This is not my fault and I apologise for nothing.
Hermione loved Harry and Ron. She really loved them – loved Ron so much that they'd remained friends despite the infamous breakup at the Chudley Canons' match (she still felt slightly embarrassed about that actually – perhaps the canaries had been an overreaction, but honestly he could be so dense sometimes).
Nevertheless, love them as she did, she couldn't help feeling a little bit resentful. She hadn't seen them for eighteen months and they hadn't asked a single thing about her life.
"And James Sirius just does this thing where –"
Babies. All anyone wanted to talk about was babies. She'd been doing fascinating things in her tenure as part of the DMLE's liason in South America. She'd met hundreds of interesting people, learnt about magics they'd never heard of in Britain and –
And she was standing in her red dress, looking really quite lovely actually, not that they'd commented, and they were just talking about themselves. Every letter was similar – filled with news of home as though they had no real awareness of the entire world beyond Britain and it felt like nothing had really changed since they'd left Hogwarts.
"Can I get you a drink Hermione? Ron?" Harry asked.
"Just water for me, thanks Harry," she replied.
He nodded and went to find one of the house-elves bearing trays of wine and mead and butterbeer. Paid elves, of course. She'd seen to that years ago.
It was doomsday, she reflected, not for the first time that day. Hermione had been avoiding this. Dreading it. But the day of reckoning had come and she was not feeling like a proper Gryffindor.
"Weird being back isn't it?" Ron said, awkwardly.
Hermione gazed around the Great Hall, the familiar star studded ceiling telling her it was a clear, bright night, the brightly coloured House banners draping all the walls adding that lack of taste peculiar to the magical world. The four long tables had been turned into much smaller ones for the occasion, with clusters of fairies lighting the round tables clothed tartan, of all things.
A few latecomers - including Seamus, naturally, were still coming in and Hermione surveyed the surprisingly good turn out. At least most people had dressed well, although Tracey Davies' overly fashionable dress robes made her look like a vampire - and actually Ron had turned out quite well for once, now she thought about it.
"Yes," Hermione said. "A little strange. Most people seem hardly changed, isn't it odd? Although of course I had an extra year here…"
He scowled, the old bitterness between them still rankling.
After all I've done, all I want is one school year with us all together and normal, she'd said.
I can't believe you're leaving to go back to Hogwarts, he'd snapped back. I thought we could move in together, get a place, start our life together.
"You look amazing," he said softly. "Really. It's good to have you back. Are you staying this time?"
You're going to WHERE? He'd yelled when she'd chosen an inadvertent moment (hoping he'd be too distracted by the fact that the Canons weren't losing to make a scene) to announce her job offer. But I want to get married!
Married? Well it would have been nice to let me know! And it's just for two years, it's not forever!
It hadn't gone down well. They'd tried, even after that, got back together but long distance after the year at Hogwarts and then in another country had revealed the fractured bones of their relationship and when she'd come back for Christmas that first year they'd agreed, with no little relief, to call it quits.
"Are you seeing anyone? Since that Ravenclaw – what was her name?" (She knew the name, she was just feeling prickly and nervous and taking it out on him).
She'd been dreading today.
"Yeah," he muttered. "I've been – what do the Muggles call it? – dating."
The thought of Ron scrubbing up and taking girls to dinner made her smile fondly.
"I bet you hate that," she said, and suddenly it was fine and they were friends and he grinned and said,
"Yeah, yeah I do actually. But there's this really nice witch Ginny plays with… she's a couple of years younger than us, but. Yeah. She seems nice."
His ears were bright pink.
"But if you wanted – I mean – if you're back…"
"Ron," she said awkwardly. "I'm not – that's not – there's... someone."
"Here you go," Harry said, interrupting. "Took ages to find your water, sorry Hermione. I've had a look at the seating plan and guess who's on our table? Malfoy. Unbelievable."
"Is he?" Hermione asked, lightly. "Oh look, it's nearly time to go and sit down. I'm just going to, um, powder my nose."
.
.
He followed her out of the Hall, pulling her into an alcove, and kissed her forehead, holding her as though she might break.
"You're white as a sheet – is everything alright?"
"I'm just nervous."
"It'll be fine," he said, blatantly lying through his teeth. "They love you, even if you have avoided even flooing them for months. They'll forgive you. Or – Potter will. Not sure about the Weasel."
