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Chapter Text

It had been a tiring day. But then again, these days, he hardly had any other kind. Right after finishing his twelve-hour shift at the Auror Department, he had to head to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Tonight, he planned to discuss with Harry and Remus their next theories about what could be the final Horcrux—where Voldemort had hidden the last fragment of his fractured soul. They needed to figure it out if they were ever to defeat the Dark Lord once and for all.

Wearily, he rubbed the back of his neck and finished his cold coffee. True, there were rumors that the Wizengamot intended to convene all weekend. Fortunately, it was the Ministry’s internal security that was responsible for managing such affairs. Another half an hour, and he could finally leave.

A sharp knock on his office door suddenly spiked his irritation. Was some urgent matter, which absolutely required his consultation, about to ruin his evening plans? Damn it.

“Come in!” he called, his tone official, strong, and cold.

“Good evening…”

He looked up, the curse he was about to mutter caught in his throat. He hadn’t expected this—at all. Trouble, it seemed, had arrived unannounced.

“For Merlin’s sake, what happened that brought you here willingly ?” he asked, forgoing the nicety of a proper greeting.

The man standing before him wore a wry, cynical smile, one that had become his trademark. No one else could quite manage that smirk.

“May I take a moment of your time? This is important,” the visitor said, stepping into the office with an air of pride and shutting the door behind him, neither waiting for an invitation nor a formal reply.

“Oh, is this like one of those new jokes? ‘A reformed Death Eater walks into the Head Auror’s office…’?”

“I’d laugh, Shacklebolt, but today hasn’t exactly given me much to smile about.”

“Not that you’re known for your sense of humour, Malfoy,” Kingsley replied, leaning back comfortably in his chair and eyeing the pale man carefully.

Despite the lack of a definitive conclusion to the Battle of Hogwarts, Malfoy didn’t look as terrible as he had back in May. It seemed that, in some way, his master’s protection had allowed him to regain a semblance of health. Interesting…

“I need… a favour,” Malfoy began slowly.

“Favour? What, did a white peacock escape from your gardens, and now you need me to retrieve it?” Kingsley sneered.

Lucius responded with his trademark cynical smile, a familiar expression that Kingsley found both irritating and calculated.

“No. Let’s start with this—do you know what the Wizengamot is planning to vote on this weekend?”

“I’ve heard rumours,” Kingsley replied, his tone sharp with contempt. “In my opinion, it’s a band-aid solution, not a real answer to the problem. That said, it doesn’t concern me. I turned forty in April. I don’t have sisters, and there are no unattached witches left in my family…”

“In your blood family, no. But I’m certain you have… emotional ties,” Lucius interjected, locking eyes with him before slowly settling into the chair opposite Kingsley’s desk.

Kingsley’s fingers twitched, and a shiver of unease ran down his spine.

“If you came here to threaten me…” he warned, his hand instinctively moving toward the wand strapped to his forearm.

“I’ve already told you, Shacklebolt,” Lucius said smoothly, “I’m here to ask for a favour.”

“What favour?” Kingsley growled through clenched teeth.

“It’s about the new law.”

“Oh, I guessed it wasn’t about the aurora borealis affecting the fertility of Mooncalfs. Get to the point, Malfoy!” Kingsley snapped, his patience wearing thin.

Lucius grimaced and, to Kingsley’s surprise, pulled an elegant silver hip flask from the inner pocket of his coat.

“Care for a drink? The finest Firewhisky from my father’s old collection,” Lucius offered.

“Spiked with what?” Kingsley asked, eyeing him skeptically.

“Nothing, though, considering what awaits me, I’ve thought about adding a Draught of Living Death” Lucius quipped, twisting his lips into a bitter smile before uncorking the flask and taking a long, deliberate sip.

Kingsley allowed himself a faint smirk before reaching into his desk for a clean glass and his own bottle of whisky. There was no way he’d drink anything offered by a Death Eater.

“What do you want, Malfoy? Spit it out,” Kingsley demanded, the weight of the day returning as weariness settled in again.

“You’re lucky you don’t have a wife,” Lucius sighed heavily.

“Debatable. From what I know, your beautiful wife is alive and well, so what’s the issue?”

“My beautiful wife is a formidable force when she sets her mind to something,” Lucius admitted, his lips curling into a faint smile.

“And I assume her determination has something to do with your visit?”

“The new law doesn’t affect us directly, but as you can imagine, it will affect my son.”

“Ah, yes, your only heir. Not that I listen to gossip, but the young witches I know seem to speak highly of him. I doubt you’ll have any trouble arranging things, especially if you sweeten the deal with a vault records. The Sacred Twenty-Eight must already be rubbing their hands with glee,” Kingsley said with a sneer.

“The war isn’t over yet, Shacklebolt,” Lucius replied sharply, meeting his gaze with unexpected intensity.

“I’m perfectly aware of that. Just as I’m aware that Severus Snape brewed an antidote to Veritaserum ages ago,” Kingsley shot back.

Lucius took another sip from his flask, his fingers briefly rubbing his temple. His usual poise seemed to falter under the weight of the moment.

“I promised Narcissa that Draco would never suffer because of me again… and that I would never force him into anything.”

“Are you implying he’s in danger from us ? We’ve got far bigger problems right now than your spoiled only child,” Kingsley replied with a sharp look.

Lucius hesitated before responding. “I’ve come with a proposition.”

“So, are you asking for a favour or proposing something? Because I’m beginning to lose track,” Kingsley muttered, irritation creeping into his voice.

“I have a proposition, but I know I need your help—and your favour—for it to be received,” Lucius explained calmly.

“Normally, I’d throw you out the door and curse you on the way for wasting my time. But you mentioned a witch connected to me, someone like family. I know a few such witches. If this concerns one of them, I want to hear it.”

“Unfortunately for me, it does,” Lucius admitted, taking another heavy sip from his flask.

“Well then, Malfoy, I’m listening.” Kingsley leaned back in his chair, grabbing his glass and taking a measured sip.

Malfoy’s explanation had to be important—important enough to risk this meeting. Kingsley was acutely aware that such a visit could draw the interest of others within Malfoy’s circle, or perhaps even the Dark Lord himself.

And that could only mean one thing—something big was about to happen.

Chapter Text

1 September 1998

The rain lashed against the window in a strangely consistent rhythm, in time with the steady clatter of the train wheels. Autumn was creeping in—the season of fog and chill. Everything seemed greyer, gloomier, as though the world itself was suspended in a state of stagnation. A lingering sense of uncertainty hung heavy in the air. The sparks of hope that had once flickered were now more and more rare, and the belief that all of this would end soon had died just three months ago.

Fear. Fear of the future, of tomorrow, of the present. Has she seen any other emotions recently? Not for a long time.

Once, these journeys had been filled with laughter, playful banter, and exciting tales—the remnants of summer’s sunshine, stolen from the holidays. Stories of adventures had been exchanged, plans for the year ahead discussed, and bets placed on who would win the House Cup and who would triumph in the Quidditch Cup. Everywhere, the rustle of chocolate frog wrappers could be heard and bursts of laughter at the misfortune of someone tasting a cat food-flavoured Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Bean. 

None of that existed today.

Conversations were reduced to whispers. Suspicious glances. Uncertainty. No one was entirely sure where anyone’s loyalties lay, or who could be trusted. The atmosphere was taut, stretched to its breaking point.

She sighed, rubbing her temple. In ten minutes, the prefects’ meeting would begin—a meeting she would rather avoid at all costs. But there was no way out. The Head Girl badge pinned to her robes felt as heavy as a millstone around her neck. However, The Order couldn’t afford to let anyone else take the position. Not while the war still lingered and the balance of power remained so precarious.

The confrontation in May between Harry and Voldemort had not yielded a definitive result. The Dark Lord fled the battlefield, leaving Harry gravely wounded. A new Ministry was swiftly established, loudly proclaiming that Voldemort was dead, that all was well, and that the war was over. No one truly knew whether this was the naïveté of the wizards now in charge or whether Voldemort was still the one pulling all the strings.

The Order of the Phoenix quickly regrouped, deciding to intensify its operations. They suspected that surveillance had reached new levels, and although Gawain Robards, the former head of the Auror Office, was appointed Minister, they could not trust the impartiality of the new regime. The mere fact that all alleged Death Eaters were acquitted spoke volumes. Their actions on Voldemort’s behalf were conveniently excused under the claim that they had been under the Imperius Curse. It was said that all of the Dark Lord’s supporters had testified under Veritaserum. Hermione suspected that someone had provided them with an effective antidote to the truth potion. She personally believed it was Severus Snape—the current headmaster of Hogwarts. Snape, along with Draco Malfoy, had testified in unison that Albus Dumbledore had simply fallen from the Astronomy Tower himself two years prior. Only Harry knew the real truth, but the Order could not risk him testifying. They feared that if he appeared at the Ministry, he would be in grave danger. For the same reason, despite the new Wizengamot’s decree requiring all Hogwarts students who had not achieved their NEWTs to return and complete their education, Harry had not joined them. Hogwarts was no longer a safe place for him.

Propaganda insisted that all problems had been resolved. The war was over, and the new Ministry was working on a series of beneficial laws aimed at renewing and strengthening the wizarding world. However, Hermione harboured no illusions that this would come to fruition. Around them, something larger—and far worse—was brewing, eclipsing even the brutal clash on the Hogwarts grounds in May. That battle had left deep scars on everyone involved. Never had they been closer to death than on that cold, rainy day. They tried to move forward with courage, but the weight of their losses lingered heavily. The deaths of Fred, the Creevey brothers, and Moody still cut deeply, and the nightmares remained relentless. Hermione did everything in her power to support Ron and Ginny. Yet, deep within, she buried her own pain, fear, and a longing for her parents. It has been over a year now… She knew only too well that if she didn’t find them within three years of casting the spell, she would lose them forever. And no one could say when this war might truly end. The thought of what lay ahead filled her with dread.

Involuntarily, her fingers brushed over her left forearm. The word Mudblood , carved into her skin by Bellatrix, was still healing poorly. No spell could erase the scar, and Hermione was beginning to suspect that it would remain with her forever.

“Hermione, it’s time to go,” Ginny’s voice broke through her thoughts, pulling her back to the present.

“Already?” Hermione asked, surprised at how quickly time had passed.

“Already. Are you coming, Luna?” Ginny directed the question to their friend.

“Of course. It’ll be nice to see all the other prefects again,” Luna replied with her serene smile.

Hermione decided not to comment on that. She couldn’t imagine anything remotely pleasant about seeing people like Pansy Parkinson. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself. She didn’t want to go—not even a little. Not after everything. Not when she woke up every night feeling something crawling just beneath her skin. Almost every night, the same dream haunted her: cold, emotionless eyes, their icy blue gaze as lifeless as a corpse, yet piercing straight through her, reaching into the depths of her soul. 

She shuddered and rubbed her forearm again, wishing there were a way to erase it all but she was already dangerously close to becoming dependent on Dreamless Sleep potion. She knew she couldn’t keep this up much longer…

“We’ll pick up Ron on the way. He’s probably forgotten he’s supposed to be there too,” Ginny sighed as they stepped out of the compartment.

Hermione’s lips curled into a small smile. She could bet Ginny was right. Ron was most likely fast asleep, recovering from the late-night chat he’d had with Harry. The two boys had been miserable about parting ways, but they had no choice. The spattergroit ruse wouldn’t work a second time, and if neither of them returned to school, it would cause an uproar—more wild rumours and conspiracy theories that the Order couldn’t afford. It had been decided: she and Ron would return to Hogwarts for their final year. Their mission was to learn as much as possible from the children of alleged Death Eaters. It was a near-impossible task, but they had to try.

“If that reptile says one word to me, I swear I’ll kill him” Ron growled as he stepped out of his compartment, grabbing Hermione’s hand.

“Don’t start, Ron” she begged, already resigned to the fact that her words would be futile. Ron had always been a hothead, and there was no way he’d hold back if Malfoy decided to throw some malicious comment his way.

“Then he’d better not start with me!” Ron snapped, pulling her along towards the prefects’ compartment.

Hermione tried to suppress the irrational fear bubbling up inside her at the thought of entering the compartment and meeting Malfoy’s icy gaze again. She had no idea why he had haunted her dreams so often since the encounter at Malfoy Manor. It made no sense, and with each passing night, it unsettled her more and more. She had searched for answers in several books, but apart from absurd theories about soul bonding, she found nothing that could explain it.

In her dreams, she saw Malfoy standing at a distance, calmly watching his aunt torture her—just as he had done that day. His gaze was empty, yet she found herself noticing, for the first time, the extraordinary colour of his eyes. In her dreams, there was no hatred in his expression, although there must have been at the time—how could there not be?

In these visions, his eyes held a void, as though Malfoy were standing behind an invisible pane of glass, unable to see what was truly happening before him. And then, it was always the same moment that shocked her the most. Somewhere deep in her mind, she would hear his quiet, pain-filled voice:

“Hold on, Hermione...It’ll be over soon... Hold on, my love...”

She would wake trembling and drenched in sweat, the whisper still echoing in her head. It was terrifying and utterly incomprehensible.

A cold shiver ran down her spine at the memory. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. The war must have been playing tricks on her senses. Malfoy had never even said her name without drenching it in contempt. How could she possibly know what his voice might sound like spoken with such tenderness and protectiveness? It was just her imagination—nothing more. And yet, it was a figment of her mind that she was beginning to fear. She had no idea where it had come from…

“Hermione, are you alright? You’re awfully pale,” Ginny asked, her voice tinged with concern.

“And how could she not be,” Ron spat bitterly, “when she’s about to sit in a compartment with four Death Eaters?”

“Stop it! There’s no evidence that any of the older Slytherins have the Dark Mark,” Hermione retorted.

“I’m sure they all do, the filthy scum!” Ron insisted, his voice thick with hatred.

“Okay, Ron, that’s enough. We’re nearly there,” Ginny interjected, sliding open the door to the specially enlarged compartment. Hermione involuntarily tightened her grip on Ron’s hand.

Most of the prefects were already there. Ernie Macmillan, the other Head Boy, greeted Hermione with a broad smile. There were currently six prefects from each house in the compartment, as the Ministry’s decree—due to the cancellation of the final exams—had forced all students to repeat the previous year to obtain their diplomas. As a result, Hogwarts was seeing a record intake of first-years. It looked like the prefects would have far more work than usual.

Hermione smiled at the Ravenclaws seated together and waved at Hannah and Marie, the Hufflepuff prefects. The Slytherins were already in the compartment. She turned her head towards them, her eyes inexplicably drawn to the flash of platinum hair, as though bewitched. Fortunately, Malfoy seemed deeply engrossed in the latest edition of the Daily Prophet and didn’t appear to notice her entering. He sat sprawled lazily across two seats, his feet propped up on the small shelf beneath the window. Pansy Parkinson was stroking his arm, evidently trying to capture his attention, but he seemed utterly oblivious to her presence.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed Ron clenching his jaw in barely restrained fury as he glared at his long-time nemesis. The fact that Malfoy hadn’t greeted him with a usual barrage of insults—mocking his poverty or his family’s blood traitor status—seemed, in some strange way, to offend him even more. As though being ignored was a deeper slight than outright confrontation.

“Is everyone here? Just to be sure, let’s start with the attendance check,” Ernie suggested cheerfully.

“Sit down, Ron,” Hermione urged, standing next to Macmillan in the centre of the compartment.

“I’d rather stand next to you, sweetheart,” Ron replied quickly, still glaring daggers at Malfoy.

The rustling of newspaper caught Hermione’s attention as Draco folded the Prophet neatly and slowly lifted his head. Hermione nearly jumped when those eyes—the colour of silver ice—locked onto hers. Godric! It was worse than any of her dreams. She couldn’t tell if she’d suddenly gone freezing cold or - on contrary - unbearably hot, but either way, the sensation was decidedly uncomfortable. Quickly, she averted her gaze and focused instead on the list in Ernie’s hands.

“What are you staring at, ferret?” Ron spat venomously.

“Ron, stop!” Ginny pleaded, her voice edged with nerves as she waited for Malfoy’s reaction.

“Congratulations, Weasley. I see your whining has finally achieved something,” Malfoy drawled with amusement. Hermione barely suppressed the shiver that ran through her at the sound of his real voice—not the one from her strange dreams. 

“Screw you, Malfoy!” Ron growled, squeezing Hermione’s hand tighter.

“You wish you could screw, don’t you? Is that what this is all about? Frustration?” Malfoy sneered. “Granger must keep you on a tight leash, doesn’t she, Weasel?”

“That’s enough!” Hermione snapped. “It’s none of your business, Malfoy! And you, Ron, stop engaging with him!” She tried to steady the tremor in her voice as she spoke the Slytherin’s last name.

“That leash is really short,” Malfoy murmured, and the Slytherins erupted in laughter.

“Hermione’s right. No more unnecessary bickering,” Ernie interjected firmly. “Let’s get started. I’ll take the attendance, and then we can discuss the important matters.” Hermione felt a surge of gratitude for Ernie’s intervention.

The last thing she wanted was to begin the school year with a fight involving Malfoy. She had no intention of getting close to him as part of their mission to gather information on the dark side. Another war with the Slytherins wouldn’t help anyone.

“Hermione, are you here?” Ernie’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.

A few muffled sniggers broke out, mostly from the Slytherins. Hermione realised she had been so lost in thought that she hadn’t heard her name being called.

“Yes, I’m here, Ernie. Sorry,” she replied quickly, forcing a faint smile. Against her better judgment, her eyes flicked towards Malfoy.

To her surprise, he was staring out of the window, completely uninterested in the proceedings. His posture was relaxed, but his expression seemed... lifeless. A sudden chill spread over her forearm, the scar tingling as though cold water had been poured over it.

“Right, now that everyone is here, let’s start by discussing—” Ernie’s words were abruptly cut off as the train jolted violently. The lights flickered, and a thick fog began to gather outside the windows.

“What’s going on?!” someone shouted.

“Take out your wands and follow me! Half of you go with Ernie to the back of the train, the rest with me to the front! Two prefects, check the first-years’ compartment!” Hermione commanded with determination.

The compartment erupted into the sound of feet clattering, voices shouting in panic. Hermione pulled her wand from her sleeve and was the first to rush into the corridor, not bothering to check if Ron followed. She knew her duty: protect the youngest students from whatever threat lay ahead. She sprinted forward, knowing the prefects were close behind hee. Suddenly, a lamp above shattered into pieces, plunging the corridor into darkness. Hermione shielded her head from the falling glass, glancing at the windows as frost began to spread across the panes.

“Dementors...” she whispered in despair.

Frantically, she searched for a happy memory to conjure her Patronus, but before she could raise her wand, a hot beam of magic struck her squarely in the back. She crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

When she awoke, a pleasant warmth touched her face. She was lying on a sofa… or rather a seat in a train compartment. All around her was silence. Something heavy draped over her, covering her entirely. The heaviness being similar to Harry’s invisibility cloak. Blinking, she noticed her silver otter Patronus dancing cheerfully beside her, as if guarding her. When had she managed to conjure it?

Dementors... Dementors had entered the train! She remembered being hit with a spell—probably petrified. She tried to open her mouth and scream but she couldn’t. What the hell was going on? 

Her body jolted slightly. It was only then that she realised the train had started moving. She heard the compartment door creaking open. Her blood ran cold. She couldn’t lift her head to see who had entered. All she could make out were shoes—black, polished, clearly a man’s. The silver otter suddenly dissipated, vanishing as though swept away by an invisible wind.

“Everything is fine. They’re gone. Now, sleep once more, sweetheart...” The whisper was soft, barely audible, and entirely unrecognisable.

As her eyelids drooped, her consciousness fading, she felt something warm graze her face, save for a single cold spot that brushed against her cheekbone. A moment later, the darkness claimed her again.

She awoke to someone calling her name loudly. She blinked and sat up abruptly. The train rattled forward. She rubbed the back of her neck and patted her cheeks lightly. What in Merlin’s name had just happened? And why did her mouth now taste like milk chocolate?

“Hermione!” - she immediately realised it was Ron who was looking for her. 

Hermione got to her feet, somewhat unsteady, and stepped into the corridor. 

“Great Gryffindor! Hermione! I’m so glad you’re alright!” Ron charged at her like a raging hippogriff, crashing her into the compartment door.

“Ron! What happened? Were they Dementors?” she asked, her voice filled with urgency.

“Yes, four of them! Rogue Dementors, expelled from Azkaban. The Aurors arrived just in time to help us drive them away. But what happened to you? When the lights went out, you disappeared! One moment earlier, you were running right in front of me!”

“I… I think I fainted in one of the compartments,” she said, though every fibre of her being knew it wasn’t true. Still, something told her not to mention to Ron that she had likely been Petrified and hidden under an Invisibility Cloak.

“I was terrified the Dementors had gotten to you!” Ron pressed his forehead to hers, exhaling deeply in relief.

“I’m fine. I… I managed to conjure a Patronus before I fainted,” she said, though as the words left her mouth, doubt crept in. Had she cast the spell? She distinctly remembered her silver otter guarding her, but surely no one else would have the same physical form for their Patronus.

“Let’s get back to the prefects’ compartment. Ernie and Ginny are handing out chocolate to the students. Luckily, Luna had the sense to bring a few bars with her.”

“No one was hurt?” Hermione asked, her concern evident.

“The first-years were pretty shaken, but everyone’s fine,” Ron reassured her with a warm smile. Hermione let out a quiet breath and returned his smile.

She needed to figure out what had happened during the attack. The thought of someone protecting her—someone who wasn’t a friend—left her uneasy. She had to get to the bottom of this, and quickly.

When they returned to the prefects’ compartment, the students were finishing their chocolate and reporting to Ernie on the condition of the rest of the train.

“Hermione! I’m so glad you’re alright!” Ginny exclaimed, throwing her arms around her and hugging her tightly.

“I’m fine, I just…” Hermione felt her cheeks flush. How could she admit, in front of everyone, that she’d fainted? Or worse, that she had been cursed?

“We need to check all the compartments again and make sure no one was hurt before we arrive at Hogwarts,” Ernie announced decisively.

“Of course! Let’s start straight away,” Hermione said, relieved that no one seemed too curious about what had happened to her.

“It’s a good thing Harry taught so many of us how to cast a Patronus,” Luna said.

“Right? Death Eaters can’t do that. If we hadn’t been here, everyone would probably have been kissed,” Ron said, casting a malicious glance at Malfoy, who hadn’t acknowledged them since they’d returned.

But now Malfoy looked up, his trademark smirk firmly in place.  He stood. 

“I’d wager it’s better to kiss a Dementor than you, Weasley. And probably far more pleasant to meet a Banshee than touch Granger” he sneered, his voice dripping with malice as he sauntered past them.

“Watch your mouth, you scum!” Ron snarled. 

“That old tune again, Weasel? I hope you come up with something better before the term ends, or this year’s going to be dreadfully dull,” Malfoy drawled, arching a disdainful eyebrow.

“Don’t mess with me!” Ron barked, his anger boiling over.

“Oh, Weaselbee, Weaselbee… do you really think I’d waste my time on you? I’ve got far better things to do,” Draco continued towards the door but turned briefly to look directly at Hermione.

“And you, Granger, eat some more chocolate—you’re as pale as Moaning Myrtle,” he quipped, running his fingers through his platinum hair. Then, with his head held high, he exited the compartment.

Hermione opened her mouth, unsure what to say. But one question quickly surfaced in her mind—how did he know if she’d eaten chocolate? She hadn’t helped herself to any since entering the compartment. Her thoughts darted to the touch she’d felt earlier—the cold fragment brushing her cheek. Her gaze lingered on the door Malfoy had disappeared through, replaying the memory of his hand as he combed his hair. Malfoy wore a family signet ring on the ring finger of his left hand. The delicate, cooler touch on her cheek…

She shook her head fiercely. No. It wasn’t possible. Malfoy wouldn’t touch her, much less try to protect her. It defied all logic. He must have assumed, like everyone else, that she’d already eaten some chocolate to stave off the effects of the Dementors. It couldn’t have been him.

Chapter Text

September-October 1998 

September passed without any major revelations. Everyone settled into the usual school routine that the final year brought. The amount of homework and material to master was overwhelming, and the additional patrols assigned to the prefects were exhausting. Autumn arrived unexpectedly quickly—gloomy, cold, and rainy. The only pleasant moments in the past month were those when the mail arrived.

Harry, confined to Grimmauld Place with Remus and his family, was busy planning. They were trying to figure out how to find Voldemort’s last, unknown Horcrux and how to get close enough to him to kill Nagini. None of them knew what had really happened to the Dark Lord after both he and Harry had collapsed on the battlefield. When Harry got back on his feet, dazed and aching, Voldemort and the Death Eaters were simply gone—vanished without a trace. That was why it had been so easy for some to believe that the war was over... But the Order had no doubts. Voldemort was still alive and was probably already planning how to finally conquer the world.

Harry wrote to her and Ron once a week. He had to change not only his signature but also his handwriting frequently. Hermione had found a clever spell that helped him do this. Thanks to it, they at least had some semblance of contact with each other. She knew that Ron missed their friend dearly. She did too, but she tried to focus on her studies and not dream about a certain bloody Slytherin at night.

Malfoy paid absolutely no attention to her when they passed each other in the corridors or during shared lessons. He didn’t tease her, call her names, or even look in her direction. And almost every time—when she was the one looking at him—he seemed as if he were separated from everyone by an invisible pane of glass. The complete lack of emotion in his gaze gave him an almost inhuman appearance.

The only exceptions were when she ran into him while walking somewhere with Ron. Then, the familiar, mean Slytherin immediately returned—he simply couldn’t help but mock their relationship and take jabs at Weasley’s sense of dignity. She didn’t know what had changed that had made Malfoy stop calling her a Mudblood, nor why he didn’t even react when Parkinson or one of the Greengrass sisters did so during afternoon study sessions in the library. She was somewhat surprised by his behaviour, but she tried not to dwell on it too much. She also did her best to ignore Lavender and Parvati’s chatter about how much Malfoy had grown and how handsome he had become this year. Unfortunately, it was the bloody truth... But it didn’t matter anyway.

He could be tall, handsome, undeniably masculine, athletic, and popular. He could also rival her in academic performance this semester—always well-prepared for every class, well-read, and precise. However, all of this had to remain somewhere at the edges of her mind because thinking about him only made her dreams grow more intense.

She felt sick every time she imagined what Ron or Harry would say if they knew she was dreaming about their common enemy in such a way. She hadn’t even admitted it to Ginny or Luna, not wanting them to judge her. 

She tried to think rationally—she was nineteen, and at this age, it was only natural to notice that her schoolmates were growing into tall, handsome, and intriguing men. All she had to do was look at Neville, who was capturing many hearts this year with his athletic build, or Michael Corner, who was causing girls to compete for his attention. Malfoy, too, was among the most attractive boys at school, alongside Graham Montague, Blaise Zabini, and Theodore Nott.

However, everyone knew that Slytherin boys were untouchable to girls from other houses. Any attempt to flirt with them ended in immediate intervention from the unpleasant Slytherin clique, led by Pansy Parkinson. That was why girls like Parvati and Lavender could only sigh over the Slytherin boys from afar.

Deep down, Hermione had accepted that, for some reason, her subconscious had decided to find Malfoy handsome and intriguing. However, she fought with all her might to think about it as little as possible and to keep it a secret for all eternity. Malfoy made it easier by treating her as though she were invisible, as if she didn’t exist to him at all.

Ron was another matter entirely. When he wasn’t trying to kiss her, hug her, or gently persuade her to take the next step in their relationship, he devoted all his attention to cursing the Slytherins—especially Malfoy. He talked about him every single day, pointing out everything Malfoy did. It irritated Hermione to no end, and she always tried to shut the topic down as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, Ron’s hatred for the blond was so intense that he wouldn’t stop, no matter how much she pleaded, threatened, or tried to ignore his constant tirades and monologues.

💍💍💍

Severus Snape had turned out to be quite a good headmaster—Hermione had to admit that honestly. He had delegated a significant portion of his authority to McGonagall and Slughorn, and he himself rarely made an appearance, even during meals in the Great Hall. He had also refused to allow the Carrow siblings to teach again, which was why this year’s Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was Professor Heller, an old schoolmate of McGonagall’s. From the very first lesson—one that the Gryffindor seventh-years shared with the Slytherins—Professor Heller had made it clear that by the end of the term, all his students would be able to conjure a corporeal Patronus. Most Gryffindors had no trouble with this, having already learned it in Dumbledore’s Army three years ago. The Slytherins, however, struggled, and Malfoy had declared from the outset that he had no intention of learning it at all. He hadn’t even raised his wand when the professor asked. For that, he had been given a week’s detention, which he probably didn’t care about in the slightest.

When arranging the prefect patrol schedule with Ernie, Hermione was very careful to ensure she wouldn’t end up paired with Malfoy. She had already endured one evening with that Mudblood-obsessed Pansy Parkinson, who challenged her every twenty paces, but the thought of having to ignore the object of her nightdreams for two whole hours sent shivers down her spine. She preferred to avoid it at all costs.

"Are you going to Hogsmeade tomorrow?" Ernie asked as they finished writing up the evening patrol schedule for the next two weeks.

"Of course I am. It’s our first time out this year... I have a huge shopping list. All Hallows Eve is next week, and I still need to buy a dress for the ball," she said animatedly.

"Well, yeah. You’re lucky—you have someone to go with," Macmillan muttered under his breath. "It’s always nice to have a date for an event like this."

"Is there someone you’d like to invite?" she asked, rolling up the parchments.

"I… actually, I’d like to invite Ginny Weasley," he admitted, blushing slightly.

Hermione wasn’t surprised. Ginny was a true beauty, and plenty of boys were pining after her.

"You do know she’s back with Harry, right? They can’t see each other, but they write, and she—"

"Yeah, I know that. I’m not planning to interfere or try to win her over. It would just be nice to go to a party with someone, dance, have a drink... you know, as friends," Ernie explained quickly.

"If you want, I can ask her," Hermione offered.

"Really? Would you?" Ernie’s face lit up in an instant.

"Sure! I’ll let you know tomorrow after breakfast," she promised, standing up and grabbing her bag.

"Thanks, Hermione, I can always count on you! Who are you on patrol with today?" he asked.

"Steven Bletchley, that sixth-year Slytherin," Hermione muttered under her breath. Bletchley never dared to call her a Mudblood, but he always made loud comments about how muddy it smelled around her and how much it irritated him. Fucking git.

"Good luck," Ernie said with a sympathetic smile.

"Thanks. See you tomorrow at breakfast," Hermione said, waving goodbye before hurrying to her dormitory to drop off her bag before starting her two-hour patrol around the school.

💍💍💍

Bletchley was late. Hermione stood in the entrance hall, tapping her foot more and more forcefully, irritation mounting. Because of his tardiness, they would have to extend the patrol—meaning less time for reading before bed.

She glanced impatiently toward the entrance to the dungeons. She despised this kind of irresponsibility and disregard for duty. Suddenly, footsteps echoed behind her, coming from the stairs. She turned and lifted her head, her breath catching in her chest for a brief moment when she saw who it was. None other than Draco Malfoy. He was dressed rather casually—a white shirt and black trousers. He descended the stairs at an unhurried pace, exuding his usual air of confidence and superiority. And, of course, he smirked at her in that infuriating way, just as he always did.

"The night curfew is about to start, and you’re not on patrol tonight, Malfoy," she greeted him coolly, folding her arms across her chest and ignoring the way her heart was hammering.

"Good evening to you too, Granger. I came to let you know that Steven Bletchley is sick. I just took him to the hospital wing," Malfoy said smoothly, his smirk never faltering.

"Great..." she muttered under her breath. "Fine, I’ll go get Ginny to take his place. You can head back to the dungeons." She spoke quickly, hoping he’d leave so she wouldn’t have to brush past him so closely.

"Bletchley asked me to cover for him tonight, and I agreed," he announced, stepping toward her.

Hermione swore quietly, unable to stop herself. Her worst nightmare was unfolding right before her eyes—two hours alone with Malfoy in the dark, deserted corridors. She instinctively pulled out her wand, tightening her grip around it. She had to stay on guard.

"If that’s the case, let’s get started," she grumbled, turning toward the corridor that led to the ground-floor classrooms.

"With the greatest pleasure," Malfoy sneered, drawing his own wand and following close behind.

💍💍💍

Just as she had expected, their patrol passed in complete silence. Malfoy didn’t speak first, so she decided to remain quiet as well, assuming that any attempt to start a conversation would only lead to insults or, worse, a full-blown argument. Still, walking through the dark corridors with him right behind her was unnerving, making time crawl unbearably slowly.

They reached the first floor. Hermione walked ahead, checking alcoves and peering behind tapestries, while Malfoy lagged behind.

"Do you have to look inside every cupboard?" he suddenly growled when she glanced behind another statue.

"And where do you think students sneaking around at night are most likely to hide, if not in cupboards?" she shot back, slightly irritated.

"We’d be done with this patrol a lot faster if you didn’t take so bloody long!" he complained.

"Patrols have a set duration, not a set distance to cover," she reminded him, peering into another alcove.

"Oh, spare me. You’re the only one who actually sticks to that, Granger!"

"Good to know that no one else gives a damn about the rules," she sighed, though she didn’t admit that she usually didn’t check every single hiding spot either—she had only started doing so to make the time with him pass faster.

"I’ll help. That way, we’ll finish faster," Malfoy decided abruptly, striding ahead and stopping in front of a wooden door.

Hermione immediately sensed something was off. It was strange… Why had he suddenly changed his mind? She followed him quickly. Malfoy barely cracked the closet door open.

"Nothing here," he announced, barely glancing inside.

Hermione walked around him and before he could stop her, she yanked the door open fully.A loud shriek escaped her lips as she jumped back. Something large had flown right in front of her face. It took her a few seconds to realise—it was a man’s body.

She barely registered Malfoy cursing under his breath, muttering something about overzealous swots.

"Is he dead?" Hermione asked in a trembling voice, staring at the massive man who had collapsed face-first onto the floor.

"He’s just petrified," Draco muttered.

"How do you know?" She was still too shaken to process what was happening.

"I’m guessing, Granger," he snapped, clearly irritated. "Send word to McGonagall that we’ve found a petrified intruder on school grounds."

"Yeah, sure." Hermione flicked her wand, and a silver otter leapt from its tip, disappearing as it carried her message.

"Go finish your patrol. I’ll stay with him," Malfoy suggested, his voice carrying an odd tension.

"No way! I’m waiting here for the deputy headmistress." She wasn’t sure whether she stayed because she was afraid to go on alone or because she didn’t want to leave Malfoy with someone potentially dangerous.

"You still never listen to anyone, do you, Granger? I told you to leave. Now!" he growled, his fists clenching at his sides.

"I listen to people who actually have something worthwhile to say, and you are not one of them, Malfoy!" she shot back, her voice dripping with defiance.

"Listen to me for once, you bloody stubborn little witch!"

Hermione had no idea why Malfoy was so insistent on getting her to not leave him with the intruder. Was he planning to help this man somehow? Or did he want to hurt him?

"Miss Granger, Mr Malfoy, is everything alright?" McGonagall asked, striding towards them in her red-and-green dressing gown.

"We found someone in the broom cupboard," Hermione explained quickly, deliberately avoiding Malfoy’s gaze. He was red with anger.

McGonagall waved her wand, flipping the limp body onto its back. Hermione froze as she took in the tall blond man with brown eyes lying before her. Thorfinn Rowle. The very same Death Eater whose memory she had wiped last year in that Muggle café—right after Ron and Harry had come to get her when they’d escaped from Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

"Oh Godric! He’s a Death Eater!" she cried, unable to hide the fear in her voice.

"You know perfectly well, Miss Granger, that there is no such thing as Death Eaters anymore," came a sharp voice from behind her.

She spun on her heel to find Severus Snape approaching them slowly.

"Severus, this man somehow got into the school! We need to check the wards and call the Aurors!" McGonagall’s tone was tense.

"Mr Rowle did not ‘sneak in’ at all, Minerva. He was visiting me today on friendly terms. I have no idea how he ended up petrified in that cupboard, but I assure you, I will find out."

His gaze shifted pointedly to Draco. Malfoy, however, didn’t seem to care in the slightest. He simply smiled maliciously at the Headmaster.

Hermione felt her skin crawl. She was almost certain that Draco knew Rowle was in that cupboard. Could it be that he had hidden him there? And if so, why? After all, he must have known him well from the Death Eater circle… She had no idea what to make of it.

“What do we do now?” McGonagall asked quietly.

“I’ll take Thorfinn to my office and apologise to him for this incident—of course, assuring him that the guilty will be severely punished,” Snape said smoothly, flicking his wand. The man’s body rose into the air like a helpless puppet.

“That’s for the best,” McGonagall said coldly, eyeing the Headmaster with undisguised contempt as he levitated the unconscious Death Eater towards the corridor’s exit.

“Headmaster…” Hermione began.

“That’s enough patrol for today, Miss Granger. Both of you—back to your dormitories.”

“But—”

“That’s all. We can discuss the rest tomorrow.” Minerva’s sharp gaze flicked to Draco, and Hermione immediately understood—she didn’t want anything important being said in his presence.

“Fine. Good night, Professor,” Hermione said stiffly.

“Good night,” McGonagall replied before turning and walking away.

Hermione stole a glance at Malfoy out of the corner of her eye. He still looked irritated by the whole situation.

“You were the one who petrified him.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Malfoy sneered.

“Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about!”

“Not at all, Granger,” he drawled, his tone deliberately mocking.

Hermione let out an exasperated huff.

“I don’t know why you’re cursing your former colleagues, but I swear I’ll find out.”

“Of course you will. Because you have to know everything, don’t you? That’s your life’s purpose—well, apart from driving me insane,” he hissed, pinning her with his icy glare.

Hermione swallowed hard. She was standing too close to him, and his gaze both unsettled and fascinated her. Enough of this!
Without another word, she spun on her heel and marched away.

“One more thing before you go, Granger,” he called just as she had taken a few steps away.

“What kind of thing?” she asked tartly.

To her surprise, Malfoy strode towards her, stopping right in front of her.

“Are you going to Hogsmeade tomorrow, or what?”

“Well… yes,” she replied, genuinely taken aback by his question.

“With Weasley?” Malfoy met her gaze directly, and Hermione barely stopped herself from rubbing her scar. Too close, too much…

“That’s none of your business,” she replied, striving to sound composed, though she was afraid he might hear the frantic pounding of her heart or the rush of blood in her veins.

“It’s time you broke up with him, Granger,” he said smoothly, the corners of his lips curling into a mocking smile.

“What?” Hermione’s eyes widened in disbelief. Had he really just said that? Or was this another one of her strange dreams? Should she pinch herself just to be sure?

“You heard me. Do him a favour and break up with him… preferably as soon as possible.” Malfoy’s gaze didn’t waver for a second.

“I’m not going to listen to this nonsense!” she snapped, brushing past him swiftly.

Suddenly, she felt a strong grip on her arm. The place where he touched her burned instantly, despite the two layers of robes between them. She jerked away, stumbling awkwardly over her own feet.

“Do not touch me!” she gritted out through clenched teeth, struggling to regain control over herself.

“Listen carefully, because I’m not in the habit of repeating myself,” Draco murmured, standing so close that she could smell his expensive cologne. “You’ll go to the village tomorrow with some girl friend. And you’ll keep your distance from every bloke there—especially Weasley. Got it? If you don’t want him to get hurt, make sure that nothing about you and him appears in the papers.” His voice was slow and deliberate, as though he were explaining something to an unruly child.

“Are you threatening me?” she asked, her indignation impossible to conceal.

“I’m simply informing you, Granger. You’ll soon realise the games are over. You’re smart enough to know the war isn’t finished. You need to do as I say. Do you understand? ”

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I’m not going to listen to another word of it!” Hermione shot him the most hostile glare she could muster before turning on her heel and bolting away from him.

“If you don’t listen to me, Weasley will regret it bitterly—and very soon,” Malfoy’s voice called after her.

She chose not to reply, instead quickening her pace, eager to disappear from his sight. She had no idea what Malfoy had meant by all of this, but deep down, she knew this wasn’t just some sick joke. Something was beginning to unfold, and every instinct told her that whatever it was, it would be dangerous.

She had long since stopped doubting that Malfoy was a marked Death Eater—there was no way he had taken the Dark Mark under the Imperius Curse. In her mind, she rationalised it as the pressure of his environment, his father’s warped beliefs forced upon him. But none of that changed the fact that Draco Malfoy was a truly dangerous man.

💍💍💍

She knew that giving in to his demands—demands he had no right to make—was wrong. It might even give him some fleeting sense of power over her. But there was no point in deceiving herself. She was genuinely afraid that if she didn’t do as he said, Ron might get hurt. And she would never forgive herself for that. 

The idea came to her quickly: tomorrow, she would go to Hogsmeade with Luna and Ginny and tell Ron she didn’t want him to know what dress she was buying for the Halloween party. At least that sounded plausible...

For a moment, she considered telling someone about Malfoy’s demand. Why was he interfering in her relationship with Ron? Should the Order know about this? She debated whether to write to Kingsley or Remus, the dilemma gnawing at her all night. In the end, she chose to do nothing—for now. She would wait to see if Malfoy went back to ignoring her or if he would start pestering her more, making similarly absurd demands. 

She had to admit—just a little—that she was intrigued. What was this about? Did it have something to do with Voldemort? Did Malfoy know something and was trying to warn her? Or was he simply playing with her, trying to scare her? Or provoke her? She wished she could figure it out quickly. 

A biting wind howled through the village, and freezing rain lashed at them as Hermmione, Ginny, Luna and Susan Bones hurried inside the Three Broomsticks after finishing their shopping. Hermione was quite pleased with the short red dress she had picked out, trimmed at the neckline with elegant lace. Ginny had helped her choose it, and she hoped Ron wouldn’t complain about the red clashing with his hair. She smiled to herself—her boyfriend could be terribly vain sometimes.

"Ginny, who are you going to the All Hallows' with?" Luna asked as they sipped butterbeer, enjoying the warmth of the pub.

"Ernie Macmillan invited me—as a friend," Ginny giggled. "He asked me through Hermione. I think he was afraid to approach me himself."

"I don’t blame him. Not many people would want to cross the Chosen One by openly hitting on his girlfriend," Susan said with a grin.

"Who are Lavender and Parvati going with?" Hermione asked, glancing over at the next table.

There, Padma Patil and Hannah Abbott were openly admiring a group of older Slytherins sitting nearby. 

Hermione was surprised to see Pansy Parkinson smiling flirtatiously at David Ress, while Astoria Greengrass scowled under her breath as Theodore Nott spoke to her. Malfoy, meanwhile, lounged comfortably in his chair, slowly sipping Firewhiskey, his gaze drifting around the pub as if searching for someone.

Then, she noticed it—he glanced at her a few times, smirking under his breath.

Oh, of course. He already knew she had listened to him. And judging by his expression, he was thoroughly pleased with himself.

The complete arsehole.

"Parvati is going with Dean, and Lavender found out that Malfoy hasn’t invited anyone yet. She’s probably still holding out hope," Ginny said, mocking Lavender’s wishful thinking.

"Seriously? Malfoy hasn’t asked anyone? Why?" Hermione blurted out before she could stop herself. It was intriguing. A guy like him certainly wouldn’t have any trouble finding a suitable partner for the ball. What was stopping him?

"Maybe he doesn’t want his friend to be sad?" Luna mused in her usual dreamy tone.

"What friend?" Susan asked, confused.

"The pretty one with dark hair—the one who’s always beside him lately," Luna said, nodding toward Graham Montague, who was sitting to Draco’s right.

"Montague hasn’t invited anyone either?" Ginny asked in disbelief.

"From what I’ve heard, he’s going with Daphne Greengrass," Susan chimed in. "I overheard her bragging about it in the fifth-floor bathroom the other day."

"Poor thing… He clearly doesn’t want to, but he’s keeping up appearances," Luna said sympathetically.

"Look! There’s Justin with that Hufflepuff, Lina! So they really are together!" Susan suddenly squealed, and Ginny immediately picked up the topic, launching into the latest gossip about the new couple.

Hermione, however, leaned in closer to Luna.

"Why do you think Montague doesn’t want to go with Greengrass?" she asked, a little conspiratorially.

Luna gave her a warm, knowing smile.

"Isn’t it obvious? Just look at him," she said, nodding toward the Slytherin table.

Hermione followed her gaze. Graham was speaking animatedly to Draco, but Malfoy, staring absently at the wall, didn’t seem to be listening at all.

"I don’t really understand," she admitted, though she hated not knowing something.

"He’s been in love with his friend for ages. It’s sad, really, because Malfoy clearly doesn’t feel the same way. I don’t think he’s even noticed," Luna said matter-of-factly before taking another sip of butterbeer, as if she hadn’t just announced that one of the most handsome boys in school preferred men.

"Luna, Graham Montague isn’t gay," Hermione said with a small, indulgent smile, convinced that her friend’s imagination knew no bounds.

"How do you know? Did he tell you?" Luna asked, her gaze dreamy yet sharp.

"No, but… he’s always dated girls, and—"

"And yet he doesn’t kiss any of them," Luna cut in smoothly. "I know because some of my friends from home have gone out with him. Also, when he thinks no one is watching, he looks at Draco in a way that makes his aura glow more intensely."

"Oh, the aura. Yes, I forgot about that," Hermione muttered wryly under her breath. That explained it—nonsense and tea-leaf readings.

"Did you know your aura changed this year too?"

Hermione tensed immediately. She didn’t believe in any of this rubbish—auras, chakras, or anything of the sort. But something about the way Luna was looking at her made her uneasy.

"How?" she asked reluctantly, already certain she would regret it.

"The colour has changed. Since third year, your aura has been a deep, rich brown—like ripe chestnuts."

"Interesting," Hermione muttered, taking a sip of her butterbeer and trying to banish the image of Ron’s favourite maroon jumper from her mind.

"But this year, it’s completely different."

Hermione hesitated. "What do you mean?"

"It’s blue," Luna said serenely. "Not a deep blue—soft, almost translucent. With a hint of grey. It’s cool, unusual, and beautiful."

Hermione swallowed hard. What nonsense. There was no such thing as auras. And nothing about her had changed this year. She still loved maroon. Ron looked good in maroon.

Everything was the same as always.

"I'll go get another round," Hermione decided, finishing her butterbeer and gesturing for the others to hurry up as well.

"Interestingly, you’re not the only one whose aura has changed this year," Luna continued, completely undeterred.

"Really?" Hermione regretted speaking the moment the word left her mouth. She should have ended this conversation immediately.

"Oh yes! Zabini’s aura, for example, is now a fiery orange, like flames, and Tracey Davis’s is a warm brown—something like milk chocolate."

"Has anyone else’s changed?" Hermione asked, instinctively glancing toward Malfoy.

"Not among the Slytherins. Montague’s is a shade of platinum silver—very similar to Astoria Greengrass’s. Hers changed about two years ago. Parkinson’s is a pure, deep green, and Nott’s is almost Ravenclaw navy."

"Really, Luna, it must be beautiful to see so many colours every day," Hermione said, forcing a smile as she stood up.

"Malfoy’s aura changed sometime around the beginning of your fourth year. Before that, it was deep Slytherin green with a hint of silver—just like Parkinson’s. But for years now, it’s been a wonderful shade of amber."

Luna smiled at Hermione, and for some reason, Hermione had the oddest feeling that there was something hidden behind that smile—some kind of unspoken subtext. 

But she had had enough of this strange conversation.

Double-checking that her friends wanted another round of butterbeer, she turned on her heel and made her way toward the crowded bar.

Chapter Text

24 October 1998 

As it was their first Hogsmeade visit of the term, the pub was absolutely packed. Hermione spotted Ron and the rest of their year huddled together at a table on the other side of the room, drinking Firewhiskey. Clearly, everyone needed something to warm them up on such a bitterly cold day.

The young barmaid—whom Hermione vaguely remembered as a Hufflepuff who had graduated about three years ago—finally made her way over to take her order.

"What can I get you?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder distractedly.

Hermione was just about to answer when she suddenly felt a large hand settle perfectly between her shoulder blades.

"Two Firewhiskeys and a shot of black rum. And what about you, darling?" a voice murmured right next to her ear.

Paralysed, she turned, struggling to process what was happening. Malfoy slid his hand down to her waist, pulling her closer until she was pressed sideways against him, their faces just inches apart. His gaze locked onto hers, and then—satisfied, as if he had just gotten what he needed—he smirked. 

"Oh yes… of course. And we’ll have four more butterbeers—one heated, with extra ginger," he added smoothly, turning back to the barmaid.

Hermione had no idea how he even knew what she had been planning to order, but that was the least of her concerns right now.

"What the hell do you think you’re doing?" she finally choked out, trying to push him away and pry his hand off her waist.

"Ordering drinks for us and our friends," he replied casually, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

She let out a sharp laugh. How many butterbeers had she had today? Because surely she must be hallucinating. This could not be happening.

"Get away from me this instant, or I swear I’ll hex you into next week!" she snapped, completely shaken, still struggling to break free. His proximity—his scent—was putting her in a state she did not want to be in.

"Forget it, love. I’m not about to let you hex me in front of all these people," he said sweetly, his smirk never faltering.

"I should be checking if someone’s already hexed you! You wouldn’t be acting like this if you were in your right mind!" she shot back, increasingly convinced that this was, in fact, a distinct possibility.

Draco let out a genuine laugh, as if she had just told an absolutely brilliant joke.

"You’ll soon realise, Granger, that everything I do has a purpose. This included."

Then, he stepped back, he reached out and, with infuriating gentleness, tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

Hermione froze again, completely thrown by what was happening. 

She looked into his eyes, trying to make sense of it.

This wasn’t… But… Surely not…

She didn’t know what to think.

"Your order," the barmaid interrupted, placing their drinks on the bar.

Hermione was still struggling to wrap her head around what had just happened. What game was he playing? Before she could say anything, Malfoy tossed a few Galleons onto the counter.

"Keep the change," he said smoothly. Then, with a snap of his fingers, his drinks lifted from the bar and floated towards his table.

"Have fun with your friends, darling," he added, winking at her with a triumphant smile before turning on his heel and striding away, head held high as always.

Hermione stood there, completely stunned. 

She hated not knowing things. And right now, far too many bloody questions were racing through her head. It was unfathomable.

"Is there something wrong with your order?" the barmaid asked worriedly, glancing at the butterbeers still sitting on the counter.

"Oh no, everything’s fine!" Hermione replied quickly, pulling out her wand to levitate the drinks.

Before heading back, she stole a glance at Ron’s table, but they seemed to be completely oblivious to what had just happened.

Her friends, however, were another story. She had barely set the drinks down when Ginny squealed,

"'Mione, what was that?! Did I imagine it, or was Malfoy actually all over you at the bar?"

Hermione sat down, doing her best to hide the fact that her hands were still trembling.

"It was nothing," she lied quickly. "He just had a question about Transfiguration, and since it was so crowded, he stood close so he could hear me."

She hoped it would be enough for Luna and Susan. Apparently, it worked—both girls simply took their butterbeers and started drinking. It was only then that Hermione realised Malfoy had paid for them…

"Herm…" Ginny leaned in closer, fixing her with a sharp look.

"We need to write to Kingsley, Gin. Either someone’s cursed Malfoy, or he’s up to something," Hermione whispered, careful to keep her voice low. She cast a glance at Susan, who wasn’t a sworn member of the Order of the Phoenix and shouldn’t overhear anything sensitive.

He’s been acting strange lately… Maybe it’s part of some new mission?" Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine. Had Voldemort ordered Malfoy to get close to her for some reason? Oh, Merlin… That would be awful.

"We’ll write to Lynx and Moony tonight," Ginny muttered conspiratorially.

"I’ll do it as soon as we’re back at the castle… But don’t tell Ron yet, alright? There’s no need for him to go after Malfoy in the corridors. We need to figure out what’s going on first," Hermione said quietly, her tone anxious.

"Of course! I won’t say a word… Let’s just hope no one else decides to report that the ferret dared to grope you," Ginny muttered, scowling into her mug.

"It wasn’t groping… He just… leaned against me," Hermione said, though she struggled to put it into words. The truth was, Malfoy had acted like she was his girlfriend.

"He looked at you like he was about to snog you right there," Ginny said with a shudder.

Hermione opened her mouth to argue but stopped. Had he really? She hadn’t noticed. She had been too panicked by his proximity to even register what he looked like during the whole encounter.

Taking a deep breath, she sipped her butterbeer, suddenly realising something. Malfoy had been watching her. He had to have been—otherwise, how would he have known she always preferred her butterbeer warm and spiked with extra ginger?

On Saturday night, she sent a letter to Kingsley, detailing what had happened during the patrol and Malfoy’s behaviour at the pub. She knew it would take a few days to get a response. Shacklebolt had his hands full with Order business—and with planning alongside Harry how to reach Voldemort and destroy his last two Horcruxes.

 25 October 1998

She spent Sunday doing homework and pointedly ignoring Ron, who—rather unsubtly—kept trying to invite her for a walk around the castle. She knew exactly what he wanted.

Ever since they had officially gotten together after the battle in May, Ron had seemed to expect her to be something like the girlfriend Lavender Brown had been to him. He wanted constant kisses, endless cuddles, and to lie in her lap while she stroked his hair and fed him like a lazy tomcat.

At first, she had indulged him, telling herself it was sweet. But lately, their stolen moments had begun to make her uneasy. More and more often, his hands would stray to places Hermione didn’t want them to be.

She knew what he was hoping for. They were both of age, they were supposedly madly in love, and there was still a war going on—who knew what the future might bring? She had no doubt Ron expected them to take that next step soon.

She wasn’t opposed to it. But somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

The thought of losing her virginity in an old broom cupboard was simply out of the question. The dormitories weren’t an option either—anyone could walk in on them—and their visits to the Burrow were even worse, with the house always packed full of Weasleys and their friends.

Ron’s latest idea had been to sneak off to Grimmauld Place for the weekend, confident that Harry wouldn’t mind. But the thought of their best friend knowing exactly why they were there made Hermione cringe with embarrassment.

Recently, Ron had come up with another plan—renting a room at the Three Broomsticks for a weekend. She hadn’t rejected the idea outright, which had given him hope that she might say yes soon.

She had no idea what excuse to use this time to stall. For now, she was hiding behind her heavy workload, and though Ron wasn’t happy about it, at least he believed her.

But was it really the studying? Was it shyness that kept her from going to bed with her boyfriend?

She wanted to believe that. 

She needed to believe that.

Because if it wasn’t, then she’d have to admit that it had something to do with the pair of grey-blue eyes that haunted her dreams every night.

And she couldn’t let herself think that.

She had to believe it was just nerves.

She had to—so she wouldn’t hate herself.

26 October 1998 

Monday morning was grey and relentlessly rainy. Large raindrops pounded against the towering windows of the Great Hall, filling the air with an ominous, rhythmic patter. Hermione poured herself a large mug of strong black coffee, already certain she would need it to survive the day. 

The owl post was delayed this morning, causing a stir as damp, bedraggled birds swooped in, shivering from the cold. Hermione wasn’t expecting a response from Kingsley just yet, but she was waiting for her copy of the Daily Prophet , having renewed her subscription this year. Staying informed was crucial—she needed to make sure nothing slipped past their notice.

The owl that delivered her paper looked as though it had been struck by lightning. With a quick flick of her wand, she cast a drying charm over the poor creature and offered it a few crispy strips of bacon. The owl gave an appreciative hoot before tucking into its meal.

Thankfully, the newspaper had remained dry, likely shielded by protective spells. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a rising murmur spreading through the hall. Students were clustering around those who had already received their papers. That could only mean one thing—today’s front page carried something big.

She unrolled her copy and began to read.

"The Old Law Will Guarantee Us a New, Better Future!"

Hermione swallowed hard. The old law? That didn’t sound promising. Historically, many wizarding laws had sparked years of conflict with goblins and other magical beings. A shiver ran down her spine, but she forced herself to keep reading.

"The new Minister of Magic, Gawain Robards, has given his full support to the latest legislation, introduced late last night by special decree of the Wizengamot. The Act on the Restoration of the Magical Population is a long-awaited reform, deemed essential for stabilising the nation in the wake of recent events. Minister Robards himself stated:

‘The principle of Pater est in crimen , widely practiced in our society until the mid-twentieth century and still upheld in many Pure-Blood families today, forms the foundation of this law. It will save our population from gradual decline and eventual collapse.’

After long hours of deliberation at the highest levels of government, the Wizengamot has finally reached the compromise so many have been calling for—one that will strengthen and rebuild the wizarding population. As a result, a resolution has been passed to reinstate the so-called Father’s Law, universally recognised over a century ago. While slightly modified to suit the present day, its core tenets remain unchanged.

The key provisions of the new law dictate that every witch between the ages of seventeen and forty must enter into marriage at the earliest opportunity, with the exclusive consent of her father or her closest living male relative. Engagement contracts and marriage agreements are to be arranged by the parents or guardians of the intended couple and subsequently submitted to the Ministry for official verification.

This system has been in place for centuries and has long been considered a pillar of wizarding tradition. We eagerly await the first engagement announcements and the most highly anticipated wedding dates.

More details on the new law can be found on page 19."

Hermione took a deep breath, her vision blurring as shock and disbelief flooded through her. 

Really? A marriage with the sole consent of her father? What about a woman's right to choose? Where was her freedom? What kind of fucking nonsense was this?

All around her, a storm of panicked voices rose.

"Merlin! Did you see this? This can't be real!"

"How? When? What does it even mean? Is it mandatory for everyone?"

"I don’t want to get married yet! But my dad—"

"It’s awful! Why would they do this?!"

Everyone was evidently shocked. Everyone knew this law could only bring chaos, confusion—and worse, heartbreak. Hermione scanned the room, quickly noticing several couples whispering to each other in distress. Some girls already had tears in their eyes at the thought of being forced into a loveless marriage.

"My father always says he only wants what’s best for me and Padma. He won’t hand us over to someone we don’t choose!" Parvati declared, gripping the newspaper and shaking it.

"Mine too. There’s no way he’d force me into anything, I’m calm about that," Ginny added, managing a faint smile, though she still looked shaken.

"What about you, Lav? Your dad’s dead…" Seamus asked hesitantly.

"I… My dad had a brother. My uncle… He…" Lavender stammered, her breath hitching. "I know he likes to gamble…"

"Do you think he’d sell you off to the highest bidder?" Ginny asked, horrified.

"I don’t know!" Lavender sobbed, trembling all over.

"Hermione, what about you?" Neville asked, his concern evident.

She opened her mouth—then closed it again.

She had no idea.

Her father was alive, but he didn’t even know he had a daughter. What would the Ministry do in her case? Both of her parents were only children, just like she was. There was probably some distant cousin on her father’s side, living somewhere in Cornwall, but the Ministry would have to break the Statute of Secrecy just to contact him. The thought of some stranger, someone who she had seen maybe once in her life, deciding who she was supposed to marry was so absurd it almost made her laugh. 

"We need to write to my dad and ask. The Ministry might try to appoint you a guardian, and it would be best if my dad or Kingsley took that role," Ginny said urgently.

"This is insane ," Hermione’s chest tightening with panic. "They can’t do this! This law will ruin people’s lives! There has to be another way!"

"They explain it on page nineteen," Dean muttered, flipping through his paper. "Refusing an engagement means your wand gets snapped and you’re permanently banished from the wizarding world."

"Hermione! I just heard!"

Ron came rushing to the table, breathless.

"We need to write to Dad right now —see if he can become Hermione’s guardian while her parents are gone!" Ginny said firmly. "We can’t waste time!"

"I don’t know, Gin, this—"

"Excellent idea!" Ron cut her off, grabbing Hermione’s hand tightly. He smiled at her fiercely. "I know we didn’t plan this but we should sign an engagement contract straight away."

"Contract?" she repeated blankly, her whole body going cold.

A sickening wave of dread settled in her stomach.

So this was it?

She would marry Ron because the Ministry had ordered it?

No chance to properly think it through. No time to be sure.

She felt like she was going to be sick.

"Come on, we need to go before the lessons start," Ginny urged, already getting to her feet.

Before Hermione could fully process what was happening, Ron had grabbed her by the shoulders and helped her up, steering her towards the exit with a grip that felt far too firm.

Everything felt surreal, like she was under the Imperius Curse.

She was completely 

Stunned by the revelations of the morning, she had no idea what she was supposed to do next. She moved forward, step by step, but a strange shiver ran through her as she suddenly became aware of a gaze fixed on her. She turned over her shoulder—

And nearly tripped over her own feet.

Those eyes…

A frozen, icy lake.

Why, in the name of Godric, was Draco Malfoy watching her like that?

Before she could even begin to process it, Ron tugged her harder, finally pulling her out of the Great Hall.

If anyone asked, Hermione wouldn’t be able to say for certain what Ginny and Ron had written in their letter to Mr Weasley. They were probably asking about her situation—and just as likely, whether Ron could make an official proposal.

The thought sent another sharp, sinking feeling to the pit of her stomach.

Could she really be getting married already?

How could she, when she couldn’t even imagine it?

It wasn’t that she didn’t love Ron. She just wasn’t certain whether what he feels towards him is enough to last a lifetime. She adored his loyalty, his sincerity, his honesty, and his good heart. But… she also couldn’t stand his jealousy, his impulsiveness, or the way he was so often demanding and careless. 

Could she truly live with all of that, day in and day out , if they had to move in together so soon?

She paced the length of her dormitory, unable to stay still for more than a moment. Her fists clenched and uncurled in turn. She couldn’t shake the restlessness twisting in her chest. She hated being kept in the dark, and she hated feeling helpless even more. She has no idea how she was supposed to rationalise all of this. She felt like Talking to her friends wouldn’t help.

She had left them in the Gryffindor common room, where Ginny was anxiously biting her nails, waiting for an owl from Harry. Hermione had no doubt that she was hoping for some kind of quick declaration from him.

She let out a short breath and collapsed onto her bed.

That was what everyone was waiting for now, wasn’t it?

Countless couples—some official, some not—were already being forced to make life-altering decisions they should have had years to think about.

She buried her face in her pillow and let out a dull, frustrated groan.

In her mind, she could see Neville carefully drafting a letter to his grandmother, asking what he was supposed to do about Hannah. She could see Seamus taking long swigs of whiskey straight from the bottle, stealing nervous glances at Lavender by the fireplace—the girl he had been quietly pining over for months.

Hermiona couldn’t shake herself, so she groaned with frustration. 

She needed to stop pretending she wasn’t thinking about it. She wanted to know—who, among the so-called Untouchable Twenty-Eight , would become Draco Malfoy’s wife? Would it be Pansy Parkinson? Tracey Davis? One of the Greengrass sisters?

She let out a quiet hiss when she tasted blood in her mouth. Without even realising it, she had bitten her lip so hard it had cracked open.

Without even realising it, she had bitten her lip so hard it had cracked open.

She shouldn’t be thinking about this.

It had nothing to do with her.

She had to push these thoughts aside. Had to shove down the feelings that had no right to exist. They were so fucking inappropriate! 

"Hermione!"

Ginny burst into the room like a flash of lightning.

"Are you on fire or just overly emotional?" Hermione quipped, smiling faintly.

