Disclaimer: I do not own the characters

The next morning shined bright and rose through Clara Claret's wide open windows, sparkling against the chandelier. Our main girl stretched herself and threw the covers off, never having been one to dwell in bed too long. The room was a bit drafty, and she noticed the balcony door slightly ajar. The view of the grounds beyond was delightful. A small bird perched high in the tree next to her room sung a morning song. What peace, what wholesome bliss - until past forty-eight hour events were remembered.

A small frown slowly settled on her face and the young bird's song was no longer as sweet, the rolling hills no longer as amazing, and the ignorance of an early morning no longer present. Her discontent, however, was short-lived as Duffy appeared with a loud crack.

"Good morning, miss. Duffy is here to prepare miss for her dinner tonight."

"Dinner? Why didn't mum or dad tell me about this? Are we having it with the Zabini's?" Clara asked her house elf. Duffy ignored her questions and instead offered her hand.

"If miss will please take Duffy's hand, Duffy may get young mistress ready sooner." Clara looked at the hand, breathing out sharply. "Master and mistress asked Duffy to tell young miss that Duffy is payed now. Ever since the masters return." Duffy told her. Clara looked quizzical. Duffy is paid now? Why that would mean... Clara's heart expanded as she thought of how her parents must have taken notice of her SPEW antics after all. Clara grabbed Duffy's hand.

The first order of business was a sweet, firm scrub. She was sucked into what muggle writers would call a vortex, the tight feeling of apparating so aptly put, and transported to her private bath. Why they hadn't walked to it was beyond her, but the enormous tub fit for ten was filled to the brim with bubbly water and floating washer tools.

Duffy turned away respectively, politely giving Clara a moment to change and climb into the bath. On doing this, a scrub floating near her promptly dunked itself into the water and began cleansing her hair. An odd, foul smelling bar of soap began on her upper body. Duffy bowed and disappeared; most likely off to tell her parents that mission get-their-daughter-clean was a go.

The washing devices poked, prodded, stabbed, and jibed Clara until she felt rubbed raw. The soap, however, was no longer giving off its original detestable smell, but an invigorating aroma of something between strawberry and vanilla. Duffy reappeared an hour later to end all the fun. Duffy apparated Clara to her large walk-in and planted her at the mirror inside. This section of her already very energy consuming day took even longer than the shower had, lasting too many hours to count as the floating hair products further poked and prodded, this time with the occasional spray and odd tingling sensation. Her hair was piled on top of her head, let down again, and piled again several times before the magical hairbrushes decided on a loose bun allowing small tendrils of hair to hang at the sides of her delicate face. The brushes, combs, and hairsprays disappeared suddenly, and Clara had a moment to think before Duffy could come back and put her under some other painful object.

Where could they possibly be going that involved all this prep? In fact, where were her parents? Could they have at least came and told her? What were they hiding?

Her father had arrived home late the previous night bearing good news. The ministry was convinced that the Claret's were a respectable family (which they were) that had absolutely nothing to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or any of his followers. The ministry was even delighted to hear that their daughter would be marrying Draco Malfoy, son of a convicted Death Eater, in the coming year. Perhaps the goodness of the Claret family could help and influence the poor Malfoy boy.

What on earth were they doing over at the Ministry? And how did her father learn to persuade like that?

Crack! Oh, Duffy's here.

The dresses Duffy had under her arms, however, were not greeted with such limited enthusiasm. Clara was certainly not a girl of vanity, and quite lacked a fashionable sense, but a beautiful dress is a beautiful dress. Not even Hermione could deny that one. Duffy held out her hand for (hopefully) the last time and took the young witch to her room, which was about two feet from where they had been before. Clara took a deep breath of air. The dresses were now laid out upon the sofas, ready for wear. She picked up a green thing, but set it aside quickly when she saw the low back. Where had all these dresses come from? She had a whole wardrobe of practical wear for dinner; why all these new ones?

So, one after the other Clara tried and discarded. It's a wonder how time flies when clothing is involved. There were sparkling gowns, frilly thigh highs, tiered cocktails, and even a kimono, oddly enough. Well, so long as Clara Claret had a say over what she wore, nothing three inches above the knee would ever be seen on her body. And anything bearing too much shoulder or back was simply out of the question. Sparkles drew far more attention than she ever wished for… that left the kimono, a deep green non-cocktail-ed tiered gown of fine velvet, and a lovely pink un-thigh high-ed frilly dress. All with the choice of three dark jackets. The kimono: automatically out. Her final decision was also an easy one to make: She wasn't ever going to sport a color even remotely resembling the Slytherin house. Not even if her life depended on it.

