A/N – Hi everyone! Welcome to my newest fanfiction, The Marriage Plot.
This story was actually inspired by the Netflix show Bridgerton. In Bridgerton, the two main characters pretend to date in the hope that it will solve their respective problems. And I thought – hey, wouldn't that be an interesting plot device to use in a Dramione fanfic!?
This story will take place during sixth year. All events up until then are more or less the same; the only real difference is that Malfoy's father, Lucius, is not imprisoned in Azkaban for what he did during The Order of the Phoenix. (I considered it, but I think the story will be funnier with him present, so let's just say that the Ministry never caught him.) The story will contain strong sexual themes, including some explicit sexual scenes, so I'll be giving this fanfic an M rating. You have been warned!
Without any further ado, let's get on with the story. If you enjoy it, please do leave a review – it'd mean the world to me.
Chapter One
Dear Draco,
We would like to wish you the very best for your sixth year at Hogwarts and for your upcoming NEWTs. We know you will uphold the family name by studying hard and excelling in these subjects.
We would also like to remind you of the matter we discussed over the summer holidays. Now that you are of age, you ought to turn your attention to the subject of marriage. It is our wish that you marry a girl from a Pure-blooded family, preferably one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, as befits the Malfoy name and reputation. We would strongly encourage you to do this sooner rather than later; as we have previously discussed, the small number of suitable Pure-blood girls available means that your options will narrow the longer you delay.
Once you have selected a girl, we would ask that you write to us informing us of your decision. If we are satisfied with your choice, we will send back an engagement ring, which has been passed down the Malfoy family line for generations. In the meantime, we would ask that you send us frequent updates concerning your progress so far.
Might we suggest that you begin by talking to that delightful girl, Pansy Parkinson?
With love,
Your parents,
Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy
The letter had arrived shortly after Draco had settled into his sixth year at Hogwarts. He'd been at breakfast in the Great Hall when his eagle owl had appeared, settling itself on Draco's shoulder like it always did. Draco had expected his usual supply of sweets and cakes from his mother. He'd nearly choked on his tea when he saw the note from his parents instead.
He couldn't believe his parents had sent him a letter reminding him of his 'task', as if they hadn't spent the whole bloody summer holidays harping on about it. Draco was going to be seventeen this year, and apparently that meant he had to shack up with the nearest available Pure-blood cow as soon as possible. He always knew he'd get married eventually, of course – the Malfoy name had been passed down for hundreds of years, and it wasn't going to stop with him – but he never thought he'd be looking to get married now. He simply wasn't ready for marriage. He was quite happy shagging girls and then kicking them out of his bed the next day. He couldn't imagine actually getting into a relationship, let alone marrying a girl.
Apparently, it was traditional for wizarding families to get married young; getting married in your thirties once you'd had a 'career' and 'travelled the world' was some nasty Muggle invention that was just another example of how Muggle-borns were ruining wizarding society. But that wasn't the only reason. 'We would strongly encourage you to do this sooner rather than later,' the note had said. 'The small number of Pure-blood girls available means that your options will narrow the longer you delay.'
It wasn't a surprise to Draco that he wasn't exactly spoiled for choice. First off, his parents wanted him to marry someone from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, a list of the most respected Pure-blood families in Britain. But once you took into account blood traitor families like the Weasleys and the Longbottoms, who may as well be Mudbloods, it was really more like the Sacred Twenty-Three. Then about half of the families left were related to Draco in some way, like the Blacks and the Lestranges, so they were out of the running. Once you counted the families who actually had girls Draco's age, the list of eligible bachelorettes became pitifully small.
It had been three days since he'd received the note, and the problem of his impending betrothal was weighing on him more than ever. It was breakfast, but Draco barely had any appetite for his food. He cast his eyes around the Great Hall, making a mental list of the girls his age who were part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. His gaze fell on Hannah Abbott, who was sitting at the Hufflepuff table. Ugh, he thought, turning away in disgust. The only thing worse than a Mudblood was a Hufflepuff. He could never marry some limp lettuce who didn't share his ambition or cunning.
