And Everything Nice

Chapter 3

*From author...Chapter Notes
Slight content warning for this chapter: discussion of non-consensual sexual contact/touching.****

"Tell me again whose bright idea it was to hold a midsummer gala during the first week of
August." Theo yanked at his tie, flubbing the knot. "Damn it."
Draco chuckled beneath his breath and reached over, swatting Theo's hands aside. "I think the Ministry is bucking tradition and working off the more literal middle of summer meteorological definition rather than astronomical midsummer."
"Heathens." Theo scoffed. "All of them."
"Heathens?" She laughed. "As I missing something? Another ancient Pureblood practice?"
"No," Draco said, straightening Theo's now carefully-knotted tie. "There's the Pagan holiday, Litha, celebrating midsummer in June, but while, historically most witches and wizards were Pagan, not all Pagans were witches and wizards. So, not really."
"I just like referring to the Ministry as a bunch of heathens," Theo confessed. "It sounds better than bureaucratic arseholes, so in all honesty, they should thank me for making them sound cooler than the paper-pushing politicians they are."
"Say that five times fast," Draco muttered beneath his breath.
Theo opened his mouth to do it but stopped when she fixed him with a stare. He grinned. "I'll behave."
Draco snorted. "Behave isn't a word in your vocabulary."
"Damn. You're right." Theo snapped his fingers. "Can't say I didn't try. Not my fault I didn't
understand the assignment."
"Look"—she snatched her clutch off the nightstand—"we won't have to stay for long. We just need to put in an appearance so Kingsley can see I kept my word. Though it wouldn't hurt to speak to several of the families who—"

"Hermione." Draco rested one hand on her waist, the other tipping up her chin. "While it's not my ideal Friday evening, we'll live."
He lowered his head, lips brushing hers in a gentle kiss.
Suddenly Theo was there, lips smacking first her cheek, then Draco's, making them both laugh. "While you both look delectable all dressed-up, my ideal evening would involve far fewer clothes."
She didn't know about herself—she looked fine in her plum-colored gown—but Theo was right in that he and Draco managed to make their dress robes into something approaching indecent. Not that they weren't entirely function-appropriate and tailored to perfection, but Gods, did they have to fit quite so well?
When Draco arched a brow, Theo sighed. "Fine. No clothing. Your finery would look better on the floor. Happy?"
Draco smirked. "Ecstatic."
The look Theo aimed at Draco was so heated, her own breath stuttered. "I don't know. I'd
personally reserve ecstatic for what comes after the clothes wind up on the floor." "Okay," she piped up when Draco's eyes darkened. "Not that this isn't—"
She was going to say arousing, but the word caught in her throat.
Theo dimpled. "Go on."
"If I finish that statement, we'll never make it to the gala on time."
Not that the devil on her shoulder gave a lick about punctuality. As much as attending this gala was a necessary evil—she had promised Kingsley in return for granting her access to the Book of Names—she wasn't looking forward to it. Not. One. Bit. Word of their engagement had hit the papers last month, but this would be their first public appearance, all three of them, since. Save for the Remembrance ceremony, it would be their first official public appearance period. Cameras and reporters—all save one highly vetted, Ministry-approved journalist—had been banned from the Remembrance Day proceedings, but no doubt the gossip fiends would be out in full force at the gala.
Based on Theo's unusual inability to tie his own tie and how Draco had fidgeted all day, cracking his knuckles constantly, they weren't looking forward to it, either.
"Come on," Theo said. "A little boozing, a little schmoozing, it'll be fine. What's the worst that could happen?"
Theo had spoken too soon.
***

