It was Sunday. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were at a local Muggle café eating lunch, as was their custom.
"So have you decided what you're going to do?" Harry asked between bites of his sandwich.
"I've decided it'll be easier not to tell anyone for now," Hermione answered. "If ever," she added.
Harry nodded. Ron sighed.
"What?" she asked him.
"You're not even gonna see if they left you any money?" he groaned. Hermione laughed.
"Since when have I ever cared about money, Ron?"
"Since that job at the Ministry pays you next to nothing and you're about to get chucked out of your flat," Ron explained.
"Yes, well, I'll manage," she replied brightly. "I can always come move in with one of you two!"
Both boys almost choked on their food. Then they all started laughing.
"Have you told your parents yet?" Harry asked a few moments later when they had all caught their breath. Hermione nodded.
"I went out to see them yesterday. They deserved to know I've found out who my birth parents were. They were understanding and happy for me, but I could tell they were sad when I told them the part about my birth parents being a witch and wizard. It's just another part of my life they know they can't understand or compete with," she explained. "But I told them they're my real parents because they raised me and love me. I think that made them feel a bit better."
"Good," said Harry.
"I still think it's worth looking into to see if they left you any money," grumbled Ron. "I mean, if this DeMont family was filthy stinkin rich and your dad was the last remaining heir…"
"Honestly, Ronald! Yes, I'll just waltz into Gringotts and say, 'Hello, my name is Hermione Granger and I've just found out that my parents were Moira and Phillip DeMont and I've come for my inheritance!'" Hermione asked hotly.
Harry and Ron seemed to be holding back laughter as they gazed at her. Hermione chuckled, all her anger ebbing away as she began to laugh.
"Yes, I guess it is a bit silly, isn't it?" she giggled.
Draco awoke that Monday feeling particularly gloomy. He now only had two weeks until his 22nd birthday, and he was still no closer to finding the girl who would help him get out of this mess.
He was feeling even stormier after he had bathed and dressed. He was now sitting at the breakfast table in the Manor, where he was spending the fortnight until his birthday. His parents were seated at the other end of the rather long table, and were discussing something in hushed tones. Probably breeding horses, Draco chuckled to himself, enjoying his little private joke.
A house elf came cowering up and placed a copy of the Daily Prophet on his empty plate. Draco almost choked on his coffee.
"Everything alright, Ducky?" his mother called from the other end of the table.
"Fine, Mother, just a tickle in my throat," he called back. Hardly, he thought as he re-read the headline.
Long Lost Heir to DeMont and Astell Families: Found
Rags to Riches: The Hermione Granger Story
Hermione Granger, long-time champion of Muggle-borns everywhere and close personal friend to Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and subsequently defeated the Dark Lord, has now been found not to be Muggle-born at all. Sources say that she has been hiding her true identity for years; daughter of Moira Astell and Phillip DeMont, she is truly a pureblood after all, and the rightful heir to the DeMont name…
Pureblood? Granger? Hell must surely be solid ice by now, and pigs must be flying. Draco glanced outside, just to be sure.
Could it be true? And if it were true, think of how ridiculous! Granger wouldn't know what it meant to be pureblood; in fact, she didn't even care about blood or producing heirs of anything like that. Draco inwardly pitied the poor slob who ended up with her. Probably be Weasley or some other blood traitor, he thought.
Wait. A. Minute.
Draco downed the rest of his coffee, crossed to the other end of the breakfast table in three long strides, and kissed his mother lightly on the cheek. He flashed her his most charming smile and said,
"I'm off to the Ministry!" Then he was gone.
Hermione's day began like any other day. She woke up, showered, and dressed, grabbing a piece of toast on the way out the door. She held the toast between her teeth as she pulled her hair back into a loose bun and stepped onto the lift. She was so busy doing this that she didn't even notice the man on the lift with her staring openly, a copy of the Daily Prophet in his hand.
She Apparated to work that day, wanting to get to her office as soon as she could. Nothing out of the ordinary there.
What was unusual was the way people at the Ministry were staring and whispering and pointing. What was going on? She made it to her office in record time, wanting to escape all the unwanted gazes.
She pulled the door closed and slumped against it, sighing.
"Seen this morning's paper, Granger?" a low voice drawled from behind her desk.
Hermione blinked three times. Who was here?
Suddenly, her high-backed desk chair spun around, and there, looking far too comfortable and at his ease for her liking, sat Draco Malfoy, her old enemy. She straightened her back as he put his feet on her desk casually.
