Draco had always admired Hermione Granger's incredible determination and attention to detail, even when he would not admit it. She was bright. Worldly. Educated on some of the most obscure topics. A true wonder.
But at the moment, she looked like an electrocuted house-elf, high on spiked Gillywater.
When Draco had arrived at Hermione's flat around one o'clock, he had found quite a sight to be seen. The young witch's usually somewhat disorderly flat looked like someone had cast a least fifteen Scourgify spells on it. The usual clutter that crowded the space was gone. Books on shelves had been straightened until each spine lined up, methodically organized in alphabetical order or by color.
The jackets that usually hung from the coat rack were placed away in the hallway closet. Mugs were removed from the sink, cleaned and placed back on the rack. While Granger was not an overly messy individual, her flat now looked like it belonged in a museum, instead of to a young woman.
Even Crookshanks looked like he had been thoroughly groomed. Draco was amazed that the ginger demon had even let Hermione do such a thing.
Granger on the other hand looked quite a bit, well, disheveled. And that was putting it nicely.
Her normally tidy and clean appearance was completely gone, replaced with unruly curls falling from an askew bandana, rumpled blouse, and paint splattered denims. But what truly surprised Draco was the frilly, polk-adot apron that Granger was sporting around her waist, lace trim and all.
Draco had to keep himself from picturing Granger in a not so covering maid's ensemble, because that apron was definitely doing something to his crotch. Now was certainly not the time for such thoughts. They had bigger potions to brew.
"Granger, may I ask what in Merlin's name that you are doing?" Draco placed down his bag on what seemed to be a newly fluffed couch. Hermione grunted, pulling some unknown contraption behind her, huffing with annoyance when the mysterious object's wheels would not move.
"I am trying to tidy up the carpets, but my hoover isn't cooperating." The witch tried once again tugging on the handle of the object, with even more persistence coming from its wheels.
"Besides the fact that I have no idea what a bloody 'hoover' is, your flat looks like Headmistress McGongall would eat off the carpet. You don't need to clean anymore." Draco gave his fiance an exasperated look. Hermione was stubborn, and the Malfoy heir knew she would need some serious coaxing to put down the monstrosity of machinery she was wrestling with.
"My father, blessed be his soul, believes that the interior of every house should look like the inside of the British bloody Museum. So I need to have this place looking more than presentable, it needs to be spotless." Hermione argued, and Draco knew then he needed to get his finance to at least sit down.
"Granger, for the love of Salazar, your flat looks fine. You on the other hand, look like you've been run over by a thestral. Quit with the cleaning, and sit down for a minute." Draco instructed the frazzled witch, who gave him an annoyed glance before finally letting go of her 'hoover'. She slumped into the floral printed armchair, sighing as the tenseness in her muscles finally released. After a few moments to catch her breath, she returned her attention to the blond heir.
"What are you doing here this early, anyway?" Hermione asked Draco, who was situating a few bags he had brought with him on the counter of her kitchen. Draco turned to her, his eyebrow quirked up in amusement.
"Hermione, it's nearly three in the afternoon. I thought I would begin prep so that the chicken and pancetta could cook properly. The bread also needs time to rise as well." Draco reminded her, and Hermione remembered how many steps were involved when it came to actually cooking without magic.
"Oh my Godric. I've been cleaning for five hours and I didn't even notice. And I look horrendous!" The young witch realized what an absolute state she was in. Draco chuckled as he unloaded the ingredients for dinner from the bags he had carried in.
"You look like you've been hard at work. The place looks impeccable. But now we need to worry about dinner preparations. By any chance, would you like to help me in here?" Draco questioned Hermione, motioning to the excessive quantity of ingredients in front of him.
Getting up from the chair, Hermione approached the kitchen with a look of both awe and dismay at the sudden mess that filled her previously spotless countertops. Various bottles and packages were organized in sections, Draco waiting patiently with his hands behind his back.
