Chapter 11: Arrangements

May 19, 2018
The Royal Suite at the Goring Hotel

Between Friends

The world was first introduced to Hermione Granger (by face rather than by name) when it became known that Prince Draco would be sharing a flat with friends rather than continuing to live in the Hogwarts dorms, prompting a great number of shots taken of him entering and leaving the building during his final year at university. While the Prince shared a flat with two male friends, Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini, across the corridor lived Hermione and two of their female friends, making her a frequent companion in Draco's daily activities.

First acknowledged as 'unknown brunette friend,' Hermione soon became a staple in Prince Draco's presence. When news later broke of their romantic relationship, many claimed the primary necessity for secrecy was because the move had triggered yet another disagreement between father and son. Prince Lucius reportedly advised Draco against the arrangement, suggesting King Abraxas would find it discomfiting that something so close to shared living quarters might prompt the public to lose faith in Draco's moral fortitude.

She says 'first acknowledged' as if she wasn't the person who initially reported my presence, but I suppose that's fair. After all, how many articles did Rita fail to sell because she didn't suspect quickly enough that Draco and I were together? I'd almost feel sorry for her, except I don't.

She's right about one thing, though. Lucius did not like the arrangement.

By now, I imagine that's not very surprising.

Hogwarts University
August 21, 2011

After a certain point, Hermione deciding to finish out her time at Hogwarts became an inevitability. The article she was writing with Slughorn had become interesting enough to actually hold his focus for multiple minutes of time, and it was obvious he'd been putting off enough of his own work for her to fill the rest of her academic year working on it for him. She'd be paid well, and for genuinely interesting research, which was a rare enough opportunity she figured she'd be stupid not to grab it and hold tight.

Her parents happily agreed with her decision, even offering to come visit for a week towards the end of the summer. Hermione, who was finding the flat surprisingly quiet without Pansy (who had gone to visit with her family for most of August) was overjoyed to see her parents, who were already enamored with Daphne and Harry and fit perfectly into the British version of her life.

"Tell us what she's like in America," Harry said, joining them for dinner at the Hog's Head. He'd become extremely (almost suspiciously) present since his and Draco's joint birthday party, though Hermione still wasn't sure whether anything romantic had happened between him and Daphne. It seemed as though the answer was no, but she couldn't be sure. "Personally, I always imagine Hermione as some sort of armed militant. You know, fighting wars and mining for gold."

"Yes," Helen said, sipping at her very crisp Riesling. "That's it precisely."

(Hermione smiled to herself. Her mother was already adapting some English patterns of speech from Daphne, and surely if she stayed any longer, an accent would inevitably ensue.)

"Hermione's always been more of a secret rebel," argued her father, David. "You know, hoisting her mighty pen and all that."

"Well, it is mightier than the sword," Daphne acknowledged sagely, and beside her, Theo scoffed.

"Exactly the attitude of a woman with insufficient swords," he remarked, and Daphne rolled her eyes, elbowing him. The two of them, at least, were relatively fine. Hermione had stuck to her promise to both of them and begun easing them into each other's company again. There were moments—like now, Theo's smile faltering just slightly as his gaze fell on Daphne's face and Daphne's chin dropping as she quickly looked away—when Hermione was sure their romantic reconciliation (could it be called that, if it had never really begun…?) was inevitable. But then—again, like now—Daphne would look up at Harry, and Theo's phone would light up with a text from Fleur, and Hermione would be entirely unsure about everything once again.

"In any case," Hermione said, arching a brow at Harry, "I really don't think I'm any different based on my geography."

"Oh honey, I wouldn't go that far," Helen said, shaking her head in disagreement. "I like you here. You're much more relaxed. You haven't even mentioned the missing apostrophe on the cocktail menu."

She'd noticed it, but had been pleasantly distracted from saying so out loud. "For the record, I'm only relaxed because Blaise isn't here," Hermione informed her mother. "If he were, I'd have to be much more careful about my point deficit."

"True, she's currently in fifth," Harry said, leaning over to conspire with David, who nodded as if this meant anything to him. "Embarrassing, really."

"Hey!" Hermione shot at him, and Harry grinned, drawing his Guinness up to his lips. "Can you not, please?"

From Theo: "Seems unlikely."

From Daphne: "For the record, I'm much more curious what they think about you, Harry."

Helen, while squinting at Harry: "I'm not sure there's an appropriate term for him in our diction. He seems something distinctly British, like something I might find in some sort of… I don't know, bodice-ripper?"

From Hermione, with a wail: "MOM!"

From Harry, entirely too pleased: a poorly stifled laugh.

Theo: "Oh, do you lot not have the word 'cad,' then?"

David, snapping his fingers: "We do, and that's the one."

Helen, lamentingly: "Oh, David! He's not a cad. He's a—"

Harry, helpfully: "Rogue? Knave? Winsome, surely."

Hermione: "Please stop."

Helen, sighing: "Well, honestly Hermione, I just don't know what you want me to do without the term bodice-ripper."

Hermione: "It's really not the term I take issue with so much as the entire concept. And besides, your husband is right there!"

Helen, with a fleeting glance at David: "Oh, he doesn't mind. Do you, honey?"

David, halfway to a sip: "Hm? Oh, yes, Hermione, listen to your mother."

Helen: "See, there you go. He's fine."

Daphne, with a laugh: "Can I be you when I grow up, Mrs Granger?"

Helen, sipping her wine: "I have high hopes for the same, Miss Greengrass."

Theo: "Just out of curiosity, what do you think of Draco?"

Helen: "Well, I certainly wouldn't mind having his—"

Hermione, aghast: "Mother, PLEASE!"

Helen: "—presence at family Christmas. Would finally shut up David's sister, frankly. One of Hermione's cousins is dating some sort of terribly vanilla stock broker and her mother won't stop hammering on about it. And then here I am, not allowed to bring up the Prince of England even though I know it's a winning hand—"

Hermione, relieved: "Okay, good. I really thought you were going to say something inappropriate."

Theo, disappointed: "I, meanwhile, had so hoped you were."

Helen, thoughtfully: "Well, in fairness to Draco, it's probably worth mentioning he is very attractive. Truly, if I were any younger—"

Hermione, with a clatter of silverware: "DAD, DO SOMETHING!"

David, deep in discussion with Harry about rescue planes: "Hm?"

Harry: "I think your wife is plotting to run off with a prince of some sort."

Helen, delicately: "Plotting is a strong word."

Theo: "And a good one."

Helen: "True, very true."

David: "Frankly, I think you should go for it, dear. You'd look lovely in a crown, and anyway, we've had a good run."

Helen, wistfully: "It has been good, hasn't it? A lovely end to a beloved chapter. Oh, but I don't know—all my stuff is there. Seems like a hassle."

David, to Harry: "This is how I know she won't leave me. The woman simply hates moving. And decorating."

Helen: "It's very true. I'd much rather give up a prince than pick out a new couch. Wait, what was the question?"

Hermione, exasperated: "My parents, ladies and gentlemen."

Daphne, chiming in with a smile: "Tell us, Mr and Mrs Granger, what's the secret to a happy marriage?"

David, without pause: "Foreplay."

Helen, nodding: "Yes, he's right, that's what I was going to say. And lubrication."

David: "Also, consideration and mutual respect."

Helen: "No, go back to the first thing."

Hermione, groaning: "I need to leave immediately."

Daphne, nudging her: "Aw, come on, don't be a spoilsport. I think it's sweet! I don't think my father's touched my mother since my sister was born. I've never personally witnessed it."

Theo: "I'm fairly certain nobody's touched my father at all, though that may be a different situation. I'm somewhat certain he'd spontaneously crumble to ash."

Harry, thoughtfully: "My godfather did a lot of touching. I wonder if I was unduly influenced."

Hermione, blanching: "Can we please stop using the word 'touching'?"

Theo: "What else are we supposed to call it? Copulating?"

Helen, gently: "Well, that's a separate thing, dear."

David, to Hermione's relief: "There's of course some other factors involved. Honesty, for one. That's important."

Helen, pouting: "Oh, are we being responsible now?"

