Author's note:
Hello fellow fans! This isn't my first fanfiction ever, but I am new to this site. I wrote this story years ago so I thought it would be nice to share. Thank you for reading and reviewing, if you feel so inclined! Also- this story isn't beta-read so there may be some mistakes.
Draco Malfoy was not happy. His pale brows slowly drew together as he stared at the latest issue of the Daily Prophet that October morning. The headline read 'Malfoy heir to wed?' in huge bold letters on the front page. He didn't dare read the rest of Rita Skeeter's article; he knew it would be too painful just by looking at his unsmiling face in the picture on the front page. His parents thought that they could fix everything, but they only made things worse. In fact, none of this would have been a problem if they had just stayed out of his business. But his mother was far too nosey, and his father far too mistrustful to ever stay out of his relationships. So, they were spreading rumors, anonymously of course, that he was currently getting real cozy with the youngest Greengrass.
To understand why, one must know what it was like after the war had ended so long ago. The Malfoys were outcasts in the wizarding world, to say the least. His parents did all they could to earn back the trust and hearts of everyone and anyone who would listen, even going as far as to claim to be muggle sympathizers. Draco was indifferent to their plight simply because the war had done things to him that could never be undone. However, his parents thought that a reputation was everything. So he merely hung back in their shadow, until the time came when he stepped into his father's shoes, and became the richest pureblooded wizard in London; maybe even Britain.
Draco had easily adorned the lifestyle that accompanied being powerful and privileged, since he'd been living in it his whole life, and transitioned into the most desired bachelor in London with ease. He was a first-rate Casanova and there were endless amounts of witches waiting to catch his attention. However, his parents were determined to have him married off to the first respectable witch they found before he could sample what his late twenties could offer.
That's where the Greengrass' youngest daughter came in to the picture. And she was bloodthirsty in her pursuit of wedding the Malfoy heir (As was every other witch in London), so she teamed up with his parents to succeed in shackling him to her forever.
He didn't love her, nor think that he'd ever. But his mother assured him that an arranged marriage wasn't about love; it was a business partnership, nothing more. He could deal with a business partnership, because after all, he was a Malfoy. Yet something about being with one woman for the rest of his life distressed him. Probably something to do with the bit of heaven he'd tasted in the form of a woman's body.
Astoria was beautiful, there was no denying that, and Draco certainly could respect a woman who took charge and went after what she wanted, even if it meant scheming to achieve her goal. He could appreciate that —after all, he was a Slytherin—but for Astoria to succeed in marrying him, that meant he'd have to capitulate to her, and that just wasn't something his inflated ego was willing to do.
So, as he sat there in the dining hall of his ancestral Manor home, with his parents' gazes lingering on the front page of the Daily Prophet that he held up for them to see, he couldn't help but feel betrayed.
"You'll pardon me if I'm overreacting, but this is my life you're ruining, and I can't help but feel as if this was all a bit sudden. I agreed to try things out with Astoria, not marry the bloody witch!" Draco screeched, very uncharacteristically. He'd always made sure he portrayed himself as stoic and impassive whenever possible, but under these circumstances he was finding it rather impossible to continue to be disinterested.
"Draco," his father began, in his normal detached, cold voice. "You're aware this was only to mollify your behavior as of late. We can't have our only son dallying around town with every other woman he sees. We had no other choice but to consider an arranged marriage earlier than we'd planned. If anything, you should blame yourself, not us."
Draco scoffed, "This is unbelievable! I won't do it. I absolutely won't marry her. I refuse." He folded his arms over his chest defiantly. His mother and father exchanged a knowing glance, then turned back to him.
"You know the consequences if you choose to disobey," his father warned. Draco almost shouted, 'then so be it! I don't want your bloody money anyhow', but thought better of it a moment later.
He threw his hands up in frustration, and the Daily Prophet landed a foot away on the table beside him. "Denying me my rightful property isn't making me any more eager to wed, you know."
"Darling," his mother interjected in her most soothing voice. "You must understand that your behavior could be detrimental to the time and effort we put into repairing the family's name to society, and if you'd just marry her it would all go away."
Draco wasn't stupid by any means, he could see the truth to her words, but every fiber of his being screamed out in protest at the thought of marriage. He couldn't see an easy way out of this. His parents were too old-fashioned when it came to the family traditions. He'd have to get married, but he couldn't bring himself to see a future with Astoria. She was pureblooded, yes, but also not the smartest witch he'd ever met. She barely passed her O.W.L.s in Hogwarts, for Merlin's sake. Another Slytherin set on living off their inheritances, he assumed, never taking their education seriously. Were they so daft to think he'd not throttle her the first chance he got?
