A/N:
I cannot begin to thank you all enough for your lovely reviews! I am so sorry it's taken this long to update. Life certainly has a way of getting you out of your routine! Updates should come more frequently as of now, but no promises. Exams and all that coming up. Anyway, enjoy!
xxx
Hermione sent Abberley, a gift from her parents for returning to Hogwarts and graduating after the battle, to Malfoy Manor with a small letter attached to his thin leg. He seemed very nervous, which was quite unlike the tawney owl. While watching Abberley fly higher into the clouds, Hermione could feel the apprehension vine its way beginning at the hand that wrote the letter, all the way to her face causing a flush of color to fill her too-pale cheeks. Willing back the tears signaling her defeat in independence, she laid her head down on the table, its unnatural coolness easing some of the heat away from her face.
How had this happened? She had done everything she was supposed to – she went back to school and got her N.E.W.T.S., graduated the top of her class (obviously), received a brilliant job offer working for the ministry aiding them in their work with house elves, moved out of her parents' home and into her own flat, and earned a promotion! The tears she had been successfully holding back now spilled over, a small puddle forming on the table. She shouldn't be ungrateful. Really, she shouldn't. If this meant that her father would be able to have the funding he needed, she was willing to do anything. Although, this was probably the reason she was so upset. The Malfoys, one of the worst wizarding families out there in her opinion, had something she would never – access to large quantities of money and connections in the right places. Must be nice.
She wiped the tears from her face, ending her pity party, and sent Jenna a quick text to meet at Florean's in two hours. Girl talk was a necessity, and since her mother had no idea she was even dating, let alone piratically engaged, Jenna would have to be her outlet.
When Hermione arrived, Jenna was already there, seated with a cone of chocolate ice cream in her hand and a cone of vanilla placed delicately across from her, charmed so as not to fall. Hermione sat down and took the vanilla ice cream into her hands.
Both sat in silence for what seemed like hours.
"So," said Jenna.
"So."
"'Mione… What are we doing here? I got your very cryptic text, which you never send unless you're on the verge of a break down by the way, and got here within an hour. Are you going to explain at all?"
"Merlin, Jenna, I wouldn't even know where to begin. Everything is so terribly backwards. I've never actually had a friend I could confide in, unless you include Harry and Ron, which I don't. They never really wanted to hear about my life. They were much to focused on their own issues," she sighed. And while she did have to give them credit – they were all trying to vanquish the most powerful and evil wizard of all time and that is rather distracting – neither boy was ever very interested in her as a person. Well, other than Ron, but his was out of relationship obligations, not actual interest. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to be listened to, instead of just heard.
"Well," Jenna said encouragingly, "let's start from where we left off. The last time we spoke was yesterday, and Lucius had just made his proposition. Have you thought it over?"
"I have." Hermione said slowly.
"And?"
It was quiet at the table once more. Hermione's eyes, which had been staring down intently at her melting ice cream, slowly made their way to Jenna's and filled themselves with unannounced and unwarranted tears, for the second time that day. "I am," she said with a finality that sent a shiver down her spine. "I sent Abberley with a letter this morning telling them that I've agreed. God, Jenna," Hermione said loudly, putting her head into her hands, "what have I done?"
Hermione felt Jenna's hands tug on her own.
"You're doing what you feel you have to do in order to save your Dad. There is no shame in it, Hermione. You're smart and you're beautiful. Any man would be lucky to have you."
"I assume so, I just can't help but feel like I'm signing my life away. No girl ever dreams of marrying their childhood nemesis, Jenna, and here I am offering myself up for money. Does it get any more desperate than that? But on the other hand, what am I supposed to do? This could quite possibly be the thing that saves my father's life."
"I don't think it's going to be as bad as you think," said Jenna, rubbing comforting circles on the back of Hermione's hand. "You've told me a thousand times that you weren't sure you wanted to have kids, and that you hadn't time to date anyone because of your career. Merlin knows you won't be having kids with Malfoy, and this way, you won't have to go looking for a man. More than likely you'll live with him in his family's home and it's big enough that you'll never have to see any one of them if you choose not to. I really do think this will all be okay. Arranged marriages happen all the time, and people survive just fine."