David, with gentle sympathy: "Yes, unfortunately. I think we owe the children some wisdom."

Helen: "Oh, fine. Yes, honesty is a big piece of it. I stopped lying to David months ago."

Daphne, surprised: "You're honest with each other about… everything?"

Harry, laughing: "Seems highly American."

Theo, drily: "More importantly, seems like a lot of ways that could go horribly wrong."

Helen, thoughtfully: "Well, it's not a total open-door policy to the pitfalls of humanity, let's be clear about that."

David: "Yes, definitely not. I for example went through a period of intensive cycling, at which point I would sometimes got saddle sores on my—"

Helen, shuddering: "Don't you dare, David!"

David: "…but anyway, the important things, yes. I trust Helen. She's smarter than me, anyway, and we listen to each other. That's important."

Hermione, surprised: "That's… actually very sweet, Dad."

Helen, reaching out with a smile: "She's right. You're a nice boy, David."

David, arching a brow: "Am I?"

Hermione, sighing: "Annnnnd you ruined it."

But across the table, Theo, Harry, and Daphne all seemed to have taken the advice to heart. In fact, they all seemed so lost in their thoughts Hermione wondered if she shouldn't internalize that advice herself. After all, hadn't she just been somewhat dishonest with Draco about the article she was working on?

She supposed it was a different situation, considering it was fairly clear to her the option of marrying Draco was very much not on the table. Maybe this sort of relationship advice was reserved for people who actually belonged together, not people who were in a losing battle awaiting approval from the Prince of Wales.

"So," Harry said, picking up his beer and venturing forward as if he'd read her thoughts, "what would you two think about Hermione becoming royalty, then? Or at least royalty-resembling," he said with a wink in her direction.

"Well, it's difficult not to wonder about," Helen admitted, giving Hermione a fond smile. "I've always said she could be anything she wanted to be, though I suppose princess was the one thing I never particularly thought to bring to the table."

"She never really played princess, did she?" mused David, frowning in thought. "There were a few iterations of astronaut and president, but not too many tutus."

"Those are for ballerinas, Dad, not princesses," Hermione told him, and he shrugged.

"Either way," he said, picking up his own beer. "As long as she's happy, we're happy."

To that, which was something Hermione had counted a common and therefore unremarkable refrain for most of her life, Theo, Daphne, and Harry all gave her matching looks that spoke volumes: You have no idea how lucky you are.

Suddenly, it become clear to Hermione why the rest of them were all such good friends with each other. None of them were particularly close with their families, either because they had lost them (Harry) or because their families had ironclad expectations about how they should behave (Daphne) or who they should be (Theo). For a moment, Hermione's heart filled and overflowed and flooded with affection for who they'd all become, and it no longer mattered to her whether Harry was with Daphne, or if Theo should have been, or whatever was happening between any of them. They were each other's family (however occasionally incestuous that might have been from time to time) and for whatever reason, they'd let her in. They'd counted her one of them.

It probably shouldn't have taken Hermione so long to realize it, but once she had, there was no going back. This little tribe of weirdos was hers, and she felt a massive swelling of affection for them that was impossible to shake.

At the same time, though, she got a text from Draco, the vibration from her purse catching her attention.

Sorry to interrupt, I know you're with your parents—just a quick thing. My father is requesting lunch with you next week. Could I lure you down to London? I'll make the arrangements.

Abruptly, Hermione's stomach flipped, the previous sense of comfort giving way to an immense bubbling of fear until Daphne leaned over, resting a hand on Hermione's wrist.

"Everything alright?" Daphne murmured, and Hermione caught her mother's eye.

"Oh, it's fine," she said, waving a hand. After all, why ruin the evening when everyone was getting on so swimmingly? They'd all heard far more than they needed to about her drama, and besides, she wasn't sure she wanted to take her parents' probably-sound advice.

Sure, sounds great! she typed back quickly, with probably too many exclamation points. Just let me know!

Honesty, whatever that was actually worth, could certainly stand to wait.

Pansy, whom Helen and David met only long enough to begin referring to her in future conversations as the 'girl with perfect teeth,' ("You should smile more," David had said without thinking, to which Pansy had been about to make what Hermione hoped would be a feminist retort until David hastily amended, "No, no, sorry, I only meant because you have the most compellingly shaped incisors I've ever seen! I'm in the teeth business, has nothing at all to do with my patriarchally reflexive need to control your behavior, I promise, so sorry—") returned to the flat the same day Helen and David returned to California. Must as Hermione had loved seeing them, she was immensely relieved to have things return to their balance of normalcy. Her parents, supportive creatures who frustratingly believed Hermione had the ability to win over Prince Lucius if she merely set her mind to it, were being unhelpfully optimistic. She kissed them goodbye and promised to Skype every week before immediately running back up the stairs to a carefully unpacking Pansy, hoping for actual advice.

"Oh, this is a disaster waiting to happen," Pansy remarked the moment Hermione told her what Draco had said, repeating his exact wording twice. "It's a trap, surely."

"I knew it," Hermione wailed, collapsing onto the bed as Pansy sniffed her disapproval, shaking her head. "Daph," Hermione called, wanting some sympathy, and Daphne wandered in with a half-smile at Pansy before permitting herself to fall beside Hermione, both of them obviously disrupting Pansy's process of settling back in. "What do you think?"

"I think Pansy's being very dire," Daphne replied.

"It's a dire situation," Pansy replied. "A calamity, even. Nothing but catastrophe awaits."

"Okay, hush," Daphne said, rolling her eyes as Hermione made a face. "Okay, so maybe we already know how Prince Lucifer feels about you," she said gently to Hermione, "and yes, maybe we know that's unlikely to change. But then why would he want to see you, if not to give you a chance?"

"Are you hearing yourself, Greengrass?" Pansy asked her, leveling a velvet-lined hanger in her direction. "This is the Prince of Wales we're talking about, not some sort of benevolent uncle. More likely he's going to offer her money to go away."

"What? No," Hermione gasped, sitting up. "Would he?"

"Would he? Is that—are you joking? Is that some new clever American joke? Because the answer is absolutely yes," Pansy scoffed. "It's astounding he hasn't already tried."

"He hasn't tried because Draco would never forgive him," Daphne pointed out, which seemed to be at least worth acknowledging to Pansy.

"True," Pansy permitted. "But eventually he will tire of you enough to try something drastic. The timing certainly isn't promising," she remarked, shrugging. "I doubt he's happy about the news that Draco's moving."

Draco, Blaise, and Theo had rented multiples of the flats across the hall from them. One, evidently, was just to keep a radius of privacy for security's sake, effectively preserving the entirety of the top floor for the six of them, and also because Harry had insisted he'd grown tired of sleeping on the floor.

"Still, there's no need to worry about it now," Daphne said. "Just don't accept any bribes if he offers them, obviously. Unless you want to," she amended, apparently not wanting to limit Hermione's potential desires in even the most obvious of ways. "Though, to be clear, I don't know how Draco will take it—"

"I don't want money," Hermione said firmly, rolling her eyes. "I'm not actually a street urchin, despite Pansy's evidence to the contrary."

"I have a whole portfolio on the subject, which we can visit another time," Pansy confirmed stiffly. "At the moment, though, I have something I'd like to discuss with the both of you. Is now an acceptable time?"

Daphne and Hermione, who were clearly doing nothing other than taking up Pansy's personal space, exchanged a glance.

"No, we're very busy right now," Daphne said drily, to which Pansy shrugged.

"Fine. Please arrange approximately ten minutes to—"

"She's joking," Hermione cut in, who'd never known Pansy to be so literal. "What is it?"

"Hm? Yes, well, I need you two to meet my boyfriend," Pansy said, making some small adjustment to the button of a new blazer as she spoke. "Traditionally I struggle a bit to come off… warm, one might say. Affectionate." She made a face. "I find the prospect of having to do so on my own somewhat irksome."

"What do you mean your boyfriend?" Hermione demanded, staring at her.

"It's more of a boyfriend-prospect," Pansy amended, hanging up the blazer. "A prospective boyfriend. My parents made the introduction and now it falls on me to make myself appropriately appealing to his sensibilities. Obviously, I think he would prefer someone…" She trailed off. "Softer."

