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Lord Draco Potter née Malfoy knows that his lady-wife is exquisite.

Visually, her appearance is without reproach. Wild black hair is expertly braided into elaborate sculptures when in the presence of outside company, but allowed to freely waterfall down her back whenever they're alone. It shines in the sun's light and positively glows under the moon's attention. Always healthy, always magnificent. Only part of that can be attributed to the magic soaked in each lock of hair or the meticulousness in which she tends to it. Everything else, that's all her. Her body, and its natural affinity towards brilliance.

Her face is rounder than the sharpness he's used to seeing in women like his mother, giving her a more youthful presentation, but defined in ways only maturity can shape. Her cheekbones are the perfect height, and are always outlined without the use of make-up or other cosmetics. Her jawline is cut at just the right angle. Her lips are full but delicate, enjoyable to kiss and nibble at without feeling too cushioned against his own. They're also a soft pink that glistens whenever she licks at them, giving everyone who looks at her the illusion that she's just applied lip gloss.

Her eyes, which all magicals in Great Britain and its neighboring communities know she inherited from her lady mother, are much more than a commemoration to one of the most infamous New Bloods currently named. They're storytellers, narrators; they're not only a window to her soul, they define anyone and everyone who falls under her gaze.

In their most natural state, Draco often finds himself comparing them to regal gemstones. The type that he's been raised around—with his mother's custom-made jewelry and the various gifts he remembers receiving as a child (usually meant to act as a subtle form of bragging on behalf of the gift-giver more than speaking of a genuine interest in dazzling him with something he'd like). With how precious his lady-wife is, to both him and the magical world, it's already a fitting feature.

Yet, it doesn't stop there. It can't stop there.

Just as Draco can see treasures in his lady-wife's eyes, he can also see death and vengeance. The same shade of green that can be matched to emeralds can also be matched to the Killing Curse: the spell that took her parents, and the fate that befell their murderer. That's not even getting into the long known ties between the Proud and Honorable House of Potter and the Hallowed and Eternal House of Peverell.

With eyes like that, Hyacinth Potter has belonged to the House of Peverell even before she had been blessed to live past the night her parents had fallen. She is truly divine as much as she is beloved.

A Blessed Lady standing amongst mere mortals.

Those who come under her scrutiny can only hope she sees favor in them. When her gaze warms, they're safe. Protected by her loyalty and her love; the same love that once shielded her from the greatest stain the magical world has seen yet. When her gaze cools, they toe the line between failure and fortune. A mistake can be forgiven while continued foolishness may expect to be punished thusly. When her gaze darkens, they become prey. To be hunted not only by her, but by the ancient powers hidden in her blood, born of Blessed and Ancient Houses.

When her gaze becomes heated, crazed in a manner that only passion can inspire and desperation can drive, weeeeeell…that's an experience only Draco has earned. Has a right to, really, being her lord-husband. Only he can affirm that anyone who finds themselves lucky enough to draw such a look from Hyacinth Potter walks away simultaneously satisfied with the favor they'd been shown, and hungry for more attention.

She has the power to make and break people with her gaze.

Her body too. And when Draco says that, he means that quite literally. She is the harmonious combination of an elegant princess, a skilled athlete, and an experienced warrior.

Her figure is shapely; slender around her hips and waistline, and far from flat in the chest region. It's a build that she inherited from her mother, if the portrait and various photos of the deceased Lady Lily Potter are to be believed. And a build that's highlighted with the dress she's currently wearing.

Hyacinth has never been one to overdo it with style or color. Doubly-so when she knows she's going to be moving around the room a lot, socializing with various people (some of whom have a more distant relationship with her than others). So, for tonight, she's chosen a green sheath dress—the same shade of green as her eyes—that travels all the way down to her ankles (as opposed to merely stopping at her knees). The skirt flares out just slightly at the bottom, as do the long sleeves, as one might expect from a bell sleeve design. The effect starts at her elbow, then extends until the end of the sleeve brushes against the back of Hyacinth's hand.

The entire dress has an additional layer of black lace blanketed over it, which offers the otherwise plane article of clothing some simple but eye-catching floral designs.

Accompanying her outfit, black kitten heels give her some elevation while the Malfoy family pendant is the only piece of jewelry she wears. Not even hair ornaments have been brought out for this evening.

Not that she needs anything shiny or gaudy to capture the attention of the crowd. Again, she truly is everything a wizard or witch could want. Even going beyond what her own lady mother possessed.

There are clear outlines of muscle that Lady Lily lacked along Hyacinth's arms, core, and legs. Evidence of her hard work on the Quidditch pitch and at her Godfather's side as she learned to duel with the best of them. Arms that can wrap you up in a tender hug or throw themselves in front of you to protect you can just as easily break a bone with a well-aimed punch or well-cast spell. Legs that support Hyacinth steadily as she balances on her broom mid-flight can just as easily be the last thing an enemy sees if she decides that they weren't worth the use of magic and can be taken out with an agile kick to the face. They can also be the downfall of any opponent; she'll dance around them with no signs or tiring or plant herself so firmly into the ground that an oak tree would fall sooner than her.

