Chapter 1:
Finally finished with her multitudes of paperwork, Hermione sighed and set down her quill. She had learned quite quickly that being an auror meant significantly more than just firing spells at lightning speed and trailing vagrants and thieves. Hermione had been outlining, in detail, her recent take down of a measly confidence trickster selling cursed medallions for hours. Harry and Ron, her partners, had offered to stay and help but she sent them away with a false grin. While the work was excessive and time consuming, Hermione had plenty of time to spare; both Harry and Ron had families waiting for them at home.
"Honestly, there's not that much left to do anyways. I'll probably be done and home in an hour." She could tell neither of her best friends was convinced by her strained smile.
"Really, it's no trouble. I told Ginny I'd be home late anyways." Harry made to remove his travelling cloak, but Hermione put out a hand to stop him.
"Please, you have been late all this week. And don't even start, Ronald. I remember Lavender telling you about dinner with Seamus and Dean even if you don't."
Consigned to their friends' obstinate personality, Harry and Ron bade Hermione goodbye, warning her that if she stayed at work later than eight they'd find out and force her to take a vacation. Staring at her desk and the sheets of empty parchment littering its surface, Hermione almost wished she had let them stay. Still, she took a deep breath and dove right in to work. No sense in wasting any more time.
Finally, six hours later and she was finished. Wearily, she rubbed the bridge of her nose and silently sent her file folders into her bag with her wand. All she wanted to do was get a quick bite to eat, get home as quickly as possible and tumble straight into bed. Muscles groaning as she rose from her hunched over position, Hermione checked her watch and was dismayed to find it was already eleven. Oh well, she'd deal with Harry and Ron in the morning.
With no one left in the office, Hermione was left with only the carnivorous flower by the water cooler to say goodbye to. When the elevator got stuck between floors, leaving her with only a small crawlspace to squeeze through when the doors opened, Hermione was forced to contemplate her own wretched bad luck. Therefore, as she dragged her tired body and full bag down a flight of steep and creaky ministry stairs, she decided to forego dinner and go straight home to nurse a pounding headache. After seven dreadful flights, Hermione pushed through a door into a surprisingly populated lobby. Apparently, there was a private ministry ball taking place in the lobby. Bowing her pounding head and ducking around waiters Hermione threaded her way through the dense crowd.
"Sorry, awfully sorry," she said in response to an affronted woman whose train she had trodden on. Blushing at her horribly out of place attire, Hermione set to escape from the blasted party as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, fate had other plans. As she dodged a woman in large peacock feathers, Hermione felt someone grab her arm and pull her into a body.
"See, this is my wife right here," said the tall, warm body Hermione was currently mashed against.
"I'm sorry; I think you've got me confus…" Hermione tried to peel the man's arm from around her waist, but he clamped it down tighter.
"Came straight from work, did you dear? I told you Mr. Hargreaves was dying to meet you." Hermione, extremely annoyed at this ridiculous charade, looked up at the man beside her ready to give him a piece of her mind. However, her angry words were halted in her throat at the first glance. Smiling down at her was none other than her blond, good-for-nothing, childhood enemy Draco Malfoy.
"Malfoy!" she exclaimed in surprise. For a moment, Draco's eyes widened in shock as he recognized Hermione, but he quickly arranged his features back into a glittering smile.
"Called me 'Malfoy' since Hogwarts, she has. Isn't she a doll?" He squeezed her closer to his side. "Well, let's get your things into the coat check shall we? Come along, darling."
"Be sure to save me a dance, Mrs. Malfoy," said the man Hermione surmised was Hargreaves before she was ungraciously carted away by Draco. His long legs strode purposefully until he had dragged her through a door into an empty hallway. Immediately, he let go of Hermione's side and grabbed his head, muttering to himself.
"God, you tell one, tiny, insignificant white-lie and suddenly you're screwed for your whole bloody life!"
"Malfoy," said Hermione icily, straightening her cloak, "Would you mind explaining what the hell that was all about?" Draco spun around on his heel to face her.
"You. Bloody hell, why were you even here? This all would have been fine if you had been one of those daft, drunk broads that seem to make up half the guest list." He pointed an accusing finger in her direction.
"Me!" she practically exploded, "I was just trying to make it home after an extremely tiring day at work. You're the one who plucked me out of the crowd and started calling me your wife. Honestly, what are you playing at? Actually, never mind, I've had enough of this ridiculousness. I'm going home." With that, Hermione grabbed her bag from where she had dropped it on the floor and began to stalk away. Once again however, she was stopped by Draco's grasp.
