Courting Miss Granger-Chapter 17-Odd Tidings

By Marmalade Fever

Hermione woke early Christmas morning to an odd sound. It seemed familiar, yet she couldn't quite put her finger on it. She opened her eyes and blinked groggily at the foot of her bed. She couldn't help but gasp. A fluffy orange kitten was sitting amongst a pile of wrapped parcels, blinking large blue eyes at her. "Where did...?" she began, before bending over and reading an inscription on its tag. "To Hermione, Love Draco." She couldn't help but smile as she cuddled the tiny orange furball. He'd gotten her a kitten! And a near spitting image of good old Crookshanks, no less! Poor Crookshanks had already been around ten-years-old when she had gotten him in her third year. She had had to bury him two years before. The kitten curled up into a ball and started to purr and she reluctantly turned to the rest of her gifts. She opened a package from Harry, which was revealed to be a book on self-defense. "In case the great git tries something," he had written on the tag. Ron, apparently, had been thinking in much of the same way and had gotten her a book on marriage law. She set the two books aside and opened a box from her parents that held a couple new sweaters. A box of mince meat pies from Mrs. Weasley, a few more presents from her parents, and a set of dress robes from Ginny and her pile of presents was all but gone. Wedged between the foot of her bed and the board was one last, very tiny box. She opened it and found a dazzling set of diamond earrings from Malfoy. Two presents from him! And now she had three, count them, three, diamonds! She was starting to feel downright spoiled. Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at her door.

"Hermione, dear," her mother said, sticking her head in, "Draco's here for you... Is that a cat?" The woman rushed forward and started petting the fuzzy orange kitten, which had nearly fallen asleep. Outside the door, Malfoy knocked and stuck his head in.

"Good, she got here, then?" he asked, coming in and also starting to pet the newest member of the family.

"Thank you, Draco!" Hermione said, giving him a quick hug. "How'd you know that I like cats?"

"I wasn't completely oblivious to you, you know. If Longbottom had been a girl, I'd have gotten her a toad." He shook his head and shivered at the thought.

"Thank you for these too," Hermione continued, ignoring his odd statement about a female Neville and holding up the earrings.

He shrugged, "What's a loaded fiancé for?"

"Oh, you two! You're just so cute together!" Hermione's mother exclaimed, pinching either of their cheeks with her hands. "What would you like for breakfast? I have a scone mix that I've been dying to try out."

"That sounds great, Mum. And thank you for the great gifts you got me as well."

"Not a problem, dear! I really appreciated that cook book you got me; I'll have to try that plum pudding recipe out some time." The woman bustled out of the room, leaving the young couple, and their cat, alone.

"So... what do you think you'll name it?" Malfoy asked, referring to the, once again, sleeping fur ball.

"Hmm, maybe Marmalade," Hermione said, thoughtfully.

"Couldn't have thought of a better name for an orange cat myself," he replied, smiling. He noticed the window. "It's snowing again," he said.

"A white Christmas! Lovely!" Hermione said, standing up and looking out the window as well. "Maybe we can make snow-angels later."

"Alright, lunch is being served at the manor at one o'clock. Maybe after that. But for now, how about we go help with breakfast?"

"You are too perfect," Hermione said, poking him on the nose. "Come on, Marmalade, dear, let's find you some milk." She scooped up the kitten and led the way into the kitchen, where Mrs. Granger was plopping dough onto a cookie sheet. Hermione got out a saucer and poured a little milk onto it and set it down for the kitten to lap up, which she did.

"Hey kids," Mr. Granger said, coming out and checking the clock. "By George, it's only 7:30! Why are you even awake?" He suddenly noticed the kitten about a footstep away from where he had been walking. "How cute!" he said, sitting down and teasing it.

"Maybe you two would like to baby-sit while I'm at the Malfoy's?" Hermione asked, watching her father dip and raise his handkerchief in front of the "baby," which made good use of its claws.

"No problem, honey," her father replied, thoroughly preoccupied.

"The scones will be ready in fifteen minutes," her mother said, closing the oven door. Hermione excused herself to go get dressed. It made no sense to put on her nice clothes yet, not when she was just going to go play in the snow, anyway. Instead she put on a sweater and a pair of jeans, and rejoined the rest of the household for scones. After breakfast, they pampered the kitten for a while. At ten o'clock, Hermione and Malfoy said good-bye to her parents and headed over to the Malfoy Manor.

