I meant to post this sooner, but this is my last week on Erasmus and it is incredibly busy (and emotional). It's a short chapter, but I'll try and post the next one in a few days!
"Miss Granger," Narcissa greeted her at the door. "Or do you go by Mrs. Malfoy too, now?"
Hermione offered the woman the most forced smile she could muster before answering. "Hermione will do just fine, Mrs. Malfoy. Thank you for inviting me." Draco had been polite with her parents, it seemed only right that she offer his mother the same courtesy, even if it was only because she didn't want him to hold it over her.
"Mother, is that Granger?"
"Indeed, Draco, your wife has arrived. Do lead her to the dining room, will you? I have to go check something with the elves."
Draco offered Hermione his arm, which she reluctantly accepted, and led her through a long corridor. As soon as Narcissa was out of hearing range, Hermione spoke. "She isn't going to ask the elves to poison me, is she?"
Draco snorted. "Doubtfully. Our reputation is bad enough as it is, it wouldn't look good if my wife dropped dead in our home."
"I can't believe you still have house-elves."
"I can't believe you still haven't done your research properly and discovered that house-elves actually like their jobs and wouldn't take kindly to any offer of freedom you no doubt wish to bestow upon them."
"I seem to recall a former elf of yours that proves the contrary."
"Dobby was the exception, not the rule. Whatever happened to him, anyway?"
"You don't know?" Hermione had stopped walking, and when he looked down at her he found he could read her face like a book.
"How?" he asked, out of curiosity more than anything else.
"Your aunt's dagger, when we escaped from this Manor," Hermione answered challengingly.
Draco kept looking at her, a serious, heavy look, before nodding and offering her his arm again. "I see. Shall we go on?"
An insult was on the tip of her tongue. The bad memories this place brought back to the surface, the thought of what poor Dobby must have endured here, the knowledge there were other elves slaving for the meal she was about to eat,... It was enough to raise her hackles, but she stayed quiet. She had promised herself she would try and befriend him, and insulting him in his own home seemed like a bad way of achieving that. Moreover, there was no telling how the house-elves here were treated, and, if nothing else, she would give him the benefit of the doubt.
"I'm perfectly capable of walking on my own," she remarked.
"I'm sure," Draco said, "but my mother will scold me for being rude, so please just act like a lady for once."
She grabbed his arm at that, but made sure to pinch him as hard as she could while she was at it.
He would have retaliated if they hadn't just entered the dining room, where his mother was already waiting for them.
"Took you long enough," she remarked with pinched lips.
"My apologies, mother," Draco said formally. "Granger had some questions regarding dinner."
"You know, Draco, you really need to stop calling your wife by her maiden name. Just imagine what the press will say!"
Draco and Hermione both flinched when Narcissa oh so casually used the word wife, again.
"Oh no," Narcissa said, holding one elegantly manicured hand in front of her mouth. "Blaise was right. It's far worse than I thought."
"Blaise was right?" Draco exclaimed, shocked. "Why have you been talking to Blaise?"
"He asked for my help after realizing how terrible you are at pretending you like one another," Narcissa answered sternly. "I will not have my son known as the silly boy who got married by accident. If that means I have to spend time teaching a Mu...ggleborn how to act before an audience, so be it. Now, first things first: From now on, you will only call each other by your given name, or an acceptable endearment of your choosing. Even in private, because otherwise you will never get used to it. Is that clear?"
Draco nodded, still dumbfounded.
"Yes ma'am," Hermione muttered, feeling like she was being scolded by a teacher.
"Excellent. Now, eat." As soon as she said that, the most delicious looking meal appeared on the table. "Draco, mind your manners," she warned her son.
With a wry smile, Draco held Hermione's chair out for her. As soon as he sat down too, Narcissa continued.
"Why don't we pretend this is an interview. Blaise has told me there were some issues when you last tried to practice, but I am counting on you both to be mature enough not to embarrass yourselves in front of me. Now, why don't you start by telling me how you two met?"
Draco opened his mouth to answer, but Narcissa held up her hand imperiously.
"Allow me to give you some advice first. The best way to sell a lie is by staying as close to the truth as possible. It gives you the possibility to recount real anecdotes and makes your story far more believable. And don't try to make it sound too perfect, or other people will hate you. Now go on, convince me."
Draco and Hermione shared a very uncomfortable look, but did as they were told. Narcissa was not the kind of woman you refused easily.
"We met at Hogwarts," Draco began. "Needless to say, we didn't get along at first." Hermione snorted at that. "But everything changed in our sixth year."
Apparently, that was as much as he got because he turned to Hermione, gesturing for her to continue.
"Sixth year, seriously? Are you really suggesting we should tell the world our romance started in sixth year, at the end of which you let Death Eaters into the castle and tried to murder Dumbledore?"
"Do you have a better idea? I hardly think telling them we used to have a secret love affair when we were twelve would be a good enough reason for our marriage."
"Sweet Salazar," Narcissa interrupted them. "Blaise wasn't exaggerating, you two are terrible! Be quiet for a minute so I can think."
If Ginny had been present to witness how easily the Malfoy-matriarch shut Draco and Hermione up, she would have turned green in jealousy.