He turned back to where the Slytherins were sitting. He glanced at Millicent Bulstrode, a big brute of a girl who was shoving a first year in her haste to get the last sausage on the breakfast table. Absolutely not, Draco immediately decided. Not only was she utterly repulsive to look at, but she didn't even have a shred of personality to make up for it. Merlin, their children would be hideous – not even Draco's haughty good looks would be able to save the unfortunate sods. That said, the thought of putting his dick within twelve inches of Millicent made Draco want to throw what he'd eaten of his dinner back up.
Daphne Greengrass in his year was much prettier, Draco considered. Still, he'd never really spoken to her. Perhaps it'd be worth getting to know her better.
Finally, Draco's eyes fell on Pansy, sitting a few seats down from him. 'Might we suggest that you begin by talking to that delightful girl, Pansy Parkinson?'
Draco thought about it. All things considered, Pansy was probably his best bet. She was, of course, a Pure-blood girl whose family were in the Sacred Twenty-Eight. She was quite attractive, which was the next most important thing. And Draco actually didn't mind her. She hung around with his group sometimes, and Draco probably would've considered her a friend.
But Merlin, was she clingy. She and Draco had had a bit of a fling in fifth year – nothing serious, of course, he'd just wanted a shag – but Draco had been spooked by just how irritatingly needy she was. She was constantly fawning over him. She wanted to be around him all the time. She wanted to touch him all the time. Draco had enjoyed the attention at first – especially when he was getting his leg over her twice a week – but when Pansy started telling everyone that Draco was her boyfriend, he'd put a stop to things pretty sharpish.
The truth was that Pansy bored him. There was no mental challenge with her. He knew that, regardless of whether he proposed to her or not, she would be at his beck and call like the little pug dog she was. The thought of being married to her for life made Draco want to pitch himself off the Astronomy Tower.
Pansy caught Draco staring at her. She gave a seductive smile and held her hand out, as if she wanted Draco to take it.
Draco looked away.
"I'm going for a walk," he announced, standing up and shoving the note in his pocket. "Don't follow," he added as Crabbe and Goyle began to scramble to their feet.
Draco spent the rest of the day thinking, unhappily, about the note. In class he traced its crumpled edges with his fingers. Between classes he clenched and unclenched it in his fist. Sometimes he took it out of his pocket and unravelled it, reading it again, hoping that the words would magically rearrange themselves to say, False alarm! There's no need to get married quite yet! Spend your sixth year playing Quidditch and shagging girls like a normal seventeen-year-old! But each time the same depressing words stared up at him, reminding him of his task. The parchment was featherlight in his pocket and yet it seemed to weigh on him like a ton of bricks.
"Are you OK, Draco?" Pansy said to him after Potions, touching his elbow with a look of concern on her face. "You seem a bit distracted."
Draco shied away from her touch. "I'm fine," he spat, a little too harshly.
He really, really did not want to marry any of the girls he'd considered so far. Still, defying his family was out of the question. Draco knew he could be a prat at times, but for all his faults, he loved his family. It was the reason he was a Slytherin. He wouldn't dare besmirch his family name by marrying below his station. Just the thought of the disappointment in his father's eyes was enough to extinguish any thoughts of rebellion. His father had been really disappointed in him, once, when that Mudblood Hermione Granger outperformed him in some examination, and it had been the worst Draco had ever felt. He'd wanted the ground to swallow him up there and then. I will never disappoint my father again, Draco thought fiercely.
At dinner that evening, he picked at his food and left the Great Hall early. Instead of returning to the Slytherin Common Room, Draco found himself walking to an abandoned part of the castle. He didn't fancy being around people, around all those oblivious people who didn't have anything worse to worry about than their Transfiguration homework or the Gryffindor vs Slytherin Quidditch match. He certainly didn't fancy being around Pansy Parkinson, who would bat her eyes at him sympathetically and stroke him comfortingly and secretly hope that by supporting Draco she would make him fall in love with her.
