Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter characters or universe, though I do own Tamryn- and kind of the People Against Elven Niceness, Really Awful Women, and the Coalition Against Change, though other people can use them if they really wanted to.
A/N: This was written for the wedding challenge at Fawkes' Ashes, but it doesn't appear it'll be finished in time to enter it. Oh well. Maybe if I write really fast. I really tried to avoid a Hermione/Draco story. In fact, the first thing I wrote was a Ron/Hermione story. And just before that was a Remus/Sirius story, but this plot kept picking at me, so here it is.
"You say it's your birthday
Well it's my birthday too - yeah
You say it's your birthday
We're gonna have a good time
I'm glad it's your birthday
Happy birthday to you." - 'Birthday' The Beatles
A Perfect Day to Elope
Or…
How Hermione Married Draco Three Times
CHAPTER ONE
In which Hermione gets a year closer to dying and Draco is nervous...
September 19, 2003
The dust on the windowsill was gathering sunlight and a gentle summer breeze was blowing warm air through a pair of homey-looking curtains. The leaves on the trees were at that shining point between summer and fall where they've turned to the fiery shades of autumn, but do not yet wish to fall. Yes, it was a perfect day to elope.
Made even more so by the fact that it was her, Hermione Granger's, birthday- though she had yet to know that it was also to be her wedding day.
She'd gotten the usual: a novel from Harry, a nice sparkly bracelet from Ron, chocolates from the Weasley twins (she hadn't touched those), a fuzzy brown sweater from Mrs. Weasley and Ginny, a packet of biscuits from Hagrid (she hadn't touched those either), a green T-shirt emblazoned with the word "Virgo" across the chest from Luna Lovegood, and a DVD player from her parents (along with a couple of DVDs). She hadn't expected anything more, really. Turning twenty-three wasn't like turning eighteen, or even twenty-five for that matter. It was just another year to say proudly- "Nope, haven't died yet." Not that Hermione expected to die any time soon- in fact she planned on living a long fruitful life, though perhaps she'd do something fruitful after she'd finished her breakfast.
"Well," she said to her toaster, which was humming happily on her kitchen counter, "it's not as though I could really honestly expect him to remember, really. I mean it's not as though he remembered our anniversary— but no, that's not fair. He did remember that, he was just working is all." Her toaster reflection forced a smile- but even stretched on stainless steel she looked silly. She turned around so she could lean back on her elbows. "He did get me a nice Halloween present." She was now talking to her telephone (which she kept for calling her parents, as they'd never quite figured out owl post), "And that nightie he got me for Valentine's day was very expensive looking, though I think he was quite keen to see me out of it," she snorted, "once he'd seen me in it.
"And he got me a lovely Christmas present. Who would have thought he could be so s—"
"Now really Granger, are you going to talk to your kitchen appliances all day, or are you going to let a bloke give you your birthday present?"
The man crawling out of Hermione's fireplace was remarkable only for the fact that he was dangerously attractive, which was odd as he was neither tall, dark, nor astonishingly handsome. He was only a bit taller than average, which was still taller than Hermione, his skin was pale-on-the-verge-of-sickly, and his pointed face was arranged around a pair of unremarkable cold gray eyes. The only notable thing about him was his hair, which was silvery white-blonde; sometimes the color of a peeled banana, sometimes the illusive silvery tones of moon glow (which unfortunately cannot be bottled and so is coveted by those lucky enough to be born with the hair of an angel). Yet he was dangerously attractive, if only for the fact that he possessed the air of someone who was used to getting what they want. He was cunning, and so consequently suave, charming, and irresistibly smooth.
"Well?" He stood, brushing soot off his pants.
"Well what?" She was still watching him from beside the toaster.
"Are you going to let me give you your present?" He leaned into the counter next to her, smirking at her confusion.
"Why didn't you just send it over- or did your owl run away again?" she snorted.
"Owls don't run, Granger, they fly. And no, Sineese hasn't flown away. She's actually sleeping... or eating. I swear that bird thinks she's a dog," he grinned mutinously.
"Alright." She dove her hands into his pockets. "I'd like my present then." She could tell what he was doing and by no means whatsoever was she going to let him weasel his way out of giving her a birthday present.
"You silly tart!" he sneered, leaning so close that she could feel his breath on her forehead. "It's not in my pockets-" he whispered, his breath tickling her ear, "it's in my pants…"
She immediately drew her hands out of his pants and jumped back, as though he'd turned to fire. Or ice, she thought, since he's always on fire.
"Don't look at me like that, I'm not that big of a jerk," he laughed. "It was a joke".
"Okay then," she snapped, "where is it Argh, really! Where is it really? And call me Hermione for Merlin's sake!"
"Alright, but I'm not going to call you Hermione. Granger is a—" he sneered, as though about to utter a really foul word, "pet name."
"Fine, well I have more important things to do, anyway" she sniffed, turning to fiddle with the toaster.