As if illuminated by a spotlight—she glanced toward the ceiling to make sure there wasn't one—everyone in the Ministry's grand ballroom turned and stared as soon as they walked in.
Theo maintained a smile, speaking through clenched teeth. "Like I said, heathens. Didn't their mothers tell them staring was rude?" He snorted. "My mother died and even I know that."
Draco cleared his throat. "I need a drink."
"I think I need several," Theo said.
Not a bad idea and—perfect. "Come on. I see Harry and Ron over at the bar."
"Brilliant idea," Draco muttered. "Let's go stand by Potter so all the people who are staring at him can stare at us."
"We usually stick together at these functions. That way Kingsley can't possibly miss that we're in attendance, we present the united front he's looking for, and it saves us time."
"I'm sure it has nothing to do with some people being too timid to approach the entire Golden Trio." Draco smirked.
"Hush." She laughed.
Harry caught sight of them before Ron, lifting his glass of firewhisky in greeting. "Hermione, hey." He leaned in, hugging her briefly before nodding to Draco and Theo. "Malfoy, Nott, good seeing you."
Draco's lips flattened as he took a seat on the open barstool beside Harry. "Get me a drink and I might consider returning the sentiment."
She rolled her eyes when Harry looked affronted. "It's not you. It's everyone."
"Oh. Well, then." Harry gestured to the bartender with three fingers. The man was quick to
comply, all but jumping at the chance to serve Harry Potter. "Alcohol helps."
"'Mione." Ron gave her a quick, semi-awkward peck on the cheek. "I thought you lot would
be used to these sorts of shindigs. Rubbing elbows and all that."
"Right. Aren't you Slytherins groomed for a life of politics?" Harry smirked, passing them their drinks.
Firewhisky wasn't her drink of choice, but she'd take it, at least for something to hold to keep from fidgeting as she was prone to at these events where everyone stared.
Draco nodded, conceding the point. "Accurate, but you're forgetting a key detail. All those parties I was forced to attend growing up? Everyone disliked everyone to some degree. It was mutual and leveled the playing field. Here..."
"Everyone hates us." Theo pointed between himself and Draco. "It's a real buzzkill."

"No one hates you," she said.
Draco tipped his head pointedly to a group of staring women whispering behind their hands. At her glance, all but one woman hurried to look otherwise occupied. The woman still glaring—Hermione was almost certain she'd been in her sixth year, Ravenclaw, when they'd been first years—curled her lip in a sneer, nose wrinkling as her eyes flashed between Draco and Theo.
Bitch. Hermione glared right back, refusing to break eye contact until the woman finally blinked, shaking her head before giving Hermione her back.
"Meow," Theo whispered, miming a swipe of claws with his fingers.
"Okay, some people hate you," Harry admitted. "But come on, it's got to be a little mutual."
Draco shook his head. "Actually, no. I wouldn't say I'm fond of most of the people here—"
"He's not fond of very many people, period." Theo grinned. "It's a select club." He dropped his voice. "The membership fees are exorbitant."
Ron snorted. "What, just you and Hermione?" He paused, mouth twisting in a grimace. "I don't think I want to know about your membership fees."
"Don't worry." Theo waved him off. "We don't deal in money. Strictly sexual favors." "Oi," Ron said. "Gross."
"Theo," she hissed, face heating.
So much for behaving.
Ron threw the rest of his drink back and lifted the empty glass, signaling to the bartender for a refill.
"Sorry, right." Theo nodded, holding up his hands in placation. "Exclusive club. State secrets. I've said too much."
Ears flushed, Draco cleared his throat. "As I was saying, I might not be fond of most of the people here, but I don't hate them. I could simply do without the whispers and the staring. It's rude."
"Hea-thens," Theo sing-songed under his breath.
Harry nodded, lips twisted in sympathy. "I wish I could say it gets better, but that'd be a lie."
"Oh yes," Draco spoke into his tumbler. "I'm sure it's so difficult having all these people want to shake your hand and thank you for saving their lives."
He lifted his head, grey eyes dancing with humor.