Before Hermione could argue anymore about the difference between surviving and thriving, she caught sight of Abberley flying gracefully through the sky, slowly descending to the back of her chair. Usually, she only asked him to deliver letters close by, and she half expected him to stay at the manor a while and rest up. It was then that she remembered how nervous he had been that morning, and was no longer surprised that he decided to make the long trek home immediately. He stuck his foot out, kindly asking her to untie the message which was attached with a ribbon. She did so, and fed him a bite of her ice cream before watching him fly back in the direction of home.
"This must be their response," Hermione said with a wavering voice.
"Well, then," Jenna said eagerly, "read it!"
"Ms. Granger,
We have received your letter and are pleased with your decision. We would be delighted to have you for dinner at the manor this evening at seven, and dress will be formal. As this invitation is rather sudden, we understand if you are unable to attend due to prior obligations. Please let us know if you are free.
Sincerely,
Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy"
Hermione read the letter a second time, just to be sure her eyes had, in fact, read the response properly. With trembling hands, she handed the letter written in beautiful, curvy handwriting over to Jenna, and proceeded to put her head in her hands. In five week she would be married. In five weeks her coworkers would refer to her as Mrs. Malfoy. In five weeks her life would change forever, and she wasn't sure if she wanted it to. It's all for Dad, she kept reminding herself.
"This is great news!"
Hermione moved her fingers from her eyes just enough to see Jenna's annoyingly happy face.
"Are you barking? This is it Jenna! I have a little over a month until I have to marry the devil!"
"Oh, Hermione, don't you think you're being a little dramatic? Quite a bit of time has passed since we've all been in school, and I can't imagine that he stayed an arse this whole time. He might surprise you!"
"I sincerely doubt it!" Hermione shrieked. Changed? Ha!
"Well," Jenna sighed, rolling up the parchment and handing it back to Hermione, "I guess you'll find out tonight at seven."
"Seven?"
Jenna looked at Hermione with a look of confusion. "Yes...tonight. That's what the parchment said, isn't it? 'We would be delighted to have you for dinner at the manor this evening at seven.'"
"Bloody brilliant," said Hermione, rereading the letter for a third time. "And I apparently have to dress 'formal'. Jenna, I haven't got anything formal to wear!"
"Okay, the first thing you've got to do is calm down. We are in Diagon Alley, and in minutes we can be in the heart of London. We will find you something to wear."
Hermione let a shaky breath go that she didn't know she was holding. "Well, let's get on with it then."
"That's the spirit!" Jenna laughed as she grabbed Hermione by the arm, dragging her to the nearest dress shop.
XXX
Draco had been pacing his room for a solid 20 minutes, waiting on the clock to chime 6:45. He knew Hermione would be at least ten minutes early and he wanted to beat her, but he didn't want to be forced into small talk with his family.
After Draco had made his decision internally, he wandered around to find his father. It could have been a trick of the light, but he could have sworn he saw his father smirk. Lucius told him to dress nicely – preferably suit and tie – because she was going to be to dinner at seven. Fairly confused as to how Granger had already been invited to dinner when he hadn't even made his mind up, Draco did as he was told and went to find a suit that fit.
Finding something decent was rather difficult to do given how much he had changed over the years. When Draco was younger, he'd had to wear a suit underneath his dress robes several times in a year for galas and balls and other miscellaneous, client gathering activities for his father's, now his, company. However, during and after the war, all festivities had been put on hold, and his family hadn't hosted a gathering of any kind since. This meant that all of his suits were roughly five years old.
In those five years, he had grown several inches, totaling his height to about 6'4". He was less lanky and much more toned. Had to keep the body up for the girls, didn't he? The only constant that remained was his hair – as stiff and slicked back as ever. After rummaging through his entire closet only to come up empty handed, he sent an elf to Diagon Alley with his measurements to pick up a few new suits, all in black.
A suit was easy enough to obtain, but as Draco looked at himself in the mirror of his bathroom, he knew that some things were not able to be covered up or fixed. The circles under his eyes caused by one too many a night partying, for example. Or the dullness of his skin and hair, probably caused by lack of sleep and stress. Draco had to admit – he had looked much better when he was younger, before the real stresses of the real world and Lord Voldemort found their way into his life. He took a shower and scrubbed, doing the best he could, but ultimately gave up.
