The Arrangement

Chapter 3

Draco felt as if someone had taken their wand and, with careful aim, hit him with a good confundus charm. He sat in the common room he shared with Hermione, staring in what he hoped was a morose manner, thinking of the day's events. Approaching Granger with an incensed Parkinson shouting after him about their upcoming nuptials was a grave mistake. For starters, he'd nearly had his bits hexed off (not by Granger, surprisingly, but by the She-Weasel), then Hermione upended her goblet of pumpkin juice over his painfully coifed hair. As he stood there dripping into his new robe, mouth opening and closing dumbly, Hermione turned back to her food, eating calmly as if her boyfriend weren't standing behind her soaking wet and sticky.

He saw her in their classes, of course, but each time he had come within five feet of her, he'd somehow end up drenched in pumpkin juice. He had no idea what spell she was using (after all, she had to be breaking several magical laws conjuring juice of all things), but after the third scourgify cast on his person, he decided that he rather enjoyed being dry and would approach her before bed.

Draco checked his pocket watch for the fifth time that minute. She was an hour late. Since the end of the war, weird things had stopped happening to the Golden Trio and Hermione had quickly become a creature of habit. Awake by 7 in the morning, exactly 16 minutes to make herself presentable (she didn't do much for that, despite all of Draco's best efforts and his recent anniversary gift of the finest and most expensive of witch beauty products that Wizarding France had to offer. Not to mention he had hired the finest hair dresser from France that would Floo to Hogwarts should Hermione ever desire), and within ten minutes she'd be down in the Great Hall, eating her favorite oatmeal and sipping a goblet of milk. He wondered where she could be and, after realizing that for the first time since they began dating that he didn't know her whereabouts, he jumped up and began to pace.

"Pace…pace…pace…" Draco muttered to himself. The common room was silent save for the crackling of the fireplace. He wondered if he should play music. He abruptly stopped pacing and a look of elation came to his face when he had, in his humble opinion, the best idea he's ever had; a challenging feat indeed since all of his ideas were rather spectacular. He'd make the common room all romantic for when Hermione returns so she would be in love with him again! Then, after re-securing his lady's love and affection, he could finally focus on getting out of his accursed arranged marriage. And considering Millicent had mentioned coyly in passing the other day that according to Witch Weekly, his and Pansy's mothers had already picked out the table cloths and napkins, he had very little time left.

With a skilled flick of his wand, he got rid of the sofa and various chairs and tables to make way for a heart shaped table and two chairs. Flick, and the lights dimmed and there were floating candles about the room. Flick, and soft music came from the walls. Another flick, and rose petals were scattered everywhere. Draco summoned a house elf with orders to bring up a romantic meal to go with his romantic room. "Basically anything that'll put her in a romantic mood. And make it fast! Who knows when she'll get back?" With a nod, the house elf vanished.

When the elf returned with a fantastic looking pasta and warm bread, Draco restlessly arranged and rearranged the table settings. When he tired of that, he conjured some doves to fly around them, but they shat on the food and he got rid of them with an angry wave. He summoned the elf again, replaced the meal, and then sat patiently at the table awaiting his Hermione.

When ten minutes had passed and she had yet to return, he came to the conclusion that his robes weren't romantic enough. He shot up to his chambers and hurriedly changed robes to the new burgundy ones he purchased on his recent trip to France with his mother. He rushed back to his spot at the table and perched himself in what he hope was a sexy manner on his chair. And he waited. And waited.

And waited.

"Thanks for letting me stay the night here, Gin." Hermione said as she fluffed the pillow on the bed she had conjured. It went against everything she normally stood for, avoiding Malfoy and staying with the 6th year girls, but Hermione just didn't have the patience to face him just yet. In the beginning, it seemed as if her sadness would never end, but then it was replaced with hurt and anger that he didn't even so much as give her a warning. The mere sight of him brought back all thoughts of his latest betrayal. So there she was, setting up her small bed, ignoring the whispers the dimmer of the 6th year girls were doing across the room. Never mind that she could hear them.

Ginny gave up trying to transfigure the spare blanket into something much thicker and gave it to Hermione to take care of. "No problem, I understand why you'd want to get away from that git for a while. Imagine, he was engaged all this time!" Ron, Ginny, and Harry hadn't taken the news of Malfoy's engagement well. In fact, Hermione was sure she had taken the news in stride compared to the three Gryffindors. They hexed Malfoy whenever the opportunity rose and had desecrated his precious broomstick. Of course Malfoy felt he deserved the treatment and never once complained nor retaliated. It was pathetic enough to soften Hermione's heart. Ginny rubbed Hermione's back. "Well at least Ron's finally got a chance!"

Hermione stiffened, but took care not to make her displeasure apparent. The other girls would spread it like wildfire. "Sure, Gin." She busied herself with fixing her blanket. "Anyhow, I'm quite exhausted—spent my entire evening fixing my Potions essay, you know! I'll be going to bed now. I suggest the rest of you follow. Goodnight!" Hermione climbed into her bed and tossed a smile at Ginny.

