The Arrangement

Chapter 2

Hermione knew there was no chance in hell Narcissa Malfoy would consent to her one and only son, Malfoy scion and all, marrying a Muggle-born. She had no doubt that Draco would do his best and fight tooth and nail for the right to stay with her, but in the end he would choose his mother and their fortune. She's known all along that if it came down to it, his choice would be clear. Not that he wouldn't be sorry-because he would be-but his apologies wouldn't be enough to soothe the hurt she'd feel at being spurned for money.

Hermione swallowed back the tears threatening to spill over. It's been two days of her lying in bed, wallowing in her own filth and misery, and she was tired. She swatted at her eyes angrily. There'd be no more crying, not for her. Crying wouldn't change that Draco and Pansy were betrothed, it wouldn't mend her broken heart, and it wouldn't make her happy or more capable of moving on. Hermione sat up warily, deciding it was time to actually get some food in, and eyed the picture on her desk of her and Draco. It was taken during their first Christmas together, during sixth year. Of course at that point their relationship had still been new, and a complete secret, so they celebrated after hours in the Room of Requirement.

"Oh Draco, it's lovely! You really shouldn't have, you know. It's so unnecessary!" Hermione was ecstatic. Draco smirked, knowing full well that his girlfriend wouldn't have been as pleased with anything less (not to mention his own Malfoy pride would smart if he hadn't given his girlfriend the absolute best, especially since she was a Mudblood. Had to show her the finer things in life, and all that). The journal he had presented her with had a genuine red dragon hide cover and the pages pure edged in pure gold, her name engraved on the front in gold curlicues beneath the Gryffindor crest. It was bewitched to only display its contents to her touch, but should he or anyone else open it, it would read to be Hogwarts: A History. The gold and red diamond encrusted quill was a tad too much, even Draco had to admit, but then again, what was the point of being a Malfoy if not for the boundless wealth it provided? Hell, she'd probably feel so grateful she'd finally let him touch her breasts.

Hermione smiled sadly at him. "I'm afraid that I didn't get you anything as wonderful as this, but I hope you'll like it." Shyly, she handed Draco a small red and gold box ("Really, Granger, you saw how pro-Gryffindor I got with my gift, yet you can't do the same for me? I'm wounded, honest"). He opened it excitedly and shoved aside the tissue paper to reveal…an ancient looking silver pocket watch with emeralds along the casing and, upon opening, along the face. To say Draco was disappointed was an understatement. He had gone out of his way, scouring the lands, throwing Galleons blindly about in a heroic and noble effort to procure The Perfect Christmas Gift for his lady, and all he gets in return is an apology and an old time piece? He fought the urge to scoff. He received a pocket watch from his mother earlier that day and it was loads better than the piece of crap he now held in his hand. It was cleaner, too.

His face must have betrayed him, because Hermione rushed to explain the sentiment behind giving him some rusty watch. "I know it looks quite rubbish, and you probably have ten thousand watches much better than this one, but it was my great-grand father's. An heirloom, if you will." At this, Draco looked up at her and tightened his grip on the watch. It suddenly felt heavier. Hermione pressed on. "I—my dad gave it to me this summer; it's supposed to be given to my future hus—well, I thought of you and it's sort of fitting that it would go to you, all things considering. I had it cleaned and I nearly had it engraved, but then I thought tha—" Draco kissed her.

When they pulled apart, Hermione's face was flushed and she refused to make eye contact. Draco smirked. He cupped her chin and brought her face closer to press a soft, chaste kiss to her lips. "I love it," He said, almost surprised at how true it was. Considering the watch once more, he decided that he did indeed love it. In fact, he loved it more than the Goblin made one he received from his mother. He considered it again. He felt manly, holding a Granger Family Heirloom, and he was sure that, as her family was a Muggle one, it was the best and most expensive thing they had to their name.

He smiled at his girlfriend, deciding he loved her a little extra. He was glad he did, otherwise Hermione would never have gotten away with snapping a picture of them with her silly Muggle camera.