After his shower, Draco took the time to walk about his floor, making sure that everything was in its place. After his conversation with Grandmother, he'd gone on a cleaning spree and his level was now sparkling, a stark difference to the main floor. The main floor had been redone shortly after the war to try and rid it of the old Malfoy taste. It had been repainted in lighter shades of the same colors, and the furniture had been changed out. Draco's level was full of varying shades of green and gray which contrasted nicely with the pristine white molding. It really was elegant, especially considering that Draco had made all of the design choices. His furniture was more edgy, and most of it was black. He had nine total bedrooms on his level, and had decorated each and every one in a different color scheme. Occasionally, to rid his boring life of the same thing each and every day, he would take turns sleeping in the bedrooms.
His favorite room, other than his own of course, was a room three doors down from his own. He had chosen a dark purple, gray, and white scheme, with accents of baby blue every now and again for extra color. Being alone with his mother all those summers when he was little took a tole on his designing side. This room was not his favorite because of the color, or the view of the garden, or even the king sized, four poster bed. No, this room was his favorite because behind a portrait of his great-great grandfather, Phineas Nigellus Black, was one of two entries to a secret library. He'd discovered it in his teens, but grew to appreciate it more throughout the years. When he stumbled upon it, it was filled mostly with books on the importance of keeping blood pure and how to train stubborn house elves. At the time, Draco hadn't minded seeing those books. They were actually quite interesting to look at with their tattered spines. However, after the fall of Voldemort, he had moved them all to a back corner to deteriorate without his having to look at them. Why he didn't just throw them away, he was unsure.
Shaking his head to get out of his thoughts, he looked down at his watch and cursed at the time. It was now 6:54 and Granger was probably downstairs waiting on him. He slicked his hair back with one hand and re-buttoned his jacket with the other before descending the stairs. When he reached the landing, he had a clear view of the dining room which was directly in front of him, and Granger was not seated. He looked to the fireplace on his left and checked his watch once again. 6:56. She was cutting it close. Draco leaned against the wall and took a deep breath, a weak attempt at calming himself in a very stressful situation.
Just then, his fireplace chimed, alerting him that someone would be passing through his fireplace in exactly five seconds. Draco glanced at his mother, who failed miserable at looking uninterested, and then back at the fireplace.
The woman who walked through could not have been the know-it-all Granger. The Granger he knew had bushy hair and an awkward gait. This woman stepped out of his fireplace so surely, that he straightened himself from his slouching position on the wall just to compete with her. She immediately turned left from the fireplace, meaning he saw her back. Dear Merlin, did he see her back.
She was wearing a beaded emerald gown that was floor length and backless, with one strap that went around her neck. Her hair was pinned up in some sort of bun with slightly curled pieces hanging down every now and again. She wore elbow length black gloves which matched her black heels and handbag. Draco backed into a dark corner and watched her turn in a circle, evaluating her surroundings. When he caught sight of her face, he noticed that despite the fact that her body was dressed up, she still had not done much with her face. It was very customary for women of higher blood status' to wear more makeup, particularly around this eyes, and Draco always hated it. He viewed it much the same as false advertising. It was refreshing for him to see an elegantly dressed woman with little to no makeup, save for some shine to her lips. He noticed that as she turned, she wrapped her arms around herself, tugging at one of the gloves covering her arms.
He wasn't entirely sure how it happened, or who she paid to do it, but Granger looked good.
Damned good.
Deciding that it was now or never, Draco slowly walked up to her and offered her his arm. He wouldn't have, except that he knew his mother was watching and she'd likely lecture him to death if she knew he weren't being a complete gentleman. Granger jumped slightly at the sudden sight of him, and he watched her eyes travel up and down his body before settling at his arm, and going back up to his face.
Her eyes met his and everything stopped. This was it. Either she was going to be civil, or she was going to be a down right bitch. Draco knew there was no in between with her.
"Hello, Malfoy," she said, taking a step in his direction and taking his arm loosely.
"You look dreadful."
Well, then. Bitch mode it was.
"And don't you look just lovely," he said through gritted teeth. Honestly. Was it too much to ask that she not be so goddamned rude?