"No, you have to stay. Now that Hargreaves has seen you I have no other choice," for once, Hermione was tempted to believe the pleading emotion in his voice was genuine. Unfortunately, she was unaffected.
"No chance, Malfoy. I'm not participating in your sick games." She tried to leave, but Draco's grip stayed fast.
"At least stay so I can explain myself. Calmly, I promise." Hermione looked back stonily at Draco's earnest countenance and shrugged in response. Relieved, Draco led her to a pair of chairs set up around a table in a lighted alcove. Draco retrieved her bag from Hermione's shoulder and set it on the table.
"God, Granger, what do you keep in here? Bricks?"
"Just in case I get accosted by any frisky ferrets," she hissed, "If you would?" She motioned for him to explain himself.
"Right, well, see…Hargreaves is the head of my healing department at St. Mungos. At some hospital fundraiser gala he introduces me to his sister Abyssinia, this god-awful troll of a woman. After a while, Abyssinia invites me to some party with her; it was obvious she fancied me. I couldn't just say no and risk my relationship with Hargreaves, not to mention my job, so I said I was married. It was fine for a while but Hargreaves has been getting antsy, asking to meet her, asking what she does, and all these other questions. This morning, he corners me and says I had better introduce him to my wife tonight or else he is going to be forced to conclude she doesn't exist. On such short notice, even I, with my devilishly handsome good looks couldn't get a date. I panicked when he confronted me and grabbed you from the crowd. Now, you have to stay, because otherwise, he's going to figure out I lied. Will you?" He looked at her with the most un-Malfoyish doe eyes she had ever seen. Alas, they had the opposite effect he was going for: laughter inducing.
"Thank you, Malfoy. That story brightened up my day immeasurably," she chuckled, wiping a tear from her eye and clutching her stomach. "Awfully sorry, but I really must go." She swung her bag onto her shoulder and walked down the hallway, cackling to herself as she went. Draco sat at the table, too stunned to move until finally, some of Hermione's incessant laughter must have triggered a response. Catapulting himself out of the chair, Draco dashed down the hallway behind Hermione.
"Granger, I'll do anything you want. Absolutely anything. I'll pay you. I'll free all my house elves. I'll, I'll even serenade Scarhead and Weasel if you want. Please, just stay for an hour or two. Dance a bit; drink as much as you want." He threw himself at her feet and grabbed on to the hem of her wool travelling cape. It was horrifically un-Malfoy like to grovel, but really, he had no choice. Hermione halted and looked at the pathetic individual grasping desperately at her robes. Really, with all he was offering, she didn't have much to lose…
"Fine, I'll stay, but I've nothing appropriate to wear and my head is killing me. And my price is to be determined at a later date." Draco jumped up and whipped out his wand.
"Stay still," he commanded, resting the tip of his wand at her temple. Moments later, as though a glass of water had been dumped on her head, a wave of coolness spread from the tip of the wand. A few seconds after that and her headache had completely disappeared. She sighed delightedly before she looked down at her robes. She wore a standard issue auror outfit of black robes, heavy black boots, and a black wool travelling cloak; perhaps not the best choice of clothes to wear for a Ministry Ball.
Draco looked up and down her frame, surveying her mud splattered boots and a dark stain on her cloak he was certain would turn out to be blood if he asked. Still, he was confident he could turn this country pumpkin into a woman fit for the name of Malfoy. While Hermione discarded her cloak and bag on the floor, Draco transfigured her steel-toed boots into a pair of patent leather pumps. Her robes shortened into a daring muggle cocktail dress. Strapless and synching in tightly at the waist, the black dress ended just above the knees and was detailed with a thick, blood red ribbon wrapping just under her bust and tying into a large bow at the back.
"Honestly, Malfoy! Something a little longer and a little higher would be just as sufficient." She tugged on the bodice to try and force it to sit higher.
"Don't fidget, Granger. The dress looks fine…saw it in a muggle dress shop once in London. I must say, Granger," he drawled, looking her slim, auror toned form up and down, "you sure have filled out nicely since Hogwarts." Hermione scowled, grabbed her cloak and bag and stalked off towards coat check. One of these days she was seriously going to have to consider how sound her judgment really was.
After her effects had been checked (as an addition to Draco's deposit), Draco led Hermione straight to the desert table as per her instructions.
"Just don't eat too much," he warned her in a low voice, "You are the wife of a Malfoy now. One misstep and we all pay." Hermione snorted as she took a bite of treacle tart in her right hand and reached to pick up a butter tart with her left.
"You think you're really in a position to threaten, dearest?" Draco sidled up to her, and laid his hand on her lower back, reaching for a glass of champagne.