Then an idea came to mind. His lip quirked, a smirk began to spread across his face at the thought, but he easily halted its progress. If only they'd go for it, well he had to try. "Mother, Father, can't we compromise?" He began a little too enthusiastically. "You want me to get married, but I don't want to marry Astoria, right?" His parents eyed him suspiciously, so he went on, "how about you give me, let's say, three months to find someone else worthy of the Malfoy name to marry instead of Astoria?" Draco watched their reactions carefully: his father furrowed his brow in thought, and his mother pursed her lips.
After what seemed like several minutes, and Draco was almost certain they were coming up with some sort of punishment for trying to get out of his duty, his father stood up from the dining table, his index finger pointed at Draco's chest. "You have three months; do you hear me? Ninety days, boy, or else you marry whom we pick, or forfeit your inheritance. Are we clear?," his father questioned sternly, while his mother's eyes widened at her husband.
He didn't even bother replying. He was so overjoyed, that he merely was able to nod his head in understanding before rushing from the dining room, feeling like a free man.
Narcissa Malfoy eyed her husband warily, "Do you honestly think he'll find such a replacement in three months?"
Lucius wore a presumptuous expression, one that his wife fully understood the meaning. "Of course not, Narcissa. That's the point, now isn't it?" Narcissa lifted a delicate brow in concernment. "He'll continue with his dalliances, no doubt, but we ultimately decide whom he marries, do we not?" Narcissa didn't bother answering, for her husband had said it all.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Meanwhile in Whitehall, at the Ministry of Magic, a certain bushy-haired witch entered the lift and jabbed the button marked level 2, all the while thinking of the huge pile of work on her desk that had developed practically overnight. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, feeling a migraine coming on. When the welcoming witch signified that she had reached the department of Magical law Enforcement, she exited in a daze.
As she walked to her office, she failed to notice that several people attempted to greet her, however, she was too focused on fingering the parchment in her hands, making sure it was all in order, to pay them any attention. She'd gone over her work a dozen times this morning, but she couldn't begin to halt her habitual behavior that had her anxious to check again.
She'd barely gotten any sleep the past week, trying to make Kingsley's deadline for this fall's fundraiser, and she was feeling an alarming amount of stress. Hermione felt like any moment she'd pass out from exhaustion, so she'd started brewing remedies at home to help her stay awake. Therefore, she hadn't realized she'd upped her pace significantly until she found herself colliding with an immovable force.
Her papers scattered in different directions, but before she could hit the ground, strong but gentle hands instinctively grabbed her behind her elbow. Several curses were on the tip of her tongue, however they all but vanished upon seeing the familiar platinum blonde head of hair, and practiced sneer of the man holding onto her elbows. Instead she huffed loudly, to which he let her go unceremoniously, dropping like a sack of potatoes onto the gleaming marble floor.
There, looking at her wide-eyed face with disdain, was a tall, lean wizard, the likes of which she had seen many times previous, except at this moment, she could have sworn he looked even more gorgeous than she remembered. And even more arrogant.
"Don't you look where you're going, you clumsy fool?" he sneered, with a look of disgust marring his pointed face. Hermione felt dangerously close to the breaking point before, but when Draco Malfoy actually had the nerve to coil back as if he'd just touched something filthy, she literally saw red.
"How dare you- you, you vile arsehole?" Hermione stuttered at the pretentious former prince of Slytherin. She knew she sounded like she was fifteen again, it probably had something to do with being around Malfoy that did that to her, but she couldn't stop it.
To her complete surprise, he didn't retort, just merely roll his eyes, and sighed, as if exasperated. "No harm done?" He asked her as she righted herself once again. But before she could answer, he went on. "Yes, however, I'm in too good of a mood to spar with you today, Granger."
She wanted to smack him; she should have smacked him for being so arrogant. Did he honestly think she wanted to verbally spar with him? Did he think that she just walked around the Ministry waiting for him to appear in front of her office so she could waste time arguing with him? That was so like him, to be too selfish to consider she may have worked very hard on getting those papers into correct order, and the fact that they were now lying all over the hallway, just so she could have a go at him this morning, was crossing the line.
She diligently suppressed the urge to retrieve her wand from her coat pocket, and use an unforgivable on him. Instead, she ignored his remark hoping he'd just leave, and went to picking up her papers. But Malfoy simply watched her crawl around on all fours in front of him, looking decidedly amused, never making a move to assist her in any way. When she was finished, she immediately strode past him into her office, determined to get away from his insufferable mood.
