The owl arrived early Monday morning. A sound of manic tapping on her living room window woke Hermione from what had been a pretty decent sleep. She hadn't been expecting any mail, other than her daily subscription of The Daily Prophet, but usually it didn't arrive until after breakfast.
Pulling herself out of her bed, Hermione padded into the living room with bleary eyes. She almost tripped over a snoozing Crookshanks, who had wandered out of bed at around two am, and made himself quite comfortable under the coffee table. She narrowly avoided his tail as she made her way to the paned window. Opening it, she accepted the letter from an ornery owl barn owl who she was unfamiliar with.
Hermione-
I am writing to send best wishes, seeing the announcement in The Daily Prophet. While I am a bit shocked by such an announcement, truly, I want you to know that you will always have open arms and a listening ear. I cannot say the same for Molly at the moment, but I'm sure that she'll come 'round. Stay bright.
Please extend my congratulations to the young Mr. Malfoy as well.
Yours,
Arthur Weasley
Hermione stared at the letter in confoundment. Narcissa had insisted that the article would not run for a week, nevertheless an official announcement. It was not supposed to be made public until after the engagement ball invitations were sent out. Narcissa had informed her of the process during their get together the day previous. The interviewer and photographer had even signed a privacy waiver before departing the Manor, binding them to basic secrecy until the article was published.
What had happened?
Quickly dropping Mr. Weasley's letter onto the couch, Hermione made a nosedive for the window sill, hoping that her copy of The Daily Prophet had been delivered early this morning. Thank Merlin, her prayers had been answered for once. She was teeming with relief when she saw the twine tied pieces of parchment sitting outside her apartment window, she immediately reached out to fetch the anticipated words. Unfurling the paper, Hermione's eyes quickly searched the front page. The article wasn't easy to miss, seeing as it was blaring across the front page in exaggerated font.
HERMIONE GRANGER, WAR HEROINE AND BELOVED GOLDEN GIRL, BETROTHED TO FORMER DEATH EATER AND PUREBLOOD HEIR, DRACO MALFOY!
By RITA SKEETER
DETAILS ON PAGE 6
Of course it was Rita Skeeter who had leaked such a personal story. How she had come to know such private information, Hermione had no idea. All the young witch knew was that all hell was about to break loose.
—00000—
Narcissa Malfoy had always been an early riser. She began her day when the sun broke over the clouds. Dressed in an elegant satin dressing gown and matching robe, Narcissa was reclined on the fainting couch in her private sitting room. The Malfoy matriarch was expectantly awaiting her morning tea and scones.
As per the everyday routine, Wallace the house elf arrived with his usual cart of tea and pastries. Also on the cart was that day's copy of The Daily Prophet, which Narcissa always read diligently during her early morning tea. The house elf quickly dished out the tea into the delicate bone china cup, emblazoned with the Malfoy family monogram. The silver teapot was engraved with the matching crest.
Once Wallace had prepared her tea and presented her with that morning's selection of scones, Narcissa gratefully took The Daily Prophet from Wallace's cart as the house elf disappeared. Raising a buttered scone to her lips, the elder witch held up the paper with intrigue. The blazing title on the front page made Narcissa immediately drop her scone in panic.
"Lucius!" Narcissa cried, calling out to her husband. She instantly heard the familiar footsteps of her spouse, who had been working in his study down the hall. The door of her sitting room nearly flew off its hinges as Lucius dashed into the room, eyes wild with worry.
"What is it, mon coeur? Are you hurt?" Lucius was at Narcissa's side at once, visually checking his wife over for any physical injuries. The witch shoved the paper in her husband's face, emphasizing the bold lettering on the front of the paper. The sight of the words made Lucius' blood boil, especially when he spotted the author.
"That wretched, wretched woman! How dare she! Write about our family, our son, without our permission." Narcissa was appalled at the gall of Rita Skeeter. The woman had always been a vulture, picking at every crumb of news she could, but this was taking her carnivorous tendencies to a new level.
"I am as shocked as you are, my love. I thought we instructed The Daily Prophet that the announcement and interview were to only be released after the invitations to the engagement ball had been sent?" Lucius questioned his wife, and Narcissa rubbed her brow in frustration.
"I thought we had come to an agreement. They signed the contracts. Everything was binding. I have no idea where she got the information."
"I believe I might have an idea…" Lucius could not help but think of Leonidus Parkinson, and his unusually loose lips. He was also known as quite the sell-out. Maybe he had sold the announcement of the marriage to Rita SKeeter for a pretty Galleon.
"Whatever it is, please handle it. This is an absolute disaster. I had everything planned and on a schedule, and now it's ruined. I will be owling the Prophet for a correction and an apology immediately." Narcissa took a sip of her tea, sighing in annoyance. Lucius rubbed his thumb across his wife's cheek affectionately.