"Well, fuck him," Hermione said, to which Daphne gave a firm nod.

"Right, that's the idea," Pansy agreed, "after an appropriate time period, of course. A couple of months, presumably. How long did you wait bef- no, never mind," she sighed, glancing skeptically between Daphne and Hermione. "You're both far too sexually aggressive. I should have this conversation with someone else."

"Since when aren't you 'sexually aggressive'?" Daphne demanded. "Last term you told Michael Corner you were bored enough to let him go down on you and he did—"

"That's different," Pansy said, pursing her lips. "Sex is one thing. Relationships are another. This is a man I might eventually marry, thus there are a separate set of rules."

"But that's ridiculous!" Hermione argued, frowning. "Pans, you can't seriously be planning to marry someone who requires you to be—" She faltered, aghast. "I don't know, virginal, or something—"

"Hermione, not everything is cause for some sort of manic crusade," Pansy informed her, rolling her eyes. "I'm simply making the point that my parents like his family, and his almost certainly like mine. So, in order to make things easier for everyone involved, I'm simply doing my part to be more palatable."

"That's outrageous," said Daphne, who had personally referred to Pansy's personality as unpalatable at least a dozen times, and certainly not unrightfully. "You're absolutely wonderful, Pans, and if he can't see that—"

"Are you going to help me or not?" Pansy asked them, apparently tiring of being forced to endure their pedantic opinions. "He's coming tomorrow for a visit and I was hoping the two of you would join me. Blaise is coming, too," she added. "I thought he would be most helpful. Heaven knows Theo would be hugely unhelpful, so he's out—"

That was certainly true, Hermione thought. "We're obviously in if you need us, Pansy, but—"

"Good," Pansy said crisply. "Of course, don't mention Draco," she warned Hermione, arching a brow. "I don't know yet if I trust anyone with that sort of sensitive information. We'll have to plant something false to see if he turns it over to the press first before we reveal your doomed and sordid romance."

"What sort of false thing?" Hermione asked, skipping over the latter commentary.

"Well, with you, I told you Draco was allergic to almonds," Pansy replied thoughtfully.

"Why would you—wait a minute, he's not?" Hermione asked, aghast. "But I'm always so careful to keep them out of his food!"

"I know, and it's hilarious," Pansy said. "He loves them. Finds it totally bewildering that you don't."

Last week, Hermione suddenly recalled she'd hurried to remove the almonds from his salad, painstakingly picking them out one by one. No wonder he'd looked at her with complete bemusement. "Pansy—"

Daphne, who'd been unhelpfully laughing at Hermione's distress, straightened long enough to shake her head. "They lied to me, too, if it helps, Hermione."

"Yes," Pansy said. "We told her Draco was gay."

Hermione's eyes widened, and Daphne burst into a renewed fit of laughter. "What?"

"Well, we were a bit sloshed, weren't we?" Pansy admitted, eyeing her fingernails. "It was the first thing Harry came up with at the time, and then what were we supposed to do, reconvene until we'd come up with something better?"

"And you believed it?" Hermione asked Daphne, who shook her head.

"No, so they really got lucky I wasn't befriending them to sell papers," she said, grinning broadly. "But still, I believe it's a notorious Prince of Darkness tactic—plant a false rumor to see if the person involved can be trusted with more private information."

"How long did it take you to trust me?" Hermione asked Pansy.

"Who says I do?" Pansy replied, and Daphne sighed.

"Just tell him Draco's dating someone this time," she suggested to Pansy, giving Hermione a comforting hug as Hermione leaned sulkily against her shoulder. "Not Hermione. Oh, just say Fleur," she suggested, carelessly flapping a hand, "that's easy. Half the internet already believes it."

Hermione, who was leaning against her, noted an only marginal stiffening at the use of the name Fleur. "That's true. Though, how would you know it came from him if he told someone, then?"

"Mm, good idea," Pansy permitted, tutting her agreement. "It'd have to be a specific story about her, otherwise anyone could have said something."

"Tell him she and Draco had their first date in Versailles," Daphne suggested. "They cycled from Paris to Versailles and then accidentally got drunk on cheap wine in the gardens and had to wear disguises on the train back."

"That's…" Hermione glanced at Pansy, who blinked, but didn't alter her facial expression. "That's very specific, Daph."

"Well, it should be," Daphne said primly, "considering that was Fleur's most recent first date, just not with Draco."

Hermione turned slightly. "Why do you know that?"

She shrugged. "Theo told me."

"Oh." Hermione glanced uncertainly at Pansy, who looked equally perturbed. "Why?"

"Why? Because I asked," Daphne said with a humorless laugh. "We're friends, remember? We've always been friends. He tells me things, I tell him things. It's how friendship typically works, as you might be aware—"

"Yes, but—are you sure it doesn't, you know. Hurt to know those things?" Hermione asked gently, and Daphne shrugged again.

"I'd rather know it than not know it," she said, which made some sort of odd sense to Hermione, though she wasn't sure she could stand it quite as easily if she were in Daphne's place. After all, if she and Draco ever broke up, could she really stand only knowing his life from what Rita Skeeter decided to print about him?

She shuddered slightly at the thought. "Well, as long as you're happy."

"It's not about whether I'm happy," Daphne said primly. "He is, and I'm happy for him. And we're friends. And anyway, who's this boy?" she asked, changing the subject to direct the question at Pansy. "You said your parents know him?"

"He's a Longbottom," Pansy said, which sounded ridiculous to Hermione, but Daphne nodded with understanding. "Neville, the only son."

"Oof, I never like dating an only son," Daphne said, making a face. "Always doted on. No good."

"Theo's an only son," Hermione said, and frowned. "And Harry. And Draco—"

"Estranged from his father, orphaned, doted on for completely unrelated reasons," Pansy enumerated in response to each of Hermione's examples as Daphne nodded her agreement, "but Neville was raised by his grandmother. She's a rather tough old bird, and she's the one with all the money. They say she's quite a pill. I expect I'll like her quite a bit," she added dreamily, and Hermione stifled a laugh.

"Well, I look forward to meeting this Neville person, whoever he is," she said, leaning against Daphne's shoulder again. "Though, do you like him, Pans?"

She'd meant it to be a considerate question, but in response, Pansy merely fixed her with a hard glance. "What does that have to do with anything?"

To her immense dismay, Hermione found she couldn't come up with an answer. Not one Pansy would find sufficiently persuasive, anyway. Hermione was reminded again why Pansy found her so unsuitable for a relationship with Draco; of course Hermione was underqualified, because she couldn't understand the importance of blind, unwavering duty. Of unquestioned familial responsibility. Hermione's parents merely wanted her to be happy. Could Pansy say the same? Could Draco?

"Sorry," Hermione said, not entirely sure why she said it, but for once, Pansy seemed to take it well.

"It's alright," Pansy said, and turned back to her closet. "Do you think this dress, Daphne? Or would this color be too harsh?"

Daphne rose to her feet, quick to discuss the important things, like how Pansy's flaws might unfavorably be reflected in yards of expensive silk. Hermione, meanwhile, watched with a sense of lingering disappointment. If Pansy and Daphne—beautiful women with strong opinions and brilliant minds, one pretending to be soft when she was really fierce and fearless and the other pretending to be gracious when she was clearly in terrible pain—had to obscure pieces of what they were to exist within a set of rigidly confined behaviors, how much would Hermione have to be molded to fit?

What would Lucius want from her, and whatever it was, could she ever possibly be enough?

Neville Longbottom was pleasant enough, if a bit nervous. His little ticks of hesitation initially walked a thin line of endearing and irritating, in Hermione's view. She figured that might have been the result of being around Pansy, Daphne, and Blaise, though, who were about as intimidating as they were charming. Having been in his position most recently, she tried her best to be welcoming.

"So, Neville," she said, smiling something she hoped was comforting as he nearly knocked over his glass of water, "are you in school, then?"