Harry's hand twitched around his glass, his eyes narrowing, lips rolling in before quirking to the side. "You should really come to more of these things."
Draco reared back. "Why in Salazar's name would I want to do that?"
Harry rolled his glass, ice cubes clinking. "With you around, no one wants to come near us."
"Funny." Draco smirked. "Saint Potter has jokes."
"Oh, I wasn't kidding. No one's approaching us for a photo or coming to shake my hand or ask me my opinion on a subject I'm wholly unopinionated on." Harry grinned. "It's great."
"Happy to be of service." Draco rolled his eyes.
"Draco does have a point," Theo said, eyes skimming the room. "We don't hate anyone here
we just—oh wait, I spoke too soon. We definitely hate her."
Hermione spun, looking in the direction Theo was covertly pointing. "What's wrong with
her?"
Theo shrugged. "She just has one of those faces, you know? Ow." He rubbed his arm where she'd elbowed him. "Kidding. That's Elena Selwyn and she's one of the holdouts refusing to send her precious little Marco to our school. And she hasn't been quiet about it, either."
"For what it's worth." Draco took a sip of whisky. "My mother can't stand her." "Why not?" she asked.
Draco sighed. "Some tiff over thank you notes. Elena sends them to everyone but my mother, so now she includes a thank you note with her gift, already filled out save for the signature. And the gift is always the latest edition of Madam Etheridge's Guide to Etiquette for the Modern Witch."
"Damn." Theo whistled. "Power move. Go Narcissa."
"Oh." She frowned. "Okay. Well, go talk to her."
Theo balked, holding a hand to his chest. "Me? Why me?"
"Do you really think I'm the right person to convince Elena Selwyn to send her child to an integrated school?" she asked.
Theo winced.
Draco shook his head. "I'm out. Her feelings toward my mother extend to me, no doubt." Theo huffed. "And I'm any better?"
"What was it you once said?" Draco smirked. "You're charming and affable?"

Theo mock-glared. "Fine." He straightened his already perfect tie and sniffed. "But if the woman is anywhere near as dreadful as her brother-in-law, you both owe me."
Sauntering across the room like he owned the place, Theo plucked a glass of champagne off a passing tray and made his way over to Elena Selwyn. She frowned when he greeted her, head turning sharply, brushing him off without even aiming for subtlety. Undeterred, Theo pressed on, his smile unflappable even in the face of such appalling manners. Whatever he said made her pause, chin tilting, glossy black curls spilling over her shoulder as she listened, eyes narrowed. Theo held out the glass of champagne and she stared at it for a moment before accepting, a small smile gracing her lips. Theo's next words made her laugh, her porcelain skin pinking beneath the warm light of the ballroom's chandeliers.
Draco chuckled, low and throaty, and held his tumbler up to hers, clicking their glasses together.
Charming was right. Not only was it entertaining seeing a stone-cold viper like Elena Selwyn simper, but it was also extra gratifying knowing Theo's schmoozing was for a worthy cause. Because if Elena Selwyn agreed to send her son to the integrated primary school, the other women in her little clique might follow suit. Lions weren't the only ones who ran in packs, apparently.
Just then, Theo shifted, lifting his head and winking in their direction.
"Cheeky bastard. He's enjoying this far too much." Draco shook his head at Theo, lifting his glass in a salute.
"He's good at that," Ron muttered, sounding half-impressed, half-perturbed by Theo's prowess.
"What he's good at—" Draco drained his drink and stood "—is showing me up." He set his glass on the bar and nodded toward the corner of the room. "Montague Warrington is on the board of the Potions Association, one of the few members who, dare I say, doesn't loathe me. I should say hello."
His warm lips brushed her cheek, lingering a second longer than needed. Who cared if half the room was watching? She leaned into it, smiling.
"What?" Harry shook his head, sliding his glasses up when they slipped down his bridge. "No. If you leave, I have no buffer."
Draco clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Sorry, not sorry, Potter."
He left, striding across the room, long fingers buttoning his suit jacket as he moved. His face was a closed book, his eyes sharp and jaw clenched. Colder and harder than ice, Draco looked completely unmoved by the stares and whispers that followed as he crossed the ballroom, the crowd parting before him. The only signs of his discomfort were that his shoulders were just about an inch too high and his stride ever so slightly shortened, and it was unlikely anyone but she noticed.