"It really is beautiful when it snows," Hermione said, taking a deep breath as they walked across the gigantic field of a yard.

"You know what else is great about snow?" Malfoy asked.

"It makes excellent insulation?"

"Er, not quite what I had in mind... I was going to say that it packs well!" With that, he threw a snowball at her, hitting her lightly on the shoulder.

"I can't believe you just did that!" With that said, she grabbed a handful of snow herself and threw it at him. It was all-out war in less than a minute. They ended up collapsing on the snow after a good quarter hour's worth of fighting. "Time for that snow angel!" Hermione said, spreading her hands and legs and pushing against the snow. She stood to look at her handiwork.

"Positively ethereal," Malfoy commented, looking not at the snow angel but instead at her. She felt herself blush, but maybe it was only because of the cold. "Your hands must be freezing!" he added. He took them up in his hands and rubbed them. "Let's get you inside." He led the way to the house and into the entryway.

"Here so soon, Draco?" Lucius Malfoy asked, peeking into the room. His eyes alighted on Hermione and sent a chill down her back. "Happy Christmas," he added, more as a statement than as a wish.

"Happy Christmas to you as well," Hermione said, with only the faintest trace of a smile.

"Out and about in the snow, were you?" he asked, stepping closer and actually picking a snowflake out of her hair.

(pov change...)

Draco unconsciously stepped closer to Granger. Honestly, what was his father accusing them of? It was freezing outside, after all. "Hermione," he said slowly, "why don't you go change into your dress robes? Here, I'll show you where to go." He took her by the arm, keeping his father in eye contact, and led her to the nearest bathroom. Draco returned to where he had left his father, in the entryway.

"I say, Draco, that little mudblood of yours seems to be complying quite well. I had my doubts early on, but you seem to be manipulating her perfectly," his father said, in the air of someone discussing their fingernails.

"I wouldn't exactly use the word 'manipulation' to describe it myself," Draco said, slowly.

"Really? What would you call it then?" the elder man asked, still in his almost too casual tone.

Draco stopped to think. "Courting, wooing, something along those lines..."

A sort of smirk traveled onto his father's face. "You don't think there's a difference son? In my mind there is no difference between manipulating someone into thinking that they are in love and the real thing. Especially in situations such as these."

"And what if she really is in love with me? What then?" There was a fine line between intriguing his father and angering him, and Draco was always careful not to cross it. He knew that he was getting dangerously close in this discussion.

The smirk steadily turned into a sneer. "Then you have only done a better job in your manipulation. The real question at hand is what happens when you find that you have manipulated your own heart? Be careful, son, women are very powerful when they manage to wrap a man around their little finger. Be sure not to let this happen. You are a Malfoy and always will be. She is wrought from a muggle heritage. Keep this in mind while you do your 'wooing.'" Draco followed his father into the spacious living room on the next floor, complete with a fifteen foot Christmas tree.

"Draco, darling!" His mother had been lounging on a couch reading what looked like a romance novel, but on closer inspection was actually his own "autobiography." She carefully placed the book aside and gave her son an almost weak embrace. "And where is the little lady?" she asked, after having separated herself from her son.

"She's changing into her dress robes. She should be up in a minute. Meanwhile, it would be best for me to do so as well."

"Well, then, hurry back, darling," his mother said, carefully reclining on the couch again as Draco left the room. He made his way to his old bedroom where he kept several changes of robes handy. By the time he came back to the living room, he found that Granger hadn't managed to find her way there, and so went looking for her. He found her at last in a hallway on the first floor, staring avidly at a long line of portraits.

"I'm glad you found me, I was starting to worry that I'd fall down a trick staircase or something," she said, giving him a smile. He couldn't help but notice that she was wearing new robes, in that she looked positively stunning. They were mostly black except for the bodice and sleeves, which had an auburn leaf print. "Who is this?" she asked, pointing to an oil-painting of a young girl with blond hair and a gloomy expression.

"That's my great, great, great aunt Beatrice Malfoy. She died about a year after that was painted."

"What happened?" she asked, clearly intrigued.

"Broom accident, and thank you so much for bringing up that painful subject, brown-haired Mudblood!" the portrait scoffed, before stalking away. Granger rolled her eyes.

"She does have a point you know, none of these portraits have anyone without blond hair," she said, gazing down the wall.