So the velvet dress was put in her closet (she could at least look at it if she wasn't going to wear it) and the soft pink one was put aside with a complimenting black jacket. Just as she did this, her mother opened the door and stepped in.

"Can I see what you chose?" Mrs. Claret asked, though it wasn't much of a question because she strode forward and picked up the dress. She held it against her daughter's skinny frame and tilted her head. "This will be perfect." Mary said, more to herself than her daughter.

"Er, where exactly is it were going, mother?" Clara asked. What had she been preparing all day for? Her mother looked uneasy suddenly.

"Darling, please keep an open mind about this, alright. It is only in due process; we're not trying to make your life any harder." She cupped Clara's face in her hands and breathed out.

"I take it we'll be seeing the Malfoys tonight." Clara figured aloud. Hopefully they were going to a public place so she wouldn't have to see Lucius.

"It's your engagement dinner. There's a restaurant in London your father knows the owner of."

"Oh," Clara breathed. "Is that all?" At least it wasn't something like a wedding rehearsal…

"Yes, dear, that's all." Mrs. Claret smiled, relieved that her daughter was not unhappy about their dinner outing. "Now you better finish up, we'll be leaving in twenty minutes." Clara's mother swayed to the door in her regal gown, which Clara noticed dimly for the first time, and closed the door, the sound of her clicking heels muffled.

An engagement dinner! And we're not even engaged yet! Clara thought with a small relief filling her. She zipped the dress up and by the time Duffy announced it was time to be off, Clara was ready had already stashed her wand – just in case.

Clos Maggiore was full of people, wizards of course, but she had heard the whimsical owner opened it to muggles for a few hours during the day. Purebloods didn't look down upon that, though; it was simply a reasonable business venture.

A section of the restaurant was reserved strictly for the Claret party. The spot was off center in the room, which didn't call for any privacy whatsoever, but looked pleasant. The restaurant wasn't loud either.

Their table was already full and all conversation at it ceased when they walked through the double door entrance. The folks at the table were not all that Clara recognized, but they seemed excited to see her, or at least her parents.

A man stood up from the table when they reached it and offered his hand to Mr. Claret.

"Edmund Rivers, reporter from the Prophet. Pleased to make your acquaintance." He shook their hands roughly and said all this very fast in a deep voice. A camera hung loosely around his neck. He sat down and the next man introduced himself.

"Good evening. I'm Rufurd Pint, an official from the ministry."

A reporter from the Prophet and a ministry official? What kind of dinner was this exactly?

"John Claret!" A large man boomed next. His accent was French and he had rudy cheeks with happy eyes.

"Jaques! How are you?" Her father and the owner of the restaurant embraced with manly affections.

"Oh, zis must be your lovely flower." Mr. Jaques said after the reunion was over. He kissed the top of Clara's hand with astute gentleman quality. He offered a sly smile. "Where have you been hiding all zese years, John?" He asked good-naturedly.

"That, my friend, is a story for another night."

Clara had already drifted towards the end of the table where Jemma and her tall brother sat.

"Clara!" Jem said when she saw her cousin moving their way. They hugged, already like sisters since Jem's heartbreaking confession. Blaise was next, smiling brilliantly.

Only a mere two chairs away Naricissa sat calmly. Draco was next to her at the head of the table, looking sullen. He was this way for many different reasons, particularly because he didn't want to see any more of his mother, who hadn't kept from fretting about his appearance since they had left the manor. What did anyone care how he dressed, anyway?

But the other thing that was bothering Draco Malfoy was standing four feet away and hugging his best mate.

She had stepped into the room, and for some unknown-to-him reason, it was almost as if the room became a little brighter. Strange. He hardly knew the girl. In fact, if he knew anything about her, it was that she was a know-it-all and a bookworm. But she didn't look that way anymore, so naturally the boy was confused and just a little frustrated about the situation.

Even now, her beautiful pink dress, her sparkling hazel eyes, and that magnificent soft-curled hair did much to disarm poor Draco Malfoy.

"Draco, pull your hair out of your face a bit. It is unbecoming for a young man like yourself to look that way." Mrs. Malfoy told her son. Suddenly, the optimistic feeling evaporated inside the young Malfoy and he was no longer infatuated with Miss Claret or any of part of her impeccable looks. Instead, he glared at his mother and sat up straighter.

