Chapter 47

Filius has sent three owls trying to convince Hermione to accept his offer of an apprenticeship. She wants it badly, but because it means returning to Hogwarts, seeing Snape day in and day out, she keeps hesitating before making the final commitment.

"I don't know," she says for what feels like the thousandth time.

"It's up to you, of course," her father says, "but if it were me, and I wanted that apprenticeship, I wouldn't let my arsehole ex-husband stand in the way."

"He's not an arsehole, Dad."

John Granger turns to look at his wife. "Helen, I could have sworn she called him an arsehole not half an hour ago?"

"More like twenty minutes, I'd say," Helen says.

"You're not helping, either of you," Hermione says, but she's almost smiling, so actually, they probably are.

When the doorbell rings, John goes to answer it and returns momentarily with Draco Malfoy in tow. As if this weren't enough of a mindfuck, Malfoy is holding a very large bouquet of white roses. Helen, who is sitting on the sofa next to Hermione, leans in and whispers, "Oh, my, he's dishy!"

Hermione glares at her mother and then at Malfoy. "What are you doing here?"

"Hermione, don't be rude," Helen says. "Introduce us to your friend."

"I wouldn't call him my friend, but all right. Mum, Dad, this is Draco Malfoy. Malfoy, my parents, John and Helen Granger."

Draco holds out his hand to John. "How do you do, sir?" He turns to Helen. "Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Granger."

"I'll put those in water, shall I?" Helen asks, rising and taking the roses. "Sit down, dear." She indicates the place next to Hermione that she's just vacated. "Would you like some tea?"

"That would be lovely, thank you," Malfoy says, sitting next to Hermione.

When her father follows her mother into the kitchen, Hermione hisses, "What the fuck, Malfoy?"

"It's lovely to see you, too, Granger."

"Oh, my God. What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Making a nuisance of yourself."

"Known in the wizarding world as courting."

"Courting," she repeats. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"You're not supposed to swear at wizards who are courting you, Granger."

"Are you supposed to call witches you're courting by their surnames?"

"No. May I call you Hermione, then?"

"No."

Malfoy sighs. "You're not very good at this."

"Then bugger off and court someone else."

"Hermione!" her mother says, coming back in. She sets the roses down on a side table and John sets the tea tray on the coffee table.

"Mum, you're letting the fact that he's pretty distract you. He's actually—"

"You think I'm pretty?" Malfoy asks. "I'd prefer handsome, but I suppose I can settle for pretty."

"Pretty annoying."

Malfoy turns to Hermione's father. "Sir, I'd like your permission to court your daughter."

"Court?" John says. "This isn't the Middle Ages."

"Welcome to the wizarding world, Dad," Hermione says. "All medieval, all the time."

"More Victorian than medieval, I'd say," Malfoy says.

"Equally hidebound and sexist," Hermione retorts.

Malfoy looks at her. "Then let me help you change it."

"You don't want to change it."

"You don't know what I want, Hermione," he says, taking her hand.

She jerks it away. "It's Granger. Or Mudblood."

John stands. "Helen, let's give the kids some privacy."

"Nice meeting you, Draco," Helen says as she follows her husband out.

"Why would you want to court me, Malfoy?" Hermione asks when her parents are gone. "You've always hated me."

"I've never hated you. I was always supposed to hate you, but I never did."

"You gave a pretty good impression of it."

"I know. And I'm sorry about that. I really am."

She looks at him for a long time, trying to figure out what his game is. He can't actually be serious, can he?

"Do I have even the slightest chance with you, Granger? If I do, I'll be patient. I'll wait as long as it takes to prove that I'm serious."

If he's taking the piss, he's carrying the joke pretty far. From the time she performed Legilimency on him, she knows he's attracted to her. Severus said that marrying her would be a good way for Malfoy to restore his damaged reputation, so maybe he is serious?

"Granger?"

She looks into Malfoy's apparently sincere gray eyes. They are, in truth, very pretty eyes. Objectively, Mum is right. He is rather dishy. But it's a dish that holds no appeal for her. Fool that she is, she prefers brooding dark eyes to pretty gray ones, an oversized nose to one that looks like it belongs on the Belvedere Apollo. Rather than a rich young man who brings her roses and sweet talks her mother, she wants a surly git who seems not to give a damn that the Ministry annulled their marriage, and who hasn't even tried to speak to her since she knocked him on his arse in their practice duel.

"No," she says. "You don't."

"Because you love him?"