Draco ended up in an empty corridor. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared out of a tall window overlooking the Hogwarts grounds, where night was rapidly gathering. There had to be some kind of solution to his problem that didn't end with him fathering some ugly Bulstrode babies, he thought miserably.
You're a Slytherin, he told himself. You're cunning and resourceful. You'll think of a plan.
Ronald Weasley is unequivocally and categorically the biggest tosser in Hogwarts, Hermione Granger decided as she pushed her way out of the Gryffindor Common Room.
Her face felt hot with fury and embarrassment. Her fists were clenched so hard that her nails were digging painfully in her palms. She thought she saw some eyes follow her curiously as she stormed out of the Gryffindor Common Room, but she didn't care who saw her upset. She had no room to think about anything but the pure, unbridled rage that was coursing through her veins.
He'd kissed her! Lavender Brown! In front of Hermione!
It was downright embarrassing. Surely everyone knew that Hermione had feelings for Ron. Well, she hadn't told Ron how she felt outright – despite her firm beliefs in equality, she felt it was still a man's job to make the first move – but she had certainly hinted very heavily that she was interested in him. And how had Ron reacted? He'd snogged Lavender Brown in front of the entire Gryffindor Common Room. Not only had he torn her heart into a million pieces, but he'd also done so for all of her classmates to witness.
A strange sense of inadequacy that Hermione had not felt since first year rose up in her chest. She knew she wasn't the prettiest girl in Gryffindor. She had big teeth, and wild, bushy hair. Her boobs weren't ginormous like Lavender's. She didn't exactly have sex appeal, either. Hermione was intelligent, and boys often found that intimidating.
Still, a small part of her had hoped that Ron would find her attractive. He knew her better than anyone, except Harry, and she thought he'd be able to look past her shortcomings and see her for her.
What a stupid assumption that was, Hermione sniffed. Ron didn't have room in his brain for anything except big tits and a pretty face.
But Merlin, that realisation hurt. It hurt more than a Cruciatus Curse. And as Hermione walked briskly away from the common room she was suddenly glad of her bushy hair, which fell in front of her face and conveniently hid the tears that were streaming down her cheeks.
Hermione was hurt. But some vindictive part of her wanted Ron to feel that hurt, too. She wanted him to feel exactly how she'd felt when she saw him kiss Lavender: jealous, she realised.
She didn't know where she was going; she'd just wanted to get away from him, from them. Her feet carried her to a more secluded part of the castle, and it wasn't until then that Hermione lifted her head and let the tears fall more freely. A cold breeze drifted in from the window at the end of the corridor and brushed her wet, glistening cheeks.
Then she froze.
She wasn't alone.
Standing at the end of the corridor, staring out the window with his back to her, was Draco Malfoy.
She hadn't noticed him at first; he was wearing a black suit, and his tall dark shape was almost indistinguishable against the night sky. Hermione hesitated, feeling very much like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Instinctively she wanted to turn away. She did not want Malfoy to see her like this – she didn't want to see Malfoy ever, in fact. Yet her Gryffindor courage kept her rooted to the spot. This was her school as much as his. Why should she avoid certain corridors and tiptoe around Hogwarts like a little mouse because of some obnoxious closed-minded bully?
In the end, her decision was made for her. Draco turned around and noticed her at once.
"What's the matter, Granger? Only get three pieces of homework today instead of four?"
Draco's insult was said in his usual spiteful drawl, though Hermione noticed he sounded distracted, as if he had something on his mind.
"That's a pathetic insult, Malfoy," Hermione retorted, trying to keep her voice from wavering. "But I suppose bigots were never very intelligent."
She carried on walking, but before she could pass Draco, he lunged at her. The Slytherin grabbed her wrist – she let out a startled gasp – and before she knew what was happening he had her pinned her against the wall with his body, preventing her from escaping. Draco looked down at her, his grey eyes dark.
"I said," Draco growled, dangerously softly, "what's the matter, Granger?"
Hermione not to look as alarmed as she felt. She settled her face into a glare and tried to yank her arm away. "It's none of your business, Malfoy. Now let me pass," she added, her voice growing slightly shrill, "or I'll hex you."