"A galleon for your thoughts, Ms. Granger?" Draco asked, seeing a look of overwhelming panic blooming on Hermione's face.
"How many things do you actually plan on preparing?" Hermione questioned, causing Draco to chuckle at her wariness. He knew that her mind was swarming just from the familiar pinched look in her caramel eyes.
"It's simple, I assure you. Just requires many ingredients. For appetizers, I have some smoked brie and gouda, crackers as well as some fruit. We're having coq au vin, as planned, with a side of garlic green beans and au gratin. Dessert is a chocolate mousse that my mother sent from the Malfoy kitchens. She sends her regards as well." Draco explained his plan for the meal, and Hermione seemed to relax at his thorough details.
"What about the wine?" Hermione asked.
"A red and white, vintage, non-eleven. Straight from the Malfoy family wine cellar. One is a 1934 and another a 1948. Courtesy of my mother's exquisite choices and sommelier training."
Narcissa had been thrilled to hear that Draco was being introduced to Hermione's parents, insisting that she send the best wine and dessert as her contribution. Draco did not wish to stomp on his mother's joy, and had allowed her to have her fun. Wallace the house elf had arrived at Draco's flat this morning with both the beverages and cake in hand, bowing respectively before returning to his duties at the manor.
"So we have a beautifully planned, three course menu, vintage wine, and a spotless apartment. I'm starting to think we could actually make this work." Hermione spoke, slowly calming herself down.
"I've got the meal planned, just as long as you'll help me. Everything is set. Stop stressing out, and let's get started." Draco agreed, and Hermione nodded.
"Let's get started. Yeah." Hermione repeated, and went to stand next to Draco. She could smell the crispness of his cologne as he handed her a chopping board and a knife. How he knew where to find them in her kitchen, she didn't know. Maybe he'd summoned them while she'd been throwing herself a pity party in the living room.
"What do you want me to do?" Hermione asked, watching as Draco placed a pile of fresh carrots on the chopping board.
"Slice these diagonally, and then I'll have you mince the garlic. Alright?" Draco instructed. Hermione nodded, and the couple set to work.
—00000—
Hermione's flat had never smelled of such delicious scents before. The entire space was filled with the delectable aroma of garlic and herbs, underlying with the sweetness of the wine that Draco had just placed in a decanter to air.
"What time is it?" Hermione questioned, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She had just pulled the potatoes from the oven, transferring them from a pan into a proper ceramic serving dish. Draco looked at the clock on the stove.
"It's six-fifteen. Do you need to go get dressed?" Draco asked, noting that Hermione was still donning her paint smeared denim and worn t-shirt. Hermione nodded, placing the kitchen towel on the counter.
"I'll finish up here, and change after you." Draco responded, pulling a few of Hermione's vintage crystal wine glasses from the china case she displayed them in. They had belonged to her Nan, and Hermione knew that her mother would appreciate them using them tonight.
"Why do you need to change? You already look impeccable." Hermione commented, acknowledging Draco's typical runway model wardrobe. The black trousers he wore fit his lean frame like a glove, and the forest green sweater he had paired it with clung to his broad shoulders. There wasn't even a speck of dirt or food on him, even though he had been cooking for almost three hours.
"This is my leisurewear, Hermione. My dress shirt is in the garment bag hanging on the coat rack." Draco chuckled, and motioned towards the leather garment bag that hung from the wrought iron coat rack in the foyer.
"Hmph." Hermione sighed. Of course he would consider such a well established outfit as 'leisurewear'. Such a Malfoy thing to say.
"I'm heading to my bedroom. I'll be out in a few moments." Turning on her heel, Hermione made her way into her private sanctuary. Stripping out of her denims and blouse, she tied her favorite robe around her waist and made her way into her bedroom's ensuite.