"Me? Um, yes," he said. "Cambridge. Gran insisted I stay around. She's getting older, you see," he added, "so it wasn't going to be an easy thing, sending me all the way to Hogwarts, much as I might have wanted to go." He looked slightly mournful. "Pansy tells such wonderful stories about it."

"Does she?" Hermione asked, glancing at Pansy, who had worn a whimsical floral-patterned dress that made her look as if she were trying to camouflage with an afternoon tea set. "Well, you should have her show you around the castle before you go. How long are you visiting for?"

"Just a few days before term starts," Neville supplied with some degree of anxiety. "Gran's insisting I come back straightaway. Thought it might be nice to meet Pansy's friends, though. She says such nice things about you."

"Nice, really?" Daphne echoed, as Pansy shot her a quieting look.

"Oh yes, of course," Neville said, giving Pansy a shy smile. "She's sweet, isn't she?"

"Jesus Christ," Blaise muttered under his breath, choking abruptly as Pansy's elbow landed discreetly between his ribs. "I mean, Christ Almighty Lord and Savior, the sweetest who ever lived, I expect—"

"Oh, what's this?" came a voice behind them that made Pansy's brows shoot up in horror, which was something Hermione had previously only seen happen in response to her own choice of footwear. "Lady Parkinson, you little minx, you didn't say anything about having Longbottom out here!"

Harry, who ostensibly appeared out of nowhere, leaned over to smack a kiss against Pansy's temple in what could only have been a highly intentional move, sending a creeping flush over her cheeks. "Neville, a pleasure, as ever. Oh, Daph, are you going to finish that—?"

"You two know each other?" Pansy asked, clearing her throat as Harry pulled out the seat next to Daphne, picking up her fork and digging into her salad in a way that suggested this little interruption may have been preemptively arranged. Come to think of it, Hermione realized, a very bored Daphne had been discreetly typing something into her cell phone.

"Mm, of course, Neville's a friend of Ron—and Seamus, too, if I'm remembering correctly," Harry posed to Neville, in what felt like a string of names Hermione failed to recognize. She supposed she'd forgotten people existed outside of their little group, which was a somewhat alarming realization. "Ron's a good friend—in the army with me, same as Seamus. Part of my squad, if you will," he added with a grin. "Nev here went to boarding school with them, so we've met up a few times."

"And here I thought he was sanitary," Pansy murmured to herself, only loud enough for Hermione to hear and stifle a laugh.

"Yes," Neville said uncomfortably. "That's true. Ron and I've known each other a long time."

"Well, no need to feed him any Draco-related lies, Pans, he's safe," Harry said, giving Neville an approving grin. "He's certainly witnessed enough by this point to be trustworthy."

"Henry," Pansy sighed. "Don't you have somewhere better to be?"

"Nope," he assured her spiritedly. "So, what have we been discussing? You know, Pansy does a great Mamma Mia if she's got enough gin in her," he told Neville. "This girl loves her ABBA, but who doesn't, am I right?"

"Um," said Neville, as Pansy's hand tightened around her fork.

"Granted, she'll say she hates karaoke, but you have to learn to read between the lines with her. She's full of double-meanings, very complex. Was a very shy child," he said with a sideways glance at her, "not that you can tell now. Can't say no to a dare, though, this one," he added, winking. "I've personally led her on a wide variety of misbehaviors—"

"Harry," Pansy said sharply, and Blaise, who was obviously struggling to withhold laughter, abruptly faked a coughing fit, doubling over on his side of the table. "Surely you have somewhere else you need to be—"

"Nope," Harry said through a mouthful of Daphne's spinach salad. "Though, of course, there's really only one thing you need to know about Pansy—"

To this, Pansy's mouth tightened, and she glanced down at the table.

"—which is that I'll kill you if you hurt her," Harry finished cheerfully, swallowing and wiping his mouth with a napkin, clearing his throat. "Now of course you may be thinking, oh, Prince Harry could never get away with murder, could he? But the answer is yes, I most certainly could, I'm much cleverer than I look and frankly, I'm a fair hand at extortion. Also, I think the trick to murder is that not enough people really take the time to chop their victims into sufficiently small bits—"

"Harry," Pansy sighed again, though she'd softened slightly. "Please don't. We're eating."

"Right, my apologies," he said, flashing her a grin. "Sorry, what were we talking about?"

Neville, who looked positively sickened, drained of color. "Er—"

"Neville," Hermione said, struggling not to laugh as Blaise began scribbling down the point counts Pansy had forbade him from saying aloud, "would you want to join me at the bar? I think the table could use a round of drinks, don't you?"

"Oh, yes, of course," Neville said with a worried glance at Harry, rising so sharply to his feet he nearly upended part of the table. "Yes, um, Pansy, what would you like?"

"Something terribly strong," she said drily. "Perhaps something large enough to drown a Prince Harry-sized man."

"Right," Neville said, voice soft, and Hermione laughed, giving his arm a nudge to lead him to the bar.

"Don't worry, Pansy's easy," Hermione informed him. "If all else fails, just go with whatever wine matches her outfit."

"Thanks," he said with a glance over his shoulder. "Sorry, I wasn't quite expecting that."

"Nobody ever expects Harry," Hermione agreed. "He's… a character."

"No, not him," Neville said, brow furrowing. "I'm used to him. He wouldn't harm a fly, not really. It's, um." He paused, blinking. "Well, it's you, actually."

"What?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"Well, all of you," Neville admitted, glancing briefly at his feet. "Pansy's quite intimidating, isn't she? And I can tell she's trying not to be, but she is, and Blaise and Daphne are just impossible to keep up with, they have so many jokes and stories I can hardly keep track—and you," he finished, with a furrowed glance at Hermione. "You're the one I was most anxious to meet, actually."

Hermione blinked, stunned. "What? Why?"

"Well, Pansy speaks quite highly of you. She tells me you're the smartest person she knows," he clarified, prompting Hermione to dumbfounded silence, "which is quite something, isn't it, seeing as she's rather brilliant herself? I worry I won't keep up." He spared her half a smile. "I can do Harry's little jokes, sure, but what am I supposed to do if Pansy wants to talk about politics, or history, or art?"

"You go to Cambridge," Hermione reminded him, and he smiled sheepishly. "It's not exactly trade school."

"Yes, but school's never been my favorite," he said, a bit gloomy at the thought. "Pansy's interesting in a way I suspect I'll never be, and if all her friends are like you lot, then—"

"Wait. You actually like her, don't you?" Hermione registered abruptly. "This isn't just about your families approving?"

"Hm? Oh, do they approve?" Neville asked with a puzzled frown, looking surprised. "Gran's never said anything. I suppose now that you mention it she must have arranged the introduction, but no, it's not—I mean, it wasn't—"

There was no doubt about it. Somehow, the flustered boy in front of her definitely had a crippling, undeniable crush on Lady Pansy Parkinson-Six Names.

God help him, Hermione thought. She'd eat the poor bugger alive.

"She likes you," she assured him, and Neville exhaled sharply, relieved. "Don't be nervous. She wouldn't have invited you here if she didn't think highly of you."

"Well, that's quite good to hear," Neville said, swallowing and passing Hermione a timid smile. "Thanks for being so nice to me."

"Hey, I was you not so long ago," Hermione assured him. "It's nice not to be the new blood, actually. I just assumed I was the least scary of the bunch."

"Well, you should know, you're certainly not not-scary," Neville informed her. "I really don't know much about whatever it was you said you were working on, but it certainly sounded impressive."

"It was, wasn't it?" Hermione joked, though she realized as she said it, he wasn't wrong. She really wasn't unimpressive, was she? Maybe she'd forgotten a bit of her own worth in trying to measure up to Prince Lucius' expectations. "Thanks, Neville."

"Of course." Behind them, a loud collective of laughs resounded from the table, followed by a shout of "TWENTY POINTS FOR PURE NERVE, YOU BEAUTIFUL BASTARD," and Pansy giving Harry's shoulder a loud smack as Hermione watched Neville grimace again with uncertainty. "Maybe I do need a drink," he conceded wryly, and she smiled.