Draco paused, his long white fingers tight around her wrist. His warm torso was pressing her uncomfortably against the cold brick wall. His gaze was dark, and for one terrified moment Hermione felt that she'd underestimated Draco – that he was not just some schoolyard bully but a dark individual, maybe even a Death Eater, who was going to kill her or rape her or worse. But just as she was considering opening her mouth to scream, Draco released her from his grip and turned away.
"Whatever," he scoffed. "I doubt little Mudbloods like you ever face any real problems, anyway."
Hermione smoothed her ruffled jumper and tried to steady her shaky breaths. "Oh, and I suppose Pure-bloods like you do?"
"Correct, Granger. Looks like they weren't wrong when they said that you were intelligent," Draco drawled sarcastically. "You see, some of us actually have long-established family names to uphold. Traditions that must be maintained."
"What, like deciding which Muggle-born you're going to torment that day?" Hermione asked sweetly.
"Like marriage," Draco spat.
Silence fell on the two of them then. Hermione blinked, stunned by his sudden admission. Even Draco looked a bit taken aback at how much he'd given away. After a few moments he added, "Not like I'd expect someone of your parentage to understand."
Hermione didn't rise to the bait. She was too busy digesting what Draco had just told her.
As it happened, she did know a bit about traditional wizarding marriage customs from books she'd read. She knew, first of all, that most witches and wizards got married quite young, sometimes as soon as they turned of age at seventeen. She vaguely remembered that Harry's parents had been just twenty-one when they were killed by Voldemort in Godric's Hollow; logically, they'd probably been just eighteen or nineteen when they married. She also knew that it was typical for wives to be stay-at-home mothers, which explained why Mrs Weasley didn't work, even though the Weasleys didn't have much money.
From all this Hermione inferred that Draco was going to be married soon. She couldn't imagine Draco as a doting husband – let alone a loving father – but she didn't quite understand why he was so upset about it.
"And you – you don't like the girl your parents have picked out for you?" Hermione probed, narrowing her eyes.
Draco gazed at her for a few moments, as if contemplating whether to hurl another Mudblood slur her way. Then he scoffed and turned back to leaning out of the window.
"More like none of the Pure-blood girls my parents want me to marry are actually decent," he growled softly. "Not unless you like overbearing nutjobs like Pansy Parkinson."
The words 'overbearing nutjob' reminded Hermione of Lavender Brown, and immediately all the heart-wrenching events of that night came rushing back to her. Suddenly Hermione didn't have much sympathy for Malfoy, who was so unbelievably entitled that he was whinging about not having things go his way for once. He probably wouldn't be satisfied with anyone except a blonde, six feet tall supermodel he'd personally designed himself, Hermione thought bitterly.
"Yes, well, my love life isn't exactly going much better," she snapped irritably. "At least Pansy likes you. The love of my life is currently in the Gryffindor dormitory, sticking his tongue down Lavender Brown's throat and Merlin knows what else."
Draco glanced at her disdainfully. "Look, Granger, as much as I hate to admit it, Potter's a celebrity and probably has about half of the witch population desperate to be mounted by him. You can't expect him to-"
"Not Harry!" Hermione cried shrilly, trying to banish the disturbing images of her best friend mid-coitus from her mind. "Ron!"
Malfoy stared at her. Surprise flickered across his pointed features. For once, the Slytherin was actually speechless.
"You're crying," he said slowly, "over that lanky ginger git?"
Hermione wanted to chastise Malfoy for his comment. Ron had been a tosser just now, but he was still her friend, and she wasn't about to let Malfoy of all people talk badly of him. So Hermione was extremely surprised when it was laughter that spilled from her lips. She threw back her head and laughed. It seemed almost funny when Malfoy put it like that – the fact that she was crying over someone who wasn't even capable of doing his Transfiguration homework without help. The funniest part was that, for once, Malfoy wasn't actually trying to be a dick. It wasn't an insult; it was a genuine question. Malfoy really, truly couldn't understand why Hermione was upset over Ronald Weasley.