"Harry wrote back! And guess what?" Ginny was practically glowing .

"He proposed?" Hermione asked, amused.

"Yes! Well… no. But almost!" Ginny jumped onto the bed beside her, barely able to contain her excitement.

"That’s wonderful, Gin! I’m sure you two will be amazing together," Hermione said, squeezing her friend’s hand.

"I can’t believe it! An engagement to Harry Potter himself! Mum is going to die of joy!" Ginny beamed. "And if she finds out you and Ron are getting engaged too, she’ll probably start planning a huge wedding for us right away!"

Hermione flinched slightly at the word wedding , but Ginny was too caught up in her excitement to notice.

"I’m happy for you, Gin, really," Hermione said sincerely.

"What do you think about a double wedding? That would be brilliant, wouldn’t it? Although, I suppose we wouldn’t be able to be each other’s bridesmaids then… and I always dreamed you’d be mine when I married Harry!" Ginny gushed.

"I read in the Prophet that this law allows for a one-year engagement," Hermione said quietly.

"From the time the contract is signed, or from the engagement party? Because I think the best time for the party would be during the Christmas break! We’ll all be at the Burrow anyway—"

"I have to read it properly. I still don’t know what’s going to happen to me, Gin. This whole thing was only announced a few hours ago, and it’ll probably take a few days for your dad to figure out what to do."

"I’m sure there won’t be any issue with you marrying Ron!" Ginny waved her hand dismissively. "I remember Fleur telling me about this amazing boutique in Paris that sells designer wedding dresses for so much cheaper! Do you think we could go there?"

"I’m sorry, but I don’t know that either," Hermione said, feeling the throbbing in her temples intensify.

She needed to get away from this engagement-wedding fever that Ginny had so clearly been swept up in. She had absolutely no desire to take part in it.

She quickly excused herself, claiming she needed to finish an essay for the next morning’s double Potions lesson. After bidding Ginny goodbye—assuring her that they would definitely start their wedding planning books soon—Hermione slipped into bed and pulled the curtains tightly around her.

She just needed a moment. A moment to breathe…

And maybe—just maybe—shed a few silent tears over the future that someone else seemed so determined to extensively plan for her.

Chapter Text

27 October 1998 

She hadn’t slept well, but she doubted anyone in the castle had. Some had lain awake out of excitement and anticipation, others from worry and uncertainty, and still others from sheer despair. Hermione had spent most of the night tossing and turning, trying to figure out her options. Was it really just marriage or exile from the magical world? She simply could not believe it.

The first step, she decided, was to thoroughly investigate the law and all its provisions. Today, she would send another letter to Kingsley, asking him to provide the full text of the decree, which should already be available at the Ministry. That would be her focus for the next few days—until Mr Weasley could determine what her real options were.

She had just finished her first piece of toast when Professor McGonagall appeared at her table, her expression uncharacteristically troubled.

“Hermione, Headmaster Snape wants to see you in his office,” she said quietly.

Hermione was taken aback—not just by the request, but by the fact that McGonagall had called her by her first name rather than the usual Miss Granger . She thought about asking why but decided against it.

Snape summoning her directly was troubling enough. Since the start of the year, he had never spoken to her about Head Girl matters in person, always passing instructions through McGonagall instead. What could this possibly be about?

To her surprise, McGonagall walked her all the way to the entrance of the office. As Hermione knocked on the door, she glanced over her shoulder. The professor remained halfway up the stairs, still watching her with that same concerned expression. What in Godric’s name was going on?

“Come in,” came the harsh command.

Hermione pushed the door open and stepped inside— and immediately froze, seeing who was there.

Standing by one of the windows was Kingsley Shacklebolt, greeting her with a small smile and a slight raise of his hand. 

At the desk, where Snape sat, was Lucius Malfoy.

Officially, he was a reformed Death Eater, someone who had been forced to participate in the war against his will. In reality, he had been one of Voldemort’s most loyal followers—the kind of man who had made the entire wizarding world tremble.

“There she is! No, really, you look almost exactly like Ernest!”

It was only then that she noticed the fourth man. A tall, slim brunette with an unremarkable face and a crooked, yellowed smile was walking towards her, arms spread wide as if to embrace her.

“Good morning…” she stammered, looking uncertainly between Snape and Kingsley.

“We finally found you! What a happy day!”

The man grabbed her shoulders in a parody of a hug and kissed her swiftly on the cheek.

Hermione let out a strangled sound, instinctively stepping back. What the hell was this supposed to mean?

“Come, Miss Granger, sit with us. We’ll explain everything in a moment,” Snape said, gesturing to one of the two empty chairs in front of his desk.

Hermione walked forward, but her legs felt like lead. She had no idea what was happening—but every instinct in her body screamed that it was nothing good.

The man who had hugged her so enthusiastically quickly walked over and took the other empty chair, flashing her a charming smile.

“You’re probably wondering what exactly this is about,” Snape began smoothly.

“I won’t deny it—I very much am,” Hermione replied, glancing between the men in turn.

“I’m your uncle!” the man beside her declared.

“My uncle ? Dad’s cousin from Cornwall?” she asked, eyeing his obviously magical robes in disbelief.

“Oh no! I’m your real uncle!” he exclaimed, practically beaming.

“Miss Granger, this man is Umberto Dagworth-Granger.”

“Are you related to Hector Dagworth-Granger? The world-famous Potions Master?” she asked with excitement. 

“Yes! He was my great-grandfather… and your great-great-grandfather!”

“What? That’s impossible.”

“It’s very much possible, Miss Granger,” Snape said, his voice steady. “The Ministry of Magic recently uncovered documents proving that you are directly descended from the Dagworth-Granger bloodline.”

“A pure-blood bloodline,” Lucius Malfoy added, speaking for the first time.

Hermione let out an involuntary giggle.

“Pure-blood? That’s absolutely ridiculous! My parents—”

“They weren’t your parents. They were Muggles! You are the missing child of my cousin, Ernest Dagworth-Granger, and his wife, Miriam!”

“Miriam Nott,” Lucius interjected coolly. “Cousin of Theodore Nott’s father.”

Hermione knew it was slightly hysterical, but she couldn’t stop herself from bursting into laughter. Just to be sure she wasn’t dreaming, she quickly and discreetly pinched herself under the table. What kind of sick joke was this?

“As I said, that’s out of the question,” she said, shaking her head. “My parents have hundreds of photos of me from the day I was born in the hospital. I have the same birthmark on my calf as my mum. I have my dad’s freckles on my nose, and—”

“They were hired to pretend to be your parents. During the first war, your real parents were murdered by dark wizards. Everything was enchanted to protect you. My cousin and his wife managed to hide you for a time, but… these Muggles had their memories altered so they’d believe you were truly their daughter.”

His grin didn’t falter—not even as he wasn’t talking about the tragedy of his own family. 

"And they hid me with people who also had the surname Granger ? Brilliant plan," Hermione said dryly, shaking her head in disbelief. She turned to Kingsley, silently pleading, but smiled lightly.

“It really was! Our family has been looking for you for year,” Umberto continued.

"Since my fourth year at Hogwarts, my name and surname have been plastered all over The Daily Prophet . I was hardly difficult to find!" she snapped, glaring at him.

"Enough of this discussion. Let’s get to the point," Malfoy interrupted, his patience clearly wearing thin.

"Of course, Lucius," Umberto said brightly, sending him a beaming smile as he rubbed his hands together eagerly.

Hermione stood up, feeling every cell in her body scream with anxiety. She didn’t want to hear anything that had even the slightest connection to Lucius Malfoy or whatever specifics he had to present to her.

"I’m sorry, but I have no intention of—"

"Sit down. Now , Miss Granger."

Snape’s voice was sharp, commanding.

She bit her lip and decided to listen. This situation certainly didn’t bode well, but she knew she had to understand the details in order to face it head-on.

"According to newly uncovered and officially approved documents at the Ministry of Magic, your legal name is Nina Miriam Dagworth-Granger . You are the daughter of Ernest Dagworth-Granger and Miriam Dagworth-Granger, née Nott."

"Nina?" she repeated blankly.

"Nina is sometimes used as a short form of Hermione . That’s why they called you that in secret," Umberto interjected again.

"You may continue using the name Hermione if you prefer," Lucius explained smoothly, "but your surname will now be Dagworth-Granger . And as of today, you are officially recognised as a pure-blood witch."

"I have nothing to do with any pure-blood family!" she burst out, her voice rising in frustration.

"Silence!" Snape snapped, his tone sharp.

"Since your parents are deceased, your legal guardian is now your uncle." He gestured towards Umberto, who clapped his hands together in childish excitement.

"This man is not related to me in any way!" Hermione insisted furiously.

Malfoy let out a slow, exasperated sigh, rubbing his temple, while Snape merely chuckled under his breath.

"This will be interesting, Lucius! You’re obviously in for a lot of fun in the near future..." Snape turned to Malfoy with a grin.

"Perhaps I should have beaten him as a child," Lucius mused, exchanging a brief, amused glance with Severus. "Apparently, lecturing him wasn’t enough."

"May I ask what exactly the point of this absurd parody is?" she snapped, her patience stretched to its limit.

"The point, Miss Granger, is that, as Draco’s father, I have made a proposal of marriage to your official guardian, Umberto Dagworth-Granger."

Hermiona felt as if the walls of the office were suddenly getting closer and an invisible hand clenched around her throat. 

Did he just say Draco and marriage in the same sentence?

No. No . This was just another one of her strange dreams.

"And I accepted! Truly two wonderful pieces of news at once! Finding you and uniting our family with the noble Malfoy name!"

Hermione shot to her feet once again.

"I’m not listening to another second of this nonsense! This man—" she jabbed her finger at Umberto, "—is probably a fraud trying to extort money. And I would sooner let myself be banished from the magical world than marry someone who has hated me for years!"

She really didn’t want to cry. But the tears came anyway, spilling down her heated cheeks.

"Let’s get one thing straight, Miss Dagworth-Granger," Lucius said, looking into her eyes, "My family has prided itself on an unbroken pure-blood line for over ten centuries. Every Malfoy heir has chosen his wife from the finest aristocratic bloodlines across Europe. My son was given a long list of eligible pure-blood witches—women to whom we could propose a match under the new law. Your name was added at the very last moment, when your miraculous lineage was uncovered. And Draco chose you. It was his decision. Not my wish.” He finished calmly. 

Hermione let out a sharp, panicked laugh, one that quickly turned mocking .

"His decision?" she repeated, incredulous. "Since when has he ever been allowed to decide anything for himself? He obeys you unconditionally, even when you force him to do horrible things!"

"Enough of this!" Snape’s palm slammed down onto his desk, the sound thunderous in the confined space. "You will not show such disrespect to Mr Malfoy in my presence!" he hissed. "He will soon be your father-in-law, and you will afford him the respect you would show your own father!"

"What is this?" she demanded, hysteria creeping into her voice. "Some kind of conspiracy? A new mission for the Dark Lord? Are you trying to force me into something? Get information out of me? Use me to get to Harry?!" 

Tears blurred her vision, but she didn’t care anymore.

"Hermione..."

It was Kingsley. The first time he had spoken since she’d entered the room.

She turned to him, still unable to believe that he was standing there—watching, allowing this to happen.

"Kingsley," she whispered, pleading now. "Do something."

"These documents are authentic," he said quietly.

"You know they’re not!" she cried, desperation clawing at her chest.

"I said they are authentic ," he murmured, offering her a faint, almost sympathetic smile. "Not that they reflect the truth."

Hermione’s legs gave way, and she collapsed back into the chair.

"So that means..."

"Yes. This idiot can now decide who you marry," Shacklebolt said bluntly, nodding toward Umberto.

The man jolted in indignation, but one look at the Auror’s expression kept him from voicing any protest.

"That’s impossible, I..." Hermione’s hands were trembling, as was her chin. She didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh, cry, scream, or smash something into pieces. She had never felt so torn.

"You can’t leave the wizarding world. You know that very well."

Kingsley’s gaze flickered briefly— pointedly —toward Lucius and Snape.

And Hermione understood.

She couldn’t leave.

Not in the middle of a war.

Not when the Order needed her.

She couldn’t leave Harry, when the fate of their world and Harry’s were soon to be determined. 

"There must be another way," she whispered, her voice barely more than a pained breath.

"There is not. Your uncle has already agreed. The contract has been signed. All that remains is for you to sign it as well. It has been agreed that your family will provide a dowry of one hundred thousand galleons, and your uncle has consented to you residing at our manor after you finish school so that you may become familiar with the responsibilities of the future Mrs Malfoy." Lucius spoke indifferently.

"One hundred thousand galleons?" she repeated, staring incredulously at Dagworth-Granger’s not-so-new robes. "From him?"

"Yes, it will be a gift from our family," Umberto chimed in, beaming. "An alliance with the illustrious Malfoy name is worth any price..."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, instantly recognising the real arrangement. The Malfoys would pretend they had received a dowry, and in return, this buffoon would get to parade around boasting about his prestigious new family connection.

"So I have no say in this?" she asked, her voice shaking with fear. "I’m just supposed to marry your precious son, and then what? Become some perfect little wife? Bear him an heir so you can mould him into yet another self-absorbed, arrogant, racist arse?"

Lucius didn’t so much as blink.

"You will discuss the raising of your children with Draco when the time is right.”

Hermione let out a sharp, incredulous snort, barely restraining the violent shudder that ran through her at the idea of deciding anything with Draco Malfoy.

And then—

Something clicked.

The demand.

Draco telling her to break up with Ron. That she wasn’t to be seen with other boys. The way he had approached her at The Three Broomsticks. The way he had touched her. The way he had acted—as if she were his.  He had known! This wasn’t just some twisted game his father was playing! Draco had been in on it the entire time!

"You have just over two weeks to prepare for your final exams, which will take place in mid-November," Snape informed her dryly. "From the first of December, you and your fiancé will move into his family manor."

Hermione shook her head, still unable to comprehend that this was actually happening.

"Wonderful!" she snapped, springing to her feet. "Can I see this engagement contract?"

Lucius, unfazed, withdrew a neatly folded scroll from the pocket of his immaculate robes.

"This is a copy. The originals are already at the Ministry, awaiting approval," he said, pushing the parchment toward her.

Hermione snatched it from his grasp and immediately tried to tear it in half.

"There’s an indestructibility spell on it. To save you the trouble of further attempts—you also won’t be able to set it on fire, drown it, or abandon it. It will always return to you."

Lucius’s smile was cynical.

Hermione clutched the scroll tighter, pressing it against her chest.

"I know exactly what I’m going to do with it," she whispered. "I’m going to shove it so far down your son’s throat that he’ll be calling it all off."

"Be my guest," Lucius chuckled quietly, then gestured towards the door.

A surge of determination coursed through Hermione.

Without another word, she spun on her heel, yanked the door open, and ran. She raced through the castle, her purpose clear. She would not let him use her. For whatever twisted reason he had agreed to this—Draco Malfoy was going to end it himself.

Hermione couldn’t even begin to untangle the emotions coursing through her. 

Anger. Panic. Bitterness.

Everything.

All at once.

It felt physically impossible to feel this much at the same time. 

The idea of shoving it down Draco Malfoy’s throat had never seemed so perfect.

How dare he drag her into this mess? How dare he think she would simply go along with it? Did he not know that she wasn’t someone to be toyed with?

The arrogant prat.

She knew exactly where to find him.

Double Potions was the first thing this morning, and since Malfoy was in the advanced class, they had lessons together. There was only one thing she wanted to hear from him—that he would go to his father, to her supposed uncle, and put an end to this farce.

Hermione ran, her wild curls flying behind her, her black robes billowing as she stormed through the castle. The parchment crumpled in her clenched fist, her grip so tight that her knuckles had turned bone-white. Her chest heaved.  Seeing the classroom door open, she didn’t pause before bursting inside. A few Ravenclaws seated closest to the entrance flinched, startled by the sheer force of her entrance. Draco stood at his usual station with Nott and Zabini, casually pulling a textbook from his bag, laughing at something his friends had said.

The sound of it sent her rage exploding inside her. He was laughing? He wouldn’t be in a moment.

"You!"

She screamed, running to him. She felt a bit satisfied, seeing as his smile froze on his lips. 

"Granger—"

"You fucking, complete arse! I feel like killing you right now!" She screamed, not minding that a stunned silence fell over the room. 

"Calm down," he said, his voice low. 

"What?!" Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "How dare you tell me to calm down after—this?!" 

She was ready to strangle him. 

"Could you—"

"Shut up, you vile snake!"

She hurled the crumpled scroll at him with all her strength, irritated that  his Seeker reflexes allowed him to catch it before it could hit his smug, pale face.

"What is—" Nott started, wanting to ask a question.

"Call it off! Do you hear me? Right now!" 

Her fists clenched tightly,  her entire body taut with desperation, only to stop herself from the urge to grab her wand and curse him into oblivion. 

Malfoy set the scroll down on the table with deliberate slowness, then lifted his gaze to meet hers.

" No ."

Hermione let out a breathless, hysterical laugh.

"You think that was a request? I’m demanding it, do you understand?! You have to do it! You have to call it off right now, or I swear you will regret it!"

"I will not call off anything," he said, unflinching.

Without thinking, she grabbed the empty glass vial on the table and threw it at him with all her strength. He barely managed to raise his forearm in time to shield himself. A few people clapped a hand over their mouths in shock.

"Why do you hate me so much, huh?! Tell me! Why do you want to ruin my life, Malfoy?! Was it not enough for you to torment me for years? What more could you want from me?! Is it because of my blood status?!You know I had no control over that! I did nothing to you! I stayed out of your way, I endured every insult, every hex, every cruel remark in silence—and you still—you loathsome, evil… Why can’t you leave me alone?”  

Tears burned hot trails down her cheeks, when, in an act of desperation, she grabbed a chopping knife to throw it at him. 

"Hermione!" 

Ernie Macmillan and Padma Patil ran towards her, steading her arms and stopping from actually hurting Malfoy.

"Call it off," she tried to scream, but the words came out as a strangled, tearful moan, and the knife slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the stone floor.

"I won’t," Malfoy said, brushing the shattered glass from his robes. His expression was emotionless.

She wanted to continue screaming at him but instead a sob tore from her throat. What was she supposed to do?  What else could she say? How could she convince him? 

"It's okay, Miss Granger."

Hermione barely registered McGonagall’s voice before the professor was suddenly beside her, gently prying her from Padma’s grasp.

"He can’t —" Hermione gasped between sobs, her body convulsing with the effort to breathe.

"Calm yourself, child. Come with me to my office. You need to calm down."

The professor cast Malfoy a hostile glare before guiding Hermione towards the door, with Ernie supporting her on the other side.

As they stepped out, Hermione barely caught the low murmur of Zabini’s voice behind her.

"Mate, what the hell was that about?"

"Later, Blaise," Malfoy replied, his voice quiet.

But even through the haze of tears, Hermione knew. He was watching her again.

Chapter Text

October 27, 1998 – Later

It wasn’t until she stood at the door of Professor McGonagall’s office that Hermione realised where she had been led. She had been crying the entire way, feeling entirely hopeless and completely broken about the whole situation. Malfoy’s cold, detached calm as he had told her he had no intention of calling it off sent fresh shivers down her spine. Was he doing this deliberately, just another cruel way to hurt her?  Had he really agreed to something like this without a second thought—without a single shred of remorse—knowing it would make her utterly miserable? Why? 

"Thank you, Mr Macmillan, that will be all," McGonagall said briskly, dismissing Ernie, who had helped her get there.

"Professor," Ernie hesitated, "does this mean that Draco Malfoy—"

"It means," McGonagall cut in sharply, "that whatever happened is none of your concern, Mr Macmillan."

"I… Of course," Ernie turned to Hermione, hesitating for just a moment before patting her shoulder in silent comfort. "Take care, Hermione."

💍💍💍

McGonagall pushed open the door to her office, and as Hermione stepped inside, she raised her head slightly—

And froze.

Kingsley was already there, seated in one of the two chairs in front of the desk.

"How do you feel?" he asked gently.

"How could you?" she choked out, her voice thick with emotion as a fresh wave of tears spilled down her cheeks.

"Sit down, and I’ll explain everything," Shacklebolt said, gesturing toward the chair opposite him.

"You stood there and let them—" she sobbed, stumbling onto the seat and burying her face in her hands.

"Hermione—"

"Maybe she should take a Calming Draught?" McGonagall suggested, her tone filled with concern.

"She needs a clear head right now," Kingsley countered. "Maybe a little of your cognac instead?"

"You want me to give my own student alcohol?" McGonagall asked indignantly.

"Hermione is eighteen, Minerva. She’s certainly tasted something stronger than butterbeer. Just a little—it won’t do her any harm. A bit might help her nerves."

"Fine…" With clear reluctance, she moved to the bar hidden among the shelves, while Kingsley deftly conjured a simple white handkerchief and handed it to Hermione.

"This isn’t real," she whispered, clutching the fabric tightly. "It’s just a nightmare. I’ll wake up soon…"

"I’m afraid not," Kingsley murmured, reaching out to squeeze her hand gently.

"Why?" she rasped, covered in tears. "Does this have something to do with Voldemort? It does, doesn’t it? They’re trying to use me somehow? Or—or get rid of me?"

"Deep breath, Miss Granger," McGonagall handed Hermione the glass of cognac, her sharp eyes filled with sincere sympathy.

Hermione wasted no time—she raised the glass to her lips and drank. The alcohol burned pleasantly on her tongue before flowing down her throat in a warm wave.

"You told me this didn’t mean anything bad," McGonagall said. "Elaborate on that, Kingsley." She passed him his own glass before settling into the chair behind her desk.

"Lucius Malfoy came to my office last Saturday," he admitted, his voice quiet. "The day before the law was passed."

"Why?" Mcgonagall asked curiously and drank a big gulp from her own glass, sitting on the chair by her desk.

"To tell me that he had found Dagworth-Granger… and bribed him to pretend to be Hermione’s long-lost uncle."

"And you did nothing to stop him?!" she gasped, looking at her friend in complete and utter shock.

How could he?

"Hermione…" Kingsley asked, his voice grave. "Do you even know why this law was introduced in the first place?"

"To destroy people’s lives!" Hermione shouted.

"In a way..." Kingsley sighed. "The Death Eaters themselves orchestrated this law. It’s their way of infiltrating our side—legally, without bloodshed."

"Oh, Godric ..." McGonagall pressed a trembling hand to her mouth.

"It’s… impossible," Hermione whispered, her head spinning from the weight of the revelation.

"And Lucius Malfoy is involved in this conspiracy?" McGonagall demanded, her voice taut with urgency.

"Well… not exactly," Kingsley admitted. "He only learned about it in late August. The main architect behind it was Parkinson Senior.  From what I was told, he gathered a few willing Death Eaters who planned to trap the most crucial witches in the Order and essentially enslave them—forcing them, through marriage, to reveal our secrets."

"They really thought we’d just let them do that?" Hermione asked quietly, watching Kingsley carefully.

"It was a well-thought-out plan. Imperius, control potions, bribery… They had a system in place, designed to execute it quickly and efficiently. And willing Death Eaters to carry it out."

"Was young Malfoy one of them?" McGonagall asked, clear disgust in her voice.

"No. The plan was for young Death Eater heirs to secure engagements within the Sacred Twenty-Eight as fast as possible under the new law—ideally, starting to produce more supporters of Voldemort immediately."

"This is monstrous," McGonagall muttered, shuddering.

"Then why did Lucius come to warn you?" Hermione asked, finally stopping her crying. 

"He didn’t share many details, but he did say that when his family learned of the plan, they decided something had to be done. Parkinson had already chosen someone to approach you with an engagement contract. They were likely planning to place your distant uncle under the Imperius Curse and drag him to the Ministry to sign it."

"Merlin..." Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands. "The absolute vileness of it all."

"And we’re supposed to believe that the Malfoys saved Hermione from marrying some Death Eater… by forcing her to marry Draco, who is also one of them?" McGonagall asked, her eyes narrowing sharply.

"That’s what all the evidence suggests," Kingsley admitted. "Lucius told me that reclassifying Hermione as a pure-blood gave him the leverage to convince Voldemort that Draco was a better choice for her than Thorfinn Rowle.”

"WHAT?!" Hermione jerked upright in her chair..

"From what Malfoy discovered, Rowle was actively fighting to claim you for himself. I don’t know what he was doing at the castle recently, but it might not have been a coincidence… Apparently, he still holds a grudge over how easily you hexed him last year But fortunately, his family ranks far below the Malfoys in privilege. Voldemort supposedly loved the idea of Harry Potter’s best friend marrying the son of one of his highest-ranking followers. He still believes the Malfoys are fully devoted to him—that they’ll be able to… persuade you into their ideology quickly. "

"Do I understand correctly? Voldemort thinks Hermione will suddenly start supporting him? What nonsense is that?" McGonagall snorted, deeply disgusted.

Hermione, however, swallowed back a shudder.

It sounded ridiculous. But also... terrifyingly logical.

Wouldn’t that destroy Harry?

"I still don’t understand why they’re doing this,” Hermione said, forcing herself to think rationally. “They’re taking a huge risk. If Voldemort ever finds out they lied about my heritage, they’re dead. And if they’re still in his good graces, there’s barely any gain”

"Lucius only told me that he had to do it for the good and protection of his family."

"And you believed him?" McGonagall asked unconvinced. 

"Of course not! At least… not until he made me an offer."

"What offer?" Hermione asked.

"It’s strictly confidential," Kingsley warned. "I can only tell you both under a wizarding oath."

Hermione and McGonagall exchanged a look, then nodded. They each raised their wands and murmured the spell. A faint shimmer in the air confirmed that, from this moment on, neither of them would be able to repeat what they were about to hear.

"Lucius Malfoy swore an Unbreakable Vow to me."

"What?!"

Both Hermione and McGonagall shot to their feet, their cognac sloshing over the rims of their glasses.

"I had Remus act as our Bonder. Lucius swore—on his own life—that neither he nor anyone in his household would harm Hermione. That she would never be handed over to Voldemort or his followers. That he would protect her… and help the Order of the Phoenix defeat the Dark Lord."

"I don’t believe it…" she whispered, utterly lost in the revelation.

McGonagall flicked her wand to summon the cognac bottle and refilled her glass with a heavy hand. "And they’re doing all of this just to avoid arrest if we win?"

"That may be one reason…" His sharp gaze flicked to Hermione.

"What?” Hermione asked, not understanding the meaning of the look he was giving her. 

"I apologise for being direct, Hermione, but… what exactly is your relationship with Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione gaped at him, utterly aghast. Then she let out a sharp, bitter laugh.

“How could you even ask me that? You know that we’ve hated each other since our first year at Hogwarts!” 

"Exactly!" McGonagall called. “"What are you suggesting, Kingsley? He’s a Slytherin , for Merlin’s sake!" 

Kingsley rolled his eyes.

"Oh, yes, I forgot that it's an insurmountable barrier. Really, Minerva… You, of all people, know of several inter-house marriages between Gryffindors and Slytherins."

"But—but it’s not our Miss Granger!" McGonagall protested, then turned back to Hermione, searching her face. "She has absolutely nothing to do with that arrogant, heartless boy… does she?"

"Of course not!" Hermione blurted out, praying she wasn’t blushing. 

All those deeply disturbing dreams. The memories of those haunting, blue-grey eyes

"I received your letter on Sunday," Kingsley said, watching Hermione closely. "You mentioned Malfoy’s strange behaviour at The Three Broomsticks."

"Yes… He… On Friday, he told me that I shouldn’t be seen in the village with any boys, and then on Saturday, he just… it’s hard to explain.He stood next to me. Put his arm around me—as if we were somehow… closer than we actually are." 

Hermione felt the heat creeping up her neck despite her best intentions.

"He was probably trying to preempt any rumours about you and Ron before the article about your engagement appeared," he mused.

"That still doesn’t explain your insinuations about some imaginary connection between Miss Granger and that… boy," McGonagall snapped, immediately taking another sip of her cognac, as if she could wash away even the mention of Malfoy.

"I only meant that there might be another reason they chose Hermione. Logically speaking, Ginny would have been the easier target. It would have hurt Harry just as much, and it would have been far simpler for them—Miss Weasley is already a pure-blood, after all.” 

""There is nothing between me and Draco Malfoy!" Hermione exclaimed, jumping up from her chair.

Kingsley shrugged, unconcerned.

"Well… whether or not there were other motives, the fact remains that this plan was executed flawlessly.Even if we managed to find your father and restore his memories, Dagworth-Granger has likely fabricated enough evidence to support the story of his ‘cousin’ hiding his only daughter with a pair of Muggle dentists” 

"So there really is no way out of this?" Hermione asked bitterly, sinking back into her seat.

“So, we’re actually in a good position here, Hermione. We know you are safe. And thanks to the intelligence Malfoy provided about the Death Eaters’ plans, I was able to secure engagement constructs for several women in the Order before Voldemort’s people could make their move.” 

"Really?" McGonagall asked, clearly pleased.

"Yes. Harry has already sent Arthur the engagement contract—who will agree for him to marry Ginny. George Weasley will be engaged to Angelina Johnson, and Percy is set to meet with Penelope Clearwater’s father today. Charlie Weasley has already approached Xenophilius Lovegood, so we’re sure the most important witches on our side will be protected."

"And Aurora? Septima?" McGonagall asked.

"Sturgis and Septima had been seeing each other for a while now, so I just… nudged him a bit," Kingsley said with a smirk. “About Aurora… I know she has an older cousin. I’ll talk to him and to her today.” 

With that, he grabbed his glass and downed his cognac in a single swift gulp.

“Getting married? You” McGonagall smirked knowingly.

"If that’s what it takes," Kingsley said gruffly, clearing his throat, as if the alcohol had suddenly caught in it.

Hermione felt a bitter taste rise in her throat.

So she was the only one who had no choice?

Without her knowledge, she had been sold to the Malfoys for the safety of others? While the rest of the Order would survive this calmly in their arranged relationships between friends, she would be trapped in that horrible manor in Wiltshire, not knowing what to expect except contempt and constant Mudblood name-calling. 

"I see you’re thinking, Hermione," Kingsley said calmly. "But, as I told you in the Headmaster’s office, you can’t leave now. We all need you. And if you give yourself time to think, you’ll realise that your position—so close to both Draco and Lucius—can only help us."

"Is there a chance," she whispered, staring at the deep scars carved into her wrist, "that the war will be over before the engagement year passes and that we won’t have to…?"

"We all hope so," Kingsley murmured, reaching for her hand and squeezing it tightly.

“And what about Ron?” She asked quietly, squeezing back Kingsley’s hand.  

"I… I didn’t want to add to his pain, knowing that losing you would already be devastating for him. I haven’t planned an engagement contract for him.” He admitted sadly. 

"How am I supposed to tell him?" she muttered. "His first instinct will be to run straight to Malfoy and hex him into next week."

"I’ll do it. In fact, Arthur should be arriving soon so he can be part of that conversation as well."

"That’s a good idea, thank you…"

She managed a faint, tired smile, though it barely lasted.

"Severus mentioned that Hermione and Mr Malfoy will be taking their NEWTs early?

"Yes. The Ministry has decided that engaged wizards should finish their education as soon as possible and begin their adult lives. Not just Hermione—all the students I mentioned will be taking their exams early and probably not only them.” Kingsley explained. 

"So, this… engagement…" She nearly choked on the word. "It’ll be official after we pass our exams?"

"You’ll be signing the contract tonight. We can’t risk anyone else stepping in. After dinner, you need to return to Snape’s office and sign it, so the documents become lawfully valid." 

"And if I don’t?" she asked, a flicker of hope sparking inside her.

"Then the process will take longer and as I said, that might not be in our favour. There’s no telling what else the Death Eaters might try in the meantime."

Kingsley was still squeezing her hand. 

"So the… wedding…" Her voice caught. "It can take up to a year from today?"

"Yes. Though I know that Malfoys wanted a formal, lavish engagement party. Lucius said it’s his wife’s wish.” 

"I don’t care what she wishes!" Hermione snapped, her chest tightening with anger.

"I suspect Voldemort wants you and Draco to be in the spotlight as much as possible."

"Wonderful!" she spat, shoving his hand away from hers. 

"I’m so sorry, Mis— Hermione,” McGonagall said, looking at her with a sad and sorrowful gaze.

"I…If this gives the Order a chance to get closer to Voldemort… then…I’ll do it. I won’t resist." Hermione decided. 

The words left a hollow, aching feeling inside her chest.

McGonagall stood and stepped closer, her eyes full of admiration and sorrow. Hermione instinctively rose from her chair as well.

"I don’t know a single witch braver than you, Hermione Granger. If anyone can survive the schemes and manipulations of a man like Lucius Malfoy, it’s you." McGonagall said, smiling and gently cupped her shoulders, leaned down, and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.

Hermione wanted to thank her.

She wanted to promise that she could do this.

That everything would be fine.

But all she could do was let out a short, sharp sob, her throat too tight to form words.

Because whatever happened next…

It would be nothing she ever would have chosen for herself.

💍💍💍

Hermione stepped into the common room, feeling as if she were carrying a hundred-kilogram weight on her shoulders. She had no idea how she was supposed to explain all of this to her friends without completely breaking down. This was, without a doubt, one of the worst days of her life.

"Hermione!"

Ginny shot up from the couch by the fireplace, running straight towards her.

"Ginny, I—" Hermione started, but before she could get another word out, her friend wrapped her arms around her.

Her throat closed up .

She barely managed to swallow back a sob.

"Is it true?" Ginny whispered, pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes. "Did you really attack Malfoy in the Potions classroom, screaming at him to call off your engagement?"

Hermione glanced around, relieved to see that apart from Ginny, only a few third-years were scattered around the room, who were starting their classes later in the day.

"That’s not exactly what I was shouting," she muttered, sighing as she dragged herself over to the couch.

"I ran into Ernie. He told me what happened. I skipped Herbology and decided to wait for you." Ginny said, sitting next to her and looking at her with concern. 

Hermione grabbed her wand and cast a Muffliatoaround them. 

She was grateful that Ginny had waited. She needed her right now.,, 

"Oh, Ginny…" she whispered, another wave of tears threatening to spill.

"Is it true? He offered you a contract? But how…?" Ginny grabbed her hand, giving her support. 

“His father forged it. He tracked down some distant relative of Hector Dagworth-Granger and convinced him to pretend I was part of their family—pure-blooded."

"What?! Impossible!" Ginny gasped, practically bouncing in her seat.

"I know. Believe me, I reacted the same way." Hermione tried to raise her lips in an imitation of a smile. 

"But… why ?"

"Apparently, it’s some kind of protection for the Malfoys. I can’t tell you everything, but… supposedly I’m not in any danger. They claim they don’t intend to hurt me.” Hermione explained vaguely. 

"But… you’re not actually agreeing to this, right? We have to do something! We have to stop it—" Ginny jumped from the coach and stood in front of her. 

"You know they don’t need my consent for anything," Hermione cut her off, resting her head against the couch and closing her eyes.

“Hermione! You can’t give up! We have to do something! We need to immediately write to my dad and to Kingsley…” 

"I just spoke with Kingsley. There’s no way out. I have to agree to this. The matter is settled." Hermiona murmured, rubbing her temple as she tried to breathe evenly despite the suffocating weight in her chest.

She felt as Ginny slowly sat back down and silence fell between them. 

“It’s because of the war, isn’t it?” 

"The law is because of the war," she said bitterly. "So yes."

"Why you?" Ginny asked quietly.

"It wasn’t just supposed to be me. A lot of witches from the Order were supposed to go through this.” 

Hermione opened her eyes and looked at her friend. 

"Oh Godric!" she breathed, pressing a hand to her mouth.

"Don’t worry. Harry’s already sorting everything with your dad. You’ll be engaged soon.”

Hermione looked as Ginny’s face flooded with relief. She didn’t want to but she envied her.

"But you and Malfoy …It’s just so unreal …” Ginny looked at her with compassion. 

"Yeah. I don’t know how the hell this is going to work, either. Maybe I’ll end up in Azkaban for a brutal murder after all."

"Does Ron know yet?" she asked.

"Kingsley and your dad are going to tell him," Hermione admitted. "I don’t think I could do it."

Silence settled between them again as Ginny squeezed Hermione’s hand with compassion. 

"You know…" she began lightly, her lips twitching. "If there’s any silver lining in all this… At least he’s the most handsome guy in school." Ginny smiled faintly, as she said it, squeezing her hand again firmly. 

Hermione rolled her eyes but despite herself, her lips twitched slightly. 

She truly couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be around Malfoy—especially outside of school—but she had a feeling that, in no way whatsoever, would it be boring.

"And he’s the richest," Ginny added. “And even though he’s a git, he is the second-best student in our year—right after you."

Hermione let out a snort, which was supposed to be a sound of agreement. Malfoy wasn’t stupid, she was sure of that. 

"You could also mention that he’s a good Quidditch player and I heard some Slytherin girls gossiping about what a great kisser he is—"

"Oh, for Merlin’s sake! Stop it this instant!" Hermione yelled desperately. 

They fell silent again, but there was a small but mischievous smirk on Ginny’s face. 

"Just imagine Lavender’s face when she finds out," Ginny teased.

Hermione bit her lip—then couldn’t stop a small giggle from escaping her mouth.

"You should imagine Pansy Parkinson’s face," she added, and a second later, both of them burst into loud laughter—a strangely cleansing and soothing release for their frayed nerves.

"All the Slytherins will probably die of a heart attack when they find out." Ginny continued laughing. 

"The whole school will," Hermione corrected, trying to wipe her tears.

Ginny squeezed her arm firmly. 

"It won’t last forever, Herm," she said seriously. "This whole thing… the law, the war… It’ll end."

"I know it, Gin," she also stopped laughing. "I’m just scared of what else will happen before it finally does."

"I’m so sorry. So, so sorry!” Ginny hugged her, burying her head in Hermione’s hair. 

"Me too. But I also know that I’ll survive this. I’ll manage…"

Hermione felt the strength of her own words seep through her, grounding her.

Yes. It was true.

She wouldn’t let Draco Malfoy defeat her.

She never had.

And she certainly wasn’t about to start now.

Whatever lay ahead, she would face it in her own way—without hesitation, without compromise, without looking back.

She knew she could do this.

And she planned on letting nothing stand in her way.

Chapter Text

Ron hadn’t returned to Gryffindor Tower that afternoon. That worried her. She knew their conversation would be painful and difficult but she wanted to get it over with. The longer it dragged on, the worse it would be. 

She wondered what kept him. Had Mr. Weasley and Kingsley decided he needed time to cool down before facing Malfoy again?

She had no illusions that Ron could influence the situation in any way. She had no doubt that the matter was already settled.

Her mind always worked in the same way. First, she gathered information, then she analyzed it, and finally, she drew conclusions. But now, the information she had was fragmented… Kingsley hadn’t even told her the exact wording of the oath Lucius Malfoy had sworn to him. The mere fact that the arrogant aristocrat had gone through with it at all remained a complete mystery to Hermione. She wasn’t sure if she would ever be able to unravel everything, but she knew she had to gather more information before she even tried.

That was why, despite having no desire to leave her dormitory—suspecting that the entire school was already buzzing with gossip and speculation about what had happened in the Potions classroom—she decided not to hide from the world and to go to dinner as usual. She had barely touched breakfast, and she had skipped lunch entirely, preferring to stay in her room and try to organize her thoughts. Soon enough, she would have to go to the headmaster’s office to sign that ridiculous contract anyway. So there was no reason not to have a proper meal first.

After all, the world hadn’t ended yet. 

She made her way down to the common room, where she found Ginny and Neville deep in quiet conversation. Earlier that day, Hermione had asked her friend to tell their closest circle—Neville, Luna, and Susan Bones—what had happened. 

The moment she came to view, Nev jumped up from the couch, and after a moment, Hermione was enveloped in his strong embrace. 

"I'm so sorry, Hermione… If only I could do something…" Neville whispered into her hair.

"I know, thank you," she murmured, patting his back affectionately, though inwardly, she wondered how often people would be saying this to her now instead of offering the usual congratulations on an engagement.

"That vile, pale ferret… What is he playing at?" Neville shook his head in frustration.

"Whatever it is, I won’t let him win," Hermione vowed firmly.

"He doesn’t stand a chance against you!" Neville hugged her once more, holding her tightly.

"Exactly! You’re going to put him in his place in every way, Herm…" Ginny joined them, offering her a comforting smile.

"I promise I won’t back down," Hermione assured them, finally pulling away from Longbottom and managing the faintest lift of the corners of her lips.

"Shall we go to dinner?" Neville asked hesitantly.

"Of course. I have no intention of hiding from him," she stated with determination, striding purposefully toward the portrait hole.

💍💍💍

She was fully aware of the curious glances cast her way by many of the students they passed, but no one dared to comment or, even more so, ask her anything directly.

As they took their seats at the Gryffindor table, Hermione forced herself—with great effort—not to glance toward the Slytherin table.

"I don’t think he’s here," Ginny remarked, scanning the Great Hall.

"Maybe he’s the one hiding from you ," Neville offered, as if trying to cheer her up.

"Smart of him," Hermione replied lightly, though inwardly, she wondered if that could actually be true. Could Malfoy still be the same coward he had always been?

A sudden, commanding voice echoed from the teachers' table.

"May I have your attention!"

Only then did Hermione realise that Headmaster Snape was present at dinner. A cold shiver ran down her spine. She hoped he was not about to announce those ridiculous engagements in front of everyone… She would die of embarrassment. Though, it was only a matter of time before the news spread. Still, for her, later sounded much better than now.

“As under the new law enacted by our esteemed Ministry of Magic, several of you have chosen to formalise your engagements, I wish to inform you that those students will sit their final exams on an accelerated schedule, which falls on Friday, the thirteenth of November” 

“All further information about this will be provided to you by your Head og Houses. A second announcement is about a certain and recent discovery made by the Ministry of Magic. Without unnecessary details, I wish to inform you that the Head Girl you all know, turned out to, in fact, be the long-lost daughter of a wizarding family…” 

A wave of sudden whispers spread across the Great Hall. Several students stood from their seats to get a better look at her. Gryffindors gaped at her with their mouths wide open. No one had seen this coming. 

“As of today, she is known as Nina Dagworth-Granger and is recognised as a pure-blood witch going back seven generations” Snape finished, unbothered. 

“They even changed your name?“ – Ginny asked, squeezing Hermione’s hand tightly under the table.

“It doesn’t matter, Gin,“ She whispered, reaching for her pumpkin juice, determined not to appear devastated by the headmaster’s announcement.

"That will be all. Enjoy your evening," Snape concluded, and the chaos in the room erupted even further. 

Hermione quickly finished her meal, glancing toward the teachers' table just in time to see the headmaster leave through the staff entrance.

"Hermione… is it true? You’re not a Muggle-born after all? But how is that possible?" Lavender asked eagerly.

"It’s news to me as well. I don’t know all the details yet," she deflected smoothly as she rose from her seat.

"Where are you going?" Ginny asked, concerned.

"I have to go to the headmaster’s office."

"We’ll walk with you!" Neville declared immediately, stepping beside her and Giinny.

Hermione was about to tell them it wasn’t necessary, but she had barely taken two steps when she found her path blocked by Pansy Parkinson, flanked by Astoria Greengrass and Millicent Bulstrode.

"What do you want, Parkinson?" Ginny growled.

Pansy sneered, her eyes brimming with smug superiority as she locked onto Hermione.

"Well, well… The biggest Mudblood in this school turns out not to be a Mudblood after all… Who would have guessed?" she mocked.

"Certainly not you. You've never been particularly astute at anything, Parkinson," Hermione replied sweetly, prompting a round of laughter from the Gryffindor girls nearby.

"You can pretend to be whoever you want, Granger! But you can’t change the truth. You might not have been born a Mudblood, but you were raised as one, and nothing will ever change that!" she spat, her fists clenched at her sides.

"Who do you think is worse, Parkinson? A clever Mudblood or a pure-blooded idiot?" Hermione asked, still smiling lightly.

"Especially since Granger isn’t a Mudblood anymore, and you’re no longer allowed to call her that…" a voice cut in behind Pansy.

Hermione held her breath for a moment, but to her relief, it was only Zabini, Nott, and Montague. Malfoy was not with them.

"Apologies, I suppose I should say Dagworth-Granger now," Zabini smiled apologetically at her. 

"It would be best if you didn’t say anything to me at all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have something important to take care of," Hermione muttered, attempting to sidestep them but Blaise suddenly caught her wrist. 

"I didn’t mean to offend you! I just wanted to say hello and offer you my friendship…"

Hermione let out a sharp laugh, staring at him incredulously.

"This morning, you would have compared me to the dirt on your shoe, and now you’re offering me friendship ?" she snapped, yanking her arm free from his touch.

"This morning, I didn’t know you’d be engaged to my best friend," Zabini replied smoothly, entirely unfazed.

The entire corridor fell into a stunned silence. Then, after a few seconds, Lavender, Parvati, Astoria, and Pansy shrieked in unison:

"WHAT?!"

Hermione barely suppressed a groan of horror. She hadn’t expected Zabini to so casually toss that topic into conversation.

“It’s impossible…” Pansy whispered, suddenly pale as Nearly Headless Nick. 

"So that’s what you were arguing about in Potions this morning? Padma told me all about it!" Parvati looked positively thrilled.

"Get out of my way, Zabini!" Hermione hissed through gritted teeth, trying to rein in her emotions. She couldn’t afford to cry or have a hysterical outburst right now. She needed to stay calm.

"I just wanted you to know that my offer is genuine. It won’t be easy for you at first, but if you ever need anything, you can count on me," Blaise said, his expression completely sincere.

"Oh, how gracious of you. Now sod off!" she snapped, fully aware that the entire Great Hall was watching them.

"In that case, see you around, Nina," Blaise winked at her before walking back toward the Slytherin table. Nott gave her a long, assessing look before following him. 

"What the hell is all this supposed to mean?! What was Blaise rambling about?" Parkinson shouted, staring at Hermione in disbelief. Beside her, Astoria Greengrass looked halfway petrified.

"Not your business, Parkinson! Now bugger off!" Ginny spat angrily.

"Draco asked me to tell you that he’ll be waiting for you outside the headmaster’s office," Graham Montague suddenly blurted, blushing immediately. 

"What?!" This time, both Parkinson and Ginny exclaimed in unison.

"Are you Malfoy’s personal owl, Montague?" Hermione asked, eyeing the slightly flustered Slytherin.

"Oh, sure! Just one of many," Graham gestured behind him toward Goyle, whom Hermione hadn’t even noticed standing there. "And if we’re being specific, I’d say I’m the most competent one." He grinned at her in a way that almost seemed friendly.

The corners of Hermione’s lips twitched involuntarily. She couldn’t recall Montague ever calling her a Mudblood or being hostile toward her. Either way, she had no intention of treating him as a mere messenger to be executed for bearing bad news. 

What did that bloody Malfoy want now? She was already dreading signing that ridiculous contract. She did not want to see him while doing it.

"What the hell do you think you’re doing, Granger? Whatever you’re plotting, back off from Draco immediately!" Pansy hissed furiously.

"Right now, I’m imagining that if you don’t step aside in a moment, I’ll transfigure you into a rabbit and toss you to the hippogriffs for dinner. Got it?" Hermione said coolly.

Parkinson choked on air and seemed to be scrambling for a sharp retort, but Hermione ignored it, brushed past her and strode out of the Great Hall with her head held high. 

💍💍💍

"Hermione… but really…" Ginny looked at her almost pleadingly.

“No, Gin. There's no need for you to come with me. If I’m going to curse him, I’d rather not have any witnesses," Hermione replied with a wry smirk, standing at the base of the staircase.

"And what if he’ll be the one to draw his wand?" Neville asked worriedly.

"He can try—if he dares," Hermione promised darkly.

"If anything happens to you, Harry and Ron will never forgive me," Ginny lamented.

"Nothing’s going to happen to me. If I have to face him, I’d rather do it alone," Hermione sighed, clearly exasperated.

"Alright… But if anything goes wrong, send us a Patronus straight away, and we’ll be there in a moment," Neville assured her.

"I promise, I will," Hermione mustered a small smile, then waved them goodbye and strode briskly up the stairs.

💍💍💍

As soon as she turned the first corner and lost sight of her friends, Hermione allowed herself to slow down and drop the façade of unwavering confidence. In truth, she had no desire to see Malfoy. Before the last turn, she took a deep breath and lifted her chin slightly. This was not going to be pleasant…

Draco stood casually leaning against the wall, right next to the stone Chimera leading to the headmaster’s office. He was dressed in a black sweater and jeans, his hair so artfully tousled that it couldn’t have been accidental. He looked completely at ease, as if he were just waiting for someone to hand him a glass of whiskey to complete his day. Arms crossed over his chest, ankles lazily crossed, and a look of utter boredom.

What a bloody prat!

He turned his head only as she got closer, though Hermione would have bet that he had been aware of her presence from the moment she stepped onto the corridor.

"Good evening, darling," he greeted her with a cheeky grin. "Has your temper cooled yet?"

Hermione wasn’t sure if she wanted to scream, cry, hex him, or just pummel him with her fists... 

But she knew one thing—she couldn’t show any of those emotions in front of him. She had to be just as cold as he was.

"Are you really going to play this game?" she asked, keeping her voice even. "Have you already forgotten how well my fist fits your nose, darling ?" She spat the last word as if it were the worst insult she could think of.

Malfoy assessed her for a moment before pushing off the wall and taking two steps forward, coming to stand right in front of her.

"Good start, Granger," something close to approval laced his voice. "I thought you’d serve me more of that same hysteria from this morning, but I see you’ve already done some thinking and rightly concluded that it’s pointless."

"I simply don’t like wasting my time on insignificant things, Malfoy. Say what you want and let’s get this over with, since neither of us enjoys this conversation."

"Oh no!" Draco clutched his chest theatrically. "You don’t want to talk to me? That wounds my heart so deeply!" He flashed her a smug, mocking smirk.

Hermione crossed her arms, slowly dragging her gaze from his shoes up to his face, hoping that her expression conveyed nothing but disgust.

"I can talk plenty if you want. I could even talk you to death if it means making you as miserable as I am right now."

"Let’s stick to not wasting time on nonsense. I assume that, despite your million questions—since that’s just how your brain works—there’s one in particular that’s been gnawing at you the most, isn’t there?" he taunted.

"Oh, so now I’m supposed to believe you know me so well, Malfoy?" she snapped, refusing to let him shake her composure.

"Better than you’d expect." Strangely enough, he didn’t sound like he was mocking or joking. "You want to know why I chose you, don’t you?"

"Yes. I bloody desperately want to know," she admitted truthfully.

A genuine smile lit up his handsome face, and for a fraction of a second, Hermione’s breath caught. Someone ought to ban him from smiling like that!

"And what will you give me for an answer to that question?" he asked, his tone serious.

Hermione scoffed in desdain.

"As if I have anything left for you to take, you vile bastard! My freedom, my friendships, my future plans… Even my name! You’ve taken everything. What else could you possibly want from me?"

Draco was no longer smiling. Instead, he studied her face intently with those sharp, grey-blue eyes.

"I have five good reasons why I chose you, Granger," he said extremely calmly.

Her jaw nearly dropped. She didn’t expect this.

"What reasons?"

"Five reasons, for five tasks I want you to complete for me. That’s my offer.

"Tasks?" Hermione let out a bitter laugh. "What, do you need a new house-elf, Your Highness? Should I write your Transfiguration essay, feed your peacocks, or maybe polish your shoes?" she sneered.

"For starters, stop acting like a petty, quarrelsome shrew, Granger. Do as I say, and I guarantee you won’t have too many reasons to complain about this situation."

"The mere fact that you exist in the same world as I do is reason enough for me to complain, Malfoy!"

"You do realise we’re going to have to start calling each other by our first names, don’t you?" Draco smirked wickedly.

"Not when we’re alone, we won’t."

"I’m trying to make this easier for you, but if you prefer constant fighting…" he chuckled

Hermione opened her mouth in sheer outrage. How dare he?

"Oh no! Are you about to launch into another temper tantrum? Should I start running?" Malfoy teased, clearly amused by her current mood.

She forced herself to rein in her fury, glaring angrily at him instead.

"What tasks do I have to complete to get to know your reasons?" she asked, enunciating each word with icy precision.

"Cooperate, Granger, and everything will work out fine," he said smoothly.

"Any specifics?" Hermione dug her nails into her palm to calm the hum of her magic. Anger was not a good guide in this situation.

"For starters—no parading around with other blokes. We can’t afford any scandal of that sort."

"Funny, because not five minutes ago, your girlfriend nearly attacked me in the middle of the Great Hall. If you don’t want a scandal, maybe you should clean up your own backyard first," she said coolly.

Draco grimaced as if he’d just felt a sharp toothache.

"I’ll take care of it. You, however, need to keep yourself in check, Granger!"

"That’s interesting, you know? Your father claimed you chose me from a list of pure-blood witches, yet I don’t hear you using my oh-so-noble new surname." Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

"It’s a matter of habit," Malfoy said casually with a shrug.

“You’re quite used to calling me Mudblood, aren’t you, you racist prick?" she shot back.

"You will never hear that word from me again. I guarantee it." Draco’s gaze was steely, as if he were scolding her for even bringing it up.

“I won’t be seen with anyone else, but only because…" Her voice faltered slightly. "Only because I don’t want to make this situation any more difficult than it already is."

"Is it true that they had to remove Weasel from the school because he was so desperate to hunt me down and kill me on the spot?" he asked, clearly amused. 

Hermione opened her mouth. She hadn’t expected something of the sort… But knowing Ron and his temper, it was entirely possible. 

"Shame they didn’t let him at least try," Malfoy mused, still smirking, though his voice was deadly serious. "I’d have had a solid excuse to hurt him in self-defence..."

"Stop it!" she snapped furiously.

"You’d rush to his rescue again, wouldn’t you? He and Potter are utterly useless without you."

"Shut up! You have no idea—" Hermione cut herself off as the stone Chimera suddenly slid aside, and Snape appeared on the staircase.

"Would the esteemed future Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy kindly finish their lively discussion after signing the contract?" he said coldly. "As it happens, I have other plans for the evening besides waiting for you to murder each other outside my office."

"Our apologies, Headmaster," Malfoy said, smiling politely. 

"No need to be so formal in front of your fiancée, Draco," Snape looked at Draco and sneered.

"If you say so, Severus. Can we get this over with? You’re right. We can finish this discussion later." Draco shot Hermione a brief, challenging glance.

"By all means," Snape said, sweeping his black robes as he turned.

"After you, love," Draco gestured towards the stairs.

"Oh, lucky me," she sneered. "Such a gentleman!"

"I just enjoy watching girls in short skirts walk up the stairs in front of me," he smirked provocatively.

 Hermione gasped in outrage.

"You disgusting pervert…!"

"Move along, Granger. Snape didn’t look particularly patient," he prodded.

Muttering curses under her breath, she stormed towards the entrance, taking the steps two at a time—making sure he had no chance to look at her legs or arse, the lecherous flobberworm!

💍💍💍

Snape sat behind his large desk, where two scrolls of parchment lay.

"You’re the first, but I’ve already received information that six more couples have also submitted their documents to the Ministry," Snape smirked maliciously.

"There’s going to be a real flood of engagement parties," Draco commented, stepping closer to the desk and pulling one of the parchments towards himself.

"I bet yours will be the grandest," the headmaster gave Hermione a meaningful look.

"You know my mother, Severus. It’ll be a miracle if the guest list is shorter than four hundred people."

"I hope I won’t be left out?" Snape asked dryly.

"You can rest assured that you’ll be our guest of honour," Malfoy smiled knowingly at him before snapping his fingers and a sleek, expensive-looking quill materialised in his hand.

"Darling, would you like to go first?" he asked sweetly, turning to her.

"Cut the pathetic show, Malfoy!" she snapped furiously, marching over and yanking the quill from his hand, making sure not to touch him in the process.

"A real firecracker," Snape chuckled.

"You know I do enjoy getting a little burned sometimes," Malfoy added with amusement.

"Just make sure you don’t go up in flames entirely, my boy," Severus lost his smirk for a second.

"I’ll try to make sure of that," Draco replied smoothly, unfazed by the odd exchange.

"Can I get a copy of these documents?" Hermione interjected acidly.

"How could I not expect such a request from you, Miss… or perhaps it would be easier to start calling you Mrs. Malfoy right away?" Snape pulled another identical scroll from his desk.

"I don’t think I’ll ever get used to Slytherin humour," she muttered, eyeing the headmaster with distaste.

"You’ll get plenty of practice soon," Severus pushed the documents towards her, pointing out where she needed to sign.

Hermione bent over the papers, touching the assigned spot with a quill.

"It’s not a bloody blood pledge, Granger. Just sign it and let’s get out of here," Malfoy urged, clearly growing impatient.

"I’d sign a blood pledge with far more enthusiasm!" she shot him a look of pure contempt over her shoulder.

"No chance you’d find a devil as handsome as me," Malfoy winked at her flirtatiously.

"And so humble," Snape added.

"How am I supposed to sign this? The usual way, or with that ridiculous new name..?"

“The parchment is magical. You could just mark and X, and the document will recognize that you willingly agreed to the engagement,” the headmaster explained in a bored tone.

"Willingly! What a joke…" she grumbled but swiftly scrawled her signature on both parchments and took the third for herself. There was no point in dragging this out.

She set the quill down and folded her arms, watching Malfoy expectantly. He had been smirking the entire time, stepping forward and signing his name in two grand strokes without hesitation.

"How wonderful to witness two young people binding their futures together," Severus said mockingly as he rose from his chair.

"This isn’t forever!" Hermione commented immediately.

"But for an indefinite amount of time," Malfoy quipped, watching her with defiance.

"I think it’s worth mentioning that, in my opinion, winter weddings are truly charming," Snape added, clearly in an especially sarcastic mood.

If the wedding were to happen in winter, that meant it would have to take place within the next four months at most. The mere thought sent chills down Hermione’s spine. She really hoped it would never come to that.

"I think the perfect solution for us would be to wait until Beltane," Malfoy arched a suggestive brow while looking at her.

"I’d rather die first!" she spat out at lightning speed.

A Beltane wedding was a ceremonial marriage bonding on a forest clearing. It involved having sex on an altar of plants and flowers in the moonlight, while guests continued partying at a wedding and raiding magical toasts to the bride and groom’s fertility. 

Malfoy burst into laughter seeing her outrage (and fear) as a reaction to his suggestion. 

"Alright, now join hands. Draco, your left one, since it’s your dominant hand."

"Why do we need to do that?" Hermione asked quickly, trying not to let the panic seep into her voice. She really didn’t want to touch him. It was bad enough having him this close; it was making her tense all over.

"We need to seal your engagement, Granger." 

Draco extended his hand towards her without hesitation.

"Aren’t the signatures enough?" she grumbled.

"No. Take his hand, girl, and stop making this difficult. From today, you’ll be touching all the time anyway, if only for appearances in the press," Snape sounded exasperated.

"Come on, princess, I promise I won’t bite," Draco wiggled his fingers slightly, as if coaxing her.

She let out a slow breath, hoping neither of them noticed the slight tremble in her hand.

Her palm almost disappeared into his long-fingered grip. His skin was surprisingly warm and soft, which surprised her slighlty. Almost immediately, a strange shiver ran through her, especially as the cool metal of his family signet ring brushed against her knuckles.

Suddenly, a memory of a gentle touch on her cheek when someone shielded her from the dementors on the train flooded her. She looked up and met his gaze. Those same grey-blue eyes that had haunted her dreams almost every night.

She shuddered slightly, but she knew Malfoy had noticed it anyway, because his grip on her hand tightened just a fraction.

She turned away as Snape stepped closer, raising his wand. He muttered a quick spell, and Hermione hissed as tiny, black-inked letters—DLM—appeared on the ring finger of her left hand. It looked like a small tattoo.

"Really? After everything, you had to go and brand me like some livestock?" she demanded with disblief, yanking her hand free from Malfoy’s grasp.

"It’s only until the actual engagement ceremony. My mother mentioned they want to hold it on the second weekend of December," Draco explained calmly.

"Why am I the only one marked?" she asked, seething.

"You’re not," Malfoy slid off his signet ring, so she could see the letters NDG on his own finger.

"Of course… my new initials. How lovely," she complained.

"If you want my opinion, I also prefer Hermione over Nina," Draco winked at her seductively.

"I don’t want your opinion on anything, Malfoy," she snapped, though somewhere, deep beneath her skin, she had to admit his admission pleased her a little.

"That’s all for today. Study hard for your N.E.W.T.s. You’re excused from all classes so you can prepare independently."

"Much appreciated," Draco shook Snape’s hand.

"May I leave now?" Hermione asked coolly.

"By all means. Have a pleasant evening. And once again, my sincerest congratulations, Miss Dagworth-Granger," Snape smiled harshly.

"Condolences would be more appropriate," she muttered bitterly before storming out of the office.

Chapter Text

 27 October 1998 - Evening

She had rightly assumed that Malfoy would follow her. She only hoped he didn’t have much left to say. She was honestly numb after everything. On one hand, she was filled with bitter resentment; on the other, a strange tension and far too many inappropriate thoughts about the man who now had the right to call himself her fiancé…

“One more thing for tonight, and I’ll leave you alone, because I can see you’re on the verge of another explosion, Granger.” Draco had no trouble catching up to her, matching her pace with ease.

"Make it quick," she snapped.

"The All Hallows Ball."

"What?" Hermione looked at him, confused as to why he was even bringing it up. But then, realisation struck her. "No way! You don’t actually think I’m going with you, do you?" she exclaimed.

"You are," he stated flatly. "The press will be there. You’re going to smile and spend the entire evening glued to my arm, understood?" He asked flatly. 

"Not a chance! I’d rather not show up at all."

"Granger…" Draco took a deep breath, as if making sure he will be calm enough not to throw his hands at her and strangle her. “"This isn’t up for debate. Accept it already—this is happening, and nothing is going to change that. We’re in this arrangement together, and making life more difficult for each other won’t help anything. These are the times we live in, and I’m not the one making the rules…"

"No?" Hermione crossed her arms and stepped closer to him. "Because it seems to me like you’re the only one making the rules, however they suit you."

"Do you think I enjoy forcing you to pretend to be my fiancée?" he hissed through clenched teeth, and for the first time that day, Hermione thought he looked genuinely angry.

"Are you trying to tell me that you don’t find my helplessness amusing? O the fact that I had no say in this? That all at your convenience, in the span of one day, I stopped being Hermione Granger, the infamous Mudblood, and became Nina Dagworth-Granger, a pure-blood aristocrat?"

Her breath caught in her chest when Malfoy leaned in, their eyes locking at the same level. His gaze was utterly piercing… And his eyes were simply beautiful.

"You will never stop being Hermione Granger," he said coldly. "And you know that perfectly well. I expect you to behave accordingly at the ball. Good night." he added.

Then he straightened, brushed past her, and quickly walked away.

💍💍💍

At the Gryffindor table, she found only two fifth-year students and Seamus Finnigan, who looked rather dejected. She greeted him with a faint smile, hoping he knew that he wasn’t the only one feeling miserable today. Her gaze drifted involuntarily toward the Slytherin table. The only person who caught her attention was Theodore Nott, sipping his coffee while reading some newspaper. He must have sensed her looking at him, as he lifted his head and looked right into her eyes. A small, oddly sly smirk curled his lips as he raised his cup toward her, either in greeting or in a toast.