"Let's just agree that you help me, I help you, sweetheart." Hermione finished her tarts and reached for a glass of champagne for herself. Before she got there however, Draco grabbed her hand and led her away from the table.
"Excuse me! You said I could drink as much as I want!" She made to go back to the table, but a sharp tug from Draco brought her flush against his body. The hand on her waste pulled her body into his, and the other grasped her bare shoulder.
"Hargreaves is coming, so we are dancing. The less we have to talk to him, the better." With that, Hermione could agree, so she held her tongue and tried to follow Draco's lead. The last time Hermione had properly partner danced was at the Yule ball in fourth year. It was apparent from his confident lead, however, that Draco was well versed in the world of ballroom dancing. Suddenly Draco was swearing under his breath and violently spinning Hermione across the dance floor.
"He's making a beeline for us. Quick, dip down." With barely any warning, Hermione was thrown into a low dip and swung back up, her hand landing squarely on Draco's chest. Draco may have cured her headache but her lack of sleep was doing nothing for an onset of dizziness. She rested her forehead on Draco's shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut. Draco looked down at her bushy head in surprise.
"I never knew you cared so much, Granger."
"You're making me dizzy, Malfoy," she groaned into his shoulder. "I'm sure if we just stopped to talk to your boss he'd eventually lay off." She lifted her head and looked into Draco's face with a cheeky grin.
"I am the smartest witch of my age, you know. I think I could hold my own in a conversation." Draco smirked back in response and twirled her under his arm.
"Fine, but he asks us anything about our marriage and I answer; got to keep my story straight." He released her hand, but not her waist, and they both walked over to where Hargreaves was standing beside a woman whom Hermione assumed to be Mrs. Hargreaves.
"Mrs. Malfoy, you and your husband make a splendid couple," said the woman boisterously. She was rather large and swathed in a robe of bright magenta silk. Hermione was eerily reminded of the Fat Lady entrance to the Gryffindor common room. "If only my husband was so inclined to dance." The woman looked towards her husband wistfully. Mr. Hargreaves only laughed.
"We were beginning to think you never existed, Mrs. Malfoy," he said warmly, though he offered a sideways glance at Draco. "You never seem to be able to attend any of our benefits. What is it exactly that you do, again?"
"She's a journalist," interjected Draco before Hermione could respond, "She works for The Daily Prophet." Though she maintained a wide smile, Hermione slid her hand around Draco's back and pinched his side tightly. It was a testament to his emotional control that he managed not to exclaim in pain.
"A journalist, eh?" said Mr. Hargreaves, "A journalist who wears steel toed boots and wool travelling cloaks?" This time, Hermione answered before Draco had even opened his mouth.
"I'm doing an editorial piece on aurors. You know, a day in the life sort of thing. Got myself all kitted up in the standard issue uniform," She smiled winningly at Draco for her quick save. Unfortunately, Mrs. Hargreaves spoke again.
"You know, dear, you look rather familiar. Are you sure we haven't met before?" Hermione's smile froze. It wasn't likely that she would be recognized. She was a celebrated war hero alongside Ron and Harry, but she and Ron were never really mentioned in the press. Unlike Harry, she had never been recognized in the street before. Yet, Hermione had friends in high places and she had made a name for herself in the Ministry. In any case, recognition from the Hargreaves' wouldn't bode well for Draco.
"Quite sure," she said stiffly. She could tell Draco was in an equal state of nervousness as his grip on her waist tightened. In all likelihoods, she'd be bruised all over tomorrow.
"No, no, I'm sure I've seen you before. What did you say your name was?"
"Ophelia," said Draco quickly. His answer seemed to satiate Mrs. Hargreaves as to Hermione's 'identity' but she refused to let up.
"Oh, I have it! Are you perchance related to a Miss Hermione Granger? There is a great resemblance," exclaimed Mrs. Hargreaves. Mr. Hargreaves peered curiously at Hermione. Desperately, Hermione tried to shrink into Draco's side, as though to will herself into a different appearance.
"Second cousins," she managed to squeak out to their expectant faces. Before Mrs. Hargreaves could ask any more intrusive questions, Hermione exclaimed that she was dying for a glass of champagne, and led Draco away from their interrogation.
"Honestly, could they be nosier?" she exclaimed in annoyance when they had moved far enough away. Draco handed her a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.
"I tried to tell you," he said cockily, fingering the edge of his designer dress robes. Hermione glared in his direction and made to walk towards the tables set up for guests.
"Where did you get the name 'Ophelia' from anyway?" she asked when they had sat down at an unclaimed table. Draco shrugged, raising his hand to attract a waiter so he could order some tea.