"No, we can actually work with sixth year," she said at last. "Draco, you were scared and lost, starting to doubt everything you ever learned," Narcissa seemed unable to say this without a disgusted expression, "and when, by some coïncidence, you were forced to spend a lot of time with Miss Gr... Hermione, you found some kind of peace with her. If you want to lay it on thickly, you might even say that it was with her in mind that you were incapable of killing Dumbledore."
"What kind of coïncidence could force two people who hate each other to spend enough time together to fall in love?" Draco asked incredulously.
"A project in one of our classes, a mishap in potions causing us to feel each other's emotions, getting stuck in a broomcloset for the weekend,... At a place like Hogwarts, the possibilities are endless," Hermione said, her mind already focused on another part of the plan. "What I find hard to be believable is that I wouldn't discover that he was up to something, and then forgive him for it afterwards."
"We would have to put a lot of emphasis on how the Dark Lord threatened myself and Draco, and how you understood he never really had a choice."
There was something in the way Narcissa looked at Hermione, then, something deep and meaningful. Hermione felt like she ought to know what it meant, but she was at a loss and it confused her.
"And if we add to that how I was bethroted to Greengrass, it might actually work," Draco said.
Hermione nodded absentmindedly. "It's as good as we're going to get."
"Indeed. As fascinating as this subject is, this was about as much as I can stomach over dinner," Narcissa said. "Next time, listen to Blaise. Now, Miss Granger, why don't you tell me what you plan to do after Hogwarts?"
The rest of the dinner passed in superficial, uncomfortable conversation, and Hermione was relieved when she was finally able to leave without appearing rude. Narcissa told Draco to walk his wife out (the ensuing shudder from the two young people was slightly less noticeable, but present nonetheless), and so it was that Hermione and Draco stood at the door of Malfoy Manor, at a loss for words. How do you say goodbye to your enemy who also happens to be your husband? What parting words do you share with someone you've known for almost seven years, but at the same time only had a small handfull of real conversations with?
Hermione didn't know.
"I think we should arrive together at the station, next week," Malfoy said.
Hermione nodded. "You could come to Grimmauld Place in the morning?" she offered.
"Very well," he said stifly. He opened his mouth as if to go further, but hesitated and closed it again.
"Spit it out, then", Hermione said, curious despite herself.
He sneered but spoke: "You do realize we're going to have to appear close, right? As in we're going to have to be at least a little comfortable with physical contact?"
Hermione grimaced. "Not necessarily. I don't think anyone would be surprised at me not being comfortable with pda."
"I'm not talking about snogging in public. More like the little things that couples typically do." He said this with an expression that one would normally wear when smelling rotten eggs, or perhaps a dead body.
"Like we did when leaving the hotel," Hermione said. "I'm sure Blaise won't let us forget."
"I still can't believe he spoke with my mother," Draco grumbled.
Hermione chuckled. "He is very dedicated, isn't he? You're lucky to have him as a friend."
Draco was surprised at her words. He would have expected her to hate all Slytherins on principle, but apparently she was willing to judge his friends on their merrit rather than on their house.
"Of course you would think so," he said. "With the company you keep, everyone else must seem lucky in the friend department."
She rolled her eyes. "Do you think you could try to have a conversation with me without being insulting? Otherwise these are going to be five very long years."
"Don't get your hopes up."
Hermione sighed deeply. "I don't intend to."
After Granger left, Draco headed back to the dining room to face his mother. He wasn't looking forward to what she would have to say to him, but he knew from experience that it was better to get it out of the way as soon as possible.
He sat down at the table, waiting for the inevitable scolding, when, not for the first time and probably not for the last either, Narcissa took him by surprise.
"You could have done worse," she said.
She must have noticed his bewildered look, for she smirked before explaining. "Not only is Miss Granger a war-hero, she also happens to be exceedingly clever and compassionate. She makes a very good ally, my son. If you would allow your mother to give you some advice, I will tell you this: befriend her. Don't persist in antagonizing and detesting her, or you shall both end up miserable. When you divorce in five years, her life will go on easily. She is beloved and brilliant, she will have no trouble finding work and friends. The same cannot be said for us, however. If she chooses to speak ill of you once you are separated, we will struggle even more to keep our heads aboves the water. While the marriage is undeniably unfortunate, it is what it is, and Malfoys excell at making the best of bad circumstances. This is a time for cleverness and practicality, not traditions."
"I am surprised, mother. I would have thought you wanted me to keep as far away from her as possible until our time was up. Her ancestry is, after all, not befitting a Malfoy."
"Well I most certainly don't want you to have a child with the girl, Draco. But these five years might give us the opportunity to regain our standing in society and make some worthy new friends. After that, I'm confident you'll find a fine pure-blooded girl to marry, and your little misstep will be soon forgotten."
For reasons he did not quite understand, Narcissa's words left a sour taste in Draco's mouth. It felt odd to hear her speak of Granger with so little consideration, as a tool to be used and nothing more. He may not like the girl, but surely, after all she'd been through (some of that in this very house) she deserved a break?
He shook his head as if to chase away his thoughts. When did he become reluctant to use people for his own gain? He was practically born with that! His mother was right; he ought to use this situation to his own advantage, and he would.