The free time didn't last long. Soon Clara's father at the other end of the long table tapped a glass and called for the meal to start. A few people at the other tables surreptitiously glanced over to see the new development at the popular table. Seats were taken, Clara across form Mrs. Malfoy and next to Draco. Aunt Annabelle was next to her niece, the reporter and official beyond her. Across from their mother, Blaise and Jemma sat, Blaise closest to Clara. Next to Jem was Mrs. Claret, the furthest she could be from her helpless daughter without being Mr. Claret, who sat at the head, now engaged in conversation with the ministry official on his right. Mrs. Zabini began conversation immediately.

"My, my, Narcissa, you've raised Draco so well. He is quite the gentle man." She said 'gentleman' like it was two words. Clara felt a pang when she saw Draco's face droop ever so slightly. They talked about him as if he were someplace else… And then for a moment, Clara could understand a little bit about the way Draco felt. Was this always how Pureblood society acted? If it was, and if Draco had been engaged in it all his life, then he must have felt at least a little miserable about it. Especially if he was molly coddled, which she was almost positive he was.

"Yes, well," Narcissa was saying, "A good son means a good mother. I can't have my Draco running around like some insolent children I know." Her words sounded like they should bite. At what, Clara didn't know, but she noticed Annabelle avoided direct conversation with Mrs. Malfoy after that.

Clara could see the reporter in a deep discussion with her mother and wondered briefly what they were talking about.

The talking continued and all the while Clara and Draco stayed quite. The air around them was thick with awkwardness. Clara tried to at least make it look like she was talking to the others, but to no avail. It was still painfully obvious that no lips were moving at that end of the table. From time to time Clara could feel a gaze upon her, and looked Draco's way to find him staring at her, as she had done to him only a few days before. It was odd and no one in their right minds would think them a couple, but nothing changed.

Then a miracle occurred: The food arrived. Talking cut back substantially and was replaced by the scraping of forks and knives as the table dug into their food. Clara prayed the meal would be fast so she could get herself out of the room and back home to safety.

After a time, the last of the clinking was done and the conversation started again. Clara decided to observe the dining room and the people in it. It was mostly couples, all regal in wear. Some occasionally allowed their eyes to wonder over to the exclusive engagement party dinner and scanned quickly, senses alert that this was no ordinary event.

It was only at the climax of desert that the final action took place. The dinner guests started looking around the table at one another and whispering. Mr. Rivers was fiddling with his camera. This excited Clara. What are they waiting for? She wondered in a naïve way.

She was looking around the table in wonder, so of course she didn't see Draco stand up. Then all the eyes at the table turned to look her way.

"Clara Claret," Draco announced. Suddenly, every eye in the room was locked on their table. "Clara Jean Claret." He repeated, this time lowering himself to one knee. Her jaw popped open as she finally realized what everyone else already knew. That's what this engagement dinner is – the engagement! Her breath hitched in her throat. Something flashed, a light bulb perhaps, but she was too focused on Draco to care.

"We haven't known each other very long, but I know life with you is filled with promise." He pulled out a small, black heart-shaped box and opened it in front of her. A tear streamed down Clara's face. Oh, the betrayal.

"I will always be the husband I should and never shame you if you except." He continued. The place was pin-drop quiet.

"Will you marry me?" He finished. His voice had been monotonous and unwavering all through his speech. She was at a loss for words. How could she say yes to him, of all people, like this?

She knew how. She knew she had to do it, not for herself, but for her family. She hated that the fate of the ones she loved depended on her answer to this dreadful person kneeling in front of her, and she hated that she would be attached to him forever more, but she also knew that there were worse things in life, and that though it was close, this wasn't one of them. Enough tears to fill an ocean continued down her cheeks. It was a fate she would have to except.

The mood between the young couple was hideously unromantic as he stared blankly into her eyes. She desperately tried to fake a smile, but failed horribly, instead taking a deep, shaky breath and staring back hard into his deep gray souls.

"I will."

The room erupted into vivacious claps and whistles as Draco slid the pretty triple-diamond ring onto her finger.

And just like that, Clara Claret was engaged to Draco Malfoy.

How was it? Please review!

And thanks to Hannah for the correction!

Here is the dress Clara/Hermione is wearing in this chapter:

http:/www(DOT)flickr(DOT)com/photos/51066263N07/4692545888/

Enjoy!