"Malfoy. I should ask what you're doing in my office, but I probably don't want to know," she said icily.
"Probably not," Malfoy responded, arching an eyebrow, but offering nothing else in reply. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Fine. Let me pretend for a moment like I care," she said. Adopting a sweet, girlish voice laced with venom that would have given Umbridge a run for her money, she continued, "Malfoy, what are you doing in my office?"
Malfoy smiled at this, a charming smile Hermione had never seen before. When he didn't answer, she changed her tactic.
"Listen, Malfoy, if you're here to propose, you can just forget it; your parents would never approve of us," she said brusquely, gathering some papers off her desk and carrying them over to the filing cabinet. "And kindly get your feet off my desk."
"Ouch, love, you'll damage a man's ego if you aren't careful," Malfoy replied, taking his feet down obligingly and chuckling slightly. "I take it you haven't seen the paper, then?"
"Oh, what are you on about?" Hermione snapped, spinning around to face him. He held out the paper to her. She took it and skimmed the front page, the color slowly draining out of her face as she did so. She felt like she might faint again. She sat down instead.
"How did they find out?" she whispered.
"So it's true, then?" Malfoy asked. Hermione gasped, suddenly realizing he was still in the room. She decided it was best not to lie.
"Most of it," she answered shakily. "Except for the part about 'mountains of gold in Gringotts.'"
"Well, in that case, I do have a proposal for you," Malfoy replied, resting his forearms on the desk and leaning forward.
"I know you're not going to actually propose! I was kidding before!"
"I know," Malfoy said, obviously annoyed now. "And you should be so lucky." He leaned back again, brushing imaginary dirt off the sleeves of his robes. "I meant a business proposal."
"What kind of business proposal?" Hermione asked warily.
"It's quite simple, really; you help me and I'll help you."
"Why would I need your help?" she asked, eyebrows shooting up.
Four purple airplanes came zooming into Hermione's office in that moment and landed between them. Hermione glanced at the first one.
Dear Miss Granger,
We and the Daily Prophet would like to request an exclusive interview with you at your earliest convenience please send an owl to the Daily Prophet, attn. Rita Skeeter, with your reply. Thank you!
The other three were from several Ministry employees, two marriage proposals and one plea to become best friends (from a girl a few offices down). She glanced up at Malfoy.
"I can make sure no one bothers you with things that are…undeserving of your attention," he said, indicating the memos. Three more came flying in. Hermione ignored them.
"How?" she asked.
"My family has connection," he dipped his head in false modesty. "I can make sure you are well-protected."
"What would I have to do?"
"You see, Granger, my parents are traditionalists. As is the custom among pureblood families, on the day I was christened, I was forced to enter into a magically binding contract. The terms were that I was to one day marry a pureblooded witch of reputable family, and to be betrothed to do so before a certain date."
"Sounds horrible," she replied without compassion. "What does any of it have to do with me?"
"The date I must announce my engagement to the wizarding community is my 22nd birthday," Malfoy replied. "Two weeks from today."
"So if you're not proposing, then what does this have to do with me?"
Malfoy took a deep breath, apparently close to losing his temper. Good, she was getting angry, too.
"I have no intention of getting married to anyone, least of all you, Granger," he continued, with the air of explaining something extremely simple to a small child. "I need someone to act like they're going to marry me, someone my parents will hate. They'll decide it's better for me not to get married at all than to marry this horrible girl, they'll release me from this stupid contract, and I'll be home free."
"And this horrible girl would be…me?" Hermione asked suspiciously. "And I'm supposed to do this just so I won't have to deal with a few-" –five more memos flew in- "-inconveniences?"
"I'm willing to pay you," Malfoy ventured. He sounded almost…desperate? Hermione opened her mouth to say "no," but the word wouldn't form.
"Think about it, Granger," Malfoy said, standing up. "There are a lot of pureblooded blokes who will be throwing themselves at your head because of this 'gold' the Prophet says you've got." He leaned across the desk to look directly into Hermione's eyes, and continued in a low voice, "I can make them all go away forever. Even after our little 'experiment.' They'll all be afraid to look at you then because they'll be afraid I'll go into a jealous rage and have them killed."
He stood up abruptly, and crossed the room until he was standing directly behind her. He bent down until his lips were inches from her ear and breathed, "I'll give you until tomorrow, Granger."
Then he was gone.