However, it seemed Malfoy had a different plan. One that had to do with following her into the office to anger her further, it seemed. He even sat down in the chair across from her desk as if to stay a while. Seeing her frown, Malfoy smirked, delighted in his effect on the muggle-born witch.
"Obviously I didn't make things clear enough, Malfoy," She practically growled. "I'm not interested in your games right now."
Draco rolled his eyes again, and he swore he saw her bare her teeth out of the corner of his eye. "Look, I'm not exactly thrilled about being here either," he lazily drawled as he crossed his arms behind his head, making himself comfortable. "But being that you're the head of the social committee, I didn't have much of a choice, now did I?"
"What does that have to do with anything?" She asked immediately. Draco shifted in his seat to better face her. Her gaze instinctively traveled to his eyes, which were the color of thunderstorm clouds, and every bit as volatile.
He wore a black suit that reeked of wealth, and dragon-skin boots that were way too shiny to believe he'd simply had them polished that way. He'd grown into his pointed face, and lanky stature, to the extent that he now looked more like his father. Hermione began to wonder why she'd never noticed how incredibly handsome Draco Malfoy had become lately. She assumed that she knew him well enough to know how vile he could be, and no matter how handsome he looked up close, Hermione knew underneath that gorgeous façade, he was a snake ready to strike. But then again, she'd been rather busy lately, and she hadn't seen him this close in ages, it seemed. Around the Ministry, she saw him a few times from afar, but actually one-on-one, it had been years.
She nearly laughed at the way they'd fallen right back into their previous relationship as if it hadn't been nearly ten years since they'd attended Hogwarts. However, this Draco Malfoy sitting in her office was different.
His words brought her back from her reverie. "The Annual Fall Gala, Granger. Unfortunately, I need your permission to invite a friend."
Hermione knew he meant floozies not friend. Draco Malfoy had also become somewhat of a playboy lately, or so she'd heard. He had women kneeling at his feet wherever he went. Hermione could hardly see what was so great about Draco Bloody Malfoy anyways. He was pretentious, repugnant, and horrid. It must be his money, she thought to herself.
She sighed. "If it will get you out of my hair, then you can have your bloody permission. Invite whomever you want, Malfoy," she waved a hand nonchalantly; while picking through the stack of papers she'd collected off the floor, never looking at him. "Send me the RSVP's by tomorrow via owl, and I'll handle the rest."
She thought he'd merely leave her alone after receiving her obvious dismissal, but when he didn't move, she looked up from her stack of papers at his smirking face expectantly. His piercing eyes watched her from across the desk, and Hermione suddenly felt a cold chill travel down the back of her neck. Draco leaned forward towards her. "Granger, how long has it been? Ten years?" He purred in that silky voice she figured he'd saved for seducing witches.
Draco watched the former Gryffindor lift a delicate brow questioningly. Her nose, lightly dusted with the faintest of freckles, was scrunched up slightly, and her eyes, a warm chocolate brown, were narrowed in suspicion. Draco wondered if he'd ever seen anyone more lovely in his mere twenty-seven years of existence. No, he didn't think he had. But then again, he'd seen her many, many times before in the past, and it had never occurred to him that Granger was anything beyond repulsive. Not until this moment anyways.
But sitting there in her office, which was decorated quaintly, with a few pictures of her best friends here and there, he felt an odd sensation. One he didn't think he ever felt before. It was beyond words, beyond explanation, but it was there. Like the ever-elusive divinity, Granger was there but he'd never actually seen her until now. Perhaps it was because she didn't simply bat her eyelashes and giggle incessantly whenever his gaze fell upon her. In fact, he actually thoroughly enjoyed her quick tongue, even if it was borderline grating sometimes.
Draco suddenly felt the need to talk to her. If it was curiosity, or something more, he didn't know. "Married?" He asked her lightly, masking his interest.
She seemed to be having an internal struggle, but after a moment, she shook her head. "But I hear you're to be," she replied before she could stop herself.
Draco wondered if it was more of a question than a statement. The look on her face suggested the former more than the latter, so he leaned back against the chair, a smirk firmly planted on his aristocratic face. "Well, you heard wrong. You don't believe everything you hear in the Prophet, do you?"
She took a deep breath, probably to abstain from asking him any more questions. But Draco knew the former Gryffindor couldn't squelch her curiosity for long. But, almost immediately, she pretended to be disinterested again, and continued leafing through her parchment.
