- NOT MY STORY! All credit goes to @morriganmercy on a03!
The next few seconds passed in a bit of a blur as several things happened at once: Hermione sank down into an empty chair, Kingsley stood from behind his desk and Vanished the mess from his rug, the officiant scurried from the room, and Narcissa Malfoy burst into tears. Malfoy didn't react at all, but that was probably due to the Occlumency.
As Hermione wiped the sleeve of her jumper over her mouth, the three Malfoys turned to look at her. She actually felt much better after the purge and she gave them a wide grin. At least now they had good reason to be disgusted by her.
"Well," Kingsley started, leaning his hands onto his desk, "onto the next item, I suppose. You are required to cohabitate from here on out—"
Hermione interrupted, "If you think I'm setting one foot in Malfoy Manor—"
At the same time, Lucius said, "If you think a Mudblood is setting one foot in Malfoy Manor—"
Hermione broke off as she realised that she and Lucius had spoken in unison, and said nearly the same thing. Lucius's face twisted in displeasure as he came to the same realisation. Apparently he had been willing to make allowances in the case of prisoners only.
"That's settled, then," Kingsley said, looking smug—the fucker. "Hermione, I assume you have space for Mr Malfoy at your house?"
She chewed her lip and considered vomiting on Kingsley's desk this time. But she knew the magic she had felt flow through her was laced with Ministry monitoring spells. They would know if she and Malfoy tried living apart, just like they would know if they refused to consummate.
As much as she detested the idea of having Malfoy in her space, she supposed one of them might as well be at home. It would only be for a few days anyway.
"Yes," she said finally. "That's fine."
"Fine," Kingsley replied with a nod, raising a hand in a gesture to the hearth. "Please feel free to use my personal Floo."
Hermione snorted. More like, please feel free to fuck off immediately.
If she hadn't felt like her internal organs were currently dissolving, she would have been tempted to loiter just to piss him off. But as it was, the sooner she left, the sooner she could brush her teeth and sleep the rest of this godforsaken day away.
She retrieved her bag from the desk before going to the hearth. Kingsley didn't meet her eye.
When she turned, she saw the three Malfoys gathered in quiet conversation.
Narcissa seemed to be attempting to yell at her husband in a whisper, tear tracks still visible on her delicate cheeks. Hermione caught "—all your fault!" before Lucius silenced her with a stern look. Malfoy was looking thoroughly miserable, so Hermione supposed he had stopped Occluding.
"Draco, there's something you must understand—" Narcissa began.
"Not now," Malfoy said with a shake of his head.
"You must listen," she insisted.
"Later," he said emphatically. "I just..." He dragged a hand down his face. "I just need a few days."
Hermione busied herself with collecting a handful of the green powder, dragging her fingers through it several times as though gauging the appropriate amount. She only looked up when she heard footsteps approaching.
Malfoy's face was carefully arranged back into its haughty veneer, and he held out his arms as he reached her.
"Shall I carry you over the threshold?"
She shot him a withering glare. "Not if you fancy keeping your bollocks."
He tsked in feigned disappointment as he took a handful of Floo powder. "Better skip it, then. There's a lot riding on those little fellows now."
Hermione grimaced in disgust as he stepped past her into the fireplace, green flames bursting up around him.
Then, he raised a finger as if in thought, "When I said little—"
Hermione called out her address, gritting her teeth as he swirled away.
She allowed him a few seconds to move out of the way before following.
***
When she emerged into the sitting room, the first thing she saw besides Malfoy was the empty whiskey bottles still strewn across the table from the night before. She immediately gagged, and though she clapped a hand over her mouth, Malfoy noticed.
His brows rose as he looked between her and the bottles.
"Well," he said with a broad grin, "that makes me feel loads better about me."
Hermione drew in a slow breath, swallowing heavily before pulling out her wand and Vanishing the containers. Malfoy was rummaging around in his pocket. His arm disappeared into it nearly to the elbow with what must have been an extension charm, and Hermione watched as he produced a small black case. He set it on the table and enlarged it with his wand. The gold fasteners clicked open, and he ran a finger over the multitude of vials inside. Settling at last on a mauve one, he plucked it out of the case and handed it to her.