Hermione decided to ignore him and focused on preparing her breakfast. Her appetite was poor, but she knew she had to eat if she planned to spend the entire morning in the library. If she was being forced to take her exams early, she was determined to do it as well as possible. This was the second time she lost a chance of completing her education. She didn’t want to dwell on that too…

"Hermione! Why did you leave without us?" Ginny groaned, dropping heavily onto the bench beside her.

"I thought you were still sleeping," Hermione replied with a small smile, knowing full well that her friend was not much of a morning person.

"Don’t go wandering the castle alone, please!" Neville panted, sitting down on her other side, looking rumpled, as if he had dressed in a hurry.

"Why? Do you think Malfoy is suddenly going to attack me?" she asked, genuinely surprised.

"Not him…" Neville muttered, glancing toward the Slytherin table.

Hermione followed his gaze.

"But they might…" Ginny sighed heavily, pouring herself some pumpkin juice.

Pansy Parkinson, Astoria Greengrass, her sister Daphne, and a few younger Slytherin girls had already gathered at their table, all glaring in Hermione’s direction with unified hatred and disdain.

"You don’t honestly think I’m afraid of Pansy Parkinson, do you?" Hermione scoffed in contempt. She knew perfectly well that she surpassed that pure-blood princess in every aspect of magic that existed.

"If they surround you in a large group, it might not be pretty," Neville said with a shudder.

"They’ll be too afraid of ruining Malfoy’s plans to actually hurt me. The ball is in three days," Hermione muttered, pouring herself more coffee.

"The ball? You have to go with him?" Ginny asked worriedly.

"Unfortunately," Hermione admitted without hiding her distaste.

"Am I seeing this right? Do you have his initials on your finger?" Neville pointed at her hand.

"Apparently, it’ll disappear after some ceremony," she replied, quickly tucking her hand under the table, feeling an involuntary flush rise to her cheeks.

"I got an owl from Harry last night," Ginny said with a wide smile, her eyes gleaming. "On Saturday before the ball, my dad is taking me to him so we can finalize everything as well. After that, can I join you for your revision in the library?"

"Of course, Gin," Hermione said, grateful for the change of subject.

Unfortunately, it didn’t last long, as a flurry of owls suddenly swept into the Great Hall, delivering copies of The Daily Prophet . Hermione reached for the newspaper with a trembling heart, hoping that if there was any mention of her engagement at all, it would be buried on the last page, in the society column, printed in small font…

She couldn’t have been more wrong.

The entire front page of today’s edition was dominated by a large photograph of her and Malfoy, staring at each other in a way that anyone uninformed might simply call adoration. It took Hermione a moment to realise where and when the photo had been taken—it was from The Three Broomsticks, that very moment when Malfoy had unexpectedly approached her. He stood, leaning slightly over her, a charming smile present on his delicate lips. She was gazing into his eyes as if she had never seen anything more beautiful in her life… 

Hermione felt her breakfast rise in her throat. This was yet another nightmare.

" The Brightest Witch of Our Age and the Heir to the Vast Malfoy Fortune—The Hottest of the First Betrothed Couples! " declared the gaudy headline.

"Hermione, are you okay? You’ve gone a bit green..." Ginny asked worriedly, gripping her forearm tightly.

"Give me a moment, Ginny," she muttered.

"Take that paper away!" The redhead swiftly yanked the newspaper from her hands.

"No!" Hermione protested. "Better read it to me," she asked her friend.

"Merlin… They’ve really enchanted this photo. It actually looks like you’re about to start snogging," Neville muttered, flattening out the crumpled pages.

"Read, Nev!" Ginny urged impatiently.

"Nina Dagworth-Granger, formerly known as Hermione Granger (recently discovered documents have confirmed her pure-blood status), best friend of Harry Potter, one of the most talented witches of the last decade, and Hogwarts' Head Girl, has today become the brightest icon of the newly established Betrothal Law, as she becomes engaged to the handsome heir of one of the oldest and largest fortunes in the country, Dracon Lucius Malfoy. The families of the betrothed, when asked for comment, assured the press that while the new law encouraged the couple to declare themselves sooner, true feelings lie at the heart of it all. We extend our heartfelt congratulations to the happy couple and anticipate a full report from their engagement celebration, which, as we have officially confirmed, is set to take place on the second weekend of December at the Malfoy Manor..."

"Enough!" Hermione clumsily smacked her hand against the newspaper, unwilling to let Longbottom continue.

"Happy couple…?" Neville repeated blankly.

"The audacity of these people knows no bounds!" Ginny stabbed a knife into the wooden table with force.

"One more lie doesn’t make a difference to them," Hermione remarked harshly, rising from her seat.

"Where are you going?"

"To kill Malfoy with the paper," she replied, rolling up The Prophet as she strode toward the exit to wait there until her dear fiancé deigned to show up for breakfast.

She had barely reached the door when a clearly amused Blaise Zabini appeared beside her.

"Nice picture, Nina," he laughed.

"Sod off!" she snapped, disappearing through the door.

Unfortunately, Zabini didn’t listen to her demand and appeared right beside her again.

"Draco just went to send an owl. He should be here any moment..."

"He’d better wait until I’m no longer in the mood to kill him with my bare hands," she fumed, still crushing the newspaper in her grip.

"I regret not seeing Weasley read that article..." Blaise chuckled.

"Get away from me, Zabini, unless you want to be the target of my murderous impulses," she warned, entirely serious.

"Exactly! Sod off!" Ginny appeared and shoved Zabini away from her.

Blaise looked down at her and smiled slightly.

"Only because you asked, honey. See you later, Nina!" He winked at Hermione before turning back toward the doors. He didn’t make it inside, however, as a group of visibly furious Slytherin girls suddenly appeared in his path.

"You!" Parkinson hissed, jabbing a crumpled newspaper in Hermione’s direction, identical to the one she herself still clutched.

"Don’t even think about coming any closer, Parkinson!" Neville warned fiercely.

"What do you think you’re doing, Granger, going along with this?" Pansy ignored the warning, stepping closer and shaking the newspaper in front of her face.

"For now, I’m ignoring you, but I suggest you be careful. I’m not in a very patient mood today," Hermione warned her coldly.

"You little, mudblood whor—" Pansy started to screech, but suddenly her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

Hermione glanced at her friends, curious as to which of them had cast the spell. Only when she noticed both of them looking toward the stairs did she turn in that direction as well.

She barely swallowed a curse.

Malfoy was holding a wand, pointed directly at his ex-girlfriend.

"Careful, Pansy! You really don’t want to push me and finish that sentence.” His smile was the kind that any sensible person would see and immediately run in the opposite direction.

"And here comes our knight to rescue his princess!" Blaise clutched his chest theatrically, feigning sentimentality.

"Make yourself useful, Zab, and take Parkinson anywhere, just as long as it’s out of my sight," Draco strolled past Pansy, who was still clutching her mouth, and casually approached Hermione.

"Don’t you dare, ferret! I’ll hex you so bad you’ll be choking on a swarm of bats in seconds!" Ginny warned, reaching for her wand in record time.

"A good morning to you too, Weaslette," Malfoy said, still smiling. "I assume my fiancée had something to discuss with me if she’s waiting here, so do me a favour and step aside so I can speak with her."

"Don’t call her that!" Neville exclaimed indignantly.

"Leave it," Hermione placed a hand on Longbottom’s shoulder and shot Ginny a meaningful look. She did not want them duelling Malfoy in the middle of the school. That wouldn’t make anything easier.

"I assume you prefer a conversation in private?" Draco smirked, gesturing toward one of the corridors.

"Murder should be done without witnesses," Hermione replied with a sharp smile before walking in the direction he indicated.

She was aware of the dozens of eyes watching her and Malfoy as they left, but she forced herself not to care. She needed to learn more about how they were supposed to function together with all of this.

💍💍💍

"Did you sleep well, kitten?" Malfoy ran a practiced hand through his hair as they reached the entrance to the corridor.

"What is this supposed to be?" she snapped, shoving the newspaper against his chest with all her strength.

He glanced down at it briefly and smirked sardonically.

"Nice picture, isn't it?"

"You planned this! You deliberately approached me at the pub! How long have you known about all of this?" she hissed furiously.

Malfoy calmly folded the newspaper and met her eyes.

"Since the end of August."

Hermione felt her jaw drop rapidly. He had known for nearly two months and hadn’t let a single word slip?

"You… why? I really can’t find a reason…" she stammered.

"I told you, I have five. Let’s make a deal. I’ll give you the first one, and in return, you follow the first command," he proposed.

"What is it?" she asked immediately.

"You will behave accordingly at the ball and until we leave school. No arguments, no sneaking around the castle at night, no strange trips to the village, no conflicts with the Slytherin girls..." he listed.

"It was Parkinson who came at me again!" she defended herself.

"I already told you, I’ll handle that. You just focus on preparing for your exams and nothing more. No drama, no scheming, no Gryffindor theatrics. Do we have an understanding?" he asked directly.

"Fine, as long as you give me one of your reasons," she clarified quickly.

Malfoy leaned in closer again, and Hermione involuntarily tensed. She hated how much his eyes affected her.

"There’s a war going on, and we both know the outcome is entirely unpredictable. And if I have to tie myself to someone now, I’d be a complete idiot not to choose someone intelligent."

"Seriously?" Hermione was genuinely shocked. He had done this just because he thought she was smart? It was… odd, but she couldn’t deny that, in a way, it was rational.

"You’ve kept two total losers alive so far, Granger, so my conclusion about you is simple…" Malfoy giggled.

"And you actually think I’ll ensure your survival during the war?" She still couldn’t believe it.

"I think my chances of survival with you are greater than without you," Draco shrugged nonchalantly.

"Malfoy… I’m at the top of the list of people who would gladly kill you," she informed him coolly, folding her arms and glaring at him with ice in her eyes.

"Only because you haven’t yet had the chance to find out how utterly charming I can be," the blond smiled at her compellingly, placing a theatrical hand over his heart.

In response, she looked at him with disdain, though her mind was spinning with thoughts. She couldn’t deny there was some logic in what he had just said. Didn’t she also prefer to have her survival depend on people who were cunning and resourceful? Neither Malfoy nor his father were fools. They were schemers, clever, and adaptable... If he really just wanted to get through this nightmare safely, then maybe he did believe that her intelligence and ingenuity could help in some way.

"Do I need to know anything else at this moment?" she asked, mustering the courage to meet his gaze.

"No. I’ll give you the rest of your commands once we leave here," he pointed out.

"And the rest of your reasons!" she quickly added.

"As per our agreement, Granger," Draco smiled at her once again.

"Fine. And next time, warn me… about garbage like this." She gestured at the newspaper still in his hand.

"There will be another picture after the ball," he said immediately.

"Wonderful!" she huffed, turning away and leaving towards Neville and Ginny without saying goodbye. 

The three of them immediately set off for the library, not looking at the clearly intrigued group of Slytherins still gathered at the entrance to the Great Hall.

💍💍💍

Although both Ginny and Neville were also soon to be engaged under the new law, neither of them had yet signed their contracts, so they had to attend classes right after walking Hermione to the very doors of the library

As she made her way to her favourite table, Hermione thought about how wonderful it was that Neville’s grandmother had agreed to his marriage to Hannah Abbott and how fortunate Ginny was to be able to marry Harry, whom she truly loved—and who loved her just as deeply in return.

Ron was still nowhere to be seen, and she began to wonder just how much truth there was to what Malfoy had told her yesterday. Had they really had to remove him from the school to stop him from going after the Slytherin he hated so much? She could bet that was what had happened...

She took out her notes and glanced at the revision plan she had prepared at the start of the term. She had decided to work alphabetically, which meant Astronomy came first, followed by Potions. Standing up, she went in search of the right books.

Just as she reached for her wand to summon a star atlas from one of the higher shelves, a large, pale, and surprisingly deft hand snatched it right from under her nose.

"Hey! I need that!" she huffed, spinning around to face the intruder.

"I figured as much, which is why I decided to get it down for you," Theodore Nott replied politely, offering her the book.

Hermione blinked, staring at him in genuine surprise. Nott had always been one of those Slytherins who acted as though he didn’t even register her existence.

"Well… thanks," she muttered, taking the volume from him and quickly retreating to her seat.

Unfortunately, Nott followed her without constraint.

"Revising for your exams? I see you’re not wasting any time…"

Without an invitation, Theodore dropped into the chair across from her.

"Do you need something, Nott?" she asked, deliberately trying not to look at him.

"I just wanted a little chat, Granger… Or would you prefer if I called you—"

"Granger will do," she snapped, unwilling to hear him utter the fake name.

"Actually, I was wondering if I could call you by your first name, Nina—" Nott chuckled under his breath.

"You could also not talk to me at all, Nott. That would be best," Hermione lifted her head, looking him straight in the eye, hoping that would make him leave.

"We’ll be moving in the same circles now, so we’ll have to call each other something," Theodore said, leaning back lazily in his chair, sending her a sly smile. 

"In that case, you can use my real name or my actual surname—I don’t care which," she muttered unkindly.

"So, Hermione… Hermione Malfoy. Sounds pretty," the Slytherin taunted.

"I’ve never heard anything more revolting in my life," Hermione gave him a sharp smile.

"You’ll get used to it," Nott remained amused.

"Don’t you have any classes right now, Nott?" Hermione shot him a pointed look.

"As it happens, no. I came here for a few books for my own revision," Theodore raised his hand and lazily wiggled his fingers. Hermione noticed the initials AGG inked onto his ring finger.

"You’re engaged?" she asked, somewhat surprised. "Well… congratulations."

"Likewise, since I haven’t congratulated you yet."

"I can live without it," she ground out.

"For clarity’s sake, AGG stands for Astoria Gloria Greengrass. And our official engagement party will be on New Year's."

"How lovely," Hermione mocked.

"You know, it’s actually kind of funny," Theodore rested his forearms on the table, his thumb barely brushing against the top of her hand.

Hermione immediately pulled her hand back, glaring at him angrily.

"Care to explain what exactly you find amusing?" she growled.

"The fact that Draco and I are quite similar, though we both hate being compared."

"I could have lived without that knowledge, Nott, truly," she sighed in frustration, annoyed that he was still bothering her.

"We both chose witches who don’t want us," Theo let out a dry, mirthless laugh.

Hermione studied him carefully, surprised by his confession.

"We got engaged to women who are in love with other men… Pathetic, isn’t it?" Despite the smirk on his face, Hermione caught the flicker of pain in his eyes.

"Why did you do it?" she asked quietly.

"Because Astoria has no chance of ending up with the wizard she loves," he answered smoothly.

"And how do you know that?"

"Because that wizard is Draco," Theo laughed again, but it sounded even more bitter this time.

"Oh… Shame he apparently doesn’t return the sentiment," she muttered, though a strange heaviness settled in her stomach at the revelation.

"A shame indeed. If he hadn’t chosen you, he probably would have ended up with her, and then I wouldn’t be stuck clinging to this stupid hope," Theo curved his lips into a sad smile.

"Maybe he’ll change his mind? I wouldn’t protest, not even a little," she assured him.

"He won’t, don’t fool yourself, Granger."

"Can I ask why you felt the need to come and tell me all this?" she asked, exasperated.

"I wanted to ask you something—are you really in love with Ron Weasley?"

Hermione’s jaw dropped before she indignantly snapped, "That’s none of your business, Nott!"

"Some people, especially the girls, say you aren’t. Apparently, it’s obvious how much he irritates you and that you actively avoid him at times…"

"Sod off, Nott, and leave before I hex you! This conversation is over," she said with force.

To her shock, Theodore’s face lit up with a smug smile.

“I see it’s true. You don’t love that redhead at all!" Nott clapped his hands together before standing up.

"I don’t know what nonsense you’re spouting, but the exit is that way!" Hermione gestured toward the door.

Theodore, however, did not leave. Instead, he planted his hands firmly on the table and leaned forward, so close that he was practically hovering over her. Hermione instinctively leaned back in her chair, glaring at him.

"In a perfect world, you should fall in love with me, Hermione," he smirked seductively.

"What?" Hermione was genuinely baffled.

"I love Astoria, she loves Malfoy, he loves you… So it would only be fair if you fell for me. Then, at least, we’d all be equally miserable, and I wouldn’t be the only one nobody wants."

"Malfoy does not love me!" she shouted, flustered, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks.

To her utter shock, Theodore Nott burst into genuine, hearty laughter. Hermione was just debating which curse to use on him when he finally settled down and stood up straight. 

"Seriously… Fall in love with me, Hermione. Do that, and things will really get interesting."

"Not a chance, Nott!" she hissed through clenched teeth.

Theo grinned seductively at her once more.

"We’ll see, beautiful. For now, I’ll leave you to your notes. See you soon," Theodore gave her a slight bow before turning on his heel and walking away.

Hermione took a deep breath, wondering if that surreal conversation had actually happened or if she had somehow imagined it. She certainly hadn’t expected such an interaction with any Slytherin…

She had no time to dwell on it, though, as a silver cat suddenly materialised beside her table. In Professor McGonagall’s crisp voice, it announced:

"Miss Granger, please come to my office immediately."

And that was it. Hermione quickly gathered her books and set off to find out what this was about this time. She only hoped it wasn’t another surprise of the same magnitude as being forced into an engagement with her sworn enemy.

Chapter Text

28 October 1998

She had barely knocked on the deputy headmistress’s door when she heard a loud:

"Come in, Miss Granger."

Hermione grabbed the handle and stepped inside. To her surprise, besides Professor McGonagall, none other than Arthur Weasley was also present in the office.

"Hermione…" He opened his arms at the sight of her, offering a warm smile.

"Mr. Weasley…" She walked towards him and allowed him to pull her into a hug, swallowing the sob in her throat.

"I’m so sorry, my dear, that this has happened to you. Molly cried the whole night when she found out," Arthur murmured, stroking her hair gently, as if she were truly his daughter.

"I… Thank you…" she whispered, pulling away, trying her hardest not to break down.

"You should know that I personally spoke to Lucius Malfoy yesterday, and although he is one of the worst men I’ve ever met, I do believe he was not lying when he assured me they would take care of you as best as they can," Arthur said, giving her a reassuring smile.

"Yes, I do  think they actually don’t intend to hurt me," she admitted.

"I’m here because Professor McGonagall was kind enough to let us use her Floo for a moment."

"Floo?" she asked, puzzled.

"Yes. You can travel straight to The Three Broomsticks. They’re waiting for you there. However, you must return to school in time for lunch," McGonagall instructed, holding out a tin of Floo Powder.

Hermione stepped forward quickly. Only as she scooped the powder into her hand did she recall her promise to Malfoy—that she wouldn’t take any trips to the village. Not that she felt particularly obliged to keep her word, but she wasn’t the type to break promises lightly. 

With a shallow sigh, she stepped into the fireplace. Without further hesitation, she tossed the powder into the flames and called out the name of the pub.

 💍💍💍

She was quickly swept up by the whirlwind of green flames. The moment she stepped out of the fireplace, she was pulled into a pair of strong, familiar arms.

"Hermione!" a choked voice whispered into her ear.

"Harry..." She wrapped her arms tightly around her friend and closed her eyes.

"I'm so, so sorry!" Potter pulled back, and in his gaze, she saw nothing but raw pain.

"I know. Please don’t torture yourself over it. It’s nothing..." Hermione forced a faint smile.

"I’d kill Malfoy right now if I could," Harry squeezed her hand firmly as he led her towards an old sofa. It was only then that Hermione took in her surroundings, realising they were in one of the private rooms above the pub.

"The situation is hardly ideal, but I am content if it had actually protected the other women in the Order..." she stammered, fighting back tears.

"Yes, it did. Kingsley spent ages explaining everything to me and Ron. The Malfoys are clever. They know they won’t get a better guarantee of safety from us than having you. We won’t make a move against them as long as you're officially tied to that pale git."

"It’s all so twisted," Hermione muttered bitterly. "We don’t even really know what this is all about. Lucius said it was Draco’s decision, but Draco claims he had five good reasons for choosing me. He gave me one of them… Apparently, he needs someone intelligent on his side to survive the war."

Harry smiles faintly at her. 

"Well… he couldn’t have chosen better, could he? I might hate him down to his rotten bones, but I wouldn’t call him stupid. I’m sure he and Lucius thought this through completely."

"You’re probably right. Still, I imagine it took them considerable effort and money to forge my documents at the Ministry and recruit that Dagworth-Granger."

"I can’t express how awful I feel that you have to sacrifice yourself for us like this. I asked Kingsley if we could find a way to hide you, but the Unbreakable Vow ruled that out. Just know that if anything happens to you in that house, the entire Order will be there in an instant to get you out. And I will personally gut Malfoy with my wand!"

"They won’t do anything to me, Harry. All they want is a guarantee that no matter which side wins, they’ll come out unscathed."

"Kingsley told us which Death Eaters were trying to force witches from the Order into marriage. The absolute worst ones—Rowle, Yaxley, Dolohov… You saved a lot of women from a horrific fate, Hermione. You need to know that."

"I just hope it’ll be worth it," she murmured, her smile weak. "And that the Malfoys aren’t planning something evil."

"If they try anything, we’ll destroy them!" Harry vowed, gripping her hand tightly.

"Harry… You have so much to do. I hate that I won’t be able to help you more, but you can’t let this distract you. You have an important mission. Only if you succeed can things go back to normal," she reminded him gently.

"Dumbledore said in my vision back in May that you were supposed to be the voice of reason, the one keeping me grounded. How am I supposed to do this without you?" Harry’s eyes shone with unshed tears.

"You’ll have Ginny with you now. She’ll look after you in my place," Hermione said, wiping away a stray tear that had slipped down her cheek.

"I’m so glad I’ll have her… But I feel awful for you and Ron. He has to stay with me at Grimmauld Place until you and Malfoy leave Hogwarts. He couldn’t bear the sight of that fucking Death Eater anywhere near you. This morning at breakfast, he tore The Daily Prophet to shreds."

Hermione flushed as the image from the front page resurfaced in her mind. She had been staring at Draco in that photo like some lovesick schoolgirl. What an embarrassment!

"This was all planned. Malfoy knew there would be a photographer at the pub. He told me he’s known about this entire plan since September," she sighed heavily.

"How is he treating you? Is he still insulting you? Has he done anything to hurt you?" Harry asked.

"No. If anything, I think he finds it all amusing. He keeps calling me pet names, and he even hexed Parkinson when she tried to call me a whore."

"You need to be careful with him, Hermione. We can’t trust that he doesn’t have some hidden agenda..."

"You don’t have to tell me that, Harry. I know exactly what kind of snake he is. I’m certain he’s scheming something."

"Kingsley said he has a way for you to stay in touch with us without the risk of Malfoys intercepting anything."

"That would be brilliant. Where’s Ron?" she asked, the anxiety tightening in her chest. She knew confrontation with her boyfriend was inevitable, but she had to go through it. Especially since she wasn’t sure when she would see him again.

"He’s waiting in the next room. I know saying goodbye will be hard for both of you, so I’ll give you some privacy." Harry squeezed her hand one last time, then stood and pulled her into a comfortable hug.

"We’ll get through this, Hermione. We’ll survive this and we’ll win," he whispered into her hair.

"I believe that with everything in me," she assured him, holding on tightly.

"Go to Ron. He probably can’t wait to see you," Harry said, nodding towards the door with a soft smile.

"Thanks. Take care of yourself, Harry. And never give up!" Hermione tried to return his smile.

"I promise. You know I love you like the sister I never had, right?"

"And I love you like my own brother," she replied, pulling him into one last hug.

Wiping her face quickly, she stepped towards the next room. She really didn’t want her goodbye with Ron to be drowned entirely in tears, but she feared that might not be easy.

 💍💍💍

Without knocking, she stepped into the room. Ron was sitting on a large bed covered with a white sheet.

“Mione!” At the sight of her, he jumped to his feet and quickly closed the distance between them, pulling her into his arms.

“Ron…” She couldn’t hold back the sob that escaped as she buried herself in his brown sweater.

“Love… It makes me furious that I can’t do anything about this,” he growled, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“I know. None of us expected this,” Hermione whispered, wiping her tears away.

“This won’t last long. I’m going back with Harry, and we’re going to focus really hard on finding the last Horcrux…”

“The Ministry won’t object to you leaving school?” she asked, looking up at him.

“Dad will lie and say I’m dealing with complications from last year’s Spattergroit.”

“Good idea. Promise me you won’t do anything reckless, all right? You have to take care of yourself and Harry. Listen to what Remus and Kingsley tell you, and don’t do anything without their knowledge,” she pleaded.

“I know, Mione. We’ve got this,” Ron reassured her with a warm smile.

“I’m sure you do,” she said, gently stroking his arm.

Ron leaned in and captured her lips in a hot kiss.  She tensed for a moment, caught off guard by the suddenness of it. But she quickly got herself together enough to kiss her boyfriend back. A shiver of unease ran through her when she felt Ron tugging her towards the bed. Did he really think…?

She groaned with horror as when his large hand slid up her chest, cupping her breast through the fabric of her blouse. She jerked away from him.

“Ron…” she whispered, staring into his eyes in disbelief.

“This is our last chance,” he said with a charming smile. “I know this isn’t how you imagined it, but we have a bed and privacy. It’s enough… Come on.” He reached for her hand and pulled her down onto the mattress beside him.

They sat together on the edge of the bed, and Ron eagerily kissed her again, his fingers moving to the buttons of her blouse. Hermione felt frozen in place. With everything that was going on, could she really give herself to him here and now? She wasn’t ready at all… But Ron was right—this could be their last chance. The war was already raging, and there was no telling when they’d have another chance.

He let out a soft moan against her lips and slipped his hand under her blouse, touching her breast covered by the lace of her bra. Hermione reacted instinctively, shoving his hand away and scrambling to her feet.

“What is it?” he asked, looking confused, as if her reaction had stunned him.

“I… I don’t think I can, Ron,” she admitted. She groaned and hid her face in her hands. 

“Hermione…” He came up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders and rubbing them to calm her. “Of course you can. You just need to relax…” he coaxed.

“No… I…” She looked up at him, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. She knew how much he’d been waiting for this, but she just couldn’t go through with it.

“I promise I’ll be gentle. You’ll enjoy it, I swear,” Ron said softly, stroking her cheek.

Hermione didn’t know what she was supposed to say to him now. She knew her refusal would hurt him deeply, but she couldn’t ignore what her heart was telling her.

Hermione had no idea what to say to him. She knew her refusal would hurt him deeply, but going against herself in something so important was simply not an option.

“You love me, don’t you? Then what’s the problem?” Ron’s voice took on an edge of frustration because of her reluctance. 

She flinched, remembering her conversation with Nott. Did she really love Ron? She couldn’t lie to herself—she wasn’t sure about her feelings.  His kisses were nice, and he had always seemed like the right choice… But there were no true sparks. Was what they had enough? Was it all she could hope and wish for? If she did love him, should wanting him be more natural for her? 

“Ron… I can’t do this like this,” she swallowed her tears and looked down, not warning to see the disappointment in his eyes.

She heard him scoff under his breath, and she knew he was growing angry.

“Hermione!” He grabbed her shoulders tightly. “What if that filthy Death Eater slips you a potion? Or gets you drunk on Firewhisky and takes advantage of you one day? Do you really want your first time to be with someone like that?” he asked, his voice rising in desperation.

A shiver ran down her spine at his words.

“He won’t. Malfoy won’t touch me,” she said, her voice shaking.

“We can’t take that risk! Just come to bed,” Ron insisted, gripping her hand tightly, determined to pull her towards him. 

“No!” she snapped, yanking her arm out of his grasp. “Not like this, Ron!”

“Liked this? What? Gentle? Passionate? With a man you love? Or would you rather wait and see if you’re forced to spread your legs before a Death Eater when you already live at his house?” he spat bitterly.

“I can’t believe you’re saying such things, Ron!” Hermione shook her head with sadness. “You want to sleep with me just to make sure Malfoy doesn’t do it first?” she demanded.

Ron opened his mouth, as if to argue, but then quickly closed it. Hermione felt a sudden urge to punch him. That was exactly what he meant, wasn’t it?

She hastily buttoned up her blouse and turned toward the door.

“Hermione!” Ron rushed after her and caught her by the arm.

“If you really loved me, you wouldn’t push me when you can see how much all of what is happening is tearing me apart. And you wouldn’t throw around accusations that I will be used as a toy in Malfoy’s house so easily,” Ters were continuously flowing down her cheeks. 

“If you really loved me, you wouldn’t be hesitating so much and we would have done this already a long time ago,” he said quietly.

“Maybe you’re right,” she murmured, looking into his blue eyes—so familiar, so warm. Not as beautiful as the ones from her dreams… 

“I hope you don’t regret this, Mione,” he whispered with clear pain.

“I hope so too. And I hate when you call me Mione,” she admitted sadly, before turning and walking out of the room without looking back.

💍💍💍

30 October 1998

She didn’t cry. She felt awful, something a sharp ache twisting inside her almost constantly, but no tears flowed. She didn’t know whether it was because she had run out of them or because her sheer determination refused to let her keep sobbing. The last confrontation with Ron had been nearly as painful as when he had left them in the forest back then, walking away despite her pleading. But this time, her internal conclusions were entirely different. Back then, she had felt guilty and devastated by the fact that she was worth so little to him that he hadn’t even hesitated before leaving. Now, she was more bitter and angry that he had chosen to be sure that she would simply sleep with him rather than trying to comfort and support her after everything she had been through. She wasn’t surprised that Ron hadn’t sent a single owl to try to fix things between them. He was probably still fuming that she had refused him... There was no point in pretending otherwise—their relationship was practically over.

She spent the morning in her dormitory, not wanting to study in the library, where students showed up only to gawk at her like some kind of museum exhibit. Two Ravenclaw fifth-years had even gone so far as to ask what they needed to do to get an invitation to her engagement party. What a nightmare.

She had just finished packing up her notes when Ginny walked into her room.

“You done? We need to get going soon,” the redhead said, flopping onto her bed with a bright smile.

“Going where?” Hermione asked, puzzled.

-“What do you mean ‘where’?! To the match, of course! They moved it to today because of the ball tomorrow,” Ginny reminded her.

“I wasn’t planning on going,” Hermione admitted honestly.

“You have to! It’s the last match we’ll ever see at school,” Ginny insisted.

“You do realise that Slytherin is playing today, which means…”

“Yes, Malfoy as captain. And if you won’t be there, the whole school will be gossiping about it,” Ginny giggled.

“They already won’t shut up about us, even though twelve other couples have also gotten engaged,” Hermione grumbled. “I’m not going, Ginny.”

“Oh, come on! You always went to matches! Quidditch is the best entertainment at Hogwarts. You have to come with me, Hermione, it’s honestly our last chance. No one’s asking you to cheer for Malfoy. If you want, I can ask Luna to lend us some Ravenclaw scarves,” Ginny added with a mischievous wink.

Hermione gave her a small smile.

“I won’t go that far, but fine… I’ll go with you, though I’m sure I’ll be bored out of my mind.”

“I doubt that. Malfoy’s playing his last game, and Michael Corner—the Ravenclaw Seeker—apparently got engaged to some girl from France, so it’s his last game too. Both of them will want to show off.”

“Why are people so eager to get engaged when they don’t have to?” Hermione asked with distaste.

“Well, you know… better to snatch up the best picks before they’re off the market,” Ginny laughed.

“You got lucky—you snatched up the Chosen One himself,” Hermione teased.

"I could say something about a handsome, rich, and famous someone, but you’d probably hit me if I dared to call it lucky," Ginny smirked, getting up from the bed.

“I can guarantee you, I am very far from calling myself lucky,” Hermione muttered, walking to her wardrobe to grab her coat.

“How are preparations for tomorrow going?” Ginny asked cautiously.

“Lavender and Parvati are insisting we all get ready together for the ball, so I don’t have to do much. They’ll take care of everything,” Hermione replied.

“I hope you’ll have a good time, despite everything.”

“No chance, Ginny. You know I have to go with Malfoy,” she groaned.

“He’s probably a good dancer, like any aristocrat…”

“I’m not going to dance with him!” Hermione protested.

“Then at least we can have some punch. I heard the Hufflepuffs are planning to spike it properly,” Ginny grinned widely.

“I can’t even bring myself to be mad about that as Head Girl,” Hermione chuckled, making her way to the door.

She wouldn’t say it out loud to Ginny, but she was actually glad her friend had dragged her to the match. She was a little curious about how Malfoy would perform today. She couldn’t deny that, in some strange way, she felt connected to him—not just because of their engagement but because of the dreams that kept repeating night after night.

💍💍💍

The day was cold and windy, but fortunately, it wasn’t raining. Hermione cast a warming charm on herself and Ginny, and they sat together in the Gryffindor stands. Neville and the rest of their classmates soon joined them. Hermione held her breath for a moment as Malfoy led his team onto the pitch. There was no denying that he was impressive. Tall, well-built, and handsome. A true leader. Many girls sighed longingly at the sight of him, and surely, at that moment, envied her.

The match finally began, and although Hermione tried to follow the overall action and the best throws of the Chasers, her gaze kept drifting to the blond Seeker circling above the field. It was clear he was focused and determined to win today.

"Even though I hate him, I have to admit, he’s done quite well as captain," Ginny acknowledged as the Slytherins scored another ten points, now leading Ravenclaw by fifty.

"Zabini is playing well," Neville added.

"I hate him almost as much as Malfoy, but it’s true. He’s the best player on the pitch."

"Really? What did he do to you that makes you distaste him so much?" Hermione asked, surprised to hear her friend’s opinion of the handsome Chaser for the first time.

"He keeps saying weird things to me. Calls me his sunshine and asks if it’s true that Harry loves his fame more than me. That sort of nonsense," Ginny grumbled.

"You do realise that’s because he fancies you, right?" Hermione chuckled.

"Well… He can keep dreaming!"

"Has he gotten engaged to anyone yet?" Hermione asked curiously.

"No. But the Slytherins are leading in the number of engagement contracts. Nott got engaged to Astoria Greengrass, Higgs to Pansy Parkinson, and Graham Montague to Astoria’s sister, Daphne."

"Really? That’s interesting," Hermione mused, spotting Montague, who was a Beater, among the players. If Luna’s stories about him were to be believed, she was surprised he was even willing to get married in the future.

"I think Malfoy sees the Snitch!" Neville suddenly shouted, jumping to his feet.

Everyone in the stands stood up, watching as Draco dove at breakneck speed, reaching out toward the tiny golden ball hovering just ahead of him. Corner was right behind him but had no chance of catching up.

It took Hermione a moment to realise she had been clenching her fingers the whole time. She quickly relaxed them. It wasn’t as if she was rooting for him…

"Yes! Slytherin’s captain, Draco Malfoy, has caught the Snitch. The match ends with a Slytherin victory!" the commentator announced.

"He did pretty well," Ginny smiled at Hermione.

"There’s no denying that," Hermione admitted, returning the smile and glancing back at the pitch, where Malfoy was still holding up the Snitch as his team flew to congratulate him.

"I’m a bit cold. How about some hot chocolate by the fire in our common room?" Ginny suggested.

"Great idea," Hermione agreed.

"What’s he doing?" Neville asked, looking uncertainly at both girls. 

Hermione turned to glance at the field once more and froze when she saw Malfoy flying straight toward the Gryffindor stands.

"Oh…!" Ginny clapped a hand over her mouth and giggled quietly. "In professional matches, the winning Seeker almost always gives the Snitch they caught to their girlfriend or wife. It’s such a cute tradition…"

"He must be mocking me," Hermione felt a wave of dizziness wash over her from the sheer intensity of her emotions.

The entire stadium fell silent as Draco reached the edge of the stands and, with a mischievous smirk, extended his hand toward her, the Snitch gleaming in his palm.

"That’s for you, love!" he announced loudly and clearly.

Hermione clenched her jaw and slowly stepped toward him, feeling the warmth spread across her cheeks. Everyone on the pitch, including the professors, was watching the scene unfold.

"Do you have to show off like this?" she asked as she stopped close enough that only he could hear her.

"For the look on your face? Absolutely worth it!" he chuckled.

Hermione reached for the Snitch in his outstretched hand. But just as her fingers closed around it, Malfoy caught her wrist and pulled her toward him. A moment of panic shot through her—was he about to drag her onto his broom and fly off? But instead, he simply wrapped an arm around her, burying his face in her hair.

She froze, completely taken aback. She had never been this close to him before. It was overwhelming. Her heart pounded erratically, and her breath caught somewhere in her chest.

"Aren't you going to congratulate me?" he whispered directly into her ear.

"I'll congratulate myself for not trying to push you off that broom yet. Let me go this instant!" she demanded in a choked voice, trembling all over.

Luckily, Malfoy complied and released her from his hold.

"I'd invite you to the post-match party, but you probably have a lot of studying to do," he mocked, flashing her a smug grin.

"I'd rather fall seriously ill than show up there," Hermione replied with a dry smile.

"No worries. We'll make up for it at the ball tomorrow," Malfoy winked at her.

"Forget it!" she muttered under her breath. 

"I'll be waiting at eight in the entrance hall," Draco waved at her cheerfully before turning his broom and flying back down.

It was only then that Hermione realised how tightly she had been clutching the Snitch he had given her. The entire situation was extremely unexpected and thoroughly stressful for her. 

She slowly made her way back to Neville and Ginny.

"Hermione... That was... well, you know..." Ginny's eyes were wide.

"A performance, Gin. That's what it was," Hermione grumbled, heading towards the exit from the stands.

"For a moment, when he wrapped his arms around you, I was worried someone would hit you with a spell. You could hear the furious hissing of the Slytherin girls all the way up here," Neville admitted.

"Hermione!" Lavender caught up with her at the stairway. "Can I see the Snitch? Oh, Merlin, that was so sweet! A fiancé like that is the ultimate dream!" she squealed.

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling slightly at her classmate. She had never been particularly romantic and was fully aware that the whole stunt had been another carefully orchestrated move by Malfoy. Still, in its own way, it was kind of charming, and it sent a clear message to the entire school that he was taking their engagement seriously. Hermione knew she would have to carefully consider what other motivations might be lurking behind his actions.

Chapter Text

31 October 1998 

She woke up with a strange feeling that she was being watched. Opening her eyes, she exhaled in relief. The curtains around her bed were drawn, so no one could have seen her sleeping. She yawned widely and sat up to comfortably stretch.

“Good morning, Miss.”

She screamed and scrambled to the headboard, pulling the blanket tightly around herself. Only after a moment did she realise that standing at the foot of her bed was none other than a real-life house-elf… Or rather, a female house-elf, dressed in a crisp white dress with a large green “M” embroidered on the chest.

“Did Zippy scare the miss? So sorry! Zippy did not mean to!” squeaked the elf, her large green eyes filling with tears.

“No… Yes… A little…” Hermione stammered in confusion.

“Zippy did not want to wake the miss, but breakfast time is near, and after that, the Miss must start preparing for the ball.”

“Zippy, is it?” Hermione asked, sitting up properly.

“Yes. Zippy has been trained for a long time to serve the future Lady Malfoy. Zippy’s husband, Brisk, is none other than Master Draco’s personal elf…”

“Nice to meet you, Zippy,” Hermione swallowed hard. “But I will never agree to have a house-elf serve me. You may return home.”

“Is the Miss displeased with Zippy? Did Zippy do something wrong?” the elf asked, tears welling up again.

“No! Absolutely not! I just don’t believe in the exploitation of house-elves…” Hermione explained awkwardly.

“Zippy is a good elf! Zippy works well!” the house-elf assured her fervently.

“I’m sure you do, but there is really no need for you to serve me,” Hermione rubbed her temple, inwardly promising herself that today she really would kill Malfoy with whatever she could get her hands on.

“Please give Zippy a chance, Miss. Zippy will prove herself. Zippy promises!” the elf pleaded.

Hermione sighed heavily and reached into her drawer, pulling out her Gryffindor scarf.

“I’m sorry to do this, but I have no choice. Here is clothing. I free you from serving me,” Hermione said, handing the elf the scarf.

To her surprise, Zippy took it and blinked her large eyes.

“Zippy does not understand… Zippy is a free elf, miss. Zippy works because she likes her job, and the Malfoys are good masters to house-elves. For years now, all elves at the manor get wages and have days off.”

“What?” Hermione’s jaw practically hit the floor.

“Yes, exactly, Miss. Zippy will be paid for taking care of the miss. Please do not send Zippy back to the manor. The other elves might think Zippy did a bad job!”

“But Dobby was treated horribly there…” Hermione stammered.

“Dobby was a very lazy house-elf, and that was a long time ago. Only some time after he left, the masters freed us all and offered us work with wages,” Zippy explained simply.

“Well… Good for them for changing their views,” Hermione ran a hand through her curls.

“Zippy has a letter and a package for the miss,” the elf snapped her fingers, and before Hermione, an elegant, narrow, burgundy box and a tasteful envelope materialised.

She hesitantly took them, tearing open the wax seal marked with a large “M.”

Dear Miss Dagworth-Granger,

Please forgive me for writing only now, but my husband and I thought it best to allow you a few days to adjust to the situation.

I trust that everything is now in order, and that we may soon turn our attention to the most pressing matters regarding the changes in our family. My son has assured me that you will have no objections to me taking charge of planning your engagement reception—which, I assure you, will be one of the finest the magical world has ever seen. I would like to inform you that I have already made all the necessary arrangements, and as soon as you arrive at the manor, we will be able to decide on the remaining details together.

Please also accept this modest engagement gift from my husband and me, as a sign of our acceptance and welcome into the family. The rest of the traditional gifts will be presented to you following the proper engagement ceremony.

I hope this letter finds you in good health. Your response, as well as any other messages to me, may be delivered through Zippy.

With warm regards,

Narcissa Malfoy

Hermione wanted to burst out laughing but held herself back, fully aware that the house-elf was still watching her. Narcissa Malfoy, the country's foremost advocate for blood purity among wizards, was welcoming her into the family and sending her a gift. Even her vivid imagination couldn’t have come up with anything more grotesque.

She reached for the burgundy box and slowly lifted the lid. Inside lay an elegant, exquisitely crafted white gold bracelet, shimmering with what Hermione suspected were real diamonds—thousands of them. This piece alone was probably worth more than the entire Weasley house.

She couldn’t resist and lightly brushed her fingertips over the beautiful piece of jewellery. The moment she did, the bracelet lifted itself and coiled around her wrist.

"What the...?" - she was about to curse but held back when she saw Strippy beaming at her with a wide smile. 

She grabbed the clasp, but it wouldn’t budge. Reaching for her wand, she cast a series of spells—none of them worked. In desperation, she even tried slipping the bracelet off over her hand, which also unfortunately proved impossible. 

"Can you take this off me?" - she asked. 

"I’m afraid not, Zippy can’t, miss," - Strippy answered quickly.

Hermione huffed under her breath before standing up to get dressed for breakfast. She thanked Zippy for offering her help and ignored the elf’s question about whether she wanted to send a reply to Lady Malfoy. She sincerely hoped to find Malfoy in the Great Hall so she wouldn’t have to chase him down to the dungeons just to scold him for yet another unpleasant surprise he had sprung on her.

💍💍💍

She considered it a fairly lucky day when, upon entering the Great Hall, she spotted Draco calmly having breakfast with Zabini and Montague. The blond, as if nothing had happened, was sipping his coffee and reading the newspaper.

"Hello, Nina!" Zabini called cheerfully upon seeing her.

This caused Malfoy to look up at her. He immediately greeted her with a polite smile, setting down his newspaper. 

"Good morning, darling. Did you sleep well?"

"A house-elf? Seriously, Malfoy?" she snapped in greeting.

"A free house-elf, Granger. No need to get worked up," he replied calmly.

"I don’t want a house-elf at my service!" she declared with force.

"Then dismiss her, if you can. I guarantee you’ll only break her heart." Draco smirked at her mischievously.

Hermione huffed in irritation but held back from launching into a tirade, fully aware that the entire Slytherin table and more than half of the Great Hall were now watching them intently.

"Care to explain why, despite all my attempts, I cannot take this off my wrist?" She shoved up the sleeve of her burgundy sweater, pointing to the bracelet.

"Oh, it’s gorgeous!" squealed a fifth-year Slytherin girl.

Malfoy barely spared it a glance.

"Because it’s a Malfoy heirloom, and only someone bearing the Malfoy name can put it on or take it off," he explained nonchalantly.

"Your mother sent it to me. It latched onto my wrist the moment I touched it," she growled.

"She likely cast a special enchantment. Have you sent her a thank-you note yet? Be sure to mention how much you’d love to see her rose garden—it’ll earn you a few extra points," Draco advised with a conspiratorial wink before leisurely taking another sip of his coffee.

"Take it off me!" she demanded, slamming her hand down on the table right next to his plate.

"Why? Don’t you like the bracelet?" he asked, feigning innocence.

Hermione barely stopped herself from screaming in frustration. She wanted to shout at him—every ounce of fury she carried, all the rage over him and this entire situation she had been forced into against her will. But she knew the whole school was just waiting for a spectacle.

"Are there many more surprises like this I should expect?" she hissed.

"A few, probably," Malfoy said with a dazzling smile.

"Arse!" she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear, before spinning on her heel and marching off, ultimately foregoing  her breakfast altogether.

"Have a lovely day, Nina!" Zabini called after her as she stormed out of the Great Hall.

💍💍💍

When she returned to her dormitory, she was greeted at the door by Parvati and Lavender, both squealing with excitement.

"What’s going on?" Hermione asked, baffled by their enthusiasm.

"Just look at it! It’s the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen!" Brown grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the wardrobe, where a breathtaking dark green evening gown hung from the door.

"It’s very pretty, Lav. It’ll suit you beautifully," Hermione smiled politely at her roommate.

"But it’s not mine! A little elf just appeared a moment ago and hung it up, saying it was your dress for tonight!"

"That’s not true! I bought a red dress for tonight!" Hermione bit back a curse. Malfoy was seriously overstepping. He must have lost his mind if he thought she would wear what he dictated.

"You have to wear it! This dress is absolutely stunning! It can’t go to waste!" the girls pleaded.

"Absolutely not!" she said firmly, refusing even to look at the green fabric.

"For now, you need to go take a bath, and then we’ll start on nails..." Parvati pulled her toward the bathroom.

"You must be joking. The ball is nine hours away!"

"Exactly, which means we don’t have time to waste! Thankfully, lunch is being served in our common room today since the Great Hall is being decorated, so we won’t have to waste any precious minutes. Now move, Hermione!" Lavender joined Parvati, and together, her dormmates literally pushed her into the bathroom.

Hermione decided not to fight it any longer. There was no point—she already knew the girls would get their way in the end.

💍💍💍

Hermione examined her pearly nails, doing her best to ignore Lavender’s pitiful whining about how tragic it was that such a beautiful dress would go to waste. Still, she had no intention of giving in. She had no one to dress up for, and the red dress she had bought was lovely enough…

"It’s sweet that you’d rather have me do your hair instead of your house-elf," Parvati cooed, carefully combing through Hermione’s curls, which had been treated with an excessive amount of potion.

"She’s not mine!" Hermione protested.

"She says she is," Lavender laughed.

"She belongs to the Malfoys. I have no idea why they thought I’d want a house-elf serving me

"But you said she’s free, didn’t you? That’s rare in Pureblood households. I wonder why they freed her?" Parvati mused.

"Yes, it is interesting," Hermione admitted.

A loud crack announced that Zippy had just reappeared. Hermione did her best to hide her irritation so as not to upset her.

"Is Miss sure she does not need Zippy’s help?" the elf squeaked, eyeing Parvati’s hairstyling efforts with doubt.

"I’m sure, Zippy. I just wanted to ask… Did your masters ever tell you why they freed you and preferred to employ you as a free elf?"

"Zippy only knows that Master Draco insisted on it," she answered quickly.

Lavender and Parvati giggled in unison.

"Thank you very much. You can leave if you want," Hermione said, waiting for the elf to disappear before turning to her roommates. "May I ask what’s so funny?"

"Well, you know… the entire school knew about your whole spew campaign back then," Lavender chuckled.

"So?" Hermione decided not to go through the entire acronym explanation again—no one ever actually listened anyway.

"So, isn’t it adorable that Draco cared so much he actually freed his elves?" Parvati grinned at her in the mirror.

"You think that has anything to do with it?" Hermione let out a dry laugh. "No way. Malfoy mocked the whole idea. He even said S.P.E.W. stood for ‘Stupidly Pathetic, Exasperating Wretch,’ which, I suppose, summed up exactly what he thought of me back then."

"And I think it’s connected! The papers did say it’s true love…"

"They did not say that!" Hermione cried indignantly, feeling her cheeks start to burn.

"But you’re going to fall in love with him, aren’t you?" Lavender asked hopefully.

"Have you lost your mind?!" Hermione practically jumped in her seat, a hot rush searing through her.

"How could you resist? He is the most gorgeous man in the world!" Lavender sighed dreamily.

"And he comes with the most vile personality!" Hermione shot back venomously.

"Maybe once, but now he treats you like a princess! The whole snitch gesture, the house-elf as a gift… not to mention the bracelet and that dress! Merlin, I’m so jealous!" Parvati admitted outright.

"It’s all for show. He’s doing it for appearances… It’s just a stupid game," Hermione whispered, feeling a pang of discomfort as her voice wavered, her eyes prickling oddly. She didn’t want those gestures from Malfoy—not as an act, and certainly not for real.

"Well, I think he chose you because he truly feels something for you, you lucky girl!" Lavender grinned at her.

"You’re mistaken, and I’m sure you’ll see that soon enough," Hermione said weakly, sending a small smile for the blonde.

"All done!" Parvati finally let her admire the elegantly styled curls she had chosen as an appropriate look for tonight.

"It’s beautiful! Thank you so much," Hermione stood and hugged Patil. Deep down, she had to admit she felt sad knowing she would soon have to part ways with her roommates forever.

"Alright, now it’s my turn!" Lavender hopped onto the chair gracefully. "I hope Seamus will be impressed!"

"And who are you going with, Parv?" Hermione asked, glancing at herself in the mirror once more.

"Dean. We’ll be sitting at the same table as Ginny and Ernie, and Neville and Hannah."

"I envy you," Hermione admitted, fully aware that tonight, she would be seated among Slytherins—most of whom still despised her.

"And we envy you !" Lavender declared. "You’ll be sitting with the most handsome boys in school!"

"Oh, please. What a prestige! Every single one of them is rotten to the core," Hermione scoffed.

"Who knows? Maybe you’ll grow to like them," Parvati smiled at her kindly.

"Doubtful," Hermione muttered. But still, she returned the smile. She supposed she didn’t have to completely rule it out.

💍💍💍

A minor clash occurred while getting dressed, as the girls, with the expressions of scolded puppies, still insisted that she wear the green marvel brought by Zippy. However, Hermione firmly refused and quickly put on her red dress. She was pleased that she had stood her ground and hoped that Malfoy wouldn’t say anything unpleasant just because she had defied him… She shouldn't care about his words in the slightest, but despite everything, she still remembered how he had said he preferred the name Hermione over Nina…

"We’re on time! Thank Merlin!" Parvati, dressed in an elegant floor-length burgundy gown, adjusted the set of golden bangles on her wrists.

"Lipstick! We can’t forget lipstick!" Lavender squealed, dressed in a pink, slightly overly frilly dress.

"I’ll go ahead. Malfoy is waiting for me in the entrance hall downstairs," Hermione admitted, feeling slightly nervous about it.

"You have to come down with us! We want to see his face when he sees you for the first time!" Parvati exclaimed excitedly.

Hermione rolled her eyes but smirked slightly. If it meant that much to them... Hopefully, Malfoy wouldn’t say anything cruel, because the girls would surely take it to heart. After all, they had spent the entire day preparing her for the grand ball.

"All done!" Lav declared, finally finishing her lipstick application.

"Great, now we can—" Hermione didn’t finish her sentence, as another loud crack echoed through the room, and once again, Zippy appeared right beside her.

"Miss! Why is Miss not wearing her dress?" the elf squeaked in dismay at the sight of her.

"I am wearing my dress!" Hermione huffed. "I never intended to wear the one you brought.

"But Miss must! Master Draco insisted..." Zippy looked utterly distressed.

"I’m sorry, but I don’t care," Hermione stated firmly, grabbing the door handle to leave the room quickly.

It happened so suddenly that she didn’t even have time to gasp. The pleasantly soft fabric cascaded onto her body, and her short dress lengthened to the floor, flowing perfectly around her legs.

"What the—?" she yelled, absolutely livid, staring down at how the green fabric clung flawlessly to her figure.

"Hermione! You look absolutely breathtaking!" the girls squealed in delight.

"Zippy! Undo this spell immediately and give me back my dress!" she ordered sternly.

"I’m so sorry, Miss… Zippy will punish herself for disobeying her lady, but Master Draco asked me to—" The elf's eyes brimmed with large tears.

Hermione growled in frustration. Bloody Malfoy! How was she supposed to endure him when she wasn’t allowed to decide anything for herself? Arsehole, arsehole, arsehole!

"Fine! I’ll go in this stupid dress, but you are not to punish yourself, okay?" she told the elf.

"Of course, Miss! You look absolutely magnificent!" Zippy clapped her small hands together in delight.

Hermione decided not to say anything more. She grabbed the hem of the dress to avoid tripping and left the dormitory, silently praying that she would somehow survive the evening.

 💍💍💍

"Hermione, look!" Ginny greeted her, waving her hand.

Hermione quickly approached her friend to get a closer look at the initials HJP engraved on her finger.

"Congratulations, Ginny! That’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you both!" Hermione hugged her, tears glistening in her eyes.

"Harry showed me the engagement ring. But we agreed he’d give it to me only after I leave school, so everyone can be there! Will you be able to come? Please say you will!" Ginny was clearly emotional.

"I’ll try," Hermione answered evasively, already fearing that it would be impossible. The Malfoys would likely be unwilling to let her leave freely for a celebration with her friends at the Burrow or Grimmauld Place.

"You look absolutely stunning!" Ginny finally took a proper look at her friend. "Where did you get that dress? We bought a red one…"

"Don’t ask…" Hermione grimaced.

"I suppose this has something to do with Malfoy again?" Ginny grabbed her wrist, examining the diamond bracelet closely.

"It wasn’t hard to guess. And to top off my frustration, imagine this—he sent me a house-elf who claims she will serve me from now on."

Ginny snorted with laughter but quickly covered her mouth to muffle it.

"Sorry, but… seriously , a house-elf? It’s clear he doesn’t know you at all!"

"A free house-elf. And I can’t dismiss her because she’s been trained for years to serve the future Lady Malfoy, and it would break her heart," Hermione complained.

"Or maybe he does know you a little—since he actually supports elf freedom?" Ginny smirked and looped her arm through Hermione’s, leading her toward the exit.

"Where are you meeting Ernie?" Hermione asked, eager to change the subject and avoid further speculation about why Draco had freed his household elves.

"In the entrance hall. And Malfoy?"

"Same."

"Hannah will be waiting for me there too, so I propose a temporary escort for you fine ladies," Neville caught up to them just outside the common room, gallantly offering them his arms for support.

Both girls laughed at his chivalry and took his arms in unison.

"You both look absolutely beautiful," he assured them with a sincere smile.

"Thanks. Harry thought so too," Ginny sighed wistfully, adjusting the strap of her cream-colored dress—a long gown with thick straps and a daring slit at the thigh.

"It’s a shame he can’t be here with us," Hermione gave her friend a comforting smile.

"He thinks so too… And Ron? Well, he’s still sulking. He walked out of the room the moment I reminded him that the ball was tonight."

Hermione resisted the urge to ask Ginny more about her brother. Just as she had suspected, Ron had no intention of speaking to her, still angry about what had happened in the room above The Three Broomsticks . There was nothing she could do about it… She hadn’t changed her mind, and she certainly wasn’t going to apologise for respecting her own boundaries.

"Are you nervous?" Neville asked, observing her curiously.

“No,” she lied. In truth, she felt something constantly fluttering nervously in her stomach. What on earth was she supposed to talk about with Malfoy all evening—aside from listing every curse she could think of that she wanted to hex him with?

"If anything happens, call for us immediately," Ginny insisted. "If necessary, I’ll personally gut that ferret with a butter knife!"

"Ernie, Justin, and Terry have already promised to step in if any Slytherins get nasty. Dean, Seamus, and I are on standby all night," Neville assured her.

"Oh no! That’s not necessary!" Hermione protested. "Enjoy the ball and don’t worry about us. I’m sure Malfoy won’t risk a scandal. Apparently, there’s going to be someone from the press," she added with a grimace.

"Hermione, let us go ahead of you! We need to be in the hall when you descend the stairs and Malfoy sees you! I swear, this is going to be like a scene from Cinderella !" Lavender squealed, dragging Parvati and their slightly bewildered dates along with her.

Hermione couldn’t hold back her laughter. Lav really did believe in fairy tales… Unrealistic, sweet, and romantic stories that never actually happened in real life.

"Does she seriously think Malfoy is some kind of prince?" Neville asked quietly.

"If anything, he’s a dragon—the kind that devours anything in its path," Ginny quipped.

"Neither," Hermione said dryly. "He’s just his usual self. The same git we’ve known for years."

"But you have to admit—he does know how to dress well…" Ginny remarked as they turned a corner and stopped at the top of the staircase overlooking the grand entrance hall.

💍💍💍

Draco was already standing at the bottom of the stairs, surrounded by a group of Slytherins. Turned slightly to the side, he displayed his aristocratic profile with poise.

It was in that moment that Hermione realised why his house-elf had been so insistent on her wearing the green dress. His elegant suit had green accents—an exact match to her gown. His hair was tousled in a deliberate way, and his serious expression made him look older than he actually was. Objectively speaking, he looked truly remarkable. Masculine and sexy. But she had no intention of ever saying that out loud.

"At least he didn’t go for traditional robes," she muttered, noticing that most of the boys at the ball had also embraced the newer fashion and opted for suits instead.

"Good luck, Hermione…" Neville whispered as she let go of his arm and instinctively grasped the handrail for support. She couldn’t walk down the stairs arm-in-arm with another man—not when the entire school knew that at the bottom, waiting for her, was none other than her official fiancé.

Taking a deep breath, she lifted the hem of her gown slightly to avoid tripping and began her descent, trying to keep her eyes firmly on the steps rather than on him. And yet, she felt it—the moment his gaze landed on her. Just as she felt the collective breath of the gathered crowd hitch in anticipation, every single person in the hall now watching only the two of them.

Chapter Text

She tried to breathe evenly and not let anything distract her. She was walking towards Malfoy because he was waiting for her. He was her partner for the evening. He had been her enemy since their very first meeting. He was her fiancé.

The gathered Slytherins watched her every move with rapt attention. Blaise Zabini greeted her with an amicable smile, while Tracey Davis, clinging to his arm, kept her expression entirely neutral. Theodore Nott, on the other hand, wore a rather smug smirk, his eyes darting between her and Malfoy every other second, as if making sure he wouldn’t miss a single reaction from either of them. Dressed in a stunning silver gown adorned with intricate embellishments, Astoria Greengrass regarded Hermione with something between pain and hatred. So Nott hadn’t lied when he said his fiancée was in love with Malfoy. Oh, just bloody fantastic!

Pansy Parkinson, clad in a black, skintight dress that hugged every inch of her flawless figure like a second skin, was gripping Terence Higgs’ arm so tightly that he visibly winced. There was no doubt that if she could, she would have torn Hermione apart on the spot. Yet Hermione suddenly realised—it wasn’t jealousy borne of love. Pansy didn’t love Malfoy at all… She was simply furious that someone else had taken what should have been hers. Possessive and greedy—that was Parkinson’s true nature.

The last person Hermione checked before finally forcing herself to look at Malfoy was Graham Montague.

A small shiver ran down her spine as she took in his expression. He was smiling just as pleasantly as Zabini, but in his green eyes, there was something far worse than what she had seen in Astoria’s—pure, unfiltered pain, and his entire focus was on Draco.

Hermione swallowed nervously. Luna might not have been wrong. Oh, Merlin… How much more of this nonsense would she have to endure before this farce finally ended?

And then, the moment came—the one she had been dreading. She had to look into the eyes of the person she least wanted to. The eyes that haunted her strange, unexplainable dreams. Malfoy took a few steps towards her, the corners of his lips curving into the smallest of smirks. As she drew closer, he allowed himself a thorough once-over, scanning her from head to toe, his smirk widening. It was ridiculous, but for a split second, she felt as if she were standing completely naked in front of him, waiting for whatever smug remark he was about to make.

When she finally stopped in front of him, he extended his hand toward her with impeccable elegance. She held her breath as she lifted her own, allowing him to kiss it. The moment his lips brushed against her skin, a camera shutter clicked somewhere to the side. Oh, right… He had warned her there would be photographers.

Malfoy slowly raised his head, his gaze locking onto hers. Merlin! Why did she keep dreaming about those stormy grey-blue eyes? It was infuriating that she still had no answer.

"Not bad, Granger," he murmured, pulling her in with a swift motion.

She knew exactly what he expected, though the mere thought of it made her tense. Holding her breath, she placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned in, brushing her cheek against his in a perfectly elegant air kiss. The sound of camera shutters clicking didn’t cease for a second.

The scent of his expensive cologne seeped into her senses almost instantly. She could only hope that the photographs wouldn’t capture the goosebumps rising on her arms as Malfoy’s hand settled firmly on her waist.

"And yet you managed not to choke on your own tongue while giving me a compliment," she whispered, forcing a smile as she finally pulled away.

"That wasn’t a compliment, merely an observation," Draco replied, tightening his grip on her waist slightly. "Besides, I should get used to saying nice things to you. Though I’ll admit, it won’t be easy…" he added, his smirk turning mean.

"Don’t bother," she shot back. "Compliments from you mean about as much to me as Professor Trelawney’s tea leaf readings. Absolutely nothing,” Hermione was still forcing a smile. 

Malfoy chuckled quietly, as if she had just told him an excellent joke, before finally releasing her hand. She exhaled lightly, resisting the urge to glance around—she was sure that countless eyes were still fixed upon them.

She waited for him to offer his arm and escort her into the Great Hall, but instead, he performed another one of his infuriating wandless magic tricks, snapping his fingers. A transparent box materialised in his hand.

"What is that?" she asked, thoroughly surprised by what she saw. .

"What does it look like?" he responded cynically, smoothly extracting a delicate—

"A wrist corsage? Isn’t that a Muggle tradition?" she asked in disbelief.

"No. It’s an old custom among magical aristocracy. Now, hold out your hand and smile as if you find it delightful," he instructed, holding up an exquisite bracelet of pink roses and white freesias.

Hermione barely resisted the urge to ask how he knew freesias were her favourite flowers. Instead, she surmised that it was just a mere coincidence.

She struggled to keep her knees from shaking as he handed the empty box to Goyle and took her hand to fasten the floral accessory around her wrist. She felt as though her face muscles would soon betray her under the strain of her forced smile—even though, in truth, she had barely lifted the corners of her lips.

"Well… thank you," she muttered awkwardly once he finally released her hand.