It's beyond attractive, and the only reason Draco doesn't drool whenever he catches sight of his lady-wife is because he refuses to embarrass himself or her by acting like an untrained crup.

Personality-wise, she's so spirited that not being drawn to her is impossible. At least, in Draco's experience.

Despite not being raised by them, she truly is the offspring of Lord James and Lady Lily: passionate, determined, fierce in almost every emotion she displays, and authentic. She's not afraid or ashamed of who she is. She's real. Real in how she understands herself and the people around her. Real in how she empathizes with them and condemns them. Real in how she loves and loathes. Real in how she supports and avenges. Real in how she lives her life; perhaps not free of expectations but unwilling to allow them to dictate how she will continue her journey.

To be seen; to be heard; to be loved by Hyacinth Potter is…it's an experience. She truly seeks to understand those around her, and she can cherish them with just as much dedication. Their strengths, their weaknesses; their virtues and their flaws.

Draco can be and is himself whenever he's with his lady-wife. A freedom rarely afforded to him, even when he was living with his parents. People who doted on him endlessly but had expectations of their own that he needed to meet to maintain their approval.

And her magic…oh, don't get Draco started on how her magic feels against him…

Hyacinth's magic is the closest Draco thinks he will ever get to embracing a phoenix. When untethered by the self-restraint of its user, it's a feral thing. Confident and untamed. It burns through him with the intensity of a Fiendfyre and doesn't yield so much as it…accepts his own. It envelopes him with its power; embracing him and protecting him and empowering him all at once. Attentive, just as its user is.

It's heady; feeling her magic interact with his own across their bond. He feels strong enough to take on Merlin himself and knows that he'll be cared for if he falls in battle. Loved even in his lower moments.

Altogether, Draco knows that Hyacinth's characteristics make her irresistible. That doesn't mean he plans to forgive all of these cretins for openly ogling her as she makes her rounds across the ballroom. Professional respect or even innocent admiration is one thing, but shamelessly allowing your eyes to rove over someone's body; staring at someone's chest; intentionally angling yourself to stare at someone's bum; trying to wrap your arm around someone; flirting with someone; or kissing them (even if it's only been regulated to the back of Hyacinth's hand so far) is a completely different Quidditch pitch. Made even worse by the many instances in which Hyacinth goes out of her way to try and put distance between herself and her unwanted admirer, only to be practically stalked around the room until another opportunity to speak with her arises.

It screams of want, and not the appropriate kind.

Draco hasn't liked the idea of letting her wander from his side the moment the ball started, but he also knows better than to argue with Hyacinth when she's on a mission. This is the first charity ball that they've been solely responsible for organizing—not their parents and/or Godparents, but them—and he knows that she has been preparing to take responsibility as a proper hostess ever since they decided on the date of the event.

Despite not being a fan of big crowds, especially crowds composed of wixen who misunderstand their invitations as permission to behave overly familiar with her.

Despite previously being willing to let her Godfather or Draco take the reigns in galas and other balls.

Despite having little practice working a room, the result of having a Godfather who was adamant that his Godchild not experience a childhood where she was forced to sing and dance for the crowd.

Despite presently giving off the impression that she'd rather be anywhere but here; despite knowing that Draco and Lord Black are more than ready to step in on her behalf should this all be too much for her.

Despite all of that, this charity means too much for Hyacinth to give up. The proceeds will be going towards funding the opening of an entirely new sub-department in the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement—one solely dedicated to investigating allegations of abuse against magical children, either by muggle or magical guardians—and she's determined to see enough galleons make their way towards sealing the deal. If she has to entertain lords, ladies, heirs, heiresses, and New Bloods to make it happen, so be it.

Draco can't blame her for that. Nor can he call her away when he understands how important this is to her. All he can do is keep her within his sights, and hope that no one present is stupid enough to do anything incriminating.

It gets increasingly difficult with each new face she encounters, or each old face she has to return to when they trap her in conversation. The urge to Summon his wand from its holster makes itself known with a sharp tingle that originates from the tips of his fingers and claws its way up to the midway point of his forearm. The need to divert his focus with a new drink becomes more frequent. Worst of all, he can feel his practiced smile curl until he's certain it's become a poisonous thing. Filled to the brim with disgust and hinting at a strong need to commit violence.

(It's a poor display from a host, and he hopes it doesn't encourage anyone to make an early exit should they see too much of the venom dripping from his expression.)

He manages to hold back from storming over when he sees Hyacinth extract herself from Lord Omar Shafiq and his tendency to stand way too close when speaking to her, though nearly shatters his glass when that only puts her in Lord Cormac Mclaggen's path. He sidles up next to her with all of the experience of a well-known womanizer, going so far as to try to grab her hand (undoubtedly to offer the back of it yet another kiss). She succeeds in sabotaging his efforts, but he's never been one to be easily deterred.