The rest of the 6th year girls let out groans of displeasure, but nonetheless climbed into their respective beds. They did not like having the Head Girl in their room and if they had anything to do with it, they'd get her out.

Hermione woke up an hour earlier than was her usual so she could run to her own room for a change of clothes. Knowing that Draco would still be asleep, she didn't hesitate to step through the portrait hole leading to their common room. When he saw Draco asleep in a plate of pasta with soft music playing overhead, candles still burning in the air, her heart gave a little flip. There was no question that he had prepared something romantic for her and had waited all night for her return. She felt a pang of guilt at sleeping elsewhere.

Squashing her guilt, Hermione resisted the urge to fix his hair and maybe wash him a little. Heart heavy, she walked right past him and slipped into her room without making a single sound.

Draco woke up just as her door closed behind her and blearily looked about. He noted that half of his face was coated with pasta sauce, but instead of throwing a fit like he'd normally do in similar circumstances, he felt the urge to cry. Draco was not above crying, although his father used to punish him heavily as a child for showing such weakness. However, Draco's father was not there and so he let slip a few tears so as to let out his emotions but still retain his manliness.

Hermione didn't come home to him. He stood up, intending to go to his bed to think about how heartbroken he was and how badly he missed his lady, when said lady's door opened and she stepped out in all of her frizzy glory. They both froze.

Draco felt his heart wrench at the sight of her. Then he felt embarrassed. While it was perfectly fine to have a small cry when one was alone, it was not perfectly fine to have said cry when the reason for one's cry was present and one was coated in tomato paste. The thought of what he must look like to her made him want to be sick somewhere. Preferably in a Hermione-free zone where she wouldn't play witness to his most terrible and embarrassing moments.

It must have been painfully obvious that he was crying, because Hermione's eyes softened and she took a small step towards him. "Draco," she whispered, reaching out a hand to touch him. Draco stepped closer, eager for her touch, when she remembered who she was and who he was and dropped her hand. Her eyes going cold once more, she swept past him and out the portrait hole without another word.

Draco emptied his stomach onto the floor where she had stood mere moments ago. 'Death,' Draco wryly thought. 'would be a release next to this travesty.'

My Fair and Dearest Mother,

It is I, your cherished only son, Draco Lucius Malfoy. How it does bring me joy, Madame, to be writing to one as pulchritudinous as you! Do you recall a balmy sunny day, four summers ago, when you and I would take turns about the estate garden as you oversaw the house elves slave over the grounds? Such memories of our perfect relationship are what keep me strong, Madame. Each moment I spend before my mirror (which is often, I assure you), brings me so much delight as my beautiful face bears an uncanny resemblance to your own celestial features.

It has been some time since I last wrote you. I assure you, it is not done out of neglect! I humbly ask your pardon as I have been otherwise occupied with my studies (and returning the pride and dignity the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy lost with Father's errors)and altogether being the accomplished young man you so ardently raised.

Aside from my well-wishes and love, this letter also begs of you a small favor. As the doting mother of the Malfoy scion, it is no secret that you've done all in your power to ensure your precious son has all that makes him happy. Do you recall that instance, when I was naught but six years of age and, despite all of father's protests, you purchased for me my own dragon? The Antipodean Opaleye I so lovingly dubbed Scorpius still breathes fire in my heart all these years. It's a pity indeed that father saw fit to execute my precious Scorpius after my enrollment in Hogwarts.

However, this letter is not an appeal for a new dragon (although, my birthday is quickly approaching and a boy would like nothing better than a rare Catalonian Fireball). Rather, this letter is written in regards to your son's upcoming nuptials. It is a most loathsome situation indeed, as you yourself have stated on numerous occasions that you wish for nothing more than your son's happiness. It is this ill-fated union between me and a Miss Pansy Parkinson that would do just the opposite. I cannot bring myself to look at her unsightly face, much less love it. And if I cannot love the face of the girl, how am I to make love to it? How would we produce the Malfoy heir? It would not do, Madame, it simply would not do.

In light of the Wizarding world's recent Pro-Muggle stance, I believe I have the solution to our quandary: Hermione Granger. Not only is she quite the celebrated Mudblood, but she took part in the defeat of the Dark Lord! Such an advantageous marriage to one as cherished by house wives and school children across the globe will prove to be the greatest political move anyone of Malfoy descent has ever made.

I implore you, Madame, to make the right decision in regards to this rather sensitive topic. I know you are as wise as you are beautiful and will no doubt see the sense in my suggestion.

Avec mes remerciements, je vous prie d'agréer, Madame, l'expression de ma considération distinguee,

Draco Lucius Malfoy

My Dearest, Most Cherished Son,

No.

