Thanks to my beta kabg01
All characters mentioned belong to JK Rowling.
Hermione waited for the kettle to boil. She could, of course, have heated the water magically in seconds but she enjoyed the short wait. It gave her time to get her favourite mug out of the cupboard (Harry had bought it for her from a novelty shop; it read "witches are bitches, snuggle a muggle) and ruminate on the past week's events.
As predicted by Kingsley the law had been passed, albeit by a slim majority. A lot of wizards and witches had expressed concern about arranging marriages but Aurelius Hazeldene, the whippet-like head of the Betrothals and Marriages Office had spoken so convincingly about the fact that they would be making the matches sympathetically, that there was an option to end a betrothal, that he almost made it sound like it would be beneficial to them. The expected backlash from the pureblooded families who seemed to most fear the dilution of their bloodline didn't materialise. After all, it wasn't compulsory for pure blooded wizards to sign up. Leave that to lesser wizards who didn't mind being blood traitors and sullying their family name. The threat of conscription was raised by Kingsley but Hazeldene just glossed over it and said he believed it to be very unlikely to be needed. A few vaguely threating statements about the rapid decline in numbers of known wizards in the UK and he sat down to wild applause, from some of the audience at least. Kingsley spoke passionately about the loss of free will and how there were some things that ministry shouldn't be meddling with and that they needed to learn from the mistakes the Ministry had made in the past. He sat down to wide applause and for a moment, Hermione who was listening outside with an extendable ear, thought that the law would never be passed. Then Mafalda Hopkirk, the head of Magical Law Enforcement spoke of the ending of long standing hatred between purebloods and muggles, made it sound like this was the only thing that could prevent future wizarding wars. After all, a Death Eater might be more reluctant to hate a muggle born once she had given them a grandchild or nephew or niece. Hermione was sceptical, remembering Tonks's body laid out still and cold on the flagstone floor of the great hall at the hand of her aunt, but she couldn't deny the tempting hope that the idea wound around the listening wizengamot. In the end, even the condemnation of the Minister for Magic hadn't been enough to sway the vote.
Deep in thought, she moved automatically to pour the boiling water onto the tea bag and was just about to take her first sip from the cup when there was a flash of green flames in the fireplace and Draco sauntered into kitchen. She set the cup down hard on the worktop and cast a warming charm over it with a grimace. Tea never tasted the same after being magically warmed.
"I just wanted to stop by to congratulate the future Mrs Weaselbee personally," he drawled, his expression inscrutable.
"You've heard then," Hermione sighed. Of course he had heard. After humiliating herself by interrupting his 'tea party of doom', as she had taken to thinking of it, she had avoided him, staying at the Burrow the night of the betrothal so she didn't have to see him if he did show up to see what was the matter with her. Did she need to apologise? Would he guess why she had turned up just under a week ago at his place, wild eyed and wilder haired, needing to talk to him? The famous Gryffindor bravery had deserted her regarding the questions that had plagued her during sleepless nights, "It's all over this blasted marriage law, doubtless you've read about it," she said airily, hoping to convey a tone of careless annoyance.
"Good work, getting in there first. Some…acquaintances," his nose wrinkled distastefully at the word, "seem quite disappointed about not being able to get their grubby hands on you. I think you were quite the prize offering to some of them. Goodness knows why," He seemed to have forgotten about her bursting into his living room, or was keen to spare her embarrassment by not mentioning it.
He smiled wickedly at her, advancing towards her until she was pressed up against the worktop, pinned there by him. Her heart started to beat faster and she saw his pupils dilate as he licked his lips hungrily.
"Flattery will get you nowhere," she breathed as he slid his hands up her sides
"So what happened, have you and the Weasel kissed and made up or did you bat your eyelashes at him and ask him to get betrothed for convenience until the whole thing blows over? I'm guessing it's the latter otherwise you probably wouldn't be letting me do this,"
Hermione noticed with a gasp that he had undone almost all of the buttons of her top but quick as a flash he had pulled it open, exposing her neck and chest and lowered his head to lay a trail of searing kisses along her collar bone.
"It wasn't like that - the Order felt it would be safer that I was betrothed to another member, rather than just being married off to any pureblood that the ministry saw fit to match me with. If it is even as random as that," she tried to keep a level head, tried to carry on the conversation even as her skin ached to be touched. She dragged a deep breath in through her nose as his hands wound deep into her hair and the kisses continued up her neck and close enough to her lips that when he pulled back, she nearly fell into the empty space between their mouths.