Hermione recognised it at once as a hangover potion. She glanced back at Malfoy's face and he arched a brow as though in challenge. Would she risk being poisoned by him for the potential relief from feeling as though she was dying slowly one cell at a time? The pounding in her head picked that particular moment to ratchet up a notch, and Hermione popped the cork, downing the potion without another thought.
The effect was instantaneous. Like a cool cloth being laid over her forehead and a fuzzy blanket wrapped around her stomach. The shaking in her hands eased at once, and the morning light no longer made her want to claw her eyes out.
"Thank you," she sighed, holding out the empty vial. Perhaps there was a trace of compassion in him after all.
He rolled his eyes as he took it, gesturing at his shoes. "That was for my benefit, Hermione. These are dragon leather."
She gaped at him. Hermione?
He slipped the vial back into its place, and the case shrank again with a tap of his wand. He glanced up at her silence, smirking when he saw her expression.
"Well, I can't very well call you Granger, now can I, Mrs Malfoy?"
Hermione gagged again, all the goodwill of the previous moment disappearing as quickly as her hangover had. "Don't—" She choked. "Just... don't."
He simply continued looking smug.
"I'll show you to your room," Hermione bit out, turning her back on him. She had briefly considered making him sleep on the sofa, but then he would be right in the middle of everything all the time. If he had his own room, hopefully he would stay locked in it for vast portions of the day.
He followed her up the stairs, past her parents' old room, which she kept the same for when they visited, and to the door of the spare room across from hers.
"Just in there," she said, pointing inside.
He nodded as he peered through the door, nose slightly wrinkled.
"The linens are clean," she said rather defensively.
He glanced at her then. "More than I expected. I thought you'd have me sleeping in the back garden."
Hermione was privately annoyed she hadn't thought of that. "Sorry to disappoint, but I like spending time in the back garden. I'd rather you out of my way."
His lips curled into a devious smile, and she immediately resigned herself to tripping over him for the entire duration of his stay. Speaking of which—
"Do you have luggage?" she asked, gesturing vaguely in the direction of his extended pocket.
"An elf will bring some trunks later," he replied, sounding bored.
She bristled at once. "I will not have elves here."
"Well, I'd have to call her here to cancel the instruction, so why don't we just let her bring the luggage and save her a trip?"
Hermione gritted her teeth, well aware that every second she spent in Malfoy's presence was only giving him further ammunition with which to annoy her. "Fine," she bit out. "One trip. I don't want to see her after that."
"Of course." He gave her an indulgent smile.
"I'm going to bed," she said abruptly, turning for her own door, "so I'd appreciate quiet."
Malfoy's sarcastically saccharine voice followed her inside.
"Sweet dreams."
***
As it turned out, Malfoy was a dab hand with a hangover potion. With all of her other symptoms taken care of, she was easily able to catch up on the night of sleep she had missed, and when she woke—after a particularly sweet dream in which Harry showed up to tell her this had all been an elaborate prank—it was nighttime.
She brushed her teeth (again) and changed into fresh jeans and a t-shirt before pulling on a pair of thick socks. Her feet were perpetually cold, summer or not.
Malfoy's door was closed—thank Merlin for small mercies—and she padded down the stairs and into the kitchen. She was brought up short, however, at the sight before her. Quickly exchanging her thanks to Merlin for a curse, she peered over Malfoy's shoulder where he sat surrounded by pieces and cards and slips of pastel paper.
"What is this?" she asked.
He spoke without even looking up from the instruction sheet in his hands. "It's a game of real estate and property. There are varying degrees of value as you move about the board. You pay taxes and levies with this sham currency. Sometimes you can be imprisoned, but don't worry, there's a card for that."
"I know what Monopoly is, Malfoy," she sighed. "Why is it on my kitchen table?"
He shrugged. "This house is small and boring."
Hermione rolled her eyes, and in doing so, caught sight of the disarray around her. Every kitchen cupboard was open, and the contents were spread across the counters. Several food items from the pantry were mixed in as well.
She ducked around the corner into the sitting room and found a similar situation. Every cabinet open, books off the shelves, games and puzzles spread across the floor.
"Have you just spent all day rifling through my things?" she shouted as she entered the kitchen again.
"They're my things now, too, wife," he said placidly.
"That's not how this works!"
