I own nothing from the Harry Potter universe. This is a work of pure fiction and is from my opinion. I hope you enjoy the Dramione fanfiction I've written!
-aspiring-to-author
Chapter One: The Gifts
I stopped outside the restaurant.
"Ginny," I said warningly. "If this is another set-up, I am going to leave you right now."
"Why would you think that?" Ginny said innocently.
"Because the last six times you brought me somewhere, it's been a set-up. With a million guys! Can I have your word, your word, that this isn't a set-up?" I stared intensely at Ginny. She bit her lip.
"Fine! I asked Harry if he knew anyone who's single at work and he said he'd send someone over here today to meet you at a sorta date-esque situation," she explained very quickly and awkwardly. I pivoted and began briskly striding away. Ginny caught my wrist.
"Please?" she whines. "Just meet him, at least?" I scowl.
"Do you even know this guy?" I ask skeptically.
"I… don't know him. But I trust Harry, so he can't be that bad, right?" Ginny said anxiously.
"Ugh. Fine." I groan. Harry meets us almost as soon as we walk through the door. He leads Ginny and I to a booth in the corner. Ginny slides in next to Harry. The shadows conceal my newest date, but I sit next to him because it's a four-seater.
"Potter, Potter. You didn't mention she was my date."
I pale. I know that drawl. It's the drawl that bullied me, cursed me, haunted me throughout my seven years at school. It's the drawl that belongs to the one and only Draco Malfoy.
"Ginny," I growl. "I am leaving."
"You can't," she whines. "You gave your word." I sit down and pointedly look away from Malfoy.
"Harry," I hiss. "What happened to get this little piece of scum here?"
"I thought it was another person, till he came to my office. I put it up on the bulletin board that I needed a favor from a guy specifically. He signed up under a different name," Harry explained. "I couldn't refuse after I'd asked." That was Harry, in my opinion. Always being noble and honorable and Gryffindor.
"Word was his 'favor' was a date with one of his friends," Malfoy says. "Knew the Auror department had some, ah, good-looking people and that Potter'd never allow me if he knew it was me. Didn't know it'd be the Muggle-born know-it-all. My name was top of the list. So, Granger, tell me, how much experience do you have with French kissing?" I nearly choked on my tongue. Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, was asking me how much kissing experience I had?
"Assuming no, from that expression," he continued smoothly. "I happened to have been taught from a French witch from Beauxbatons. Lovely girl, just beautiful. The French are a good stock, wouldn't you say, Potter?" Harry half-halfheartedly smiled.
"So, um," Ginny began. Thankfully, she was interrupted by the waitress. She glanced at Harry and Ginny's clasped hands and engagement rings before moving over to me, sitting next to Malfoy. She smiled flirtatiously at him.
"I couldn't help but overhear, but I heard you like French girls, sir?" she said, leaning in. "I happen to be half-French. Can I get you anything?" She straightened, showing her bosom a little more than was usual.
"Why, yes," Malfoy said, playing it up. I scowled for the millionth time that day. I could've been at home curled up with a book and instead I was watching a waitress flirt with Malfoy whilst leaning over me.
"I'll have a champagne, and they'll have… whatever they want." Malfoy smiled. The waitress went into the back without a second glance at us and brought out rose-flavored champagne. She poured a generous amount in Malfoy's glass and a tiny bit in all of ours. As she leaned over me, I noticed three loose buttons on her blouse that had been done up before. Her good-sized chest was now in perfect view of everyone at our table.
"Excuse me," I say to Ginny as Malfoy and Flirty Waitress talk softly to each other. I leave the table. Miss Flirt subtly slips into my seat, leaning closer and closer to Malfoy. My scowl seems permanent.
"Please, girl, Amelie said she has a date," the angry manager tells me as I walk out of the bathroom. She berated me at first when I refused to fill Flirty Waitress's position. "I'll pay you by the hour."
So now I'm in a tiny waitress uniform, serving my own table. Amelie/Flirty Waitress somehow has on a party dress and is snogging with Malfoy. He seems amused and orders a full course meal. Three hours later, I find that I'm filling Amelie's position until midnight, when the store closes.
The manager forgot to pay me. She paid my earned money to Amelie's account. When I leave, I Apparate straight to Ginny and Harry's.
"GINNY!" I yell. She and Harry emerge from their bedroom in pajamas, looking startled. Ginny takes in my pantsuit from earlier this evening and my angry expression.
"Hermione! We thought you'd left when we did!"
"Nope, I stayed and served people until midnight. Then I wasn't paid even though I'd been promised pay, and had to pay for the outfit that I wasn't even taking back. Ginny, I'd appreciate it if you didn't go setting me up with people anymore, okay?" I raged. "And what the hell happened to bloody Malfoy?"