Draco narrowed his eyes, "Quite a few family friends have volunteered. I assumed it was just because they were all too thick and ugly to get a wife a normal way. I'm sure I don't need to tell you what I mean when I say family friends," he seemed reluctant to voice the words 'death eaters'. He slid her shirt off of her shoulders before deliberately, with one finger, slipping down first one bra strap, then the other. Hermione arched her back involuntarily, causing their pelvises to connect in a way that caused her to have to stifle a moan in her throat.
"You aren't annoyed then, that I'm….ahhhh….betrothed to someone else?" she managed to finish her sentence despite the fact that Draco's grinding into her made her eyes roll back in her head
Draco hissed, "Malfoys don't do jealousy," he hoisted her up onto the worktop, finally, finally kissing her on the lips as her legs wrapped around him. For a few minutes, there was no more talking. She could feel his hardness pressing into the place she wanted him the most. Just a couple of flimsy layers of clothing was all that lay between them.
She used her heels to drag him closer to her, desperate for more friction, feeling herself starting to get wet. Draco scooped one of her pert breasts from her bra, rolling the nipple between his fingers. She could feel coherent thought start to leave her as his other hand started up her skirt, ghosting up her thigh, his thumb brushing over her already damp underwear.
Merlin he felt good. Any minute now they'd be at the point of no return. She gathered up the last of her restraint.
"I just feel like we shouldn't be doing this," she breathed heavily against his mouth, their foreheads touching, as she tried to get herself under control.
"Because of the Weasel?" He passed his thumb once more over the place she wanted him the most, teasing a shudder from her parted lips.
"Don't call him that," Hermione snapped automatically as she slid down from the worktop, her body trapped up against Draco as he refused to make room to accommodate her. Her breasts rubbed against his shirt, making them ache for attention.
"Look, if it wasn't for the law, you'd still be hating him and calling him a lot worse. Do you have feelings for him? He eyed her sceptically.
"No, but –" her resolve was wavering again as Draco traced his fingers, feather light over her collar bone. She could feel her hardness against her and she longed to touch it, to please him.
"Does he have feelings for you?" He murmured into her ear, his hot breath tickling the delicate skin there.
"Definitely not!"
"Then who could this hurt?" he leaned in and nibbled her earlobe.
"Mmm. Ah I just don't think –"
"What if there are rules, Granger? You like rules don't you," he breathed into her hair as he took both her hands and pinned them behind her back, holding them easily in one of his larger one. With his other hand he used her ponytail like a rope to drag her head backwards and expose her neck, ravishing it with his mouth.
"Stop…please," It took all of her willpower to push him off her. She breathed deeply until she felt her racing heart subside and she could trust herself not to rip his shirt off. With the last of her tattered resolve and shaking hands, she buttoned back up her blouse.
"Draco, we aren't a pair of savages. This law will be overturned soon, I'm sure of it but until then, I think we should keep our hands off each other. We can still meet, although it's probably best we don't go anywhere public. I'll still help you with the potion,"
"Oh, bugger the potion!" Draco shouted, his usually pale face flushed.
"Well have you got any better ideas? Sneak around like a couple of…."
"Go on say it – you were going to say like a couple of Slytherin Snakes weren't you,"
"Like a couple of cheats, then. Or perhaps I should just tell the world that my betrothal's a sham? Then what? It's all very well bashing Ron but I don't see anyone else offering to save me from being married off to a death eater,"
Something was bubbling in the pit of her stomach. The source of her annoyance with him. The reason that she had been avoiding talking to him about it. The thing that had made her push him away, to not give in to him. It wasn't that she wanted to marry him. For him to sweep her away from all of this mess – the dark night and the helpless princess. She wasn't sure she even wanted him to ask, not even just for the pleasure of being able to tell him what a stupid idea it was. It was more that she wanted to acknowledge it as an option. But if he had even realised what she was hinting at, he was hiding it very well.
"You're right, I can't think of anyone else who would want to marry a bossy little know it all like you,"
"No, that much is painfully apparent, Draco,"
He fiddled with one of the cuffs of his robes for a moment, refusing to meet her eye, "Sorry about the other night. That's what you wanted to talk to me about wasn't it? To tell me you were betrothed to Weasley? That it was already done. Wasn't it?" his eyes searched hers, as though he was hoping for something else - a different answer. Remembering how he had let Pansy talk to her, Hermione grimaced.