"Get Blaise a 'perfect martini.' It's equal parts sweet and dry vermouth, and if you can learn to make it properly, he'll love you forever," she advised. "You'll want Blaise on your side—he's Pansy's favorite, firstly," she clarified, "even if she'll never admit it, and also, he's got a very complex game going you don't know about yet, but you won't want to lose."

"Right," Neville exhaled, nodding. "Thanks for the tip. Got anything else?"

"Don't get Harry a drink," Hermione said. "Forgetting about him entirely is the best way to win him over. He'll think it's hysterical."

"Right," Neville said again. "And Daphne?"

"Daphne's easy, anything with bubbles, but try telling her you like something she's wearing. Like, um—her bracelet," Hermione said, discreetly pointing to it. "She made those little dangling charms from vintage typewriter keys."

"Oh, that's nice," Neville said, looking impressed, and then he slid her a glance. "And you?" he asked. "How do I win you over, then?"

"Oh, me? Um." She'd never considered the prospect of having to be won over, and it gifted her yet another brush of confidence. Why hadn't she ever considered that Prince Lucius might not be good enough for her approval? It was about time she remembered he wasn't so great, either, and for that matter, she knew plenty about him he wouldn't want her telling his son. She had her own game, if she wanted, and she was certainly adept enough to play.

"Just ask me what I want, and I'll tell you," Hermione eventually determined. "I like having a voice, you know what I mean?"

"Yes, actually," Neville said, looking pleased. "I do know what you mean."

"Good," she said approvingly. Maybe he wouldn't be too bad for Pansy. He seemed to possess some subtlety, at least, and maybe when he was more comfortable, he'd realize he was quicker than he thought he was. "Well then, welcome to the group, Neville Longbottom."

Daphne came with Hermione to London, offering up her parents' townhouse as a place for them to stay for the weekend. Harry had offered to accompany them both, but Hermione suspected Daphne had known it would be wiser to be as inconspicuous as possible, which meant no royal escorts.

"Thanks, though," Daphne said, giving Harry a smile that made Hermione wonder yet again whether it was only friendship between them.

"My pleasure," he said with a bow, which confirmed nothing, frustrating Hermione immensely as she continued to ponder the scope of her reality, successfully distracting her from her own impending disaster.

"You know, if you keep asking me about Harry or Theo, we're never going to pass the Bechdel test," Daphne told Hermione later, showing her into the guest room. Her parents and Astoria were in Italy on holiday, leaving them the entirety of the enormous house.

"The same is true if we talk about Draco," Hermione replied smartly, and Daphne sighed.

"You're right," she said. "We need new hobbies. Or school needs to start, at least."

"It's not like we typically talk about literature," Hermione pointed out.

"Well, we could try," Daphne suggested brightly. "What do you think about… I don't know. Great Expectations?"

"I think it's bullshit," Hermione said.

"Yeah, me too," Daphne sighed. "Why can't more of literature be about revenge? That should be its own genre, frankly."

Hermione paused, considering it. "You mean like the Count of Monte Cristo version of Great Expectations?"

"Sure," Daphne said. "Why can't Pip, you know, get rich and all that, but instead of being mostly a good person who still loves Estella, he just sort of… casually flips her off and hate-fucks Miss Havisham to prove a point?"

"What a uniquely horrifying thought. I'm beginning to suspect we actually shouldn't discuss literature," Hermione remarked, and Daphne shrugged.

"You're right. So, are you nervous about lunch with Prince Lucifer?"

Yes. No. Immensely. Not at all. It really varied from moment to moment, and by the time Hermione was being carefully concealed and transported to a restaurant (and from there, led discreetly into a private room) she still hadn't quite made up her mind. Daphne had dressed her, thankfully, which had taken one thing off her mind. The 'smart' jacket and skirt combination made her feel positively ancient, but it fit well and hadn't required much thought.

"Hi," Draco said, rising sharply to his feet when she entered. She'd hoped to see him beforehand, but outside of their usual phone conversations, he hadn't been able to get away. Now he was seated beside his father, and Hermione noted Draco, too, was dressed more formally than usual, wearing a full suit. It seemed only Lucius looked comfortable, which prompted Hermione to a grimace. It was like going through some sort of formal interview—except much, much worse, because she'd seen one of them naked and, per usual, couldn't deny wanting to do so again.

"So glad you could come," Draco said, kissing her cheek. His hand rested briefly on the small of her back and he leaned in. "I'll make it up to you tonight," he promised quietly in his ear, then turned her, quickly obscuring the motion as he led her over to his father. "Father, you know Hermione by now, I expect."

"Miss Granger," Lucius said, as she offered him something of a wobbly curtsy. "Please, have a seat."

She sat. Draco sat. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"How are you?" Lucius asked her.

"I'm very well, thank you," she replied, glancing at Draco, who gave her a comforting smile. He brushed his hand briefly over her knuckles, withdrawing it when Lucius cast a disapproving glance at the motion. "And you, Your Highness?"

"I've been better. It seems my son has decided to disregard the very detailed and expensive safety protocol his grandfather and I established for him at Hogwarts in favor of moving into an unprotected flat in Hogsmeade. I presume you know as much?"

All of it was said rapidly and without pause, and Hermione blinked.

"I, um—"

"He also tells me it is your wish to make your relationship public," Lucius said. "Is that true?"

She struggled to shift from question to question, gaping a little at him. "Sorry?"

"Father," Draco cut in with a grimace, "she just arrived, and it wasn't like she was—"

"I expect it must appeal to you, the prospect of being publicly in a relationship with a prince," Lucius said with a touch of mockery. "Tell me, what do your parents do again?"

Hermione had been prepared for this sort of unfavorable judgment, having been through it enough with the Inquisitorial Squad. She curled a hand into a fist beneath the table; the last thing she could do was lose her temper. Pansy had been right—this was a trap. Lucius wanted her to do something unforgivable, and he wanted her to do it in front of Draco.

She swallowed, forcing a smile. Prince Lucius regularly underestimated her.

He'd regret that someday.

"My parents own a dental practice," she said.

"How lucrative is that, exactly?" Lucius asked.

Draco flinched. "Father, please—"

"I don't need your money, if that's what you're suggesting," Hermione said carefully.

"I would never make such a preposterous suggestion," Lucius said, taking a sip of water. "You're privately educated, aren't you? Catholic school, I believe."

"Yes." Hermione deliberately took deep breaths, trying not to let her irritation show. "I went to Carondelet, which I imagine you already know."

"Why there?" Lucius asked neutrally. "Public schools in the area seem to be just fine. Are you religious?"

"It's a very good school. My mother went there, and my father went to the all boys' school, De La Salle." Hermione shook out her napkin, placing it delicately on her lap. At least it gave her something to fixate on that wasn't Lucius' unnerving eye contact. "If the question is am I Catholic, the answer is yes, though I wouldn't call myself particularly religious."

"You realize my father, Draco's grandfather, is the head of the Church of England," Lucius said.

"Yes," Hermione replied drily. "Even I've heard of King Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, Your Highness."

Lucius gaze hardened. "You think this is funny?"

"If you're suggesting I might have somehow overlooked that Draco and I are two different religions, then no, it's not funny, but it is somewhat obvious," she said. She was toeing a line, she knew, but it wasn't as if Lucius was ever going to like her. Better that she not look weak. "I already know there's a few obstacles, in fact. My religion, my citizenship, my economic status, my lack of title. My tenuous relationship with his father." She brought her own water glass to her lips, sparing him a pointed glance. "None of that is news to me, and I doubt it's news to you."

"What do you hope to gain from this, then?" Lucius asked her, seeming quite serious. "You can't marry the future King of England. Are you perhaps hoping he'll abandon his throne for you?"

"Father," Draco sighed, exasperated. "I keep telling you, that's not an option—"

"I know Draco well enough to understand he's as devoted to his family and his future as you want him to be, if not more so," Hermione said. "If you fail to understand that, I'm afraid that's a you problem."

Blaise would have given her fifty points. Lucius, on the other hand, looked as if he wished to execute her for treason.

"What would be the purpose of dating publicly then, hm?" Lucius asked her, arching a brow. "It's a waste of time."