Draco pulled out his pocket watch, his thoughts wandering as he eyed the emeralds. Hermione had yelled through her door that she'd come down to dinner, but it was nearly over and there was still no sign of her. Draco sighed. It was the fifth meal she'd missed since she found out he and Parkinson were arranged to be married before the year end.

It wasn't as if he didn't understand why she was upset; Merlin help us if the situation were reversed. Draco considered the idea silently as he used his spoon to toy with his soup. He had finally decided on a massive killing spree should his precious Granger be betrothed to another when his very own betrothed (however unwanted) sat across from him. "Draco," She snapped, tearing him from his thoughts. "We need to talk about this and you need to stop avoiding me!"

Draco massaged his forehead with both hands, hoping it properly conveyed how wary he was of speaking with her. Next to him, Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass made a show of shushing those around them so they could hear well. "Pansy, right now's not a good time." He muttered into his hands.

Pansy crossed her arms and furrowed her eyebrows, a stance Draco recognized. It meant there would be a fight and he was going to lose. "Now you listen here, Malfoy, and you listen good. This marriage is going to happen whether you like it or not. I know you have your reservations about the whole ordeal, and I'm not happy with it either, but you know it's for the good of both our families, not to mention it satisfies the stipulations of your inheritance!" The whole bloody table was watching now with rapt attention, eager to see how Draco would react. The Parkinson-Malfoy engagement was no secret, as Parkinson's mother had leaked every excruciating detail to Witch Weekly the moment it was announced, but it didn't mean that Draco was any more comfortable with the whole world witnessing his degradation at the hands of teenage girls.

First Hermione hearing about his "betrothed" in the Great Hall two days ago and now Pansy was getting her punches in as well.

"I couldn't disagree more heartily, Pans. I couldn't care less about that bloody inheritance you and Mother keep throwing at my cage, and you know it. Now sod off before I decide I'm not above hexing you." Draco knew using such language towards Pansy Parkinson would have Great and Terrible Repercussions later on (especially were his mother to find out), but he gave a damn less than he thought he would. He was acutely aware of his House's silence, and knew the other Houses were starting to take notice. He stood to make his leave.

But then she walked into the Great Hall looking like the specter of herself and all thought of leaving the room flew out of his head. He felt rooted to the spot and all but his neck and head were frozen. Not having seen her in what felt like ages, he basked in her presence, greedily feasting his eyes on her. Her hair was duller and much less…pronounced than he was used to, and her wrinkled school uniform (mussed and sans robes, he noted) hung limply on her already slim frame than was usual. Granger was no beauty queen, but even the least observant Slytherin first year could see that she looked worse for wear.

She made a beeline for the Gryffindor table, where the Weasel and The Boy Who Wouldn't Die Despite Everyone's Best Efforts (Draco figured it really should have been more of a team effort, but of course while enjoying his short reign, the Dark Lord had insisted that Potter was "his". Nasty innuendo there, but Draco wouldn't begrudge a dead…thing his fancies. Regardless, the Dark Lord had perished at the hands of said Scar-Head. That, Draco sagely decided, was the price one paid for not being a team player. Though he supposed that it wasn't very Slytherin to want to be a team player, but when it came to getting rid of Potty, he had no qualms) had perked up noticeably and were smiling at her like the Fabulous Chums they were.

Draco noted she was determinedly not looking anywhere near the Slytherin table. He briefly registered that Pansy was saying something to him, her puggish nostrils flaring out in her anger at being ignored, but it didn't really bother him all that much. He unrooted himself from where he had stood frozen and, with an overconfident swagger in his step, headed over to his enemy table to speak to his lady. Not the hideous puggy one with the limp hair and knobbly knees his mother tossed at him.

Everyone in the Great Hall stopped speaking simultaneously to watch the Head Boy humiliate himself yet again. A whispered, "A galleon says Granger hexes his bits off" was heard from the end of the Gryffindor table. Suddenly, Draco wasn't so confident anymore.

A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you to every one who reviewed, added this story to their alerts or favorites, or who gave it a chance by reading it!