"Don’t mention it," he murmured before drawing her close again, resting his cheek against her temple. Even with her high heels, he still towered over her.

Hermione tried her best to ignore the tension in her body and the inevitable sighs of enchantment—most likely from Lavender and Parvati. At the same time, she caught the sound of quiet, spiteful scoffs—probably Parkinson or another jealous spectator. And, of course, there was the ever-present, relentless—like thunder during a storm—clicking of a camera shutter. What a nightmare.

"Is that it? Is the performance over now?" she whispered as Malfoy finally pulled away and extended his arm to lead her inside.

"For the moment," he replied, still smirking.

She took his offered arm, and he immediately started towards the entrance. Their entourage of Slytherins followed right behind them, as if it were unthinkable for them to walk ahead of their prince.

💍💍💍

Their table was situated in the most secluded corner of the hall, far from the stage. The decorations—though inspired by the spirit of Halloween—were more mystical this year. Even the bats had been crafted from delicately shimmering crystals. The entire hall was draped in silver, black, and white, giving it an air of elegance that was quite unexpected for the occasion.

Malfoy, ever the gentleman, pulled out her chair when they reached their seats, and once again, she forced herself to smile as she thanked him. Each round table seated four couples. Hermione was relieved to see that Astoria and Nott had chosen to sit with her Ravenclaw friends. It was only now that she truly registered that Daphne’s sister hadn’t actually been in Slytherin. She wondered if that bothered Astoria. Her gaze wandered to the nearby table, where Luna was sitting with a Hufflepuff from their year. She immediately recalled her speech about auras and their colours. Ravenclaw blue around Theodore Nott… It sort of made sense.

"Good evening, Nina," Zabini greeted her.

"Good evening, everyone," she said loudly, unwilling to go through individual greetings.

Graham, Daphne, Tracey, and Terence immediately returned the greeting, while Parkinson merely scoffed disdainfully.

"Pansy… Where are your manners? Aren’t you going to greet people properly?" Draco asked coolly as he took his seat beside Hermione.

"Good evening," Pansy ground out through clenched teeth, looking at him with outright hostility. .

Hermione felt an odd urge to laugh. Parkinson must have received some kind of instructions from Malfoy, judging by how quickly she fell in line.

"Beautiful dress, Nina," Daphne said from across the table.

"Thank you. And while we’re on the subject, I’d prefer to still be called Hermione," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

"And who cares what you prefer?" Pansy sneered.

"I do. Which means you’ll have to respect it, Parks," Draco replied, his tone so sharp that Hermione was surprised the carved pumpkin ice sculpture at the centre of the table didn’t explode.

"Whatever you say, Dragon," Pansy muttered, crossing her arms like a sulking child.

"You look good in green, Granger," Zabini complimented her from where he sat on her other side.

"Thank you. Everyone looks very elegant tonight," she forced yet another polite smile.

"Yes, but not many are wearing dresses worth a thousand galleons," Daphne added with a bitter laugh, eyeing her with a hint of jealousy.

Hermione held her breath for a moment. A thousand Galleons? Has Malfoy completely lost his mind? What if she tore it or stained it? And it wasn’t as if she had even wanted to wear this thing in the first place!

"Is it true that Ginny Weasley got engaged to Harry Potter?" Tracey asked, leaning past Zabini to speak directly to Hermione.

"Yes, this afternoon," she answered, figuring it was safe to share without worrying .

She was surprised when Blaise suddenly reached for the nettle wine carafe in the centre of the table. Only then did she notice that the beverage had been placed at every table where of-age students were seated.

"Their children will be hideous," Pansy drawled.

Hermione was already opening her mouth to retort when Graham beat her to it.

"You’re talking nonsense, Pansy! Ginny Weasley is one of the prettiest girls in school, and Potter has plenty of admirers. I think they’ll make a rather striking couple."

Hermione couldn’t help but smile at him in gratitude. If it were up to her, she would have added that the pug-faced Parkinson and the lanky Higgs would never produce anything even remotely attractive together. However, she held her tongue, not wanting to provoke a pointless argument.

"Honestly, I didn’t expect so many couples to jump at the opportunity to take advantage of this law right away," Tracey scoffed grimly.

"You know how it is—if you don’t grab the best bits first, someone else will beat you to them," Blaise smirked wryly.

Hermione glanced at him with interest. Zabini had practically repeated the same thing Ginny had once told her. Perhaps there was some truth to it?

Her attention drifted back to Luna. Soon, her friend would be engaged to Charlie Weasley and would leave for Romania with him to study dragons. She knew that, for Luna, this would be a fascinating adventure in its own way, but it still pained Hermione that she would be forced into it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Snape’s speech. The Headmaster, brief and to the point as always, wished everyone an enjoyable evening and warned them not to overindulge in the punch or wine. That was that.

"Would you like some wine, Nina? Sorry... Hermione?" Blaise asked, holding the carafe above her glass.

"Yes, just a little," she decided.

"And you, Draco?" he asked as he poured her drink.

"Just a little as well," Malfoy replied emotionlessly.

"What, afraid you’ll get carried away if you get drunk?" Daphne teased.

"Better worry about yourself. If you get carried away, Graham might start demanding his betrothed’s rights," Tracey quipped in their defence.

Hermione couldn't help but think that Davis was rather bold and straightforward. She was relieved to find at least one person among these snakes who treated her neutrally, without overt hostility.

"At least I have a fiancé, Try!" Daphne retorted quickly.

"Don't start, Daphne," Montague warned her curtly, shooting his betrothed a sharp look.

"I’d tell you what I think about your whole arrangement, but I’d rather not start the ball with an argument," Tracey shot back.

"You’re making quite the impression in front of the future Mrs Malfoy," Higgs chuckled. "Keep this up, and she won’t invite you to her engagement party, fearing you’ll embarrass her."

Hermione barely stifled a groan upon hearing herself referred to like that. This couldn’t be happening. Never, in this life or any other, would she take the Malfoy name.

"Don’t worry, Higgs. Dragon is inviting practically everyone in school, so there’ll be no shortage of people to stir up scandal," Blaise smirked at the blond.

"Everyone in school?" Hermione repeated in disbelief, staring at Draco questioningly.

The blond merely shrugged.

"Everyone we know—mostly the last two years. And, of course, their parents."

Hermione quickly reached for her wine. Did this mean the Weasleys would be invited too? Even Ron?

"When can we expect the invitations?" Greengrass asked with a mean smirk, looking directly at Hermione.

"Monday," Draco answered before Hermione could even open her mouth.

"And what colours did you choose for the stationery?" Greengrass pressed on.

"She won’t tell you, or you’ll just copy her. You’ll find out when you get your invitation," Tracey once again came to Hermione’s rescue, and the Gryffindor had to admit she was beginning to like her.

"As if! Ours have been ready for ages! You’ll be getting them on Wednesday," Daphne huffed.

"When is your party?" Zabini asked nonchalantly.

"December nineteenth. A week after the Malfoy party," Montague replied gruffly.

"And yours?" Hermione asked, turning her attention to Parkinson.

"On Boxing Day," Pansy declared haughtily. "We’re hosting it at my parents’ estate in France."

"The one in the Alps?" Draco inquired.

"Yes. Remember? We were there for the winter holidays in fifth year," Pansy smiled at him sweetly, clearly watching Hermione’s reaction out of the corner of her eye.

"Vaguely," Malfoy replied and took a sip of his wine.

"No wonder. We were all getting drunk constantly, and Pansy kept running around, getting angry and yelling at us," Blaise laughed.

Parkinson opened her mouth, probably to screech out a denial, but just then, food appeared on the tables, and the conversation moved on to another topic.

Hermione had little appetite and did her best to ignore how Greengrass and Parkinson were watching her cut her meat. She also ignored the way Malfoy’s elbow occasionally brushed against her arm. She tried to look as if it did not make her uncomfortable.

Fortunately, the Slytherins had plenty of other topics to discuss, from upcoming exams to holiday and New Year’s Eve plans, as well as more gossip about engagement parties and new couples sealing their contracts under the new marriage law.

"I think Astoria and Theo made a mistake planning their party on New Year’s Eve. I always looked forward to the Malfoys’ holiday balls..." Daphne smiled pointedly at Draco.

"If you’re lucky, the new Mr and Mrs Malfoy will invite you next year," Higgs sneered, glancing at them maliciously.

Hermione barely stopped herself from scoffing. Did anyone actually believe she would ever host a ball for Slytherins at Malfoy Manor? Never in her life!

"What subjects are you taking for your exams, Hermione?" Zabini asked, seemingly eager to change the subject. Thankfully, it worked, and for the rest of the meal, they discussed their upcoming exams. It turned out that, even though Tracey and Blaise weren’t engaged, they had applied to take their N.E.W.T.s early along with the rest of their Slytherin peers. The Ministry had approved their request, meaning that the unofficial eighth-year Slytherins would soon be leaving Hogwarts.

After dinner, the dancing began. Hermione quietly crossed her fingers under the table, hoping Malfoy wouldn’t get the idea to ask her to dance… Her hope was short-lived. The moment the first notes of the song played, all the men at their table rose in unison, gallantly extending their hands to their partners.

Hermione bit her lip, trying to steady the trembling of her hand as she reached for his. Lately, it felt like she was touching Malfoy more often than she ever had with Ron during their entire relationship.

 💍💍💍

Malfoy had no trouble leading her closer to the centre of the dance floor and placed a hand on her waist—not too firm, not too close, but also not in a way that anyone could interpret as cold or distant.

“Try not to step on me, Granger. These are dragonhide shoes,” he remarked lightly, almost jokingly, as he began leading her in time with the music. As she had suspected, he turned out to be an excellent dancer.

“Sorry, but I’m already putting all my energy into not hexing you and running for the door, so I can’t promise you anything else,” she replied coolly, staring somewhere over his shoulder at the other dancing couples, resisting the urge to look him in the eye.

To her surprise, Malfoy let out a quiet laugh. She shot him a brief glance just to confirm that he was genuinely amused.

“I think by the fifth or sixth ball, you’ll get used to dancing with me,” he stated smoothly.

Hermione groaned under her breath.

“We have to go to that many parties?”

“Didn’t you hear the conversation at the table? Everyone’s getting engaged, and each of them will want to throw the most extravagant party possible to outdo the others,” he explained matter-of-factly.

“And do we really have to attend? These people don’t even want me there. I know full well they’ve always hated me,” she sighed.

“They’ll respect you as long as you’re my fiancée,” he replied, and Hermione could feel his gaze on her, prompting her to finally lift her head and meet his eyes.

“And what happens after?” she asked quietly.

“Afterwards, depending on which scenario you choose… they’ll either pity you or condemn you, secretly considering you foolish,” Draco smiled slightly.

“Can you speak plainly?” she requested, still inwardly wondering why she always saw these particular eyes in her dreams. Every single time.

“If the engagement ends because of me, they’ll pity you. But if you want them to think it was your decision, they’ll pity me instead and spend weeks questioning your sanity,” Malfoy spun her effortlessly before pulling her back into his hold, leading her smoothly across the floor.

“And those are the only two options?” Hermione’s heartbeat quickened.

“If you’re asking whether there’s a possibility that we’ll actually go through with the wedding, I can assure you there isn’t. A magical marriage is far too difficult to dissolve. An engagement, on the other hand, can be broken in fifteen minutes,” Draco spoke with unnerving calm, as if these plans had no real bearing on his own life.

“Aren’t you worried some reporter might overhear what you’re saying?” Hermione glanced around warily.

“I cast a silencing charm around us as soon as we left the table,” he explained.

Her jaw slightly dropped. Had he done it non-verbally and wandlessly again? He must have mastered an impressive level of magic to cast spells like that.

“So what you’re saying is, I shouldn’t worry, because this whole arrangement won’t last more than a year and won’t have any real consequences besides wasting my time?” she asked, trying to calm the rapid thudding of her heart.

“If you mean long-term consequences, then yes. There won’t be any… Unless, by some miracle, we end up tolerating each other enough that, years from now, we’ll exchange polite hellos when we run into each other on Diagon Alley,” Draco’s smirk turned mocking, and for a brief moment, his eyes seemed lighter. Godric… those damned eyes!

“And short-term consequences?” she pressed.

“I’m sure you’re already noticing them. You’ll likely ruin your relationship with your boyfriend and your friendships. And I imagine enduring the company of my friends won’t be the highlight of your year either. You’ll also have to maintain a lot of appearances for this to seem convincing,” he explained as if he were giving her short academic lecture about something interesting.

“Who knows that this whole engagement is just an arrangement meant to last a year—or until the war is over?” she asked, unable to stop herself from noticing a small scar above his left brow. Interesting… she’d never seen it before…

“My parents, the leaders on your side, presumably your friends, and Zabini.”

“Only him?” Hermione’s eyes widened slightly in surprise.

“Yes, only him. But don’t discuss it with him. We can’t risk anyone overhearing.”

“I understand. Is that why Nott thinks you did this because you love me?” she asked before she had fully processed her own words.

She wasn’t sure if she imagined it, but Malfoy seemed to tense for a fraction of a second. However, within another heartbeat, he let out a short laugh.

“That’s what he told you? That fucking cunt doesn’t waste time, does he…” Draco was still smirking.

“Cunt? I thought you two were friends…”

“No. We never were. Nott has always envied me. He used to flirt with every girl I dated—even Pansy.”

“That explains a lot,” Hermione murmured, recalling the way Theodore had laughed when she reacted so indignantly to his suggestion that Malfoy had feelings for her.

“Stay away from him. He’ll likely try to pull the same stunts with you,” Malfoy muttered, shooting a frosty glare at Nott, who was dancing nearby with Astoria Greengrass.

“Is that an order I can trade for another one of your reasons?” she asked, carefully masking how curious she was.

“It’s just a suggestion, Granger. I imagine you wouldn’t want to make this any harder for yourself, and getting involved with Nott could complicate things…”

Hermione scoffed, despite knowing how inelegant it was. 

“As if I’d have any interest in getting close to any Slytherin. It’s bad enough I have to pretend to tolerate you,” she said with a saccharine-sweet smile.

“Am I really that unbearable?” Draco raised a suggestive brow, studying her intently.

Hermione felt her breath hitch, uninvited heat creeping up her face. He should never be allowed to look at her like that!

“Knowing your personality ruins any external appeal,” she shot back in one breath.

To her surprise, Malfoy smirked triumphantly before smoothly twirling her again and settling his hand back on her waist.

“If you want another reason, I can give you another task,” he offered.

“I do!” she agreed instantly.

“You’ll write back to my mother and properly thank her for her gift. And you’ll show respect to my parents when we arrive at my house.”

“Don’t worry about that, Malfoy!” she hissed through clenched teeth. “My parents actually raised me well and taught me to respect my elders!”

Draco’s lips curled slightly into a small, knowing smile.

“That, incidentally, is part of my second reason.”

“What?” Hermione blinked, confused.

“Your upbringing and the fact that you know how to conduct yourself in any situation. You have a natural ability to adapt to different environments. You proved it by integrating into the wizarding world faster than many born into it generation after generation.”

Hermione instinctively bit her lip, processing his words.

Had he just… complimented her again? First, he’d said she was intelligent. Now, he was implying she was resourceful or clever. Had he always thought these things about her?

“Don’t bite your lip, Granger. It’s a bad habit,” he chided coolly, and Hermione lifted her head, realising he wasn’t even looking at her anymore.

“So you chose me because you thought I could handle all aspects of your survival plan?” she probed.

“I had to choose someone, and none of the witches I know would be able to fake engagement without convincing themselves it might become real. You’ll play your role well without deluding yourself that every smile or touch means something more,” he explained, locking eyes with her once more.

“So… in short, you want me to promise I won’t fall in love with you?” Hermione laughed slightly nervously, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“You don’t need to promise. I already know you won’t,” he said, and for a fleeting moment, his smile seemed strangely forced.

"If you had chosen Ginny, you would have had the same certainty."

"Weasley is one of the most fiery girls I’ve ever met. She wouldn’t be able to rein in her emotions, even if her life depended on it," he explained, rather curtly.

"And why do you think I can?" she asked, genuinely curious about his reasoning.

"It’s not my opinion, Granger. It’s a fact—backed by evidence," he whispered and Hermione froze when he leaned in slightly.

"What evidence?" she asked, a shiver running down her spine.

"I don’t know many people who would dare to lie straight to the face of the Dark Lord’s right hand."

She felt the world tilted. Had he really just referenced the moment, when he watched his own aunt torture her on the floor of his drawing room, in his house? Did he not fear that the mere mention of Bellatrix would make her bolt as far from him as possible without turning back?

"Granger, do you..." he began, his grip on her waist tightening for the briefest second.

But he never finished his sentence, because just then, the music ended, swallowed up by the sound of applause.

Hermione instinctively clenched her fingers against his shoulder, trying to steady herself. Her vision was coming back to normal when Blaise and Tracey appeared beside them, asking to switch partners for the next dance.

Chapter Text

31 October 1998 – The Halloween Ball

Her hand trembled only slightly as she placed it on Zabini’s shoulder, while he, with an effortlessly charming smile, wrapped his arm around her waist. Just beside them, Malfoy, moving with the grace of a seasoned dancer, was already spinning Tracey Davis around the dance floor. She looked light and ethereal in her gown of pale gold.

"I know I’m asking a lot of you, but could you at least try to smile for a moment? The journalists will definitely take pictures. The tension—laced with fury—that you and Draco exchange in your glances will most likely be interpreted by the public as an irresistible urge to shag. Meanwhile, I’ll come across as a dreadful bore if you keep that look on your face the whole time."

Hermione let out an involuntary, short laugh. Tension? Sex? Had he really just said that in the context of her and Malfoy? She already knew that by tomorrow, she’d be shredding the newspaper into tiny pieces before she even caught a glimpse of any photo that might suggest such a thing.

"Malfoy and I share nothing but hatred, and even an idiot could see that easily," she replied, forcing a smile and hoping it would satisfy him.

"Not someone who wants to believe in a beautiful tale of hate turning into grand romance..." Zabini winked at her conspiratorially.

"Only a complete imbecile would believe I feel anything for him beyond a shred of necessary tolerance," she said, keeping her tone light.

"I have a strong feeling that will change soon," Zabini flashed her a knowing smile.

"I wouldn’t bet too much on that if I were you," she replied coolly.

"Do you like gambling, Hermione? The Slytherin code of honour clearly states that one must always place a bet if they are certain of the outcome," Blaise’s grin didn’t falter.

"You call that a code of honour? Which part of it talks about drinking the blood of virgins and sacrificing innocent Hufflepuffs?" she quipped, this time allowing herself a more genuine smile.

"I can assure you that no Slytherin would ever waste a virgin just to drink their blood!" Zabini said in an exaggeratedly solemn tone. "Though we do like to... take care of them in a rather particular way. Want to hear about it?"

"I’d rather not, if I plan to keep my dinner down," she replied, surprised to find that she was actually enjoying this exchange.

"You’ll need to toughen up if you plan to survive with us for at least a year," Blaise smiled again.

"At most a year. And yes… I’m well aware that it won’t be easy."

"That’s entirely up to you. I know you have firm convictions about how utterly terrible and cruel we all are, but don’t forget the old saying—appearances can be deceiving," Zabini’s expression turned more serious.

"Deceiving? When exactly? When you lot wrote that humiliating song about Ron and his family? Or when you turned us in to Umbridge? Or perhaps when, in third year, you and Malfoy hung Neville up by his robes on a branch so high he nearly wet himself in front of everyone?"

"It's just school pranks," Zabini muttered, at least having the decency to avoid looking her in the eye.

"Oh, really? Even when they hurt someone’s feelings and could have led to something worse?" she asked, bitterness dripping from her voice.

"Are you planning to dwell on all this for the rest of your life?" he grimaced.

"No. That would be exhausting. But don’t expect me to forget either. I’m rather well known for my excellent memory..." Hermione met his gaze head-on.

"I don’t expect you to forget, but I do think it’s only right to ask for your forgiveness," Zabini offered her a hesitant smile.

"You’re only asking because you think I’m pure-blood now and that I deserve it?" she asked, her tone edged with mockery.

"I’m apologising because I am really sorry. Please know that I regret it. I’ve grown up enough to realise how wrong and stupid it all was."

"If you say so..." she sighed, making it clear she didn’t believe a word of it.

"Did Draco tell you that I know everything about your situation?" Zabini asked quietly, aware of how easily they could be overheard.

"Yes, just now. Which makes it all the more surprising that, on the day it happened, you claimed you had no idea," she admitted.

Blaise let out a short laugh.

"I knew the concept, but I honestly didn’t believe Draco would have the guts to go through with it instead of chickening out at the last minute."

"Chickening out? I thought he was rather well-prepared for this plan of his."

"Oh, he is. It’s just that his plan has one small but very concerning flaw... and that flaw is your Gryffindor stubbornness, Hermione. We’re adults and let’s be reasonable—we all know exactly how deep we’re in right now. Wouldn’t it be better to start cooperating and get through this with as few casualties as possible?"

Hermione nervously bit her lip. She knew perfectly well that throwing tantrums and constantly arguing wouldn’t help matters. Malfoy’s words from earlier still echoed in her mind— her ability to adapt to any situation . A rather Slytherin-like trait, and she column’t deny that she did value it. It made sense.

"I see your point. I’ll try not to make things worse... at least as much as I can tolerate," she whispered.

"I know you think the worst of  us and Draco. But you need to understand that he didn’t do all this to you just to spite you. He has obligations that pushed him into this. I won’t pretend he’s not a bit egocentric, but I can assure you—he’s not a selfish prick."

"Fine," Hermione said shortly, stepping away from him as the music ended and clapping along with the rest of the hall. Her thoughts raced. That was another strange conversation.

She sincerely hoped that the dancing was over for the night, but before she could take even a step, Graham Montague emerged from behind Zabini, accompanied by his fiancée.

"Would you allow me to steal her for a dance, Zabini?" he asked with a polite smile. "In exchange, I'll give you Daphne."

"Only for one dance?" Blaise chuckled, casually draping an arm over Greengrass's shoulders.

"For as many as you’d like, my friend," Graham shot him a sly grin before stepping forward and stopping right in front of Hermione. "Would you grant me the pleasure of a dance, Hermione?" he asked gallantly.

With a quiet sigh, she placed her hand in his. How many more Slytherins would she have to parade around the dance floor with before this evening was finally over?

"The ball seems to be a success," she said first, attempting to break the silence.

"Oh, yes. You and Draco are undoubtedly the highlight of the evening. There won't be a single newspaper in the wizarding world tomorrow that doesn’t at least mention your charming romance," Graham remarked, his mouth twisting slightly in distaste.

"You know this isn’t my fault. I never asked for any of this," she reminded him curtly.

"Don’t pretend you have no part in it. All of this happened because you’re a bloody walking ideal, Hermione Dagworth-Granger. It was only a matter of time before you were snatched off the marriage market the moment this new law came into effect."

"I have no idea what you're getting at!" she snapped, irritated by his tone.

"Then allow me to explain," he said smoothly. "You’re the best student Hogwarts has seen in centuries—perhaps even since Rowena Ravenclaw herself. You’re Head Girl. You’re renowned for being sharp, intelligent, organised, and always acting with logic. Your best friend is Harry-the-Chosen-One-Potter, a man known by every witch and wizard in the world. And, of course, you’re stunningly beautiful, graceful, and kind. To top it all off, it turns out you possess noble, pure blood. Tell me, where else could we find someone so perfectly crafted?"

"Would you care to explain what exactly you’re getting at with all these elaborate compliments?" she asked, her tone dry.

"Perhaps just this—only another form of perfection could possibly match yours." Graham's gaze flicked past her shoulder, and Hermione was certain he was looking at Malfoy.

"I highly doubt that!" she scoffed.

"Do you? Let’s consider this for a moment... Draco is the top student in our year in Slytherin. He is, without question, handsome, wealthy, and athletic. His manners are impeccable, his smile is charming, and he is a loyal friend."

"He’s also an insufferable, arrogant little—"

"No!" Graham tightened his grip on her hand. "I don’t want to hear you insult him. You don’t know him well enough to think you have the right!" There was an unmistakable edge of irritation in his voice.

"Does he know?" Hermione asked, looking him straight in the eye. "Does he know what you think of him... and how you feel about him?"

A slow, almost lazy smirk curled at his lips.

"As I said, there's a reason they call you the brightest witch of our age," Montague muttered.

"That’s not an answer."

"No. Draco doesn’t know. And I doubt he’d believe you even if you told him."

Hermione tensed slightly, an odd sense of discomfort settling over her. The bitterness in Graham’s voice was impossible to miss.

"It’s not my business," she murmured.

"It isn’t, no. But don’t worry, it won’t complicate things. You are the centre of his attention now. I don’t know why, though I certainly have my suspicions." The flicker of pain in his expression was undeniable.

"I really don’t want to be the reason you’re unhappy," she admitted before she had time to second-guess her words.

"I assure you, you’re not. It’s neither your fault nor his. The world simply planned it for us like this. If you make him happy, I suppose I’ll learn to live with it," Graham sighed quietly, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

"This will all be over soon," she said, feeling an unbidden sense of pity for the man before her. He couldn’t help where he’d placed his affections.

"For me, the outcome will always be the same. Nevertheless, I wanted to dance with you to ask you something."

"What is it?" Hermione instinctively tensed.

"Don’t hurt him, alright? He really doesn’t deserve that," he said softly.

"The betrothal contract ensures that I can’t intentionally cause him harm," she replied quickly.

"That’s not the kind of hurt I meant. Just... don’t break his heart, Granger." His smile was faint and sombre.

Hermione hesitated, opening her mouth to respond, but before she could, the final notes of the song played, and Montague stepped back. They joined the rest of the dancing couples in polite applause, and just as Hermione thought she was finally free, Montague leaned in close to her ear.

"You've got yourself an incredible man," he murmured. "You should make the most of it and appreciate it while you can, you bloody, lucky girl."

She didn’t get a chance to respond before the Slytherin turned and swiftly walked away.

Hermione exhaled with slight relief, grateful that she could finally return to the table and have a sip of wine. But just as she was about to move, as if summoned by some incantation, Theodore Nott materialised right in front of her.

"At last, my turn!" he laughed, taking her hand without so much as asking.

She had half a mind to snarl at him in protest and stomp on his foot as she walked away, but that was precisely the moment a Witch Weekly reporter chose to appear beside them to take a picture. 

"Smile, love!" Nott pulled her into his embrace with arms around her waist. "This will look much better than you and Malfoy staring at each other with that passion-filled intensity, as if you can’t decide whether to fuck or kill each other."

Hermione gasped, outraged, and shoved him back with force. How dare he suggest something like that?

"Let go of me, Nott. I have no interest in dancing with you!" she hissed through gritted teeth.

"You’ve already danced with his devoted companion and his staunchest supporter. Don’t you think it’s time you had a turn with his greatest rival?" Theodore chuckled and tightened his grip on her waist.

Hermione, with the last of her strength, forced herself to stay still, resisting the urge to yank herself free and storm off. She wasn’t about to cause a scene. It was just one song…She thought she could endure that much.

"I highly doubt Malfoy considers you his rival. More like an insufferable prick, which is exactly what you are," Hermione said,, suddenly realising that Nott was holding her far closer than Draco had.

"Ouch! Our lioness has claws, doesn’t she?" Theo laughed.

"Indeed. And just to be clear—not yours. I don’t belong to anyone but myself."

"So, it’s true then? You and Weasley are truly over?" Nott arched a brow.

"That’s none of your business!" she snapped.

"You’re supposed to be a clever girl, Granger…" Theodore was looking straight into her eyes. "I do hope you realise that falling for Malfoy would be a complete disaster for you. He’s never been faithful to a single girl he’s dated."

"And falling for you, knowing full well that you love someone else, wouldn’t be a disaster?" she mocked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Theo let out a genuine laugh before, to her shock, he leaned in so close that his lips brushed against her ear.

"You have no idea how much I’d love to see Draco’s face if it turned out I was the one you loved, sweet Hermione."

She jerked in his arms, feeling an overwhelming sense of discomfort at being so close to him, but Nott’s grip on her waist and hand only tightened, refusing to let her go. At that moment, Hermione realised that she would much rather be dancing with Draco. Nott’s impudence was simply intolerable.

She scanned the room, hoping to spot the tall blond somewhere in the crowd, maybe even signal to him somehow that Nott’s hand sliding lower down her back and his breath hot against her cheek were absolutely unwelcome. If this didn’t end in the next ten seconds, Hermione decided she would make a scene—she would shove him away with a loud scream.

She had no idea how her silent prayers were answered, but suddenly, a pale hand landed on Theodore’s shoulder. Hermione wasn’t sure, but from the way those fingers tightened, she had the distinct impression that Draco wanted to crush his friend’s collarbone as he firmly wrenched him away from her.

Draco was smiling in a way that would make any casual observer believe he was merely reclaiming his fiancée for another dance. But when he spoke, his voice was like ice—absolute zero, carrying a threat that no one could mistake.

"Let go of her. You should be grateful the press is watching, Nott, or I swear you’d regret it."

Theodore finally released Hermione’s hand, chuckling softly under his breath.

"And here he is! The perfect fiancé, rushing in to defend his fair lady’s honour. It’s so idiotically romantic, it’s almost pathetic, Malfoy. I must admit, I never knew this side of you." Nott gave him a bow, still keeping up appearances.

"Fuck off before I draw my wand," Draco warned quietly, taking Hermione’s hand and pulling her towards him, positioning them back into a dance hold.

"As you command, my prince. I wish you all the good time to you and your beloved" Nott smirked, flashing them one last smug look before turning away and finally leaving.

"Are you alright?" Draco asked softly, pulling her just a bit closer.

"That guy is not right in the head!" she huffed, only now realising her pulse was racing and she was still tense.

"I’ll talk to him. I promise you, he won’t try anything like that again," he said, and it sounded less like a promise.

"I would have pushed him away, but the reporter was right there, and we agreed I’d avoid making a scene," she explained, slowly trying to relax and steady her breathing.

"Next time you feel like you’re being touched in a way you don’t like, just do what you think is right," Draco said, his voice calm but firm. "You cannot let anyone cross the line of making you feel this uncomfortable."

"And what kind of comfort zone do you think I’m in right now?" she scoffed.

"One you’ll have to get used to. No one expects you to put up with Nott’s pathetic attempts at flirting without protest. You can slap him in public or hex him with something nasty if he ever crosses the line."

"Thanks for the permission, your grace ," she muttered under her breath, wondering how on earth she felt so much more at ease with him than with his friends. Maybe it was the dreams—the strange, persistent visions of his eyes that had somehow made it easier to tolerate him.

"Enough dancing?" he asked as the song finally ended.

"Oh, absolutely. If I don’t sit down soon, my feet are going to fall off," she groaned.

"Shall we go and greet your friends?" he suggested.

Hermione turned to him in shock, blinking rapidly. Had he really just said that?

"You actually want to come with me?" she asked in disbelief.

"Why not? You spent almost the entire evening tolerating my friends," Draco said, offering a small, casual smile.

"Alright then. Let’s go. Parvati and Lavender are probably going to die from delight," Hermione said, letting go of his hand and turning towards the table where the Gryffindors sat with their partners.

 💍💍💍

She hoped Malfoy hadn’t noticed the small shudder that ran through her when he placed his hand on the lower part of her back, guiding her along the edge of the dance floor. One of the reporters followed them, snapping a few more photos. Hermione took a shallow breath. She had never enjoyed seeing her name in the papers, and now being constantly in the spotlight of the magical community was hardly something she would grow to like.

As it turned out, there were a few empty seats at the table—Ginny and Ernie were still on the dance floor, and Dean and Seamus had also disappeared somewhere. Hermione managed a smile as they reached the group. Neville shot them a surprised look, while Hannah offered a small smile. Lavender, on the other hand, melted like chocolate in the sun, staring at Malfoy as if he were the eighth wonder of the world.

"Hey. Are you all having a good time?" Hermione asked, resting her hands on Parvati’s shoulders, as her friend sat with her back to the dance floor.

"Hermione!" Parvati shot up from her seat and threw her arms around her as if they hadn’t seen each other in a year, rather than just two hours.

"It’s so nice you came over! Sit down!" Lavender encouraged, also getting up to quickly press a kiss to Hermione’s cheek.

"I suppose Malfoy doesn’t need an introduction?" Hermione joked, glancing over her shoulder.

"Absolutely not!" Lavender giggled, slightly nervously.

"Good evening," Draco greeted politely, and the responses varied—from low grumbles, like Neville and Hannah’s, to enthusiastic delight from her roommates.

"Do you know everyone?" she asked as Draco courteously pulled out a chair for her.

"I don’t remember Longbottom’s girl’s name," he murmured so quietly that Hermione barely caught it.

She sat down and smiled at the group while Malfoy calmly took the seat beside her.

"Hannah, how’s your night going?" she asked aloud, catching a small smile on Draco’s lips from the corner of her eye. Well... there was no need to make things harder for him when he’d actually made the effort to come here with her.

"Really great!" Hannah forced a smile, clearly feeling a bit awkward with Draco at their table.

"Would you like some wine? Dean and Seamus went to get some Firewhisky to spice up the punch," Lavender said, beaming and sneaking glances at Malfoy every few seconds.

"Wine will be fine," Draco replied politely, flashing a smile at the blonde, who reached for the empty glasses with trembling hands.

"And how are you two enjoying the evening?" Parvati asked enthusiastically.

Hermione and Draco exchanged a brief glance.

"Good," she answered, and Malfoy simply gave a curt nod in agreement.

"You have such a beautiful dress, Hermione!" Hannah remarked.

"Thank you very much..."

"You have no idea what a battle we had to get her to wear it!" Lavender chimed in, turning directly to Malfoy. "It was only your house-elf that finally settled it!"

Hermione sighed quietly. She really should have expected Lavender to have zero discretion.

"She’s Hermione’s elf now," the Slytherin replied smoothly, reaching for his wine glass.

She shuddered slightly at how effortlessly—almost nonchalantly—he said her name. It was an unnervingly strange sensation.

"Hermione hates the enslavement of house-elves," Neville grumbled, glaring at his longtime rival.

"Zippy is a free elf. She works for wages," Hermione explained before Draco could even open his mouth.

"Do you have a lot of house-elves in your home?" Parvati asked, seemingly eager to strike up a conversation with Malfoy.

"Eight. All of them are free and have proper work contracts," Draco replied, the corner of his mouth raised slightly..

"Eight? That’s a lot!" Lavender remarked.

"We also have four regular servants. A large house requires a lot of upkeep."

"I heard your manor is absolutely stunning!" Lavender's eyes sparkled with admiration.

"You’ll have the chance to see for yourself at the engagement party. Your invitations should arrive tomorrow," Draco revealed, giving another small smile.

"That’s wonderful! I cannot wait! Did you hear that, Parvati? We have to go shopping for new dresses!" Lavender was practically vibrating with excitement, and Parvati seemed to share her enthusiasm.

"Will there be a lot of—" Parvati started to ask but didn’t get the chance to finish.

"You’re sitting in my seat, Malfoy!" came a sharp voice from behind them.

Hermione and Draco turned to see Ginny and Ernie, freshly back from the dance floor.

Ginny’s cheeks were flushed, and her expression radiated pure disdain. It was clear she was ready for a direct confrontation—even to hex him if necessary. 

To Hermione’s surprise, Draco simply smiled and rose from his seat in an unhurried manner.

"I sat here on purpose, waiting for you."

"Really?" Ginny looked momentarily thrown off.

"Indeed. I wanted to ask if you’d allow me a dance. There’s a small matter I need to discuss with you," Draco said, keeping his gaze locked onto hers.

Hermione could see her friend waver, torn between the urge to tell him to go to hell and sheer curiosity.

"Why not? We can dance," Ginny finally decided.

"Wonderful. Excuse me for a moment," Malfoy addressed Hermione with a polite smile before offering his arm to Ginny, who reluctantly took it, allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor.

"What do you think he wants from her?" Ernie asked, sounding concerned.

"He won’t do anything to her. They’re just going to dance and talk," Lavender muttered, clearly displeased. She didn’t seem to like the fact that Malfoy had left their table.

"Would you like to dance, Hermione?" Macmillan offered gallantly.

"Thank you, but I’ve danced more tonight than I have in my entire life. My feet are killing me in these heels," Hermione replied with an apologetic smile to the other Head Prefect.

"Fair enough. I’ll gladly sit and have a drink instead."

"Are you alright, Hermione? We saw you had to dance with all of his mates," Neville gave her a concerned look.

"I’m fine. They asked me politely. It wasn’t forced," she reassured him with a small smile.

"I wonder what Malfoy is saying to her. Ginny looks a bit puzzled," Hannah observed, watching the pair on the dance floor intently.

Hermione immediately regretted sitting with her back to them, unable to see anything. She’d have to track Ginny down in the common room later and get the full story.

"It was really nice of him to come over here with you," Parvati remarked.

"Yes… it really was," Hermione agreed, though she couldn’t shake the feeling that Malfoy had some hidden agenda. Maybe he thought that if he treated her friends well, she would return the favour with his Slytherin circle?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the return of Dean and Seamus, who came back with a flask full of Firewhisky. They quickly spiked the punch and generously started pouring it into the cups. Hermione decided to pass. It wouldn’t be wise to get drunk when there were so many Slytherins around.

 💍💍💍

The conversation remained fairly relaxed, and Ginny and Malfoy danced together for two full songs before the blond escorted her back to the table. As they arrived, Hermione stood up and wished everyone an enjoyable rest of the evening, intending to return to their own table. Malfoy also bid his farewells before falling into step behind her, once again placing his hand on her back as he guided her across the room.

The Slytherins were still at the table, sipping wine and continuing their discussion about engagement parties, which, judging by their conversation, seemed to fill up every weekend from mid-December through to the end of January. Hermione took a deep breath as she sat down. Apart from the unpleasant moment with Nott, she really couldn’t complain about the evening.

Her eyes fell on the corsage at her wrist once more. It was beautiful… She had already noticed that other Slytherin girls wore them too, but in her mind, hers was the prettiest. Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at Malfoy.

Maybe Zabini had a point. Maybe she should just let it go and get through this without unnecessary theatrics. The situation wasn’t going to change. She just needed to find a way to make it bearable. 

And she needed to stop reminding herself that Draco Malfoy had been an uninvited guest in nearly every one of her dreams.

Chapter Text

31 October 1998 – Gryffindor Common Room

The state of her Gryffindor housemates varied wildly that evening. The younger students returned completely sober, while the seventh-years ranged from slightly tipsy after a glass or two of wine to outright drunk, like Dean and Seamus, who had clearly gone overboard strengthening their punch.

Ginny returned fairly early, saying that Ernie had escorted her all the way to the portrait hole. Malfoy had also offered to walk Hermione back, but she had quickly declined. She wasn’t sure whether the blond even knew where the entrance to Gryffindor Tower was, but she had no intention of telling him. They had parted ways in the Entrance Hall, exchanging brief goodbyes, and Draco had gallantly kissed her hand. She might have appreciated the gesture if it hadn’t been captured by a photographer yet again.

Everything he did was for show... He probably wouldn’t have touched her at all otherwise. Bloody pretender. She didn’t like this behaviour of his one bit. Truth be told, she preferred it when he openly despised her—at least then she knew exactly where they stood. 

But now—when she still had no clue why he kept appearing in her dreams—his polite attitude only made everything more complicated. 

Why did she keep dreaming that, somehow, she mattered to him?

It made no sense.

Once most of the stragglers had finally stumbled off to their dormitories, Hermione and Ginny settled comfortably on the sofa in front of the common room’s fireplace, kicking off their heels. Hermione was eager to get her friend to spill what Malfoy had told her, but she decided to wait until they were truly alone.

“Even though I missed Harry tonight, the ball wasn’t actually that bad,” Ginny began the conversation.

A bitter taste spread across Hermione’s tongue. Only now did she realise that she hadn’t spared a single thought for Ron the entire evening. So preoccupied with analysing every single word spoken by the Slytherins, every gesture Malfoy had directed at her, she hadn’t once considered what the ball would have been like had Ron been standing by her side—just as she had always thought he would.

“Yes, it wasn’t bad,” she said quietly, staring into the crackling flames.

“I must admit, I was honestly surprised that Malfoy let you drag him over to our table,” Ginny laughed quietly.

“It was his idea to come over. I wouldn’t have willingly subjected you to his company…”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I don’t think he actually has bad intentions. He said he wanted to talk to me before you leave school.”

“Exactly! What did he say to you?” Hermione asked eagerly.

“Well, first of all, he politely congratulated me on my engagement. He also asked me to tell Harry that… that he wishes him luck.”

“What? Luck with what?”

“At first, I thought he meant in my marriage, but then it dawned on me that Malfoy probably meant he hopes Harry will finally defeat the Dark Lord. I got the impression that he really is on our side.”

“That could just be another act,” Hermione shifted uneasily. Trusting Malfoy, only for him to use it against them and destroy them, would be truly terrifying.

“I don’t know… He also said we shouldn’t worry about you, that everything will be fine and nothing will happen to you. You can stay in contact with us at all times and meet in public places if you want to. He also said that you’d be coming to our engagement party together and that I should attend yours… Of course, without Harry.”

“And without Ron. Please, don’t let him be there, because I know he won’t be able to take it!” Hermione felt her throat tighten at the mere thought of Ron having to watch her agree to marry Malfoy—even if it was just pretend.

“Of course, we won’t bring him! But Bill, Fleur, Percy… definitely my parents. We’ll be there for you if that’s what you want,” Ginny took her hand and squeezed it tightly.

“That would be wonderful,” Hermione quickly wiped away the unwanted tears.

“Malfoy also asked me to tell Ron not to do anything stupid and just wait for you because you’ll be back with him before the year is up.”

“What?!” Hermione nearly jumped in her seat.

“Exactly that. Word for word. He assured me that he needs this time to sort out the whole marriage law issue, and then everything will go back to normal. That pretending is necessary for his plan.”

“How deceitful would he have to be to say something like that and not intend to keep his word?” she wondered aloud.

“Didn’t you feel relieved? Malfoy clearly doesn’t actually want anything from you if he’s reassuring Ron that you’ll go back to him as his girlfriend.”

“Yes. He told me today that he chose me because he knows I won’t fall in love with him and complicate things,” she sighed.

“Well… I agree with him. You’re not the kind of romantic who falls for a pair of pretty eyes. If anyone is completely immune to his charm, it’s probably you,” Ginny laughed, and Hermione felt a cold shiver run down her spine. It was just a poor choice of words…

“That’s true. I don’t think I could even bring myself to like him,” she replied quickly, wondering just how much of a lie that really was.

“If he keeps up this act of being a refined gentleman, I think you might be able to form some sort of mutual understanding. That is, of course, if it turns out he isn’t deceiving us all horribly.”

“I don’t want to have to look at him every day and think about how much I hate him. At school, I could avoid him and remain indifferent. I hope it’ll be similar in his home.”

“I doubt it. He’s aristocracy. There’s never a weekend without some sort of gathering or dinner, and during the week, they take turns having elegant tea parties in their homes. You’ll have to go along with him and pretend you like him,” Ginny gave her a sympathetic smile.

“It’s only for a year. I can do this,” Hermione felt like she was trying to convince herself now.

“There’s no one I can think of who’d be better suited for this than you, Herm. You have this ability to put on a cold mask and hide all your emotions behind it. It’s one of the few things you and Malfoy have in common. That, and intelligence, logic, and, apparently, a tendency to make sacrifices for the greater good.”

“Thanks for the in-depth analysis, Ginevra-almost-Potter,” Hermione snorted with laughter despite herself.

“Hermione,” Ginny reached for her hand. “I really appreciate what you’re doing. The fact that, thanks to your sacrifice, I can marry someone I love when so many don’t have that choice. You’ve done something truly incredible for me and the other women in the Order.”

“Thank you for saying that,” Hermione gave her a sad smile. “Even though I had no choice, I know I’d have done it anyway, even if I did. The thought of someone I know ending up in the hands of a Death Eater as nothing more than a sex plaything fills me with absolute disgust. If Malfoy’s whole plan works and this really does prevent anyone from getting hurt, then I’ll be happy.”

“We all will. And then, we should be grateful to him for it, too,” Ginny smiled at her and squeezed her hand a little tighter.

Hermione merely nodded in response. They should be grateful—if Lucius and Draco’s plan truly did save her and her fellow witches from a terrible fate.

A polite silence fell between them, and Hermione once again stared into the fire. 

She just had to survive this year. That was all. No more, no less, only as much and so much. 

She took a deep breath and returned to one of her last thoughts. 

Wars weren’t always won by the strongest, but often by those best adapted and most cunning.

On Sunday, as agreed, she sent a letter through Zippy, thanking Mrs Malfoy for the bracelet and her kind words. She mentioned the rose garden, which she’d be happy to visit, and warmly assured her that whatever Draco’s mother chose for the engagement party would undoubtedly be suitable.

At breakfast, she saw a photograph in the newspaper of her dancing with Malfoy. The grand headline said something about the power of young love . She didn’t read a single word of the article, instead ordering Ginny and Neville to burn it in the nearest fireplace.

💍💍💍

November 1998

On the Monday after the ball, pale green envelopes with golden lettering simultaneously appeared on all the tables during breakfast. The exquisitely tasteful invitations had been delivered to everyone within sight whom Hermione knew. 

She glanced over Neville’s shoulder, mildly surprised to see that although her new surname had been used, her first name was still written as "Hermione" rather than "Nina." Had someone informed Narcissa that she preferred it that way after all?

The beautiful, solid-gold lettering elegantly conveyed the message that Hermione Dagworth–Granger and Draco Lucius Malfoy, together with their families, had the honour of inviting everyone to their engagement ball, which would take place on the twelfth of December at seven in the evening at the ancestral manor of the groom-to-be. Accompanying the invitations was a return envelope requesting confirmation of attendance, as well as an indication of the guests' preferred mode of travel as the hosts were providing access to their Floo network for the evening, Portkeys upon request, and a specially designated, protected area where authorised individuals could Apparate.

At the bottom of the invitation, there was also a note from the engaged couple requesting that no engagement gifts be brought, suggesting instead that donations could be made to various charitable organisations listed in the accompanying leaflet. Hermione was certain that Narcissa Malfoy personally oversaw a few of them, though, to her surprise, the list also included the Fund for Equal Opportunities for Unemployed House-Elves—an initiative she herself had been supporting.

Almost all her friends were absolutely thrilled, repeatedly thanking her for the invitation and assuring her they would gladly attend. After only one day, she felt as though her facial muscles had warped from the constant forced smiling. By dinner, she noticed that Malfoy looked just as pained, likely having had to shake hands with what must have been the hundredth Hufflepuff that day, thanking him for the invitation. Serves him right! At least she wasn’t the only one suffering through this ridiculous farce.

The remaining days leading up to the exams passed quickly and unusually peacefully. She only saw Malfoy at meals in the Great Hall, and even then, not every day. Whenever he noticed her looking, he would always wave and smile politely, and she would wave back, dedicating no more than two seconds to a quick return smile before hastily finishing her food so she could disappear into the library again.

After a brief conversation with McGonagall, she managed to secure permanent access to the Restricted Section for herself, Ginny, Luna, and Susan. There, behind one of the last bookshelves, they set up their study space. Their revision sessions were going exceptionally well, and, thanks to the fact that no one knew where they were studying, they hadn’t been interrupted even once.

Hermione was aware that Theodore Nott had tried multiple times to catch her between the Great Hall and the library, so she used the Marauder’s Map, which Harry had sent her, to avoid him. She had absolutely no interest in hearing whatever feeble schemes he had in mind for jointly tormenting Draco. Malfoy had been right when he told her at the ball that she ought to steer clear of any unnecessary trouble and complications. She fully intended to take that advice.

💍💍💍

13 November 1998

On the morning of her first exam, Hermione received no fewer than four deliveries during breakfast. She knew that wizards traditionally sent each other sugar quills as a token of good luck before exams. Mrs Weasley had made sure she received some as well—the cheapest, simplest ones, rather crumpled from their journey, but Hermione barely held back tears of gratitude and emotion.

Harry had sent her a Muggle card with a humorous good luck message, featuring a group of tiny kittens offering their best wishes. Another sugar quill was elegantly wrapped and engraved with her initials in gold icing. The note attached read that it had been sent with best wishes from Mr and Mrs Malfoy.

The final package contained a bouquet of white freesias, with violet sugar quills from her favourite brand nestled among the petals—the very ones she had snacked on for years during essay-writing breaks in the library. The accompanying note held only two words:

"Good luck, princess!"

She immediately knew it wasn’t from Ron… Well, everyone knew, judging by the meaningful glances they cast at her gift and the murmurs exchanged between them. Hermione glanced towards the Slytherin table, wanting to confirm their suspicions—but Malfoy wasn’t there.

“Oh! I wonder how Draco knows which sugar quills are your favourite?” Lavender giggled, plucking one from the bouquet.

“It’s probably just a coincidence,” Hermione muttered, silently wondering how many more times he would end up guessing some of her favourites.

“It’s such a sweet gesture on his part. Did Ron send you anything?” Ginny asked, holding a similar good luck card from Harry in her hands.

“No. He’s probably forgotten,” Hermione replied with a sad smile, gathering her things.

She had no illusions that Ron had changed his mind after Malfoy had relayed, through Ginny, that he should patiently wait for her. It wasn’t the forced engagement that had made him angry—it was the fact that she had turned him down. Yet, she didn’t regret it in the slightest. She knew that, in time, this problem would resolve itself. There was no point dwelling on it now.

💍💍💍

The exams were not easy, although the syllabus for the seventh year— which they had never actually completed—had clearly been trimmed down for them. Hermione knew that Charms, Transfiguration, and Arithmancy had gone very well for her. Defence Against the Dark Arts, however, had been a different matter because when she entered the practical exam, Draco was still completing his two tables away. It distracted her enough that the first Severing Charm she cast wasn’t executed with perfect precision. She could only hope that it wouldn’t affect her final grade too much.

She had not planned her future as working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement like Ron or Harry, but good N.E.W.T. results were still important if she wanted to become a Healer, as she had planned.

The second exam she wasn’t entirely confident about turned out to be Potions. For the practical task, she had drawn the brewing of Amortentia. It wasn’t difficult, and Hermione had the impression that everything had gone well—until she conducted the scent test.

Parchment, freshly cut grass, peppermint toothpaste, and… something new. Something she hadn’t recognised before. It was no longer the scent of Ron’s shampoo, which left her feeling a little disheartened, though she had to admit she wasn’t exactly surprised. She tried to identify the unfamiliar aroma. It was strangely sweet, with a distinct undertone of something tart and fiery.

She quickly reassured herself—it was certainly nothing she had ever smelled anywhere near Malfoy. At least there was that! Still, she hated being left in uncertainty… All she could do now was hope that, sooner or later, she would discover what that new scent was—one she had already grown to love.

💍💍💍

Two days before their departure from the castle, Zippy delivered two large, exceptionally elegant dragon-hide trunks, embossed with her new golden initials. Hermione sighed heavily, not wanting to argue. Initially, she had planned to shrink her trunks and fit them into her enchanted handbag, but if the Malfoys needed such ostentatious displays of wealth—like owning trunks worth hundreds of Galleons—she supposed she could endure it.

What troubled her most was the knowledge that she would suddenly find herself far away from any friendly face. She wouldn’t even have anyone to talk to. She was already dreading just how lonely she would feel in that old, unbearably snobbish house, surrounded by three people who truly despised her.

She tried not to let it crush her in advance, telling herself that she would manage somehow. After all, it was only a year. She could do this. She should be able to handle it.

💍💍💍

01 grudnia 1998

On the morning of their departure from school, the atmosphere at breakfast was rather sombre. Usually, everyone looked forward to the holidays, but today, the thought of leaving Hogwarts for good brought no joy to anyone.

Hermione watched as Malfoy listlessly pushed his food around his plate, barely seeming to listen to whatever Graham Montague was saying to him. Zippy had delivered the message that an hour after breakfast, her luggage would be collected, and she was to wait at the main entrance of the school. She knew the Hogwarts Express was due to arrive at the platform at eleven, but she had no idea why Malfoy had instructed her to be ready an hour earlier. Were they travelling by some other means? She would have much preferred to return by train, just to have a little more time with her friends.

She didn’t really have much appetite, tense and withdrawn. Ginny and Neville kept glancing at her anxiously, as if afraid to say anything that might worsen her mood. Hermione tried to muster at least a small smile, but it was far too difficult.

“We’ll write every day,” Ginny promised, squeezing her wrist tightly.

“I know. I will too,” she replied, hoping the Malfoys would actually allow her to do so.

“If anything happens, let us know—we’ll be there in no time!” Neville assured her.

Hermione smiled at him, choosing not to point out that the manor was most likely under strong wards that they wouldn’t be able to break through.

“Hermione, Professor McGonagall asks to see you in her office for a moment,” Hannah Abbott informed her as she approached their table.

“Thank you very much,” Hermione said, rising from her seat. Ginny and Neville stood as well, eager to walk out of the Great Hall with her.

“I’d better hug you now, because I really don’t know if I’ll be on the train…” Hermione tried to hold back her emotions, knowing it wouldn’t make things any easier.

“This isn’t goodbye. We’ll see each other soon!” Ginny insisted, though despite her own words, tears spilled down her cheeks as she threw her arms around Hermione’s neck.

“We definitely will,” Hermione whispered into her hair.

“Everything will be fine!” Ginny choked out, though Hermione wasn’t sure whether she was trying to reassure her or herself. She barely held back a sob as she hugged Neville goodbye.

“We’ll see each other at your… at their manor,” he promised, squeezing her tightly. Hermione knew he meant that he would be at the engagement party.

“I can’t wait,” she forced herself to smile.

At last, she pulled away from her friends, still maintaining the strained smile as she headed towards Professor McGonagall’s office, wondering what final words of advice the professor had for her before she left Hogwarts behind.

💍💍💍 

She wasn’t particularly surprised to find that, aside from Professor McGonagall, Kingsley was also present in the Transfiguration office.

“Hello,” Hermione stepped forward to hug him, unwilling to hold a grudge any longer over the way he had arranged this engagement behind her back. After much reflection, she had come to the conclusion that Shacklebolt had simply acted rationally. A good leader prioritised gains over losses… She should have been pleased by that. The Order needed a decisive leader if they were to have a better chance of winning this war.

“Welcome. I only dropped by briefly to give you the promised means of direct contact with us in case of trouble.”

Hermione looked in surprise at the old leather notebook with a blue cover, which Kingsley picked up from McGonagall’s desk.

“A two-way journal?” she guessed, having read about this fascinating artefact before. She knew it was quite rare and valuable.

“Indeed. It’s enchanted so that only your wand can open it,” he explained.

“And what if they take my wand?” she asked quietly.

“They cannot do that!” McGonagall said heatedly.

“I don’t think they will,” Kingsley’s tone was far less certain in his assumption. “Nevertheless, we’ve agreed that you should send us a message once every twenty-four hours. If we don’t receive it, we’ll arrive at the manor with an official Auror inspection. I assure you, we have ways to check whether they’ve placed you under a spell or dosed you with potions—though Lucius’s Unbreakable Vow already rules that out.”

“And what if the Malfoys refuse to let you in?” Hermione replied gloomily.

“If they don’t, then the entire Order will join the Aurors, and we’ll bloody tear their wards to dust, you have my word,” he assured her firmly.

“Alright. I’ll write every day at the same time. I don’t know when that will be yet, but I’ll let you know as soon as I decide,” she promised.

“Write to us about everything, Hermione. Anything you notice, anything that makes you suspicious—even if it seems insignificant at first—write it all down,” Kingsley urged.

“I assure you, I will. Will you be able to reply to me?” she asked.

“Yes, but you’ll need to be careful. If there’s an unread message in the journal, it will glow bright blue. You cannot let any of the Malfoys or their staff see that.”

“Of course, you can trust me. I’ll keep it safe,” Hermione tightened her grip on the journal. This was her only hope of rescue if things get complicated… This, and her own wit and intelligence.

“It has been a true pleasure teaching someone as exceptional as you, Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall approached her with a gentle smile.

“The honour was mine, Professor. Learning from someone like you has been a privilege,” Hermione felt her eyes start to sting again.

“I won’t say goodbye, as I’m sure we’ll see each other at the engagement party.” The Transfiguration professor’s expression hardened for a moment, as if merely mentioning the event irritated her.

“I’m glad there will be so many people there whom I like,” Hermione glanced at Kingsley.

“We’ll all be there. The Malfoys want to convince the public that, through you, they’re getting closer to the Order, assuming we won’t notice. Later, they’ll gradually pretend that you’re changing your views—like a proper pure-blood lady should.”

“Lucius Malfoy actually shared his entire plan with you?” she asked, slightly incredulous.

“Yes. I’ll be in constant contact with him. The moment I suspect they’re up to something, we’ll get you out of there immediately, I swear it.” Kingsley placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“Alright. Thank you,” Hermione struggled to find words for anything more.

“Take care, my dear,” Minerva smiled at her favourite student through tears.

“I promise I will,” Hermione managed a small smile, becoming ever more aware that from here, she would go straight to meet Malfoy—who, by the end of the day, would take her to his home.

The home where he had grown up.

The home where, only eight months ago, she had been tortured.

She had learned that entirely by accident…

Shortly before returning to Hogwarts in September, a Boggart had appeared in the attic of Grimmauld Place. Not wanting to subject Mrs Weasley to further trauma—she had already lived through her worst nightmare, losing a son—Hermione had decided to deal with it herself.

Her third-year Boggart, which had taken the form of Professor McGonagall telling her she had failed all her exams, had represented her deep-seated fear of failure. She never wanted to disappoint anyone… She needed to be certain she would always achieve the success she worked so hard for. She had gone to the attic convinced she would vanquish the creature in mere moments

But the moment she opened the door, she heard that manic laughter—and found herself face to face with none other than Bellatrix Lestrange.

In the end, she had managed to defeat the Boggart when the rational part of her mind had calmed her enough to believe that the real Bellatrix had not come to Harry’s house to finish what she had started. But that didn’t change the fact that her greatest fear, her worst nightmare, was none other than her fiancé’s aunt.. 

And what if she showed up at the manor?

A shudder of fear ran through her, cutting straight to her bones. That would be more than she could bear…

“Stay strong. Everything will be alright,” Kingsley’s voice pulled her from her thoughts as he wrapped her in a firm embrace.

“I believe that,” she whispered into his robes, using the last of her strength to hold back her tears.

“Good luck, Miss Granger,” McGonagall said, her own voice thick with emotion.

“Thank you. See you soon!” Hermione lifted a hand in farewell, clutching the journal tightly as she quickly left the office.

Tears wouldn’t make any of this easier… 

💍💍💍

She stood in the corridor, taking a deep breath. She didn’t want Malfoy to notice her nerves or the urge to cry. She wanted to appear cold and indifferent in front of him—just as he had been towards her all term, up until the announcement of their engagement.

She regretted now that she hadn’t practised her Occlumency in a long time. She knew she would have to start working on it again. Just as she would need to refine Somnium —the spell she had created herself. It still wasn’t working quite as she had intended, and she hadn’t had time to perfect it before exams. But now, if the Malfoys left her alone in her own quarters, she would surely find the time. And if she was lucky, she might even gain access to their world-famous library… That would be a fair compensation for sacrificing herself for Malfoy’s plan.

She took out her wand to shrink and conceal the journal before slowly setting off towards the stairs.

Suddenly, the air before her rippled in an odd way. It took her a few seconds to realise that it had been caused by an Invisibility Cloak slipping to the floor at her feet.

“Hermione!”

She froze as she was abruptly pulled into Ron’s long arms. She hadn’t expected him at all, and in her shock, she didn’t react to his firm embrace.

“What are you doing here?” she choked out when he finally released her.

“I had to see you before you left…” Ron gave her an uncertain smile, placing his hands on her shoulders and leaning in for a kiss.

“Ron… I don’t think this is wise,” Hermione murmured, unsure what she even wanted to say. She had never imagined she would have to face him before the war was over. She hadn’t made any definite decisions, nor had she spent much time reflecting on her feelings for him.

She knew that her Amortentia no longer carried his scent, but did that mean there was no longer any chance for them?

“That git Malfoy is waiting for you outside the school. I know because Ginny wrote to me yesterday,” Ron said, beaming. “She also told me everything he said. So we know he won’t hurt you.”

He grinned and finally pressed his lips to hers.

The moment he did, the diamond bracelet from Narcissa—one Hermione still hadn’t been able to remove on her own—began to grow warmer.

She pulled away from Ron abruptly, staring at her wrist in shock, but just as quickly as it had heated up, the bracelet went cold again.

She quickly realised that there must be some kind of fidelity enchantment on it—one that allowed another man to touch her but would likely burn her if she tried to kiss him or engage in anything more intimate. She had no doubt that Draco’s mother had placed the spell deliberately, ensuring Hermione wouldn’t cause any scandal by being caught in an affair.

“Why are you pushing me away? You know we might not see each other for months,” Ron looked disappointed, slightly irritated.

“I have to go, Ron. I promise I’ll write to you and Harry as soon as I can,” Hermione forced a small smile, stepping back to a safer distance.

“Or… maybe we could go to the Room of Requirement? Just for a little while?” he asked hopefully.

“No. That’s never going to happen between us,” Hermione said firmly. “Take care, Ron. Stay safe. I hope we’ll see each other soon.”

She reached out, gave his arm a brief squeeze, and quickly walked away before he could stop her.

She heard him calling her name in shocked disbelief. She quickened her pace.

It wasn’t even about the enchantment on the bracelet.

It was the fact that he had come to her again as if nothing had happened, expecting that he wouldn’t even have to apologise—expecting, perhaps, that she had changed her mind.

She knew she would have to properly examine her feelings for him soon, and though the thought terrified her, it was something she absolutely had to resolve.

💍💍💍

A large black carriage stood in front of the school’s main entrance, reminiscent of the one used by the Beauxbatons delegation when they had arrived for the Triwizard Tournament. It was drawn by two magnificent Abraxans, stunning winged horses of the finest breed.

Malfoy was waiting for her beside the carriage. Dressed in a stylish coat and a warm scarf, he seemed entirely unbothered by the snow falling around him. Hermione wondered why he hadn’t simply gotten inside but had chosen instead to wait for her out in the cold. She took a shallow breath and walked towards him.

This was it. The beginning of a new path.

She didn’t want to look back, but she had the distinct feeling that someone, hidden beneath an Invisibility Cloak, was watching her from one of the windows overlooking the courtyard. Did he really want to see her walk away with his enemy? Even if it wasn’t real, it was still pretty meaningful.

Lifting her head, she quickened her pace. There was no point in delaying it.

Draco’s face was once again an unreadable mask—cool and beautiful, as though sculpted from the finest porcelain.

“Ready?” he asked as she drew closer.

“I won’t be any more ready than I am now,” she answered truthfully.

“In that case, let’s go,” Draco extended his hand to help her climb the carriage steps.

She couldn’t help it—she turned back.

She knew Ron was watching.

Then she faced forward and placed her hand in Draco’s. Neither of them wore gloves, despite the cold. For a brief moment, she met those eyes—eyes she knew so well from countless dreams. There was something strangely familiar in them, something that, despite all reason, stirred a sense of trust within her.