She held her breath when Draco greeted Mr. Warrington, an older-looking wizard who could've been eighty or one-hundred and fifty, she hadn't the slightest. The lines around the man's mouth were severe, the furrows in his forehead deep grooves. The man looked more accustomed to frowns than smiles, but when Draco nodded and extended his hand, Mr. Warrington offered his own with a friendly upturn of his lips. He then gestured to the woman by his side whose wrinkled face positively lit up when Draco kissed the back of her hand. Something she said made Draco laugh, his smile blinding.
Thank Merlin. Shoulders dropping, she took a sip of whisky and winced at the burn. "All right there?" Harry asked, brow pinched.
"Who, me?" When he nodded, she sighed. "I'm fine. I'm just tired of these galas."
For one, they always required her to dress up. Not something she inherently hated, but the Daily Prophet, without fail, ran a foul column dissecting what she wore the following day. Not Harry, not Ron, her. And, without fail, there were pictures, pictures she usually looked passable in, but occasionally there would be a shot or two captured from an unflattering angle, one that made her hips too wide and her breasts too small and her hair frizzy...frizzier than normal. Special attention had to be paid to every outfit, her hair, her makeup, just so she wouldn't be caught looking a mess in the next day's paper.
Then there was the staring. Leers and glares and disingenuous smiles that never quite reached the eyes. Worse were the people who wanted photos and that meant forced grins and putting up with hands placed just a little too low, too close to her arse. Not so low she could say something—because she would, absolutely—but low enough to make her uncomfortable.
Conversely, there were the people who genuinely wanted to express their appreciation, give thanks. Mothers whose eyes would well with tears and fathers who couldn't seem to let go when they shook her hand. There were families with stories of loss whose grief, even a year later, was so palpable it took everything she had not to cry until she could slip off to the restroom. Families with stories of near-losses, too, who were so appreciative, appreciative of her and she never knew what to say to those people. You're welcome? It was nothing? It was the right thing to do? People felt compelled to share with her, for some reason, as if she needed personal anecdotes to understand just how bleak the war had been and what she'd prevented from transpiring when she'd witnessed the worst of it firsthand.
Of course, there were also the people who wanted to pick her brain. Some wanted a play-by- play of her thought process during those grim months spent searching for and destroying horcruxes and others wanted to know if there were different choices she'd make in retrospect, a cruel question, turning the war into some sort of post-Quidditch match locker-room interview.
She didn't know what to do with any of it—the good, the bad, or the just plain awkward. All of it turned her into a spectacle and she hated it, hated that she'd been reduced to adjectives— female, Gryffindor, Muggleborn, the bright one, or worse, the brains as if Harry and Ron lacked those entirely, or she lacked heart or nerve or whatever it was they in turn possessed— and that all anyone wanted to talk about was worst year of her life.