He lets his hand drop to his side for a moment before bringing it back up and offering it to Hyacinth, wordlessly implying that he'd be most delighted to be trusted to escort her around the ballroom for the foreseeable future. His smile might be charming enough to impress an unsuspecting New Blood who has yet to learn that they're worth so much more than the likes of him, but Draco can tell from the way Hyacinth momentarily tenses that she's far from amused. She leaves Mclaggen's arm in the air, uncaring that his attempt to charm her is becoming fraught with impatience. More than that, the fingers of her right hand twitch in such a way that Draco gets the impression his lady-wife is also battling the temptation to Summon her wand right alongside him.

It's the first time this evening Draco has gotten the impression that Hyacinth might harm one of their guests, but given that it's Mclaggen, he's only surprised that it hasn't happened already. The nuisance he's made of himself aside, the older man has earned himself a special place in his and Hyacinth's hearts ever since they'd been forced to socialize with him more during these gatherings, and for the same (good) reason.

Ever since he's reached the age when Offerings were permitted to be given to him, and he was permitted to propose a courtship to another wixen who was also the appropriate age, he's been bouncing from one person to another. During that time, witnesses and partners engaged in an ongoing Offering contract with him would often catch him flirting with other people. Usually New Bloods.

Revoltingly enough, he seems to have developed a routine where he shows interest in courtships with heirs or heiresses who have been born into families that have strong ties to respectable positions in the Ministry, or are just wealthy enough that it supplies him with a means to buy his way into his desired position, but favors playing coy games with New Bloods or less well-off families.

That type of behavior—to willingly show even the smallest signs of unfaithfulness to a romantic partner and derive amusement from it—is appalling. Playing with people's hearts? There's nothing humorous about that. Especially not to a Potter; what, with their infamous devotion and reputations for 'falling hard' when it comes to matters of the heart.

Actually, now that Draco considers the matter through that lens, it's genuinely insulting that Mclaggen has spent so much time pursuing Hyacinth. He must know that the way he behaves makes her uncomfortable. On top of that, he knows that she's bonded! That she's been happily bonded for the past year, at that!

Yet, he's still acting like this. In front of all of these people! That he's trying to steal her from Draco's side, that he's trying to persuade her to be unfaithful to her lord-husband, that he's trying to convince her to dishonor her ancestor's practices about love and spit on her personal honor by acting so crassly is…it's-it's so…so…!

Draco can't think of a word that describes how enraged he quickly becomes as he realizes what's happening in front of him.

This-! This…this…this type of…of behavior, it…it just…it proves Mclaggen is scum, yes, but more importantly, it proves just how little he actually knows Hyacinth Potter. How little effort he's put into valuing her. He's stomping on the same loyalty and love that once protected her from the Dark Lord Voldemort. He has a history of remorselessly engaging in a watered-down version of the betrayal that saw Lord James and Lady Lily left vulnerable in the first place, with no signs of stopping anytime soon. He's displaying, clear as day, his inability to respect family and personal honor by compromising so many people in a short span of time.

He's nothing like Draco. The man Hyacinth had accepted as 'worthy' of being her lord-husband. The man who gave up his family name in favor of preserving hers (he may have needed to tell his parents it was because he wanted to preserve the Ancient House directly tied to a Blessed House, but he and Hyacinth both knew it was because he didn't want to ask her to give up something her parents left to her). The man who, by all means, grew up alongside her as they competed in Hogwarts and socialized in past family balls and Ministry galas. The man who analyzed every bit of her; noted her hobbies, her dislikes, her hopes, her dreams, her nightmares. The man who learned who she was. The man who fell in love with who she was. The man who gave his heart to her. The man who threw his everything into protecting her heart in return. The man who fought for her. The man who gave her closure.

The man who killed for her.

∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾

It took two full years to finish the final preparations of his gift to Lady Potter.

Months of reading into every bit of coverage about the Dark Lord Voldemort's initial attack and his demise. Months of familiarizing himself with the disgraced Peter Pettigrew; subtly questioning old professors about who he once was, and interrogating colleagues of his father (the majority of whom once supported the Dark Lord's cause along with Lord Lucius Malfoy but ultimately turned their backs on him when he showed where his true interests lay). Months of secretly re-walking the crime scene and the surrounding areas. Months of digging into the Malfoy family library, scouring every bit of text from the oldest of his ancestors to the more recent collections he purchased himself. Months of perfecting advanced Tracking spells and honing in on the right magical signature. Months of whispering into the right ears and pouring the right amount of galleons into personal vaults to get his hands on Pettigrew's wand, discarded at the initial crime scene upon the Dark Lord's fall and confiscated as evidence soon after. Months of picking that stupid stick of wood apart to get a signature to lock onto. Months of following faint trails that led him on a wild goose chase across Godric's Hallow, several other magical neighborhoods, and eventually to Diagon Alley (of all places).

Months of hard work, of an unrelenting refusal to show up empty-handed, of living in the Malfoy library, of trial and error, of interrogations, of more trial and error, of quite a bit of exercise, and he finally had everything he needed.

Peter Pettigrew's lifeless body, still shifted into his animagus form from where Draco ambushed him in one of the many nooks in Knockturn Alley, presently sits in a wooden box as the blonde waits for Lord Black to approve or deny his request to be permitted into Potter Manor via Floor network. The box has been left uncushioned, undecorated, and void of anything that may give away what it holds to anyone who looks at it. A complete contrast to the jewelry box currently positioned under it, the outside of which has been crafted with black velvet while the inside is comfortably cushioned with smoother fabric.