"Well," she sighed and headed in the direction of the dining room, "let's get on with it, then."
He rolled his eyes and walked her to her designated chair. The family had done away with the old dining table – it harbored too many awful memories – and settled on one a bit smaller, only seating eight rather than the original twenty. Lucius was sitting at the head of the table, with his wife to the right of him. Across from Narcissa was a place for Hermione, and next to Narcissa was a place for Draco.
He led her over and pulled out her chair. She sat down without a glance in his direction or a muttered 'thank you'. All business, that one. Draco ran his hand over his hardened hair as he made his way to his seat. She really was quite the bitch, and to think, she was his future. The Fates were laughing in his direction, he was sure of it.
Everyone was silent for several minutes before the house elves came out with the food, and Draco was sure Granger was going to have a conniption fit. Of course, everyone knew her role in the freeing of elves and also knew that she would no doubt find offense to their serving her, despite the fact that they were wearing actual clothing. He was almost of a mind to fill her in that the elves were paid very well for their service, and had their own remodeled floor to live on, but he didn't.
"Hermione, dear, how are you?" His mother's attempt at casual dinner conversation.
"Fine, thank you. And yourselves?"
"Just wonderful."
Draco could tell that his mother was grasping for straws. After all, it's not every day that you invite the Muggle-born witch who you once hated, and who was also tortured in the very room you were sitting in to dinner. It really was shaping up to be a lovely evening.
"Well," Draco began, desperate to get the evening over with, "let's get on with it. So what's the plan?"
His mother and father both paused hesitantly. He watched Granger put her fork down slowly and wipe the corners of her mouth with her napkin.
"The plan?" she asked.
"Yes, Granger. A detailed proposal about what one may do in the future. A plan."
"I'm sorry, I must have misunderstood you. I wasn't aware that our future was a game for you." Her eyes narrowed in his direction.
"It's not a bloody game, I just don't want to sit here for an hour and make pointless small talk. We are to be married, and my birthday is in a month. I just want to know what is going to happen and when."
Narcissa shot him a dirty look. "I think what my son is trying and failing to say is, what did you have in mind as far as wedding planning went, and how did you want to go about informing the public?"
His dear mother. Always so politically correct.
"Well," Granger began slowly, "I need to tell my parents first, before we go public with anything, and I want to give them time to get acquainted with the idea before the whole world knows."
"Understandable," his father said.
Draco was fairly confused, yet again. He could have sworn he heard his father say that each of the parents of the women had been spoken with and understood the terms. Why were Granger's parents out of the loop?
"Why don't your parents already know?" he asked, directing his question more towards his father.
"And," she continued, completely ignoring him,"I'd prefer the fewer people know about it until then."
"Of course," his mother offered. "And were you wanting to have the ceremony fairly soon or
closer to Draco's birthday.
"Excuse me," Draco interrupted, "I'm sure this may come as a shock to you Granger, as most things do when you're not the center of attention, but this marriage has two parts. Now why do your parents not know? My father said he'd spoken with them."
Hermione hesitated, ignoring him yet again. "Well, I'd prefer as close to his birthday as we can get. I'd like to give everyone, my friends and yours, to get over their shock so as not to attract bad publicity."
Draco rose suddenly from his chair, slamming his fists on the table. "EXCUSE ME," he yelled, "BUT WHY IN THE FUCK IS EVERYONE TALKING ABOUT ME LIKE I'M NOT BLOODY HERE!"
"Honestly Draco, watch your language. There are women present," his father chastised.
"Oh, give me a fucking break," Draco responded. "This is ridiculous. The Saturday before my birthday is June second, I assume you'll want that day?" he looked pointedly at Granger, who was sitting rather stiff in her chair.
"June second is fine," she said shortly.
"Oh good," Draco retorted, sitting back down in his chair. "You do hear me. Now, why is it that
my father is saying one thing, and you're saying another."
"You must have misunderstood me, son."
"Bullshit."
"Honestly, Draco! Please!" his mother said in the background.
"Look," Granger chimed in, "he didn't speak with my parents. I am old enough to make my own decisions and I don't need my parents' approval. Why is it so important to you anyway?" she chided.