Harry gave her a grim smile and nodded. "Awful, isn't it? On the bright side, we won't have another one of these to worry about until the holidays."
She frowned at her empty glass. Right. The holidays. If Narcissa had her way, there'd easily be this many people in attendance at the wedding. Hundreds of people, most of whom she might not even know, all wanting a piece of her on what was supposed to be her day. Hers and Draco's and Theo's, not theirs, these other people. Braving the whispers and stomaching the stares at Ministry parties was one thing, but her wedding shouldn't be a spectacle, performance art, something to be chewed up and spit out in the Prophet. What vultures.
No. She wanted to be able to breathe on her wedding day, not worry that all her happy moments would wind up reduced to unflattering photos alongside a puffed-up editorial piece that would probably harangue her taste in food and flowers, and no doubt refer to the absence of her parents as curious.
"'Mione?" Ron touched her arm. "Sure you're okay?"
She shook her head, forcing herself to smile. It would be her luck some photographer would be lying in wait for the perfect moment to snap a picture of her frowning by the bar. The headlines would read something like, "Trouble in paradise? Golden Girl Spotted Sad and Alone While Her Fiancés Mingle" or "Has the Brightest Witch of the Age Finally Come to Her Senses and Ditched Her Death Eater Beaus?" Even with Rita no longer writing for the Prophet, the paper took liberties and then some. Only a fool would think of a strikethrough as anything but a raised underscore.
"I'm fine, really." When Harry and Ron continued to look suspicious, she waved them off. "Seriously, you two, I'm just over these galas. I only came because Kingsley asked quid pro quo. Convincing a few naysayers to enroll their children was a plus, but Theo seems to have that handled."
Across the room, Theo was surrounded by several of Elena Selwyn's friends, all women in their thirties and forties and fifties who looked positively delighted by his presence. She rolled her eyes. Honestly, why hadn't they thought to give Theo the task of drumming up interest sooner? Talk about saving time and a hassle. They should've just tossed Theo in a room with a bunch of bored Pureblood housewives and bam, problem solved.
She bit the inside of her cheek. Not that she was suggesting they pimp out her fiancé, no. Gods no. But he could charm the pants off a mountain troll; convincing a few lustful witches to send their children to a new school? Easy as breathing.
"He's good," Ron admitted before frowning. "He's not part Veela, is he?"
Harry snorted so hard firewhisky shot out of his nose. "Oh, hell. That burns." He pinched his nose, eyes watering, his other hand cradling his forehead. His glasses slipped, skewing to the left.
She patted Harry on the shoulder. "Of course, he's not, Ron." She couldn't not tease him when he'd set himself up for it so perfectly. "Finding yourself enamored, are you?"
 
Harry tugged off his glasses and wiped tears from the corners of his eyes. "I was going to ask the same thing before I blew fire out my nose."
Ron huffed. "No. Of course not. Don't be stupid. I'm only saying." He crossed his arms and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "He's just kind of brilliant at that." He gestured across the room.
"I'll make sure to pass on the compliment," she teased. Ron flushed. "Don't you dare."
"And if I do?"
Ron groaned. "'Mione."
She grinned. "I'm going to find Kingsley and say hello." The sooner that happened, the sooner she could leave. She pointed a finger at Ron and Harry warningly. "Don't you even think of sneaking out of here without saying goodbye."
"Like you haven't thought of doing it." Ron rolled his eyes.
Two minutes was all it should've taken to find Kingsley—it was rather difficult to miss him as he was flanked by aurors—and yet it took twenty to reach him. She had to shake hands, engage in small talk with at least a half dozen people. She was doing well. Yes, she was really engaged. Yes, the article in the Prophet had been right. She really was engaged to a Malfoy and a Nott. No, she wasn't barmy. That question and the answer had both been implied. Yes, that was the ring. No, they didn't have a date set. No, she wasn't working at the Ministry. Yes, she was working. Yes, the rumors of the primary school were true. On and on, the same questions she'd been asked with a few new ones added in. Utterly tedious.
Her chat with Kingsley was brief because if there was anyone more in demand than her, Harry, and Ron, it was the Minister. Next year was reelection year and he was fielding questions left and right, his time for her blessedly limited. A quick hello, a good to see you, you're looking well followed by a promise on her end to speak with the woman in the red dress at table three, a visitor from Brazil with deep pockets who wanted to meet her, of all people. Kingsley nudged her in that direction and then turned, greeting someone new.
She rolled her eyes and did as bade, pasting on a smile as she approached the table.
Another thirty minutes later and she was free, the woman having written two sizeable checks, one to the Being Division of the DRCMC and another for the orphanage, after getting Hermione to sign chocolate frog cards of herself for the woman's nine children. Merlin.
"Hey." She turned, spinning right into Theo who caught her around the waist before she could topple over. He grinned down at her, fingers teasing the skin left bare by her backless dress. "Just the witch I was looking for."
"Oh, really?" There was a smudge of pink lipstick on his cheek that she wanted gone but didn't want to touch. "You've got lipstick on your cheek."