Croyez, à l'assurance de ma considération distinguee,

Narcissa Malfoy née Black

Draco held the letter that contained his mother's fourth lackluster reply and ripped it up. It had been a week since Hermione had ceased speaking to him, and he was getting desperate. The other day, prior to posting his letter to his mother, he had hired the most adorable first years he could find to sing to Hermione their song during their Transfiguration class.

Of course she had been delighted until she realized who had sent them. Then McGonagall came to her senses and promptly kicked them out and assigned Draco detention. How she knew it was all his doing was beyond him. Though he suspected it was because he replaced some of the lyrics of the song with, "Draco is a most handsome and beautiful man/ Harry Potter looks like raisin bran".

Throwing himself on the red and gold sofa nearest the fireplace, he screamed and thrashed his legs until he passed out in exhaustion.

Pansy Parkinson was waiting outside of the Potions room. The door burst open and a steady stream of students came out, talking animatedly. 'Granger must still be inside,' Pansy thought. True enough, Hermione was the very last to leave, her nose stuck in a book. Pansy cleared her throat.

Hermione walked right past her.

Pansy closed her dropped jaw and chased after the girl. If you had told her a year ago that she'd resort to begging the other girl, she would have hexed you into oblivion. Unfortunately, Pansy had no choice. Her family had no dowry whatsoever to entice many of the other prominent Pureblood families to marry her and with her less than satisfactory looks, their family had no choice but to fall back on the marriage contract made when she and Draco had been nothing more than fetuses. Marrying Draco, despite his dreadful attitude towards her and his infatuation with the queen of Mudblood land, was her last chance at happiness.

Pansy grabbed Hermione's arm and pulled her into a nearby broom closet.

"Ow!" The other girl cried. Pansy rolled her eyes. For a vanquisher of the illustrious Dark Lord, Hermione Granger sure could be whiny. Hermione, upon seeing who had grabbed her, frowned. "What do you want?" She asked pointedly.

"Look," Pansy began, equally displeased with their close proximity. "I hate you and everything you stand for. You wish you were me and I know you covet my hair. Thankfully, I am a firm believer that you and I can come to a sort of agreement. I spent all of yesterday coming up with this, so at least give it a little bit of mulling over before rejecting it completely."

Hermione crossed her arms. "I don't care what your proposal entails, Parkinson. You can have him. I don't care!" The last bit came out more shrilly than Hermione had intended. Thankfully, Pansy hadn't noticed.

"Could you just listen to me, you sodding cow? I'm trying to help us both!"

Hermione decided to ignore the insult. "Fine, you have five minutes. I'm listening."

Pansy smiled sweetly. "Good!" She pulled out a mirror and checked her makeup. "I don't want Malfoy the boy, Granger. I want Malfoy the fortune. And it's common knowledge that you in all your self-righteousness would refuse the Malfoy fortune because of some sappy Muggle fantasy of true love and all sorts of other rubbish, but would gladly take the Malfoy boy." Hermione raised her eyes at this. Pansy continued. "You pretty much have two options: one, you play mistress or two, you break his heart."

If Hermione's eyebrows could go any higher, they would have right then and there. "Excuse me?"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Untwist your kickers, will you? If the first, I would be the wife in fortune and name, but nothing more. I'll have my own chambers and you can sleep in Draco's. Of course you could produce the Malfoy heir, but as far as the rest of the world is concerned, he's my child. I would, of course, have the fortune at my disposal, which is really all I want. I don't care about furthering the bloody Malfoy line or keeping it pure. With this, you and I could both get what we want."

Hermione wondered if anyone would notice Pansy suddenly going missing. There was absolutely no way she would be Malfoy's mistress. She didn't care if Pansy never was actually going to touch Draco. The idea was so repulsive to the brunette witch that she suddenly felt the need to retch. She swallowed the bile in her throat and scowled at the Slytherin girl. "I would rather die than live that kind of life!"

Pansy shrugged. "Suit yourself. The only other option you have is, of course, to break up with Draco. He's convinced he can still get you to forgive him, and he won't stop pestering his mother and my mother with letters about breaking the arrangement so he could marry you." Pansy noted the Head Girl's sudden blush. Was she pleased? Pansy felt sick. "Anyway, if you just shut him down and tell him you don't love him anymore, he'll quietly and obediently marry me. Which is, really, what you want right?"

Hermione felt the tears coming again. When she spoke, there was a catch in her throat. The prospect of telling Draco she no longer loved him was about as appealing as eating a mermaid. "Fine," She spat at Pansy. "I'll tell him I don't lo-love him anymore!" She burst into tears and rushed out of the broom closet.

Pansy, surprised at the other girl's tears, climbed out after her. The hallway was empty. The echo of Hermione's crying could still be heard. Pansy smiled. Things were finally going her way.

A/N: Thank you to everyone that added this story to their favorites and their alerts! The last chapter didn't receive any reviews, but I feel honored that you guys gave this story a chance regardless. See you next chapter!