"Don't let that bother you. There have been plenty of Malfoys by marriage without blond hair. Even my mother, naturally, has more of an amber shade of hair. Don't let her know I told you that, though, I'm not partial to being skinned alive." He gave her a grin. He proceeded to point out more of his ancestors' portraits to her and even showed her the expansive library on the fifth floor. When lunch time came they had to hurry to get back to the dining room on time.

"Fashionably late, I see," his mother said, as they arrived at the dinner table. "Sit down, you two. The house-elves have already laid out the feast." She gestured to the twelve course meal on the table. Draco noticed a slightly troubled look on Granger's face.

"What's wrong?" he whispered, as they sat.

"Oh, it's nothing really..." she said, sounding as if she were trying to hide something.

"Is that so?" he asked, eyeing her.

"Well," she said, after a moments' consideration, "do you remember ever hearing about something called S.P.E.W.?"

"Spew?" Draco asked, almost coughing from a sudden urge to laugh. He had only a vague memory of her trying to get others to join an eccentric club to support house-elf rights. She had made pins and everything!

"Draco!" his mother scolded. "Don't say such nasty words at the dinner table! And on Christmas no less!"

"Sorry, Mother," he muttered quickly. "And yes, I do remember."

"Then you know exactly what's wrong," she said, sounding as if she were trying not to let his parents into the conversation, and he quite agreed. He didn't need his parents knowing that he was marrying a house-elf rights activist! How much more absurd could you get?

"What is this?" his father asked, looking up from piling mashed potatoes on his plate. Drat. Figured that it wouldn't work.

"Oh, just a little club I started at school, that' s all," she said, in a bored voice.

"What sort of club? Was it a ladies' social of some sort?" his mother asked, looking interested.

"Oh, no, nothing like that. Really, it wasn't anything of real importance... Would someone pass me the cranberries, please?" she said hurriedly, desperately trying to change the topic.

"What does S.P.E.W. stand for?" his father pressed on, cocking an eyebrow.

"Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare," she said, so quickly that it was a wonder that her tongue was still in place. Rather than looking troubled as Draco would have guessed, his father actually looked, what was it, amused? "But of course I didn't grow up with house-elves, so it took a long time for me to understand the entire, er, situation," she added, still amazingly fast.

"Very well, Miss Granger," the elder Malfoy said with a faint trace of a grin in place, "no need to hide past mistakes in political views from us... So long as you don't go around handing every one of our remaining servants articles of clothing, we'll call it even." He continued to eat a large portion of ham.

"So, Draco," his mother asked, "what did you get for Christmas? You got our presents, I presume?"

"Oh, yes, Mother, and thank you. I'll be sure to wear that new cloak all season," he said.

"What did Hermione get you, dear?" his mother pressed.

"A quill and ink set with an anti-wrist cramp charm," he said. He was still a little puzzled by the gift.

"Oh! Does this mean you're going to continue with your writing, dear?" And suddenly the puzzlement cleared and he understood. It was just like his mother to not realize that he hadn't written the infernal book, himself. Obviously Granger was trying to persuade him to try writing something for real. Not a bad idea actually. Somewhat of a boring idea but not bad.

"I'll have to see how my schedule goes," he said. At the end of the room his attention turned to the sudden appearance of an owl at the window.

"I'll get that," his father said, leaving the table and picking the note off of the owl's leg. He scanned it and his face hardened. "I need to go to my office and take care of this." He walked out of the room, note tucked carefully into his pocket. Draco frowned. His father always seemed to leave right in the middle of family events.

"More wine, either of you?" his mother asked, offering a bottle. He poured himself a glass, but Granger refused. Lunch wore on and they ate pudding. "I'm going to have a little lie down," his mother said, looking sleepy, if not slightly nauseous. She left the room.

"Want to go for a walk? I could show you a bit more of the library," Draco asked, standing up slowly.

"That would be nice," Granger commented. They walked in contented silence to the library.

"There are a few books here that I thought you might like to read. They're rather rare, so I don't think you could even get them at your job at Flourish and Blotts." He picked a rather large tome off of one of the shelves and handed it to her.

"The Lifestyle of British Squibs, 1883," she read. "No, don't think I've run across that one before. She flipped through it, pausing at a picture of a man being attacked by a crup.

"Hermione," Draco said tentatively, placing his hand on her shoulder.

"Hmm?" she asked, closing the book and turning to him.

"Have I told you how beautiful you look today?" he asked, carefully moving his hand so that it was at the base of her neck.

"No." There was a slight trickle of fear in her voice.