Pettigrew doesn't deserve that level of effort. He barely deserves a coffin, as it is. The only reason Draco gives his body anything to rest in is because he doesn't want to hand an exposed rat's corpse to Lady Potter.

It's her that deserves a better presentation. Especially for a gift like this.

Draco spends at least ten minutes in the Sitting Room on the ground floor before Dobby, his personal house-elf, Apparates into the room. The envelope he'd sent the elf off with has been replaced with a correspondence bearing the Black and Potter family seals. One has been melted into the center of the envelope's opening while the other had been branded into the back of the envelope.

"Master." Dobby bows his head low as he shuffles forward, the envelope thrust forward like a proper offering. "From the noble Lord Black and the honorable Lady Potter."

Draco only hums as a way of acknowledgement as he takes the envelope from the elf's hands. Breaking it open, he's greeted with a small card that permits him, in writing, to visit Potter Manor at this time. There's no attempt at small-talk or anything of the like. It's very blunt, very straight-to-the-point. And it makes him very happy, as it lessens the amount of time he has to spend away from the witch he loves.

"Alert Mother and Father that I'll likely be spending the rest of the day at Potter Manor."

Draco rises from his chair and brushes a hand down his robes. It's unlikely he's acquired any wrinkles or layers of dust while he's been in the Sitting Room, but it never hurts to ensure he's entirely presentable. Especially given who it is he's going to be meeting.

"If I require their presence, one of the Potter elves will be the ones to come by the manor. Understood?"

"Of course, Master Draco!" Dobby nods his head so vigorously that it looks like his ears have a high chance at shaking themselves off. Then, without another word, he Disapparates out of the room.

Draco hastily makes his way to the Grand Hall, the boxes clutched between both of his hands until he gets to the Floo. There, he balances both of them on the flat surface of his left palm as his right hand gathers a generous portion of Floo Powder. He steps into the fireplace and immediately shouts "Potter Manor!" as he throws the powder down.

The journey feels like it only lasts ten seconds and, before he knows it, he's stepping out into the Grand Hall of Potter Manor. It's considerably brighter, warmer, than most of the rooms in Malfoy Manor. It represents the family who resides here perfectly.

A Potter house-elf is standing off to his right, and bows reverently when he locks eyes with them.

"Welcome to Potter Manor, Lord Malfoy. The Master and Mistress be waiting for you in the Sitting Room. Please be following Dazzle."

Draco doesn't have any time to nod, or do anything in response, before the house-elf is straightening and turning away from him. The walk to the Sitting Room is silent, even many of the portraits they pass (secondary locations, most likely, since almost all Ancient Houses have a designated Portrait Room that allows family members to converse with other family members) don't kick up a fuss. Everyone restrains themselves to curious looks as Draco Malfoy, current lord of the Cunning and Ambitious House of Malfoy, walks the halls of their home.

When he is led to the right door, the house-elf bows one more time before stating: "Dazzle must be returning to his duties around the manor for now. But you is being safe with the Master and the Mistress."

Dazzle Disapparates just as Draco reaches for the doorknob. When he pushes the door open, he's almost shocked into stepping back when Lord Black and Lady Potter's gazes burn into him. There's nothing malicious about the way they look at him. It's not even rude. It's just so sudden and intense that Draco is unprepared for when he's allowed to step past the threshold and join their company.

He doesn't let that disrupt him too much though. His parents didn't hire the best tutors imaginable so he could forget or ignore their wisdom and make a fool of himself in front of an audience.

"Lord Black. Lady Potter." Draco gently squeezes both boxes between his hands as he bows. "Thank you for permitting me entry to Potter Manor."

As he straightens, Lord Black and Lady Potter rise from their seats to return his greeting. Lord Black with a polite bow and Lady Potter with a faultless curtsy.

"Welcome to our residence, Lord Malfoy." Lady Potter is the one to respond. It's fitting. Lord Black may be her Godfather, but this is still POTTER MANOR. Not Black Manor, or even Grimmauld Place. "Please, come join us."

As Lady Potter rises to her full height again, she brings her arm out and gestures to where she and her Godfather are sitting around a table. One that has dutifully been stocked up with an assortment of sweets and teacups. They all look untouched; fresh.

Draco nods, and makes his way over as Lord Black and Lady Potter re-take their rightful seats. The chair that has been left available to him places him on Lord Black's left, which in turn puts him just opposite of Lady Potter. As he settles into the cushioned seat, he carefully places his cargo on his lap in case he needs his hands free.

"What is it you need?" Lord Black turns towards Draco, an eyebrow raising as his gaze zeroes in on the boxes in the blonde's lap. "Hyacinth's birthday has already passed, and mine isn't for another three months, at least."

There's a playful undertone to his words, and it gives Draco some extra confidence about what he's prepared to request.

With his body still faced forward, attention solely on Lady Potter, he declares: "I've come to ask permission to court you, my Lady."