"Yes," Hermione said finally, strangely feeling lighter about the whole affair. "I am crying over Ronald Weasley."
Draco gave a contemptuous sniff. "Merlin, only a Gryffindor would cry over their crush kissing another girl. Or a Hufflepuff. You'd never see that sort of pathetic behaviour from a Slytherin."
"No, Slytherins just find empty corridors and stare sulkily out the window when they're upset."
"I'm not sulking, Granger. I'm planning."
"And who says I'm not?" she protested hotly.
Draco scoffed and looked Hermione up and down. "Be honest, Granger. You're the biggest goody two-shoes in this whole bloody school. You couldn't come up with a devious plan to enact revenge on someone if your life depended on it."
"If you recall, Malfoy, it was me who came up with the idea of Dumbledore's Army," she pointed out smartly. "Maybe I'm not as much of a good girl as you think."
Draco turned then; and for the first time that evening, he looked at Hermione properly. He had a strange expression in his eyes that Hermione couldn't quite place her finger on – like he was appraising her, or something.
An unfamiliar sensation began to pool in Hermione's lower abdomen.
"No," Draco breathed at last. "No, perhaps you aren't."
Hermione almost immediately forgot about the strange sensation she'd felt. The reason for this was that a plan was beginning to form in Hermione's head. It was utterly ludicrous – and yet it was so simultaneously brilliant that Hermione could see it easily resolving both hers and Malfoy's problems. Her thinking went like this. She wanted to make Ron jealous – to hurt him in the same way he'd hurt her. The obvious thing to do would be to date someone else, so that Ron would grow jealous of her new boyfriend.
But it wouldn't be as simple as that. First of all, Hermione wasn't sure she'd be able to successfully find someone to date in the first place – as had already been established, Hermione noted wryly, she had big teeth, bushy hair, a personality that made most boys run for the hills, and so on.
But even if she were able to find someone willing to date her, she wouldn't want to go out with a boy just for the sake of making Ron jealous. She'd be getting into a relationship for all the wrong reasons, not to mention that she'd risk hurting the feelings of her new boyfriend once he realised he was just a pawn in her quest for revenge against Ron. And while Hermione was perfectly happy to hurt Ron's feelings – he deserved it, after all – she wasn't prepared to stomp all over the heart of some innocent third party in order to do so. She was feeling a bit vindictive, but she was still a Gryffindor. She still had morals.
What she really needed was a ruse – to merely pretend to date someone. Ron, of course, would think Hermione really was dating someone, so her aim of making Ron jealous would be successfully fulfilled. But she wouldn't need to worry about finding someone to go out with her or hurting her boyfriend's new feelings because the relationship would just be a façade. No innocent boys would be harmed in the making of this plan – no, sir.
And that's where Malfoy could help her. She could pretend to date him and make Ron jealous that way. Granted, Hermione would rather pretend to date literally any boy other than Malfoy. But she couldn't see any other boy agreeing to be part of this ruse with her. None of the Gryffindor boys would help her; their sense of justice was much too strong. She didn't know any of the Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw boys well enough to ask. But Malfoy was a Slytherin. Cunning was baked into his blood. And he wouldn't be able to resist anything that benefitted him.
Which was the other ingenious aspect of her plan. Not only would it solve her problems, but she was pretty sure it would solve Malfoy's, too. His parents wanted him to marry a Pure-blood witch, and soon, by the sounds of things. But if Malfoy told them he was in love with some other girl, they'd have to reconsider their current proposals. Or at least she hoped they would. She didn't really know his parents, save a few unpleasant encounters with his father when she was younger.
"I've got a plan," Hermione announced breathlessly. "But it's mad."
One moment, Draco had been distracted by thoughts of how much of a 'bad girl' Hermione Granger really was. The next, the frizzy-haired freak was telling him she'd come up with a plan.
Draco should've told her to get lost, but he couldn't help but feel his interest piqued. For all her many flaws, he couldn't deny that Hermione Granger was intelligent. If she had come up with a plan, then it was worth listening to. Especially if it benefitted him, and went some way towards getting him out of the ridiculous predicament his parents had placed him in.