"Father, please don't speak to her like that—"

"Were your previous relationships a waste of your time, Your Highness?" Hermione asked him, stunning both Lucius and Draco to silence. "I believe your own romances were all quite public, Prince Lucius. Do you feel you'd be better without them?"

She'd put enough together by then to know it was a pressure point. Narcissa had said Lucius had a mistress, someone who'd made her furious, and Harry had made it clear Lucius had some sort of messy breakup with Narcissa's older sister. Hermione suspected Lucius had loved a woman who wasn't Lady Narcissa Black at one time, and probably deserved to suffer that reminder now.

"Is that an accusation?" Lucius asked in a low voice. "Is there something you'd like to accuse me of here, in front of my own son?"

"It's just a question," Hermione said, noting Draco looked uneasy. She immediately backed off, recognizing it would gain her no points to force him to contradict his father. "I just want to know if you really think there's no value in having the freedom to be with someone you love."

"You really think you love him?" Lucius asked, sparing her the edge of a grim laugh. "You think he loves you, and not just the novelty of you? You think any of this will last?"

She forced a swallow. "I think you'd be unwise to question it."

"Would I?" Lucius eyes had narrowed. "I'm sorry to tell you, Miss Granger, I've lived in this world a lot longer than you have, and have a bit more wisdom than you think. I understand this far better than you do, and believe me when I tell you that love—" He broke off, spitting it out with palpable spite. "Love is not enough. Love is nothing, certainly not in the real world. Not when there are entire nations at stake."

"The sun will still fail to set on the English empire if Draco's allowed to be seen with me in public," Hermione retorted, getting frustrated now by the scope of Lucius' absurd argument. "Astonishingly, I have no plans to destroy your entire government."

"Perhaps not, but how Draco is perceived certainly affects political stability in this country. The monarchy isn't nearly as strong as it once was," Lucius said. "Its continued existence is in a far more delicate state than you realize."

"Perhaps that may have something to do with its heir," Hermione shot back, unable to prevent it, and to her dismay, Lucius smiled.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, you're right."

She faltered, surprised, and he shrugged.

"Do you think I'm stupid, Miss Granger? That I'm not aware of my own mistakes? My marriage cost me my father's confidence in me, just as it cost me an entire kingdom's approval. A monarchy used to be able to have secrets, but that's simply no longer the case. You're trained in journalism, aren't you?" he asked her knowingly, and she didn't reply. He clearly already knew as much. "So, you must know the intersect of technology and media. Surely you've studied it, haven't you? It means we, our family, will never escape scrutiny. It means every move we make will be recorded, memorialized and parceled up, to be repeatedly discussed at length. In sum, there will be tomes and volumes of criticism, all of which will be published forever because our lives will always, always make money for someone else. Everything that has ever been observed about us and our family will be held against us in the court of public opinion—and inevitably," he finished with a hard glance at Draco, "we will lose."

Beside her, Draco said nothing. His chin dropped slightly, eyeing his empty plate.

"There is no room for error," Lucius said. "Neither Draco nor I can make any mistakes. We are two of the most closely watched public figures in the world, and whoever my son's future wife is, she'll need to meet the very same standards of behavior that we do. She is not you, Miss Granger, and you are not us, and you should count yourself lucky you will never have the burden and the privilege of carrying the expectations of a nation with every move you make."

"That's—" Hermione swallowed. "You're making Draco's life out to be some sort of doomsday prophecy. It doesn't have to be like that. And besides, he's not you, he's—"

"Stop." Draco lifted a hand wearily to his forehead. "Please, just stop."

He rose to his feet, offering his hand to Hermione while eyeing his father.

"You could have just said no," he told Lucius, and Hermione registered the sound in his voice as a dull, flat blade of disappointment. "You didn't have to humiliate both of us."

"Draco," Lucius sighed, "please. Don't be dramatic. I'm not trying to humiliate her—"

"Not Hermione. You, me. Mother. Us." Draco's expression was cold and steady, and he placed a tensed hand on her shoulder. "We're done here, Father."

Hermione glanced at him, finding that to be a little inadvisable, but his mind was clearly made up.

Lucius sighed. "Draco, please—"

"You and I can discuss this privately. Hermione?" he asked, no room for refusal in his voice, and she slid her chair out in silence, letting him guide her towards the corridor they'd used to enter.

"Draco," Lucius gritted out after him, but he kept his hand firm on her lower back, easing her towards the back of the restaurant.

"Take the car back to Daphne's," Draco said when they were alone. "I'll send for you as soon as I can. Maybe in a few hours."

"Draco," she said, reaching for him, and for a fleeting moment, he softened.

But only one.

"I need just a minute to myself," he said. "Please, I don't…" He cleared his throat. "I know you want to know everything I'm thinking, but—"

"Not yet. I get it." She swallowed heavily and there was a flash of gratitude in the look he gave her—though again, only one. "Okay. But Draco—"

He reached down, taking her hand in his and kissing it swiftly, pressing his lips to the little gold snake ring on her finger and then releasing her, shaking his head.

"I love you," he said, and turned without waiting for a reply, promptly disappearing from sight.

"Oh, no," Daphne said in a near-whisper, clutching a pillow against her chest as Hermione relayed what had happened. "I'm so sorry, Hermione."

"Well, at least he didn't try to bribe me," Hermione said grimly, shaking her head. She was glad to be out of the skirt suit, at least, and looking like herself in yoga pants and a tank top with lip balm on instead of lipstick. "Though, I think I would have enjoyed the opportunity to throw money at his face. Or, you know, a rock," she said thoughtfully. "Or a fist."

Daphne shook her head. "I never really thought he'd try to bribe you. Not with money, though," she said, grimacing as she toyed with Hermione's hair. "Anyone could see it wouldn't work on you, and the Prince of Darkness isn't exactly an idiot, much as that would probably be easier to deal with."

"It makes sense, actually, given everything Narcissa said," Hermione sighed. "He definitely isn't an idiot. I sometimes go so far as to suspect he means well and is just horribly uninformed about how that's supposed to look."

"I don't know about that. He's too deliberate to be an accidental villain," Daphne said doubtfully, and the doorbell sounded downstairs, followed by the footsteps belonging to Paul. "That's probably Draco. Did you pack a bag already?"

"Yeah, but who knows," Hermione said glumly. "Maybe it'll be a short conversation."

Daphne gave her a hopeful look. "What, like 'I love you desperately, let's run away together'?"

"More like 'my father's right, we should break up,' I think," Hermione admitted, and Daphne sighed, shaking her head.

"The Hermione Granger I know isn't a quitter," she advised, which was certainly true, though hard to remember at the moment. "Come on, then—"

She nudged Hermione out her bedroom door, though Hermione dragged her feet a little, not wanting to look too eager (as eager as anyone anticipating a romantic guillotine would, she supposed). By the time she reached the end of the corridor, though, she noticed Daphne had paused as she reached the top of the stairs.

"—sorry, Paul, who did you say?"

"His Royal Highness, Prince Lucius of Wales," Paul said uncomfortably, glancing over Daphne's shoulder at Hermione. "He is here to see Miss Granger."

"What, alone?" Hermione asked, alarmed, and Paul nodded.

"Yes, Miss," he said. "Shall I take you to him?"

Daphne and Hermione exchanged a glance.

"You want me to come with you?" Daphne murmured, but Hermione shook her head.

"I can handle him," she said, and Daphne sighed, grimacing her agreement.

"Don't leave her, Paul," she warned, and Paul gave a single nod, beckoning for Hermione to follow. He led her down to the formal sitting room Hermione hadn't really expected to have to enter (and certainly not for this).

"His Royal Highness, Prince Lucius of—"

"Yes, yes, thank you, I'm well aware of my name," Lucius said irritably, waving a hand dismissively. "Shut the door as you leave, please."

"Yes, Your Highness," said Paul, the traitor, closing the door in his hurried absence to leave Hermione and Lucius alone in what amounted to neutral ground, or what she supposed was close enough to neutral.

"Listen," Hermione ventured uncomfortably, "I really wasn't trying to—"

"You've seen what became of my wife," Lucius cut in, giving her a hardened glance. "They will slander you mercilessly. They will ruin you, break you. They'll hunt you down, and they will not hesitate before they take their shots. Are you ready for that?"