Draco doesn't bother with any other type of pleasantries, nor does he think it's at all appropriate to tease around the situation. What he's come to ask for is no easy feat. And not because Lady Potter is difficult to love—the fact that he's fallen for her as hard as he has should be a testament to his honesty about that—or because she or Lord Black have been unfair about handling suitors. Everyone who has come forward thus far has been offered the respect of being heard and the dignity of being spared any humiliation when they were rejected.

The challenge all boils down to why Lady Potter rejected them: she didn't love them.

Throughout her time at Hogwarts and even during the first couple of years following their graduation, Lady Potter has given no indication that she's found a wixen she loves enough to court. Let alone bond with. People she socialized with were too firmly entrenched in the friendzone or held a sibling-like relationship with her, and strangers who wanted to try their luck at getting her to fall for them during a potential courtship couldn't get her to agree to take that first step. She wasn't interested enough in them to devote that kind of time into a nonexistent relationship, nor was she heartless enough to give them false hope.

Knowing that, understanding that, is what convinced Draco to go through the trouble of tracking down Pettigrew. He and Lady Potter have never been true enemies, and perhaps their rivalry at school offered her insight to both his favorable and less-favorable traits, but he hadn't had time to integrate himself further into her circle before they had graduated either. In that sense, he only had a SLIGHTLY higher chance at earning her heart compared to the handful of friends who'd attempted to court her.

He needed to get Lady Potter's attention so she wouldn't brush him off in a misguided attempt to spare them both heartbreak. If she also took his gift as proof that he was capable of protecting her and any future children they may have, that could only further work in Draco's favor.

Predictably, Lady Potter looks uneasy at his declaration. Not unwelcoming, just nervous. However, before she or her Godfather can voice any potential disagreement, Draco continues speaking: "I come bearing a gift. One that will hopefully prove my determination to see you happy and protected should you deem me worthy of standing by your side."

Draco Summons his wand from its holster and levitates the top box over to Lady Potter. She accepts it graciously, and doesn't hesitate to pop the lid off once she has it securely in her lap. The gasp she lets out encourages Lord Black to hurry to her side, of whom also takes a minute to grasp what he's seeing when he looks down.

He doesn't gasp as Lady Potter did when his brain catches up to his eyes. He furrows his brow, and his lips thin. He reminds Draco of his own father when Lucius Malfoy is in deep thought and doesn't bother bringing up his infamous Malfoy mask to hide it.

"I know he hurt your parents and, in doing so, hurt you as well." Draco keeps his tone gentle even as he allows his volume to rise. This is a sensitive subject, no doubt about that, but he doesn't want Lady Potter to get lost in her thoughts when there is still more to this matter than being presented with a trophy. "I refused to let that stand when there was a chance I could help you find closure."

Lady Potter brings a hand up to cover her mouth, and her eyes look as if they're getting ready to close as she squints. She's sniffling quietly while continuing to stare down at the box, and it probably won't be long until she starts tearing up. Draco only hopes that they're happy tears.

After all, it was entirely possible that she wanted to be the one to kill the traitor and now, Draco has robbed her of that—upsetting her in the process.

He hopes that's not the case. He really, really, really hopes that's not the case. He hopes she just wanted to know that her parents have been avenged and it didn't truly matter who had done it so long as they had her family in their heart when they killed him.

"Did he suffer?" Lord Black demands, interrupting Draco's rising concern. His head whips up as his eyes fix the blonde in place, causing some of his hair to bounce slightly with the force of his movements. There's something almost unbearably dark about his expression, a hint of the feared Black Madness poking at the edge of his gaze. Almost like it's taken the form of vines that slither closer and invade their way into his pupils.

"I like to think he did." Draco nods, settling back into his seat.

Lord Black's nonchalance about who it was that killed Pettigrew permits him to take a relaxing breath. If he's not acting picky about who did the deed, maybe Lady Potter won't be either. She has yet to look angry or start shouting at him about sticking his nose into matters that don't concern him.

That has to be a good sign.

"Last I checked, drowning isn't a particularly pleasant way to go."

He had contemplated slitting the rat's throat or cutting into his gut to bleed the bastard dry when he first caught him. It wasn't as if Pettigrew would be able to do anything, he'd been Stunned and then Petrified in that Knockturn Alley corner. Then he realized that that would be quite messy, and he wanted a fairly intact corpse to present to Lady Potter.

Poison would have done the job nicely as well, but that also could have taken longer than what Draco had been patient for. He'd have to think of which one would be the best to use, then acquire it—either by purchasing it discreetly or brewing it himself—then make sure it was safely handled so that the corpse didn't pass anything on when Lady Potter opened her gift, then navigate how he was going to get Pettigrew to 'take' the poison without giving him any chance to escape, then dispose of said potion, and on and on and on. It was a lot to consider, especially for someone who's already spent more than a year on getting Pettigrew to begin with.

Drowning, for all of its simplicity, was time-efficient and decently neat.

"Good." Lord Black snarls, eyes going back to Pettigrew's tomb.

He stares at it for an additional two or three minutes. Then, Lady Potter is shoving the box into his hands as she stands from her seat. She hurries around the table situation in the middle of their little half-circle and comes to stand at Draco's left. He turns to greet her with a short nod, not yet standing.