She shook herself free of those thoughts and finally stepped into the carriage, ready to begin the next chapter in her life of strange adventures..

Chapter Text

1 December 1998

She glanced around, registering that the inside of the carriage was, in fact, more like a small flat. It was a lounge with a fireplace, two rather comfortable-looking armchairs near the window, and a small coffee table between them. One of the walls was lined with bookshelves, and to the left of the entrance, Hermione noticed a corridor with three doors.

“This will be more convenient and quicker than travelling by train,” Malfoy explained as he removed his scarf and coat.

“Most likely,” she agreed, once again in her life marvelling at the sheer power of magic.

“The journey will also be much shorter. We’ll be at the manor in about two hours.”

“All right,” she replied, removing her own coat. Seeing that he was expecting it, she handed it to him so he could hang it on the rack by the entrance.

“We need to be seated while the carriage ascends,” Draco gestured towards the two large, dark violet velvet armchairs that formed the centrepiece of the lounge.

“And fasten seatbelts like on a plane?” she joked, attempting to ease her own tension.

“I’ve never been on an aeroplane, but I assume the sensation is quite similar,” Malfoy responded with a slight smile before taking his seat. Without hesitation, Hermione sat in the other chair.

“I didn’t think you even knew what an aeroplane was,” she admitted honestly.

“Magical barriers protect against interference from magic, but they don’t obstruct the view. Aeroplanes fly over Wiltshire too, so it was only logical that I wanted to find out what those odd-looking things were, appearing in the sky from time to time and making strange noises.”

“I assume the carriage is hidden from the eyes of Muggles and the crews of planes or helicopters?” she pressed, pleased that, for now, they had settled on a light-hearted topic.

“Of course it is—” Malfoy didn’t get the chance to say anything more, as at that moment, a loud crack sounded, and two house-elves appeared before them.

“Good morning, Master! Good morning, Mistress!” The larger of the elves was the first to speak, and Hermione immediately deduced that he must be Zippy’s husband—the one her elf had spoken about so fondly.

“Good morning, Mistress! Greetings, Master!” Zippy squeaked, bowing low. “Miss Hermione, if she pleases, Zippy would like to introduce her husband, Brisk.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Hermione said warmly.

“The pleasure is Brick’s, to finally meet his master’s betrothed and the lady of his wife,” Brisky declared with a deep bow in Hermione’s direction.

“Is everything ready for us to depart?” Draco interjected.

“If our masters are ready, so are we,” Brisky responded.

“Excellent. Let’s not waste any time then,” Malfoy instructed.

“As you wish, Master!” Brisky immediately vanished with another sharp crack.

“May Zippy bring anything once we take off?” The elf directed her question towards Hermione.

“I…” Hermione hesitated, unsure whether Malfoy wanted anything, so she glanced at him.

“Tea and biscuits will do, thank you,” Malfoy decided, noticing her uncertainty.

“At your service!” Zippy chirped before disappearing.

A moment later, the carriage lurched, and Hermione saw the landscape outside begin to move.

This was the moment.

She was leaving Hogwarts behind, never to return as a student.

Never again would she walk these halls as a pupil, a Head Girl, or a Gryffindor.

It was the end of a significant era in her life.

💍💍💍

They sat in silence as the carriage rose above the cloud cover. Both stared out of the window, lost in their own thoughts, making it a comfortable quiet rather than an awkward one—though Hermione couldn’t help but wonder which of them would be the first to break it.

Finally, the situation resolved itself when Zippy appeared, carrying a large tray laden with elegant porcelain, sugar bowls, and small pitchers of milk and honey, along with a large plate of assorted homemade biscuits.

“Should Zippy serve the tea?” she asked Hermione.

“Yes, please,” Hermione replied, not trusting herself—or her hands—enough to pour it without spilling in front of Malfoy.

“For Master, with honey?” Zippy asked uncertainly.

“Yes, one spoonful,” Draco replied, still gazing out of the window.

Hermione stole glances at him, unable to help herself. He had that same expression she had seen throughout the entire term—as if he were standing behind a glass pane, blurred and distant, not entirely real…

“Can Zippy be of any further service?” the elf asked, handing Hermione her tea without asking how she liked it—she already knew that well enough.

Hermione waited for Draco to dismiss the elf, but instead, he turned to her, raising an eyebrow in a slightly challenging manner.

“Yes, that will be all. Thank you very much,” Hermione said, shooting Malfoy a hostile look.

Zippy disappeared, and Hermione took a sip of her tea, doing everything in her power to ensure that her cup didn’t clatter against the saucer when she set it down. She needed to steady her trembling hands.

“Still not used to giving orders to house-elves?” Draco asked, placing his own cup down.

“I’ll never get used to it. I only do it because I don’t want to upset her. She tries so hard…”

“A house-elf who isn’t personally assigned to a member of the household always stands a little lower in the hierarchy. Zippy could hardly wait for the day she would have a mistress of her own to serve,” Draco said with a faint smile.

“Has she been in your home from the start?” Hermione asked, pleased to continue with another light topic.

“No. Brisky brought her in when they got married. After their wedding, we bought her from the Parkinson family.”

“You bought her?” Hermione scoffed in distaste.

“That’s how it works when two elves from different households want to be joined. It happened before our elves were freed and started receiving wages,” he explained.

“I see. May I ask why you insisted on freeing your elves?” Hermione nervously laced her fingers together, watching him expectantly.

“What makes you think it was me?”

To her surprise, Malfoy now looked slightly irritated.

“Zippy told me,” Hermione admitted, biting her lip the moment the words left her mouth. What if she had just landed her elf in trouble? She wouldn’t want that…

Fortunately, Malfoy only smirked before, to her surprise, standing up and pulling off his black jumper.

“What did I tell you about biting your lip, Granger?” he asked, focusing on his wrist as he unfastened the cuff of his white shirt.

“It’s a subconscious habit,” she explained, releasing her lip from her teeth and watching his every movement intently.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

Draco rolled up his left sleeve, revealing the deep black Mark that stood out starkly against his pale skin—the Dark Mark.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself not to flinch or let out the strangled noise that threatened to escape her throat. She had known he had it. This was no surprise.

But knowing was one thing.

Seeing was another.

“Are you trying to scare me with that?” she asked quietly.

“No.”

Draco lowered his sleeve and sat back down in his chair as if nothing had happened.

“So you’re showing it to me because…?”

“To familiarise you with it. I’ve had the Dark Mark for over two years. It’s not just a symbol of belonging to a group tasked with conquering the magical world and subjecting it to the tyranny of a single ruler. It’s also a mark of submission. A brand of ownership. I don’t belong to myself anymore. I’m almost like a house-elf, forced to obey my master’s orders.”

Malfoy’s tone was casual, almost nonchalant, but the look in his storm-grey eyes sent a shiver down her spine.

Bitterness. Pain. And hatred.

Hatred, perhaps, for himself.

She had to dig her nails into her palm to stop herself from reaching across the table and taking his hand in a gesture of comfort.

“So that’s why you freed the elves?” she whispered, unable to summon the strength to make her voice any louder. “Because you know what it’s like to serve someone who, if dissatisfied, has the power to punish you severely?”

Malfoy smiled again, but this time it was more genuine—so much so that a shadow of it softened his eyes.

“Right on the mark, as always, Granger. That’s exactly why I chose you. I don’t have to spell everything out for you like some dim-witted Flobberworm. You figure things out in an instant.”

“That ties back to what you said before—about choosing me for my intelligence?” she asked, finally ready to have the conversation about his goals and the expectations he intended to impose on her.

“Yes. It’s obvious to anyone who knows you that you’ve got an impressive list of awful flaws as well, but no one can deny that you’re intelligent.”

“And now I don’t know whether to thank you for the compliment or hex you into next week for what you said about my flaws,” Hermione shot him a sour look.

“No one’s without flaws,” Malfoy replied, the corners of his mouth twitching up slightly. He adjusted his sleeve, ensuring it fully covered the Dark Mark on his arm. “But when making my choice, I considered the fact that you’re not just clever—you’re also quick-witted and pragmatic. You know our peers well, and you’re aware that those traits aren’t particularly common among them.”

“They’re not unique, either. I’m sure a few Ravenclaws have similar abilities,” Hermione countered, not trying to sound modest but because she was trying to understand why it had been her.

“Sure,” he conceded. “But as I mentioned, the second reason I chose you was your ability to adapt to any environment you’re thrown into. I imagine first year was difficult for you at first, but you adjusted to the magical world remarkably quickly somehow. Severus still hasn’t gotten over the fact that a twelve-year-old girl made it through the entire enchanted obstacle course and solved his Potions riddle.” Draco let out a mocking laugh.

“He told you about it?” Hermione asked, genuinely surprised.

“Yes. I consulted him about my choice, if you must know. He also believes you’re the best suited to play this role.”

“I didn’t realise Headmaster Snape had any kind of appreciation for me,” she huffed, crossing her arms and ignoring his amusement.

“I could list a few more situations that demonstrated your ability to adapt to new conditions quite well. Is it true that you spent all of last year living in an old tent with those two idiots?”

“Let’s get one thing straight!” she snapped with anger. “You will not insult my friends in front of me or belittle their efforts! I don’t care what your personal opinions about them are, but you’d better keep them to yourself unless you want me to turn you into a little white ferret again! And trust me—I can do it!”

“Calm down, Granger, or you’ll set the carriage on fire with all that sparking,” Malfoy said, though the sharp edge to his smirk suggested her threat had actually had an affect on him.

“That’s my condition. And by the way, I have a few more,” she stated firmly.

“Then let’s start with that. Your conditions first, then mine…”

“No. First, the rest of your reasons for choosing me, and then we can discuss my terms and yours, regarding this whole agreement” she insisted.

“Fine. I’ve already given you the first two,” Draco sighed, looking slightly weary. Hermione noticed his gaze flicker longingly towards the liquor cabinet in the corner of the carriage.

“Yes. That’s my intelligence and my ability to adapt to any situation. What else?”

“That’s obvious, isn’t it? I want protection for my family. If, with my father’s and my help, you win this war, all we want in return is peace and quiet. No trials, no confiscation of our estate, no probationary periods without wands. You get your victory, and we remain one of the most influential wizarding families—without a stain on our name. That’s it.”

“That’s a steep price,” Hermione met his gaze head-on, unwavering. “But if you help us win, I’ll personally see to it that those conditions are met.”

“I don’t doubt that you will,” Draco held her strong stare for so long that she was the first to look away.

“That leaves one question… What happens to me if you win?” Hermione couldn’t suppress the slight tremor in her voice at the thought.

“If that happens before the end of our contract, I’ll give you a choice,” he promised calmly.

“A choice?”

“Yes. You could fake your death and escape to the Muggle world, or to whatever remains of the resistance, if anything is left by then.

“Or?” 

“You stay. You marry some pure-blood man. With a new surname, you’d be welcomed into society, and you could choose someone worthwhile—preferably someone not too closely tied to the Dark Lord.”

“I will never do that!” she shouted.

“If the situation unfolds in such a way that the Death Eaters win, you’ll have time to decide. For my part, I can promise that we’ll ensure your safety as much as possible.” Draco said, meeting her gaze again.

And for the first time in real life—just for a fleeting moment—Hermione felt the same way she had in one of her dreams.

She shook herself out of it quickly, reaching nervously for her tea and nearly spilling it. Fortunately, she managed to lift the cup and take a few small sips.

“I take it that the terms Kingsley agreed upon with your father were satisfactory to you?”

“Father wasn’t thrilled about having to tie this plan to that imbecile—the grandson of Dagworth-Granger—but after some thought, he agreed that you were our best option. Umberto believes you’ve accepted that you’re truly related to him, so don’t let on that you know we faked it.”

“You’re admitting that to me so openly?” she asked, slightly surprised.

“Refer to point one, Granger. I’m not going to make a fool of myself pretending you don’t understand exactly how all of this came about.”

“And do you really think everyone will believe I’m actually pure-blood?” she asked, not bothering to hide her scepticism.

“What matters is that the Death Eaters believe it. The Dark Lord was satisfied with the evidence presented to him, though we know a few others attempted to negate it. Fortunately, Father and I hold a high enough position in the hierarchy that no one dared to dig too deeply.”

“And what happens if they do believe it?” she mocked. “Will I have to see them? Sip tea with them? Enjoy pleasant little dinners?”

“We’ll try to limit it as much as possible, but unfortunately, it will be unavoidable. Each time, we’ll prepare you properly so you know exactly what you can say and in front of whom.”

“Will I have to see…” Hermione couldn’t stop herself—she bit her lip again. Just the thought made her feel sick.

“Who? The Dark Lord? I don’t think so, though we can’t rule it out entirely. He certainly won’t show up for any official visits to the manor. Since his last encounter with Potter, he’s been locked away in an unknown location, heavily guarded by every possible barrier.”

“I meant your aunt…” Hermione swallowed nervously.

“No!” Malfoy cut her off sharply. “You will not see her. She’s not allowed anywhere near you. She knows exactly what will happen if she doesn’t comply.”

His voice was firm, and his words sounded deliberate and final.

“Alright. Thank you…” Hermione exhaled deeper.

“You already know my third reason.” Draco’s jaw clenched briefly. “My fourth reason has a name.”

“Will you tell me?” she prompted.

“Thorfinn Rowle,” he said curtly.

“The Death Eater we found on patrol?” She had to admit she did not expect that.

“Yes,” he confirmed, casually reaching for the teapot to pour himself more tea.

“And that’s all you have to say about it?” Hermione pressed.

“Rowle was involved in a certain incident that concerned me as well,” Draco explained vaguely. “I swore revenge on him back then. I knew he was obsessed with claiming you for himself under the new marriage law. He even tried to track down your parents to curse your father and force him to consent.”

“What?!” Hermione jumped on her seat.

“Don’t worry, he didn’t succeed. No one can do it—I made sure of that. Even our people weren’t able to manage it, and trust me, they’re the best,” Draco sent her a small smile, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered if there was a hint of admiration behind it for her ability to keep them hidden.

“Why did Rowle want to have me so badly?” she mused aloud.

“Because you’re the only witch in his entire life who has ever managed to curse him. He couldn’t bear the humiliation. He’s a brutal man. If he ever comes near you, try to leave immediately.”

“Did he sneak into Hogwarts to try to harm me somehow?” she asked quietly.

“Officially, he was there to visit Severus. But we knew we had to keep an eye on him and cannot let him find you. That’s why I went on patrol with you instead of Bletchley. He wouldn’t have dared attack you while I was there.”

“You’re the one who cursed him and locked him in that cupboard?” Hermione summoned the courage to meet his gaze again.

“No,” he answered.

“Do you know who did?”

“Yes. And before you ask—no, I’m not going to tell you who it was.”

Hermione scoffed under her breath and folded her arms across her chest, making it clear she was displeased. Naturally, Malfoy didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned by her reaction as he simply reached for one of the biscuits.

“That’s four reasons out of five. What’s the last one?” she asked.

“It’s your lack of attachment to easily accessible people,” Draco brushed the crumbs from his hands and his shirt before leaning back comfortably in his chair. “There’s a war going on, and each of us is only as strong as our weakest point.”

“You mean the fact that I have no close relatives aside from my parents, whom I’ve successfully hidden?” she tried to clarify.

“Yes. Some distant uncle in Cornwall—whom you wouldn’t even recognise—would hardly be a useful bargaining chip to lure you out or break you.”

“I…” Hermione hesitated. She probably wouldn’t allow harm to come to her uncle and his family because of her, even if she didn’t know them.

“I know you’d do anything to save him but most Death Eaters don’t know you. To them, it’s obvious that they’d need to capture someone truly close to you for it to break you. I can’t afford for you to have weak spots if we’re going to endure this together.”

Hermione didn’t want to admit it, but Malfoy really did seem to know her to some extent.

“But I’m close to many members of the Order…”

“Yes, but there are no blood ties between you. And besides, if they managed to capture someone important from the Order, they’d be more likely to use them to lure Potter out of hiding than you.”

“That’s true,” she admitted reluctantly.

“You suggested at the ball that I could have just as easily chosen Ginny Weasley. Setting aside her fiery temper and the fact that she would never have rationally considered my arguments before cursing me—and everyone around us—with at least a dozen Bat-Bogey Hexes, the Weasleys are a really large family. Someone could easily travel to France and bring back her sister-in-law’s parents or sister to force her into compliance. Or that old aunt of theirs, living alone somewhere in Wales—an ideal target for a Death Eater looking for leverage. I couldn’t afford for my fiancée to have weaknesses that could be exploited to also get to me.”

“I understand what you mean,” Hermione admitted, though it stung to acknowledge the truth of it. She was completely alone in the world now. If not for Harry, the Weasleys, and the Order of the Phoenix, she would have no one at all. Her parents didn’t remember her, and she didn’t even know if she’d ever be able to undo the spell she had cast on them.

“You know my reasons now. I’ll just add that another bonus in your favour was the fact that you’re a natural Occlumens. I assume you’ve refined that skill over the years?” he asked with interest.

“How do you know I practise Occlumency?” Hermione didn’t hide her surprise.

“Legilimens can sense these things from a distance,” he admitted.

“You’re a Legilimens?” she exclaimed. “That’s a rare gift, and mastering it takes years of training!” The note of admiration in her voice slipped out before she could stop it.

“I like to learn,” he joked. “And I’ll be honest—I’ve always been curious about what do your mental defences look like?”

“You’ve never tried to get into my head before?” she asked in disbelief.

“No. Because I knew that if you noticed, first—it would have exposed my abilities. And second, you’d have hexed me into oblivion before I even had the chance to withdraw from your thoughts,” he chuckled darkly.

“Then do it now,” she dared him. “Try to break into my mind and see what I’m thinking.” She was confident her barriers would hold. She had trained with Kingsley, a skilled Auror well-versed in Legilimency. He had never managed to break through.

“I will, Granger—but not now. We still have a few things to discuss,” Draco made it clear that he wasn’t backing down from the challenge, merely postponing it.

“Fine. My conditions are as follows: First, you do not insult or discriminate against my friends.”

“Only when you can hear it,” he clarified with a wicked smirk.

Hermione rolled her eyes dramatically, finding his childishness exasperating. “Fine. Second, I want to contact them whenever I wish.”

“There’s a private owl waiting for you at the manor, and you’ll have access to the Floo network—though the Weasleys won’t be allowed to travel through it.”

“Sounds good,” Hermione sighed. “I want unrestricted access to my wand.”

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t have it?” Malfoy looked genuinely puzzled.

“Good. I want my own private chambers, with a separate bathroom.”

“Did you really think for even a second that I’d make you sleep in my room?” he sneered, his lips curling in mockery.

“No!” she denied vehemently. “But who’s to say you wouldn’t have stuck me in the dungeons or made me sleep in the kitchens with the house-elves?”

“Our elves have their own cottage just behind the manor, and the dungeons are currently under renovation. Apparently, we need another wine cellar,” Draco grimaced strongly, turning his head towards the window again.

“I don’t want to eat or drink tea there… in that…” Hermione took a deep breath.

Malfoy turned back to face her, meeting her gaze.

“That room has been remodelled and is now used as a storage space for unwanted portraits. No one goes in there unless they need to put away a particularly noisy ancestor.”

“Really?” Hermione was genuinely taken aback. From what she remembered, Bellatrix had tortured her in one of the manor’s main salons. Had the Malfoys truly turned it into nothing more than a glorified junk room?

“Alright… There’s just one more thing—I wanted to ask for respect,” Hermione stated firmly, lifting her chin in defiance. “I promised to respect your parents. In return, I expect the same.”

“You have my word that no one in this house will do anything to undermine your dignity. Our house-elves and servants all believe what The Prophet wrote to be true. They know nothing about our arrangement, so in front of them—as well as any guests of the manor, except for Zabini—we’ll have to pretend that we like and respect each other.”

“If you think I have such great adaptability skills, how could I possibly fail at that?” Hermione allowed herself a small joke.

“Is that the end of your conditions?” he asked calmly.

“I… I’d also like the opportunity to have access to your library,” she admitted, trying not to blush.

“Why wouldn’t you have it? You’re not going to be a prisoner, Granger—you’ll be a guest.” Draco smirked cynically. “Trust me, if there’s anywhere we don’t want you to go, we’ll let you know.”

“Alright,” Hermione felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease. “Now, let’s hear the rest of your conditions.”

“The first one, you’ve already fulfilled at Hogwarts. And the second shouldn’t be an issue either, since my mother wrote to say you’d sent her a few pleasant letters.”

“As per our agreement,” Hermione clarified quickly, not wanting him to think she was intentionally trying to curry favour with Narcissa.

“My next condition—you need to convincingly act as though, step by step, you’re starting to support pure-blood ideology and distancing yourself from your friends and their ideas.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open in sheer disbelief.

“You don’t actually expect me to renounce my friends?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes in exasperation and sighed.

“Of course not. You just have to pretend you are. The people around us need to believe it. But I’m sure we’ll find a way for you to stay in touch with Potter and the others without raising suspicion.”

“I understand. It all comes back to adapting to new conditions. I’ll do that,” she conceded.

“Condition number four—no secret meetings or rendezvous that I’m not aware of. You can only leave the manor if you tell me. You cannot take unnecessary risks or allow yourself to be seen outside in a compromising situation…”

“You actually think I’d sneak out to meet someone behind your back?” she asked coldly.

“I’m setting this condition so you won’t, even if the thought crosses your mind,” Malfoy cut in bluntly.

“You have my word!” she assured him, barely keeping her anger in check. Who did he think she was

“The last condition—whatever happens, whatever you witness, when I tell you to leave or escape, you do it without hesitation. There won’t be a place for you Gryffindor braver, nor battle heroism. If things complicate, you’ll do as I say—without questions, without resistance.”

“I can’t promise something like that!” she protested, genuinely outraged.

“You must.” Malfoy smiled at her with the kind of sly confidence that suited a true Slytherin. “I’ve given you my reasons, and you agreed to my terms in return.”

“Don’t think I’m falling for your manipulations,” Hermione met his gaze defiantly.

“Be serious, Granger. This isn’t some thrilling adventure with your friends that you can just get through. This is war. You’ll be given an emergency Portkey, a spare wand, and the address of a safe location in case things take a turn.”

“These are conditions of the Unbreakable Vow?” she asked quietly, struggling to understand why the Malfoys were so insistent on ensuring her safety.

“This is the agreement between the two of us. And you will follow it. Understood?”

Draco’s eyes hardened, and Hermione knew that any further defiance would only lead to an argument.

“Is that all?” she snapped, irritated by his commanding posture.

“I want you to follow the schedule my mother has planned for you.”

“A schedule?” Hermione’s eyes widened.

“Yes. Mom will probably explain everything to you tomorrow. Tonight, we’ll only be having dinner with them so you have time to settle into your room.”

“I’ll let you know whether I agree to it after I see it.”

“Fine, we’ll discuss it tomorrow if you wish,” Malfoy said, glancing out the window.

Hermione’s stomach lurched slightly. The carriage was beginning to descend.

“You can see the manor now,” Draco gestured towards the window, and Hermione turned to look.

His family’s estate was truly impressive. And while she feared what awaited her there—given everything she had already suffered within its walls—she had to admit that, as of today, she would be living in what was essentially a palace.

She cast a sidelong glance at the pensive blond beside her.

If there was a palace, then of course, there was a prince.

A true Slytherin prince… with eyes that stirred emotions within her that she was beginning to hate—and ones that she was beginning to fear.

Chapter Text

They passed through the grand gate of the manor, and Hermione couldn’t tear her gaze away from the window. Everything looked completely different from how it had in March, when she had been dragged here by force along with her friends. Instinctively, she touched her wrist, and the scar from the word Mudblood —so reluctant to heal—tingled along its entire length, although usually kept hidden under the glamour charm during the day. 

She took a deep breath, trying to convince herself that it wasn’t the building that had harmed her—it was a person. She didn’t have to hate this place because of what had happened here. And yet, the memories remained vivid, and fear and panic began to creep into her insides. Worse still, she worried that Malfoy might notice. And she had no intention of showing any weakness in front of him.

Far sooner than she would have liked, the carriage came to a halt before the grand entrance of the house. The magnificent double doors—tall, solid oak—stood wide open, despite the bitter cold outside.

"You don’t need to take your coat. The elves will bring it right to your wardrobe later," he explained, standing and pulling on a jumper. With a practised gesture, he smoothed his hair and lifted the corners of his mouth in a barely-there smile, which she supposed was meant to be encouraging. "Ready?"

"What choice do I have?" she asked, rising and taking a deep breath.

"We could live in one of our other houses, but we’d still have to come here every day to fulfil our obligations," Draco watched her closely.

"In that case, it would be pointless. I’ll manage," Hermione summoned every ounce of strength to pull herself together.

"One more thing." Malfoy ran an assessing gaze over her, and Hermione shivered slightly under his scrutiny. "Mother has arranged for your new wardrobe. You’ll need to dress as befits the fiancée of someone in high society."

Hermione clenched her jaw and shot him a hostile glare. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t expected this—not after the incident with the dress for the Halloween Ball—but the thought of the Malfoys controlling every aspect of her life filled her with resistance.

"I can dress appropriately for formal events, but on a daily basis, I’ll wear what I please."

"Unfortunately, Granger, jeans are forbidden in my house," Draco smirked cynically.

"You wear jeans yourself, you hypocrite!" she cried indignantly, glancing pointedly at his trousers.

"Yes, but no one drools over my arse when I do. There will be plenty of men passing through this house, and it’s best to avoid creating a situation where they see something tempting enough to try and get closer," he explained matter-of-factly.

Hermione’s mouth fell open, but she had absolutely no idea how to respond. Was he actually implying that she was attractive enough for men to stare at her backside when she wore jeans?

"You’ve clearly never heard what Lavender and Parvati say about your arse in jeans," she muttered gruffly, not even looking at him.

Malfoy let out an honest laugh, clearly amused by her remark.

"In that case, let’s make a deal in solidarity. I won’t wear jeans for the duration of your stay in this house either. Agreed?"

"I hope you’ll survive such a sacrifice," she shot back with a sharp smile.

"One must do what one must for the greater cause," the blond replied with a cool smirk.

"Let’s just go now," she asked, trying to suppress her nerves.

"After you," Draco exited the carriage first and once again offered her his hand to help her down.

Hermione looked straight ahead and spotted what appeared to be a welcoming committee standing inside the house. Fortunately, neither she didn't spot Narcissa nor Lucius among them.

"Our staff would like to introduce themselves. We won’t be seeing my parents until dinner," he explained.

"Alright," Hermione managed a faint smile as Malfoy, without asking, slipped her hand under his arm and led her into his home as his official fiancée.

 💍💍💍

Hermione quickly counted eight house-elves, two women, and three men waiting for them in the welcoming committee. She realised they must be the household staff Malfoy had mentioned to Parvati during the ball. Though… hadn’t he said there were only four of them?

A young man, dressed in an elegant suit and tie, stepped forward with a broad smile. He didn’t look like a servant, and the large family ring on his finger suggested he was a pure-blood wizard. Hermione couldn’t stop staring at him. He had light brown hair, tied back with a black ribbon, and lively green eyes that instantly made him seem immediately likeable to anyone who looked at him.

"Welcome home, Lord Malfoy!" The man extended his hand.

"Hello, Travers. Please meet my fiancée—Hermione Dagworth-Granger," Draco introduced her smoothly, as if he were already used to calling her his fiancée.

"Joachim Travers, a pleasure to meet you." The man took Hermione’s hand and pressed a rather elaborate kiss to it.

"Likewise," she replied, barely restraining herself from wiping her hand on her jeans.

"Joachim is my father’s secretary," Draco explained to her. "He assists with all matters concerning our family’s businesses."

"I am at your service, Miss Dagworth-Granger, should you require any assistance," Travers assured her jovially, flashing her a charming smile.

"Thank you," she replied cautiously. He seemed genuinely pleasant, but she couldn’t forget that he was a Malfoys’ man. She couldn’t trust anyone who was too close to them.

"Young Master!"

An older, silver-haired woman in traditional witch’s robes pushed past Joachim, as if she couldn’t wait to greet Draco.

"Good morning, Matilda," Draco greeted warmly, wrapping his free arm around the elderly woman and kissing her cheek as though she were a beloved grandmother.

"I’m so happy you’re home again!" The woman’s eyes truly shone with tears.

"I am too. Please meet my fiancée—Hermione."

"A beautiful young lady! Oh, I’m so delighted!" Matilda clasped Hermione’s hand, beaming warmly.

"Good morning…" Hermione stammered, somewhat bewildered by the exuberant welcome.

"Welcome home, dear! I’m Matilda, the housekeeper and Draco’s former nanny," the woman squeezed her hand, her eyes still brimming with joyful tears.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ma’am" Hermione blurted out quickly.

"Please, call me by my name, dear!"

"I’d be happy to—if it works both ways," Hermione proposed.

"Of course, sweetheart!" Matilda finally released her hand and wiped her tears. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione glanced at Malfoy. How had he grown into such a cold-hearted bastard when he had been raised by someone so kind and warm? It had to be some deeply ingrained character flaw.

"Meet the rest of the staff," Draco led her a few steps forward. "Alvin is our gardener."

A tall, middle-aged man bowed slightly and smiled at Hermione.

"A pleasure to meet you," she said politely, shifting her gaze to a short, stocky man with a visibly cheerful demeanour.

"Bernard is in charge of the technical upkeep of the manor and our other properties," Draco explained.

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss!"

"Likewise," she replied, finding his cheer oddly infectious.

"And this is Esther, my mother’s maid," Draco pointed towards a tall, young, thin woman with dark eyes and a strong jawline, who regarded Hermione with barely concealed hatred.

Hermione immediately deduced that the maid was likely among the admirers of young Master Malfoy. Well… That didn’t surprise her. Of course, even in his own home, she had to encounter a woman who would treat her as a rival.

"Hello," Hermione greeted her first, but the maid merely gave a curt nod in response.

"And here are all our house-elves," Draco gestured towards the small group standing nearby. Zippy and Brisky smiled at her cheerfully, while the remaining six looked more uncertain.

"The head of the elves—Pecan," Draco indicated the tallest among them, who stepped forward and gave a deep bow.

"A pleasure to meet you," Hermione said politely.

"Pecan is also pleased to meet the young master's betrothed. If Miss permits, Pecan will introduce the others. My wife, Piny, serves the current Lady Malfoy," the elf gestured to the house-elf beside him, dressed like the others in elegant white robes with a large green M on the chest. "My son, Almond, is responsible for Lord Malfoy Senior."

The elf then pointed to the smallest, seemingly youngest house-elf Hermione had ever seen.

"And my daughter, Pistachia, is being prepared to serve the firstborn heir of Miss and Master Malfoy."

"Oh, Merlin, what nonsense!" Hermione burst into laughter before she could stop herself. Really? The Malfoys already had an elf lined up for their next heir? That was ridiculous!

A sudden tug on her arm snapped her out of her amusement, and she turned in surprise to find Draco glaring at her, gesturing meaningfully towards the elves.

Little Pistachia’s eyes were brimming with tears, looking at Hermione pleadingly, while her mother, Piny, let out a quiet sob, visibly devastated by the implication that the future Lady Malfoy did not want her daughter’s service for her child.

"Oh no! That’s not what I meant!" Hermione exclaimed in panic, leaning forward to be at the elves’ eye level. "I didn’t mean that Pistachia isn’t fit for the role or that she wouldn’t do well! I only meant that—"

Draco pulled her back upright to stand properly at his side.

"Both my fiancée and I are certain that Pistachia will be perfect in her future role serving our child. Isn’t that right, love?" he ground out through clenched teeth.

"Absolutely! You’ll be the best, I’m sure of it!" Hermione assured eagerly, feeling sweat gather from the stress. She truly hadn’t meant to offend the little elf and could only hope Pistachia wouldn’t dwell on this—or worse, punish herself over it.

"Not only Pistachia cannot wait for another little Malfoy!" Matilda declared loudly with a sincere smile.

Hermione clenched her jaw and forced a smile. As if the world needed another cynical bastard as if Draco and his father were not enough. This time, however, she restrained herself from saying it aloud.

Pecan quickly introduced Hermione to the two remaining kitchen elves before, much to her relief, they all disappeared. Joachim, the gardener, the maid, and the estate technician also excused themselves, leaving Hermione alone with Malfoy and a still-smiling Matilda at the foot of the grand staircase in the main hall.

"Your chambers are ready, as per your mother’s instructions," Matilda informed him.

"That’s wonderful, Matilda. Dinner at seven?" Draco confirmed.

"Yes. Your parents have decided that tonight will be a private family meal, and guests will arrive tomorrow."

"Let them know we’ve arrived and are resting in our rooms," Draco requested, leading Hermione towards the stairs.

"As you wish. If you need anything, just summon me through your elves," Matilda waved cheerfully, watching as they ascended the staircase together.

💍💍💍

"You really do have a lot of staff," Hermione muttered as they walked down the corridor leading to the expansive wing of the manor.

"Joachim isn’t a servant—he’s a Death Eater. He only showed up today to assess you. Don’t believe his false sympathies or offers of friendship. He was at Hogwarts in the same year as Rowle, and he will definitely report everything about you to him," Draco said, clearly irritated.

"Alright. I’ll remember that. And… I’m sorry about the slip-up with Pistachia…"

Malfoy stopped abruptly and let go of her hand from the crook of his elbow, turning to face her.

"For someone who wanted to defend house-elf rights, you know very little about them, don’t you?" he remarked sarcastically.

"That’s not true! I did my research!"

"Right. I’m sure your research focused on their enslavement. But you know nothing about their feelings, emotions, or the hierarchy they live in every day. Pistachia has been raised from birth with the knowledge that one day, she would become a private elf— the personal elf of her masters’ firstborn child. That’s a great honour. Can you even imagine how she must have felt when you laughed at her after hearing that? If she weren’t free, she’d probably be beating herself with a fire poker right now as punishment!"

"I wasn’t laughing at her! I was laughing at the idea of having an elf assigned to a child that hasn’t even been planned yet!" Hermione exclaimed.

"They don’t know that, you idiot! You hurt her and her family on your very first day here! Now they all think the future Lady Malfoy despises them and doesn’t want them!" he snarled.

"Then enlighten them that the future Lady Malfoy will have a proper conversation with them once this entire farce is over!" she hissed back, furious that he was criticising her for something like this.

Malfoy shot her a cold, resentful look before turning on his heel and marching forward without waiting for her. Hermione had no choice but to follow.

He was probably on his way to show her the chambers where she would be living from now on.

💍💍💍

This room was the size of the Gryffindor common room. The beautiful cream-coloured walls and the airy white canopy over the largest bed she had ever seen. One entire wall was lined with bookshelves filled with different books. Aside from the bed, the room featured a small, elegant light-brown sofa, a coffee table, and a desk complete with a comfortable armchair. A tasteful vanity table with a large mirror stood in the corner, already adorned with cosmetics and perfume bottles. Large glass doors led to an expansive terrace, while two white doors on the opposite side of the room led to a spacious bathroom—complete with a porcelain bathtub and a shower large enough to fit a hippogriff—and a wardrobe the size of her entire Hogwarts dormitory.

It was excessive, really, to live in such conditions, but Hermione wasn’t about to complain. She had far bigger problems than an overabundance of luxury.

"I didn’t expect… quite this much," she admitted to Draco, hoping that her praise for the chamber’s decor might soften his irritation over the incident with the house-elves. She really didn’t want to start their cohabitation with an argument.

"This bedroom has always been intended for the fiancée of the estate’s future heir. In the past, they weren’t allowed to stay at the manor without a chaperone and an entire entourage. Nowadays, no one bothers with such things," Draco smirked at her meaningfully.

"Does that mean your room is nearby?" Hermione asked, hoping he wouldn’t pick up on the unease in her voice.

"Right next door. Our chambers are connected by a shared terrace," Draco gestured towards the glass doors. "But don’t worry. I won’t disturb your peace unless absolutely necessary."

"I hope it won’t be necessary at all," she muttered, turning away from him and focusing on the bookshelves.

"Before the engagement party, we’ll likely have a few more shared obligations," he explained matter-of-factly.

"I understand. Do you have anything else to tell me?" she asked, a trace of impatience in her voice. She had already had enough of his company for one day. Her emotions and the strange sensations she felt in his presence were too confusing for her to willingly prolong this interaction.

"Nothing urgent. You can settle in and rest. I’ll come for you a few minutes before seven so we can be punctual for dinner. If you need anything, call for Zippy."

"Alright. I… thank you…" she said hesitantly, not really sure what she ought to say.

"No need to thank me, Granger. It’s not as though I’m doing you a favour," Malfoy muttered with a bitter expression before heading towards the door.

"Thank you for not making this harder," she whispered.

"Likewise. And if you don’t mind, choose something from your new wardrobe for dinner. My mother would have a fit if she saw you in those trousers," Draco shot her a wicked grin.

"Alright," Hermione replied, quirking the corner of her lips in a small smile. They had already discussed the matter of jeans, so there was no point in arguing about it.

Malfoy left, closing the door behind him, and Hermione finally felt like she could take a full breath again. She took another look around the chamber.

Well, perhaps she could endure this year.

It was certainly better to be forced to live in luxury than to be locked away in a filthy dungeon.

 💍 💍💍

A bath in the large tub, infused with expensive essential oils, relaxed her so much that she entirely forgot to be nervous about dinner with Malfoy’s parents. The tension only returned when she sat before the vanity, and Zippy appeared with an offer to help tame her hair into a neat bun. She agreed—her curls were particularly uncooperative today.

She applied light makeup and briefly skimmed through her wardrobe, which would probably take three days to fully explore. In the end, she selected a lovely dark beige cocktail dress, and Zippy swiftly found a matching pair of heels. Once Hermione felt ready, she remembered that she hadn’t yet written in the two-way journal Kingsley had given her.

Quickly, she grabbed her wand, summoned the notebook and a quill, and sat at her desk. As soon as she touched it, the journal opened.

"Everything is fine. We arrived safely at the manor. I’ve met all the household staff, including the house-elves and Joachim Travers, who, according to Malfoy, may be keeping an eye on me under Rowle’s orders. I’m staying in the wing of the manor designated for Malfoy and his fiancée. The staff all believe our engagement is real. I’m about to go to dinner, where I’ll meet Lucius and Narcissa for the first time. I’ll let you know if anything happens. Best, Hermione."

She finished writing, closed the journal, and transfigured it to resemble a copy of Hogwarts: A History before tucking it into a desk drawer, which she sealed with a strong locking spell. Barely had she secured her wand in a hidden holster on her thigh when there was a knock at the door.

Hermione took a deep breath and went to open it. There was no turning back now.

💍💍💍

Malfoy was dressed in black wizarding robes—not too fancy but undoubtedly expensive and tasteful. As soon as she appeared in the doorway, he let his gaze trail over her from head to toe, openly assessing her. She had to summon every ounce of self-control to keep from blushing.

"I see you’re ready," he remarked shortly.

"If you can see it, why say it?" she retorted dryly.

Malfoy smirked before stepping back and bending his arm in an expectant gesture. With a quiet sigh, Hermione stepped out of her room and took his arm, as a proper pure-blood lady was supposed to.

"Is there anything I should know before we sit down with your parents?"

"If you’re unsure which fork to use, you can always ask," he quipped.

"I know how to use cutlery!" she huffed, affronted.

"We’ll see," Draco shot her a teasing grin.

"Anything else?" she pressed as they descended the stairs together.

"My mother detests complaints about her menu, so if you don’t like something, keep it to yourself."

"Sure," she nodded, though the knot of stress in her stomach made her doubt she’d be able to eat anything at all.

"It’s best not to bring up Death Eaters or the Dark Lord with my father," he muttered.

"I’m not stupid enough to try that!" she assured him quickly.

"And don’t deliberately insult me in front of my parents. My mother wouldn’t take kindly to it."

"Naturally, since she also sees you as an impeccable prince," Hermione shot him a sharp smile.

"No. My mother is more than aware of all my flaws," Draco replied matter-of-factly. "That doesn’t mean she enjoys hearing others use them against me."

"Is that all?" Hermione asked nervously as they approached the large doors, which she assumed led to the dining room.

"Don’t mention anything Muggle. Just in case."

"Fine," she cut in, just as the doors opened of their own accord.

Hermione was surprised to find that, against one wall, there stood an enormous table—about the size of the house tables at Hogwarts—but at the centre of the dining room, there was a much smaller table with only four chairs. It looked more like a setting in an upscale restaurant than the focal point of a grand dining hall.

Narcissa and Lucius were already seated across from each other, their crystal goblets filled with deep red wine.

"Good evening, Mother. Father," Draco greeted them as they stepped inside.

"Good evening," Hermione echoed.

"Welcome, my dears!" Narcissa rose from the table, her smile radiant as she approached them.

"Are we late?" Draco asked as his mother drew nearer.

"Not at all! Your father and I simply came down a little early to drink an aperitif before dinner," Narcissa replied gracefully, kissing Draco on both cheeks. He leaned down slightly to accommodate her, as even in high heels, she was still much shorter than him.

"You remember Hermione?" he asked as an introduction.

"Of course. Good evening, Miss Dagworth-Granger. We are pleased to have you in our home," Narcissa extended her hand. Hermione took it with a forced smile, wondering if she ought to curtsy before the majesty of Lady Malfoy.

"Thank you, it’s a pleasure," Hermione managed, annoyed by the faint tremor in her voice.

"That’s quite the shift in attitude from when we last met," came a drawling voice from behind Narcissa. A moment later, Lucius Malfoy stood beside his wife, smiling at Hermione with thinly veiled amusement.

"I’ve thought it over and discussed it with my friends. I concluded that resistance would benefit no one," Hermione replied coolly, lifting her chin in defiance. She wouldn’t let him mock her.

"I’m pleased to hear it. Welcome to our manor, Miss Dagworth-Granger," Lucius inclined his head slightly.

"Thank you. However, I still prefer just ‘Granger’ or simply being addressed by my first name," she proposed, striving to sound confident.

-Gladly, if you will also speak to us without unnecessary forms of courtesy! - Narcissa asked.

Hermione merely nodded in response. She could force herself to address Draco’s mother informally, but she was certain she’d never be able to bring herself to say Lucius’s name. She couldn’t imagine bridging that gap between herself and that man.

"Shall we begin? I’ve missed the manor’s cuisine," Draco admitted.

"Of course! Let’s sit," Narcissa smiled, taking her husband’s arm and allowing him to lead her back to the table.

Hermione and Draco exchanged a brief glance, silently ensuring everything was in order before following them.

💍💍💍

Dinner was exceptionally refined. It consisted of  two appetisers, an exquisite soup, two main courses, and two desserts.Although the portions were small and beautifully arranged, Hermione felt as though she might burst if she forced herself to eat anything more. The wine served with each course was perfectly paired with the dishes, and the conversation at the table flowed smoothly, without any major mishaps. Draco carried the most of the burden of conversation, first discussing their final exams and then listing all the newly engaged couples in Slytherin. Every now and then, Lucius and Narcissa interjected with brief questions, some of which were directed at Hermione. She tried to answer concisely yet politely, hoping it would be enough for them not to consider her rude.

During the final dessert course, Narcissa finally broached the topic Hermione least wanted to discuss—the engagement party.

"We must really get to work starting tomorrow, as there isn’t much time left. Right after dinner, I’ll send you tomorrow’s full schedule through Zippy. Each evening, you’ll receive a new plan for the next day," Narcissa informed her with a polite smile.

"I understand, but as I mentioned in my letter, I completely defer to you, Miss Malfoy, on the matter of the party…"

"You were supposed to call me by my name, dear," Narcissa reminded her. "And yes, I have already made many decisions regarding the orchestra, the menu, and the overall plan for the event, but I absolutely need your input on the flowers, decorations, and a few other key aspects. And, of course, tomorrow the stylist will be arriving so we can choose all your gowns for the ball."

"Gowns?" Hermione asked uncertainly.

"Yes. Traditionally, at any aristocratic ball, each young lady wears two gowns—one for dinner and another for dancing, as the younger guests tend to dance the most and need to be comfortable," Narcissa explained.

"That’s… practical," Hermione replied diplomatically, internally questioning the sheer silly extravagance of it all.

"For your engagement ball, however, you will need four different gowns."

" Four?! " Hermione exclaimed in disbelief, causing Draco, seated opposite her, to inelegantly stifle a laugh into his wine glass.

Narcissa shot her son a stern look before turning back to Hermione.

"Yes, four. One for the engagement ceremony, another for the first dance, a third for the photoshoot, and a fourth for the remainder of the evening."

Hermione felt overwhelmed by the flood of new information. So there was to be a whole ceremony between her and Malfoy in front of all these guests? They had to dance together? There would be a photoshoot ? This was madness!

"Why do we need a photoshoot?" Draco asked. "The Prophet will be there and surely will cover the event and take some pictures during the party."

"The photoshoot is for the family archives," Narcissa explained, taking a sip of her wine.

Hermione noticed Draco glance questioningly at his father, who merely shrugged.

"Mother, we discussed this…"

"I know, but that doesn’t change the fact that guests would ask questions if we didn’t have one. Everything will proceed according to tradition," she stated firmly. 

"Son, I’m wondering whether you have given any further thought to my proposal," Lucius inquired.

"I’m still considering it, Father, but you know I won’t be able to give you an answer until March," Draco replied.

"If that’s your preference," Lucius murmured, clearly displeased.

"We recently agreed that Draco should be free to choose his own career path," Narcissa explained.

"And you, Miss Granger, what are your plans for further education?" Lucius asked directly, looking at her and sending an involuntary shiver down Hermione’s spine.

"I… Well, I don’t yet know how my exams went…"

Draco let out another laugh, earning another reproachful glance from his mother.

"Let’s assume you achieve all the necessary marks. What would you like to do in the future?" Lucius pressed.

"I planned to begin training in Magical Medicine. It works out well, as the admissions start in October, so…" She had intended to say that by then, this entire arrangement would be over, but she quickly realised that wouldn’t sound good. "…So I’ll have plenty of time to prepare as best as I can."

"Magical Medicine… Do we know anyone from our circles who pursued that field?" Narcissa mused aloud.

"Your sister is a midwife—have you forgotten, dear?" Lucius smirked at his wife.

Hermione felt Narcissa tense beside her. She knew that the sister Lucius was referring to was Andromeda, who had long been disowned by the Black family and was certainly no longer considered a relation of the Malfoys.

"Now that you mention it, I do recall that Andy took some medical courses. Perhaps we can discuss it with her when we meet at the party?" Narcissa replied coolly before turning to Hermione with a much warmer expression.

"I’d love that. Andromeda is truly wonderful. She’s currently overjoyed to have a grandson…" Hermione blurted out before fully considering whether it was wise to mention it.

"The son of a werewolf," Lucius sneered in distaste.

"Little Teddy is a Metamorphmagus—a very rare and powerful magical ability," Hermione responded icily.

"Professor Lupin himself, aside from his lycanthropy, was quite a skilled wizard. Probably the only Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who actually taught us anything," Draco added. Hermione shot him a grateful smile—she hadn’t expected him to speak positively about Remus, especially after the way he had spoken about him in their third year.

"The Lupin family sent a reply confirming that they, along with Andromeda, will be attending the engagement party," Narcissa informed them.

"Did many people decline?" Draco asked.

"Fewer than expected. Only a few minor names. I suppose the Greengrass family planned on it, but they are ultimately coming. 

Gloria did, however, make it clear that they were quite disappointed you didn’t choose one of their daughters as your fiancée. However, when Nott proposed to Astoria and Graham Montague to Daphne, she convinced herself that you likely didn’t want to interfere with your friends’ choices. Tactfully, I saw no reason to correct her assumption," Narcissa giggled, surprising Hermione—she hadn’t imagined the refined lady Malfoy capable of such a sound.

"Edmund Parkinson reminds me every time we meet at the club that he didn’t inform us about the marriage law before it was passed just so Draco could snatch up Miss Dagworth-Granger for himself, but rather so he would quickly propose to his daughter Pansy."

"Oh, Merlin, no! I would never have approved of that. I absolutely despise that impertinent, conceited girl!" Narcissa declared firmly.

"That makes two of us," Lucius raised his wine glass in a toast.

"Three," Draco smirked at his parents and lifted his own glass.

Hermione could hardly believe what she was witnessing. The Malfoys weren’t just stiff, snobbish aristocrats with sticks up their backsides. It was an unexpected revelation. Caught up in her thoughts, she only noticed after a few moments that all eyes were on her.

"Come on, Granger, we all know you despise her too," Draco teased, raising his glass expectantly.

With a smile, Hermione lifted her own glass and joined the toast, tapping her goblet against theirs.

Let's toast to poor Higgs. Hopefully, he’ll manage to survive that shrew," Draco suggested.

"I, for one, feel most sorry for Miss Bulstrode," Narcissa sighed. "She is neither particularly attractive nor intelligent, but even she deserves better than Gregory Goyle."

"They got engaged too? I had no idea," Hermione admitted.

"Yes, and according to Greg, their engagement party will be held in some nightclub," Draco laughed.

"Can you get out of it somehow?" Narcissa asked with a hint of panic.

"Not really. He asked me to stand as his witness," Draco sighed.

"What can one do? And who have you chosen to witness for you?" Lucius inquired.

"Zabini."

"Such a charming young man! Why isn’t he engaged yet? Alma mentioned they had plenty of offers," Narcissa mused.

"Blaise is true to his principles. He won’t get engaged to someone he doesn’t have feelings for," Draco explained.

"It’s a shame he and Tracey don't want to be together," Hermione remarked casually.

"Their feelings are both involved elsewhere, so they mutually agreed it wouldn’t work for them," Draco admitted, and Hermione was surprised by how openly he discussed his friends' matters in front of her and his parents.

"And you, Hermione—have you decided who will stand as your witness for the ceremony?" Narcissa asked.

"I… I didn’t realise it was necessary," she admitted, feeling embarrassed.

"I assumed you would choose Ginny Weasley," Draco looked surprised by her answer.

Hermione considered this for a moment.Of course, Ginny was her best friend and should have been her first choice for any ceremony requiring a witness. But Ginny was also Ron’s sister. They had always imagined Hermione would one day become her sister-in-law, and Ginny would be her maid of honour. Could she ask her to be involved in something like this now, when it was Draco standing beside her instead of Ron? It was all too twisted.

"I don’t think I’ll choose Ginny," she admitted quietly.

"If it makes no great difference to you, it would be easier for us if you chose one of the pure-blood girls. We already have Floo connections to their family homes, so we wouldn’t have to arrange additional transport for fittings and rehearsals. Besides, they know all our traditions," Narcissa coaxed.

Hermione thought for a moment. Astoria Greengrass was out of the question—witnessing Hermione’s engagement to Malfoy would completely shatter her already broken heart. Pansy Parkinson was never an option; Hermione would never allow her to stand behind her, lest she plant a dagger in her back. Daphne was Astoria’s sister, and Hermione wasn’t entirely sure what her stance was regarding her. The only sensible choice was to ask Tracey and hope she agreed.

"I’ll ask Tracey Davis," she decided.

Narcissa clapped her hands enthusiastically, while Draco gave a brief nod of approval. He, too, seemed to think it was the most reasonable choice.

"Now that the first arrangements have been made, it’s time for bed. We have a lot of work ahead of us tomorrow," Narcissa said cheerfully. Hermione suddenly realised that the Malfoys had seemed quite at ease in her company during dinner. She had to admit that she, too, had relaxed and stopped feeling nervous. If the rest of the year continued in this manner, she was certain she could get used to it with ease.

Chapter Text

2 December 1998

She felt as though she were sleeping on a cloud. The bed was truly enormous, and the bedding incredibly soft. For the first time since she’d been informed of the engagement, she had slept so well. And, moreover, for the first time in months, she hadn’t dreamt of Draco and his mesmerising eyes. Was it because she now saw him so often in person? Had his constant presence somehow cured her of those dreams? It was an interesting thought, and she was certain she would have to examine it more thoroughly.

She got up, stretched, and glanced at the clock. It was half past seven. She reached for the rolled-up parchment lying next to her wand on the bedside table.

Schedule – 2 December – Wednesday

8:00 – Breakfast served in the chambers.

9:00 – 10:30 – Training in the gymnasium in the south wing.

11:30 – Lunch served in the chambers.

12:30 – Meeting with the stylist regarding gowns for the engagement party, held in Lady Malfoy’s main parlour.

14:00 – First dance lesson in the ballroom in the east wing.

16:00 – Tea served in the conservatory, accompanied by Lady Malfoy and her friends.

17:00 – Consultation with the gardener and decorator to select flowers for the engagement party.19:00 – Dinner served in the main dining hall with family and invited guests.

Hermione glanced over the times again and began to consider the different things she had to deal with today. Training? What exactly was she supposed to be training for? And who was going to be conducting it? The meeting with the stylist certainly wasn’t at the top of her list of favourite ways to spend her free time, and just the thought of the dance lesson already made her calves cramp. She knew she had the grace of a newborn nogtail when it came to dancing, but if she was expected to perform in front of all those people the Malfoys had invited, she absolutely, unquestionably needed the practice.

She got up and stepped into the dressing room to see if there were any athletic clothes. It turned out there were several. She quickly picked out a pair of black leggings and a plain white T-shirt that looked undeniably expensive anyway. She returned to the bedroom and laid the outfit on the bed, adding a pair of branded—surprisingly Muggle—trainers. As she stood there wondering how best to tame her hair for the day, Zippy appeared beside her with a small notebook in hand.

“Good morning, miss!” the elf greeted cheerfully.

“Good morning, Zippy,” Hermione replied with a smile.

“Zippy came to ask for miss’s breakfast wishes for today.”

“Wishes? Can’t I just have what everyone else is having today?” Hermione asked in surprise.

Zippy blinked her large eyes, looking uncertain.

“Everyone in the house always has breakfast in their own rooms, after selecting what they’d like to eat that day,” the elf explained.

“In that case, I’ll have toast, jam, and coffee,” Hermione decided hastily.

“What kind of toast would miss prefer?” Zippy tapped her quill on the notebook.

Now it was Hermione’s turn to eye the small elf uncertainly.

“Regular?”

“I meant the type of bread we should serve, miss,” Zippy clarified.

“Oh. I don’t mind.”

“And the jam? What flavour would miss like?”

“Erm… peach, if that’s not a problem?”

“Just the one kind?” Zippy waited patiently for her answer.

“Strawberry too, please. And I’d like milk with the coffee instead of cream, and no sugar is needed,” Hermione added quickly..

“As you wish.” Zippy bowed low and disappeared at once.

Hermione went into the bathroom, and by the time she returned, breakfast was already waiting for her. Zippy stood beside a small table by the window, ready to pour her a cup of aromatic—and, as it turned out, excelent—coffee.

“Would miss like Zippy to prepare any outfits for today? Do any need to be freshened or pressed?” the elf asked as Hermione chewed her first bite of toast.

“Outfits?” she asked, momentarily forgetting it was rude to talk with her mouth full.

“Yes… According to the schedule, miss will need to change four times today.”

“What?!” Hermione cried out in horror.

“In addition to your training outfit, you’ll need to be properly dressed for the meeting with the stylist—Lady Malfoy recommended tight-fitting trousers and a form-fitting top, as well as elegant undergarments, so the designer can accurately assess proportions and take measurements. For tea with Lady Narcissa and her friends, you should wear a refined witch’s robe—something in that new style,” Zippy went on, thrilled with excitement to be sharing her opinion.

“I suppose I’ll need a different outfit for dance practice too?”

“As far as I know, miss is expected to wear something for the first rehearsals that allows the instructor to clearly see the work of your legs. For the final rehearsals, tailored gowns will be selected to observe how they move during dancing.”

“That sounds like a nightmare,” Hermione muttered, biting into her toast again.

“Miss’s gown for this evening is to be delivered by the stylist when she arrives for the fitting.”

“How much do they even spend on all these clothes if they change four times a day?” she wondered aloud.

“Zippy unfortunately does not know, but can ask if miss wishes...”

“No!” Hermione cut her off sharply. “I honestly don’t want to know that!”

Zippy obediently nodded, probably slightly frightened by her tone.

“In any case, I’d be really grateful if you helped me choose what to wear for each of these meetings,” Hermione added, softening the edge of her voice.

“Of course, miss! Zippy will do everything she can to make sure miss looks dazzling. As a young elf, Zippy used to secretly observe how her previous mistress chose outfits for herself and her daughter.”

“That’s nice that they let you do that,” Hermione smiled at her.

“Oh no! Zippy had to be invisible. She was assigned as a room-cleaning elf and wasn’t allowed to be seen doing anything else.”

“How did you meet Brisky?” Hermione asked with interest.

“Brisky used to come to the Parkinson Manor as young master Draco’s companion. He would often spend time in the kitchen, and Zippy would talk to him,” Hermione wasn’t sure, but she had the distinct impression the elf had just blushed.

“That’s very romantic,” Hermione smiled at Zippy.

“Zippy was very happy when she was purchased for the future Lady Malfoy. I thought the young master would marry Miss Pansy, who already had her favourite servant— that nasty little Mipsy. But young master Draco said that shortly after buying Zippy, he would free her, because there would be no enslaved elves in his household. So Mipsy wouldn’t have come anyway—she would never agree to be free,” Zippy added with a triumphant smile.

“How long have you been Brisky’s wife?” Hermione asked.

“It will be three years in December,” she declared proudly.

Hermione looked at her, completely surprised. If it had been three years, then Malfoy must have freed his elves long before he ever received the Dark Mark. Had he already foreseen being branded someday? That was odd… Why had he led her to believe it was something he’d done because of Voldemort’s service? Intriguing.

“Thank you for breakfast. Everything was delicious,” Hermione dabbed her mouth with a napkin and reached for the rest of her coffee.

“What would miss like for lunch?” Zippy asked.

“Whatever you prepare will be perfect,” Hermione assured her.

“May Zippy ask miss something else?” Hermione thought she sensed a lot of hesitation in the elf’s voice.

“Of course!” she said, smiling.

“Will… miss and young master Draco have more than one child?” she asked quietly, clearly flustered.

Hermione barely suppressed a choked groan. Merlin! She couldn’t say something stupid again and end up offending Zippy this time.

“Where’s that question coming from?”

“Well… Zippy and Brisky would very much like to have a baby,” the elf mumbled, staring at the floor, blushing furiously. “But the role of servant to the heir has already been assigned to Pistachia. If Zippy and Brisky have a child, it will be destined for hard labour in the kitchens, until one of us passes away,” she explained, shuffling her feet against the elegant carpet.

“You want me to promise that if… this family has a second heir, your child will become their personal elf?” Hermione had to pinch herself not to burst out laughing. Malfoy was right—she supposedly really didn’t know enough about elven life.

“If miss did that, Zippy would be the happiest elf in the world!” Zippy looked up at her with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Alright. If the Malfoys have more than one child, then your and Brisky’s baby will be assigned to the second-born,” Hermione promised.

“Oh yes! Thank you! Miss Hermione is the best mistress in the world!” Zippy’s eyes sparkled with genuine joyous tears.

“You’re welcome,” Hermione smiled, wondering how Malfoy would react to the idea of having to reproduce more than once with some adorably dim-witted pure-blood princess, just to make his elves happy.

She swallowed nervously. What would happen to Zippy when Hermione left? Would Malfoy’s next fiancée be kind to her? Would she acknowledge her freedom and not force her to punish herself for mistakes? Hermione sincerely hoped so… Godric help them, may Malfoy find a wife outside his circle of Hogwarts acquaintances. Even he deserved better.

Hermione smiled softly and stepped over to the vanity to check her hair one last time. She glanced at the clock. Ten minutes left to find the training room. She decided not to dawdle—this house was so large that finding it might not be easy.

💍💍💍

She had been entirely right in thinking that finding the training room wouldn’t be easy. After wandering aimlessly for a good fifteen minutes, she finally gave up and called for Zippy to show her the way. Thankfully, the elves could apparate freely throughout the manor, so Zippy had no trouble bringing her straight to the middle of a high-ceilinged room equipped with training equipment.

Hermione looked around quickly and froze for a moment when she saw none other than Draco doing pull-ups on one of the high wall-mounted bars, his impressive muscles flexing visibly as he was shirtless. Zippy’s return Apparition caused Draco to glance over his shoulder, finally noticing Hermione.

He dropped to the floor with ease and summoned a white T-shirt to himself wandlessly.

"You’re late. I thought you weren’t going to show up," Draco said with a malicious smirk as he pulled the shirt over his head.

"You could’ve warned me that finding the gym in this house takes almost as long as discovering the Philosopher’s Stone," she snapped, crossing her arms.

"It’s not that far—if you know the shortcut," he said, tossing a towel aside and summoning a water bottle.

"Key words: if you know . Did you forget I only arrived yesterday and no one’s actually bothered to give me a tour?" she grumbled.

"I promise we’ll correct that mistake in your schedule tomorrow," Draco replied again with a wicked smile. "Now come on, we don’t have time to waste if we want to complete today’s training plan."

"And what makes you think I intend to train anything with you at all?" she asked, though she still stepped closer.

Draco looked at her with interest, as if carefully choosing his words.

"It’s simple, Granger. You’re known for being thoroughly prepared and never leaving anything to chance. So why would you sit around and wait now, when you know that in war, physical fitness can be just as important as the various spells you can cast?"

Hermione didn’t reply, knowing he was right. After nearly a year spent on a poor diet and cramped inside a small tent with limited movement, she really did need to improve her stamina.

"This is just fitness training then?" she asked as they walked together toward a set of large double doors.

"No. I’ve divided it into four parts: endurance training, hand-to-hand combat, defensive spells, and Occlumency practice," he listed smoothly.

"My Occlumency doesn’t need training!" she protested.

"We’ll see about that. The Dark Lord is the best Legilimens in the world. Are you certain you could stand in front of him without a flicker of doubt that your mental shields would hold?"

"You said I wouldn’t have to..."

"I said I wasn’t sure. But better to prepare now than shop for a coffin later," Draco said dryly, opening the doors to a vast, beautiful garden.

"We’re training in this cold?" Hermione asked, glancing nervously at the slowly falling snow.

"The cold builds resilience... but I brought us thermal jumpers," Draco replied, reaching for a coat rack by the door and handing her a white sports jumper. How did he know white was her favourite colour? He slipped on a black one himself.

"And what makes you think you’re qualified to be my trainer at all?" she teased, zipping up the jumper and adjusting the sleeves.

"I’m not your trainer, Granger. We’re just training together. I’m sure you know some spells I could learn from you too. Dumbledore’s Army is practically legendary."

- And you think I'm going to want to train you in them just like that? – she provoked, following him out of the house.

"I think you'll do it if, in return, I offer to teach you that wandless magic you so admire about me," Malfoy smiled cheekily at her.

Hermione opened her mouth to scold him and point out a few of his nasty traits, but quickly closed it. She really wished she could wield wandless magic as well as he did. And if all she had to give in return was knowledge of a few spells that he probably already knew at least in theory, then she didn't have to resist it. Training wasn't a bad idea. They should be well prepared when the day of the final confrontation came.

"Ready?" Draco asked, standing at the beginning of a wide path and stretching his muscles.

