𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐃 | ᴀ ᴅʀᴀᴍɪᴏɴᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ

Chapter 30

The Honeymoon's Over (Draco POV)

Endorphins: chemicals in the brain that instill feelings of well-being or euphoria.

They're the reason we keep going back to the gym for those punishing workouts. They're the reason even the most uptight man on earth can fall asleep after a good lay. They are also responsible for a little phenomenon commonly referred to as The Honeymoon Period.

You know what I'm talking about. It's the beginning of a relationship—when everything is all sweetness and light. Everyone's on their best behavior.

Guys don't pass gas; women don't eat.

Or, if they just can't help themselves, even the worst habits seem like the most adorable thing since Punky frigging Brewster. His cute little snore, her delightful nail biting.

Humans are not the only ones who go through a Honeymoon Period. It's an interspecies experience. In fact, without it, sharks would cease to exist. See, sharks are natural predators. They'll eat anything—including their own offspring.

Right after giving birth, however, the mother shark's brain is flooded with endorphins, putting her into a kind of ecstatic coma. This gives the baby shark about ten minutes to swim away.

Because if he's still around when Momma wakes up? He's lunch.

Which brings us to the other universal characteristic of The Honeymoon Period:

Eventually, it ends.

oOoOoOo

"Hey, Hermione?"

It's Saturday afternoon. Harry and Blaise are over. We're in the living room, watching the game.

"Hermione!"

And we need beer.

Sure, she's in the office working, but the Yankees are on. And I'm a New York boy—born and raised. Which means there are only two teams I like: the Yankees and whoever's playing the Boston Red Sox.

"HERMIONEEEE!"

She appears at the entrance to the room, arms folded, hip cocked. She's wearing a sundress—short with a sexy floral pattern and buttons down the front for easy removal. I worship the creator of the sundress.

Her voice is annoyed. "What is it, Draco?"

I toss her a smile. "Hey, babe...could you grab us a few beers from the fridge?"

Animals are non-verbal. A girl dog can't tell a boy dog, Screw me now; I want to have your puppies. So instead she sticks her ass in the air. Now, if the boy dog happens to read her signals wrong? If he jumps on her ass before it's raised?

He might just get his balls bitten off.

Women are a lot like female canines—or bitches, if you want the correct terminology—and God help the man who misreads them.

We'll get back to that later.

As for now, when Hermione raises one eyebrow at me, I know she's looking for an explanation. I gesture towards the television. "Jeter's about to beat the all-time hitting record."

She sighs. Pacified. "Okay." Then she heads off to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, she comes back with her arms full of beer bottles. She hands one to Harry.

"Thanks, Mione."

And one to Blaise. "Thank you, Mione."

And one to me. I take a sip. And flinch. "Ah, this is piss warm." I hand it back to her.