"This…this is…" She rasps out, tears welling up near the bottom of her eyes. Draco desperately wants to wipe them away, but he hasn't received permission to touch her like that. "This is…it has to be one of the most thoughtful Offerings anyone has presented to me. EVER."

Good.

Draco doesn't say it outloud, but he pats himself on the back at Lady Potter's admission.

He knew he needed to stand out, and he has. He has stood out as the only suitor who understood her enough to know what she needed to heal; what her heart needed to heal. He has stood out as the only suitor who put in the work to get Pettigrew to her. He has stood out as the only suitor with the will necessary to find beauty in presenting a corpse to his intended one.

He has stood out, and by the looks of it, he'll be allowed to enjoy the fruits of his labor promptly.

"I'm glad you approve, my Lady." Draco uses the arm of his chair to slowly push himself up. He's taller than Lady Potter, at least by a head or two, and he hopes that his need to hold eye contact with her doesn't look like he's intentionally looming over her. "I can only hope your parents may also rest easy now. Their killer is gone, as is the traitor who took them from their daughter."

Lady Potter nods sharply, the tears that had been welling up in her eyes falling down her cheeks at the movement. "If that's how you feel, how you truly feel, then…then I-I'd…I'd be more than happy to be courted by you."

Draco has to force his smile to appear soft. Now is not the time for wicked grins or satisfied smirks. He may have gotten what he wanted, but with Lady Potter's deceased parents now brought to the surface of her memories, it could be argued to be insensitive to make this all about him. He can celebrate more obviously later; maybe after their first official courtship date.

"Thank you, my Lady." Draco adjusts his hold on the jewelry box so he can hold it in one hand, and extends his other out to her. When she responds by setting her own hand on top of his, he brings it up and tenderly kisses her knuckles. "I promise you won't regret this."

By the way she smiles up at him, he can tell that she believes him.

That she believes IN him.

Having her confidence like that, knowing that her faith has been placed in his protective hands, it's the best experience he's ever felt. The only thing that will ever top it is when they will bond, and he'll be able to feel her magic coursing through his veins.

∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾

Draco is the one who helped Hyacinth heal, and ever since she gave him the chance to earn her love in return, he's been the one who has kept her happy and safe.

Mclaggen doesn't have the intelligence, skill, or will to do even half of what Draco has accomplished. He only has the arrogance to assume he'll get away unscathed after flirting with Hyacinth so openly. Maybe even the desperation to assume it has a chance of working, as well.

He's not worthy of Hyacinth Potter. He never tried to be, and he never will be at the rate he's going.

If that's not a truth he can accept, perhaps a quick lesson is in order.

Nodding to himself, Draco downs the last bit of champagne that his nearly-shattered glass contains, then starts making his way over to his lady-wife and Mclaggen. He deposits the now-empty alcohol vessel onto the first tray he sees, and respectfully dips his head at any onlookers who happen to meet his gaze during his journey. Nobody makes to intercept his path or pull him into conversation, thankfully, and he's standing less than an inch behind Hyacinth in record time.

Whatever Mclaggen was in the middle of saying is meaningless to him, and as such, Draco doesn't bother trying to politely insert himself into the conversation. He pushes his way in with the grace of a striking viper: not overly loud and boisterous, but quick and noticeable enough that ignoring him isn't just impossible, it's lethal.

"Darling," Draco leans down to purr in Hyacinth's ear, "I'm glad you've found plenty of time to indulge our many…guests."

Hyacinth turns just as Draco is slipping his left arm around her waist, and allows herself to be pulling flush against him when he takes her movement as the chance to hug her close. The strained smile she must have been carrying ever since Mclaggen forced her into another conversation melts into one of genuine relief. At the same time, Draco can feel his lady-wife sag against him, as if he needed anymore proof that she must he mentally exhausted from all of this socializing.

"I think I might have found too much time, if I'm being honest." Hyacinth murmurs back. "Let's just hope that it all pays off in the end."

"It must." Draco gathers his anger and schools his expression into something wholly serious. His tone also leaves no room for argument as he insists: "You've charitably bestowed your time and attention upon the masses—far more than what some of them deserved, at that—it would be only be right that they see your efforts properly rewarded."

Draco takes a moment to glance up slightly to catch Mclaggen's response, and is pleased to find that the older man looks affronted. His gaze has narrowed into a less than friendly semi-glare, his brows have furrowed, his lips have pulled into a thin line, and there are various wrinkles across his forehead and cheeks that further hint at his displeasure. It seems his experience with being the one typically sought after has weakened his defenses. In the face of someone who doesn't want his attention, who knows that they're too good for the likes of him, his pride crumbles.

Indifference suddenly feels like being smacked across the face. Dismisal suddenly feels like being punched in the gut. Being passed over for another man suddenly feels like being kicked in the crotch. And being reminded that SOME PEOPLE value loyalty over the amusement that comes from flirty games suddenly feels like the floor has disintegrated from beneath you.