Hermione, already taken aback, held her breath for a moment, but stood firm.

"They didn't do that to her," she said staunchly. "You did."

Lucius' expression didn't change. "And what will you let Draco do to you?"

He wouldn't, she wanted to say, but it occurred to her with a disheartening crash that in all likelihood, she had no real way of knowing that. Had Narcissa ever believed Lucius would do the things he'd done to her? She doubted it. She doubted that very much, and having no answer, Hermione said nothing.

"I won't permit your relationship to become public," Lucius told her with unequivocal certainty. "I never will. To do so would be to sentence you to an infamy I wouldn't wish on my worst enemies."

"You honestly think you're doing this for me?" Hermione scoffed, disbelieving. "How generous of you."

"It is." Lucius was unbending. "Believe me, it is."

"Fine. Say that's true, then," Hermione told him, folding her arms over her chest. "Say being with Draco means some sort of media plague would rain down on my head. Say that Rita Skeeter woman would ruin me—say she'd pick me apart and find all my flaws and reveal every insignificant little detail about me. Say your little doomsday happens and I suffer for what I chose. Don't you think your son is worth that much?" she demanded, doing everything in her power not to cry as she spoke. Her nails bit into her palms as she summoned every ounce of restraint, knowing even a single show of weakness—or worse, emotion—would be enough to let the Prince of Darkness believe he'd won.

"Don't you think," she breathed out slowly, "that your son is worth it? Because I do." She took another shaky breath. "I do."

Lucius considered her for a moment.

Several moments.

For a second, she wondered in awe if perhaps she'd even won.

"Let him go," Lucius said eventually, "and I'll let him see his mother."

Hermione blinked.

Blinked again.

Daphne had said he wouldn't offer money, a darkened thought reminded her, because he was much, much smarter than that.

"Narcissa is a liability," Lucius explained. "She's a scandal, and so are you. Draco can't afford both. It'll have to be one or the other."

In response, Hermione was…

Even for her, who knew so many words, there really wasn't one for this.

"You," Hermione began, and swallowed. "You wouldn't do this. Tell me you wouldn't."

"I would. I am."

"You can't." Tears pricked at her eyes again. "You're hurting him. You're forcing me to hurt him. Don't you realize that?"

Lucius shrugged. "We all make difficult choices. My father made them, I made them, Draco will make them." He paused before adding, "Or you can make them for him. Which, by the way, is something Narcissa would never have done for me—but I suspect, if you love Draco as much as you say you do, you're rather different women."

"I—" It's unfair, it's wrong, it's monstrous. "You're manipulating me."

"Yes," Lucius agreed. "I have something to gain from you exiting his life, that's true. But that doesn't mean I'm not right. This," he told her, waving a hand. "This, whatever it is between you, it will cost you more than it will ever cost him, and believe me, it will cost him dearly. It would be better for both of you to end it now."

No, no, no. "But I—"

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

That was him, she realized. That was Draco, calling right at the precise moment she would have given anything to hear his voice.

She couldn't pick it up, not now. Not with his father right there. He was precisely what she needed, but she couldn't interrupt this conversation. Couldn't admit to Draco where she was, and who was here.

She couldn't answer him.

But…

But fuck Lucius, she thought fiercely, and dug her phone out of her pocket. "Hello?"

"Hermione." He exhaled it. "I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

Lucius was watching her, his mouth tight with fury.

"I don't know. For everything. I was sitting here alone trying to sort out my feelings on everything when I realized the last place I wanted to be was anywhere without you." Draco's voice was miserable, and she ached to comfort him. "Can I send for you? Is that okay?"

Her hand shook slightly as Lucius' eyes narrowed in warning.

"Yeah," she said. "Yeah, sure, Draco."

"Okay." He sounded relieved. "I'm sorry, sometimes it's my first instinct to just—to get some time alone, to think it over, but… that feels wrong, now. To be without you, it feels wrong."

"I know what you mean." Her own voice was small and quiet.

"Are you alright?" he asked her. "I miss you. I hate when you're gone."

"Yeah, I'm… I'm fine. I'll be there soon." She glanced up at Lucius, whose hands fisted tightly at his sides. "I love you."

"I love you." She heard the sound of him bringing the phone closer. Maybe he was turning towards it where he lay on his bed. "I love you," he repeated, and then, "I'll send the car for you now."

"Okay. Thank you."

"And Hermione—"

"Yes, Draco?"

"I know love isn't enough. My father's right about that. I know I have to fight for you, but I will. I swear, Hermione, I will. Okay?"

She covered her mouth, knowing she'd cry any second, and nodded, which of course he wouldn't hear, though she guessed he sorted it out from the muffled sound of her breathing.

"Okay. It'll be there soon."

"Bye," she managed to force out, and then hung up the phone, looking up at Lucius.

"You can leave now," she told him. She didn't bow, didn't use his title, and he had the dignity not to express in words the line she'd just drawn by defying him. He moved to the door, reaching to pull it open, but as she watched him go, she realized it wasn't enough.

"I won't tell him about this," Hermione called after him, and Lucius froze, every muscle in his back stiffening. "He doesn't need to know."

"Do you think that will endear me to you?" Lucius asked coldly, not looking at her. "It will not."

"No," she agreed. "But someday you'll know I had the choice to ruin your relationship with your son, and you'll remember the precise moment I didn't take it."

She paused.

He didn't move.

"Someday, Prince Lucius of Wales," she said, with as much strength to her voice as she could manage, "you'll realize how much you owe me."

For a moment, silence lingered in the air between them, and she wondered if he would say anything. If he would argue, or if he would give her the vitriol she figured he felt she deserved.

Instead, his hand tightened on the door and he threw it open, leaving her behind. He disappeared without another word, and Hermione sank back against the pristine white sofa, wanting to cry until her lungs gave out.

If she'd wanted to hear Draco's voice before, there was certainly no limit to how much she'd wanted to see his face now. She ran directly into his arms, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her nose in the smell of him as he kissed her hair, her cheek, her forehead, looping her ponytail around his hand and holding tightly to it, locking them in place.

"Hi," he said after a few silent minutes, and she laughed.

"Hi," she agreed. "So, I think lunch went well."

"Stop," he growled in her ear, shaking his head. He picked her up, arms around her ribs, and carried her inelegantly into the hallway, making his way throughout yet another overly large household to find a suitably private room. "It was a disaster, and you're free to admit that you hate me now, at least a little bit."

She bit lightly on his ear. "Impossible."

"Well, good," he said gruffly, opening a door with some difficulty as she adjusted her grip around his neck, letting him carry her to the bed inside. "Because personally, I'm thinking I'd like to do something extremely irresponsible."

"What, like a new irresponsible thing?" Hermione asked, already reaching to unbuckle his belt. "Or just the usual irresponsibility?"

"I want to force my father's hand," Draco said, permitting her to fumble with his buttons as he slid his hands under her shirt. "I want to be seen with you. Photographed with you. Let them speculate," he mused, kissing her neck, "until my father has no choice but to let us tell the truth."

Hermione froze, uncertain how this would ultimately play out given that Lucius had made it very clear to her he'd never approve, forced-hand or otherwise. "Are you sure?"

"Well, why not?" Draco said, shrugging. He dropped to his knees, disappearing from sight to undo the laces of her shoes, slipping them from her feet with painstaking deliberation. "It's going to happen anyway. We're going to live in the same building, so I expect people are going to notice something."

"Okay, true," she said, panicking a little, "but is that, I don't know… wise?"

"Of course not, hence the irresponsibility." He was tugging at her yoga pants, popping up from the side of the bed to prompt her to lift her hips. "Why, do you not want to?" he asked, pausing for a moment to register her concern. "Sorry, I just thought—"

"Well," she said, struggling with how to phrase the statement well, if we don't break up, I'm not sure your father will let you see your mother again, "no, of course I do, it's just… well, we don't want to upset your grandfather, do we? I mean, I've never met him, so it's not like I want him to think I'm the floozy who lives in your building—"

"That's true." Draco paused, his fingers looped in the lace of her underwear. "Well, maybe there's a middle ground. We can be seen together for a bit, just sort of… innocently. Introduce you to the press as… my friend." He kissed her hip. "My very good friend." A kiss to her inner thigh. "My best friend—"

"Theo would be devastated," she said with a shiver, thinking. Maybe this was a good plan. Was it a good plan? She'd already ruined things with Lucius. Maybe she could appeal to Abraxas?