"He and Amelie ran off after us. We dunno where," Harry says quickly.
"I'll see you two tomorrow," I say curtly, and Disapparate.
I dream of Malfoy that night. I dream I was Amelie, snogging Malfoy, except that his tongue became a snake, and I couldn't pull away. The restaurant disappeared and Malfoy became a chimera. He was just about to eat me when a human Malfoy slayed the chimera and rescued me. I woke up in a cold sweat and by mid-morning, couldn't remember any of it. I fixed myself breakfast with a wave of my wand. I began eating my eggs when the doorbell rang. I grabbed my wand and approached the door. I open it to nothing but my flat building's sixth floor hallway. I step out to see if anyone's around - and step on a bouquet of flowers. I pick up the semi-crushed blooms to discover they're roses. My favorite. And they're all different colors. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, pink, white, and silver are all included. I immediately become suspicious. They're aren't silver, green, blue, or purple roses.
"Specialis Revelio!" I tap the bouquet with my wand. An echo of a color-changing charm billows from the bunch of flowers. Nothing Dark, just a secret admirer. I search for a note and are successful. It reads in a perfect handwriting:
Roses are red,
Orange, Yellow,
Green, Blue,
Purple, Pink,
White and silver too,
I know my poetry is bad,
But just saying: I like for you.
"His poetry is bad," I mutter. I search for a name, magically and non, but nothing is there except the bad-but-sweet poem. I turn over the parchment one last time and find another poem:
My identity's a secret
But of this you can be certain:
My visits will be frequent
And my prizes will be wooin' you,
My beautiful Hermione rose,
Who won't know me until
You open the curtain
And accept my propose
Of a night of joy
A night of fun
A night where we're sure
The other is "the one."
I smiled. He obviously meant I wouldn't know who he is until I go on a date with him. I considered telling Ginny but thought better of it. Let's see where this goes, says my Gryffindorian side.
After the fiasco with Malfoy, Ginny tries to ask me point-blank if I'll go out with someone. It's on my lunch break one day when I let slip what's going on.
"How about Mitchell Davan? He's that tall one over there."
"No."
"You've said no to everyone. How can I find you the perfect boy if you refuse all of them?" Ginny cried hysterically.
"So you have no faith in me and my love life, huh, Ginny? Why can't I find myself a man? Why do you have to do it?" I explode.
"You've found a boyfriend?" she asks incredulously. "A hot one?"
"None of your business," I growl and grab my purse. "My break is over."
I shouldn't have yelled at Ginny. But I can't help but feel like I didn't really say something wrong. My mind flurries so much I can't concentrate. I go home early to a box of Honeydukes' finest chocolates and another note:
Creamy chocolate classic as can be
To balance out the unique
That is Hermione
Brown eyes matching the sweets
I hope you enjoy my latest treats.
I smile in the way that only this person makes me smile. I flip the parchment, but that's it today. Enjoying a melt-in-your-mouth chocolate, I open the Evening Prophet. Scanning the pages, I search for anything readable. I settle for an article about a Ministry of Magic witch who claimed to be pregnant with the Minister of Magic's child. The story ends in a disappointing anti-climax:
Eventually we found that though definitely pregnant, Dana Hopp is not the mother to the Minister's child. She was sentenced to a three-day suspension from work as punishment for lying.
The rest of the newspaper is equal rubbish. Frustrated, I throw it aside. My kitchen table looks a mess. I shake my head.
"Why'd I have to bring this home?" I half groan. I toss aside the paperwork. Tonight I am going to bed. The world is obviously at war with me today, just trying to make me miserable. Except for that solitary ray of sun, my poet. My sweet, awful poet. I go to bed smiling at the thought.
Ginny stopped asking me about boys. She instead probes about my "secret boyfriend". The talk is continuous, never getting anywhere, so I tell her, "You can come to my flat to see it all if, and only if, you a) don't tell anyone and b) stop asking me about it! I get that you're trying to make me happy with a man, but I can do that myself sometimes. Okay?"
"Yes, I agree!" Ginny says. We Disapparate and I open the door to my flat. I lead Ginny in and sit her at kitchen table. I bring out from my room the box of chocolates (now three-quarters of the way eaten) and the bouquet of roses. I had put a spell on the latter so they wouldn't wilt and die. I showed her these, to her intense enjoyment, and then brought out the parchment poems. She read these hungrily.
"He is really bad at writing poems," she comments.
"I said that too," I tell her. She hands back the poems.
"I wish Harry did that for me," Ginny says. "I would've married him earlier!"
"The wedding's only in a few months," I point out. "It's not like there's too much time between then and now. Soon you'll be Mrs. Ginny Potter!"
"Something I have dreamed of since first year," she said wistfully. "Now. Is there any clue to this mysterious poet's identity?"