Come to think of it, Draco wasn't entirely sure why it was so important, but he wasn't going to let her win.
"I don't like liars," he said simply. That ought to be reason enough for her not to question, and the statement was actually true. Lying implied secrets, and after the war, he wasn't too keen on secrets. Secrets meant distrust, which only led to more secrets. Draco watched as she raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?" she said, "You don't? How ironic considering you're one of the biggest liars I've ever met."
What. A. Bitch.
"Okay, listen here you little - "
"DRACO!" both his parents yelled at the same time, effectively stopping him from saying something he'd probably regret.
"Draco," his mother repeated, "why don't you take Hermione up to your floor and show her around while I help clean up, yeah?" She looked desperate, and only because he loved his mother unconditionally did he grit his teeth and nod, standing up from the table and heading upstairs. He didn't bother to see whether she was following or not, but after a few seconds he heard the clicks of her heals on the floor.
What right did she have to accuse him in his own house of being a liar? Sure, he'd made mistakes in the past. Hadn't everyone? That certainly didn't give her the right to go calling people out on them! She hadn't exactly been perfect – she did slap him once.
What had he gotten himself into? It wasn't bad enough that she was a snarky know-it-all, but the fact that he had chosen his fate made it all the worse. He'd actually picked her. She should be grateful! Without him, she would have probably ended up marrying Weasel and having eleven or so mini-Weasels running around. He was doing her a favor, to tell the truth.
Once he stepped up onto his floor, he paused and waited for her, suddenly nervous that she'd hate it. He shook the feelings away quickly. Why should it matter if she hated it or not? It was his house, dammit.
She, too, paused on the top step and looked around. Both were in his foyer which was decorated in green, not unlike the color of her dress he noted. To the left was a long hallway where four bedrooms and three bathrooms were present, including his own. To the right were five more bedrooms and four more bathrooms. Continuing straight would take them into his drawing room, off of which to the right was his kitchen, straight ahead his dining room, and to the left his living room. Mentally cursing himself for forgetting to place Grandmother Malfoy elsewhere, he made every attempt at keeping her out of that room.
"Wow," she breathed. "It's much more beautiful than I thought it would be. Has it always looked like this?"
"No, not always," he said, glad to have something to talk about other than the stupid bloody marriage. "We never really used the second or third floors, and the fourth is an attic. After the war during Father's imprisonment, Mother and I redid the whole manor. She had the bottom floor and I did the second and third. She gave the second to me when I was finished, and the third has been made into living quarters for the house elves."
"You have living quarters for your elves?" She sounded genuinely confused.
"Yes, Granger, we do. You do remember putting that law into place, don't you? We now have only three house elves, and we pay them all very well. Originally, we told them all that they could not live with us. We wanted them to find their own homes so they wouldn't feel trapped, but the buggers wouldn't leave. I found one hiding in my closet once. That's when Mother and I decided to gift them the third floor. It took some convincing on our part, but they did eventually take it."
She had walked away while he was talking and headed towards the drawing room. He walked over to a table holding fairly expensive scotch and poured himself a glass, watching her inspect the room. She moved on into the dining room and he followed, making note of the decor she lingered longer on. Thankfully, she just shot a glance in the living room and didn't try to enter. Draco didn't think he could handle an encounter with his Grandmother. They continued this way, she entering a room and he following closely, but not too closely, behind her. Once she made her way down the hallway with his bedroom, he opened every door to every room and allowed her to look.
"These rooms are exquisite. You decorated all of these yourself?" She was looking at a rather confusing painting made of navy blue, black, and white dots to match the color scheme of that particular room.
"I did," he responded, still sipping his scotch. He ushered her out of the room and showed her the others, pausing slightly before opening the door to his favorite room – the one with the secret library entrance.
"Oh, wow," she sighed, "this is breath taking. I love this shade of purple."
Draco smirked and continued his drink. Imagine that. Granger found delight in something he had done. How ironic considering virtually nothing could make her happy.
"Where is your bedroom?" She asked, now looking directly at him. Funny. With the lights dimmed, she almost looked beautiful. Almost.
"This way."