"I just – I still can't believe they don't know," she whimpered, nervously patting her hair.
"Aren't you supposed to be the brave and reckless one?"
"I think I covered the reckless part when I drunkenly suggested we elope to avoid the general shit-storm we're about to actually face."
He laughed, and pulled her in, kissing all her lipstick off.
"You've always liked a dramatic entrance. I might have been a bigoted little shit in fourth year but I was very much aware of your Yule Ball shenanigans, Hermione."
She rolled her eyes, hiding a smile.
"Ready to go back in?" he asked.
She eyed him, his slate-grey eyes achingly beautiful against his almost-if-not-quite tanned skin.
"Draco, what if they hate me? I mean, really, hate me. Harry just had a baby and he couldn't tell me fast enough, even though I've sent them absolutely no details of my life... I just – what was I thinking?"
"They won't. And as you've said a hundred times it's not as though you've actually lied – they haven't exactly asked either. I might not survive tonight and I'm sure they'll check you for at least twenty love potions and the Imperius but you'll be fine. You're Hermione Granger. Everyone in that Hall owes you their lives twice over."
"That's probably true," she admitted.
"Including me," he said and kissed her, pushing her against the wall, and sending fire running through her blood.
"We should have done this in our eighth year instead of studying prudishly in the Library and pretending not to fancy each other... It's quite sexy isn't it? Sneaking around the castle… We could sack off dinner and go up to the Astronomy tower…" she suggested.
"Gods, that's so tempting – but I know you'll blame me tomorrow if you don't tell them. Besides, I'm really looking forward to seeing that freckly git's face…"
"Draco, behave tonight? I know you and Ron and Harry won't ever be friends, but at least try and be civil."
"I'm not promising anything. I've imagined this moment for years. I mean – what if Potter faints again?" he asked with a blissful sigh and then reorganised his features rapidly when he gauged her irritated face.
"Alright, alright. You go back in first… I wonder if this is what having an affair's like?"
"I hope for the sake of little Draco that you never decide to find out," she said, pressing her wand against his crotch and his eyes darkened, pulling her close again but she just laughed and pulled away.
"See you at the table, darling."
.
.
"Why are they here again?" Harry hissed to Hermione, as Pansy Parkinson batted her eyelashes at Draco.
So far everyone was vaguely pretending to be an adult, but Draco kept catching her eye and sending her heated looks and is it time yet and are we actually doing this or what Granger? looks. And they'd made it through the starter and the main but Ron was pretty well on his way to drunk and Harry wasn't far behind and Draco – Draco didn't hold his booze as well as he thought and –
"Well actually, Harry, there's a pretty good reason Draco's at our table," Hermione said, with her best everything-is-absolutely-fine-nothing-to-see-here smile.
Ron choked.
Draco leant forward in anticipation.
"You see, I – um – that is – he was in South America as well, working for Gringotts - and - and you know, I think we should all be adults and put old rivalries to rest and have a lovely evening."
That wasn't exactly what she'd been going for. She was floundering, and honestly she'd never been more nervous.
"Your finger," Parkinson said, jaw dropping. "Drakey is that - ?"
He grinned, and nodded, carefully watching Harry and Ron as they, in unison, looked down at her hands. It took a moment but –
('IS THAT A RING?' and 'ARE YOU ENGAGED TO MALFOY?!')
- they erupted and Hermione thought it was probably worth it just to see the look of deep, contented, satisfaction on her husband's face as he finally, finally one-upped his old rivals.
It was childish, certainly, but she'd known he could be a complete arse when she'd married him.
"Oh, we not engaged," Draco said to Pansy and then paused as everyone sighed in relief.
"We've been married for six months," he continued happily. "I'm so glad we can finally share our wonderful news with our friends, aren't you darling?"
"Oh, yes," she muttered. "Delighted."
Harry spluttered and Ron actually stood up and left the table. He was so angry he'd turned white instead of red, and she felt a vague pang of regret. It would have been better if he hadn't hinted at a reconciliation earlier. The male ego was such a fragile thing, sometimes.
"But she's a Mug- a Muggleborn," Daphne Greengrass (who Hermione honestly wasn't sure had ever said a word to her before) said. It wasn't rude exactly, even she could see that. It was more… baffled.