"Well, good for you then, Malfoy," she mumbled offhandedly.
Draco felt rather put out by her disinterested attitude, and deemed the conversation over. He stood from her desk, and without prelude, strode towards the door. But before he thoroughly exited, he turned back to have a last look at his former enemy, who was still ignoring him. Her hair was lighter than he remembered, still as unruly as ever, but somewhat tamed. Her thigh-length skirt showed off her tanned calves, and flawless skin. Draco knew if he didn't leave now, he'd say or do something he regretted. So he left the stuffy office (just as several memos flew above his head to enter) utterly perplexed, and determined to immediately seek a woman of questionable virtue to get whatever it was out of his system, and soon.
Hermione watched Draco as he left from the corner of her eye. After he did, she let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Was he doing this to upset her? Was this another one of his immature games? Why would he ask if she were married, and why, dear Merlin, why did he pause to check her out as he left? Oh yes, she definitely saw him. And why did her rogue heart beat faster as if in anticipation.
Without any answers to her questions, and her head rather fuzzy, she tried to get back to sorting through the mess Malfoy had left her with. She focused on the negative aspect of his appearance: He'd caused enough problems in the last five minutes than his sodding arse was worth.
Now she had to not only sort through the pile of parchment that was thoroughly out of order, but she had to make arrangements for extra guests. That meant she'd have to send several owls to various people, and that promised she'd be behind all day. So much for staying up all night to catch up, she thought bitterly. She cursed Draco Malfoy from her thoughts, and went straight to the buzzing memos hovering around her desk.
XXXXXXX
Draco returned home in a state of disarray. If anyone had told him he'd be having these mixed feelings about Hermione Mudblood Granger, he'd have them locked up in St. Mungos immediately, while he threw away the key. But she was different these days. Still stuck up as ever, but more grown up. She certainly looked grown up. Was ten years enough time to seemingly end the feud they'd been caught up in? If so, could he be entitled to a fresh beginning with her? Did he want a fresh start?
He knew it'd be hard. She despised him, and ten years might not be enough time for her to forget all the terrible things he'd done to her in the past. Especially the rather gruesome parts of his past that he still had nightmares about to this day.
But he knew Hermione. He knew she was forgiving in nature; maybe he could befriend her? Merlin knew he needed a friend. The only friends he had these days was Blaise and Theo, and one was only using him for his established connections to the Ministry heads, and the other was even more fucked up than he was. They didn't understand anything Draco had been through, but she would. She'd been thrown head first into the war years ago, just as he had, albeit on opposite sides.
Furthermore, Draco couldn't deny that being Hermione's friend would take a lot of effort, effort he didn't have time for since he was supposed to be finding a wife. Wife. Just thinking about that word made him sneer with disgust. But then almost immediately, he thought of Hermione, smiling at him with love and respect, while she wore a beautiful white gown made of the finest silk his father's money could afford, standing beside him at the altar while they promised each other a life of unwavering loyalty and shared desire.
He stopped midway up the stairs, clutching the wooden balustrade to the point that his knuckles were turning white with the lack of blood. Hermione Granger the wife of Draco Malfoy? He almost laughed out loud at the thought, or at least he would have had his lungs been cooperating. If he were being honest with himself, he'd admit he'd always found her attractive, and interesting. Even when he was supposed to hate her, supposed to kill her and her friends. Even when they were bickering non-stop, he still found her appealing. He summed it up to the fact that his whole life he'd been taught that Muggleborns were supposed to be stupid and ugly, and when he'd met her the first time, she'd thoroughly squashed eleven years of pureblood propaganda by being so very opposite.
Draco continued his slow trudge up the stairs to his chambers, lost in memories long since repressed. Thoughts of Hermione in potions class, a look of utter concentration on her face; a frightening determination that he'd always admired, and sometimes, envied. Thoughts of her in the library by herself, engrossed in a book, while the other students had long since vanished for dinner. Memories of watching her across the Great Hall, smiling at something Potter had said while the Weasel stuffed his face with pastries. And finally, the memory of how much it rattled him when Ron had cheated on her two years ago. He remembered all too well the look of total loss and heartbreak on her face whenever she thought no one was looking while she waited for a lift at the Ministry, and it made Draco envision himself wringing Ron's sodding neck.
When Draco was finally at his bedroom door, it hit him. The full impact of his conclusion had him literally choking for air. He wanted Hermione Granger. He'd always wanted her, and more than just a friend. As he sucked in a few deep calming breaths, he knew for sure he'd have her. If one thing was for certain, Draco Malfoy always got what he wanted.