"I haven’t run in a long time. I don’t know how long I’ll last," she admitted, trying not to sound self-conscious.

"We’ll start slowly at first," he promised, tightening his shoelaces.

"Alright..." Hermione took a deep breath and looked ahead. She knew it would get easier with time— the first day was always the hardest.

💍💍💍

An hour later, lying on a pile of gym mats in the corner of the hall, Hermione muttered to herself about how very, very, very much she hated Malfoy and his ridiculous ideas. Her side was aching, her muscles were burning, and her breath still hadn’t returned to normal.

"I think even Matilda would’ve done better than you," Malfoy sneered, tossing a bottle of water next to her.

"Shut up! You promised not to hurt me and what’s this? First day and you’re already trying to kill me!"

Draco burst out laughing, summoning a wooden footstool and sitting beside the half-dead Hermione sprawled on the mats.

"That wasn’t even a long run, and I went as slowly as I could. It’s not my fault you move like a stunned ramora in molasses," he teased.

"As soon as I catch my breath and grab my wand, you’ll be moving like a badly stung ferret!" she shot back.

To her irritation, Malfoy laughed at her again.

"You know perfectly well, Granger, that you can’t afford to run that slowly if you ever want to have a chance to escape some Death Eater."

Hermione winced. Unfortunately, the git was right. She couldn’t stop training after just one session. She couldn’t afford to give up.

"I’m not sure I’ll be able to move my legs at all today, let alone dance."

"Take a hot bath with a restorative potion—it should help," he advised, finishing his own water and getting to his feet.

"Though I’ll never admit this to anyone, I’ll take your advice, Malfoy, because it actually sounds sensible," Hermione groaned as she forced herself upright.

"You should know, I have plenty of sensible advice," he said smugly.

"Then wait until someone actually asks for it!" she snapped, her legs protesting every movement as she hobbled toward the exit, glad at least to have the first item on her schedule behind her.

"Granger, one more thing," Malfoy called after her.

"What?" she growled, turning back.

Only then did she realise he was aiming his wand at her. Scared, she reached for her own, but too late. He whispered:

"Legilimens…"

She hadn’t had time to prepare, so in her mind, Draco Malfoy was instantly standing at the edge of a wide, beautiful lake, its crystal-clear water reflecting the blue of the sky. But as soon as he stepped forward to touch it and uncover the thoughts swirling beneath the surface, the lake began to freeze over rapidly, concealing everything beneath a thick layer of ice.

Hermione quickly built up her mental barriers, denying Malfoy access to anything meaningful. She would never allow him to see her private thoughts. Especially not those about her dreams of him…

Determined, and encouraged by how quickly she had managed to freeze her mind from his curiosity, she decided to try to conjure up a vision of an icy blast, hoping that Malfoy, still curiously examining her vision of the concealment barrier, would not be able to defend himself immediately.

She focused all her energy. One, two, three…

A dull groan echoed through the training hall. Hermione blinked to clear her vision. Malfoy was clutching his temple, breathing shallowly. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and tiny flecks of ice sparkled in his pale hair. She’d expelled him from her mind quite forcefully. She was honestly impressed he’d remained on his feet.

"Not bad, Granger," he murmured, slowly regaining his composure.

"No self-respecting wizard casts that spell by surprise!" she snapped with desdain.

"Maybe it’s time you realised you don’t live in a world full of self-respecting wizards," he replied dryly, turning his back on her and summoning another bottle of water.

Hermione said nothing more. She turned on her heel and left the hall. Despite the agony in her muscles, she was proud of herself. She’d managed to drive him out of her mind on her first try. She just hoped she’d be able to do it again, the next time the blond prat tried to sneak in uninvited.

 💍💍💍

The bath was relaxing and truly restorative for her aching muscles. She cursed Malfoy internally for being right and also for the fact that she’d accidentally noticed how good he looked in sportswear. Her anger over his sudden intrusion into her mind faded quickly. She knew he hadn’t caught her off guard just to spite her. No Death Eater would ever give her a chance to defend herself, and that’s exactly what Draco was preparing her for.

In fact, most likely, by proposing that they train together, he simply wanted to prepare her for the war as best as he could, and thus strengthen her chances of survival.She supposed she ought to be a little grateful. He could just as easily ignore her presence in this house and train in peace by himself. Did he actually value her as a witch in some ways, even if he still despised her blood and heritage? She hadn’t figured that part out yet.

After a delicious and filling lunch, Hermione changed into fitted cream trousers and an elegant, though thigh blouse. She let Zippy pin her hair up into a comfortable bun, then allowed the elf to Apparate her straight to the doors of Narcissa Malfoy’s private chambers.

Hermione took a deep breath and tried to convince herself that a dress fitting couldn’t possibly be worse than a two-kilometre run around a lake in winter. She knocked, vaguely wondering if etiquette dictated a specific number of knocks when addressing pure-blood aristocracy.

After a few seconds, the door swung open to reveal the maid, Esther.

"Finally!" she snapped. "Lady Malfoy and her guests have been waiting for you." 

Hermione smiled sweetly.

"Good morning, Asther, how are you today?"

"My name is Esther!" the maid snapped furiously.

"Oh, my apologies. I have this unfortunate habit of only remembering important information," Hermione said breezily, stepping into Narcissa’s rooms.

She knew she was acting more like Pansy Parkinson than herself, but she didn’t mind. She wasn’t about to let the Malfoy maid walk all over her. She understood the girl’s jealousy over Draco, but that didn’t mean Hermione had to suffer for it. In her eyes, she was the victim here, not the perpetrator of anyone’s heartbreak.

Narcissa was seated at a small table with two women. One had jet-black hair, golden skin, and was unfairly stunning. The other looked a little like Professor Trelawney. Her unruly curls were blue, and the oversized glasses gave her an eccentric aura. Hermione was quite sure this was the famed designer of clothes for the horribly rich.

"You’re here at last, darling! How lovely!" Narcissa set down her teacup and rose to greet Hermione with a formal kiss on the cheek, which made the Gryffindor flush.

"Good morning. I hope I’m not late?" Hermione asked politely, eyeing the tea set on the table.

"Not at all! We met a quarter hour early to go over some important details," Narcissa smiled a touch stiffly, and Hermione instantly felt less at ease. Had they been gossiping about her?

"Nice proportions. If she were taller, she could be a model. Appropriately slim," the blue-haired woman said, appraising her.

Narcissa laughed daintily and turned to her companion.

"Hermione, this is Loredana Bernett, the finest magical fashion designer in Italy. And this is my future daughter-in-law, Hermione Dagworth-Granger."

"Pleasure to meet you," Hermione said with a forced smile.

"She has autumn tones—those match her complexion well. But white will suit her too. The wedding gown should highlight her figure, but I’ll ensure it’s as fairytale-like as a royal wedding demands," Loredana muttered to herself, pulling a large notebook from some enormous bag and scribbling notes.

"Let’s focus on the engagement party gowns for now. The wedding dress will come later," Narcissa chuckled.

"So many ideas already," the designer murmured, still furiously writing, while Hermione tried to shake the uneasy chill creeping down her spine. She didn’t want to think about dresses or weddings.

"Hermione, this is my dear friend Alma Neviani—but you probably know her better by her maiden name: Zabini," Narcissa introduced the golden-skinned beauty.

"It's nice to meet you, Ma’am" Hermione smiled at the woman, wondering how many of Blaise's traits he'd inherited from his mother. Definitely his eyes, his winning smile, and perhaps just that easily accepted personal charm.

"Please call me by my name, darling!" Alama walked over and kissed Hermione on both cheeks, smiling at her, seemingly quite naturally. "Blaise wasn't lying when he said you were a real stunner!"

"I—thank you," Hermione couldn't help but fluster at those words.

"Let's sit down for a moment and let Lorie come up with some ideas," Narcissa smiled at the designer, and Alma and Hermione obediently sat down on the sofa.

"I’m sure your engagement party will be spectacular," Alma said kindly.

"It can't be otherwise, since Mrs. Malfoy... Narcissa took care of everything." Hermione forced another smile, silently wondering if Alma knew anything about the fact that the whole engagement was just a temporary arrangement. If Blaise knew, had he shared it with his mother? Just in case, Hermione decided to keep it to herself and pretend that she was really happy about the prospect of choosing beautiful dresses for the party.

"We’ve chosen three primary colours for the theme—mint green, white, and silver," Narcissa explained.

"Sounds wonderful," Hermione said quickly.

"The gowns should all be in those three colours. But the fourth should be bolder. What do you think—pink or red?" Loredana asked.

"I’ll defer to your expertise," Hermione answered without hesitation.

"Perfect! Let’s start with a mint green gown. Then a white one for the first dance, a silver witch’s robe for the photo session, and a flowing red dress for the final part of the evening," the designer listed off.

"I like that concept," Narcissa nodded. "Show us the designs, please. Do you also have Draco’s robes sketches?"

"Yes, I do. I’ll show you them in a moment," Loredana drew her wand and began pulling large black boards from her bag.

"Does he also need four sets of robes?" Hermione asked.

"Of course not! He’ll only change once—before the photo session," Narcissa replied.

"You’ll soon learn that pure-blood men have far fewer rules to follow than women," Alma laughed. "Though, as someone known to be rather well-versed in men," her eyes twinkled mischievously, "I can promise to share tips on how to make sure they stick very closely to the rules they do have."

Hermione smiled at Blaise’s mother, thinking she might actually come to like her. Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at Narcissa, who was busy reviewing the designs. And yes... If Draco’s mother kept treating her this way, Hermione might just end up liking her too.

Chapter Text

Hermione returned to her chambers with a sense of relief. Loredana had been exceedingly particular when it came to taking her measurements, and she now felt like a doll that a rather unruly child had just finished playing with. Fortunately, she still had some time left—just enough to rest a little before she would have to attend her first dance lesson.

Zippy had laid out a smart, albeit slightly tight, pair of black trousers, along with a white top which, in Hermione’s opinion, revealed far too much of her stomach. She did not want to protest, and put the outfit on, eyeing a pair of rather tall heels with uncertainty.

“There’s a cushioning charm on the shoes. Miss Hermione is sure not to fall,” the elf assured her with a smile.

“I hope so...” she muttered to herself, already inwardly suffering at the thought of dancing a classic waltz in them.

“If Miss is ready, Zippy will take her to the ballroom, since it’s on the other end of the manor.”

“Wonderful. Lead the way, Zippy,” Hermione said with a smile, offering the elf her hand. Moments later, they appeared in a large, truly stunning ballroom decorated in shades of gold and beige. A crystal chandelier hung proudly from the ceiling’s centre, and Hermione had to suppress a shiver as she remembered about a similar one in the drawing room where she had once been tortured.

💍💍💍

“At lastje!” came a deep voice with a distinctly foreign and harsh accent.

Hermione looked around the ballroom and spotted, in one corner, a not particularly tall man, middle-aged, with longer dark-blond hair. She immediately assumed he is probably the dance instructor.

“Good afternoon.”

“How longye can waiting go onye?” he grumbled, and Hermione quickly deduced he must be from the East. Her first guess was Russia.

“I’m sorry, I thought I wasn’t late…”

“You niet veryie,” he sighed irritably, “but your partner? more and moreye.” He started walking slowly towards her, inspecting her critically.

“I’m Hermione,” she introduced herself.

“I knowye this. I am Mikhail Baryshkov,” the Russian man gave a small nod.

“I understand you’re the dance instructor?” she asked politely.

The man snorted dismissively and looked at her coldly.

“Master of dance. Best magical choreographistye!”

“That’s lovely...” she murmured, thrown off.

“You have nice legs, but uglyie posture,” he remarked, circling her.

“I…”

“You slouchye, like always carrying big heavy bookye,” Mikhail said, suddenly prodding her between the shoulder blades, forcing her to stand straight.

“It’s only one dance. I don’t need perfect posture for that,” she growled.

“Two”

“Two?” Hermione’s eyes widened.

“Opening danceye of ball, and closing danceye. Is traditionalye. Always so, in engagement and wedding receptions,” he explained curtly.

“Wonderful,” she muttered sarcastically.

“Only ten days for everythingye,” the choreographer grumbled. “And young master Dracon? He is late again.”

Barely had he finished speaking when the door opened, and in rushed… Theodore Nott.

Hermione blinked several times, wondering if she was seeing things. She thought Malfoy didn’t want her spending time with Nott.

“Apologies, but Draco had something urgent to deal with. He asked me to step in today,” Theodore said, flashing her a flirtatious smile.

Hermione clenched her jaw.

“Is fine, Nott. You will do too,” Mikhail commented.

“Always a pleasure to see you, Master Baryshkov,” Theodore smiled at the instructor, then approached Hermione.

“Draco really asked you to substitute? Not, say, Zabini?” she asked as Nott reached for her hand.

“Well… now you see how much he cares about you, don’t you?” Theodore laughed nastily. “Truthfully, he just said that someone should fill in, and I volunteered.”

Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. And she certainly wasn’t upset by the idea that Draco didn’t care about her. She knew that very well already.

“Alright then, let’s begin,” she said, trying to relax a little as Theodore wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer.

“Choreography as requestedye by Dracon. It will be gentleye and elegantye… Nott, let her go and stand in centre.”

“Do I really have to?” Theodore chuckled, his hand starting to roam across her body.

Hermione gasped in outrage, but before she could shove him away, Theodore yelped in pain and jumped back a few steps.

Only then did she notice the redness on his hand, and the way he was rubbing it with a painful grimace.

“A stinging hex? Weak shot!” he jeered, turning towards the door.

Hermione realised, a second later, that Draco had been present in the room. His wand was in his hand so she surprised it was him who hexed Theo. 

“Touch my fiancée like that again and I swear, I’ll rip that hand off, Nott,” the blond said coldly.

“Jealous much?” Theodore laughed.

“Get out. And don’t return to this estate without a direct invitation,” Draco looked positively menacing.

“Forgot I’m dining here tonight? And who’ll be your seventh for rehearsal tomorrow, then?” Theo grinned triumphantly.

”Even if it were my gardener, I don't want to see you here again. I've already warned you twice not to go near her!”

“Scared I might steal her away after all?” Theodore kept mocking.

“I’d have to completely lose my mind for that to happen!” Hermione snapped. “Get out now, while Draco is still being civil — or I’ll hex you out myself. You’re clearly not right in the head!”

“Well, well, what a harmonious couple you make…” Nott laughed nastily again.

But then, quite suddenly, he was lifted off the ground and flew across the entire ballroom, past Draco, crashing to the floor outside. The doors slammed shut behind him.

“No time for such silliey chit-chat!” Mikhail barked, stowing his wand and moving to an old gramophone.

“I’m sorry about that. That idiot probably locked me in the broom cupboard on purpose,” Draco said, approaching her.

“There’s something really wrong with him,” Hermione sighed heavily.

“He just really hates me for what happened with Astoria. As if I had any control over it,” Draco muttered darkly.

“That’s sad…,” Hermione admitted, genuinely feeling for him. After all, Malfoy hardly asked Greengrass to fall for him.

“It’s start time!” Mikhail growled, ending their conversation.

“Just tell us what to do,” Draco stepped up beside her, and she could sense he was a little tense.

“As requested by you, the choreography is not too close. It is romanticye. Gentleye.”

“That’s good,” Draco replied, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he glanced at Hermione.

She forced herself to pretend to be indifferent, even though she knew it wouldn't be easy. Dancing in something that was considered romantic, paired with Draco Malfoy himself, was very far down the list of situations in which she could feel at least a little comfortable. But she had no choice... Everything had to go according to plan.

💍💍💍

She had to admit that Mikhail was a true artist. The choreography for the first dance was beautiful, striking, and crafted in such a way that, despite the fact she and Draco hardly touched, it still created the illusion of a genuine relationship between them. The steps were relatively easy to master, and after a few attempts, Hermione found herself stumbling less and less during the transitions.

The real problem, however, was that Mikhail insisted they look into each other’s eyes the entire time. She couldn’t bear it… Those eyes—the ones she’d been dreaming of for months—seen in real life, made her shiver and her heart race. She was terrified that Malfoy would eventually notice, so she kept darting her gaze away from him, looking absolutely anywhere else.

Eventually, an exasperated Baryshkov marched over and grabbed both her and Draco by the nape of the neck, pulling them so close that Hermione accidentally knocked her temple against Draco’s chin.

“Look into each other eye! Do you love or niet?! Passionye! Dedicationye! Shared future! This I want to see! Emotions! Right now!” he shouted, clearly irritated.

“We understand what you mean,” Draco replied calmly. He then leaned closer to Hermione and whispered, “Use Occlumency if you have to. I’ll lead—just don’t tense up.”

Not knowing what to answer him, she just nodded slightly and looked into his eyes, and then she was lost in her own mind, not connecting the blue of the sky or the cold of the ice on the frozen lake with the color of his extraordinary irises.

After the training, she returned to her room flushed and trembling. As the Occlumency barriers fell, she sat down on the floor beside her bed, her whole body shaking as she buried her head between her knees.

What was happening to her? Why did Malfoy affect her so intensely since those events at his manor? She could almost feel him slipping under her skin, taking over her thoughts—and, of course, haunting her dreams…

She had to set aside some time and try to examine it all again. And test her custom-made dream-tracing spell a few more times. Perhaps then, at last, she’d stumble upon a clue and finally understand what exactly Draco’s presence was doing to her.

 💍💍💍

For afternoon tea, Zippy had prepared an elegant witch’s robe for her in a soft coral hue.  It was long, made of the finest materials, and its sleeves flared out from the elbow, falling freely. The hems were trimmed with fine lace. Her hair had once again been swept into a graceful bun, and Zippy handed her a pair of ruby earrings set in white gold, explaining that Lady Malfoy had asked Hermione to wear them.

With resignation, Hermione clasped the expensive trinkets, silently praying she wouldn’t lose or damage anything. She certainly didn’t have enough savings to cover the cost.

The orangery was large and, like everything else in the manor, elegant and lavishly decorated. It had been built on as an extension to Lady Malfoy’s west wing drawing room, overlooking the vast gardens and the lake around which she and Draco had gone for a run that morning.

When Hermione entered, she found Narcissa and Alma seated with another teapot. She smiled brightly, hoping it would just be the two of them she’d be sharing this afternoon hour with.

She sat down and thanked Narcissa, who poured her a cup of tea and asked how the first dance lesson had gone.

“It wasn’t bad. Mister Baryshkov is a real master,” she replied shortly.

“Absolutely!” Alma agreed at once. “He choreographs every one of my weddings. We always joke that he’s a more consistent presence than any of my husbands!” she laughed cheerfully.

Hermione smiled too, recalling inwardly that Blaise Zabini’s mother was famous for becoming a widow rather often—and quite unexpectedly.

Suddenly, Esther appeared in the doorway, leading six women into the orangery.

“How lovely of you to accept our invitation,” Narcissa rose from her seat. Noticing Alma do the same, Hermione quickly stood up as well. She had no idea about the etiquette of elegant teas, but she certainly didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of the matriarchs of the magical world.

“Allow me to begin by introducing Draco’s fiancée. This is Hermione Dagworth-Granger,” Narcissa said politely, resting a hand on Hermione’s shoulder.

“Good afternoon,” Hermione greeted, offering a smile to Tracey Davis. She was glad to see her there.

“You likely already know Pansy, Tracey, and Astoria, so let me introduce their mothers, dear. Regina Parkinson, Gloria Greengrass, and Eleonora Davis,” Narcissa announced.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Hermione managed a small smile. Eleonora and her daughter were the only ones to return it.

“Likewise,” Regina Parkinson muttered, glaring at her—and at last, Hermione understood who Pansy had inherited that dreadful, bulldog-like nose from.

“Please, have a seat. We were just talking about Draco and Hermione’s first dance lesson,” Narcissa explained.

The tea table immediately expanded by magic, and the right number of chairs appeared around it. The women took their seats, and Hermione was glad when Tracey sat beside her, offering her a kind smile.

“Who had the honour of being chosen as choreographer?” Regina asked, still scrunching her rather ugly nose.

“Mikhail Baryshkov,” Narcissa answered smoothly, giving Esther a subtle signal to serve the tea.

“How is that possible?! He was supposed to go on tour! He refused to choreograph for us because of it!” Pansy protested loudly.

“We made sure his plans were postponed until after the engagement party,” Narcissa replied with a hint of superiority in her smile. Hermione couldn’t help but wonder how much the Malfoys had to pay for that. Did it really matter who choreographed the dance at a fake engagement celebration?

“The best of everything, always for the Malfoys,” Tracey laughed, earning a sharp look from her mother.

“Perhaps that used to be the case,” Gloria Greengrass said, casting a rather deliberate glance at Hermione.

Hermione wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but she thought Narcissa, seated on her other side, had just irritated slightly.

“It always has been, still is, and always will be,” Narcissa said through tight lips. “Every Malfoy gets what he wants, and as you well know, we only ever want the best. We’ve never been in the habit of settling for what merely seems suitable.” As if to punctuate her words, Narcissa deliberately let her gaze linger on Astoria, who blushed furiously—along with her mother.

“If you say so, Narcissa,” Gloria replied with a tight smile, again casting a look of thinly veiled contempt at Hermione.

“There’s no doubt Draco has chosen the finest candidate possible for a fiancée,” Alma chimed in cheerfully. “Blaise told me a little about Hermione when it was announced she’d be the next Lady Malfoy. I must admit, Narcissa, I’m starting to envy your chance at having such a daughter-in-law.”

“Thank you, my dear. It’s long been clear to everyone that my son has truly impeccable taste,” Draco’s mother turned to Hermione with a warm smile.

Pansy Parkinson let out a scornful snort under her breath, pulling a face as though someone had just begun slowly torturing her.

“And how is our young Mister Higgs these days?” Eleonora asked cheerfully. “Have the complications from that goblin acne finally cleared up? The poor boy looked rather dreadful the last time I saw him.”

Hermione had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Davis was barely managing to hold it in as well.

Pansy flushed an angry red, and her mother clenched her jaw.

“Yes, Terence is doing wonderfully. Thank you for asking. And how about you lot? Still no engagement proposals for Tracey?” Pansy snapped back sharply.

Once again, Hermione could practically feel Narcissa bristling beside her, seemingly ready to put Miss Parkinson in her place with a sharp remark. But before she had the chance, Eleonora spoke up again—

“Wherever did you get the idea that Try hadn’t received any proposals?” Eleonora asked smoothly. “Surely Mister Higgs didn’t forget to mention that his father came to us first, hoping to arrange an engagement?”

Both Pansy and Regina turned pale at once, exchanging looks of disbelief.

“Besides Mister Higgs, Mister Goyle and Mister Bletchley also came to us with their contracts. Unfortunately, none of them received my daughter’s approval,” Eleonora added with a soft smile towards Tracey, who gently took her mother’s hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze. The two were very similar — the same blonde hair, green eyes, and that charming smile.

“As we’ve no need to seek alliances for the sake of expanding our estate or improving our reputation, we’ve allowed Tracey to choose her husband freely.”

“That’s quite considerate of you as parents — and Miss Davis is so lovely, I’m sure there will be plenty more contracts for her to consider,” Alma said with a chuckle. “Tell me, dear Pansy, how many proposals did you receive?”

Hermione came to the conclusion that she felt rather like she was in a nest of venomous vipers. Hissing, spiteful, attacking without warning — yet all the while smiling sweetly and pretending at friendship. What a delightful way to spend an afternoon.

"Pansy immediately agreed when Terence proposed to her," Regina quickly interjected.

“I suppose that scared off any other would-be suitors?” Alma laughed with a mocking lilt.

“Yes, that’s exactly what happened!” Pansy snarled furiously.

“And how many contracts did you receive, Astoria?” Blaise’s mother pressed on, clearly enjoying herself.

“Two. One from the Nott family, and another from some distant cousins in France. Their son was planning to settle permanently in England,” Gloria answered quickly.

“And you, Miss Granger? Oh, pardon me… Dagworth-Granger ,” Regina sneered with a cynical smile.

“No one had the chance to submit a contract before we secured the arrangement,” Narcissa replied for her. “But we know from Hermione’s uncle that aside from Draco, two other offers did arise — which were, of course, promptly declined.”

“Presumably, if we’re counting Ron Weasley, that makes three,” Astoria added with a deliberately provocative smirk.

“Presumably, if Hermione hadn’t been engaged on the very first day the law came into effect, there would have been many, many more,” Alma chimed in once again, and Hermione couldn’t help but send her a grateful smile.

“I wonder if Blaise would’ve been among them,” Pansy asked with a mocking lilt.

Alma burst into laughter—genuinely, by the sound of it.

“Most likely not. My son would never stand in the way of his best friend. I must say, Blaise was genuinely touched when Draco asked him to stand as his witness during the betrothal vow,” Alma said warmly, smiling at both Hermione and Narcissa.

“It couldn’t have been otherwise — our sons are like brothers to one another,” Narcissa added, then turned to Hermione with a pointed look. “And speaking of which, Hermione, didn’t you want to ask Tracey something?”

“Oh, yes…” Hermione felt heat rising in her cheeks. She had completely forgotten about the need to secure someone to stand with her during the whole betrothal charade. “Tracey, I would be truly honoured if you would agree to be my witness during the ceremony...” she managed, with a slight struggle.

“Really? Me?” Tracey’s eyes widened.

“We’ve agreed that Hermione should begin surrounding herself with her new social circle,” Narcissa explained with a touch of grandeur. “And clearly, she’s taken the greatest liking to you among our young pure-blood ladies.”

That earned a warm smile from both Davis women — and distinctly sour expressions from the other four.

“It would be a real honour!” Tracey beamed, reaching for Hermione’s hand and giving it a friendly squeeze.

“Thank you,” Hermione replied with a sense of relief that one thing was sorted

“In that case, right after tea you’ll need to accompany Hermione to the floral decoration presentation, and we’ll discuss the rest of the celebration plans in the coming days — perhaps over lunch,” Narcissa continued smoothly.

“I already cannot wait!” Davis announced with enthusiasm.

“I do hope your gowns have arrived in the chambers set aside for you to change into before tonight’s dinner. There was no point in returning home only to come back — this way is far more convenient,” Narcissa added, addressing the rest of the women.

“Splendid, my dear. How charming of you to welcome your future daughter-in-law with such a refined dinner,” Regina Parkinson said coolly.

“It’s a dinner in honour of my son and his fiancée,” Narcissa replied evenly. “Lucius and I are simply delighted to have them both close to us at last, and that is what we wish to celebrate this evening.”

“Have you already moved into Draco’s chambers, Granger?” Pansy suddenly blurted.

Regina swiftly swatted her daughter’s arm in reprimand, and the rest of the women turned to her with clear distaste. Evidently, that was one of those questions one simply did not ask in such company.

"It's really inelegant to talk about it over tea," Narcissa said patronizingly.

"I wouldn't want to talk about it under any circumstances. It's a very private matter," Hermione ventured to speak up.

"Of course, my dear. You're absolutely right," Narcissa smiled kindly at her, and she quickly forced herself to smile back.

Just then, the doors opened, and Draco entered with a confident stride.

“Good afternoon, lovely ladies,” Draco greeted them with a slight bow.

They all answered in unison, and Hermione saw Astoria's eyes light up with happiness at the sight of him. Was she hoping he was here for her?

“Since when do you feel like joining us for tea, my son?” Narcissa asked with amusement.

“Since when do you feel like joining us for tea, my son?” Narcissa asked with amusement.

Alma let out a long, drawn-out “oooh,” which made Narcissa, Tracey, and Eleonora chuckle.

“Well, Hermione? Will you allow him to whisk you away?” Narcissa asked, still grinning broadly.

“With pleasure!” Hermione declared with relief, standing up quickly. “Please excuse me, and thank you all for the lovely tea,” she added politely. For a brief moment, Narcissa looked as though she wanted to applaud her in approval.

Draco extended his hand, and Hermione took it, hoping no one noticed the unnaturalness of the gesture.

“Where are you going?” Pansy asked sharply, her tone barely masking her anger.

“For a little walk,” Draco replied, lacing his fingers through Hermione’s and gently pulling her to his side.

“Perhaps I could join you? I could use a good stretch!” Astoria exclaimed, leaping to her feet with hopeful eyes fixed on Draco.

"Another time, Astoria. Today I have something to show Hermione that's just for her," Draco replied unwaveringly, calmly watching as tears began to form in Miss Greengrass's pretty eyes.

“Remember, darling, that in about forty-five minutes you’re both expected at the floral bouquet review,” Narcissa reminded him.

“I’ll make sure we’re there on time,” Draco promised with a smile, then gave a small bow to the women and led Hermione out of the orangery.

As the doors closed behind them, Hermione caught Alma’s voice drifting after them:

“What a truly wonderful couple they make!”

Hermione rather regretted not being able to see Pansy and Astoria’s faces when that particular comment landed.

 💍💍💍

Draco led her down the corridor, still holding her hand. He only let go once they turned the first corner.

“You’re welcome,” he said, walking up to a set of old oak doors.

“What?” she asked, not quite following.

“You don’t need to thank me for rescuing you early from tea with those old harpies,” the blond replied with a small smirk.

Hermione couldn’t help but return the smile.

“Well… yes, thanks, Malfoy. I do feel a bit sticky from all the venom floating around in there.”

“And it's a good thing my mom and Alma were there. Nobody openly messes with them” he replied, entering what turned out to be a stone staircase and lighting all the torches hanging on the walls with a spell.

“Are we going down to the dungeons?” she asked, a little uneasily.

“No. The dungeons were in the north wing. I told you—they’re under renovation,” he reminded her, beginning his descent.

"Then may I ask where we're going?" Hermione lifted her robes so as not to step on them and obediently continued following him, even though she didn't like it at all.

“You’ll see soon enough,” Draco replied over his shoulder, flashing her a rather cryptic smile.

“If you say so…” she muttered, not at all pleased about being kept in the dark.

They walked in silence for a while, and Hermione glanced warily at the cold stone walls. They had to be deep within the manor’s foundations by now, and she began wondering what else—besides a wine cellar or dreadful old dungeons—the Malfoys might be hiding down here.

Eventually, they reached a pair of large metal doors, sealed shut with a heavy padlock.

Draco reached into the pocket of his elegant robes, and Hermione fully expected him to pull out a massive key. She stiffened when, instead, he drew out a golden dagger.

She looked at him uncertainly, and he met her gaze for a moment, a faintly dangerous smile playing at his lips.

“What are you doing?” she asked, seeing him press the dagger against his right palm.

“Blood’s required to open the lock,” he explained, beginning to cut into his skin.

Hermione swallowed hard as the first crimson droplets appeared on the inside of his hand. She had to admire the fact that he didn’t so much as flinch, though it had to hurt. Once he had made a cut about three centimetres long, he pressed his hand to the heavy padlock, which gave a dull click and opened.

Draco pocketed the dagger, but before he could reach for his wand, Hermione already had hers in hand. Without hesitation, she took his wrist and cast a precise healing charm.

Draco raised his head and looked at her in surprise. This time, she was able to hold his gaze.

“I don’t like the unnecessary sight of blood,” she said quietly, letting go of his hand and turning her head away. She didn’t want to draw the moment out.

“Thanks, Granger,” he said, his voice oddly hoarse, before pushing open the heavy doors and pausing, waiting for Hermione to follow.

She stepped forward hesitantly, following him into yet another stone corridor, still wondering where on earth he was taking her.

Chapter Text

At the end of the corridor, Hermione saw another set of heavy, metal doors. For a moment, she wondered whether she’d made a mistake in healing his hand too soon—and whether Malfoy would now have to injure himself again because of her—but it turned out that this time, a few complicated wand movements were enough to unlock the door

He held it open for her, wordlessly gesturing for her to step inside. She took a few uncertain steps and then froze, finally understanding where she was.

It was, without a doubt, a vault. The high-ceilinged room glowed with a golden light, reflecting off enormous piles of galleons, gold goblets, large chests full of treasures, and swords and other noble weapons.

“You don’t keep your fortune in the bank?” she asked, surprised, as she ventured further into the chamber of riches.

“Of course we do. This is just a fraction of everything. We keep it here in case we suddenly lose access to our accounts—if another war with the Goblins breaks out,” Draco said with a rather grim chuckle.

“Practical,” she muttered under her breath, staring at something that looked like a solid gold skeleton encrusted with rubies and emeralds.

Draco walked over to one of the walls, where glass display cases full of jewellery stood. Hermione couldn’t recall ever having seen more, even in the largest jewellery salon she’d visited.

“You’ll need to come closer if you’re to choose something,” he called her over with a wave of his hand.

“Choose? Me?” she asked, surprised.

Draco rolled his eyes meaningfully.

“Of course you. I’m not the one who’ll have to wear that ring every day for almost a year.”

“A ring? You’re letting me choose my own engagement ring?” she asked, completely taken aback.

“I could pick out one of the traditional gems myself. They’re all old and valuable,” Draco gestured at the rows of glittering jewels. “But as I said, you’ll be the one wearing it, so it’s better if you show me what suits you best. Not that it really matters,” he added plainly.

“Fair point… Still, it’s nice of you to think of that,” Hermione stepped closer, somewhat relieved that Malfoy wasn’t forcing her to wear some hideous emerald the size of a dragon’s egg.

“These cases hold the Malfoy engagement rings. Those over there are the Black family’s. As the last of the line, I have the right to deal with them freely,” he explained offhandedly.

“Harry inherited part of the Black fortune too…”

“Only the money that was in Sirius’s vault. All other possessions were moved, after Aunt Walburga’s death, to the family vaults of my grandmother Druella. After her death, they went to my mother, since Bellatrix was in prison at the time and no one expected she’d produce an heir.”

“Really, it should have gone to Andromeda,” Hermione said sharply.

Draco let out a quiet laugh.

“That’s true, and it probably would have—if she hadn’t been disowned. That’s why she, her daughter, and her grandson aren’t entitled to a single Galleon of that fortune.”

“Good for you,” Hermione shot him a bitter smile.

“The Malfoy fortune is ten times larger. I didn’t need it to be happy, if that’s what you’re implying,” Draco replied coldly.

“I wasn’t implying anything. I was stating a fact,” she retorted immediately.

“Pick a ring and let’s go before Mother has a fit because we didn’t arrive in time to choose some bloody flowers,” he grumbled.

Hermione pressed her lips together and glanced at the display cases. She didn’t know why, but she was determined to choose a ring from the Black family’s collection, stubbornly refusing to wear anything that came from the Malfoys. All the jewels were grand and stunning, but she wanted something simple and as unostentatious as possible. After a few minutes, she finally spotted the perfect ring. The kind she had secretly always dreamed of—a plain diamond set in white gold. Large, but tasteful.

“That one,” she pointed at the ring.

Draco examined it closely and smiled to himself.

“Interesting choice,” he said.

“Why?” she asked, puzzled.

“That ring belonged to Great-Great-Grandmother Rohatina.”

“You know the history of all these rings?” she asked, incredulous.

“No, but I remember that one,” he replied somewhat mysteriously.

“Is it special in some way?”

“Yes, because it’s quite a big secret in the Black family. As it’s written in the chronicles, the great-great-grandmother vanished suddenly right after giving birth to the heir, and no one ever saw her again.”

“She vanished? Without a trace?” Hermione asked, intrigued. 

“The chronicle claimed she was probably eaten by a lethifold, which is utter nonsense by English standards. What the whispered rumours suggested—and of course, no one ever confirmed it aloud—was that Rohatina ran off with a Muggle, abandoning her family and her magic.”

“Really?” Hermione looked at him in disbelief. “Someone in your family actually got close to a non-magical person willingly?”

“Of course. You won’t find it in any official source, but it happened more than once—even among the Malfoys. There are even legends that one of my ancestors was a lover of Empress Catherine the Great,” he said with a roguish grin.

“That’s interesting,” she admitted honestly.

Draco opened the display case and carefully reached for a leather glove so he could take out the ring.

“I’m not entirely sure it’s free of curses,” he explained his behaviour. “I’ll have it checked by curse-breakers tomorrow.”

“All right. It really is beautiful,” Hermione admitted honestly, inspecting the diamond up close.

“There were also rumours that Sirius Black wanted to give this very ring to one of his girlfriends.”

“A Muggle girl?”

“I don’t know, but judging by the stories about his life, I wouldn’t rule it out,” Draco said, placing the ring in a box and tapping it with his wand.

“Neither would I,” Hermione smiled at the mere mention of Sirius.

“Give me your hand,” he asked, and Hermione froze. Why would he need her hand if the ring might be cursed?

Still, she hesitantly complied, and Malfoy tapped the engagement tattoo etched onto her finger with his wand.

“Exactly the right size,” the blond smirked faintly to himself. “Seems it really is the perfect ring for you. No need to adjust it.”

Hermione wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, so she offered him a hesitant smile. Draco let go of her hand and closed the display case. She averted her gaze, glancing at the rest of the jewellery, wondering what use anyone could have for so many baubles—more than one could ever possibly find occasions to wear.

“I’ll send you the wording of the vow this evening through the house-elves,” he said, heading towards the exit.

“There’s a fixed wording?” she asked, surprised, following him.

“A standard formula you’ll need to learn by heart. It’s not especially long.”

They had already left the vault, and Draco swiftly resealed it with his wand.

“I’ve no trouble memorising things,” she replied with a slight smile.

“I’ve noticed,” Malfoy grinned at her teasingly.

“The ring will be used during the ceremony?” she confirmed.

“Yes, we have to exchange them to seal the vow.”

“It’s a magical ritual?” she asked further.

“It is, but don’t worry—it has no lasting effects. Undoing the whole thing takes about fifteen minutes, and in our case, it won’t carry any consequences.”

“In other cases it does?” Hermione asked with interest.

“Usually. If you were the one to break off the engagement, your family’s dowry would become ours. If I broke it off, I’d have to return the dowry and pay the agreed compensation.”

“So that’s why pure-blood families are so reluctant to back out of it?”

“And why they usually marry quickly after the engagement—so no one has time to ruin anything,” Malfoy said with a rather grim chuckle.

“That sounds absolutely dreadful,” she commented dryly.

“It’s hundreds of years of tradition,” he replied calmly.

“What ring will you receive at the ceremony?” she asked, eyeing the family signet on his finger.

“The main signet ring of the Lord Malfoy. By becoming engaged officially, I declare myself ready to take on all the duties of the new head of the family,” Draco looked rather sour at the mention.

“What about your father?” Hermione asked, surprised.

“He’ll start wearing the Lord Senior signet. He’ll still be able to influence all the decisions, but ultimately, I’ll be the one who has to approve them,” he explained.

“Sounds rather serious,” Hermione admitted.

“I couldn’t care less. For me, it’s just a matter of swapping one signet ring for another. Once our agreement ends, I’ll return it to my father and never wear it again.”

“Until you actually get married?” she asked lightly.

“I’ll never get married,” he replied flatly, closing the heavy metal doors behind them. Thankfully, this time no blood was required to lock the mechanism.

“Why not?” she asked, genuinely surprised. “Aren’t you expected to continue the family line?”

Draco shot her a grim look.

“This family doesn’t deserve to be continued. It’ll be best if it all ends with me,” he said calmly.

Hermione suddenly felt a strange pang of sadness at the sight of his bleak expression. Did he really want to end ten centuries of family history, simply out of bitterness over the choices his father had made? It was incredibly tragic.

“Well, Zippy will be terribly disappointed,” Hermione said, almost involuntarily, hoping to steer the conversation away from the bitterness in his voice.

“Care to explain what you mean?” he asked as they began climbing the stone staircase together.

“I promised her that her and Brisky’s child would one day serve your second-born,” she explained, not hiding her amusement.

To her slight surprise, Draco burst out laughing.

“What possessed you to make her such a promise?” he asked, opening the door to the main hall for her.

“I figured you wouldn’t care how many children you ended up with,” she answered breezily, glancing back over her shoulder and smiling at him.

Draco raised his head, and Hermione noticed the immediate shift in his expression as a roguish grin spread across his face.

“We’ll have exactly as many children as you wish, love!” he declared loudly, stepping towards her and wrapping an arm around her waist.

Hermione turned her head at once, curious as to why he was suddenly acting that way and saw Astoria and Daphne standing near the main fireplace in the hall. Apparently, the elder Greengrass sister had just arrived at the manor.

Tears shimmered in Astoria’s eyes again, so Hermione assumed she must have overheard the entire conversation about children. For the first time, Hermione truly felt guilty—aware that she was, in some way, the cause of the beautiful aristocrat’s pain.

“A romantic date in the dungeons?” Daphne sneered upon seeing them. 

“No, Hermione and I were down in the family vault, having a look at the wedding rings,” he lied smoothly. “We wanted to check if anything from the family jewels would suit us, or whether we’ll need to commission something new from the goblins.” Draco led her towards the sisters. 

“So this means you’ve already set a wedding date?” Astoria looked at them with eyes full of despair.

“We have—but for now, we’re keeping it to ourselves, aren’t we, darling?” Draco tightened his hold on Hermione and flashed her a charming smile.

“Yes,” she replied, forcing a smile of her own. She had no idea why Draco was deliberately worsening Astoria’s heartache, but she didn’t like it one bit.

“Who would’ve thought the two of you would get on so well after all those years of your spectacular school fights,” Daphne hissed venomously.

“And look who’s talking. Wasn’t it you who, from third year onwards, constantly referred to Graham as a ‘bloody snob’ or more often, a ‘frigid prick’ in front of all of Slytherin?” Draco reminded her with a cold smile.

“Those were just slight misunderstandings!” Daphne snapped.

“Clearly it didn’t do you much harm, since rumour has it you’ve also set a wedding date,” the blond said smoothly.

“You and Graham set a date?” Astoria asked, clearly surprised.

A deep crimson blush spread across Daphne’s face.

“We only did it last night… I decided not to owl you since we were seeing each other today anyway,” Daphne explained, slightly chaotically.

“Sorry to leave you for a moment, but we need to go look at the bouquet options for the reception,” Hermione interjected, no longer wanting to listen to the exchange.

“Maybe we could come with you and see them too?” Astoria blurted out immediately.

Hermione was just opening her mouth to say she didn’t really mind, when Draco beat her to it.

“You know the rules, Greengrass. No peeking at reception plans between future brides. No one wants their ideas stolen,” Draco said with a cynical smile.

“I had no intention of doing that!” Astoria exclaimed, clearly offended.

“Let’s just go, or your mother will have our heads for being late,” Hermione said quickly, eager to escape the tense scene—and Draco’s firm arm around her waist.

She felt uncomfortable standing so close, close enough to feel his breath at her temple, while the magnificent scent of his expensive cologne slowly soaked into the fabric of her robes.

“See you at dinner, ladies,” Draco gave the girls a brief nod, then, still holding Hermione close, led her down one of the corridors.

“Why are you doing this to her? Can’t you see how much she’s hurting?” she asked quietly once they were out of the Greengrass sisters’ sight.

“I want her to stop clinging to false hope. On the day the marriage law was announced, she sent me a letter suggesting I didn’t have to give her up just because of Nott. I went to her and politely explained that Theodore had nothing to do with my decision. Two hours later, they announced their engagement contract. I thought that settled it once and for all, but clearly it didn’t,” Draco said with a grimace.

“Theodore still hasn’t come to terms with the fact that she doesn’t return his feelings,” she speculated.

“He can’t understand that I had no conscious part in any of it,” Draco sighed. “I just hope he doesn’t cause us more trouble.”

“So do I,” Hermione admitted sincerely.

💍💍💍 

He led her into one of the smaller sitting rooms, where Tracey and Blaise were already waiting, standing with the gardener Alvin and another man.

“Hello, Hermione,” Blaise approached her and, ignoring the fact that Draco still had his arm around her waist, kissed her on the cheek with a smile.

“Hi,” Hermione tried not to be flustered by the gesture, though she blushed slightly nonetheless.

“Mrs Malfoy asked me to apologise on her behalf—she had to attend to something urgent related to dinner. She’ll join us as soon as she can,” Tracey informed them.

“That’s fine. Would you like something to drink?” Draco finally let go of Hermione and walked over to the elegant drinks cabinet in the corner.

“Wine, maybe?” Tracey suggested, glancing at Hermione for confirmation.

“Sounds great,” Hermione smiled back at her.

“White or red?” Draco asked.

Hermione quickly chose white, while Tracey preferred red.

Draco handed them their glasses, and Tracey grabbed Hermione by the hand, guiding her towards the two men who were deep in discussion over one of the bouquets.

“And here’s our bride-to-be, who’ll be making the final decision,” Tracey announced. “You know Alvin, of course, and this is Monsieur Le Tournesol, who’s handling the décor for the reception.”

“Lovely to meet you,” Hermione shook the man’s hand, glancing back over her shoulder. Draco and Blaise had already made themselves comfortable in the armchairs by the fireplace, clearly uninterested in anything to do with flower arrangements.

She sighed and took a sip of her wine. Apparently, Malfoy had no objections to her making this choice entirely on her own.

“Following Mrs Malfoy’s instructions, we’ve prepared twenty different designs,” Alvin explained. “Several of them are based on freesias. That’s meant to be the young lady’s favourite flower, isn’t it?”

Hermione’s lips parted slightly and she glanced again at the blond deep in conversation with Zabini. How could he possibly have known that? But he must have—those flowers had already been in the corsage he’d given her at the ball. She had no idea who could’ve told him. She was fairly certain even Harry and Ron didn’t know that about her.

“Yes, I love white freesias.”

“Then let’s focus on those,” Tracey advised. “It’s your engagement party—you should have your favourite flowers.”

Hermione nodded in response, and from the original twenty bouquets, they quickly narrowed it down to thirteen that included different freesia varieties.

After another fifteen minutes, Hermione stood in front of three arrangements that had caught her eye the most. The decorator was explaining the merits of each in heavily accented English, the French influence clear in every word.

“I just can’t decide—they’re all so beautiful,” Hermione admitted, genuinely torn about the final decision.

“Draco! Blaise! Would you mind actually helping us at last?” Tracey called out with a hint of frustration.

“Whatever you pick will be perfect, I’m sure,” Malfoy waved a dismissive hand in their direction, casually sipping his whisky.

Hermione clenched her fists and ground her teeth. Oh no, absolutely not.

“Draco, darling...” she began, voice syrupy sweet. “Would you be so kind as to come over and help me choose? That’s not too much of a problem, is it?”

She thought she saw Malfoy shiver at the sound of her deceptively sweet tone, laced with a very real threat.

“Oh mate! I wouldn’t risk it if I were you,” Blaise laughed, setting down his whisky and getting to his feet. Malfoy quickly followed, clearly realising he had no other choice.

Moments later, the two of them were standing by the table.

“We’ve narrowed it down to these three,” Tracey said, pointing at the bouquets.

“They all look exactly the same to me,” Blaise whispered theatrically.

“Can’t we just pick all of them? Three bouquets are probably better than one anyway,” Draco muttered, glaring at the flowers with obvious distaste.

“Where have your eyes been at every aristocratic event you’ve ever attended? There’s always only one bouquet design for the tables and decorations!” Tracey shouted at him.

“All right, let’s leave these two and vote,” Hermione decided, setting aside the bouquet with freesias and carnations—the one she liked the least.

“Great idea,” Tracey agreed. “Blaise?”

“Hmmm, the one with the green… weird thing.”

“They both have green weird things, you idiot!” Draco snapped.

“All right, enough. I like the one with the roses,” Hermione said, rubbing her temple, exhausted. It had truly been a long day.

“I agree! It’s lovely! What do you think, Draco?” Tracey asked.

“I think they’re just silly flowers that will wilt by the end of the party and then end up on the compost heap. But yes, that one’s better,” Draco said with a sour smile in Hermione’s direction.

“One bouquet from the engagement party is always preserved with a stasis charm, to decorate the cradle of the first child!” Tracey exclaimed joyfully.

Hermione and Draco exchanged equally pained grimaces, which fortunately Tracey didn’t notice, and Blaise seemed to do his best to stifle a laugh at the look on their faces.

“I’m here, I’m here! So sorry!” Narcissa burst into the room, clearly flustered.

“It’s all right, Mrs Malfoy. We’ve already chosen,” Tracey reassured her, holding up the bouquet.

“Oh! I’m so pleased! It’s a beautiful choice! I had a feeling it would be one of the favourites!” Narcissa took the bouquet from Tracey and smiled warmly at Hermione.

“It was the green rose variety that made the difference,” Hermione replied politely.

“Yes, truly gorgeous stems ,” Draco muttered acidly, eyeing his abandoned drink longingly.

“Oh, don’t whine, Draco! You’re just like your father when it comes to party planning!” his mother scolded.

“If you say so,” Draco shot her a mischievous grin.

“What’s next on the list?” Tracey asked with enthusiasm. Hermione barely suppressed a groan—she’d had more than enough for one day.

“Plenty left to do, but we’ll go over it tomorrow at lunch. For now, go and get ready for dinner. I expect you all in the dining room promptly at seven.”

“How many guests are coming tonight?” Draco asked, rubbing the back of his neck wearily.

“Not many. Just around fifty,” Narcissa said smoothly.

“That’s good. I prefer it when it’s not too crowded,” Zabini said with a wink at Hermione, who couldn’t help but smile. If fifty counted as a small number, for the first time, she truly began to worry about how many people would be attending the actual engagement party.

💍💍💍

The gown Loredana had prepared for her for the evening was cream-coloured. Strapless and floor-length, it draped beautifully thanks to a slit on the left leg. The bodice was embroidered with diamonds—though Hermione could only hope they weren’t real. The shoes Zippy had picked out for her matched perfectly, and the entire ensemble was completed with a stunning white gold necklace set with yellow diamonds (those were definitely real) and long earrings. The whole look practically screamed just how refined and wealthy the Malfoy family was.

As she got ready in front of the mirror, Hermione repeated to herself what Draco had once said about her ability to adapt to any environment. Could she really pretend so well as to fit into pure-blood aristocracy without raising suspicion? She was beginning to doubt it more and more.

She barely found a moment to jot in her journal that everything was fine and that she’d give a full report after dinner. She was nearly ready in time for the scheduled hour—only the jewellery remained. The earrings went on easily enough, but the necklace clasp refused to cooperate, and she couldn’t even get it open to put the thing on properly.

With a frustrated growl, she reached for her wand—though to her surprise, the spell wouldn’t work either. She decided it would be best to summon Zippy and ask for help, but before she could, there was a knock at the door.

She went to open it, still wrestling with the stubborn necklace.

Malfoy stood on the other side, momentarily frozen as he took her in, his gaze trailing over her.

“Ready?” he asked in an oddly quiet voice.

“No!” she snapped, irritated by the object in her hand.

“What’s the problem?”

“I can’t undo the clasp,” she complained.

Draco stepped further out into the corridor where the light was better and held out his hand for the necklace.

“No wonder—you’re trying to open a Malfoy heirloom. You can’t undo it because you’re not one of us.”

“I had no trouble putting in the earrings,” she pointed out.

“Most likely, Mother cast the right charm on those before sending them to you. But somehow it didn’t take on the necklace.”

“Fantastic. Well, then you’ll have to help me,” Hermione said, turning her back to him and sweeping her curls out of the way to give him a clear view.

Only after a moment did it dawn on her that fastening the necklace would require them to stand quite close. Not that it was particularly strange after the dancing lesson earlier, but still—it felt slightly awkward.

She took a steadying breath as Draco reached over her shoulders and gently placed the necklace into the hollow at her collarbone. She could feel his breath in her hair, the warmth of his body, and the rich scent of his cologne. Against her will, she began to wonder what expression was in those striking eyes of his… Wasn’t he uncomfortable being so close?

“Mother and her brilliant ideas,” he muttered softly, and Hermione nearly stumbled when his voice brushed right against her ear.

“I’m afraid to wear this jewellery,” she admitted. “What if I lose it or damage it?”

“It’s goblin gold—you can’t damage it,” he replied, and Hermione felt his fingers brush the skin at the nape of her neck as he finally fastened the clasp.

A shiver ran down her spine, and she silently prayed Malfoy hadn’t noticed. She let go of her hair, allowing it to fall freely—and then suddenly felt his fingers combing through it, clearly to help it fall neatly over the necklace. Her second silent prayer was that she wouldn’t go scarlet on the spot.

“Are we interrupting something?” came a rather cold voice from the far end of the corridor.

Hermione quickly turned in that direction. She barely registered who had spoken when she felt Draco’s hands move to her waist, pulling her in so tightly that she was practically pressed against his chest.

“Not at all. We just had a little issue with my fiancée’s necklace,” Draco replied far too calmly.

“How very attentive of you” mocked the tall blond, eyeing Hermione closely.

“That’s what I’m known for. You should know that by now, Rowle,” Draco answered.

Chapter Text

Hermione tried not to panic. The fact that a man who quite clearly had some wicked intentions toward her was standing just a few steps away shouldn’t have made her tense up. First of all, she had Malfoy by her side, holding her so tightly it was as if he truly feared Rowle might attempt to abduct her then and there. And secondly, draped over the man’s arm was some red-haired beauty with a flirtatious smile and large green eyes, the colour of which must have been enhanced with a charm of some sort.

“What are you doing in this part of the manor, Thorfie?” Draco asked casually, shifting her slightly so he could wrap his arm snugly around her waist.

“I’m showing my fiancée around your residence, since it’s her first time here,” Rowle declared loftily, not once taking his eyes off Hermione.

“This is a private part of the house, not open for sightseeing,” Draco replied with a sour smile, staring the Death Eater down.

“Oh, Thorfinn! We didn’t know that!” the woman trilled in a sing-song voice, and Hermione noted that she had a foreign accent.

“I’m sure no one will mind,” Rowle said with a condescending smile. “And anyway, allow me to explain, darling, that this is none other than the famous Lord Draco Malfoy, along with his beautiful fiancée.” He nodded slightly towards Hermione, still staring at her like he genuinely intended to abduct or devour her.

A shiver ran down her spine, but at that very moment, Malfoy’s grip tightened slightly. She understood he meant to soothe her, and so, mustering all her willpower, she forced a smile.

“It’s quite all right. We understand that you must’ve wandered as far as into our private wing by pure accident,” she replied with feigned ease.

“I don’t believe we’ve ever been formally introduced. Allow me...” Rowle stepped towards her, and Hermione had the distinct feeling that Malfoy barely restrained himself from pulling her a step back. He was growing tenser by the second, seeing how the Death Eater’s gaze never left her.

“That won’t be necessary. I know exactly who you are, and you know who I am,” Hermione said, smiling at him with a hint of mischief. “Though we haven’t been told the name of your companion?”

“My name is Xandria Rosier! I’m a distant cousin of Evan’s. I’m from France, but I’ve come here to marry Thorfinn under the new law,” the woman said cheerfully, seemingly unbothered by the fact that her fiancé was, right in front of her, devouring another witch with his eyes.

“I trust we’re all friendly enough here to be on a first-name basis?” Rowle suggested, his smile now a touch predatory.

“With pleasure. You can call me Nina,” Hermione replied without hesitation.“Nina? Not Hermione?” The Death Eater finally lost his smug grin, his face marked by a flicker of surprise.

“Nina is my real name—I’m still getting used to it. I remain Hermione only to my closest family,” she explained, looking him boldly in the eye.

Thorfinn had just opened his mouth, no doubt to comment on that, when Draco interjected.

“Unfortunately, we really must go if we don’t want to be late. You know full well how poorly my mother tolerates that, Rowle.”

“Of course, let’s go,” the Death Eater said, throwing one last glance at Hermione before turning away and guiding Xandria—still holding onto his arm—towards the corridor’s exit.

“I’ve no idea what he’s doing here,” Draco muttered to her once the pair had moved away a bit. “Stick close to me or Zabini all evening—my mother, if need be,” he added with a strange tension in his voice.

“I’ve got my wand with me,” Hermione said softly, patting her thigh where it lay hidden beneath her garter.

“Good. Still, don’t leave the room unescorted.”

“All right,” she agreed, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm.

She took another deep breath. It was going to be a very long evening indeed…

💍💍💍

The dining room was already full. A few people were seated at the long table, but most — with drinks in hand — were gathered in small groups along the length of the hall. 

Hermione smiled and greeted the people she was newly introduced to, all the while knowing she would never remember their names will surely mix together. She did, however, remember a short, stocky man with a gloomy stare, who turned out to be Pansy’s father—Edmund Parkinson—as well as a tall, skinny fellow who looked practically like a clone of Terence Higgs, with a few more wrinkles.Tracey Davis’s dad was handsome and cheerful, when he practically swept Hermione into a hug, enthusiastically announcing that his daughter had just informed him she wanted Hermione as her maid of honour and Alessandro Neviani, nowy mąż Almy, Alma’s new husband was a well-dressed, older Italian gentleman with a dazzling smile and a funny accent. He told Draco in Italian that his fiancée was “Bella come una rosa,” to which the blond laughed and replied, also in Italian.

Hermione let out a breath of relief when Draco finally led her to their seats. They sat at the head of the table, presided over by Lucius. His son sat to his right, and Narcissa to his left. Hermione was seated today between Draco and Zabini, who had escorted Tracey to the table. Seated beside Narcissa was none other than Jonathan Savage, the Chief Judge of the Wizengamot, who had overseen the passing of the new marriage law. Accompanying him was his thin, dour-faced wife, who looked around with an expression of barely concealed envy. Clearly, the Malfoys’ wealth was hard for her to stomach.

Hermione was pleased to see that Rowle and his fiancée had been placed at the opposite end of the table—so far away that she could hardly see them. It allowed her to relax just enough not to focus on things like Draco’s arm brushing against hers whenever he leaned in to speak to Zabini. She’d noticed when they entered that Blaise and Malfoy had exchanged a knowing glance towards Rowle, and she realised then that Draco’s friend was probably planning to keep an eye on her tonight too. It was quite comforting to  know they were worried about her and cared, just like Harry and Ron once did. She never would’ve expected it—especially from Draco.

Dinner was, of course, exquisite and flawless in every way. Narcissa accepted compliments with a warm smile—from the judge and several other guests—about everything from the decor to the perfect doneness of the lamb.

Hermione, after an intensive day, was ravenous, but she did her best to eat with the decorum befitting a lady. She was keenly aware of being closely observed tonight. Lucius, who only occasionally joined in his wife’s conversation with Savage, would glance her way from time to time. She just hoped she wouldn’t give him anything to criticise.

After the lavish meal, Narcissa invited everyone to the large drawing room, where Hermione hadn’t been in yet.   Sofas and small tables were arranged all around, and beneath the floor-to-ceiling windows stood a buffet lined with drinks and snacks.

Hermione was standing with Draco, Blaise, and Tracey when Narcissa approached and drew her and her son aside.

“Remember, you’re also hosting tonight. If anything’s missing or anyone needs something, call the elves straight away,” she instructed them.

“Isn’t Matilda seeing to everything?” Draco looked around the room in surprise.

“She’s not feeling well today, so I told her to rest. After the engagement party, we’re sending her off to the sanctuary for ageing witches. You need to help us persuade her,” Narcissa said to her son, all while scanning the room attentively.

“All right,” Draco agreed rather gloomily. “Will you tell me what Rowle’s doing here?”

“He came with the Rosiers. What was I supposed to do? Throw him out?” Narcissa grimaced at him.

“He came uninvited?” Hermione asked, surprised.

“The Rosiers are hosting the daughter of some cousins from France. We didn’t know she got engaged to Rowle just yesterday—that is why we invited her as well.”

“Filthy bastard, sniffed out an opportunity,” Draco muttered.

“Don’t worry. Your father arranged for extra security the moment he found out Rowle would be here,” Narcissa said quietly, indicating two wizards dressed in black standing by the doors.

“Good,” Draco said curtly.

“I know you’re both tired, but try to circulate for at least another hour,” she added as she walked away, giving them no time to respond.

“Security? Is Rowle really that dangerous? From what I remember, I beat him rather easily,” Hermione whispered, casually picking up a glass of champagne from a nearby table.

“That’s because he didn’t expect it. He’s unpredictable and extremely violent. Don’t underestimate him,” Draco murmured, standing close enough for their hushed conversation to resemble an intimate chat between an involved couple.

“I won’t. It frightens me, the way he keeps watching me,” she admitted.

“I doubt he’d dare do anything in our home, but still—don’t wander off,” he reminded her.

“Who’d have thought I’d one day feel safe among Slytherins,” she joked as they returned to Tracey and Zabini, now chatting with Daphne and Graham.

“Slytherins, in spite of appearances, are loyal.  We don’t let anyone hurt our own,” Draco said, flashing her a small smile.

“Gryffindors don’t either!” she replied defiantly.

“Really? Then what are you doing here, Granger?” he asked retorically. 

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but every sensible argument suddenly vanished. She knew perfectly well the Order had had no choice but to involve her in this charade of an engagement. Still, it was also true that they had done so without really asking for her consent first. What did that say about their loyalty...?

💍💍💍

Time passed quickly in the company of Tracey and the others. Eventually, Draco was called away by a man who turned out to be the father of the Greengrass sisters, and Hermione was left alone with Graham and Blaise by the buffet table, while Tracey and a few of the other girls slipped off to the loo.

“Excuse me for a moment. Looks like my mother’s calling me,” Blaise said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes before heading over to where Alma stood nearby.

“How are you, Granger?” Graham asked, helping himself to some exquisite canapés.

“All fine,” she replied at ease.

“I hope so. Draco mentioned something about an incident with Nott. I’ve noticed he hasn’t come anywhere near either of you this evening.”

“It was nothing serious,” she said shortly.

“If it had been, Theodore would be in St Mungo’s by now. Draco doesn’t muck about when something bothers him,” Graham added with a slightly bitter smile.

“As I said, it was just a minor matter.”

“Though I do…” Montague suddenly trailed off and his expression became clouded and unfocused.

“Are you all right?” Hermione asked with concern.

Graham said nothing. He simply set his plate down on the table, turned on his heel, and walked off briskly. Hermione bit her lip nervously, uncertain whether she ought to follow him or alert someone to his strange behaviour. She didn’t have time to decide when she felt someone behind her.

She spun round and barely suppressed a yell. Thorfinn Rowle stood right in front of her, smiling with satisfaction.

“You’re a hard woman to catch alone, Nina…” he said in an overly polite tone.

“Such is the role of a hostess,” she replied, swiftly taking a step back. “You must excuse me, but I really should—”

“Oh no! Don’t run off so quickly!” Rowle reached out, evidently intending to grab her arm but suddenly hissed in pain and snatched his hand away. Hermione saw her necklace flash briefly with a sharp burst of light.

She stared, almost hypnotised, as a clear burn mark appeared on the tips of the Death Eater’s fingers.

“Bloody Malfoys and their magical trinkets,” Rowle muttered, glaring at the necklace around her neck with disdain.

“Is everything all right, dear Thorfinn?” came a cold voice from behind him.

Hermione watched with interest as Rowle paled and turned his head sharply.

“Perfectly well, Lucius,” he replied, slipping his injured hand into his pocket and forcing a smile.

Malfoy Senior carefully circled the man, never once taking his eyes off him, until he came to stand at Hermione’s side.

“Did you need something from my future daughter-in-law?” he asked coolly.

“I only meant to ask how her evening was going,” Rowle said, grimacing as if he had a sudden toothache.

“And what would your answer to that be, Hermione?” Lucius asked her briefly before returning his sharp gaze to Thorfinn.