"Tied for first, then," he said firmly, pulling her underwear down her legs, "though I've never done this with Theo, to be clear—"

"You think your grandfather would like me?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"Oh, definitely," Draco said. "He was fond of my mother."

"Was he?" Her head spun. Narcissa hadn't made that seem like much of a possibility. Exactly who was the villain in his family? She wasn't sure any of them were in agreement on the subject. "I didn't know that."

"Mm, always says he likes a girl with panache." He slid up against her, finding her lips. "It won't be easy," he murmured to her, "but I could try to arrange for you to meet. I should, anyway." He kissed her cheeks, the lids of her eyes. He paused with his lips to her forehead, saying, "I meant it, Hermione. I'll fight for you. I mean that."

A girlish sigh left her lips as he kissed her. "Why is that so sexy?" she asked him, groaning. "I can fight for myself."

"You certainly can." He hooked one arm under her thigh, pulling it over his hip. "Still, let me have this one. I don't mind if you fall for me a little harder." He nipped at her jaw. "Selfish of me, I imagine, but I like the idea I'm sweeping you off your feet, at least from time to time."

"Oh, you are." This kiss was deeper, dizzying. She realized he'd probably been lying right here when he'd called her to tell her he didn't want to be without her. In response to the image in her head, she hugged him close, letting her hands travel over the shape of him where they lay intertwined. This is where you and I belong, she thought, molding them in place. Here, with your hands there and mine here and not an inch of distance between us. "I'm running out of places to put all my feelings for you, Draco Wales."

"Oh?" He dropped a little lower, kissing her chest. The pale blond strands of his hair were soft where they brushed her chin, the molten pressure of his fingers on her ribs a welcome contrast. "You know, it's funny, I never tire of trying to win you over."

"Such excellent stamina you have," she managed, though it was punctuated with a moan, and he grinned, rolling her nipple lightly between his fingers to make her do it again. Then a hand between her legs. Again. He had her trained like one of Pavlov's dogs. A touch, a smile, a moan. He was so good with her, so devotedly attentive, and it struck her that her parents had one thing right: foreplay was hugely important.

Honesty, though. That little nugget of advisement was distinctly more of a challenge. She hoped Draco would never know the choice she'd almost had to make for him, and not exclusively because it might have been the wrong one. I'll fix it, she thought with her hands in his hair, grasping it tightly. I'll find a way, I promise.

I'll fix it, she realized again, the thought abruptly sparking this time. Pansy was always telling her she was trying to fix things, wasn't she? Maybe she couldn't fix Daphne and Theo. Maybe she couldn't make Pansy… un-Pansy. But maybe there was a way to put Narcissa back in Draco's life.

Maybe Draco would never have to know the painful secrets she was keeping from him if she could just… make them disappear.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked her, voice gruffly quiet. "I feel like I lost you for a second there."

"Hm? Nothing," she said, and gave him a shove, prompting him onto his back. "I was just thinking," she murmured, "maybe I haven't done enough winning you over recently. After all, you're defying your father for me." She kissed a slow trail down his stomach, pausing to run her tongue over the tensed planes of his abs. "That's pretty romantic."

"Is it?" His voice was dry, and she could see his teeth gritting as she slid her tongue over the tip of his cock and moved away, blithely pretending not to notice his anticipatory breath. "Well, I suppose it is forbidden—"

"So forbidden," Hermione agreed. Another lick, with a swirl of tongue. She tasted his dick like a delicacy, savoring it, and he shuddered. "You told him not to speak to me like that, which is a classically panty-dropping line."

"That's true," he managed. "He disrespected you, and I certainly laid down the law, didn't I?"

"Yes." She slid her lips over him, drawing them slowly back up to release him with a pop. "So brave," she whispered, and he let out something like a strangled laugh.

"Well, true, I'm very masculine and aggressive," he said with a groan. "I can see why you find me so irresist- shit," he exhaled in a whisper, looping his hand in her ponytail again as she busied herself elsewhere, sliding her tongue down the length of his shaft. "Hermione, I regret to inform you this sort of behavior is known to cause massive political upheaval. Kings have abdicated for less, not to mention the occasional overthrowing of the papacy—"

"Shut up," she advised, releasing him long enough to say so, and he met her eye with a look of unfiltered longing. "You can keep your throne, Draco."

"Better yet," he suggested as she slithered up against his chest. He locked her in place, then nudged her upwards to fit himself between her legs, "I can be yours."

"What are you—oh. Oh—"

He smiled up at her as he positioned her thighs on either side of his jaw, fingers pressing tightly into her hips. "How's this?" he asked, darting his tongue up to the slit of her cunt and then reaching up, one hand sliding over her breast.

Another conditioned moan. "Draco—"

"Thought so," he said smugly, and slid his tongue over her again, making her wonder if she wouldn't, in fact, belong rather rightfully on this particular seat of government.

Draco made good on his word. The day term started, he waited for Hermione just inside the front door of the building, his book bag slung over his shoulder. "Ready?" he asked her, and she shook her head, half-smiling.

"Ready to be your unknown female friend? Yes, I think so," she told him drily.

He smiled, adjusting his bag and fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. This, she realized, was his own big rebellion; this was his most disobedient stand. Before her, she doubted he would have ever considered it, and it was hard not to look at him all the more fondly for that. "When do you have class?" he asked her.

"Not for two hours," she said, and he laughed. They both knew she'd had to get up much, much earlier than necessary in order to arrange this little 'impromptu' exit. "Theo's meeting me in the library in a bit. He's in Slughorn's lecture with me again this term."

"At least there's that," Draco said thoughtfully. "Well, no point dragging it out, I suppose. Shall we?" he asked, gesturing to the door, and she shrugged.

"Let's do it," she said, and he shoved it open, beckoning for her to follow as a series of shutter clicks snapped. One, two—and just like that, she was immortalized forever.

Even this early, the sun was blinding. "Don't squint," Draco advised in a low voice, and she nodded, trying not to look as uncomfortable as she felt. This was easy, she reminded herself, hoping to regain control of her nerves. Abraxas and Narcissa would be hard. This, in comparison, was nothing.

"Nice day," she said to him, holding her books to her chest as photographers beckoned to her, trying to get her attention. "Weather's nice."

"It is, isn't it?" Draco agreed, and spared her a smile as they made their way to the castle, further down the path that had already changed the trajectory her life.

It was only in retrospect that people would realize what Draco and I were to each other, which created a very funny warp in my method of viewing time. Later—when public scrutiny was so intense I'd had to become far more adept at hiding—on days when the paparazzi couldn't find me, they'd simply dig up previously unremarkable photos from when Draco and I lived in Hogsmeade. I still see those shots from time to time, and I always either lament that I hadn't taken more care with my hair on a particular day or breathe a sigh in relief that past me hadn't been a slovenly mess.

I'd already made one major mistake by then. One thing, or two, depending how you look at it, that I couldn't undo—which would lead me to my next massive mistake, which would ultimately lead me here. Funny how time works, isn't it? That now I can so clearly follow the invisible path of error that would create my current situation, but I couldn't possibly have known any of it back then, even if I'd mapped out every scenario a hundred different ways. And that's without even touching on Neville, who would ultimately cause his own inalterable chain of events.

Time's a really funny thing, isn't it?

Consequences, on the other hand, are positively incomprehensible.

a/n: The playlist for this story should be up on spotify soon, so keep an eye out on my tumblr if that sort of thing interests you. Thank you as ever for reading! Find me on youtube for an erotic reading this week, and… Oh, a bit late, but some of your latest reviews have been absolute works of art. Tootsie Roll 101, that magnificent treatise on the nottgrass chapter is one of the finest things I've ever read.