"Well then-" he started, but she'd turned away from the toaster and pierced him with a McGonagall-worthy glare before he could escape. She was surprised to see he looked almost… nervous!
"Yes right, Granger— fine her-my-oh-nee, yes right Hermione, we've been…" but what they'd been Hermione never found out because at that moment there was a loud pop and the head of a very disgruntled young woman with her auburn hair done up in a messy ponytail appeared in Hermione's fireplace.
"HER-MIIIII-NEEEEEEE!" she shouted, not bothering to notice that Hermione was already kneeling by the flames.
"Yes, Tamryn, what? This is my day off!" Hermione snapped. The head of the woman called Tamryn turned her eyes on Hermione. "It's bad 'Mione! We've got a Malfoy," she sobbed. "And- oh, it'd appear that you've got one too." Tamryn spotted Draco, who was glaring daggers into the fireplace.
"Oh bloody hell Tammy! Why today?" Hermione mentally slapped herself, ignoring Tamryn's last comment. "I'll be there right away," she sighed, tucking a few flyaway hairs behind her ears.
"You better be!" Tammy snapped, and then with another resounding crack Tammy's head was gone and Hermione was grabbing a little purple pot off the top of the refrigerator. She threw a handful of floo powder onto the fire and it roared emerald green.
"Honey, I'm really, really sorry. How 'bout I'll meet you for dinner at erm… ooh! We'll stop by Ginny's and pick up some sandwiches and eat them in the park." She stood on tiptoe to kiss him. "Okay? And you can give me my present then, okay? Okay…" She jumped up to kiss him on the cheek and then ran into the fire, shouting "Diagon Alley!" In one smooth motion she was gone.
A few soot-filled moments later she tumbled into Flourish and Blotts.
"Morning Her-"
"No, thanks. Urgent business" she screamed as she ran at full speed out into the morning crowds of Diagon Alley. She pushed her way inside a little building that was indistinguishable except for the abnormally small mannequins in the window, one of them sporting petite parachute pants, another swathed in a miniscule top hat and tails.
"Ah, the cavalry's arrived," a cold voice drawled as she burst into the store, gasping for breath.
"Morning Lucius," she panted, smoothing her shirt and heading behind the cashier's desk.
"Hermione he… and he said… and…"
"Calm down Tammy! It's not like he's still got his wand!" she snapped, and Tamryn ran off into a back room, where she could be heard noisily moving a box from one wall to the other.
"Now…" Hermione turned to Lucius, who was sneering at the happy house elves beaming from the SPEW posters that covered the walls, "for what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"
"Mutual, I'm sure," he sneered, then stiffened and became very business-like. "Now this, you call it a business?" Mr. Malfoy drawled, all too silkily for the bite behind his words.
"Yes, we do make a profit," Hermione replied, fingering the cold handle of the top-desk drawer.
"Well then, this business is under the ownership of one, or rather two, Misters Fred and George Weasley?"
"Yes, for the moment, Fred and George gave the shop to me as a… present."
"Really?" he sneered, dragging his hand across the countertop as though expecting to lift a cloud of dust. "And they leave all financial matters to you?"
"That's right," she had now wrapped her fingertips around the steely handle.
"And so you are fully aware that your… business, is failing miserably," he drawled icily, letting a cold smirk play on his lips.
"I… well… uh, wait… who sent you?" she glared at him, letting her grip on the top-drawer handle tighten.
"Now really Ms. Gr—"
"Who the bloody hell sent you. Was it PAEN? RAW? Those morons over at the CAC? If I've told them once, I've told them twice, I have every right to sell clothes to free house-elves who can afford it. If the People Against Elven Niceness or the Coalition Against Change can't handle that, it's their own ruddy problem, but I am NOT doing ANYTHING illegal here."
The silence following Hermione's rant was broken only by a solitary "whoop!" from the back room.
"Well then, if you're doing nothing wrong you wouldn't mind if I 'poked around' a bit," he sneered defiantly.
"Actually, Malfoy…" In one smooth motion she'd flipped open the top-desk drawer and was waving a slip of paper in front of his nose. "I have every right to kick you out of this store, as it is officially my property, with legalities to Fred and George Weasley, as of two weeks ago," she pointed at the certificate in her hand.
Lucius eyed it suspiciously and then with a swish of his cloak glided coolly out of the store, muttering something about muggles and hippies.
"Yeah 'Mione!" Tamryn burst from the back room, waving miniscule pink pom-poms that had come from their Halloween collection.
"Hermione, Hermione, she's our man!
If she can't do it, no one can!
Hermione, Hermione, she's our girl,
Her hair's got more than one curl!" Tammy ended her cheer with a dramatic flourish of the ribbon-filled pom-poms and leapt into the air, pumping her arms furiously.
"Wow Tammy, did you make that up all by yourself?" Hermione teased, placing a hand on her chest in mock surprise.
"Yep," Tammy nodded furiously and bent low to the ground in a bow worthy of a house-elf.
"And to think I wanted to hire competentworkers." Hermione rolled her eyes and turned back to the front door.