“Splendid, though I must admit, I’m feeling a little tired,” she replied smoothly.

“In that case, you should go and retrieve Draco, so the two of you can retire upstairs. I’m sure the guests will understand, especially as you’ve only just returned home yesterday, after such difficult exams,” Lucius said, his tone measured and composed.

“I hope so. I wish you both a pleasant remainder of the evening,” Hermione said, forcing a smile for Lucius and offering Rowle a brief nod, who didn’t even attempt to hide his irritation at having lost her again.

“Good night, my dear. Allow me just to say—my mother’s necklace looks exceptionally elegant on you,” Lucius added with a faint smirk, then turned to Rowle to ask something about recent political developments.

Hermione exhaled deeply as she walked away from the men. Apparently, Draco’s grandmother’s necklace had shielded her from Rowle’s unwelcome touch. Clearly, the Malfoys had an arsenal of magical artefacts capable of rather impressive things.

Lost in thought, she wasn’t watching where she was going and jumped when a large hand suddenly closed around her elbow. Before she could yell, Draco spun her around to face him.

“Are you all right? I couldn’t get away from Parkinson and Greengrass straight away when Graham left you so suddenly,” he explained, slightly breathless.

“I think Rowle cursed him somehow because he was acting really strange,” she admitted.

“I’ll tell Zabini to look into it,” Draco said at once.

“I told your father I’d like to go upstairs now. He told me to fetch you…”

“Good, I think we’re safe to slip away now. Say your goodbyes to the girls, and I’ll tell Zabb about Graham. I’ll meet you in a moment,” he said briskly.

“Sure,” she agreed, already feeling her tension begin to ebb at the thought that this dreadfully long day was finally coming to an end.

💍💍💍

She was truly relieved when they finally reached their floor, away from the noise of the dining hall and the presence of the invited guests. Hermione genuinely hoped that evenings like this wouldn’t be a regular occurrence during her stay in this house. She had absolutely no desire for that.

“Graham’s fine, but he doesn’t remember why he suddenly walked away from you,” Draco explained as they stopped outside her chambers.

“I think it might have been the Imperius,” she sighed gloomily.

“Not impossible. All the Death Eaters have unregistered wands,” he admitted.

“All of them? That means you too?” Hermione’s eyes widened.

Draco shot her a brief glance, then turned and walked towards the door to his own room.

“Good night, Granger,” he said without even looking back. He stepped inside and shut the door firmly behind him.

She bit her lip nervously. Had he taken offence that she, in a way, just called him a Death Eater? He has admitted he was one in the carriage, hadn’t he? Potarła oczy ze zmęczeniem i z ulgą weszła do własnej sypialni, na wszelki wypadek pieczętując za sobą drzwi zaklęciem. She rubbed her eyes in exhaustion and stepped into her bedroom with relief, sealing the door behind her with a precautionary charm. She had no doubt Malfoy had no intention of disturbing her but Rowle’s madness must have run truly deep if he’d dared to cast an Unforgivable in a room where fifty people might have seen.

💍💍💍

Hermione kicked off her heels and reached for the zip of her gown, just as something occurred to her. She immediately grabbed at the clasp of her necklace, trying to take it off. Of course... the family heirloom. Only a Malfoy could put it on or remove it. What a failure!

Frustrated, she headed towards the glass doors that led to the terrace. She didn’t feel like taking down the wards she’d just placed, so she decided to use the second passageway instead, since it connected their rooms as well. She walked slowly over to the other set of glass doors. It turned out that the curtains in his room hadn’t been drawn.

Malfoy was sitting in an armchair. His shirt cuffs were undone, the top two buttons of his shirt left open. His elbows rested on his knees, and his fingers were buried in his pale hair in a gesture that screamed pure frustration. He looked strangely defeated and broken. Hermione bit her lip nervously. Had her presence truly affected him so badly, that he now sat like this, looking utterly miserable? She couldn’t rule it out.

Quietly, so as not to startle him, she tapped on the glass. Draco lifted his head abruptly and looked straight at her. She gave a small wave in greeting, and he seemed to mutter a curse under his breath before standing up and coming over to open the door.

“Something wrong?” he asked sharply. 

“I can’t take the necklace off by myself,” she explained, pointing at the collar.

“Bloody hell,” he groaned, tilting his head back in exasperation.

“Will you help me?” she asked, surprised at how uncertain her voice sounded.

“Do I have a choice?” he muttered. “Turn around, Granger.”

She did as he asked. His movements were quick and rough—he caught her skin slightly with the clasp and tugged her curls as he removed the necklace. Hermione tried not to flinch or complain. Clearly, Malfoy wasn’t feeling particularly prone to gentleness at this hour.

“Thank you,” she said, turning to face him.

“You’re welcome. Good night,” Draco said curtly, pressing the heirloom into her palm before turning away, stepping back into his room, and shutting the glass door firmly behind him.

Before Hermione could even open her mouth to say something, the curtains were drawn shut and she was cut off from the view of him.

She felt oddly stung by his brusque behaviour. He must have really taken offence at her question—asking if he too had an unregistered wand since he was a Death Eater. She’d have to be more careful with her words around him in future. He’d been... neutral towards her. Even somewhat kind. He’d looked after her safety, and his parents had shown her respect. Narcissa even seemed to like her, judging by her behaviour. She ought to return the gesture.

Then maybe this year wouldn’t be so terrible for any of them.

💍💍💍

3 December 1998

The following morning, her schedule was already waiting for her. Hermione smiled to herself as she reached for the parchment. A life neatly ordered and scheduled down to the hour was not something she despised—in fact, she’d always liked sticking to a set plan. It didn’t bother her in the slightest.

Schedule – 3 December – Thursday

8:00 – Breakfast served in chamber.

9:00 – 10:30 – Training session in the gymnasium, South Wing.

11:30 – Lunch in the Peach Drawing Room with Lady Malfoy and Miss Tracey Davis.

12:30 – Appointment with the mediwizard in the infirmary room, West Wing.

15:00 – Second dance lesson in the ballroom, East Wing.

16:30 – Tour of the manor.

17:00 – Afternoon tea served in the library.

19:00 – Dinner outing at the “Magical Idyll” restaurant.

Today’s schedule looked no less packed than yesterday’s, and Hermione was already mentally calculating how many times she’d need to change outfits. Thankfully, when Zippy arrived with breakfast, she cheerfully informed Hermione that she would once again be happy to help her select her outfits and get ready for the whole day.

Malfoy was in only a slightly better mood than he’d been the previous night, when he had quite literally slammed a door in her face. Today’s session consisted of basic defensive spells, which they practised on two dummies. Hermione had grown so irritated with his perpetually sour expression and the monosyllabic responses he gave her, that by the end of the lesson, her dummy had been reduced to a pile of splinters that couldn’t be reassembled by magic.

“My reluctant compliments,” Draco said, banishing the shredded wood to a bin in the corner with a flick of his wand.

“A miracle you managed to say that without choking on your tongue,” Hermione replied with a mean grin.

“Believe me, it wasn’t easy. Clearly you’re in a murderous mood today, Granger.”

“And you’re in a hangman’s one. Look—I didn’t mean to offend you yesterday when I asked…”

“I know,” Malfoy said, meeting her eyes briefly. “That’s not what’s got me annoyed.”

“Will you tell me what is?” she asked quietly.

“It’s nothing to do with you,” he replied shortly.

“All right. Just don’t take your mood out on me.” she asked. 

“And you don’t take yours out on me. I’d rather not end up like that unfortunate dummy,” Draco added, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small smile.

Hermione let out a reluctant giggle. All right… maybe she had gone a little overboard.

“Can you tell me why there’s a mediwizard appointment in my schedule today?” she asked as they walked towards the exit of the gymnasium.

“Ministry requirement. I’ve got one too. Normally we’re meant to report to St Mungo’s, so they can confirm we’re both healthy enough to eventually produce offspring, which is meant to be the whole point of this bloody marriage law.”

“That’s absolutely vile,” she said with disgust.

“Mother arranged for our family mediwizard to do the check. Hopefully it’ll be a bit more… comfortable. Just be careful… Healer Clyster serves the Dark side.”

“You mean he’s…?”

“No. But he actively supports them” Draco admitted.

“I understand. I won’t say a word to him.”

“Someone has to be present during your check-up, by protocol. Though apparently it’s just a few diagnostic spells.”

“Your mother can be there if she doesn’t mind,” Hermione said immediately.

“She’ll be pleased you chose her over Tracey,” Draco replied.

They were already on the corridor to their floor, and Hermione was surprised at how quickly they’d got there. Clearly, Malfoy knew a proper shortcut. She hadn’t even noticed, caught up in the conversation.

“And what about tonight’s dinner? Who’s going to be there?” she asked with interest.

“The Minister himself—Gawain Robards,” Draco sighed. “And there’ll definitely be journalists at the restaurant, so try not to scowl unless you absolutely have to.” He might have been attempting a joke.

“I’ll try,” she promised with a small smile.

“In that case, see you at dance class, Granger.”

“Yes, see you,” she said, stepping into her room.

Now all that remained was to call for Zippy and ask her what she ought to wear for lunch—and then have her explain where, in this enormous house, the Peach Drawing Room actually was.

💍💍💍

She was doing her utmost not to show her thorough discouragement. Narcissa’s list of things that still needed to be arranged before the engagement party had over fifty items. Tracey displayed tremendous enthusiasm for every single matter presented by Malfoy’s mother, while Hermione merely nodded politely and kept forcing a smile. She truly couldn’t muster any real interest in the whole idea of pretending to the wizarding world that all of this was actually real.

Unintentionally, her mind wandered to how her engagement party with Ron might have looked. It would likely have been held together with Harry and Ginny’s, either at the Burrow or at Grimmauld Place. Only their closest friends and the entire Weasley family would have been there. Mrs Weasley would probably have made her famous roast for dinner and a treacle tart for dessert. It would have been familial, simple. There certainly wouldn’t have been any elaborate planning or grand fireworks displays.

She couldn’t help but admire how thoroughly involved Narcissa seemed in all of it. Hermione knew the witch was likely putting on an act for Tracey’s sake—pretending to be genuinely thrilled at the prospect of planning an engagement celebration for her beloved only son—but Mrs Malfoy’s performance was truly impeccable. Remarks like “And perhaps we could use this idea at the wedding…” didn’t sound like throwaway lies at all.

Hermione was happy when lunch finally came to an end, and after thanking the ladies for their lovely company, she was at last able to escape to her chambers and have a moment to prepare for her appointment with the mediwizard.

💍💍💍

The infirmary room in Malfoy Manor wasn’t much smaller than the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts.  Hermione was genuinely relieved that she didn’t have to travel all the way to St Mungo’s just to be examined in accordance with the requirements of the marriage law. She considered the whole decree thoroughly vile, but she could at least rationalise it to herself. If it turned out she was unable to have children, the Malfoys would have every right to call off the engagement—after all, the entire point of this arranged marriage was supposedly to produce an heir.

She wondered whether Lucius and Narcissa knew that Draco had no real desire to have children. That had come as a surprise to her. She had always assumed the blond was fiercely proud of his lineage.

Narcissa was already waiting for her in the room, cheerfully chatting with a tall, silver-haired man in a Healer’s robe.

“There she is. Adam, allow me to introduce you. My future daughter-in-law, Hermione Dagworth-Granger. And this, my dear, is Healer Adam Clyster.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Hermione said, shaking the hand the man extended.

“This young lady’s definitely underweight. Though that’s not uncommon in our circles. I remember you just before your wedding, Narcissa, you could wrap your entire waist in one hand!” he boomed with laughter.

“My mother saw to that rather strictly,” Narcissa replied with a faint smile. “However, Draco doesn’t like the unhealthy weight of his fiancée, so if you could prescribe a vitamin tonic, we’d be grateful.”

“Wise idea before any planned conception. Women who are too thin, especially with anaemia, often have more difficulties. You’ll remember that as well, I imagine,” the Healer said, smiling again at Narcissa.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Mrs Malfoy replied with a heavy sigh, clearly recalling something unpleasant.

“Let’s have a look at what this pretty lady needs. Lie back, child, and expose your abdomen,” he instructed.

Hermione, doing her best to calm the wild beating of her heart, lay down on the hospital bed and stared up at the ceiling. The Healer waved his wand over her, muttering incantations, many of which she had never heard before.

“Definitely anaemia. Have you been starving yourself deliberately over the past few months?” he asked.

Hermione had no idea what to answer him. Her hunger strike wasn't intentional, it was just that when they were searching for horcruxes, they often didn't have the means to get enough food.

“Hermione was so stressed about her final exams that she sometimes literally forgot to eat,” Narcissa explained.

“I’ll prescribe a strengthening tonic. Regular and nutritious meals should do the rest.”

“Excellent. I assure you we’ll see to that,” Narcissa replied crisply.

“Oh! Now that’s a surprise…” Clyster murmured suddenly.

“Is something wrong?” Hermione asked, alarmed.

“Well… the diagnosis clearly shows that you have a double magical signature, Miss Dagworth-Granger. There’s more than one spark of magical energy living within you.”

Hermione didn’t understand a word of it and turned a confused look to Narcissa—who had suddenly gone very pale.

What could it possibly mean?

Chapter Text

Hermione glanced questioningly between the Healer and Malfoy’s mother. Clyster was still waving his wand over her, while Narcissa looked oddly disappointed.

“Adam… Could you tell me which week it is?” she asked quietly, and Hermione could’ve sworn she saw tears welling up in the woman’s eyes.

“Week? Week of what?” Hermione asked, panicking.

“Oh, no, Narcissa! There’s no need to fear scandal. Your future daughter-in-law is not at all pregnant.”

“Oh, thank you, great Morgana!” Narcissa gasped, clutching her chest and leaning against the metal frame of one of the hospital beds. She genuinely looked relieved.

"You can rest assured my dear. Miss Dagworth-Granger, as befits a true lady, has clearly preserved her innocence for her fiancé. It's charming that someone still practices it and waits until the official betrothal ceremony. She is the fifth pure-blood maiden I have examined and I am sad to say only the first virgin. You and your son have chosen well," Clyster smiled at Narcissa and then patted Hermione's hand in a friendly gesture.

“We’ve believed that from the very beginning,” Narcissa smiled warmly at Hermione, who felt herself turn not less red than a cauldron left too long over a roaring flame.

“What is interesting, however, is this second magical signature. Weaker than the powerful magic this young witch possesses, but impressive nonetheless. Did you knowingly take part in a ritual of transferring a spark?” the Healer asked Hermione.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” she admitted, mortified. She was angry that she did not know something. She needed to look into it. Thankfully, her schedule included a visit to the library today.

“My son’s fiancée had the misfortune of being struck by a brief Crucio spell in March. It’s likely a remnant of that…” Narcissa interjected hastily.

Hermione tensed at those words. Did that mean a part of Bellatrix’s magic now lived inside her? Oh, Godric—anything but that!

“It doesn’t look like dark magic, but you never know,” Clyster commented. “Aside from mild underweight and slight anaemia, all is well. The young lady is healthy and fertile. You may rest assured that she will bear healthy heir in the future.”

“That’s wonderful. I can hardly wait!” Narcissa beamed at her again, and Hermione couldn’t help but once again admire her acting skills. It was actually becoming a bit terrifying.

“That’ll be all for today. I’ll send the potion by owl,” the Healer stepped back from the bed, and Hermione adjusted her blouse and stood.

“Add it to our account,” Narcissa asked, offering Hermione her hand to help her up.

“Of course. Your son should be here by now,” Clyster noted.

"I told him to wait in the hallway until you called him," Lady Malfoy informed her, squeezing Hermione's hand a little tighter for a moment before letting go.

The Healer quickly walked to the door and poked his head out.

“Ah, there you are! Gentlemen, do come in!”

Hermione watched Lucius and Draco walk into the room. The younger Malfoy still had damp hair, as if he’d just showered, and was sipping something from a metal bottle.

“Good day, Healer Clyster,” Draco greeted him.

“Apologies for the delay. My son had only just finished training,” Lucius muttered, clearly displeased.

“You’re not late. It’s my examination of Miss Dagworth-Granger that took a bit longer.”

“Is there a problem?” Draco asked, glancing between his mother and Hermione.

“None at all. Everything’s perfectly fine,” Narcissa assured him with a smile. “We’ll take our leave. You sort this out.” The two women headed for the door, and Hermione was relieved to have it all behind her.

“Better than fine. Let me just say congratulations, Lucius. It’s truly heartening to see old traditions upheld, to claim one’s fiancée’s virtue only after a formal engagement. Such behaviour is rare nowadays.”

A loud clang echoed as the metal bottle slipped from Draco’s hand and hit the floor. Clearly, the meaning of the Healer’s words had sunk in. Bloody hell.

Hermione clenched her jaw, hoping she wouldn’t die of embarrassment. Did that blasted old man really have to say that in front of them? She was sorely tempted to hex his arse with a Stinging Jinx. This had just become one of the most mortifying moments of her life.

“Apologies. Slight wrist injury,” Draco muttered, bending to pick up the bottle without once glancing at her.

“We’ll have a look at that shortly,” Clyster said cheerfully.

“We’ll be off then. Goodbye, Adam,” Narcissa said, looking quite pleased with herself.

 💍💍💍

Hermione had been listening to Baryshkov complain about Draco’s lateness for over fifteen minutes. She was genuinely starting to worry. Had the Healer found something serious about his health? She was also curious about what else Draco was training in, besides their joint morning sessions. She remembered Theodore mentioning something about training just yesterday, too. Interesting…

At last, the doors opened and Malfoy stepped inside. He still looked irritated and weirdly tense.

“At lastye!” Michail cried, raising his arms skyward.

"Apologies, unforeseen circumstances. Let's get started right away," Draco walked over to her, and Hermione noticed he didn't even look her in the eye for a second.

“Positions!” the choreographer barked and started the music.

Hermione walked around Draco as the steps required, waiting for him to extend his hand. But he just stood there, arms crossed behind his back, staring blankly at the floor.

“Blin, da chto ż takoje! What are you doing, Dracon?!” Baryshkov snapped, stopping the music.

“Sorry, I was distracted,” Draco rubbed his face with a nervous gesture and let out a heavy sigh.

“Againye!” Michail commanded, and Hermione returned to her starting spot.

When Draco finally offered his hand and pulled her closer in the first turn, a strong whiff of whisky hit her nose. She immediately let go and stepped back.

“Oh Prokljatie! What now?!” Baryshkov barked again.

“You were late because you went drinking?” Hermione asked, incredulous.

Draco clenched his jaw and raked a hand through his hair.

“If you would just once act sensibly, I wouldn't have to drink to control my irritation because of you!” he said sharply.

“What?! Are you saying it’s my fault you show up to rehearsal on whisky?”

“Sod off, Granger! I’m not drunk—I’m angry!”

“You two! Enough—” Michail didn’t get the chance to finish. Draco flicked his hand, and the choreographer collapsed silently to the floor, unconscious.

“What are you doing?! Why did you stun him?” she cried, shocked he’d managed it wandlessly.

“He can’t hear what we’re arguing about! It was bad enough I had to cast Obliviate on the Healer so he wouldn’t go around blabbing that my fiancée is a bloody paragon of virtue! Do you realise how much damage your bloody chastity could’ve done us, Granger?” he shouted, eyes blazing.

Hermione gasped, appalled. She barely resisted the urge to slap him right then and there.

“You’ve no right to criticise me! And I’ve no intention of discussing it with you!” she snapped, turning on her heel to leave.

Suddenly, she felt a strong grip on her wrist, and Draco spun her back around to face him. She froze when she saw the determination in his eyes.

“You must keep your mouth shut around Davis and the others. Pretend our relationship is flawless in every possible way!” 

"Are you afraid that due to my lack of experience I won't be able to make up stories about what a great lover you are?" she sneered, bravely not taking her eyes off him.

“I’m afraid that if anyone finds out, we’ll both live to regret it!” he growled, then shoved her wrist away as if her very touch burned him

“I will never regret staying true to my own values!” she spat, turning and storming for the door.

“May you never have to!” he called after her, stopping her with her hand on the handle.

“At least I have values. Can’t say the same for you, Malfoy!” she hurled back with disgust, then flung the door open and slammed it behind her with all her strength.

💍💍💍

She was furious. The very fact that Malfoy had allowed himself to behave that way towards her had left her seething with a rage she could barely contain. And to top it all off, Zippy had appeared just before four o’clock to inform her that the tour of the manor and the tea in the library had been cancelled by Master Malfoy due to an unexpected engagement.

She understood that the git probably didn't want to spend more time with her because of their argument, but she still regretted it, because she really wanted to go and see the famous Malfoy library. She even considered going there herself, asking Dart to show her the location. However, she decided that she was in too bad of a mood to really enjoy the beauty of the newly discovered books. Instead, she lay down on the bed and reached for her journal, where she briefly described recent events, including the visit of the medic, but omitting the whole affair about her virginity. She still didn't regret for a moment that she hadn't given in to Ron when he had been urging her so hard.  Malfoy could bloody well fuck off—literally, if he liked. She had decided to wait until she was truly ready.

She didn’t even know when she fell asleep. The stress and physical exhaustion of the last two days had clearly worn her down more than she’d care to admit. She only woke up an hour before it was time to leave for dinner.

Thankfully, Zippy had already prepared an outfit for her—a long, elegant navy gown, accompanied by a matching chiffon shawl. The elf had also picked out the right shoes and jewellery—this time, a set adorned with sapphires, already laid out for her.

To her relief, the pieces weren’t enchanted this time, so she was able to put them on without any assistance. Zippy helped pin her hair into a neat updo, and Hermione used a few charm spells to apply the appropriate make-up. By quarter to seven, she was ready to go. That was when her elf reappeared in her chambers, looking slightly nervous as she announced that Lady Malfoy was waiting by the fireplace in the main hall, as both Master Draco and Lord Lucius had still not returned since the afternoon.

She couldn't hide the fact that this made her a little worried. Had something really come up that Draco hadn't had time to show her around the manor today? She decided to go downstairs and try to find out something from Narcissa.

💍💍💍

Lady Malfoy was pacing near the fireplace, clearly unsettled. Her elegant gown in a deep shade of gold and the tasteful updo adorned with diamond combs were truly a sight to behold. And yet, her expression betrayed genuine concern, and her eyes kept flicking towards the old grandfather clock standing in the entrance hall.

"We can't wait any longer so as not to offend the minister," she explained as Hermione descended the stairs.

“Has something happened?” Hermione asked, unable to hide the anxious edge in her voice.

“Draco and Lucius were summoned for an audience at the Dark Palace this afternoon. They still haven’t returned, and no message has arrived.” Narcissa’s eyes shimmered with tears.

Hermione bit down on her lip, worry tightening in her chest. That meant the Malfoys were still with Lord Voldemort. That could never be a good sign. Her stress spiked immediately.

- I would like to cancel this dinner, but it is Gawain Robards himself. We need this connection very much. You must lie with me smoothly that Lucius and Draco have been detained by very unexpected events in one of our family factories. And that they will join us as soon as possible…

“Of course. I’ll say whatever’s necessary,” Hermione replied quickly.

“We must play our parts well, though I confess—I’m worried sick.” Narcissa let out a heavy sigh and blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears from spilling.

“It’ll be all right,” Hermione said instinctively, reaching for her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze, though inwardly she was trembling just as much. What if something had happened to Malfoy or his father?

The last thing she’d said to him was that he had no values… But that wasn’t fair. Not really. Not anymore. She was only just beginning to understand him, beginning to see who he was beneath the surface. She truly didn’t want anything to happen to him.

“We must go,” Narcissa said, not releasing Hermione’s hand as she pulled her straight towards the fireplace.

💍💍💍

They landed in the vestibule of an elegant restaurant, where the venue manager was apparently already waiting for them.

“Good evening. Mr and Mrs Robards and their daughter, along with her fiancé, are already waiting for you,” he announced briskly, promptly leading them through the room.

The restaurant hadn’t been fully reserved, so Hermione and Narcissa were forced to greet a few familiar witches and wizards along the way before they were guided to a more secluded area, where the Robards family was seated.

“Dearest Lady Malfoy…” Gawain stood up, gazing at Narcissa with unrestrained admiration.

“Honourable Minister! Please accept my sincerest apologies for our unacceptable delay. My husband and son encountered some unforeseen circumstances but I am quite certain they’ll be joining us shortly…”

“No trouble at all! Do you remember my wife, Olga?” he asked, glancing with little affection toward his exceptionally unattractive wife.

“Of course, we met back at Hogwarts. Good evening, Olga,” Narcissa greeted her with a smile, directed at the short brunette clad in an ill-fitting and frankly hideous orange gown.

“Good evening, Narcissa. And who’s this you’ve brought with you?” Olga asked in a patronising tone, not even bothering to stand and greet them properly. It was immediately obvious she hadn’t been raised as a lady in pure-blood fashion.

“Allow me to introduce my son’s fiancée… Hermione Dagworth-Granger.”

“An utmost pleasure. Your background is truly remarkable, Miss Dagworth-Granger,” Gawain said with a forced smile, as though he’d just been made to drink vinegar. “From friendship with Harry Potter—the boy who loves to disappear—all the way to an engagement with the most eligible bachelor in magical Britain.”

“I’m still rather in shock at how everything turned out,” Hermione replied smoothly. “But I’m very happy. My life quite literally turned into a fairy tale overnight.”

Narcissa gave her an approving smile, while Olga Robards twisted her lips into a sour grimace.

“May I introduce my daughter Olivia, and her fiancé, the son of the French Minister for Magic—Bastien Guise.”

A tall, rather handsome brunet with a roguish smirk and oddly darting blue eyes rose and bowed, pressing a kiss to both ladies’ hands. Hermione noticed, however, that he used the moment to cast a rather crude glance down her neckline.

Robards’s daughter, just as unpretty as her mother and wearing an equally awful dress in a shade of rotting green, made no effort to hide her smug expression as she scrutinised Hermione.

“Is Draco really so busy he couldn’t come with you? What could possibly be more important?” she asked condescendingly.

“Unfortunately, something urgent came up. But I’m sure he’ll be joining us any moment now,” Hermione answered with steady patience.

“Please, do take a seat. Shall we order drinks while we wait for Lucius and your son to join us?”

“Of course...” Narcissa accepted the hand offered by Robards so he could lead her to the table, while Bastien hurried to offer Hermione the same courtesy.

However, she didn't have time to take it when she felt pressure on her back, and a large hand rested on its very center.

“Good evening. Our sincerest apologies for the delay,” Lucius appeared at Narcissa’s side, and Robards immediately dropped her hand and stepped back quickly.

“Good evening. Sorry to have kept you waiting, princess,” Draco said softly, brushing a brief kiss against Hermione’s cheek. Relief washed over her so quickly she didn’t even have time to blush at the unexpected gesture. Thank Merlin they were unharmed!

“We’re so pleased you’ve arrived,” Robards said with a tight smile, returning to his seat as Lucius escorted Narcissa to hers.

Bastien sat down hurriedly as well, and Draco, still resting his hand on Hermione’s back, guided her towards her chair and pulled it out gallantly for her.

“So lovely to see you again, Draco!” Olivia beamed at him.

“You as well… Miss Robards,” he replied politely, and Hermione had the distinct impression he couldn’t quite remember the girl’s first name.

“Do you know my fiancé, Bastien Guise?” she asked with a coy smile.

“Yes, we met last summer during my visit to France,” Draco explained smoothly. “How have you been, Bastien?”

“Excellent. And you? I was almost certain, with that new law of yours, you’d be engaged to Pansy Parkinson or Philippa Fressange,” the Frenchman replied, casting a rather lascivious gaze over Hermione's figure.

“You don’t know me nearly well enough to make such guesses,” Draco said curtly, accepting the menu handed to him by the waiter.

Bastien frowned and muttered something under his breath, but Draco ignored him entirely. He looked stunning tonight in his perfectly tailored black robes with silver embroidery. Hermione quickly noticed how many of the young witches in the restaurant were casting longing glances in his direction—including Olivia Robards.

But she wasn’t interested in that. What she really wanted to know was whether the meeting he’d been summoned to had gone smoothly. He didn’t look injured or alarmed, but she didn’t know him well enough yet to tell whether he might be hiding it or pretending.

💍💍💍

The Minister, his wife, and Malfoy’s parents quickly became absorbed in a dull political discussion, while Bastien and Draco ignored each other in a hostile silence. This left Olivia to prattle on pointlessly. Na nieszczęście Hermiony szybko przywołała temat planowania swojego przyjęcia zaręczynowego. Unfortunately for Hermione, the girl soon launched into a monologue about planning her upcoming engagement party. The official ceremony for her and Bastien was to be held on the second weekend of January, and Hermione already knew she’d somehow be dragged into it too.

“Aren’t you worried your party will be one of the first?” Olivia asked bluntly. “Someone might steal your ideas!

“If someone copies them, they’ll only embarrass themselves in front of those who’ve seen the original, right?” Hermione replied calmly.

“Hm… You might be right! That’s actually very possible!” Olivia looked as if she’d just solved a particularly tricky riddle.

“Oh, Salazar. What an overwhelming intellect,” Draco muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Hermione to hear.

She laughed softly and glanced at him closely.

“Are you okay?” she asked, seizing the opportunity while Miss Robards was deep in thought and Bastien was absent-mindedly scraping a dent into his salmon starter plate.

Draco met her gaze, the corners of his lips twitching upwards.

“You don’t have to pretend…”

“Answer my question,” she said quietly. She didn’t need him telling her not to worry, or insisting she didn’t have to fake interest. Like it or not, Malfoy was currently her closest ally in this entire bizarre arrangement. She had every right to worry about him.

“I’m fine. He just wanted to talk to a larger audience,” he said under his breath, reaching for his wine.

“That’s good.” She was surprised by the wave of relief that washed over her—relief that neither he nor his father had been harmed by Voldemort today. She was, it seemed, slowly beginning to grow attached to them.

“Perhaps, before the main course is served, we could take a stroll through the garden?” Olivia suggested.

“It’s cold,” Bastien grumbled moodily, clearly displeased.

“We’ll cast a Warming Charm. Come on! Draco, would you be so kind?” she added with a sly smile, holding out her hand.

Malfoy stood slowly and took her hand with a graceful bow, placing it at the crook of his arm.

“We’ll take a little walk around the restaurant garden,” Olivia announced to her parents, practically bouncing beside Draco in delight.

Bastien jumped to his feet and offered Hermione his arm, and, seeing no other polite option, she rose and accepted it with a forced smile. She didn’t like the odd Frenchman one bit, but she felt she couldn’t very well refuse—not when Draco was presently escorting his fiancée.

“How long have you known Dracon?” Bastien asked in his distinctly accented English as soon as they reached the garden, away from the din of the restaurant.

“Over seven years,” Hermione replied. “We went to school together.”

“At Hogwarts?”

“Yes.”

“Olivia and I know each other from school too. She also went to Beauxbatons Academy. When that law came into effect here, she wrote to me asking what I thought about a possible engagement. Her parents offered a large dowry, and besides, such an alliance of two ministries can only bring benefits, so I agreed” he explained casually.

Hermione feigned interest in his words, silently thinking that she had just met another couple who were about to marry without love. Where was the world heading today? Or was it just the stupid pure-blood traditions that were causing this?

“It’s nice of you to move to England for her,” she added, just to say something .

“We’ll see. We might move back to France eventually. We haven’t really decided yet,” he said breezily.

Hermione glanced at Draco and Olivia, standing by a bush of some strange flowers. The girl was chattering away passionately, and Malfoy was clearly only feigning polite interest. She and Bastien also stopped by some strange plant, and Hermione let go of the French Minister of Magic's son's arm with relief.

“How interesting,” she murmured, having no idea what else to say.

“Well… One of England’s advantages is that you meet some truly beautiful witches,” Bastien said with a suggestive grin, placing a hand on her waist.

Hermione shot him a warning look and opened her mouth to object, just as his hand began sliding lower towards her backside. Before he could reach his target, Draco suddenly appeared at her side.

“Having trouble keeping your hands to yourself, Guise?” he asked coolly, and Hermione could’ve sworn she heard a faint crack as Draco wrenched the Frenchman’s fingers away, crushing them in his grip.

“Fuck! Let go of me, Malfoy! Please!” Bastien whimpered, while Hermione glanced around for Olivia, who, thankfully, was still admiring some lavish shrubbery in the distance.

"You've forgotten how to treat a lady, you piece of trash! Don't ever try that again or you'll regret it!" Draco warned, slapping the man's hand away in disgust.

“I’m sorry! I just…” Bastien winced, rubbing his fingers, which still looked oddly misshapen.

“That was your one and only warning, Guise. Is that clear?” Draco said with an unnervingly calm tone, slipping his arm around Hermione’s waist.

“Of course I won’t ever do that again!” Bastien practically sobbed.

“Anything else you’d like to say?” Draco asked sharply.

“My sincerest apologies, Miss Dagworth-Granger!” Bastien stammered, clearly terrified. “I don’t know what came over me!”

Hermione didn’t respond, but inwardly she couldn’t help admiring how Draco had handled it. True, he’d used force—but he hadn’t caused a scene. She didn’t even want to imagine how Ron would’ve acted in such a situation. It would’ve been a full-blown spectacle.

“Everything all right? Shall we go back in?” Olivia asked, rejoining them, clearly oblivious to her fiancé’s pained expression.

“That would be best,” Hermione agreed, silently wondering whether the Frenchman would even be able to hold his cutlery properly now

“Shall we, love?” Draco offered her his arm, and Hermione smiled at him as she accepted it.

Only once they reached the threshold of the restaurant did she realise she hadn’t had to fake that smile. She was truly grateful for what he’d done. Not that she endorsed intimidation—but putting that arrogant creep in his place? That, she wholeheartedly approved of.

As she took her seat—after Draco once again pulled out her chair—she realised something else too. That thing he’d once said, about how they’d perhaps nod politely to one another on Diagon Alley someday, couldn’t possibly come true. After so many shared experiences, people inevitably grew closer. Who knew? Perhaps this whole absurd engagement charade might end with her gaining a new friend.

She smiled faintly to herself. That wouldn’t be so bad at all.

Chapter Text

5 December 1998

People marvel at breathtaking views. The blue of the sky. The lush greenery. The beauty of the world around them.

And yet Hermione Granger could swear on her life that she had never seen anything more beautiful than the library at Malfoy Manor.

Dozens of bookshelves stretched from floor to the high vaulted ceiling were filled with ancient tomes and great leather-bound volumes teeming with knowledge about arcane magic.

“Try not to spark, or you’ll set something on fire,” Draco teased, watching her stand there, wide-eyed and overwhelmed, unsure what to do first—her closest impulse being to squeal and shriek with joy like a child in a theme park.

“I could pretend to be your fiancée for the rest of my life if you let me stay here,” she blurted out before she could fully think through her words. But she didn’t have time to worry about it, because her attention had been caught by a cathedral-like stand placed nearly in the centre of the room, with a massive book spread open atop it.

She approached slowly, not even glancing back at Malfoy.

To her astonishment, the pages were blank—yet next to the book stood an elegant inkwell with an eagle-feather quill already dipped and ready.

“What is this?” she asked, lifting her head to look at Draco, who was standing calmly, arms crossed.

“Index.”

“Index? Care to explain that a little more clearly?” she asked, trying not to sound too impatient.

“You write down what you're looking for, and a special spell tells you exactly which shelf to find the books that contain that entry.” 

“Seriously? That sounds amazing!” Hermione’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

“I’ll show you,” he offered, stepping beside her.

Draco picked up the quill and wrote into the book:

Hermione Granger

The words disappeared moments later, and she couldn’t help but admit to herself that his handwriting was truly beautiful—so unlike Ron’s or Harry’s messy scrawls.

Suddenly, the open pages shimmered with a soft glow, and then words began to appear:

Hermione J. Granger – entry in: Hogwarts: A History, 1997 edition, author: Bartholomme Vector. Section: History of Magical Education. Shelf XXI. Compartment C. Row 5.

Hermione J. Granger – entry in: Bulletin of Individuals Awarded the "Special Award for Services to the School." Hogwarts, 1992. Section: Journalism of the Last Decade. Upper Floor – Shelf LXX. Compartment Y. Row 3.

Hermione J. Granger – Daily Prophet followed by a long list of dates in which she had been mentioned, along with the note that they could be found in the press catalogue, somewhere at the very back of the library.

“That’s truly unbelievable,” she said with genuine admiration.

“A special team of archivists worked on it for three years,” Draco said with a faint smile, setting the quill back in the inkwell. “Of course, some books can be summoned with an Accio spell, but not all respond to it—hence the need for cataloguing and assigning fixed locations on the shelves.”

“That must have cost a fortune,” she mused aloud.

Malfoy only shrugged slightly in response.

“Hello, my darlings!” called Zabini from the doorway, practically bouncing into the library.
“What are you doing here? It’s Saturday,” Draco greeted him rather coolly.

“I missed you two! And obviously, I wanted to seize the chance to steal a kiss from our Gryffindor princess!” Blaise strode over to Hermione and planted a loud kiss on her cheek.

This time, she didn’t even blush. Zabini had made it his standard greeting by now.

“Hi. Let me guess… someone let slip there’s a cake tasting today?” Hermione smiled at him, glancing out of the corner of her eye at the large clock mounted high on the wall above the library to check how much time they had left.

“Well… my mother might’ve mentioned it, and Tracey may have confirmed it,” he admitted, almost shameless.

“I knew you weren’t here out of longing,” she laughed.

“She knows me better than you do, Dragon!” Zabini jabbed Draco in the ribs with deliberate rudeness.

"If this was a whiskey tasting, then I would definitely guess what you're doing here," The blond pushed his friend away from him forcefully, with mock disgust, dusting off his black T-shirt, which perfectly fit his well-developed muscles - something Hermione tried absolutely not to think about even for a moment.

“A good whiskey to wash down all these sweets will definitely come in handy too..”

“Unfortunately, from what I hear, there’ll only be water for palate cleansing,” Hermione added mischievously.

Blaise sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes in exaggerated despair.

“Oh well! Maybe we can find some stronger drinks for your faithful best man later?”

“Or maybe a gut-shrivelling elixir,” Draco replied with a wicked grin.

“You’re always so charming, darling!” Blaise suddenly pinched Malfoy’s cheek between two fingers like an annoying uncle doting on his favourite nephew.

"Fuck off or I'll hit you!" Draco growled, quickly leaning back out of Zabini's reach.

"Your mother would have hippogriff rage if she heard you speak so vulgarly!" Blaise smacked his lips reproachfully.

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. She had always been convinced that Slytherins were so fake that there were no real, friendly relations between them. Now she had to seriously revise her opinion. Draco and Blaise truly were good mates. Maybe even better and closer than Harry and Ron.

“We should go if we don’t want to be late for the tasting,” Hermione said, disappointed that she had to leave the library so soon. Still, she consoled herself with the thought that she’d surely have another chance to return.

“I’m heading off before Tracey devours all the chocolate cake!” Blaise clapped Draco on the shoulder and sprinted for the door.

“Idiot,” Draco sighed, politely waiting for Hermione to join him.

“He’s a great friend,” she said truthfully.

“My only one,” he replied quietly.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as they walked toward the exit, wondering once again if Malfoy would ever be willing to accept her friendship if, by some chance, she were to offer it to him?

 💍💍💍

"Tracey... Please! This is downright indecent!" Zabini complained as Davis moaned a little too loudly over another piece of cake.

"Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it. Rumour has it loud moans really do it for you," Tracey winked at him and promptly stuffed another bite of lemon tart into her mouth.

"Everyone in Slytherin used to talk about it. That’s because Zabini never learnt how to cast a Silencing Charm on his bed," Draco mocked, finishing his own slice and moving on to the next cake.

Narcissa had ordered them to choose a suitable cake for the upcoming event, resulting in the best magical patisserie sending over a sampler of twenty-five mini cakes in different flavours and styles. So far, all of them were delicious.

"I'm afraid I'm going to die of diabetes here," Hermione sighed, reaching for a glass of water.

"What's diabetes?" Tracey asked.

"It's a muggle disease, it would take too long to explain it to you," she admitted, completely forgetting that she shouldn't use too many muggle names in front of them.

"Just think what your parents would say if they saw how much sugar you’re eating today," Blaise chuckled. "Draco told me they’re something like tooth-healers in the Muggle world, right? And sugar is supposed to be terrible for teeth, isn’t it?"

Hermione looked at Zabini, then turned her eyes to Malfoy. It was true that in first year she’d told everyone her parents were dentists. She never imagined someone from a wizarding family would bother to look into what that actually meant.

"That was incredibly tactless of you, Blaise!" Tracey hissed sharply. "Words like that shouldn’t be spoken, especially in light of the recent revelations about Hermione’s real parents..."

"I’m so sorry!" Zabini cried, clearly genuinely alarmed.

"It’s fine," she replied, trying not to look at anyone as she sliced into a beautiful white chocolate cake topped with raspberry glaze.

"This one looks good, but I don’t think I have the strength to eat it," Draco said, pointedly placing a hand on his stomach.

Hermione used a silver fork to separate a small piece and brought it to her mouth. The heavenly taste hit her palate at once, sending her into near-euphoria. She suddenly understood why Tracey couldn’t help but moan when something tasted this good.

"It’s divine! I’ve never eaten anything better," she declared earnestly.

"I’m not risking a whole slice until I know it’s worth it," Draco said, and without asking, reached over with his fork and stole a bite off her plate before she could stop him.

Hermione was about to scold him for it at first – just as she often scolded Ron, who also always stole her food without asking, but then it dawned on her what had actually happened. Draco Malfoy didn’t seem remotely disgusted to share a plate with her. In what twisted world did this situation really take place?

"Ummm..." Now he was the one moaning. "That really is good."

"Then I want to try too!" To Hermione’s dismay, Blaise appeared beside her, fork in hand, and shamelessly helped himself to her cake.

"Hey!" she cried, outraged. "Get your own! Don’t scavenge from my plate like a couple of hyenas!"

"You’ll cut yourself another slice," Draco murmured, greedily sweeping up the last crumbs of her portion.

"You could’ve sliced your own instead of committing such brazen theft right off my plate," she scolded him, though she didn’t hide the amusement in her voice.

"I’m not a house-elf to go voluntarily dishing out desserts," he said smoothly.

"Just admit you don’t even know how to hold a cake knife properly, Draco," Zabini teased.

"Honestly, Malfoy, you could’ve just asked for help," Hermione said with a smile, wondering how that would’ve sounded out loud as she reached for another piece of the best cake she’d ever tasted.

"Malfoys don't ask or say thank you... Unless they absolutely have to," Draco grinned cheekily at her and without asking, took the plate from her hand, then quickly ran away from the table so she wouldn't have time to take it back.

"Such a gentleman," she called after him, laughing. She decided not to fight for the cake and simply cut herself another slice.

"I really need something stronger to drink with this," Blaise decided, striding over to the drinks cabinet in the corner of the room.

"I'll do that too.. What’ll it be, ladies?" Draco licked the last of the cake off the plate, set it down, and joined Zabini.

"I just need the loo, but I’ll have a drink. Pour me some red wine," Tracey said as she slipped into the adjoining guest bathroom.

"Red for me too," Hermione added.

Just then, the drawing room door swung open and Esther entered. From where she stood, she didn’t seem to notice that Draco and Blaise were also in the room, so she likely assumed Hermione was alone.

"Oi, you! Some ginger wench is calling you through the Floo. You’d better hurry before someone of importance finds out that blood traitors like that can now freely call into this house because of you," she sneered, her voice dripping with disdain.

The sharp clink of a crystal glass hitting the table instantly drew her attention across the room. Hermione couldn’t help the satisfaction that rose in her chest when she saw Esther’s face turn deathly pale in a heartbeat.

"Would you care to repeat what you just said, Esther? Because I’m fairly certain I misheard you," Malfoy said, his voice colder than ice.

"I-I’m sorry, sir, but..." the woman began to tremble and stammer.

"You have one chance to apologize to my fiancée right now, and then break the news to her properly before you are thrown out of here!" Malfoy punctuated each word with a quiet growl, and Hermione herself felt an involuntary shiver at the sight of him so angry.

"My deepest apologies, Miss Dagworth-Granger. That was completely unacceptable of me," Esther choked out, eyes glued to the floor. Despite her humble posture, Hermione had no doubt the maid was seething with fury inside at having to grovel like this. "I came to inform you that your friend, Ginevra Weasley, is waiting for you by Floo in the main hall fireplace."

"I’ll go see what it’s about," Hermione said, putting her cake aside.

"Good. And you, Esther, go back to the kitchen and wait there until my mother summons you for a conversation," Draco ordered sharply.

"Master Draco, I truly am sorry! Please don’t have me dismissed!" Esther looked up at him with teary eyes, full of false contrition.

"If you ever show such blatant disrespect to my fiancée or any of her friends again, I’ll personally see to your immediate dismissal!" he promised.

Esther let out a pitiful sob, turned on her heel, and fled. Hermione decided not to comment on it. Something serious must have happened if a member of the Weasley family had dared to initiate a Floo call to the manor.. 

💍💍💍

Ginny’s head was still in the green flames, unmoving, but even from a distance Hermione could tell something was wrong. She knew that look—something was deeply troubling her friend.

“Hi, Gin. What’s going on?” she asked, kneeling by the fireplace.

“Hermione! By Godric, you look stunning!” Ginny exclaimed with genuine admiration.

Hermione instinctively reached up to adjust her curls, which had been smoothed with a special potion. Zippy had helped her choose an elegant wrap dress in a rich coffee brown for the day, and Narcissa had sent her a pair of beautiful pearl earrings to wear with a matching necklace. There was no doubt the whole ensemble, along with her makeup, matched the kind of polished pure-blood girls she’d only ever seen in Witch Weekly .

“Thank you. Did something happen? You look worried…” Hermione bit her lip with concern.

“No… I… I’m sorry for calling. I just wanted to see you and make sure you’re alright. Just… make sure everything’s okay.” Despite her words, Ginny’s eyes shimmered with tears.

“I’m fine. How are you all doing…?” Hermione asked, feeling a tight knot form in her throat.

“The boys are on a mission and can’t be reached, but it’s apparently nothing dangerous.”

“I hope not. You must be worried about them?”

“Terribly, but it’s not just that… Oh, Hermione!” Ginny broke into sobs.

“Merlin, Ginny! Tell me what’s happened” Hermione’s hands trembled with dread.

“It’s Victoire...”

“Bill and Fleur’s daughter?” Hermione blinked in surprise. “How old is she now?”

“Two months. She’s in St. Mungo’s with Fleur. Turns out she’s very ill.” Tears were flowing freely down Ginny’s cheeks.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” Hermione felt her eyes sting.

“The Healers say she might not survive the next two weeks.”

“What? That’s awful! What’s wrong with her?” Hermione asked, stricken.

“It's some kind of blood flaw. There's some hope that a special elixir will help her.”

“I take it it’s hard to get hold of?” Hermione could feel tears rolling down her own cheeks now.

“Yes... It’s unbelievably expensive. We’ve gathered everything we have, but it’s still not enough. George is trying to sell the shop, but there’s not enough time. Bill’s negotiating a loan with the Goblins, but we still don’t know if it’ll come through.” Ginny continued sobbing helplessly.

“How much are you short?” Hermione asked, her mind already racing through her finances. There wasn’t much left after last year’s Horcrux hunt, but she’d give up her last Knut if it meant saving her friends’ baby girl.

“Seven thousand Galleons,” Ginny said, squeezing her eyes shut, as if merely thinking about the sum filled her with despair.

“Oh, Merlin…” Hermione breathed. She didn’t have that kind of money, and no realistic way to get it quickly.

“I’m sorry for calling and burdening you with all this, when you’ve got your own problems. But I didn’t know who else to turn to. Mum’s always crying, Dad shuts himself away in that shed of his. The boys are gone, and I…”

“Stop it. I’m glad you told me. I’ll try to figure something out, Ginny. I promise. And ask Kingsley to leave you a way to contact me.”

Hermione hoped Shacklebolt would understand that he should pass along the second enchanted notebook, so Ginny could contact her in a safer way than Floo.

“If Ha… if he were here, he’d help us for sure. But we can’t pull him away from his mission right now…” Ginny whispered painfully.

Hermione didn’t mention to her that even if her fiancé weren’t on assignment, a visit to Gringotts would likely be impossible for him. It was far too dangerous.

“It’s going to be alright, Ginny,” Hermione assured her, quietly praying her words weren’t just empty comfort.

Suddenly, she heard a strange rustle somewhere deeper in the hall and had the unmistakable feeling that she wasn’t alone anymore. Was someone listening in on her conversation? That could be dangerous. There were still Death Eaters who might be hiding in this very house, looking for any signs of her connections to Harry and the others. How could she have been so careless?

“I have to go. I’ll contact you soon,” she promised.

“Thank you, Herm… Take care of yourself. I love you,” Ginny said, wiping her tears and waving.

“I love you too. Please don’t cry. We’ll find a way. We always do…” Hermione whispered, forcing herself to smile.

“Who else if not you?” Ginny gave a faint smile. “See you.”

“Bye.”

Hermione watched her friend’s face disappear in a flash of green flame, and the fire went out. She felt dazed and weighed down by the news. She didn’t have the money needed for the potion. Apart from the rest of her savings, the only real property she had was her parents' house. But she couldn't sell it now... She still firmly believed that they would come back to it someday. And anyway, she wouldn't be able to arrange it soon enough.

She stood up from her knees and bit her lip as she walked past a beautiful, precious vase in the hallway. The Malfoys had millions of Galleons in their vault, and Draco had said that it was only a fraction of everything... Surely borrowing seven thousand Galleons from them wouldn't be a problem for them. But Hermione had no idea how to ask them for it. She'd only been here a few days. These people had already spent a bag of gold on her, considering the clothes they'd bought her and how much money they'd put into throwing a fake engagement party. 

It was so unfair that some lived in such luxury while others couldn't afford to save their little daughter's life.

Hermione closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. She had to try… even if it meant being humiliated when the Malfoys refused her loan intended for the Weasleys.

She was walking so deep in thought that she didn't notice when she suddenly bumped into someone.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” she gasped.

“It’s quite alright, Miss Dagworth-Granger,” Joachim Travers replied with a smile.

"I was too lost in thought," she tried to explain her awkwardness to him.

“I heard you were speaking to someone by Floo. Bad news?” he asked, eyeing her carefully.

“Oh, no, everything’s fine,” she lied, meeting his gaze and wondering just how much he’d overheard.

“If there’s anything I could do to help…?”

“Thank you, but no,” she said quickly, forcing a polite smile and slipping past him.

As she returned to the drawing room, she could only hope that the three Slytherins she’d left there had saved her a piece of that heavenly cake. She desperately needed something to sweeten her soul.

💍💍💍

6 December 1998

Hermione was disappointed in herself. She despised her own cowardice and the fact that she still hadn’t managed to bring herself to speak to either Draco or Narcissa about a possible loan. Time was slipping away, and little Victoire was likely suffering, yet she continued to wait for the right moment to broach the subject.

When she returned to the drawing room yesterday, Draco, Tracey, and Zabini had been in high spirits after their first drink. They’d merely asked if everything was alright, and she had nodded. Then Malfoy had asked whether they’d chosen the cake she’d liked so much—and again, she had only nodded.

During dinner, they’d been joined by Graham Montague’s family, which meant Daphne had also been present. Hermione had decided it wasn’t the right time and that it would be more comfortable to talk to Draco privately the next morning. She had, however, forgotten that it was Sunday, their rest day from training. For a moment she even considered going and knocking on his door, but she still couldn't muster the courage.

She’d had lunch that day with Narcissa, Tracey, Tracey’s mother, and Alma. It had been a polite gathering, and Hermione hadn’t felt too uncomfortable in their company—but still, she couldn’t bring herself to raise the topic of money. She needed a private conversation to even consider such a thing and explain what it was really about.

After lunch, Narcissa had invited her and the other ladies into one of the parlours, where velvet-lined displays awaited them, filled with breathtaking jewellery, which Mrs. Malfoy thought would go perfectly with the outfits designed for Hermione's engagement party. Narcissa insisted that they choose each set of trinkets together.

Hermione walked between the tables, looking at the diamonds, sapphires, rubies and emeralds, thinking to herself that each of these valuables could probably pay for the treatment of Ron and Ginny's little niece.

She glanced furtively at the diamond bracelet still on her hand, which Narcissa had sent her back at Hogwarts. In the letter she had written to her that it had been a gift, and Draco had mentioned that it was the Malfoy family jewel. It was also known that the bracelet had a loyalty curse on it. It was probably worth seven thousand Galleons... If it really was hers, could she sell it without any problems and give the money to the Weasleys to cover the little one's medical expenses? She didn't even want to think about what the Malfoys would say in such a case.

“You’re looking at your wrist and wondering what Aurora Malfoy’s bracelet would look like on it?” Narcissa asked with a smile, and Hermione only then realised she was standing before a velvet pad holding a heavy gold bracelet studded with diamonds.

“It’s beautiful,” she said earnestly, quickly hiding her hand behind her back. Clearly, this wasn’t the right moment to bring up her problem either.

“Oh yes! Aurora was the only Ravenclaw in the family, wasn’t she?” Alma chimed in, approaching them.

“Yes, but don’t mention that around Lucius. He still insists every Malfoy was always in Slytherin and refuses to acknowledge that his aunt was once Ravenclaw’s pride,” Narcissa laughed.

“Classic Lucius,” Alma said, rolling her eyes pointedly.

“Would you like to try it on, darling?” Narcissa asked kindly. “It doesn’t go with any of the gowns for the party, but it might be perfect for another occasion?”

“Thank you, but no. Honestly, I’ve got a bit of a headache...” Hermione forced a pained smile. She just wanted to escape to her room.

“Then go and rest before dinner. The Flints are coming by this evening,” Narcissa offered her a small smile and gently stroked her arm.

“Thank you. Have a lovely afternoon, ladies,” Hermione said with a polite wave, before gratefully slipping out of the room.

She couldn't stop thinking about the Weasley family's bad situation and knew that going to bed would only make her headache and internal breakdown worse, so she decided to summon her cloak and walk around the garden for a bit. She'd only really seen it in passing when she and Draco ran towards the lake in the morning. A longer walk would definitely do her some good.

💍💍💍

The Malfoy gardens were beautiful, even though it was practically winter. Hermione assumed many of the plants must be under the influence of warming charms that allowed them to bloom all year round. She thought, with a small smile, how fascinated Neville would be by all the things he could discover here.

She walked around for over an hour, but eventually decided it was best to return to her room so she could have enough time to write to Ginny in her journal and prepare for another elegant dinner with another pretentious pure-blood family.

Her mood couldn't improve after she had concluded from a short conversation with Ginny that little Victoire's condition wasn't getting any better.. She decided that despite everything, today, right after dinner, she would ask Malfoy for a talk and explain to him… She would offer her parents' house as collateral, or she would say that she would give him the money back as soon as she got a job in the future. All the Weasleys could pay back the loan together in advance in fixed installments, or if George sold the shop... Something had to work. Draco was usually cold and distant, but during her time in this house, she had discovered that these were not his only traits. Maybe, if she asked him—truly asked—he’d help her?

She was just starting to assess the outfit Zippy had prepared for the evening when she heard a knock at her chamber door.

She had to admit she was genuinely surprised. Why would Draco come by an hour and a half before dinner?

She opened the door—and froze at the sight before her.

Joachim Travers stood there, accompanied by Alma, Narcissa, and Esther.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, sincerely alarmed.

“Apologies for disturbing you, my dear, but a slight problem has arisen…” Narcissa offered her a smile that was clearly forced.

“What kind of problem?” Hermione asked, a cold shiver crawling down her spine. 

“One of Lady Malfoy’s priceless bracelets has gone missing,” Travers explained. “Fortunately, it is enchanted with a location spell.”

“I don’t quite understand,” Hermione admitted, involuntarily shivering again.

“The charm indicates the bracelet is hidden somewhere in your room,” Joachim said, his voice calm—but Hermione couldn’t miss the gleam of something far more sinister flickering behind his eyes.

And in that moment, she knew—whatever happened in the next few minutes, it wouldn’t be good.

Chapter Text

She looked Narcissa straight in the eye. Lady Malfoy appeared quite uneasy and uncertain. What else could she feel, after all, when in front of her staff and closest friend, suspicion had fallen on her son’s fiancée—accusing her of being nothing more than a common thief?

“I’ve spent the past hour walking through the gardens. I haven’t been in my room at all,” Hermione explained quickly.

“We don’t know exactly when the bracelet went missing,” Alma interjected softly, also eyeing Hermione with a strange distance.

"I have no idea what could have happened, but I assure you I didn't take anything." Hermione felt herself starting to tremble with anxiety. Did Alma and Narcissa really believe she had stolen something? They had already met her. They shouldn't have allowed themselves to think such thoughts.

“The location charm clearly indicates the bracelet is hidden somewhere in this room,” said Joachim, watching her with smug superiority. “Not everyone is aware that the aristocracy often places protective spells on their possessions—especially if they weren’t raised in such families.”

“Are you suggesting I simply stole it not knowing it was enchanted?” Hermione asked him coldly.

“I guess we already know for sure that it was the young lady who did it, since the spell indicates that the bracelet is here?” Esther said contemptuously

"What's going on here?" came the question from the door that was still open, and Draco entered the room.

“It’s nothing, darling, just a minor misunderstanding…” Narcissa said quickly.

“Your aunt Aurora’s bracelet is gone, and your fiancée was the last one to see it,” Travers explained to him. “And now the locator spell says it’s hidden somewhere in her room.”

Draco looked at Hermione after hearing this revelation. However, she couldn't read anything on his face. She really didn't want him to believe these vile accusations either.

"I swear I didn't steal anything!" she cried, close to tears.

“Let’s check, then,” Joachim waved his wand, and after a moment Hermione's school trunk flew out of her wardrobe. Travers put it on the bed and opened it. Almost immediately, a bracelet made of sapphires, diamonds and yellow topaz was in his hand, which he held up triumphantly.

Hermione noticed Alma squeezing Narcissa's arm in a comforting gesture. She clearly felt sorry for her that her future daughter-in-law had committed such a heinous act as theft.

“I have no idea how it got there, but I swear I didn’t put it there! Why would I even need that bracelet? I already wear expensive jewellery every day. I had no reason to steal it!” Hermione felt tears involuntarily start to flow down her warm cheeks.

“I heard your conversation yesterday with your friend. You likely planned to send them the bracelet so they could sell it.” Joachim looked at Hermione accusingly, forgetting to even address her with the appropriate form of politeness.

“Let’s not make this into an issue,” Narcissa whispered painfully. “The bracelet would’ve been gifted to Hermione anyway as part of the engagement set. Let’s all walk away from this and never speak of it again.”

“I’m not a thief! I’ve never stolen anything in my life!” Hermione cried, turning to Draco. He felt like her last hope. But his expression was still unmoved—like a statue carved from marble.

“I think we ought to inform Lord Malfoy Senior about all this,” Joachim said. “It can’t simply be brushed aside. This is a serious matter.”

“Draco! You have to believe me! I didn’t steal your mother’s bracelet—I swear on my wand!” Hermione cried in panic, feeling the force of these people's accusations literally starting to crush her into the ground.

Malfoy barely twitched, then looked her straight in the eye. She looked at him with determination, ready to even let him search her memories from the last hour using Legilimency. She had to find some way to prove her innocence to them.

The blond nodded slightly to her, then took out his wand. Hermione was sure that he would cast the appropriate spell on her right away, but he suddenly turned and aimed at Esther.

“What do you know about this bracelet ending up in Hermione’s room?” he asked.

The maid’s eyes went glazed, her posture weirdly stiff.

“I put it there,” she answered in a lifeless tone.

Narcissa and Alma both gasped audibly, exchanging a shocked look..

“Lord Malfoy! You cannot  just use the Imperius Curse on the staff!” Joachim exclaimed, clearly horrified by the unexpected turn of events.
“Shut up, Travers,” Draco hissed. “In my house, I can do whatever I please. Continue,” he commanded. “How did the bracelet get here?”

“I took it when Lady Malfoy had her back turned and was talking to her friends about the ruby set. I’d seen the stupid Mudblood admiring it earlier and thought Lady Malfoy would believe she’d stolen it. She’s just a filthy girl raised by Muggles—everyone knows all Muggles are thieves. I entered her room when she was in the garden and hid the bracelet in her trunk in the closet.”

“Why did you do this?” Narcissa whispered.

“So Lord Draco would break off the engagement and throw her out. I wanted that stupid cow gone. I hate her. She’s not worthy of being his fiancee.”

“That’s enough. Now we know everything and we can—” Joachim began again.

“Did anyone help you?” Draco interrupted, ignoring the man’s agitation entirely.

“Mr Travers told me the Mudblood desperately needed money, and this would be a good way to ruin her. He said everyone would believe she took it. He told me to watch what she liked and plant it in her chamber. He promised me she’d be gone before the day was out.”

“The whore is lying! I never said that!” Joachim shouted, clearly panicked.

Draco flicked his wand. Esther crumpled to the ground, unconscious and limp like a ragdoll.

“Can you take her away?” he asked his mother and Alma.

“Of course. I’ll move her to her room and have the elves pack her things. She’ll be gone by nightfall,” Narcissa said quickly, moving to Hermione, who was still shaking.

“What a conniving little bitch. And we believed her when she said the bracelet disappeared as Hermione left the room…” Alma muttered in disbelief.

“I'm so sorry about this, Hermione. This situation absolutely should not have happened in my house.” Narcissa reached out her hand, wanting to touch her arm, but she quickly pulled away, folding her arms across her chest and turning her head to the side quite ostentatiously.

She couldn't help but feel really upset that Lady Malfoy had accused her of theft so quickly. It hurt.

“I truly am sorry…” Narcissa’s eyes were glassy with tears.

“Deal with the maid, Mum,” Draco asked shortly.

Narcissa nodded briefly, then she and Alma immediately dragged the still unconscious Esther out of the room with a spell. Joachim seemed to want to leave quickly with them, but before he could, Malfoy violently slammed the door right in his face.

"What were you trying to achieve with that, Travers?" he asked coldly, pointing his wand at the man.

“Nothing, really!” the Death Eater cried in panic. “I just wanted to help your mother get her bracelet back! I swear I meant no harm!” Travers waved the jewel he was still holding in his hand.

Draco barely moved his wand, and Joachim's vision suddenly became as blurred as Esther's earlier.

“What did your plan entail?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“I hoped that once you thought she was a thief, you’d end the engagement and send her away. Rowle was meant to convince her uncle to give her to him. She was to go straight from here into his hands.”

Hermione shuddered at the thought that Rowle clearly still didn't give up on the idea of ​​trying to enslave her. She couldn't kid herself that she wasn't terrified of this twisted psychopath.

“You’ll go back to Rowle and tell him that if he so much as thinks about trying to take my fiancée away from me again, I’ll make sure the Dark Lord hears of it. Then you’ll go to my father and request a transfer. You’ll never set foot in this house again so long as Hermione is here—understood?”

“As you command, Lord Malfoy” Travers mumbled. 

“Get out.” Draco snatched the bracelet from his hand and flung open the door. Joachim blinked, recovered, and stumbled out. Draco slammed the door behind him.