Theo wrinkled his nose and pulled back, lower lip jutting out. "Oh, Gods. Marliese Avery doesn't like to take no for an answer. She's old enough to be my mother and she kept running her nails, no, claws, up my arm. I feel violated, Hermione."
She huffed and withdrew her wand—thank the heavens for gowns with pockets—tergeo'ing the makeup from his skin. Twice, for good measure. "Violated, hmm?"
"You know the only witch I want touching me is you." Theo crowded closer, hands dipping, just shy of indecent territory. He lowered his head, lips brushing her ear, making her shiver, her shoulders curling in. "And the only lipstick I want on me is yours. Preferably all over."
"Smooth." She laughed. "I'm not actually upset, you know. Well, I'm upset they took liberties and touched you without permission, but—"
He leaned in, kissing her quiet, cutting her off. He pulled back, chuckling. "I know. Your eyes didn't scream homicide, so I figured I was safe."
She huffed. "Did you at least have a nice conversation?"
"If by nice, you mean was I persuasive?" Theo shrugged. "You've got eight new enrollees, so I'll leave that for you to decide."
"Eight?" She smacked his arm. "Oh my God, Theo. You convinced them all?"
"Everyone I spoke to with children of primary school age, yes." He grinned. "They seemed
particularly sold when I said I'd be teaching Magical Cultural Studies."
"Of course, it's a much-needed course that—" She paused. "No. It was the fact that you're teaching, wasn't it? Perfect, now we'll be stuck dealing with a PTA slash fan club."
"PT what?"
She smiled. "Parent-teacher association. They encourage and facilitate cooperation and communication between, well, parents and teachers. Parents often volunteer to hold fundraisers, bake sales usually, for field trips. Occasionally parents volunteer in classrooms, make copies, that sort of thing. I'm not sure what the magical equivalent would wind up being, but let's keep that between us so we don't have witches showing up offering to help Professor Theo with his grading, okay?"
She'd rather not be arrested.
He winced. "Why anyone trusts me with their children, I still haven't the slightest."
"Theo—"
"You can explain it to me again later. Right now, I really want to find Draco and leave, if you don't mind."
Draco was back at the bar, deep in discussion with Harry and Ron who looked as if they hadn't left, not even for a moment. Ron's laughter was a touch too loud, probably from all the

free firewhisky. At least, from the looks of his glass, he'd switched to water at some point. "Seriously?" Draco asked, staring at Harry with a brow arched in apparent suspicion. "You say it like you're shocked, but you've played with us before, Malfoy," Harry said. "Yes, but that was because the seeker for the DoM was stuck in—"
Ron and Harry spoke at once, "Shhh!"
Theo laughed but she didn't find it funny that some poor Unspeakable was still stuck in time.
"Look, Jenkins can't play seeker to save his life. No one else is decent and I'd like to play against someone who actually poses a challenge," Harry whined. "I'd ask Ginny, but she's training up in Scotland."
"Huh, I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm strangely flattered, Potter. Prepare to get your arse handed to you. Again."
Harry scoffed. "It was a draw and that was only because we got called for an emergency." "Planning another interdepartmental Quidditch match?" Theo asked.
Harry shook his head. "Just us in the DMLE. It's just for fun."
And the interdepartmental matches weren't for fun?
Ron shrugged. "Even Barry who does all the filing joins in. Bloody amazing beater, it turns out."
Harry nodded at Theo. "You can join, too, if you want. Micaela, one of our chasers, is out sick and I was planning on swapping Jenkins over, but it's really not just seeker he's awful at, it's the whole damn game."
"Bloke should stick with his clerical duties." Ron grimaced
Theo shrugged. "Eh, I'm not exactly what you'd call skilled at Quidditch." Harry frowned. "Can you fly?"
Theo arched a brow. "Yes."
"Can you do it in a straight line?"
"Who can't?"
Harry sighed. "You're already better than Jenkins, trust me."
Ron glanced at her, chuckling under his breath.