"Family name," he said indifferently after the waiter left, "think it was my great, great, great aunt or something. I just remember seeing her painting in the hallways. It's right outside my room in the Manor."
Hermione rested her head on her upturned palm and watch as Draco poured milk into his tea. He returned her stare with a quirk of his eyebrow.
"Like what you see Granger?" he drawled. Immediately Hermione broke into detailed exclamations of denial.
"No, I was just thinking how ridiculous this is. I mean, our relationship to this date extends over a decade, but it was seven years of unadulterated hate and at least three of curt hallway hellos and a mutual agreement for avoidance. Suddenly, out of the blue, we are dancing together and talking very amiably." She shrugged and took another spin of her champagne to avoid saying anything more. Draco looked at her, and set down his tea.
"Well, times have changed." It was on the whole, a rather noncommittal answer, yet Draco's words laced neither with disdain nor sarcasm, nor the lesser heard desperation. She almost smiled at him, and he almost smiled back. Unfortunately, their moment of almost understanding was cut short by the appearance of another one of Draco's colleagues.
"Hello mate," said the man, clapping Draco on the back, "I've been telling Paloma all about your wife here." Draco broke out into a large grin that made Hermione smile when the man gestured to a young woman standing beside him. She reached her hand out to Hermione.
"Paloma Magnus," she said pleasantly, "Cecil's girlfriend. I've just been dying to meet you after Cecil said Draco had got married. Could hardly believe it myself, given his bachelor tendencies!" Hermione reciprocated the handshake.
"Ophelia Malfoy," she said with a sideways glance at Draco, "Honestly, I was as shocked as you this marriage ever occurred." Paloma laughed and suggested Draco dance with her. Left alone, Hermione accepted an invitation to dance with Draco's colleague Cecil. He had a strong grip and was a competent dancer, but Hermione found herself recalling Draco's ease and grace on the dance floor.
"So," said Cecil conversationally, "How did you ever tie him down?" Hermione laughed and shrugged, trying to think fast.
"I hardly know myself. Must have been my irresistible charm," she hoped sarcasm would suffice as an answer. Cecil smiled and spun her, allowing her to catch a peak of Draco smiling at something Paloma said. Frankly, it was slightly unnerving seeing Draco smile and laugh so excessively. Hermione was certain she had never seen him crack a smile that wasn't laced with malice in her life.
"Well, I glad someone has finally got Draco to settle down, even though we hardly knew he had gotten married. Paloma and I went on a yearlong job transfer to Germany and just came back last week. We'd both have loved to come but Draco said it was a small affair?"
"Yes, just a handful of people to be witnesses. It all happened so quickly." Hermione trailed off and attempted to switch the direction of the conversation to less Malfoy related topics.
"Do you enjoy working at St. Mungos?" she queried conversationally. Cecil nodded enthusiastically in response.
"It's a brilliant institution in which to work. However, I will say that nobody seems to enjoy it more than Draco. He has a real passion for healing." Cecil laughed, "But of course, that would come as no surprise to you."
"Ye-, no, not surprised at all." She smiled thoughtfully, and as the song ended, Cecil led Hermione over to their table where Draco and Paloma were talking.
"Ah, Ophelia, I was just mentioning that we might turn in. You do have to get up early tomorrow for work, right?" Draco looked at her with a hard stare, as though to dare her to disagree. Luckily for him, Hermione was just about ready to fall asleep standing up. She agreed readily and exclaimed her goodbyes to Malfoy's friends. Before she knew it, she was standing outside the Ministry with her heavy cloak draped over her bare shoulders and her bag in her hand.
"Well, Granger, I must say that after a rather rocky start we pulled that off quite well," he stuck out his hand to shake hers. She returned the gesture, albeit, with a slight hesitation.
"Yes, though remember," she smiled cheekily, "My price is still to be determined." Draco mocked bowing.
"I'll await your owl, dearest wife."
Hermione turned and headed to the apparition point. Before she apparated, she looked back, and saw Draco standing in his same spot, watching her leave. He waved; a gesture which she did not return. Resolutely, she apparated home with a loud crack. Hermione landed in front of her building with a thump, due to her unusually heavy bag. She had not bothered to transfigure her clothes back to their natural state, so it was with tired ankles that she traversed the staircase to her flat on the seventh floor. As she unlocked the door, she could hear Crookshanks' hungry mews penetrating the heavy wood.
"I'm coming, Crookshanks," she cooed through the door. When she had finally locked the door behind her, deposited her effects, and fed her extremely hungry cat, Hermione chanced a look at her watch. It read 2:00 AM on the dot. Hermione sighed, and rested her head on the table. She was going to have a lot to explain to Ron and Harry in the morning.