"Yes, that was it," she lied, gazing off into the middle distance.
"Thought so," he said sadly.
"What did you tell your friends?" she cringed afresh at the memory of her bursting in on them. Definitely not one for the pensieve.
"Theo's my friend," Draco corrected, "Pansy is…well Pansy just is. Our parents make us socialise like that. Tradition dictates it apparently. And there aren't too many that want to be seen with an ex death eater. I'm either too evil or not evil enough. I told them you needed help with a ministry matter – they don't know you spend your time trying to civilise trolls and get equal rights for werewolves,"
Hermione ignored the slight on her job, "You didn't tell them about us?"
"Have you told Potter or the Weasel?" Draco asked pointedly. Hermione's red face answered the question for her.
"Well there you go then. I'm not ashamed," he assured her, his face open and honest, "it's just…"
"Complicated," Hermione finished with a sigh.
She tried to steer the subject on to safer ground, "I know what you said, but there was something I wanted to talk to you about. I remembered an article I read in the Potioneer's Periodical a couple of -"
"Bugger. The. Potion." Draco growled.
"I just wanted to mention –"
"Granger, do you want me to spank you?" his eyes flashed dangerously as he advanced on her
"Tincture of nettle," Hermione squeaked, ducking behind her hands.
Rather than the promised spanking, Draco simply grabbed her wrists, gently moving her hands down by her sides. She inhaled the clean astringent scent of lime and pepper and fir trees that she knew to be entirely his. With his body pressed up against her, he murmured into her hair "You'll be the death of me, you swotty, bossy, little know it all witch,"
"Are you betrothed to anyone?" She couldn't quite bite back the question in time, "I've heard that pureblooded families sometimes…"
"Not officially. There is an…understanding between the Malfoys and the Parkinsons," Hermione cringed at the name "but we're both free to date whoever we like. She seems to have decided to date the entire Irish Quidditch team at once," Draco chuckled without a hint of irritation.
"But you have to marry her?" Hermione pressed, the phrase 'glutton for punishment' flitting through her mind even as she asked,
"I don't have to. If either one of us found a more suitable match I'm sure our parents would have no issue about it. There's nothing down in writing,"
She didn't need Draco to explain what the Malfoy or Parkinson families would think of as more suitable. Not a muddy blooded Gryffindor who didn't even have vaults bursting with gold or a country estate to her name. Certainly not one that had peed all over your ballroom floor and put your husband in Azkaban.
Draco tucked a wayward curl behind her ear with infinite gentleness, "I don't love her you know,"
"It's alright, Grangers don't do jealousy," Hermione smiled bitterly before, "What Grangers do, is study, and I've got the detailed papers on the Marriage Law to look through," she took advantage of Draco looking to the stack of paperwork she pointed to on the kitchen table, to take a step away from him. When he turned back, he looked confused at the distance between them but chose to say nothing about it.
"Need any help?" he asked, smirking at the inference that he was somehow more able than her.
"No thank you, I'm quite capable. In fact, I'll probably have the law overturned by next week," her prim tone could have passed for Madam Pince's.
"I wouldn't expect anything less from Hermione "swottiest witch of her age" Granger,"
"I'd prefer it if you called me by my proper title "Hermione 'beat Draco Malfoy in every NEWT exam never mind how superior he acts' Granger"
"You'd have had trouble embroidering that into your school robes. I prefer my version,"
Hermione just huffed at him and made a show of getting out her parchment and quill. He didn't try and kiss her again, just stalked to the fireplace, giving her a wink before he flooed away that she felt all the way down to her toes.
She gripped the table for support and glanced down at her previously untouched parchment, which now had a neatly penned "We tied in potions, you little minx" in the corner. The neat bit of magic impressed her, she couldn't deny, but that wasn't why she was pressing her fingers to her lips to hold her smile in.
oOoOoOo
Although Hermione had more knowledge than average on Magical Law and the history of the first Marriage Act that Kingsley had mentioned, after a couple of hours of furious scribbling annotations in the margins of the Marriage Act paper, she had to admit defeat. Needing more information, she headed out against her better judgement, to Flourish and Blotts to buy some books on the subjects. People were looking at her. She could see them out of the corners of her eyes, hear the buzz of gossip as she walked down the street. A handful even stopped her to congratulate her, although she noted with amusement that several young witches she passed seemed to want to say something quite different to her for taking one of England's hottest young wizards off the market.