"I'm listening, Granger," he drawled smoothly.
Hermione took a deep breath.
"I think we should start dating," she said.
Draco goggled at her.
This was the plan?
"Are you out of your fucking mind, Granger?" he spat. "Perhaps you misheard me. I said I wanted to get out of commitment to some undesirable witch, not get into it."
"No – I mean – we wouldn't really be dating," Hermione said quickly. "It would be a ruse. An act. We'd simply pretend to date. And – crucially – it would solve our problems. It would solve my problems, because it would make Ron jealous. Maybe – maybe it would even make him realise that he likes me after all," she added, almost shyly. "And it would solve your problems because your parents couldn't possibly force you to marry Pansy Parkinson, or some other Pure-blood girl, if you told them you were already in love with someone else. Then, once our problems are resolved, we can break off our sham relationship and go our separate ways."
As Hermione spoke, the brilliance of the plan began to dawn on him. It might work – though not for the reasons Hermione stated. His parents were hardly going to see him dating some Mudblood witch and go, Oh, how adorable! Isn't young love sweet? Come, Draco, don't worry about chucking nine hundred years of unbroken Pure-blood lineage down the drain because you want to marry some Muggle-born bird from school. While we're at it, we'll burn the books we have on Pure-blood supremacy and the scourge Mudbloods are on wizarding society, too. Fancy bringing her round for tea?
No, the plan would work for precisely the opposite reason. His parents, of course, would throw a fit if they learnt he'd gone anywhere near a Muggle-born. It would be the perfect distraction from their obsession with him marrying a Pure-blood as soon as humanly possible. And once he'd let them work up enough of a fuss, he'd break up with Granger. His parents would be so relieved he wasn't about to elope with a Mudblood that they'd be OK with him taking a bit more time to find a Pure-blood girl he actually wanted to marry – better he marries a Pure-blood aged thirty than that he never marries a Pure-blood at all, after all. Maybe they'd even tolerate him marrying a Half-blood. That would expand his choices by a substantial amount. Either way, Draco would be free to continue shagging his way through Hogwarts, unplagued by nightmares about ugly Bulstrode babies. Wonderful.
"Alright, Granger," Draco decided. "I'll do it."
Hermione blinked, as if she hadn't actually been expecting him to say yes. "Y-You will?"
"Are you fucking deaf, Granger? That's what I just said."
"Er – yes," Hermione said uncertainly, straightening up. "Right. Brilliant."
They stood there in silence for a few moments.
"I suppose we should probably come up with a plan for how all this is going to work," Hermione said, slowly returning to her usual bossy tones. "We should flesh out how we're going to begin our sham relationship, and when. And we'll obviously need to lay some ground rules. I think…"
Hermione didn't get to finish her sentence, because at that moment a voice sounded from around the corner.
"Hermione! Where are you?"
Draco's lip curled in the way it did whenever he heard that ghastly, grating voice. Potter.
"Oh, no!" Hermione gasped, looking panicked. "Harry must be looking for me!"
Quickly, Hermione pressed a Galleon into his hand.
"Meet me in the Room of Requirement tomorrow," she hissed. "I'll use the Galleon to send you the meeting time."
And before Draco could react, Hermione had flounced away, her bushy brown hair bouncing as she went.
Draco lazily examined the Galleon. He'd seen fake Galleons like this before, and he knew that Hermione had used them to arrange meetings with Dumbledore's Army last year. He expected it would grow warm and the numerals on it would change to the time Hermione wanted him to meet her.
He leaned back against the window, and couldn't help the smile of satisfaction that slowly spread across his face. Finally, he had a plan to get out of his parents' ridiculous marriage expectations. He felt as triumphant as if he'd thought up the plan himself.
And who knows? he thought to himself fiendishly. Maybe he could mess around with Granger and make her squirm in the process.
He ran a hand through his pale blonde hair and chuckled softly. Hogwarts was going to be much more interesting this year.