"So?" Draco shrugged.
"So your children would be half-blood Malfoys," Pansy said as though Draco was completely dimwitted and Hermione sat back, smirking slightly – it was her turn to enjoy the fun.
"Yeah," he said slowly. "I'd sort of worked that out already, Pans."
"Whatever," she snapped. "Pass the wine."
"Besides," Draco said, unable to resist winding her up, "Potter's a half-blood and so was the Dark Lord so I figured there must be something in it – why not test the theory?"
It was Hermione's turn to choke. She was fairly well used to his particular brand of humour by now but…
"HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT?"
"Really Draco?"
He smirked as Harry and Pansy screeched in unison.
"Honestly, Harry sit down – he's just winding you up," Hermione said, glaring at her husband.
"BUT MALFOY!?" Harry howled, apparently reduced to incoherence, and drawing quite a lot of unnecessary attention.
"Which one?" Draco asked, smirking.
"It's still Granger," she reminded him, sharply.
He huffed.
"I know darling, and I do fully respect your choice not to take my name, even though we never actually discussed that and I still think Hermione Malfoy sounds amazing."
"This isn't a joke is it?" Pansy said after a moment. "You really got married. Well, I have to say - I wasn't expecting that. Let's see it up close then Granger."
And with that, Pansy Parkinson stood up, walked round the table and picked Hermione's hand up to inspect the (embarrassing, ostentatious) rock on her finger.
I know you'll hate it, he'd said, but it's an heirloom and it'll mean something to people who were… you know, brought up like me.
Hate what? She'd asked, looking up from her book. She hadn't even noticed him come out onto the veranda, or the bottle of Champagne he'd put on the little table.
This, he'd said, handing her the little box as though it were nothing.
Are you serious? She'd asked. He'd never hinted – they weren't like that - they were jokes and sex everywhere and reading on the sofa and exploring new places and laughter and sometimes shouting and tears and love, yes, certainly, but marriage – and – and - she adored him, all of him but -
I've never been more sure of anything, Granger. Let's get married?
Alright, she'd said, staring at the really fucking stupidly huge enormous diamond with a fucking tiny M in emeralds either side – were they joking? – seriously? – and then -
Oh my god. Yes, alright, yes married, yes. Are you really sure that's what you want – this is already perfect and I don't need – and yes I do hate it, actually, I'm pretty sure this is the tackiest ring I've ever seen in my entire life. It makes Slytherin's locket look positively demure. I take it back, I can't possibly marry you. Oh my god.
My mother will hate it if you wear that one. Hers is smaller.
Fine, I accept. And she'd put it on her finger, and not taken it off since.
And then they'd had a bottle of Champagne and he'd pressed her up against the pillar and –
"Well, it's certainly a statement," Pansy said thoughtfully. "No mistaking which family you've signed up to, is there?"
Draco grinned smugly.
"I told you Pansy was nothing to worry about," he said to Hermione. "It's just your friends who are behaving badly, as it turns out. Thank Merlin we didn't have an actual wedding - Potter probably would have kidnapped you or something."
And indeed, Harry's head was in his hands as though his scar was hurting again and Hermione was genuinely terrified for a moment.
"A word, Malfoy," he said eventually. "Outside."
.
.
Draco never told her what Harry had said to him, or what he said to Harry but they missed the pudding course (so she ate both of theirs) and when they came back they were both pale and had that irritatingly smug air of important man chat about them. As though they'd come to some sort of understanding that was beyond her.
It was silly, but on the other hand, Ron reappeared halfway through the cheese course and if his freckles were a bit more prominent than usual at least he wasn't quite so green.
"I don't understand," he said. "But I'm not a teaspoon any more and you've never done anything without a good reason."
.
.
"There's one more thing," Hermione said, when everyone had calmed down. "I haven't told Draco yet, but I thought it would be a lovely surprise and we could share it with all of our wonderful friends. I'm actually pregnant. And Harry, I was hoping you'd be godfather?"
.
.
SO I WAS TRYING TO FIND A DRAMIONE ONE SHOT FOR BEDTIME READING AND THIS SEEMED TO BE LIKE THE BIGGEST TROPE EVER BUT LIKE SO BADLY DONE AND I AM TROPE TRASH AND THIS JUST HAPPENED.
You are welcome? i THINK?