"Miss Granger."

Hermione turned from the snack table to see Mr. Diggory. It was half nine when he approached her, and she mused to herself that he'd certainly taken his time about it. He'd waited until many of the guests had already cleared out – more important associations than his son's sweetheart, undoubtedly.

"Mr. Diggory," Hermione said, offering a curtsy. "A pleasure to meet you formally."

Mr. Diggory was a tall man with a round, ruddy face and a bit of a scrubby beard. His hair was on the longer side for a wizard, groomed back from his face carefully, and his eyes were piercing behind thin, wire-framed glasses.

"Are you enjoying the party?" he asked. His voice sounded almost like a challenge, like he expected her to mess up having a basic small talk conversation.

"I'm having a lovely time," Hermione said, smiling. "Your wife's done a beautiful job decorating, and everything is very festive. Thank you so much for inviting me."

"You can thank Cedric for that," Mr. Diggory said flatly. "He was the one who insisted."

"Nevertheless," Hermione countered, "I'm sure as the hosts, you could have refused his request. It was kind of you to accommodate me."

"Hnn."

Mr. Diggory looked out over the party-goers, and Hermione did as well, nursing a glass of punch silently.

"Nice hostess gift you brought my wife," he said abruptly.

Hermione blinked. "What, the wreath?"

"Yes, the wreath," Mr. Diggory spat. His eyes glittered. "Very thoughtful of you."

Hermione stared up at Mr. Diggory, somewhat confused and astonished. It was clear he was angry over something, but Hermione hadn't the slightest idea as to why or how or about what.

"I'm glad you like it," Hermione said finally, slowly. "My mother and I had to run out to find one, but luckily there were still a few corner shops open for people who hadn't decorated for Christmas in time."

Mr. Diggory blinked. "Christmas?"

"Muggles generally celebrate Christmas, yes," Hermione said, confused. "There were still a few fresh wreaths, and I thought one of those would be nicer than the artificial plastic ones."

"Muggles?" Mr. Diggory looked even more thrown. He eyed Hermione suspiciously, and Hermione sighed.

"I suspect we're having some kind of miscommunication," she said diplomatically. She figured the miscommunication was because Mr. Diggory was trying to be subtle and utterly failing at Slytherin-speak, but she wasn't about to bring that up now. "Shall we move out of the way so we don't block the others and try again?"

Mr. Diggory and Hermione moved away from the snack table to a corner of the room where they wouldn't be overheard easily and couldn't be approached from behind. Mr. Diggory was looking at her with suspicion, and Hermione raised her eyebrows and smiled blandly.

"Now," she said. "Why don't you tell me exactly what you're accusing me of, and we'll discuss it calmly and rationally like adults?"

The implication being that Mr. Diggory was not acting like an adult, Hermione thought, looking at him pointedly. That seemed to go over his head, however; Mr. Diggory just looked like he wanted to scoff and make some remark about her age, but he held his tongue.

"You gave my wife," he hissed, "a Yule wreath as a hostess gift. What am I supposed to think?"

Hermione blinked.

"You're calling it a Yule wreath," she said slowly. She glanced around the room, which was decorated in tinsel and boughs of holly, with a bright Christmas tree lighting up one area of the room. She looked back at him. "I take it wizards do not use wreaths at Christmas?"

"They do not," Mr. Diggory stressed, his eyes sharp. "Wreaths like that – plain ones with pinecones and berries like that – those are gifts given for Yule."

Hermione sighed.

"Mr. Diggory," she said, her voice long-suffering. "In the muggle world, pretty much any symbol of winter or a winter festival has been co-opted, commercialized, and associated with Christmas. I bought the wreath because it was one of the few left that wasn't hideous; I didn't realize it was considered an exclusively Yule gift in the magical world."

Mr. Diggory looked annoyed.

"Strictly speaking, wreaths aren't only for Yule," he said, reluctantly. "But that kind is."