The media was portraying the law positively, although as Hermione knew from bitter experience, The Prophet would swear a doxy was a dragon upon being plied with enough Galleons. The dear old Quibbler, which had now gained something of cult following and was viewed like a Wizarding version of Private Eye, much to Xenophilus Lovegood's confusion, was of course denouncing the law loudly to anyone who would pay attention.
She shouldn't have gone out in public at all, just a few days after the Prophet ran a special commemorative paper for her and Ron getting betrothed. The worst of it was, the paper had tied it in to the Marriage Law, insinuating that they were somehow the first success of the ruling. Diagon Alley seemed even more busy than normal and Hermione cursed herself for visiting there on a Saturday. Still, she had made her purchases without being waylaid too seriously and now the apparition point was almost in sight. Having abandoned her cup of tea earlier, she could practically taste the replacement that she had promised herself as soon as she got back home.
Her heart sank as she saw him – her betrothed. Why did it seem that her enjoyment of a hot beverage was destined to be thwarted by infuriating wizards today? He was walking towards her, hands in his pockets, head down. Presumably he was as uncomfortable with the gossip as she was, although he did seem to have embraced the fame and adulation he received since they left school with much more relish than her or Harry. Hermione's head darted from side to side, looking for a doorway to duck into but there seemed to be no escape. He was coming nearer and nearer, like something from a cheap horror story. Still, he didn't seem to have seen her, maybe she could just pretend the same. She opened her book at a random point and pretended to be engrossed in it as she walked along. She didn't dare look up to see if he'd noticed her and so when she was grabbed around the middle by large hands, she squeaked in genuine shock.
"Darling!" Ron boomed right by her ear, making her wince, "look at you, head in a book! Silly darling," he embraced her theatrically. Ron's acting skills were never brilliant, she remembered from the role plays they had to carry out in Professor Burbage's Introduction to Muggle Studies classes.
"Get. Your. Hands. Off. Me." She hissed through gritted teeth, pushing ineffectually at his arm around her waist. He ignored her and just pulled her even closer. She wondered if kicking him in the shins would cause too much of a scene,
"Andreas Dashwood is in Fortescue's watching everything we do, so don't even think about kicking me," he murmured into her ear. Hermione rattled through her mental rolodex and recognised the name from the Prophet's gossip pages. She glanced over surreptitiously and caught sight of the man with ridiculous teal hair and bright orange robes. He was holding a quill and regarding them like a cat does a mouse. She forced herself to relax in Ron's arms although every fibre of her being protested. She tried to think of places that she would like to be less than clamped against the chest of her ex boyfriend but got stuck after imagining being stuck in the U bend with Moaning Myrtle.
"There's no point going through all that rubbish – getting betrothed - the other day, if we blow your cover in five minutes, is there? Now if I let you go and you hit me, I swear I'll go and snog the nearest witch I can find for everyone to see, you see if I don't," his words tickled the top of her head. Hermione didn't respond but he released her anyway, holding her at arm's length with the pretence of smoothing down her rumpled robes. His eyes were cold, the same dispassionate look he had given her at the Burrow.
"I do know that, Ron," she said haughtily, trying to claw back a little control over the situation, "I just didn't see him. I mean - I didn't see you,"
"Constant vigilance, that's the key," Ron growled in a passable impression of Moody. Hermione smiled in spite of herself. He looked over the top of her head and nodded slightly, satisfied that Andreas had turned his attention to the sizeable chocolate Sundae that had just been delivered to his table before dropping his arms to his side, suddenly awkward like he had no business touching her any more. His lip almost curled into a lopsided grin but seemed to think better of it and without another word he made off down the street,
"Ron!" Hermione called after him unthinkingly. She saw his back stiffen as he stopped in his tracks and turned slowly to look at her, "I – er – thank you,"
"S'alright," he shrugged, before continuing onwards down the street. Hermione stood and watched his retreating form until the crowds swallowed him up and he disappeared from view.
"That bloody bastard," she muttered under her breath before she stalked off home, any craving for tea replaced by thoughts of drinking gin from her tea cup.