"Do whatever you feel is necessary. All your work is not all for naught, mon coeur, I assure you. I will do some networking, and we will get this sorted out. Eat your breakfast, and then join me in the garden for a morning stroll?" Lucius proposed, and Narcissa nodded.
Lucius took that with a smile, before leaving the Malfoy matriarch to her plans.
Narcissa had many things to remedy. She needed to contract The Daily Prophet, as well as try and manage the social disaster that she had just been handed. Invitations for Draco and Hermione's ball needed to be sent out immediately, and food and drinks decided upon. Decorations, florals, and music. Everything would have to be twice as perfect to recover from such a blunder.
Looking down at her empty teacup, Narcissa knew she was going to need something a lot stronger to get through her morning.
—00000—
Hermione Granger was not one to call out of work unless it was an absolute emergency. And this, by every definition, was an emergency. She had contacted Henrietta and apologized profusely, saying she needed a personal day. Henrietta had been very understanding, obviously being open to the fact she had seen the paper herself. Hermione felt absolutely terrible about calling out after only being on the job a week, but she knew she needed this.
Letters upon letters had been pouring from her window all morning. There were even some intensely colored scarlet envelopes among the masses, to which Hermione knew not to open. The entire plan had been completely disheveld, and Hermione wanted to murder Rita Skeeter with her bare hands.
Not knowing who to speak to, or to even who to see, Hermione made the decision to do something drastic. This was an emergency, and the time for formalities and social propriety had long since gone out the window. Dressing in a simple pair of Muggle jeans, a soft but modest jumper, and her favorite ballet flats, Hermione threw her still somewhat sleek hair into a manageable braid.
She rummaged around in her desk for what she needed, finding it tucked neatly in a drawer. It was one of Draco's letters, and she noted the address in the corner of the front. Grabbing her floral engraved wand, Hermione stepped in front of her Floo, throwing the powder in. She knew that it was probably an invasion of privacy, but she needed to talk to the youngest Malfoy. They needed a plan. It wasn't like they weren't engaged, after all. Looking down at the silver ring that adorned her right hand, Hermione shakily pronounced Draco's address.
With a whoosh of the Floo, she was swept from her own familiar flat.
Stepping out from the hearth, Hermione was instantaneously engulfed in the scent that encapsulated Draco Malfoy. Refined, but not overwhelming. It was familiar in a way that Hermione could not recall, but she could care less about that fact in the current moment. She needed to speak to her fiance.
Coming around the corner from what she assumed to be the kitchen, Hermione spotted a jolt of platinum blond hair.
"Draco, we have a problem." Hermione spoke, and the youngest Malfoy nearly dropped the steaming cup of hot coffee he was carrying.
"Bloody hell, Granger! What are you doing here?" Draco reclaimed, wondering why the Gryffindor was standing in his living room instead of at the Ministry. It was a Monday morning, after all.
"You haven't seen The Daily Prophet?" Hermione questioned him, seeming a bit baffled at his complete lack of awareness.
"No. I don't read it until around lunch. What's that got to do with anything?" Draco asked, a bit irritated, seeing as it was still quite early.
Hermione rifled around in her pockets until she removed the folded piece of parchment. Removing it and unfolding the piece of newsprint, she handed it to Draco with a pinched look. Taking one look at the cream colored paper, he neatly spit out the sip of coffee he had just ingested.
—00000—
Draco Malfoy had risen that morning with a somewhat pleasant feeling. His life was actually going pretty well, considering the circumstances that had been previously looming over him.
The portrait session and interview the day before had gone smoothly. Hermione had answered all the questions that she was asked flawlessly, no coaching needed. Draco truly admired how well the witch had adapted to the situation. And though he would never admit it to anyone as long as he lived, the sight of his ring on Granger's finger made him rather proud.
The article and announcement would be published after personal invitations to the engagement ball were sent out, so that the public would have time to adjust to such an unexpected surge of news. Narcissa had everything planned to a T. The ball would take place around late October to early November, and a wedding would follow around January or February. The plan was efficient and simple, and already set in motion.
Draco had risen with the intention of starting early on a batch of potions that he had received an order for the night previous. Stepping out of bed wearing only a pair of low sitting black silk pajama pants and bare chested, he headed for the kitchen for coffee just like any other morning. Except today was apparently not like any other day.
So here he stood, gaping at an expose of his engagement to Granger, written by the one and only Rita Skeeter. Granger looked like she had swallowed a gallon of Polyjuice, her delicate face scrunched up in displeasure.