Removing the halfway falling out bandana that was holding up her mop of curls, Hermione recited the spells that Narcissa had written down for her in an attempt to tame her mane. Once her locks were tucked and pinned in an arrangement that got them out of her face and was presentable, she applied a quick face of makeup. Tinted brows and eyelashes, a brush of blush, and some lip gloss was her usual. This time she added a slight smokiness to her eyes, and a small pop of color to her lips.
With a nod of approval at her appearance, Hermione left her bathroom and went to her armoire, where her dress was hanging up. Removing the silken fabric from its hanger, she slid it over her head carefully, not wanting to muss her hair. When the fabric fell effortlessly around her, Hermione adjusted the skirt so that it hung properly, before sliding on a pair of comfortable black ballet flats.
Her jewelry was simple, as less was more when it came to Evelyn Granger's opinion. She and Narcissa were complete opposites when it came to that idea. A pair of pearl studs and her engagement ring was all she wore.
Exiting her bedroom, Hermione found Draco placing out the last dinner plate on the table. The entire dining space looked like it was out of some intimate French bistro, impressive table linens and all.
"The bedroom is free, when you're ready." Hermione quietly said, gaining Draco's attention. His steely eyes instantly raked over her dressed form, his appreciation quite evident on his face.
"You look stunning." Draco replied, and Hermione tried not to blush.
"Thank you. Now, go get dressed. My parents will be here at any moment." Hermione shooed Draco out of the dining nook, motioning for him to head to the bedroom to get dressed.
Draco quickly grabbed the leather garment bag that he had brought with him and headed to where Hermione had directed him. He entered the lavender colored room, and his senses were instantly filled with Hermione's familiar honey scent. He observed his surroundings, taking in all the personal touches that decorated the space.
Pictures of Hermione and her fellow Gryffindors were pinned to the walls, while some sat in frames. He felt a ping of nostalgia as he looked at a picture of Hermione, in what seemed to be her third year at Hogwarts, holding a quill and smiling at the camera. He could see himself in the background, looking awfully smug for a thirteen year old. There were momentos from her childhood, such as a crocheted blanket that hung messily over the foot of her bed.
Clothes were piled in the wardrobe, and some shoes were scattered about. The bed was made, pillows lumpy but even. While Hermione wasn't as much of a neat freak as himself, Draco could sense that sharing living arrangements after they were wed would not be too difficult, when it came to cohabiting.
Pulling his sweater over his head, Draco removed his button down from the garment bag, slipping the familiar poplin sleeves over his arms. He buttoned the shirt quickly, tucking its tail into the waistband of his trousers. Draco rehung his sweater on the shirt's hanger, placing it in the garment bag and turning to face the mirror.
With a few quick flicks of his wand, Draco had made some adjustments to refine his outfit, as well as restyle his hair. The platinum locks, which had a more honey color than his fathers, was swept away from his face and pulled back. Taking one last note of his appearance, Draco slipped his wand back into his trouser pocket and hung his garment bag on the back of Hermione's wardrobe door.
Entering back into the living room, he found Hermione anxiously staring at the clock on her mantle. The small mechanical piece read ten till seven, which was when Hermione's parents were estimated to arrive. Draco could see the stress and anxiety on Hermione's face, and watched as the young witch's feet tapped rhymically on the rug.
"You've got to calm down, Hermione. It's just your mum and dad. I'm sure everything will be alright. Remember, I'm right here." Draco reassured his fiance. Hermione gave him a nervous smile, smoothed down the curls that were pinned to the nape of her neck.
There was a sudden knock at the flat's door, signaling that Hermione's parents had arrived earlier than expected. Hermione gave Draco a panicked look, but he let an encouraging smile grace his face, before motioning for her to open the door.
"Ready?" Hermione asked quietly as she approached the front door.
"Ready." Draco replied, nodding his head in confirmation. In reality, he was terrified. But Granger's parents, even if they were Muggles who potentially hated his guts already, were going to be family.
Time to face time music. Or in his case, the parents.