Of course the wizarding world would make a distinction between types of bloody wreaths.

"Shall I go spruce it up with some snowflakes and tiny present boxes, then?" Hermione asked, folding her arms. "Would that you make you feel like it's sufficiently distanced from the Yule festival to be appropriate for your clearly Christian household?"

Mr. Diggory looked confused, and Hermione rolled her eyes. It was a good thing she wasn't actually seeking this man's approval.

"Whatever you want to say, spit it out," she suggested. "Hufflepuffs are rarely any good at subtle insinuations and subtext in their speech."

Mr. Diggory looked mad at that, his eyes flashing, but he obeyed.

"I do not," he hissed, "want my Cedric courting a Dark witch."

Hermione blinked.

Of all the things she had been expecting, it wasn't this.

"Well, then," she said sweetly, batting her eyelashes up at Mr. Diggory, "what a good thing he isn't, then."

Mr. Diggory scoffed.

"You're a Slytherin," he dismissed. "And you're the one who stole the British Youth Representative position from my son."

"I'm the one who caught the Heir of Slytherin and saved the school from a basilisk," Hermione countered. She raised an eyebrow. "And Cedric was the one to nominate me. I 'stole' nothing."

"Cedric is a teenage boy," Mr. Diggory said, as if that explained everything. "He's practically expected to make bad decisions because of a pretty girl."

Hermione folded her arms. "So now his bad decisions are my fault?"

"I don't know how you're bewitching him, but I will get to the bottom of it," Mr. Diggory vowed. "If he does poorly on his O.W.L.s because you're distracting him, or if he can't get into the Ministry—"

"Mr. Diggory," Hermione said flatly. "I have no interest in sabotaging your son's academic or professional career. If your only evidence for suspecting me as such is because I took the British Youth Representative position when your son did not, consider that I am a Slytherin, Mr. Diggory, with my own ambitions. I was not keeping Cedric from his goals; he was standing in the way of mine."

Mr. Diggory looked thrown by that, then suspicious. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Cedric and Mrs. Diggory were approaching them, Mrs. Diggory with a wide smile, Cedric with a worried one.

"Darling!" Mrs. Diggory said, taking her husband's arm. "Cedric and I were just saying how lovely it was that Hermione could make the party."

Mr. Diggory looked down at Hermione, his eyes inscrutable.

"Yes," he said tightly. "How lovely."

"Cedric has mentioned you in his letters for months, now," Mrs. Diggory told Hermione conspiratorially. "You certainly managed to catch his fancy!"

"Mum," Cedric protested, turning a bit red. "You don't need to go into that—"

"Nonsense." His mother waved his concerns away, smiling at Hermione. "Surely you're aware that he's fancied you for a while now?"

"I am," Hermione said, amused, her eyes flickering to Cedric. "He told me so himself."

"Then what's the issue?" Mrs. Diggory wanted to know. "If she already knows…"

"It's just kind of embarrassing," Cedric said, strained. "I put a lot in those letters, thinking they were private…"

Mrs. Diggory rolled her eyes, before turning back to Hermione brightly.

"So! You're Miss Hermione Granger, then," she said with a smile. "Third year Slytherin, correct?"

"That's correct," Hermione confirmed with a faint smile.

"How's that going for you?" Mrs. Diggory asked with concern. "Slytherin was never nice to people with muggle parents when I was in school. Cedric mentioned you had some way of getting the purebloods to leave you alone, but I imagine you might still get bullied something awful."

Hermione blinked.

"I… I've managed to find my place," she said slowly, her mind still absorbing Mrs. Diggory's words. "I've managed to make good friends, and I've come in first in all my classes."

"That's excellent," Mrs. Diggory said, smiling. "I'm glad to hear it."

Mr. Diggory muttered something, and Cedric elbowed him sharply and gave him a glare, though Hermione couldn't make out what he'd said.