"Excuse you," she said, resting her hands on her hips. "I can fly in a straight line, Ronald. I simply choose not to. Fly, I mean."
Draco shook his head. "I'm going to get you on a broom eventually, you know that?" "Save your breath, mate," Ron said. "No use. I tried for years."
Draco seemed to take that as a challenge, smirking opening. "We'll see about that." Hah. "You can try."
Draco continued to look far more confident than he had any right. Theo shrugged. "All right. I'm in. When?"
"Tomorrow," Harry said. "Eleven o'clock. I'll meet you both here and you can side-along to the field. You should come, too, Hermione. Watch."
As tempting as the thought of seeing both Draco and Theo dressed for Quidditch was... "Thanks, but no. I have a few loose ends I want to tie up with the funding, and Dean owled this afternoon and I didn't have a chance to respond. Something about a magical-electrical crisis? But have fun. And try not to get hurt."
"Just for that, we're definitely going to try to get hurt," Harry joked. "You say that like it's funny." And it wasn't. Not in the slightest. "It's a little funny." Harry held up two fingers held closely together. "One word, Harry. Skelegrow."
Harry went green.
Point made, she turned to Draco. "Are you ready to head home?"
"Absolutely." He nodded. "See you tomorrow, Potter. Weasley." He dipped his chin.
"Bye, Harry." She leaned in, hugging him, holding him a second longer than usual so she could whisper in his ear, "If either of my fiancés come home hurt tomorrow, I'll have your broom for kindling."
Harry grinned. "No promises."
Ron's hug was brief. "See ya, 'Mione."
Theo shook both their hands and then they were off, making a beeline for the door, hurrying before someone could stop them.
"Draco."
They groaned in unison. Thwarted, and just when they'd been so close.

Narcissa waved from a cluster of women, some of who had been the ones clinging to Theo's every word. And his body, apparently.
Luckily Narcissa came to them and they weren't forced to join her. Hermione didn't know what this Marliese Avery looked like and the woman should count her lucky stars for that fact.
"Leaving so soon?" Narcissa asked.
Draco nodded. "I didn't know you were coming."
"A last-minute decision," she said. She gestured to her dress, a sleek black number that clung to her curves and shimmered green in a certain light. "Andromeda convinced me and I hardly knew what to wear."
"You look amazing," Hermione said.
Narcissa smiled. "Oh, this? Just something I had in my closet."
She'd bet galleons, loads of them, that Narcissa hadn't simply thrown something on, but had instead carefully selected her dress for the occasion, perhaps going so far as to have had something designed specifically for this event. This was, after all, the first time she could recall seeing Narcissa at one of these Ministry galas, and she was attending without Lucius by her side, his house arrest nowhere close to complete.
"You look lovely as well, dear," Narcissa added, eyes narrowing. "That's a stunning silhouette on you. Something to consider for the wedding, maybe? With a train, of course. Perhaps sleeves? Could you turn around so I could—"
"Mother." Draco chuckled. "We're leaving. You can see the back of Hermione's dress when we walk through the door, how's that?"
Narcissa sighed, put out. "If I must." She rested a hand on Hermione's arm. "You aren't busy tomorrow, are you?"
"Erm, not terribly? I need to look over a few details and respond to a letter, but—"
"Perfect. I saw the most stunning serviettes in The Wedded Witch that you have to see."
Cloth napkins? Not something she'd ever refer to as stunning, but okay.
Hermione smiled. "Sure. We can talk about...serviettes tomorrow."
Narcissa chuckled. "Not just those. Centerpieces, too. I was thinking just a touch of holly. Nothing garish."
Holly. Christmas flowers. She pasted on a smile. "Maybe."
With the promise of talking tomorrow, they were finally able to slip out of the party undisturbed. One quick Floo trip later, they were back inside their bedroom, having had the