"The... handwriting?" I suggest.
"Good idea," Ginny says excitedly. Soon, however, we conclude that either we can't recognize this handwriting or we're very bad detectives. I hold up one of the poems. I notice something I didn't see before, being all caught up in the note's content. A small seal in the corner of the parchment.
"Ginny! Look at the top right corner of the parchment!" The discovery is repeated. I grab my own mini parchment pad that the Ministry gives all the employees. Mine has the Ministry seal at the top right corner with a ribbon drawn underneath saying: THE REGULATION AND CONTROL OF MAGICAL CREATURES, my department. I get my notes. The seal is the Ministry's! I look closely at the ribbon. In minuscule writing it reads: INTERNATIONAL MAGICAL COOPERATION.
"Ooh! You're admirer works at the Ministry!" Ginny squeals.
"And we know his department! We could find him!" We get all riled up for a moment.
"Wait." I say. "In his notes he said I won't know who he is until our first date. Maybe he won't send anything else with you and I looking for him."
"Oh. Right." Ginny says. "Maybe we should just let love take its course." Surprised at hearing that from self-proclaimed matchmaker Ginny Weasley, I agree rather late.
"Maybe. See you tomorrow at lunch, Gin," I say as she walks outside to Disapparate. I sit on the sofa and open the Evening Prophet. Rubbish as usual. The Prophet's gone downhill since Voldemort's official defeat. The writers lost things to write about after the week-long blowup about Harry killing Voldemort. I close the paper n prepare to toss it when a brightly colored box on the back catches my attention. I stare closely at the brilliantly pink-and-purple box.
Do you want the world to know something IMPORTANT?
Are you very opinionated?
Can you write?
Sign up now for the chance to win ONE THOUSAND GALLEONS and have your story published!
It must be:
- in the format of an essay
- an important issue that applies to most of Wizarding society
- passionate
Submit your entry by owl to Glenda Wendell by March 31st
Awarding ceremony will take place on April 12th, wear dress robes
I smile. This challenge was made for me. Well, me and SPEW. I grab a quill, ink, and parchment and am halfway through the introduction draft when the doorbell rings. I rip it open. I'm a second to late; Disapparation's telltale pop already reverberated through the hall. On the ground was a book with a handsome teal leather cover. Embossed in gold on the front were the words:
HOW TO CONVINCE A WIZARD SOMETHING IS WORTHWHILE
(CONFUNDING IS UNNECESSARY WITH THIS BOOK!)
By Raven White
I smile bigger. A slip of parchment falls out of the book. This time, there is no poem. It just says: Make them believe in SPEW. The Ministry seal is there again.
Three days and countless coffees later, I have an essay insisting upon house-elf rights. I seal it in an envelope along with my name, address, and job address. I write Glenda Wendell's name on the front.
"Get this to her quick, Wicker," I tell the snowy owl at the post office. "It's only two days before March 31st, and Ms. Wendell needs to read my essay." Wicker the owl nods and soars out the window. I decide to do my shopping while I'm in Diagon Alley. I get a deal on some new dress robes for the awarding ceremony. They were navy blue and swishy, with a pocket for my wand. I magically transfer all my purchases back home and head to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. Ginny Apparates in soon. I tell her about the essay contest, newest gift, and my day at Diagon Alley over a chocolate fudge and strawberry sundae.
"Oh my gosh!" Ginny exclaims. "That's a clue!"
"What is?" I ask. She seems too excited, but then again, this is Ginny.
"He knows about SPEW! He was at Hogwarts with us! Maybe even Gryffindor, that's where you advertised most." I gasp. I run through all the boys that were in my year at Hogwarts, mentally crossing off everyone who's not single or who obviously didn't like me. I end up with no one. I shake my head.
"Ginny," I say. "No one's available to be a secret admirer, and who is are incapable of being secretive."
"What about..." she begins. I glare at her.
"Absolutely not, Gin. He ended it, okay? You don't cheat on your fiance with an ex." I hold back a sob. I haven't talked about Ron since I caught him drunk and cheating on me with Lavender Brown two days before our wedding. I deleted every evidence of him from my life. There's no way he's behind this. He hated SPEW and he's dating Lavender now. I eat my ice cream to give me something other than crying to do. Ginny drops all talk of love and began talking about the different hues of blue the sky can be.
The delicious smell of fresh-baked banana bread waits for me at home. The newest poem reads:
Sunshine against the bright blue sky
Same color as the bananas in the bread
That waits in the oven, so don't let them die
I hope you enjoy the newest gift
So share with friends
If you catch my drift.
Goodnight my sunshine.