"Who?"

"Come off it, Granger. The only reason I might not have a chance with you, pretty as I am, would be if you're still in love with Severus."

"Still?" she scoffs. "What makes you think I was ever in love with him?"

"Rumor has it you might come back as Flitwick's apprentice," Malfoy says, changing tack.

"I might."

"But you haven't accepted yet because it would be too hard to see him every day."

Honestly, where does he get off? She's never told anyone but Ginny, and more recently, Mum, how she feels about her infuriating ex-husband. Ginny can't stand Malfoy, and Mum only met him today. And since he's a crap Occlumens, she assumes he's equally incompetent at Legilimency. "You don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy."

Malfoy looks at her for a disconcertingly long time, as though he's trying to make up his mind about something, then apparently does, because he smiles. "I was hoping that's what you'd say." He stands. "In that case, I'll see you next Saturday, Granger. Tell your mum thanks for the tea."

"You will not see me next Saturday, Malfoy."

"Oh, yes, I will. That's what wizards who are courting do. They show up at the witch's house with flowers and chocolates—you do like chocolates, don't you, Granger? Not going to tell me? That's all right. I'll ask the Weaslette. Anyway, that's how courting goes. I show up every Saturday, bringing gifts, and make nice with your parents, until you've got it through your thick head that I'm actually as charming as everyone else—your mum included—thinks I am, and you bow to the inevitable."

Hermione gradually becomes aware that she is not just figuratively, but literally slack-jawed with astonishment, and closes her mouth. "You're mad."

"Mad about you, Granger," he grins and stands up. "See you next Saturday."

The following Saturday, Hermione spends the entire day with Harry, Ginny, and Ron at the Burrow, not returning home until late. When she does, she finds another bouquet of roses, red this time, and an enormous box of chocolates. There's also an invitation with silver script on heavy, expensive-looking white paper for a charity ball at Malfoy Manor next weekend. On the bottom, Malfoy has written, It's for war orphans, Granger. You can't say no. I'll pick you up at half seven. Owl me if I need to take you shopping first. If you show up in some tacky Muggle thing, Mother will go spare. Hermione shakes her head and laughs despite herself. He says she's not very good at courting?

"He really is a lovely boy, Hermione," Helen says.

A boy, Hermione thinks. How could she be happy with a boy when she was married to a man? "He was a Death Eater," is what she says to her mother.

"So was the one you were married to," her mother points out. "What is it with you and those terrorists? Honestly, love, I never thought you'd be the sort of girl to be drawn to the bad boy type."

"I'm not. Ron was the one I thought I wanted before all this happened, and he's the furthest thing from a bad boy you can imagine. I'm not drawn to Malfoy, as I keep telling you, and I never thought of Severus as anything but my teacher until that marriage law was passed. I didn't even like him at first, and it took weeks for us to stop being awkward around each other."

"But once you did, you fell in love with him."

Hermione nods.

"Have you written to Professor Flitwick?"

"I told him I'd let him know for certain by Monday."

"You want the apprenticeship?"

"Yes, but—"

"But nothing. Did I raise you to be the kind of crap feminist who gives up her professional aspirations because of some man?"

"No," Hermione laughs.

"Then write to that professor right now and tell him yes. You and this Severus—I do expect to meet him, by the way, and soon, if things get back on track—may work things out, or you may not. Either way, you shouldn't pass up a professional opportunity you want because of it." Helen picks up the invitation. "Is he likely to be at this ball?"

"I don't know. On the one hand, it's not really his sort of thing, but on the other hand, Lucius Malfoy is his best friend, so he may feel obligated to go."

Helen reads Malfoy's handwritten note. "Some tacky Muggle thing," she scoffs, then looks up at Hermione. "If I thought you were ready for a serious relationship at all, never mind with a Death Eater—which I do not—then the young one has just taken two steps back in my book. Now, how late is that diagonally place open?"

"Diagon Alley?"

"That's it. You and I need to go shopping."

Hermione thinks of the way Severus looked at her when she emerged from the fitting room at Madam Malkin's wearing those black satin robes. "No, we don't, Mum. I already have just the thing."

Author's Note

Thanks to all who weighed in about my question yesterday. The overwhelming response is that readers want to know which ship is going to sail into HEA Harbor.

Because I'd rather read the reactions to the story's end on Sunday rather than Monday (since I do need to remain gainfully employed) I am going to post a BONUS CHAPTER tonight, then 49 on Saturday and 50 on Sunday.