"Cedric tells me you've adopted many pureblood customs to help fit in with your Slytherin classmates," Mrs. Diggory continued. "He sent a photo of you in the paper, when you came of an age."

Hermione fought against the instinctual embarrassment of someone bringing up that she'd gotten her period, holding eye contact steadily instead.

"It's lovely to see you adopt our courting ways," Mrs. Diggory was going on. "I don't begrudge muggles their own traditions, really, but there's something charming to be said for old courtly romance and chivalry, isn't there?"

"It's certainly very different," Hermione offered. She glanced at Mr. Diggory and back. "Were you formally courted, then?"

"I was!" Mrs. Diggory laughed. "I had no idea what my Amos was doing at first, realize – I thought he'd just gifted me with a lovely necklace. My mother was a Muggleborn, and my father a halfblood – no one had taught me pureblood courting traditions."

It took Hermione a moment to mentally sketch out Cedric's lineage on his mother's side. Though not 'untainted', as her classmates would say, technically, anyone who could boast four magical grandparents could be said to be pureblood. (Blood-purists demanded none of the grandparents be a muggle or a Muggleborn, but rational, civilized people, people who didn't believe Muggleborns were just muggles who stole someone's magic, had no such requirement.)

"Of course, once I realized, I was flattered." Mrs. Diggory's laughter was charming, rueful. "It was very different than what I expected – dowry discussions and the like, my goodness! – but ultimately I was very happy to be betrothed to him in the end."

She smiled up at her husband, who was giving her a fond look.

"Dowry discussions?" Hermione repeated. "Surely that's just an empty formality at this point?"

"Well, it was for me," Mrs. Diggory admitted. "It was more the rest of the marriage contract Amos' father wanted to be sure of – that I would provide a Diggory heir, how many children I would be willing to try for, that sort of thing."

She smiled at Hermione with an easy shrug, but Hermione held very still.

"And this was all discussed while you were still courting?" she asked, her voice very neutral.

"Well, when else would it have been discussed?" Mrs. Diggory laughed. "After his parents vetted me, they eventually moved on to negotiations with my parents. Though I wasn't troubled by all of that, luckily." She looked up at Mr. Diggory again, a fond look in her eye. "My Amos kept me distracted as he wooed me."

Hermione found her temper rising, and the room slowly began to feel warmer.

"It's a bit early for all that, Mum," Cedric said, his voice strained. "Hermione's only just accepted my suit, and—"

"Oh, tosh," his mother dismissed. "I'm not saying now. But you know, eventually. You've already fancied her for a year at this point, and now that she's accepted your suit, that time will come soon enough—"

"She's got muggle parents and she's in her third year." Cedric's voice was tight. "Her parents aren't going to want to think about that sort of thing for her for a while."

His mother shrugged. "They'll have to get used to it, then. It's her culture, dear."

Hermione fought back a flinch. She shot a sharp look at Cedric, who winced.

"Would you like to step outside a moment, Hermione?" Cedric asked her. "You look a bit flushed."

"That'd be lovely, thank you," Hermione said, taking his arm primly.

Cedric escorted her away from his parents and out a back door, taking her into a small garden. The sky was black and starred, and the wind was cold.

"Sorry about them," Cedric said, apologetic. "My Dad—he can get kind of intense, sometimes, and my Mum's just excited—"

"Your father accused me of being a Dark witch," Hermione said flatly. "As well as heavily implied that he thought I was bewitching you somehow to earn your affections."

Cedric winced.

"He's just protective," he defended. "He's… he's aware that I've had a few witches chase after me over the years, and he just wants to make sure I don't end up in a relationship I didn't freely choose."

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"So insinuating your date is dosing you with love potions is the polite way to handle such paranoia?" she asked pointedly, folding her arms.

Cedric huffed a sigh.

"Look, Hermione," he tried. "I know my father comes off stern. But you'll win him over, over time—"

"And your mother," Hermione said, cutting him off. "Going on about betrothal contracts and dowries. Does she really think I'd stand for such a thing?"