(More apologies for the awful poetry)
I take the baked bread out of the oven. The delicious smell wafted through the kitchen. I cut a couple slices and eat them. I then cut some more and wave my wand. The bread is now on its way to Harry and all the Weasleys except Ron. I save the rest of the loaf.
"'Thank you for your entry'," I quote from the letter I got from the Daily Prophet. "Does that give anything away?"
"Not that I see," Harry says. He, Ginny, and I are having dinner at my house tonight to wait for the news on the essay contest. It was April tenth.
"Maybe they sent that to everyone who entered so that no one felt jealous," Ginny suggests. I finish my chicken and flick my wand. The plates clear and start washing themselves in the sink. I scoop some ice cream for dessert. Two days seemed a long time to wait just to be disappointed that SPEW was again rejected, or to be published in the newspaper.
"So, will you two be attending?" I ask.
"As official secretary of SPEW, I feel it necessary to go," Harry jokes. I appointed him secretary in third year when I started SPEW. Ron was treasurer... but I doubt he'd attend even if he cared.
"I have a deadline I have to meet for my article on the Tutshill Tornadoes, but I wish I could go," Ginny says. I nod. Her deadlines were important to her, I knew. She winks at me. "I'll put in a good word at work."
"Thanks," I say sarcastically.
"You never know. My editor could have a say in it," Ginny says. I snicker. "Yeah, sure."
"Well, Gin, we should get going. It's nearly nine." Harry says. He stands and gestures to Ginny. They walk out the door and Disapparate.
April twelfth arrives in a flurry of letters, owls, and robes. I pin my new silver cloak (last night's gift from Mr. Admirer) around my shoulders and tuck my wand into its pocket in my dress robes. I slather my hair with Sleakeazy's Hair Potion to tame it and sweep it into a bun. I step out the door and Apparate to the meeting place, a rented ballroom in a party service building. Silver and gold balloons bedeck the room. Small tables and chairs cover the floor. Each has fives golden chairs, a creamy white tablecloth, and beautifully polished silverware. They all face an elevated stage where they'll announce the winner. A buffet lines the back wall. I scan the room and find Harry. He's sitting at an empty table right up front. I weave my way towards him and sit down. Before I say anything, however, Harry looks over to the corner. I follow his gaze. A man with flaming red hair, azure eyes, and freckles. A man sitting next to a once-pretty but scarred woman with long black braids and dark skin contrasting with his pale skin. A man named Ronald Weasley. He stood and quickly walked over here.
"Harry," he greeted. "Why're you here?"
"Actually, Ron, I'm here supporting Hermione. She entered." Ron's bright blue eyes swept over me.
"How coincidental. I'm here supporting Lavender. She also entered with her wonderful essay, "Werewolf Reserves and Boundaries". It's undoubtedly the winning one." he said, gesturing to Lavender.
"Hmm. I thought mine was rather good too," I said, mock-sweetly.
"Lemme guess. Spew again?" He snarled.
"SPEW," I murmured. "Don't you have a girlfriend to talk to?"
"Yes, unlike you, single and unhappy," he snapped.
"Who said I'm unhappy?" I lash out. "I am perfectly content, for your information."
"Then why are you still writing stupid, worthless things that aren't going to change anything?" He raises his voice.
"Ron, go back to your table if all you are going to do is cause trouble," Harry says soothingly yet firmly. Ron glares at me one last time before going back to Lavender. I sigh.
"Ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards, may I have your attention?" A plump but curvy, attractive young woman says into a microphone. "I am Glenda Wendell and I am here to announce the winner of the Daily Prophet essay contest!" I was full with both excitement and a delicious dinner. Glenda took a thick crimson envelope from an assistant. Dramatically, she took out the paper inside.
"The winner of the one thousand Galleon prize and the publishing in the Prophet is... Hermione Granger and her essay, "The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, and Why House-Elves Deserve Rights"!" I jump up to the applause and go on stage to accept the prize.
That night, I go home extremely jubilant. I sent an owl to Ginny right then and I could hardly sleep. I read one of my favorite novels to help lull myself to sleep. It works and I sleep very well for a night filled with such excitement.
I wake up. Two owls wait on my kitchen table. One has Ginny's reply and one has my copy of the Daily Prophet. I tear open the newspaper and find my article on page three. I reread my work and feel extraordinarily proud and happy. I then read Ginny's exclamation point filled reply and smile even wider when a third owl flies in. This majestic eagle owl has a parcel attached. The moment I relieve it of its load, the owl flies off. I tear open the package and find a new home potions kit and a note.
You've had enough of my awful poetry by now.
Come to the Potioneer Festival on Saturday and wait by the New Inventions booth for me.
I'll bring a white rose so you know it's me.
I can't wait to see you.
Love, your admirer.
I stare, dumbstruck, at the note.
I don't believe it.
I am finally going to meet my admirer.