Tangled in Silver and Gold

The morning after the wedding dawned soft and muted, the silver glow of early sunlight filtering through the grand windows of Malfoy Manor. The weight of everything—the ceremony, the reception, the unspoken words exchanged—settled heavily over Hermione before she even opened her eyes.

She was not alone.

Draco lay on his side, facing away from her, his breathing steady, his posture too composed for someone who had just woken up. He was awake, she realized. Probably had been for some time.

Hermione shifted slightly, watching him carefully. The previous night had ended on an unexpected note. She had asked him to stay, and to her surprise, he had agreed. But now, in the quiet light of morning, reality pressed in with all its sharp edges.

"This is real."

"This is my life now."

"With him."

"Merlin help me."

"You're staring, Granger," Draco murmured, breaking the silence, his voice still husky with sleep.

Hermione rolled her eyes, sitting up and stretching. "It’s my room too now, Malfoy. I can stare at whatever I want."

Draco turned then, rolling onto his back, his gaze finding hers. "Merlin help me. Marriage has made you insufferable already."

Hermione smirked, but before she could retort, a knock echoed through the room.

The doors creaked open slightly, and a house-elf peered inside timidly. "Master and Mistress Malfoy, breakfast is ready in the sunroom. Mistress Narcissa requests your presence."

Draco sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Of course she does."

Hermione glanced at him, arching a brow. "Afraid of your mother, Malfoy?"

Draco smirked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Granger, even the Dark Lord feared my mother. You should too."

The sunroom was elegant, adorned with enchanted ivy curling along the glass walls, filtering golden light into the space. The table was set precisely, each dish presented as though it had been painted onto the porcelain rather than served.

Narcissa sat at the head of the table, regal and composed. She lifted her teacup, motioning for them to sit. "I trust you both slept well?"

Hermione refused to flush at the implication. "Yes, thank you."

Draco simply hummed, pouring himself coffee. "What is it you really want, Mother?"

Narcissa’s lips twitched. "You wound me, darling. I simply wish to discuss your… transition into married life."

Hermione swallowed a piece of toast a bit too quickly, coughing slightly. Draco, to her irritation, smirked as he reached for the jam. "By all means, Mother, don’t hold back."

Narcissa’s gaze flickered between them, sharp and assessing. "It is no secret that this marriage was not either of your choices. But that does not mean you cannot make it work to your advantage. Society is watching. The Sacred Twenty-Eight is watching. The way you behave—together—will define the future of this union."

Hermione knew that, of course. But hearing it spoken aloud felt heavier somehow.

"I expect you both to uphold the Malfoy name with dignity," Narcissa continued. "Which means learning how to navigate the expectations placed upon you. That includes appearing… comfortable with each other."

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "You mean convincing them we don’t hate each other?"

Draco snorted into his coffee, but Narcissa only smiled, unfazed. "Precisely."

Draco was never far. Never out of sight. It was subtle at first—standing just close enough that his presence was a shadow at her back, his gaze flicking toward her when someone unfamiliar entered a room.

Hermione noticed it most acutely when they received their first visitors.

Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott arrived by late afternoon, their sharp eyes assessing the new Malfoy bride with casual curiosity.

Draco exhaled, his tone dry as he gestured between them. "Granger, meet Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott. Blaise prefers to lurk in the shadows until an opportunity for amusement presents itself. Theo, on the other hand, is incapable of minding his own business."

Blaise, ever the composed one, offered a smooth nod, while Theo, in contrast, smirked as if already planning mischief.

Theo grinned, stepping forward. "Ah, but don’t let Malfoy’s bleak introductions fool you. Theodore Nott—intellectual, charming, and a connoisseur of chaos. Longtime friend of your ever-so-charming husband, and, unfortunately, a front-row witness to all his worst decisions."

Blaise inclined his head slightly. "Blaise Zabini. Unlike Theo, I prefer subtlety over chaos, though I do enjoy a good spectacle when it presents itself. And you, of course, need no introduction, Hermione Granger."

Draco, who had been silent until now, cut in smoothly. "It's Malfoy."

Blaise’s lips twitched. "Right, of course. My apologies, Malfoy. Though, interesting that you called her Granger just a moment ago."

Draco barely glanced at him as he leaned back in his chair. "That’s different. Only I can call her that. Others, however, should know their place."

Blaise smirked. "Noted."

Theo, ever the instigator, leaned forward with a teasing glint in his eye. "So, Granger—sorry, Malfoy—have you prepared for the possibility that your dear husband might actually enjoy being married to you? Or better yet, that you might enjoy it yourself?"

Draco’s jaw ticked sharply.

Theo smiled too innocently and turned back to Hermione. "You know, if things don’t work out, I’d be happy to—"

Draco stood so fast that his chair scraped against the floor, making Hermione startle.

Theo blinked, then grinned. "Oh, look at that. I poked the dragon again."

Draco’s tone was deceptively calm. "Keep talking, Nott, and you’ll find yourself short a tongue."

Theo swiftly ducked behind Hermione. "Granger, I think your husband wants to kill me. Defend me with that terrifying intellect of yours, would you?"

Hermione sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Theo, if you antagonize him and then hide behind me like a child, I don’t think that speaks well of your Slytherin cunning."

Blaise laughed, shaking his head. "I’d say that’s a fair assessment."

With that, Blaise and Theo took their leave, still chuckling at Draco’s irritation.

The room felt notably emptier in their absence, but the tension between Hermione and Draco remained thick, lingering like the aftermath of a storm.

Hermione turned toward Draco, arms crossing over her chest. "Well. That was something."

Draco exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "That was Theo being an insufferable git, as usual."

She tilted her head. "And you, Malfoy? Acting like an overgrown dragon guarding its hoard?"

Draco smirked, but there was an edge to it. "I don’t recall inviting you to analyze me, Granger."

Hermione stepped forward, unwilling to let this slide. "I was trying to get to know your friends, and all I got was a show of territorial posturing and a near duel in my honor. So tell me, Draco, what exactly was that?"

His smirk faltered, replaced by something unreadable. "That was Theo pushing buttons he had no business pushing."

She arched a brow. "And you reacted so well."

Draco exhaled through his nose, stepping closer. "Do you even realize how he was speaking to you? How he was looking at you?"

Hermione blinked. "He was teasing. It was harmless."

Draco let out a dry laugh, but there was no humor in it. "Merlin, you really don’t get it, do you?"

Hermione frowned. "Get what?"

Draco’s gaze flickered over her face, something dark and unreadable passing behind his silver eyes before he shook his head, stepping back. "Never mind."

That irritated her more than anything else. "No, Malfoy. Say what you mean."

Draco’s jaw clenched. "I mean, he was flirting with you, Hermione. And I don’t like it."

The admission hung between them, heavy and impossible to ignore.

Hermione exhaled slowly. "That’s ridiculous. I’m married—to you. It’s not as if—"

"That doesn’t stop people from trying," Draco cut in, voice low. "And I don’t intend to let them."

The intensity in his voice sent something twisting in her stomach. She swallowed, forcing herself to maintain her composure. "So what, you’re going to hex every man who so much as looks at me?"

Draco didn’t even hesitate. "If necessary."

Hermione scoffed. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, here we are," he murmured.

She let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing at her temples. "You’re being a right prat, Malfoy."

Draco smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "And you’re being blind."

Hermione huffed, shaking her head. "I need air."

Draco’s smirk grew. "Running away from me already, wife?"

She shot him a glare before turning sharply and striding toward the door. "No, Malfoy, I’m saving myself from throttling you."

Draco chuckled as she disappeared down the hall. "Whatever you need to tell yourself, Granger."