forethought to Floo directly to that grate rather than the one downstairs.
Theo and Draco looked exhausted, no longer bothering to hide behind the façade of cool, calm, collectedness.
Theo dropped his head to her shoulder with a whimper. "Hermione. That was awful." Oh, Gods. She bit the inside of her cheek and tutted. "You're okay."
He lifted his head, eyes wide with faux-innocence. Those women had no idea who they were teasing. Maybe that was a good thing. If they'd had the slightest clue just how devious— wonderfully devious, mind—Theo could be, they might've done more than stroke his arm. Stroke something else, maybe. "You know what would make me feel better?" He smiled, dimpling impishly. "A kiss."
Snorting indelicately, she leaned up on her toes, lips skimming his cheek quickly before he could turn and steal an actual kiss.
Draco slipped off his tie, frowning. "What happened?"
Theo's sighed, dropping the act, rolling his eyes. "Marliese Avery happened."
With a scoff, Draco tossed his tie on the bed and moved on to the buttons of his shirt. "You had to deal with a handsy housewife, boo hoo." Apparently, the woman's reputation preceded her.
Shirt hanging half-open, Draco dropped his hands and stared at them, grey eyes haunted. "You saw Mrs. Warrington, yes? The woman's—what? In her nineties? Certainly didn't stop her from pinching my bum." He frowned, one hand reaching back to touch the offended area. "Woman had a grip to rival a grindylow, too."
Theo's lips twitched, a muffled snort of laughter slipping out.
"The barmy old bat did it right in front of her husband. Worse? He smirked like he thought it was funny."
"Maybe they were both on the pull?" Theo waggled his brows. "Looking to spice up their sex life? Geriatrics need love, too, Draco."
Her lower lip wobbled and she covered her face, shoulders shaking.
Draco sneered. "I'm not that desperate to have my proposal approved." He winced. "I think I have a bruise."
"Want me to kiss it better?" Theo offered.
Draco sniffed. "Not if you're going to laugh at me."
She took a deep, cleansing breath and dropped her hands. "Sorry. Neither of you would be laughing if it had been me, so it's really not funny."

With a look that could only be described as contrite, Theo said, "Good point."
Draco frowned thoughtfully. "I'm fine. I was mostly just scandalized that the woman would be so bold. And in public no less."
"Not to correlate the events, but did Warrington mention your proposal?" Theo asked.
"Vaguely. Said he finds it noble." Draco dropped his head and gave a dry laugh. "Not sure I can rely on his understanding of that word in retrospect."
Theo shot her a look, a flash of wide eyes and lips pinched white. "Who knows, maybe he'll —"
"Not that I don't appreciate what you're trying to do, because I absolutely saw that look, but can we not?" Draco shook his head. "I'd rather not dissect it further. All we're doing is speculating and it gets us nowhere."
"Okay." Though it was absolutely in her nature to examine an issue from every angle, real and imagined, she could concede that if it wasn't making him feel better, they'd best drop it.
Theo nodded. "Fine."
"Good, now screw your shower, Theo." Fingers returning to his buttons, Draco finished with his shirt and moved on to his trousers. He lowered the zipper and lifted his brows. "If you want to make me feel better, go draw us a bath."

Original author: Chapter End Notes
*Content warning explained: At a Ministry gala, Draco is groped by an older woman. Specifically, she grabs his rear. Subsequent discussion between Draco, Theo, and Hermione is had regarding how it really isn't funny.*