Cedric blinked. "Stand for what?"

"For someone else bargaining me away like chattel," Hermione retorted. "Because if she does, she's wrong. My father agrees with me entirely, by the way – he's to have nothing to do with any courtship suits or betrothal contracts that are offered for me."

Cedric looked very confused.

"But Hermione," he said. "You accepted my suit. Surely you know that at some point, the next step is a betrothal contract—"

"That I will make," Hermione said, holding her chin up. "No one else."

Cedric stared at her for a long moment, then he laughed, incredulously.

"You're kidding, aren't you?" he asked, astonished. "Hermione, no one makes their own betrothal contracts. It's left to the head of House—"

"Which is me," Hermione said pointedly. "I'm New Blood, with muggle parents. The House of Granger doesn't exist without me. It is currently a house with a member of one."

"The House of Granger?" Cedric repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Really?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Did I stutter?"

"No, but, just—" He broke off, shaking his head. "You're a girl, Hermione. Your 'House of Granger' will only last until you get married."

"And why is that?" Hermione asked, her voice dangerous.

Cedric didn't seem to pick up on it. "Well, you'd take your husband's last name—"

"I would not. It's tradition that the name with the higher standing is the one that stands," Hermione snapped, her eyes narrowed to slits. "Phaedra Lestrange's husband took her name, as she's one of the Sacred 28."

"And you're saying Granger would rank higher than Diggory?" Cedric asked incredulously. "Merlin, Hermione, I know you're ambitious, but be sensible about this!"

"Be 'sensible'? How am I being unsensible?" Hermione challenged.

Cedric shook his head. "It's just – well, Diggory goes back generations. We might not have a grand manor like your friends' families have, but it's a well-respected name. Granger – that's a name from nowhere, Hermione. No one would recognize it."

"That's why I'll make them recognize it," Hermione said tightly.

Cedric shook his head again, wordless, and she glared at Cedric.

How dare he make such presumptions about her, she thought, furious. How dare he. They'd been over her feelings on courting and dating and patriarchal houses before – did he really think she'd stand for being bargained away like that? That she'd give up her ambitions to establish her own Great House just to get married?

"Where are you getting this from?" Hermione demanded. "You know me, Cedric. You know I'm ambitious to a fault. Where on earth did you get the idea I'd settle down and take my husband's name when I'm trying to establish my own?"

Cedric bit his lip. He looked like he was trying to hide a wince, but he couldn't quite suppress it.

"Well," he said slowly. "You're in Slytherin, you follow pureblood traditions, and you accepted my suit. It seemed… it seemed like you'd do things the traditional way."

"Because anything else about me is traditional?" she challenged, temper flaring, and Cedric held up his hands.

"I know, I know, okay," he said hastily. "But Hermione – I know you want to be the best, and I have no doubt you'll get there – you're brilliant, and you'll be a shoo-in for Head Girl by your seventh year, I'm sure. And you've already got an Order of Merlin under your belt! Any place you apply to is going to be excited to hire you. But there's more to life than school and a job – there's family and happiness and love, too—"

Hermione was astonished.

"Is that what you think I've been doing?" she demanded. "Trying to get Head Girl?"

Cedric blinked. "Aren't you?"

Hermione wanted to scream.

"It's not," she said succinctly. "And I think I need to go."

"Hermione," pleaded Cedric. "Don't leave like that. I don't want to fight."

"My parents are expecting me home shortly," Hermione said, tossing her hair. "It's nothing to do with our discussion, I assure you."

Cedric looked highly doubtful (which made sense, as it was a bald lie), but he escorted her to the fireplace nonetheless, a wary expression on his face.

"I had a lovely time," Hermione told Cedric's parents, nodding to them as she tossed powder into the flames. "Thank you again for inviting me."

"It was great to meet you!" his mother said, waving cheerfully.

"Hermione's House!"

With a whirl of flames, Hermione was happy to be gone.