Of course, Hyacinth doesn't see any of this due to the direction that she's facing, but maybe Draco will allow her to view it from a pensive memory later on if she wants more of a reward for dealing with Mclaggen.

"Draco." Hyacinth lightly scolds. "Be nice."

"I think I'm being perfectly cordial, consdering the absolute shamelessness that certain people have displayed tonight." Draco redirects his full attention to Hyacinth and brings his second hand up to rest on her hip. He hears Mclaggen choke slightly behind her, but pays the other no mind as Hyacinth snorts quietly.

"It has been…a lot, I'll give you that." Hyacinth admits as her expression hardens into something truly defiant. "But it's nothing I can't handle."

"Of course not." Draco agrees easily enough.

He would never dare imply that his lady-wife is helpless. She is undoubtly fiercer than him when it comes to a duel, and Merlin knows she's competant enough that if the Dark Lord Voldemort were to somehow revive himself and storm Potter Manor to avenge his first death, he'd only meet failure when Hyacinth shattered his very being.

He just knows that she shouldn't be in a position where she has to handle herself like that in the first place. The plebians around them should know better than to behave so crassly in her presence. And the fact that Hyacinth has felt like SHE needed to be the one to keep things under control is what most frustrates him.

Fortunately for him, at a ball, there's an easily-accessible way to deal with that. One that'll allow him to warn his rivals as well.

"Buuuut…now that you've made your rounds and successfully charmed the entire room, I don't suppose you have enough energy left in you to share a dance with your lord-husband?"

Draco removes his hand from Hyacinth's hip and holds it out, just a little off to the side. As soon as her hand falls into his, he begins kissing along the back of it and climbing up her arm. He doesn't care that the fabric of her dress feels foreign against his lips. Nor is he bothered by the lacy overcoat, and how it feels slightly scratchy against him when he's used to the smoothness of Hyacinth's skin.

"We'd be the only ones on the dance floor." Hyacinth points out. It's not a direct 'no', and she doesn't sound disapproving as she verbalizes her observation.

Draco latches onto that, and leads her to the center of the ballroom. "Good. It means I get you all to myself."

Taken literally, that is partially a lie. All eyes will be on them as soon as he and Hyacinth start dancing. Some will be pleasant as they enjoy the show. Some will be annoyed that they weren't successful in convincing Hyacinth to spare them more time before being swept away by her lord-husband. And others; well…others will be unable to hide their jealousy at the reminder that Draco might be one of the only people present who Hyacinth would consider dancing with. He's one of the few people who got to hold her close; got to twirl her around and scoop her off her feet; got to synchronise with her; got to harmonize with her, got to become one in mind, body, and soul.

It's that last bit that adds partial honesty to his statement—that asserts that Draco truly has Hyacinth to himself. People may look, they may even covet, but they may not touch.

He already has several people he needs to blind after this evening, he's more than ready to take off some hands if need be.

"Alright, alright." Hyacinth rolls her eyes fondly, and allows Draco to position her in front of him. His right hand steadies her right arm, and his left braces itself on her hip, prepared to slide up and along her body when the time comes. "Just make sure to behave yourself, hmmm? We might be bonded, and Sirius might actually like you now, but he'll still throttle you if he catches you groping me at a family ball."

"Unlikely." Draco whispers directly into Hyacinth's ear. Distantly, he can hear the music—which has been kept at a quieter volume once people settled down into pleasant chatter for the evening—rise slightly as the elves no doubt notice the host and hostess's desire to dance. It does well to mask what he says on its own, but he still makes an effort to remain secretive now that he has Hyacinth in his grasp. "Mother would get to me first. She'd make me clean Malfoy Manor and Potter Manor by hand for treating a lady so indecently in public."

He gently nips at the top edge of Hyacinth's ear.

"Especially if she's MY lady."

Hyacinth's inhale is sharp and loud, and she momentarily tenses in his hold before breathing out an amused laugh. When she doesn't say anything more, Draco moves his head down to her right hand and sets about starting their dance.

He kisses a line along Hyacinth's arm, paying special attention to her throat once he gets close enough. Her hair tickles his forehead slightly as he cross the back of her neck, and the smell of her shampoo almost tempts him into burying his face in the center of the halo braid he'd helped her put up for tonight. He resists the urge at the last second, and distracts himself by continuing with his line of kisses until he reaches the end of her left arm. His own left hand has slithered up her body to steady her arm, and he clutches her wrist tightly after placing a kiss to each individual knuckle.

He tries to kiss his way back to her head, but when he barely passes her left shoulder, he's stopped by a palm to the face. It's not a shove, or even a light smack, Hyacinth has brought her right hand up and presented her palm to him, stopping him in his tracks without needing to touch him. Raising his head, Draco catches the challenging eyebrow raise she fixes him with, and smirks back.

Still gripping her left wrist, he uses his hold to abruptly spin her around. She twirls in three tight circles before he catches her shoulders. After that, it takes a second for his right hand to fall into the dip of her hip as his left one takes hold of hers. He leads her across the dance floor as the violins' sharp pitches take center stage, occasionally twirling her more or dipping her when it feels like they've spent too much time walking around.