He turned in his chair to face her then, bracing one ankle across his other knee. She registered that for some reason, he was still wearing his dress robes. "Actually, it is," he said with a sneer, "and I can think of about a billion reasons you have to be grateful for it."
Hermione stared at him, brows furrowed. She couldn't think of a single reason, much less a billion—
And then the realisation hit her like a bludger to the gut.
When she finally found her voice, it was breathy with indignation. "If you think I'll touch one knut of Malfoy money, you're out of your goddamn mind."
"I daresay you'll come around."
"Oh, you daresay?" She mocked his stupid, poncey accent. "Well, how about you don't say—anything else about it."
Any retort he might have made was cut off by a loud crack, and Hermione's eyes widened at the sight of a house elf appearing in her kitchen. She wore a downy white pillowcase and bits of lace trim tied like ribbons at the base of her ears.
"Nilly has put the trunks in Master's bedroom," she announced in a squeaky voice.
"Thank you, Nilly," Malfoy said, getting to his feet. "This is my wife, Hermione."
"Stop calling me—" She broke off, not wanting to seem rude. "Hello, Nilly," she said with a smile, bending slightly at the waist. "It's very nice to meet you."
"Oh, Mistress!" Nilly cried. "The pleasure is being all mine." She bowed so low that her ears nearly brushed the floor.
"Please tell her not to call me Mistress," Hermione said quietly to Malfoy.
"Tell her yourself," he returned. "She answers to you now, too."
Hermione glanced between Malfoy and the little elf in dawning horror. Having the creature do Malfoy's bidding in her home was one thing, sharing in the ownership was entirely another.
"Absolutely not," Hermione declared resolutely, bending down to strip off one of her socks. She held it out towards the elf, but Nilly shrieked as though it was made of fiendfyre.
"No!" she screamed, diving behind Malfoy and clutching at his robes. "Please not clothes!" She burst into hysterical sobs.
Hermione stared in shock as Malfoy immediately dropped to one knee and gathered the elf close. "Please, sir!" she went on wailing. "Nilly is caring for you since you were a baby! Anything but clothes! Nilly will do anything!"
"There, there," Malfoy said, patting gently between her tiny shoulders as they heaved with sobs. "She didn't mean anything by it, Nilly. You don't have to take clothes if you don't want them."
"She doesn't know any better—" Hermione began indignantly, but she broke off at a warning look from Malfoy.
"Mistress has only been Mistress for one day," Nilly sobbed, "and already Nilly is displeasing her."
"No, no," Hermione said earnestly. "You haven't done anything wrong, Nilly. Mistr—oh, for Merlin's sake—I am not displeased with you at all."
Nilly turned her cheek against Malfoy's chest, blinking up at her with bleary eyes. "Mistress is pleased with Nilly?"
Hermione winced, but Malfoy cleared his throat meaningfully.
"Yes," she choked out. "I'm very pleased. So pleased, in fact, that I wanted to give you this sock as a reward—"
"Granger," Malfoy warned as Nilly sucked in a shaky breath.
"B-But perhaps we can discuss that at a later time," she finished with a weak smile.
Nilly's eyes went even rounder, if that was possible, and she spoke to Malfoy in a rush. "Master will please call for Nilly if he needs anything else." Then, she Disapparated, seemingly before Hermione could decide that later was now.
"Well, nicely done," Malfoy spat, getting back to his feet. "Very tactful."
"Don't talk to me about tact," she shot back. "I'm not the one choosing to participate in slavery. It's despicable!"
He stepped forward so he could hiss directly into her face. "Has anyone ever told you that you sound like a complete fucking idiot when you pretend to know everything about everything?"
"I know enough about this!"
"No, you don't!" he shouted. "There are parts of this world that you will never truly understand no matter how hard you try, and I will not allow your blundering ignorance to terrorise anyone under my care!"
"My ignorance?!" she repeated in disbelief. "You invented ignorance, you arrogant prat! There are parts of your world I have no wish to understand. Freedom is right and enslavement is wrong, do you understand that?"
He narrowed his eyes at her. "More and more every second."
Her nails dug into the soft cotton of the sock she still held, but before she could respond, he turned on his heel and left. Hermione stood there, breathing heavily in her rage and listening to his retreat. She didn't move until she heard the sound of his bedroom door slamming shut.