He led her into his room, which was easily thrice the size of any other bedroom on his floor. He had chosen the emerald in his foyer for the walls. Each wall had crown and chair rail molding in pure white, and there were black and silver accents. Very Slytherinesque. While she walked around his room, stopping every so often to investigate a trinket or picture, he was nervous. No one outside of his mother, father, and the house elves had ever been in his room before, and he felt very exposed to her violation of his space. She even went into his bathroom, for Merlin's sake.
"I assume I'll be staying on this floor with you?" Her question caught him off guard. It never occurred to him that she would actually be living with him.
"If that's what you want. I'm sure you could take a room on any other floor if you'd like."
"No," she said softly, "I don't mind this one."
Draco released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. She liked his floor. She liked his design. She liked where he lived. For the life of him, he had no idea why this mattered.
"Which room would you like?"
"Oh, I don't know," she said. "I didn't really think about it. Can I have any one I want?"
He hesitated. "Aside from this one, yes."
"Well, then...I'd like the purple one."
Of-fucking-course she did. The only room with convenient access to the library. Now he'd have to go through a hideaway door behind a bookshelf in his living room.
"Sounds good to me," he said. It was easier to allow her to take the room than to tell her no, and not be able to tell her why. He wasn't quite sure he was ready to share everything with her quite yet, and that meant the library was off limits. Perhaps some day he'd tell her.
"I'd better be off. I have work in the morning. As for your date, June second sounds fine to me. Just owl me your plans so I can go along with them."
"I don't have any plans."
She paused. "You don't have plans?"
"No?" he said as a question. "Why would I?"
"Oh, I don't know," she said, "I just figured you Malfoys were ready to get married the moment you turned of age."
"You just so happen to be incorrect in your assumption, Granger. I haven't done an ounce of planning, nor will I. This marriage is a business deal. You help my name and I help yours."
"If you think I'm doing all of the planning on my own, you must be barking!" she squeaked.
"Well, who the hell else is going to do it? Do I look like a woman?"
He knew the moment he said the words that they were a mistake. Draco watched her clench her fists at her sides and he could only imagine what was coming.
"WHAT did you just say to me? This is JUST as much my wedding as it is yours, and if you think even for one MOMENT that I will be doing all of the work, you've gone absolutely mad!"
"And you, Princess, are a bloody fool if you think I'm going to sit at home and twiddle my thumbs while planning a fucking wedding!"
"You know what, Malfoy? Screw you AND your wedding! You're so damned selfish, always thinking of you! I don't know why I thought you would have changed and actually grown up a bit! I don't need this!"
"How dare you! You think you know everything about everthing don't you, Granger? Well guess fucking what?"
And then she was gone. She stormed away from him, bumping him in the shoulder on purpose as she did so. It took him a moment, but once he realized where she was headed he tried to stop her. Down the stairs they went, Granger now picking up the pace, clearly realizing that he was trying to stop her.
"Granger, wait!" he yelled, but it was pointless. As the words left his mouth, he watched her grab a handful of floo powder from their fireplace mantel and scream "HOME!", followed by a rather large puff of green smoke. She could have used a little less powder.
"FUCK!" he screamed, throwing his scotch glass against the wall. His breathing was ragged as he put his hands on his hips, trying to make sense of what just happened.
"I see that went well," his father said from the dining room. Draco whirled around and walked towards his father until they were inches away from each other.
"And what the fuck was that about, Father? You know damn well you told me you spoke to her parents, and yet she says that isn't true. What are you hiding?"
"Honestly, Draco," his father said, taking a step back, "slow down on the scotch. It must have been a slip of the tongue on my part. Perhaps you should owl Ms. Granger and give her your most sincere apology. If I heard correctly, she's just broken up with you."
"WE AREN'T EVEN IN A BLOODY RELATIONSHIP!" Draco yelled.
"Oh, yes you are, son. It may not be conventional, but you most certainly are. Word of advice? Flowers help."
"I'm not sending her a damned thing!"
"You might want to reconsider. It's not as if women are lining up." And with that, his father was gone. His mother was gone. Granger was gone. Everyone had gone their separate ways, and there he was, left with his own thoughts.
Fucking Granger.
xxx
Author's Note:
And that's that! I sincerely appreciate everyone who takes the time to review – they make me happy!