Throughout it all, Hyacinth's gaze never strays from his face. Even when Draco takes a moment or two to look over her shoulder, to scan the crowd and make sure that his claim is truly being received by their audience, her attention never falters. She's always looking right back at him when he gazes back down at her. The spark in her eye, accompanied by the crinkles at the corners as she smiles brightly, is a good indication that while she may or may not know what he's doing, she's still having a fun time.

It's a high compliment indeed, as Draco knows that dancing has never been one of Hyacinth's preferred physical activities. She and him are more partial to flying, be it on a broom or an abraxan they've managed to borrow for the day.

He continues to lead Hyacinth around the ballroom with no clear direction, just the intention to keep them both moving. Eventually, when he can hear the violins and other instruments lead into what he knows to be the peak of the song, he brings his lady-wife back to the center of the floor. From there, he twirls her around and leads her through elaborate steps to stall for time, all the way up until the peak of the song is upon them.

Just as it hits, he dips her one last time, placing several kisses along her exposed jawline while he has her angled downward. When it's time to bring her back up, he ends their dance with a final kiss to her forehead.

(Look, he wants to show off, he can admit that to himself. But going so far as to share a kiss on the lips with onlookers? That's a bit far, even for him.)

"Happy now that you've had your dance?" Hyacinth blinks up at him a few times as her previously joyful smile becomes more mischievous. Her lips curl more in places they usually don't unless she's about to cause some trouble, and there's a dangerous glint in her eye that becomes more obvious thanks to the lenses of her glasses.

Draco might have just been found out, assuming his lady-wife truly did enter this dance not knowing what ALL of his motivations entailed.

"A bit." He hums.

"Only a bit?" Hyacinth arches her brow at him. "And what would it take to change that? Make it more than juuuuust…'a bit'?"

…weeeeeellllll…

"If you could get me five minutes alone with Mclaggen," Draco turns so that he and Hyacinth are standing side-by-side, then wraps his right arm around her waist to lead her away from their dance floor, "then it'd be my pleasure to collect some more fresh blood for the apothecary's next batch of potions."

"The apothecary's?" Hyacinth gives Draco a knowing look, one tinged with equal parts amusement and exasperation. "Not yours?"

Draco doesn't bother answering that. In fact, he goes so far as to snatch a couple of full champagne glasses off of a passing elf's tray and hands one to Hyacinth as he drinks from his own.

He knows that his lady-wife isn't upset with his tendency to experiment with potions and their recipes in his free time. After all, following their bonding, she had willingly handed over the reins of Potters Potions & Apothecary to him, knowing he had more of a passion for potions than she did. Perhaps also wanting to find a way to support both him and her family's business with her decision. It's a type of support that she's carried into the present day, as she actively encourages him to take advantage of his access to some of the Potter family's secret recipes and derive inspiration from them for his own projects.

What she's currently on the verge of complaining about likely has more to do with his timing. He knows that doing anything to Mclaggen at their first family ball isn't exactly tasteful, and that's saying nothing to how suspicions will be thrown around if Mclaggen suddenly doesn't feel well after attending their gathering. Or disappears altogether. Suspicions that might interfere with the charity effort Hyacinth has spent the entire evening pushing forward.

But Draco can't help it! He has spent that same evening watching other wixen try and tempt his lady-wife into acting unfaithful. Mclaggen just happens to be the most tenacious of the bunch, so he gets to be the one to feel Draco's wrath.

"Okay, fine—yes, MINE." Draco rolls his eyes as he takes a second sip.

So much for effectively using it as a barrier.

"It'd make me happy if I got the chance to gut that shameless cur," he whispers, "and I'd be over the moon if I could find some use out of him even after he's gone. Satisfied?"

"I will be. Once my lord-husband is happy again." Hyacinth's head swivels around, eyes darting across the sea of faces in front of them until she finds Mclaggen. The man has moved on to conversing with lords several years his senior, though when Draco looks closely enough, he can see Mclaggen attempting to sneak glances of Hyacinth when he's not expected to talk.

He hides his sneer with a third, larger sip of champagne, uncaring that the additional bubbles burn his throat slightly on their way down.

"Give your vengeance a week. At least." Hyacinth quietly decides when she seems to catch on to Mclaggen's glances. She doesn't sound as angry or disturbed as Draco feels about the attention, just unimpressed. Her tone is noticeably flat, even with how soft she's speaking, and he can hear an internal scoff go off in her head. "After that, I'll give you as many alibis as you want if you plan to hold him for more than a day."

"Thank you, darling." Draco swirls his champagne glass contemplatively, mind rapidly supplying him with the numerous ways to cleanly bleed someone.

He doesn't care about the mess he knows he'll make (he tries to remain controlled in his experiments but they're still experiments; unpredictable by nature) as much as he cares about prolonging Mclaggen's life as he drains him. In that realm, letting himself get messy means he gets sloppy. And getting sloppy means Mclaggen dies too early.

This is an experience Draco wants to savor. Just as he savored Hyacinth's acceptance of his courtship, and savored the first feel of their bond solidifying.

"I'll make sure to save his heart for you once he's completely dry. We can treat it, then put it next to Pettigrew's in your trophy case."