returned.

"Shall we get going?" Malfoy asked, about ten minutes later.

Hermione nodded. "Thank you for dinner," she told Mr. and Mrs. Brewster.

"Anytime, dear," Peggy answered, swooping down and giving her a hug. She gave Malfoy a hug
too; his expression, to Hermione, read that he was now scarred for life. Hermione set out at a
very fast walk back to their house.

"Merlin!" Malfoy cried, as soon as he made it in behind her, "you're fast!"

"PREGNANT?" Hermione asked, indignantly. "Don't you think at all?"

Malfoy waved a reprimanding finger in her face. "I said you might be pregnant."
"Just," Hermione fumed, "just, for the love of all things magic, don't tell anyone that I am! You
think it's hard to pretend to be married? Try pretending you're going to have a baby! I can tell
you now, it's near impossible! Especially if we're stuck here for a full nine months!"

"You could always have a miscarriage," he commented, smirking.

Hermione pulled at her hair. "You infuriate me, you know that?"

Malfoy shrugged. "It's what I do best."

Hermione turned on her heel and headed for the stairs. She and Malfoy shared a bedroom with a
bunk bed. She locked the door, changed, brushed her teeth, and climbed into the upper bunk. She
could hear Malfoy rattling at the doorknob, but she didn't care. She just hoped and prayed that
Harry would win this war soon, so she could get back to her own life, far, far away from Draco
Malfoy.

A.N.: Okay, that's much better. Thank you for all the reviews, everyone. I had never dreamed I
could reach 100 in only four chapters before.