Ravenclaw HoH, Standard for Round One. Prompt: Arranged Marriage. WC: 1590.
Muggle AU. In a world where there's a program for arranging marriage, like a university course.
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"You know that doing this to me makes you legitimately insane?" I demand. My father just checks his watch. Presumably, he has somewhere to be after he drops me off. "Are you even listening at all –"
"It's not against the law and, as your father, I am within my rights to make decisions for you, Hermione," he says shortly, cutting me off. "This is not a negotiation."
"But it should be –"
"Plenty of people have arranged marriages, and this program is proof of that."
He adjusts himself in the seat of the car, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. The same awkwardness seems to constantly be spelled between us these days. Especially after his decision to set me up for 'marriage camp'. Hence, he's not looking at me, but ahead into my obviously abysmal future.
I stare out at the scene too. It wouldn't be so bad if I was here for another reason. Ahead of us is the so-called campus, where we will be staying. That's me and my new husband, apparently. Rigid blocks of flats, huge leering lecture halls, and a quite ridiculous aluminium statue in the middle of it all. The sun is glinting off it, right into my eyes. Yeah, seems lovely.
"Just stop complaining. You'll make a fool of yourself before you even begin."
Thanks, Dad. "Mum wouldn't have let you do this."
"Don't talk to me about your mother," he snaps.
It's always like this. I make a comment, he bites back. Every time. I understand that he is in some kind of inner turmoil, but I wish he would actually open up about it. I wish I could prove that the caring father I used to have is still there, buried underneath all the crap he went through after she died. Because surely there is a part of him that loves her, and therefore there must be a part of him that loves me. Surely?
"You never talk about her anymore."
And again, the same thing. Except, this time, it's the accusation. The thing that I have for evidence of his lack of parenting skills, and his total lack of regard towards his deceased wife. At least, that's how it appears to me. And, every time, he goes quiet, switches off. In a stony, angry silence. Like he's furious that I would want to aggravate him into talking about my mother - who I also happen to miss.
"Let's go inside and meet your husband," he says, at last, shutting off the car and stepping out into the cold air before I can utter another word. I grab my jacket and join him. I might be angry, but it's autumn weather out there.
"Do I even get to know his name?"
My father doesn't respond. Instead, we follow the directions on the maps up to the dorm rooms. Across the main courtyard, into Telford Building, and up to the fourth floor. Yes, the silence is painfully awkward. Even more so when he leaves. A swift kiss on the forehead and a barely tolerable hug and he's gone. I practically hear the tyres squealing in his haste to get away. I don't dwell on this, but make my way to the flat on my own, collecting my set of keys from Reception on the way.
"Hey, neighbour!" someone calls over to me. A leggy redheaded woman is waving at me, her hair falling into her face and bags spilling everywhere. "Gimme a hand?"
For a second, my brain stops functioning.
"Uh… Yeah, sure. Sorry." I grab a few bags that seem to be falling off her and hold them while she opens the door. Not one to be rude, I end up helping her set things down in the right places (though, I totally abandoned my own bags to help her). "I'm Hermione. Hermione Granger."
"Ginny Weasley," she replies, out of breath and grinning. "I think we're gonna be good friends."
"What makes you say that?" I ask.
"Six people have passed me looking helpless, and you were the one to help."
Ginny is great. She is so sweet and kind, and also funny. She helps me move my stuff into the flat opposite, and together we deduce that my husband-to-be hasn't moved in yet due to the severe lack of stuff. We realise quickly that the apartments are exactly the same. One main bedroom (which neither of us are particularly comfortable with), a threadbare carpet, an average-sized square dining table, and a sofa room. I say room because it's not what I would call a living room exactly - what with the bare walls and total lack of homely space. The bedroom is the most intimidating aspect. Am I supposed to sleep with this person from day one? That seems extremely sketchy. I will be taking the couch – not that it looks appetising in the least.
After my boxes are in the flat, Ginny invites me back over to hers for a drink. I can unpack properly later. I have neither the want nor the required effort to do so just yet. Plus, no husband? Feels like a sign that this won't turn out well – a woman can only hope.
"You know," Ginny starts, two hours later, and a bottle of wine already gone. "This might actually be fun with you living next door. A good drinking buddy."
"And you should know, I don't drink that much. Hardly ever," I reply, grinning. My head feels like it's swimming, and I'm not sure whether I like it or not. The jury is out, and the jury is out partying.
"Honey, I can tell." Ginny fills up my glass again. "I'm gonna get some more popcorn."
The night gradually wastes away. I'm half aware that I should have been at orientation, though Ginny tells me her version of it. That apparently this place is to teach young people what it is like to be in a committed relationship, and that the organisation hopes it can spread the whole shebang of marriage being eternal and not something to be thrown away. She thinks it's ridiculous, but also romantic. I tell her that my father pushed me into it, and she says that she only did it to get away from her chaotic family. It's as good a reason as any.
Happy, warm, and tired, I eventually bid goodbye to Ginny and cross the path to my own apartment, which seems cold and desolate in comparison. Her partner never came in, so there's a high chance that my guy isn't there yet either. And, hopefully, I can avoid him for just another day.
No such luck. The bedroom light is on.
"Hello?" I call out, testing my voice. I don't sound drunk to myself, but I'm sure my breath and wobbling stature would tell a different story. Quickly, quietly, I close the door behind me and move slowly towards the bedroom. "Hey, it's me. Not that you know me. But you will. That sounds creepy, I'm sorry."
The door creaks open.
"Are you drunk?"
"No," I lie. He guffaws, then steps out of the light into the main room. Completely shirtless. Wonderful. As if I needed any more distraction to prevent me from being able to speak properly. "Yes. Kinda. I met our neighbours. Well, one of them. I'm Hermione."
"You already said that." I wince at my own expense. "I'm Draco. It's an unusual name, I know."
"But no less lovely," I say without thinking.
He laughs. "Right." Then he glances about the room. "We should probably talk."
"Can you put a shirt on first, please?" He looks down and disappears into the bedroom to grab one. Moments later, he's back, and I'm sleepily nestled into the uncomfortable crook of the living room couch. "I'm Hermione."
"I got that, funnily enough," he murmurs. "We're supposed to get married in a week. There are a couple of things you ought to know about me, first and foremost." I nod in assent. "This was not my choice. I wanted to marry someone else, but she was deemed unsuitable and so my parents put me in this program. I'm still in love with her, and that can't be helped."
"Okay," I say, swallowing thickly. It's a lot to take in that the man you're going to marry will likely be in love with someone else for a large part of the first part of it. And it hurts, even though I don't know him. He's incredibly attractive, which is something I do know. With that tousled blond hair and winning smile underneath the drama. He's nice to look at and I'm sure he's interesting to talk to.
"I want to make this work, though," Draco continues. "I want to make you happy, and I want to be happy. So, whatever it takes to get this first year right, and everything beyond it. That's what I am prepared to do."
I nod. "I mean, that all sounds positive to me, other than my preventing your happiness with someone else."
Draco smiles weakly.
"All it means is that my feelings are going to be complicated for a little while. But that's my problem, not yours. Just letting you know."
"Thank you, I guess." I deflate just a little, feeling suddenly hollow and drifting away from my alcohol high.
"Tell me something about you," he asks, and settles down into a seat opposite me.
And, in that moment, I just have this feeling that maybe this will be okay after all.
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Thanks for reading!