"Oh bloody hell." Was all that Draco could mutter as he took in the article. This was a disaster, and both the young witch and wizard knew it.
"Exactly my thoughts." Hermione quipped in a monotone voice.
"Give me two minutes to grab a shirt. And my wand." Draco hummed, placing his now abandoned coffee on the table next to his favorite leather wingback chair. Hermione nodded, and Draco darted to his bedroom to change.
Sliding a grayish cotton shirt over his head, Draco made his way back to the living room. He found Hermione browsing his extensive collection of books with a curious eye, and he had to keep himself from smiling at her actions.
"Alright, let's figure this out." Draco motioned for Hermione to take a seat on the velvet upholstered sofa across from himself, as he took a seat in his armchair. Once Hermione was seated, Draco quickly reassured his fiance.
"I know you're probably freaking out right now, but I can assure you, everything is being handled."
"Handled? This is a shitshow! Everything is going to be a disaster. There was a timeline. One that was supposed to be followed to avoid this chaos." Hermione argued, and Draco once again tried to reason with her.
"I know there was a schedule. And there still will be one. It just might be sped up a little. I can guarantee you that my mother is handling this. She knows how to make things like this actually work." Draco knew good and well Narcissa Malfoy was already on the warpath, fixing and salvaging whatever she could.
"What do you mean, sped up?"
"It means that maybe the engagement party will be sooner than we originally anticipated. As well as the wedding. But we will have to find a way to recover from this, and that is most likely the best option." Draco knew that Hermione was most likely overloading with emotion, and wanted to settle her nerves before they became overwhelming. Clearing things up was the best solution to avoid any conflict.
"I just cannot believe that that horrible woman could write an article about this. How did she even know!? The photographer and interviewer signed confidentiality papers before leaving." Hermione grumbled, wondering how in the world Rita Skeeter had gained such pertinent information. The woman was a beast.
"I hate to say it, but welcome to the wonderful world of press and the society papers."
"Oh, I know about the press. Trust me." Hermione chuckled dryly. She definitely knew how wretched the media could be. After the war, her life had basically been a movie for people to follow, much to her chagrin.
"My mother is handling this as we speak. Everything is going to feel hectic. But we are going to just be flexible with the changes that might have to be made. Yeah?" Draco asked Hermione, and she nodded her head.
The young witch knew that something like this had always been a possibility. She was marrying Draco Malfoy, and not everyone was going to like it. Not many people at all, if her mail delivery had been any sign. She was just going to have to keep her head held high, and thankfully, Draco would be by her side doing just the same.
"So, this is your flat?" Hermione changed the subject, wanting to find something that wasn't giving her anxiety.
"This is it. Was it what you expected?" Draco asked, and Hermione nodded, smiling.
"Let's see. Dark wood, books, expensive furnishings and an extensively stocked liquor cabinet. Yes, it's exactly what I imagined. Not that I had imagined it." Hermione tried to save herself after such an awkward statement, but Draco simply chuckled.
"I didn't think you had."
"How big is this place anyway? Two bedrooms with a study, I'm assuming." Hermione predicated.
"Three, one of which I converted to a personal potions lab." Draco responded, and Hermione's eyes went wide with shock.
"You built a personal potions lab in your flat?" Hermione asked in disbelief.
"Yes. Brewing potions is my job, remember?" Draco teased, and Hermione blushed at her blunder.
"Oh yeah. So I'm assuming that this is where you'll want to live after we're married?" Hermione wondered aloud, catching Draco off guard. He hadn't even thought of such details yet.
"I guess so? If you're comfortable with that, of course." Draco tried to keep his heart from beating with nervousness.
"I know that's tradition. I'll miss my flat, of course. But this place is nice, and you even have room for my books. Is there any way to expand this place? Magically, I mean?" Hermione questioned, and Draco nodded. That was one of the reasons the Malfoy heir had decided on this flat. The adaptability was remarkable.
"We can remodel any way you deem necessary. We'll probably need an entirely new bedroom for your books."
"I don't have that many!" Hermione quipped, defending herself.
"Uh-huh. Yeah. Sure." Draco responded, and Hermione stuck her tongue out at him.
"So do you have any tea or coffee? I hate to ask, but I didn't get to have my cuppa this morning and I'm dying to have something to drink." Hermione asked, and Draco nodded.
"Do you want breakfast as well? I can make us something." Malfoy offered, and Hermione gave him a puzzled look.
"You cook?" Hermione asked, dumbfounded.
"Yes, I cook. Pancakes or an omelet?" Draco drawled, and Hermione shook her head in total disbelief.
"Omlet, I guess."
"Okay then." Draco removed himself from his living room armchair, and turned to the kitchen. Hermione followed him.
"Prepare to be amazed, Granger."