"Well, you do," he said, taking her hand in his free one. He gently stroked her cheek. "Would you mind terribly if I kissed you?" Without waiting for an answer, he moved in closer to her, so that they were scarcely an inch apart. He moved his lips to the corner of her mouth, starting out slowly before abruptly changing pace. Over her mouth and down her chin and up again, his hands exploring her mass of hair. He felt her slowly giving in and actually kissing him back, until she was practically melting in his arms. He lowered himself so that they were sitting on the floor. He moved lightly to the base of her neck before returning to those two perfect lips of hers, forgetting any need for oxygen. Her hair crunched in his hands and he brought a chunk of it to his nose, breathing in her perfect scent of perfume.

"Sir?" Drat! What was it now? He reluctantly released his fiancée and turned his head to glare at the pipsqueak of a house-elf cowering at the end of the room. "Sir's father is wanting him to come to his study, sir," the elf said, its knees knocking together.

"I'll be back soon, my love," Draco breathed, before getting to his knees and then to his feet. He saw her fall back in a sort of dazed swoon and he blew her a kiss before following the house-elf out the door. Whatever this was had to be important or there would be consequences. He marched into his father's office and sat down. "Yes, Father?"

"Draco," the elder man said, with a scowl and then suddenly a grin, "I have just received exciting news."

"Which would be?" He was in a terrible hurry to get back to what he had been doing only seconds before. Why couldn't this have waited?

"Patience, Draco, patience," his father scolded. "I have just been speaking to my dear old friend Geldrin Gonningham who has connections at St. Mungo's. A patient has just been admitted that, if I do say so myself, will be of utmost interest to you."

Well this was boring. Being dragged from a good snogging session for what? Health news? "Go on," he said reluctantly.

"Miss Antoine Bellover has been recovered." His father waited as if this was supposed to mean something to him.

"So?" he asked, getting more and more irritated by the second.

"So, Draco, you now have a new bride." The look of satisfaction on the man's face was frightening to behold.

"What?" Draco asked flatly. The man was obviously off his rocker. No one else fit the specifications! He'd said so himself.

"Now Draco, don't you remember my mentioning that one of your potential fiancees was, quote, 'frozen in a tundra?'" And that was when the lights popped on in his head.

"THAT WAS HER!" He was about ready to have a coronary.

"A team of muggle explorers managed to dig her out, and the Ministry was able to recover her from them. Her father was a good friend of mine at Hogwarts and would be more than happy to marry her off to you, especially since he hasn't a knut to his name."

"And what about Hermione?" Hermione... Hermione... what was he bloody supposed to do about Hermione? And since when did he call her that? She was Granger, the Mudblood of all mudbloods. Not Hermione, of all things!

"I see it as quite simple. You just need to break-up. Stage it however you like," he said it as if it were really that simple. "Antoine will be out of the hospital by New Years day. I've scheduled you to meet her then, so I trust you'll have everything sorted out with that mudblood wench of yours by then."

Draco stormed from his father's office, thoughts fleeting through his head at lightning speed. Somehow he managed to make it back to the library and tentatively walked in, determined to say something that would blow her away. He found her sitting on a couch by the fire, from where she beckoned him to join her. There was a long moment of silence before she at last spoke. "Draco," she said slowly, looking into his eyes, and he found it hard to return the look, "I think I..." she took a big breath, "I just wanted to tell you that, that I love you..." For all he knew his face was stonily empty of emotion, but then... she was leaning in. She was going to kiss him for a change. For a moment, just a moment, he thought he'd let her, but then the world came whirling back at full force and just as her lips touched his he grabbed her wrist and pushed her away.

"GET OFF ME, MUDBLOOD!" he yelled. She looked too surprised by the statement to react.

"Excuse me?" she said at last.

"I said, get off me!" he hissed.

"Why?" Her face was hardened with anger and confusion.

"Because," he said slowly, summoning as much drama and ferocity as he could muster, "the wedding is off!" Without even waiting to explain fully, he Apparated away, leaving her quite alone.

Hermione blinked. She mutely stood and made her way out of the library through utter darkness. Somehow she managed to find her way out onto the grounds and to the edge of the property, to Apparate herself back to her own apartment, before letting the tears slide down her face.

End Notes:

Please don't hurt me! About Antoine's name: I actually thought it was a girl's name at the time, but I came up with an excuse for it, so never fear. About the kitten's name: I couldn't resist.