An unwanted sob escaped Hermione’s lips. She could hardly believe what had just happened. How much did these people have to hate her to try something like this? It was a nightmare.
Draco snapped his fingers, and an elegant, white handkerchief immediately appeared in his hand, which he handed to her. She nodded her thanks and quickly wiped away the tears that stubbornly refused to stop flowing.

"No one would really believe you were a thief. It would have come out anyway..." he assured her quietly.

“Apparently your mother believed it,” Hermione plopped down on the sofa near her bookcase, wondering what else could go wrong before this whole arrangement was over.

“I don’t think she really did. I think she was just shocked. I'm sure she's very sorry that it all happened at all.”

Hermione scoffed. As if she should be worrying about Narcissa Malfoy’s feelings.

“When I asked yesterday, you said you were fine, even though it was obvious you were crying earlier. Did something happen? Something wrong with Potter or... Weasley?” he asked cautiously.

“No. It wasn’t about them,” she admitted, nervously biting her lip.

“How many times do I have to tell you that’s a bad habit, Granger?” he said, voice oddly hoarse.

Hermione quickly stopped biting her lip and sighed quietly. She felt very tired and discouraged after all this.

“Will you tell me what Travers meant when he said that your friends needed money?”

“Bill Weasley’s daughter is very ill. She’s only two months old…”

“Her mother is Fleur Delacour?”

“Yes. Her name is Victoire.”

“What’s wrong with her?” he asked further.

“She has some kind of rare blood condition. The treatment’s incredibly expensive, and her parents are struggling to cover it.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked, watching her closely.

“Because you hate the Weasleys…” she whispered.

“Only one of them,” he replied easily, and she knew he meant Ron. “The rest—I feel indifferent about.”

“They’re like family to me,” she admitted, feeling another wave of tears coming..

“I know that.” He turned to the door. “I’ll tell mum to cancel tonight’s dinner. You should rest.”

“There’s no need, I’ll manage,” she said, standing and smoothing her dress. She had to pull herself together.

“None of us like the Flint family much. Your poor health will be the perfect excuse not to see them.” He gave her a small smile.

“So be it… I'd love to take a nap,” she admitted. Hermione squeezed his handkerchief in her hand, deciding she couldn't give it to him when it was wet with tears.

“The elves will bring dinner to your room. I’ll see you at training tomorrow,” he said.

“Alright. Thanks… and thank you for believing me about the bracelet.” Hermione finally met his gaze.

“No one who knows you even a little would believe you would do something like that..”

“Well… thank you again.” She gave him a faint smile.

Draco nodded at her, then left her room. It wasn't until he closed the door behind him that Hermione bit her lip again. She had a perfect opportunity to ask him for a loan, but she didn't. At least he knew the situation now. She decided that tomorrow at training she would finally talk to him about it. She had to find the courage.

💍💍💍

Along with dinner, Zippy brought her a note of apology and a pledge of eternal friendship from Alma Neviani, along with a bouquet of flowers from Narcissa’s greenhouse with the words: "I'm sorry", written in Lady Malfoy's beautiful handwriting.

Hermione told Zippy to take the flowers away. She didn’t want to look at them. She didn't need such gestures at all.

She was naive to think that Narcissa sincerely liked her and that she trusted her enough to somehow get through this whole strange arrangement that connected her with her son. Apparently, it was all just an appearance. She shouldn't have been particularly surprised. The Malfoys were famous for creating appearances.

She had just finished eating dessert - a delicious apple pie with vanilla sauce, when the two-way journal lying on her desk glowed blue. She quickly swallowed the last bite and went over to read another message from Ginny. She only hoped that it wouldn't be anything bad..

Hermione! Dearest, beloved, perfect Hermione! You are the best thing that has ever happened to our family! Thank you, thank you, thank you a hundred times for what you have done for us! Bill and Fleur are crying with joy and offering you the assurance that they owe you a lifetime debt for saving their daughter. You are wonderful! We all love you and I don't think we will ever be able to repay you enough!

Hermione blinked a few times, not really understanding what was going on. Why and for what was Ginny thanking her? From the context it seemed that it was about Victoire, but...

Ginny, can you tell me exactly what you are thanking me for?  she scribbled quickly.

So it wasn't you who sent us an owl with a check to Gringotts? We thought you did it yourself, because it said "For Victoire from Aunt Hermione". It was Draco Malfoy who signed it. We assumed that he either gave or lent you the money for the little one's treatment.

Hermione took a shallow breath. Did this really happen? Did Draco send the Weasleys the right amount of galleons without asking or talking to her about it? Her mind was in chaos and she didn't know what exactly she was feeling right now.

Is the amount on the check enough? she quickly wrote the question, because she didn't even remember saying how much they needed in front of him.

The cheque is for ten thousand Galleons, but Bill says we’ll only take exactly what we lacked. We’re so grateful to you! And to Malfoy, of course, though we know it must have been you who convinced him somehow. Please tell him, if you can, that my whole family is now in his debt. Mum and Dad are planning to send him a thank-you letter, and of course, they’ll thank you both in person at the engagement party. It’s incredible! I can’t stop crying. Thank you both so much!

Hermione closed the journal and hugged it to her chest.Naprawdę nie wiedziała, co ma o tym wszystkim myśleć. She really didn't know what to think about all this. Of course, she was very happy that Draco had done it. It was a really nice gesture on his part, and she owed him eternal gratitude for it. She should also tell him that she would return the entire amount as soon as she had the chance.

She seriously considered going to his room and knocking. However, she didn't really know how to compose the words she wanted to use. She wasn't used to the version of Malfoy she was now getting to know. He was so diametrically opposed to the git he had been at school... It seemed almost impossible for him to have changed so much. The only explanation was that one of his attitudes was just a mask - another pretense - a practiced role. The only question was which one?

When Zippy arrived to clear the dinner table, Hermione still didn’t know what she ought to do. Should she go thank him now? Or wait until morning?

“Miss…” the elf’s voice trembled strangely.
“Yes, Zippy?” Hermione snapped out of her thoughts and turned to look at her.

“Lady Malfoy saw that Zippy brought the flowers back, and she was very upset. Also, Master Draco and Lord Lucius were summoned again. Now she is sitting in the parlour… crying quietly. Zippy feels very sorry for her.”

“They were summoned? When?” Hermione shot up from her seat, fear tightening in her chest.

“About two hours ago. They didn’t even eat dinner.”

“Bloody hell!” she muttered under her breath, then headed straight for the door.

She might still be angry with Narcissa—still hurt by the accusation of theft—but the thought of her sitting alone downstairs, waiting for her husband and son, crying her eyes out, wouldn't let Hermione fall asleep peacefully.

💍💍💍

For the first time since arriving at the manor, Hermione saw Malfoy’s mother dressed in something other than elegant witch’s robes. Narcissa wore light silk trousers and a matching long tunic — far more relaxed than usual, though still elegant.

She sat curled up on the sofa in her favourite parlour, clutching a cushion tightly in her arms. From the moment Hermione stepped into the room, she could see her quietly weeping into a white handkerchief.

“What’s going on?” Hermione asked, walking over and sitting beside her.

“Oh, Hermione!” Narcissa broke into heavier sobs at the sight of her. “I’m so sorry about the incident earlier!”

"Let's not talk about it anymore. The most important thing is that the situation is resolved." Hermione managed a faint smile, then gently squeezed the woman's hand.

"I apologize for my condition, but I'm very worried."

“Zippy said they were summoned again...” Hermione whispered, not bothering to hide her concern.

“Yes, but that’s not the worst part. The worst is that they were summoned because… Dolohov has returned from his mission… and he and Lucius truly loathe each other. I’m so afraid for them…” Narcissa continued dabbing at her eyes.

“Everything will be alright,” Hermione said, squeezing her hand more firmly.

“I’m glad you’re here. I usually sit alone, going out of my mind.”

“That’s understandable…”

“You’re truly an exceptional person. Not many would offer comfort to someone who treated them as poorly as I did you today,” she rasped.

“It was just a misunderstanding,” Hermione smiled gently at the woman again.

“Draco was furious with me over it,” Narcissa let out a rather inelegant hiccup . “Rightly so, of course. I hate disappointing him again… It’s happened far too often in recent years.”

Hermione didn't know what to say to that. She had no idea that the blond was upset with his mother because of the whole thing. She was just considering what she should say to Narcissa when suddenly green flames flared in the fireplace.

It was immediately obvious that something had happened. Lucius Malfoy was deathly pale, and Draco had his father's arm thrown over his shoulders, clearly  holding him up so that he wouldn't fall.

“Oh, Merlin! What happened?!” Narcissa sprang up, flinging the cushion aside and rushing to her husband.

“He’s got a broken arm and leg,” Draco explained, guiding his father to the sofa and helping him lie down.

“Piny!” Narcissa called, and the house-elf appeared instantly. “Bring me a pain potion and scall Matilda! We have to get a healer quickly...”

“No,” Lucius groaned faintly. “Dolohov doesn’t know he hurt me, we can’t…” he whispered weakly.

“We can’t treat this on our own, Father,” Draco said, stripping off his outer robe and raking a hand through his hair.

“How do you know it’s only fractures?” Hermione asked, stepping closer.

“He was thrown against a wall and I heard the crack of the bones,” Draco answered shortly.

“I can cast a diagnostic charm, if Mr Malfoy agrees,” Hermione offered.

“You really can?” Narcissa looked at her with hopeful eyes.

Hermione nodded and quickly pulled out her wand. She had learned advanced medical magic before the Horcrux hunt, knowing they might need it in the field.

The diagnostic spell clearly showed a crushed wrist, a fractured ulna, and a small hairline break in the femur.

“They’re fractures. Not life-threatening, but a pain potion alone won’t be enough,” Hermione exhaled in relief that it wasn’t more serious.

“That means we need a medical wizard. The bones must be reset quickly,” Narcissa pursed her lips and looked at her husband with determination.

“You must understand that if anyone finds out, it’ll only make things worse. We’ll call someone in two or three days. I’ll manage…” Lucius’s face was tense.

“I… I could try to heal it,” Hermione said hesitantly.

“Seriously, Granger? You know how?” Draco asked, eyes locked on hers.

“I doubt I’ll make it worse, so I can try…” she glanced at Lucius.

“Do it, Miss Granger. I trust you don’t mean me harm,” Lucius said with conviction.

Hermione stepped closer.

“It’d be better if you uncovered your arm,” she told him.

Lucius nodded in response and together with Narcissa, helped her remove the cloak and the top layer of his robe.

"This may hurt for a moment," Hermione warned him, then cast the first spell without hesitation. Lucius hissed quietly and squeezed his eyes shut, but after a moment he let out a short breath of relief. Hermione ran diagnostics and it turned out that the arm was already properly repaired.

"The femur will heal with the spell, but you should rest a lot and not put any weight on the leg."

"I can't take time off, our companies shouldn't be left unattended," Lucius complained.

"I'll take care of it if you promise to get some proper rest," Draco offered.

Hermione watched the hard expression on Malfoy Senior's face, but finally the man nodded briefly in agreement.

She managed to repair the fracture without causing Lucius excessive pain. Narcissa's worried face changed in the blink of an eye when she noticed that her husband was clearly no longer suffering.

Hermione wondered to herself whether the Malfoys had fallen in love before their wedding, or whether it had happened after their arranged marriage. Nevertheless, they were very lucky that their relationship had turned out the way it had... She glanced at Draco out of the corner of her eye. Would he also be lucky enough to meet a woman he would fall in love with and create a successful family with? He could claim that it wouldn't happen, but it wasn't out of the question. However, she was surprised that the thought of all this no longer felt indifferent to her as much as it probably should have.

“Let’s take him upstairs,” Draco said, clearly relieved his father was better.

“Almond!” Narcissa called, and Lucius’s house-elf appeared immediately.

“You called, Madam?” he bowed deeply.

"Apparate Lord Senior to our bedroom," she asked.

“As you command!” The elf stepped forward, waiting for Lucius to move.

“Thank you for your help, Miss Granger,” Lucius whispered.

“No need to thank me. I’d recommend one more dose of the pain potion and a sip of Dreamless Sleep.”

“I’ll take both. Goodnight,” he nodded at Hermione and his son, then took Almond’s hand and disappeared.

The moment they were gone, Narcissa rushed to Hermione and threw her arms around her.

“Thank you! Thank you so much! I hate seeing either of them in pain!” she cried, hugging her tightly, then wiped her tears.

“I’m glad I could help,” Hermione said, already making a mental note to inform the Order of what had happened. She doubted Kingsley would mind that she had healed Lucius.

“I truly don’t know how we could ever repay you,” Narcissa whispered, gently stroking her curls.

“There’s no need,” Hermione assured her, glancing past her shoulder at Draco. She hoped he understood that her gratitude for helping Victoire was just as great — and that she was glad to have repaid it, at least in part.

“And you’re alright, my darling son?” Narcissa finally let her go and turned to check her son.

“I’m fine, Mum. Actually, Dolohov attacked Father as we were leaving. Luckily, Goyle and Pucey were right behind us with their fathers. Antonin got the worst of it. Father acted like nothing had happened.”

“What was it this time?” Narcissa asked quietly.

“The Dark Lord complimented Father’s cunning… and our taste in women,” Draco said with a bitter twist of his mouth.

“And that filthy man said again I was just a lesser version of Andromeda?” Narcissa asked coldly.

“Yes. He also said something about my fiancée’s uncertain heritage. Father told him at least we had good taste in women, unlike him, who favoured rent boys from Knockturn Alley. The Dark Lord found it hilarious. He said it was a shame Antoine had to marry a woman when he clearly preferred men — and that it was unfortunate old Parkinson hadn’t sorted that out when drafting his stupid law.”

“And he attacked your father in front of Vol— the Dark Lord?” Hermione asked, shocked

“Of course not. He waited until we’d left the throne room. Hit him in the back. Before I could even turn round, Goyle and Pucey had already taken him down.”

“It's good that nothing more serious happened.. I’ll send them thank-you hampers,” Narcissa rubbed her temple wearily.

"You should go get some rest," Hermione squeezed her arm gently in a gesture of comfort.

"You too. I'll see you tomorrow," Narcissa smiled at them, then called Piny to help her move to the bedroom as well.

“If you like, call a house-elf. I'll take a walk,” Draco said, picking up his robe and heading for the door.

“I’ll walk too,” Hermione decided, following him.

“I should’ve guessed you’d know how to cast those spells,” he said, holding the door for her.

“I trained last year. I knew we’d have no chance of getting a Healer quickly.”

“Your constant studying paid off. Thanks for that,” Draco gave her a small, crooked smile.

"I'm the one who's grateful to you, for your help with the Weasleys. It really was amazing..."

"It's just money, Granger," he muttered grimly.

"Yes, but you had no obligation to lend it to us. Everyone is incredibly grateful."

"It was a gift, not a loan. Tell them I don't want anything in return. You just can't worry about their business now and seem unhappy."

Hermione looked at him as they climbed the stairs, trying to read his expression, to see if he was being honest about his motives. She didn’t think concern for her well-being was the only reason he’d done it.

That’s when she noticed a few small drops of blood on the collar of his white shirt. She scanned him more carefully and spotted more on his sleeve.

“You’re injured?” she asked, alarmed.

“I said I wasn’t,” he snapped, annoyed.

“Then where’s the blood from? Your father didn’t have any wounds,” Hermione grabbed his wrist and pointed at the stains.

“It’s not mine,” Draco pulled his arm free.

“Your knuckles are scraped!” she said, catching his hand again and inspecting the cuts.

“It’s nothing,” Malfoy withdrew once more, as if he couldn't stand her touch, then quickened his pace when they found themselves on their floor.

"You must have hit something or someone to get injured like that!" Hermione wasn't going to let him off the hook.

"What did you expect? These aren't cute tea parties where the Weasleys' mother feeds everyone treacle cake. There are fights and skirmishes at these meetings all the time. If you're lucky, fists get thrown. If not, you get the crucio until you pass out for a few hours “ Draco looked at her over his shoulder, pressing his lips into a thin line.

“You punched Rowle over the bracelet scheme?” she asked softly, meeting his eyes.

“Ten points to Gryffindor. Now goodnight, Granger.” Draco opened his bedroom door. Hermione paused by hers.

“You didn’t have to do that…” she said, strangely moved that he had defended her again.

“I did. Those are the rules,” Draco nodded curtly, then stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

Hermione stood there a moment longer, wondering what to make of it all. With each passing day, she realised this new version of Draco Malfoy — the one she now saw daily — was dangerously close to the kind of man any girl might want.

The only question was: how much of it was still a carefully crafted mask, and how much was real?

She couldn’t help wondering… and knew she would, until she found out.

Chapter Text

11 December 1998

Alvin was very pleasant, and Hermione had a feeling she’d be far less tense with him than she would be the following day, when she’d have to actually stand arm in arm with Umbert Dagworth-Granger, who was officially meant to give her away to her fiancé. Today, however, was just a rehearsal — as per Narcissa’s request, they had to act out a few scenes so that nothing would catch them off guard during the real event.

At first, Hermione thought Draco’s mother was joking when she brought in four dresses, which turned out not to be the final ones but, as she put it, “trial designs”. It quickly became clear, though, that Narcissa was entirely serious.

Loredana's employees took care of her make-up and hair, insisting it was just experimental before tomorrow’s final vision — even so, Hermione barely recognised herself in the mirror, stunned by how grown-up she looked in a mint-silver gown and elegant bun.

Alvin, in accordance with Narcissa’s wishes, was playing the part of her uncle, and Bernard - the estate’s conservator - was to pretend to be Lucius, who had finally returned to take care of matters in the family businesses, after almost a week of forced rest.

Draco, who had to juggle preparations for the engagement party and overseeing the family estate, had looked completely exhausted in the last few days. The evening before, he’d fallen asleep mid-conversation with the conductor while reviewing the musical arrangements for the party.

Narcissa and Tracey had thought it was adorable when his head suddenly dropped onto Hermione’s shoulder and he let out a charming snore. But when Draco came to, he scowled and apologised brusquely for his behaviour, as if the very fact he’d touched her in his sleep bothered him. Hermione had told him to go to bed, promising she’d take care of the rest of Narcissa’s demands. And she did — with a forced smile, even though the entire charade felt far too over the top. She understood the Malfoys had to present themselves in the best possible light to the magical world. What she didn’t understand was why Narcissa complained about her and Draco’s lack of enthusiasm and engagement in the whole pretence — surely she was well aware of their history. What exactly was she hoping for?

“We’re ready!” Tracey called out enthusiastically — also dressed in a trial gown, only similar in style to the one she’d wear tomorrow.

"Fantastic," Hermione muttered, adjusting her bracelet and taking a shallow breath.  She didn’t think a rehearsal would do anything to soothe her nerves tomorrow. However, she decided not to complain. It couldn't change anything anyway.

She stepped out of the room led by Alvin, who looked strangely proud of the role he’d been given. Tracey followed behind, carrying the bouquet of freesias and green roses they had chosen for all the decorations. Her newly dyed, bright red hair was pinned up high, and her gown was a shade of royal navy.

When they approached the edge of the stairs, it turned out that in addition to Narcissa, Bernard, Draco and Zabini, all the elves and Alma were also waiting for them.

"Applause!" Narcissa whispered conspiratorially, and the entire small crowd began to clap.

“Of course, tomorrow there’ll be five hundred guests standing here,” Tracey explained to Hermione.

“How many?” Hermione asked in disbelief. She’d known the guest list was outrageous, but she hadn’t expected that .

“No gossiping! You’re meant to look dignified and serious!” Narcissa directed. “Now Hermione, lower your head gently to glance at Draco for the first time. A flicker of admiration on your face. And you, Draco, lift your head and look as though you’ve been completely floored by her beauty.”

She did as she was told, trying not to groan or blush. Draco looked magnificent in his elegant robes, proud and tall. She could have actually shown her admiration for him if it weren't for Zabini standing right behind him, making faces and squinting at her. Hermione and Tracey burst out laughing in unison.

“Wrong! Again! Stop treating this like it’s all just a game!” Lady Malfoy snapped, clearly exasperated.

“I’ll take care of it,” Alma muttered, striding forward and giving her son a smack on the back of the head. “Pull yourself together, you little grindylow, or you’ll regret it!”

“Yes, Mother,” Blaise straightened up immediately, trying hard not to laugh.

Hermione tried not to laugh as well, but she could feel the stress causing her to suddenly become silly. She quickly infected Tracey with it, and then Malfoy.

It was only the second time that they managed to get down the stairs properly – because the first time they greeted each other as usual:

“Malfoy.”

“Granger.”

“I swear I’m going to strangle you both!” Narcissa growled. “Have you gone mad? What kind of engaged couple speaks to each other like that?”

“A fake one,” Draco muttered under his breath.

“Exactly,” Hermione murmured in agreement..

“Enough! Again! We’ll stay here as long as it takes, and Hermione will walk down those stairs over and over until the two of you understand how to do it!”

It took all her strength not to laugh again as Alvin pompously placed her hand into Malfoy’s with a speech about handing over the family treasure.

“Draco.”

“Hermione.”

It wasn’t all that difficult — just deeply unnatural for both of them.

At last, Malfoy gave Alvin a brief nod of thanks — Narcissa grumbled that he could’ve shown a bit more enthusiasm — and they were finally allowed to enter the ballroom, where they were meant to greet their guests the following day.

💍💍💍

Hermione stumbled slightly as she crossed the threshold and took in the completed decorations and laid tables. She had never seen a more beautiful or lavish ballroom. It was truly breathtaking.

Standing at the very centre of the room was Graham Montague, and Hermione realised he was playing the part of the Ministry official who would bind their magical betrothal, the one they were supposed to officially exchange tomorrow. She deeply regretted not hearing about this sooner—she would have not allowed it. For Graham, this had to be incredibly painful, although he smiled at them quite naturally.

"Stand opposite each other and hold hands," Narcissa quickly positioned them accordingly. "Chin up! You can't admire Draco's shoes, darling. You have to look at him."

Hermione barely stifled a groan of dissatisfaction. In all the rehearsals with Master Baryshkov, she had to use Occlumency, because she was unable to look Malfoy in the eye for long. She quickly noticed that he was doing the same. He was able to keep his mind behind strong barriers, while his behavior seemed natural. She had a bit more trouble with that.
"Dear betrothed, gathered guests," Graham began, and Hermione fought the urge to look away. She knew Narcissa was watching her face closely, so Occlumency was out of the question.

She felt Malfoy’s thumbs gently stroke the tops of her hands. A calming gesture, meant to distract her. She barely managed not to thank him aloud.

"And now you shall recite your vows," Graham instructed.

A heavy silence fell over the room, one so deep it almost felt like what they were about to do actually meant something..

"Draco, you first," his mother prompted.

"All I have to do is say it tomorrow, I don't have to do it now," he growled, glancing sideways at Narcissa.

"That’s what rehearsals are for…"

"Draco’s right. There’s no need to say it twice," Hermione said firmly to his mother. She had no intention of being her trained monkey any longer.

"Very well," Narcissa sent them a small, oddly pleased smile.

"In that case, the exchange of rings. Zabini," Graham waved at his mate.

Hermione caught the flash of amusement in Blaise’s eyes as he handed Draco a green plastic ring with a snake’s head on it..

"Very funny," Hermione grimaced at him.

"Well, you are getting engaged to a snake, aren’t you?" Blaise teased as Draco swiftly slipped the ring onto her finger.

"Don’t think I didn’t see this coming," Tracey giggled, handing Hermione a matching toy ring—this one with a lion’s head.

"I’m not wearing that!" Malfoy shuouted instantly.

"Don’t tell me you’re scared of lions," Hermione teased, holding his hand and slipping the ring onto his middle finger, since he still wore his family signet on the proper one.

"It’s hideous," Draco muttered, eyeing the childish trinket with disdain.

"Good. And now for the final part—" Hermione had the impression that Graham paled a bit. "You must…"

"We don’t have to do anything! This farce is over," Draco barked again, grabbing Hermione’s hand and pulling her toward the only long table in a sea of round ones.

"So be it," Narcissa followed close behind, chuckling in an oddly gleeful manner, and Hermione began to wonder what exactly had just upset the blond wizard.

"You’ll be seated with only us. We’re sitting in turns, so Blaise, you’re next to Hermione," Tracey directed.

"There would’ve been room for your partners as well, but from what I’ve gathered, you’re attending together?" Narcissa asked.

Blaise and Tracey only nodded in confirmation.

"As friends!" Tracey added quickly, spotting the pleased look on Alma’s face.

"As if it wasn’t already clear you don’t want to be a couple," Alma huffed, rolling her eyes. "Such wasted potential! You’d make such a well-matched and harmonious couple!"

"I didn’t think marriage was supposed to be about anything but money," Blaise snapped at his mother.

Hermione looked at Alma, half-expecting her to be offended, but to her surprise, Alma let out a pearly laugh.

"Oh darling! Not everyone gets as lucky as Narcissa—falling in love with their husband. And it’s rare to find a couple with the kind of compatibility Draco and Hermione have," she added with a friendly smile at them both. Hermione couldn’t stop herself from glancing quickly at Malfoy, who was also looking at her. They both immediately turned away. What utter nonsense.

"So if you can’t have love, you should go for money or useful connections in marriage?" Tracey asked quietly.

"Only if you can’t have friendship and understanding, like you and Blaise could. If you love someone, you forgive them a lot. If you share a close bond, you can always find a compromise—" Alma leaned in conspiratorially toward Draco and Hermione, "—which makes for fantastic make-up sex. And if none of that’s possible, then shopping is always an option. A husband just needs not to be stingy and it’ll all work out," she giggled, joined by Narcissa.

"I mean… fair enough. What do you say, Blaise?" Tracey smiled at him.

"I adore you, Try, you know that. I could walk you down the aisle tomorrow and not feel bad about it… except in those moments when you’d wish I were someone else," Blaise smiled at her, but his voice was serious.

"I know… and except for the moments when you’d wish I were someone else too," Tracey squeezed his arm gently.

"This is all your fault!" Alma suddenly smacked Draco and Hermione’s still-joined hands, wagging a finger at them.

"I’m not sure I understand" Hermione admitted.

"If you two weren’t so adorably in love, those two idiots would’ve long since settled for a convenient marriage. But now, thanks to you, Tracey and Blaise still believe in the dream of true love," Alma sighed heavily and shook her head. "I hope I didn’t offend you…" she added quickly, glancing at Graham.

"Well… good thing Daphne really likes shopping," Montague smiled, though the expression didn’t reach his sad eyes as he cast a quick look at Draco.

"I thought you said that since we have so much money, I could look for a wife I actually love," Blaise grimaced at his mother.

"You know I don’t interfere in your choices, son… but I will say, the only thing worse would be if you’d fallen for Hermione and had to fight Draco for her."

"What?" Draco looked at his friend in confusion.

"Mum found one of my letters to you," Blaise said sourly, folding his arms.

"Yes, and now I know everything. What a bloody poor choice!" Alma huffed, crossing her arms just like her son.

"I told you, I’m not going to fight anyone over anyone!" Zabini gritted through clenched teeth.

"You’d better not! And thank you, Hermione, for keeping that girl out of the party planning. It would’ve made everything more difficult!" Alma sounded irritated.

"Enough! This conversation is over!" Blaise roared in frustration.

Hermione looked to Draco in question, but he simply shook his head slightly. She understood that now was definitely not the time to ask questions, though she had plenty.

“All right. Time to change, and then the first dance. Michail should be here any minute,” Narcissa decided

“Everything should be ready by now,” Tracey urged her along.

“Sure, let’s go,” Hermione was honestly just glad to finally let go of Malfoy and walk away.

“You didn’t know about his feelings for Weasley?” Tracey asked quietly as they made their way to the room Narcissa had pointed out.

“I suspected a little,” Hermione admitted, silently thinking that Blaise really had made a poor choice. Ginny had always been hopelessly in love with Harry, and Hermione doubted that would ever change.

“Yeah, well… Seems Slytherins have a weakness for Gryffindor girls,” Tracey laughed rather bitterly.

Hermione couldn’t help but recall what Luna had told her about Slytherin auras. Tracey’s was supposedly the colour of milk chocolate… What could that possibly mean?

“Do I… Do I know the guy you have feelings for?” Hermione dared to ask.

“He’s not someone I have feelings for,” Tracey scoffed. “More like a curse that won’t let go, even though I tell myself every day that I hate him. In a way, I’m almost glad he doomed himself to that empty idiot.”

Hermione bit her lip and looked closely at Davis. They had become friends in recent days and their conversations were quite comfortable. Thanks to her, Hermione felt that it was easier for her. She took Try's hand and looked into her eyes.

“Is it Theodore Nott?”

“If you mean that prick who’s been pestering you just to irritate Draco, then yes, unfortunately, fuck yes!” Tracey burst out laughing, though tears still streamed down her cheeks.

“He… I think he’s just lost. Doesn’t know what to do with himself,” Hermione offered gently.

“Falling for a girl whose only ambition is to marry another man won’t help with that,” Tracey quickly wiped away her tears.

“Have you talked to him? You know, he once told me he’s the only bloke nobody loves.”

“He’s an idiot,” Tracey sighed. “This marriage law has screwed everything up. Alma’s right— you and Draco are the only couple who even remotely seem close, although many people still gossip about you and Ron Weasley..”

Hermione suddenly felt a shiver of embarrassment. Really, since she came to this house, she had hardly devoted much of her thoughts to Ron. She was worried, of course, that he was on a mission with Harry now, but in a completely unromantic way. She shouldn't deceive herself any longer—she no longer loved Ron as her boyfriend and she didn't want to tie her life to him for anything. She only hoped that all this wouldn't destroy their friendship when the war finally ended.

Two women entered the room—assistants employed by the designer—who spoke only Italian, which meant the girls could keep chatting while Hermione was being dressed in yet another gown—this time, a white one.

“Theodore says he loves Astoria, but it’s more of an obsession than love. It’s obvious Graham doesn’t love Daphne—and she doesn’t love him. They’re both in love with other people. Same with Pansy and Terence, though in her case, the love is entirely reserved for money—she’d drop Higgs in a heartbeat if someone richer came along.”

“Do you know who Daphne has feelings for?” Hermione asked curiously.

“I think it’s Zabini,” Tracey gave a faint smile. “She cried a lot when he told her he had no intention of marrying her.”

“And Higgs?” Hermione asked while grimacing slightly as Loredana’s assistant adjusted her hair.

“Well…” Tracey’s cheeks suddenly turned a fiery red.

“That’s why he tried to get engaged to you first?” Hermione guessed, realising how much she was actually enjoying the gossip—she was just a girl after all. 

“I do like him, I really do… And that’s why I said no. I didn’t want him to expect more when I knew I couldn’t give it.”

“That’s a very fair approach,” Hermione grabbed her hand and squeezed it gently.

“It hurts seeing him so unhappy with Pansy and it annoys me that she doesn't see it either, but there's nothing I can do about it. I can't change my feelings by force, just like Theodore won't change his.” Tracey smiled grimly under her breath.

“Who knows... After all, he's aware that Astoria is in love with Malfoy. Maybe he won't be able to stand it and leave her.”

“I only hope he stops being so unhappy,” Tracey confessed.

“I think you should tell him,” Hermione said with a small smile. “I think he’s truly searching for love.”

“I don’t want to watch him mourn the fact that I’m not Astoria. That would shatter what’s left of my already cracked heart.”

“How do you know? Maybe if you’re around and he gets to know you better, he’ll fall for you?”

“Like you fell for Draco once you got to know him?” Tracey asked hopefully.

Hermione swallowed nervously. She had no idea how to respond to that. Truthfully, she and Malfoy hadn’t discussed anything beyond agreeing that this fake relationship was working. He had never told her to echo those Prophet lies about their great love…

“Ready?” Narcissa entered the room to check on the preparations.

“Almost, just the shoes,” Tracey replied, helping Hermione swap her heels, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief at being spared from answering the question.

💍💍💍

To Hermione’s dismay, Alvin, Bernard, as well as Alma and a slightly pale Matylda were already waiting at the edge of the dancefloor, near Michail, who was in discussion with the orchestra conductor.

Draco, who was talking to Graham and Zabini at the centre of the room, didn’t look the least bit tense. Hermione envied his composure—she could feel herself trembling on the inside.

“Readye?” Baryshkov asked.

“Blaise, it’s your turn!” Narcissa called, keeping Hermione in place by the door.

Zabini gave a quick nod and hurried to her.

“The best man escorts you to your fiancé for the first dance, since your uncle—as your guardian—has to stand with us in the front row,” Cyzia explained.

“All right,” Hermione smiled as she took Blaise’s arm. He gallantly kissed her hand before placing it in the crook of his elbow and leading her to Draco.

Graham left the dance floor glumly looking over his shoulder at the blond. Hermione couldn't help but feel sorry for him. She regretted that he had been forced to watch all this twice.

“Draco, bow!” Narcissa directed as Blaise offered her hand to him with a knowing look.

The blond bowed, and she curtseyed, prompted by Narcissa’s firm hand on her shoulder showing her how.

“Greatye! Now positions!” Mikhail shouted, and she positioned herself as the choreography dictated.

When the orchestra sitting in the corner of the hall began to play the first notes, Hermione felt a shiver run through her body. It was much more powerful than when the melody was playing from the old gramophone.

Hours of rehearsal had done their job though – her body knew almost instinctively how to position itself for each subsequent step. In her head, she decided to try to persevere without Occlumency. In her life, she had survived being petrified by a basilisk, being rescued from the bottom of a lake by a half-human, half-shark, and flying on a wild, blind dragon. She could survive less than three minutes of looking into Malfoy's eyes. She had to.

The music swelled, and she felt confident—confident that every step, every turn was one step closer to the end of this performance. Malfoy was an excellent dancer—precise and fluid in his movements. She trusted him to lead her. She didn’t mind holding his hand. She didn’t mind his breath ghosting across her skin or his hand resting firmly on her back. She didn’t mind when he pulled her close into his arms—as if shielding her from the rest of the world. She didn’t mind when his eyes focused solely on her, as if she were the centre of his universe. 

She knew it was all just an act. Draco was just as good an actor as his mother, and Hermione, dancing with him, desperately wanted to feel just as convincing in her role.

The music faded as they finished the routine. Hermione reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, close enough for Draco’s lips to rest lightly against her temple. No kiss, just the press of lips to skin. No emotions.

As their breathing evened out, they were both clearly relieved it was over. Draco took her hand again, and they both bowed gracefully toward the largest part of the audience.

Hermione opened her eyes—and to her surprise, she saw Narcissa, Matylda, and Alma dabbing at their eyes with lacy handkerchiefs, and Tracey—clinging to Zabini’s arm—wiping tears with her hand. Blaise beamed at them, clapping enthusiastically alongside Alvin and Bernard. Graham stared at the floor. Crushed.

“I think that went well,” Hermione said and looked uncertainly to Malfoy.

“I suppose it did, since Michail isn’t complaining,” Draco replied, quirking up one side of his mouth as he watched the choreographer step toward the conductor with notes.

“That was beautiful !” Narcissa was still clapping as she approached them, clearly still moved.

“Praise belongs to Master Baryshkov,” Draco replied politely.

“But you are the ones who create magic together!” Alma cried, wrapping her arms around the tearful Matylda.

“I think I need a drink,” Malfoy muttered under his breath.

“Oh, gods, yes!” Hermione agreed, wondering what on earth they must have looked like from the outside to stir such emotional reactions.

💍💍💍

The rest of the rehearsal wasn't so bad. Hermione tensed up a bit when she was told that in addition to Draco, she would also have to dance with Lucius, Umberto, and Minister Robards. Then Narcissa showed them the marble pavilion in the garden where the photoshoot was to take place, and the place where they were to stand for at least two hours tomorrow, so that the guests could come and congratulate them and talk to them for a while. Hermione learned that there would also be a special speech from Lucius, in which he would welcome her to the family and present her with a gift. There was also a short performance by Draco's friends - but no one wanted to tell them any details.

At the very end, Draco and Hermione danced their second number—the one that would close the engagement party. It was more dramatic and a bit faster than the first dance. They received applause again, and Hermione barely caught her breath in Malfoy’s arms before Narcissa swept her into an embrace, assuring her that it was, once again, beautiful.

Baryshkov was also moderately satisfied with their performance, so the entire rehearsal was deemed a success.

“Now off to the bath with you! The stylists from Loredana will help with everything, and afterwards, we begin the fortune-telling evening in Lady Malfoy’s chambers.”

“What?” Hermione asked, not sure she’d heard correctly. Her disdain for Divination was, after all, quite well-known.

“It’s one of the traditions! A fortune-teller is coming to divine your future in marriage,” Alma explained cheerfully.

“I thought that sort of thing only happened before the wedding,” Hermione groaned.

“Before the wedding, darling, we’re taking you to Paris for a few days, where we’ll buy expensive lingerie and drink lots of lovely wine,” Alma grinned, wrapping her arms around Hermione and steering her toward the door.

“Sounds delightful,” Hermione forced a smile, silently hoping it would never actually come to that.

“And you boys—behave yourselves!” Narcissa warned Draco, Zabini, and Graham with a wag of her finger. “I don’t want to hear that any of you are hungover tomorrow!”

“We’re just going for a swim and have a couple of drinks,” Blaise called after them.

“Let Brisky keep an eye on you lot!” Narcissa ordered, leaving the ballroom behind the rest of the women. She knew full well how men liked to carry on before engagements and weddings—she still remembered how Lucius had needed a dose of rat-tail balm after turning up to their own engagement with a black eye.

💍💍💍

Hermione was bathed in a sea of ​​scented oils, and her hair was given a special conditioner to help it stay in place. After all the pampering treatments, Brisky handed her a white, silk witch’s robe to put on, and once she was dressed, transported her to Lady Malfoy’s rooms.

When Hermione entered, she was met with a chorus of laughter and applause. It turned out that in addition to Narcissa, Alma, Tracey and her mother, Astoria, Daphne, Pansy, and Millicent Bulstrode were also present—each accompanied by their mothers. A small crowd had gathered around a round table, at which an elderly witch in voluminous violet robes was already seated. All the other women wore the same robe as Hermione, except theirs were deep red.

“Bloody aristocratic traditions,” she thought bitterly, forcing a smile as Tracey and Eleonora guided her to the table.

“Here is the lovely bride-to-be,” Narcissa introduced her, taking a seat across from Hermione, who was placed at the seer’s right.

“Madame Zitta is the finest seer in all of England,” Tracey explained, sitting opposite her.

“How wonderful,” Hermione squeaked, surprised at how unnatural her voice sounded.

“Let’s begin with the cards. Cut the deck,” the witch instructed, showing Hermione how.

All the women at the table watched as Zitta laid out the cards.

“There’s much to see here. There will be upheavals. A difficult time lies ahead on your path, but the cards clearly show that everything will end well,” she said, gazing at strange symbols Hermione didn’t recognise—not that it mattered. To her, Divination was still utter nonsense.

Narcissa’s friends clapped politely, though most lacked enthusiasm. No doubt each of the older matrons, apart from Eleonora and Alma, secretly hoped Draco would break the engagement and marry one of their daughters instead.

“Show us what you see in the crystal ball. I still remember when you predicted my fair-haired son!” Narcissa said, visibly moved by the memory.

“Place your hand here,” Madame Zitta indicated the crystal ball.

Hermione touched it uncertainly, watching a milky glow swirl inside.

“Oh there it is! I have a clear and beautiful vision,” the witch announced after a moment, though Hermione still saw nothing but fog.

“That’s wonderful!” Narcissa looked genuinely captivated.

“I see a garden party. Very cheerful. Children running everywhere. You’re holding one of them in your arms. But it’s not yours. The child is dark-skinned. A little one under a year old.”

“Oh! Could that be my grandson?” Alma asked hopefully.

“A red-haired woman approaches and takes the child from you. You both laugh heartily,” Zitta said, addressing Hermione directly.

“Lovely,” she murmured, glancing uncertainly at Tracey. Could she be the redhead, though her hair now leaned more towards deep crimson than ginger?

“Now I see your own children there too.”

“Children?” Narcissa whispered excitedly.

“Two. An older boy and a younger girl. Both have their father’s blonde hair.”

The women clapped again, and Tracey and Alma even let out small cheers. Hermione felt a heavy weight settle in her stomach. She still didn’t believe in Divination—not in the slightest!

“I think it’s your son’s birthday. There are five candles on the cake. His grandparents are there too. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy are speaking with a couple. The woman has your brown curls, and the man is a brunet who’s starting to bald.”

Hermione swallowed nervously. Her father had begun losing hair even before she took their memories and sent her parents to Australia… and she really had inherited her curls from her mother.

“Oh, what wonderful news!” Narcissa squeezed Hermione’s hand, visibly touched. Did she know who Madame Zitta meant?

“The Malfoy boy is playing with a little dark-haired girl... That’s your daughter,” Zitta suddenly pointed at Tracey.

“Seriously?” Davis looked stunned and confused.

“Yes. Her father is there too. A tall, handsome brunet.”

“Sounds promising,” Eleonora warmly squeezed her daughter’s hand.

Madame Zitta gestured back to Hermione.

“The blonde boy runs to you, and his sister chases after him. Your husband joins you, and together you scoop the children into your arms. He wraps his arms around you all. You’re very happy together,” the seer smiled warmly at the crystal ball, as if truly watching the scene of a perfect little family.

Suddenly, a stifled sob broke the silence, and all eyes turned to Astoria Greengrass, who jumped up from the table and ran from the chamber in tears.

“I’m so sorry! My daughter’s had a difficult day...” Gloria explained hastily.

“I’d better go after her,” Daphne said, rising and hurrying out as well.

“My vision was interrupted,” Madame Zitta said with clear displeasure.

“What you told us is enough,” Narcissa wiped away tears. “Two grandchildren! I’ve always dreamed of this!”

Hermione was about to open her mouth and say something about how much of a load of nonsense this whole crystal ball divination was, but she decided to hold back. It wouldn't make sense now anyway.

"Time for drinks!" Alma decided.

"Right. Piny!" Narcissa called her elf.

“You called, ma’am?” the elf asked, appearing instantly.

“You may serve dinner,” Narcissa gestured to the empty table near the wall.

Piny merely nodded, and soon the table was filled with dishes of all kinds and a generously stocked alcohol bar.

“A buffet-style dinner will be more convenient while others are getting their fortunes told,” Narcissa announced, being the first to rise from the table.

“Wonderful idea,” Regina Parkinson commented rather drily.

All the women got up from the table one by one to take advantage of the abundance of food. Hermione decided to start with a glass of wine. She needed it, after the revelations she had just heard.

“Two little ones! Wonderful, isn’t it? And I’ll be there too! We’ll be friends for years to come,” Tracey said emotionally, giving Hermione’s arm a squeeze.

“I’m sure we will,” Hermione replied with a forced smile, reaching for the wine.

She poured a glass and brought it to her lips.

It hit her so suddenly that she nearly dropped the crystal glass. That scent. The one she had no explanation for, except that it had been the aroma of her Amortentia during her N.E.W.T. Potions exam. Sharp, deep, perfect.

“Something wrong?” Tracey asked, seeing the look on her face.

“What wine is this?” Hermione looked down at the glass again, sniffed it, and barely wet her lips. The taste spread across her tongue in a shiver. It was the best thing she’d ever tasted.

Tracey frowned and reached for the bottle.

"Oh, it's a special occasion, since Narcissa served it today," she laughed. See for yourself," Davis turned the bottle to her, and Hermione blinked numbly.

"What does that mean?" – she asked, looking at the inscription:

1980 AOC Baux-de-Provence Draco L. Malfoy.

“It’s the wine produced to mark Draco’s birth, from his family’s vineyard in France,” Tracey explained with a smile. “They only made a thousand bottles, so it’s served only for truly special occasions.”

“How lovely,” Hermione whispered, feeling her head spin and her legs begin to give way beneath her.

“Hermione!” Tracey called, grabbing her arm, as other panicked voices rose around them—but a moment later, everything went black.

Chapter Text

12 December 1998

Her manicure was silver. It looked almost as though someone had dusted her fingernails with moon powder, glinting faintly green under the light. Hermione tried her hardest not to let her hand tremble as Loredana’s assistant finished applying the polish. The other woman was waving her wand above Hermione’s elegant updo, explaining it was merely a setting charm.

“How are you feeling?” Tracey was already dressed in a lovely strapless pale pink gown with quite a deep neckline. She was rushing back and forth around Hermione's room, attending to a million insignificant details. Nevertheless, she checked on Hermione every five minutes or so and constantly reminded her to stay hydrated.

Her fainting yesterday had left everyone quite perplexed. Narcissa had wrung her hands, lamenting that she hadn’t looked after Hermione’s health properly and insisting it was surely all due to the stress of preparations. Meanwhile, Regina Parkinson and Gloria Greengrass had been whispering slyly about a possible pregnancy, which might explain her sudden weakness. They were clearly dying to know who the potential father of an illegitimate child might be—and if it wasn’t Draco, whether the engagement would be immediately called off. Eventually Alma had scolded them for gossiping and reminded them that the mediwizard who examined Hermione would definitely have noticed such a thing. Both women looked somewhat disappointed by that.

Hermione herself still wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. Now that her emotions had cooled, she wasn’t so convinced she had actually smelled her Amortentia in the wine brewed in Malfoy’s honour. It did sound absurd, didn’t it? And if it had actually happened, it wouldn't have to mean anything final, would it? At least that's how she explained it to herself. That's what she hoped.

“I told you, I’m fine. Narcissa’s right—it was just the stress and the packed schedule these past few days,” Hermione assured her, trying not to let her irritation show.

“That’s good! Really, it would be such a shame to cancel everything now. I was just downstairs and the whole manor looks absolutely stunning. Less than two hours to go!” Tracey was absolutely brimming with excitement.

“Can’t wait,” Hermione muttered—honestly, and from the heart. She truly wished the whole circus were already behind her.

“All done!” one of the stylists announced proudly. “Lady Loredana will come in a bit later to help you into your first gown.”

“Thank you very much,” Hermione offered the women a polite smile and turned to face the mirror. Her hair and makeup were flawless. She felt very grown-up in this look—and hoped it might help her feel a little more confident.

“Right! Time for the rituals now!” Tracey stepped closer and gently touched one of the curls that framed Hermione’s face.

“What rituals?” Hermione asked, surprised.

“The ones intended for the bride-to-be on the day of her engagement,” Tracey laughed. “We’ll begin with the token of belonging.”

“Sorry, the what?!” Hermione looked alarmed.

“I need to snip off a tiny lock of your hair.”

“What for? And for whom?” she asked nervously.

Tracey giggled softly.

“You probably don’t know this tradition—it’s only practised by pure-bloods. You give a few strands of your hair to Draco as a sign of your vow.”

“Oh God...” Hermione just about managed not to bury her face in her hands for fear of smudging her makeup.

"This is supposed to be a confirmation that you're giving him a piece of yourself today, as a guarantee that you belong to him from now on. If you ever break up, he'll have to give it back to you. If not, they'll stay with him forever, and on the day of the funeral, they'll put them in his coffin with him."

“That’s bloody twisted!” she breathed in disbelief.

"Don't worry, he has to give you something too. I'm sure Blaise will bring it here soon."

"I don't need anything from him!" Hermione managed to control herself at the last moment, trying not to raise her voice.

"Tradition dictates it." Tracey maintained her good humor as she delicately cut off a small lock and tucked it neatly into a beautiful white gold locket in the shape of a dragon with emerald eyes. A moment later, she placed the locket in a black velvet box.

Hermione wondered why the hair had been hidden in the necklace. Could it be that Malfoy intended to wear it? No—that would be a completely ridiculous idea.

“Next! The red garter, to ensure passion and romance in your relationship,” Davis announced, opening a slightly larger silver box and producing a beautiful garter, likely made from the finest acromantula lace. “It’s meant to be given to you by a recently engaged friend, but since you’re the first among us, Alma passed hers on to you. She got married last year, so she qualifies.” Tracey knelt down to slide the garter up Hermione’s thigh.

“Wonderful,” Hermione forced a smile and pulled back the satin robe to reveal her leg, already clad in sheer, delicate stockings.

"Tradition dictates that you pass it on to a friend of yours on her engagement day," Tracey explained.

"Great, you can be sure it'll be yours someday," Hermione gave her a weak smile.

"I'll hold you to your word!" Tracey laughed with obvious satisfaction. "Now, the shoes." Davis reached for her silver heels and, to Hermione's surprise, tapped them with her wand from the bottom.

"What are you doing?" she asked with interest.

"I'm signing my name to them. This is to guarantee that I'll soon meet my fiancé and get engaged, because tonight you'll dance your way to happiness for me." Davis gave her a small smile and turned the shoes around to show that her signature was indeed now on the soles.

“I hope that comes true,” Hermione said sincerely.

"I'd ask you to give me your notebook with the names of the single guys you know, but no Gryffindor would go out with me anyway." Tracey giggled.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Hermione winked at her.

"Okay. Our ceremonies are over..." Tracey didn't have time to say anything more when a knock sounded on the door.

“Delivery from the fiancé,” Blaise popped his head in.

“Perfect timing,” Tracey grabbed the velvet box and stepped over to him.

“I see our bride-to-be is the very picture of serenity,” Zabini chuckled. “Can’t say the same for Draco.”

"Unfortunately, I'm far from calm," Hermione admitted, feeling everything inside her literally shake. She doubted she could be any more nervous on the day of her actual engagement.

"I'll sneak you two a glass of whiskey with dinner, and I'm sure you'll loosen up before the first dance," Blaise suggested.

"Sounds great, thanks!" Hermione smiled at him.

"Give me what you have in exchange and get going, we're about to have the blessing rituals," Tracey urged him, and Hermione barely suppressed a groan at this revelation about yet another absurd aristocratic tradition.

“As you command, O Queen of Bridesmaids!” Zabini grinned, waved to Hermione, and disappeared.

“Ooh! I can’t wait to see what it is!” Tracey approached her with the velvet red box in hand.

“Probably another ridiculously expensive piece of jewellery,” Hermione muttered.

"Look! It's a diamond necklace with a mood stone!" Tracey looked delighted by the sparkle of the beautiful trinket placed in the box. The intricately woven diamonds resembled small leaves, and the teardrop crowning the necklace had a large gem in the center.

“A mood stone? Really? I’ve read about them—they’re extremely rare,” Hermione touched the diamond delicately, and it immediately darkened to an intense black.

Tracey giggled.

"It's obvious you're feeling stressed right now," she said reassuringly.

"Good thing I don't have to wear it today," Hermione forced a gentle smile.

"Aren't you going to check what the stone is hiding?" Davis asked curiously.

"Hiding?" Hermione didn't quite understand.

"It's obvious, isn't it? He can't promise you just with jewelry, because that means nothing in a world where everyone can afford such trinkets. He had to give you something – a part of himself, too."

"How wonderful," Hermione grimaced, wondering why she needed a tuft of Malfoy's hair, or for Merlin’s sake, his fingernail...?

Tracey ran her finger along the edge of the stone setting, but nothing happened.

"I guess you'll have to open it yourself," she said, pushing the necklace closer to Hermione.

With a sigh of resignation, she touched the tiny locking mechanism beneath the diamond, and it immediately popped open.

"What's this?" She looked with unintentional interest at the smallest vial she'd ever seen.

“Wow! Draco doesn’t do anything halfway, does he?” Tracey looked genuinely impressed.

“Is that blood ?” Hermione held the vial up to the light.

“Yes, his blood. It means he grants you full protection and the right to all he owns. It’s the strongest declaration a groom can make on engagement day. You lucky thing!” Tracey squeezed her arm, beaming.

“Yes. Incredibly lucky...” Hermione felt her cheeks flush as she placed the vial back into the locket. Just like Tracey said—Malfoy didn’t do things by halves. The dramatic gesture of how much she was supposed to mean to him in the eyes of the world was crystal clear. So was the level of trust he was extending... She’d seen for herself that his blood opened a vault worth millions of Galleons. And he wasn’t afraid to give it to her?

Tracey put down the locket and glanced at the clock, but before she could say anything, Narcissa entered the room after a quick knock.

"How are things, my dears?" she asked with a smile.

"Draco sent Hermione his blood!" Davis exclaimed excitedly.

Narcissa laughed softly.

“That’s obvious. My son would be willing to bleed out for his fiancée, if it came to that. Or spill someone else's blood if she were ever in danger,” Narcissa said, looking Hermione straight in the eye.

A chill ran down Hermione’s spine at that gaze, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. How could any of this be pretend, when it stirred such real emotions in her?

“I’ll leave you now and go fetch the gentlemen and the flowers,” Tracey announced, waving briefly before slipping out of the room.

“Thank you, my dear. You’ve done wonderfully with all your duties,” Narcissa said warmly.

“Thank you as well!” Hermione added quickly, knowing it was the polite thing to say.

“It was my pleasure,” Tracey smiled at Narcissa. “And you can repay me someday, Hermione, if I ever have the fortune of getting engaged myself.” She giggled sweetly and slipped out.

“I do hope you get that chance. She’s such a lovely girl,” Narcissa said, still smiling at the closed door.

Hermione had to bite her tongue. She almost commented that Tracey was the only pure-blood worth Draco’s attention if he ever decided to actually get married. But this didn’t feel like the right time for such musings.

“Now, darling, this is the part where the mother of the bride-to-be offers her a few words,” Narcissa approached her slowly.

Dressed in a stunning gown of deep green, her hair swept up into an elegant chignon, she looked truly magnificent.

“But...” Hermione didn’t know how to respond.

“Mrs Dagworth-Granger wanted to come here to fulfil the role, but I lied and told her you’d already asked me to do it,” Narcissa’s lips curved slightly. “As you know, I don’t have a daughter, and something tells me I’ll never get the chance to do this again. So, if you’ll allow me...?” She looked at Hermione hopefully.

“Yes... Of course...” Hermione whispered, her throat tightening.

A flicker of satisfaction passed over Narcissa’s face as she came to stand directly in front of Hermione, who quickly rose from her seat.

“I will bestow upon you four blessings to guide you through your engagement. May all of them come to pass.” Narcissa took her hand and looked her in the eyes.

Hermione didn’t know what to say, so she simply gave a short nod.

“A mother’s gift — may prosperity follow you wherever your path may lead.” With a graceful motion, Lady Malfoy removed a golden hairpin from her elegant updo, its tip shaped like a diamond rose, and gently tucked it into Hermione’s curls.

“Thank you,” Hermione whispered, a shiver running down her spine.

Narcissa pulled a wand from the neckline of her dress and lightly tapped both of Hermione’s wrists, then the spot just above her heart.

“A mother’s charm — for protection, and a wish that you will always know happiness.”

“I... thank you,” Hermione murmured, feeling tears prick her eyes.

Narcissa leaned forward and pressed a long, lingering kiss to her forehead.

“A mother’s kiss — may you always know how to love and care for your family, as she once did for hers.”

Hermione knew she wouldn’t be able to speak without her voice cracking, so she gave another small nod.

Once again, Narcissa took her hand and raised it slightly. Hermione looked up — and to her surprise, saw that the Malfoy matriarch was crying. A single tear rolled down her cheek, without disturbing a single line of her flawless makeup.

Hermione watched, transfixed, as the tear fell onto their joined hands.

“A mother’s tear — a sign of care. So you’ll remember that you are in her heart, and can always count on her.”

“Thank you,” Hermione choked out, unable to stop the sob that escaped her throat.

Narcissa pulled her into a gentle embrace, her hand smoothing over Hermione’s back.

“I hope your own mother will be able to stand by your side on your wedding day,” she whispered into her ear.

A knock sounded at the door.

“That must be Loredana,” Narcissa said, drawing back. “Time to put on the first dress.”

Hermione took a deep breath and forced a small smile. This whole fake engagement to Malfoy was honestly, bloody difficult. And she could say with full confidence that she would rather ride a wild, blind dragon again than ever have to go through any of this for a second time.

💍💍💍

She stared at herself in the large mirror, silently thinking how unreal it all felt. In her gorgeous, mint-green gown, she felt a bit like she was a fairytale princess. Her gown featured a beaded bodice, and the skirt consisted of many layers of tulle and ruffles. Surprisingly, despite its size, the dress felt light.

Tracey, who had returned to the room shortly after Narcissa and Loredana had left, helped her fasten a beautiful necklace and topaz earrings that perfectly complemented the outfit.

"You look like a queen. The perfect future Lady Malfoy," her maid of honor praised.

"I feel like I'm dreaming this," Hermione admitted.

"No wonder. It all really does look like a fairytale. I've already seen the first guests downstairs, and everyone is incredibly elegant today."

"I just want to get this over with," Hermione began counting her breaths, afraid she might start hyperventilating. She had to get herself together.

“I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen Draco nervous. Angry or irritated, sure — that’s common. But actually anxious? Never,” the former Slytherin giggled.

“That honestly makes me feel better — knowing I’m not the only one stressed,” Hermione forced a small smile.

“It’ll all go well, I’m sure of it,” Tracey squeezed her hand reassuringly.

“Thanks...” Hermione didn’t get a chance to say anything more, as another knock sounded at the door.

It turned out to be Umberto Dagworth-Granger. Wearing what were clearly new but ill-fitting robes, and with his hair slicked down ridiculously, he looked a bit like a child playing dress-up in his father’s clothes.

“But don’t you look beautiful, little cousin!” he exclaimed at the sight of her, grinning foolishly.

“Thank you, Uncle,” she replied, the word tasting sour in her mouth. This man was a petty schemer who had dragged her grandfather’s good name through the mud with his greed.

“Everyone’s already here! Do you know how many people are down there? I’ve never seen that many in one place — not even on Diagon Alley! And this manor! You couldn’t have landed a better match, Nadia!”

“Nina. Or Hermione,” Tracey corrected him quickly.

“Ah, right, right! Slip of the tongue. But look what I brought you!” Umberto stepped up and shoved a dark green velvet box into her hands, then planted a disgusting kiss on her cheek.

“Thank you, you really didn’t have to,” Hermione muttered, resisting the urge to wipe her cheek in disgust.

“Let’s see what it is,” Tracey said, opening the box.

Hermione's eyes fell upon the ugliest gold bracelet she'd ever seen. Massive and thickly braided, it was adorned with some cheap-looking glass beads that were supposed to imitate precious stones.

"This is..." Hermione barely suppressed a grimace. "Thank you again."

"We'll save this for another occasion, as we've already chosen the jewelry for today." Tracey quickly slammed the box shut, as if the mere existence of such jewelry offended her taste.

"Shall we begin?" Umberto rubbed his hands together in excitement.

"Yes," Hermione stated curtly.

"According to my watch, we should be getting going now." Tracey, her enthusiasm intact, didn't waver either.

Hermione found herself a bit envious of their positive energy. All she could feel now was tension, fear, uncertainty, and... in a way, a lack of understanding of herself.

💍💍💍

Don’t fall. Don’t fall, she kept repeating to herself in her head as they approached the grand staircase leading to the main hall. Deep down, she knew there was a stabilising charm cast on her shoes, but the way Dagworth-Granger bounced beside her like a flea on drugs only heightened her discomfort.

When they finally emerged from the corridor and stood at the top of the grand staircase, Hermione lifted her head and barely stifled a groan at the sight of the crowd. She was almost certain the hall must have been specially enlarged by spells to accommodate them all comfortably.

She had a second to take in everything as the applause was almost deafening. But she just caught sight of the tall figure of Kinsgley and, standing beside him, Professor McGonagall, wearing her ceremonial tartan hat.

Her gaze almost automatically went to where she knew Malfoy would be waiting for her. The sight of him sent a jolt through her body. Today he looked even better than yesterday. Tall, handsome, dressed in his finest robes... The perfect son of the aristocracy.

And the perfect actor... When his gaze, almost nonchalantly, settled on her, he actually looked for a moment as if he might literally be swept off his feet. Hermione noticed Blaise pat his shoulder sympathetically. She couldn’t tell whether it was meant as support, congratulations, or perhaps consolation.

Hermione forced herself to smile and look back down at her feet as Dagworth-Granger began guiding her down the stairs somewhat awkwardly. She was growing increasingly irritated by Umberto’s constant grin — he looked like a smug, self-satisfied idiot.

She lifted her head again, trying to focus only on Malfoy, but her gaze involuntarily drifted to the side, where she saw Narcissa and Lucius, as well as a rather short and grim-looking witch standing beside them in a garishly bright orange gown. Hermione immediately guessed it must be Umberto’s wife.

At last, she and her fake uncle reached the foot of the stairs. Hermione gave a small bow toward Draco and his parents, while Umberto extended his hand so clumsily that he nearly smacked Malfoy in the chest.

“Dear Draco!” he shouted so loudly Hermione wondered if all of Wiltshire could hear him — the five hundred guests certainly could, even without an amplifying charm. “I have the honour of presenting to you this witch of my bloodline, your betrothed! May fortune bless you!” He grabbed Hermione’s hand and shoved it toward Draco’s mouth, as if he expected him to take a bite.

She barely restrained herself from yanking her hand out of the idiot’s grip. Thankfully, Malfoy wasted no time — he reached for her hand with a gentle smile.

“It is an honour to accept this gift. Thank you kindly, dear Umberto, for granting me the privilege,” the blond offered a slight bow to the conman before shifting his gaze directly to her.

She nearly choked on her breath when their eyes met. Those eyes. The very same ones she saw in her dreams. The eyes full of concern. The ones that called her "love" in her sleep and begged her not to give up.

A quiet throat-clearing from Tracey reminded her that it was her turn to speak first.

“Draco...” she choked out, her throat tight.

“Hermione,” he replied calmly, bowing his head and placing a brief kiss on her hand.

The guests erupted into applause once again, and Hermione felt her breathing begin to steady.

With a graceful motion, Draco slid her hand into the crook of his arm and gently led her towards the corridor that opened into the ballroom. The next part of the performance could wait no longer.

💍💍💍

A Ministry official – an ageing, short man in black robes – was already standing in the centre of the ballroom at a designated lectern. Hermione gave him a small nod in greeting, and Draco shook his hand. Tracey and Blaise took their places just behind them, and she and Malfoy turned to face each other, joining hands. They had to wait a moment while all the guests positioned themselves around the room to get a good view of the ceremony.

“All right?” he asked her in a whisper, clearly sensing how tense she was.

“I’ve been better, but I’ll manage,” she muttered back, forcing a faint smile and wondering how on earth she was meant to look him in the eyes again. She really had to summon every ounce of her composure and self-control.

Finally, everyone had settled into place, and the official swept a sharp gaze across the room, silencing the remaining murmurs. Then he cast a Sonorus charm on himself and began his speech.

He welcomed the guests and the betrothed couple, then spoke at length about how the new marriage law was crucial for the entire magical community, and how the Ministry appreciated their willingness to take part. He reminded them that they had less than a year left to marry, and urged them not to delay, as the magical world was in need of new wizarding families. Which, of course, was just a polite way of saying that the Ministry was expecting them to start reproducing as soon as possible. 

Finally, after his ramblings, the most important words were spoken:

"Now the engaged couple will recite their vows. Lord Draco Lucius Malfoy, you will begin first."

Hermione felt his hand tighten on hers, so she forced herself to raise her head and look him in the eye.

“Hermione, I vow myself to you as your betrothed. I vow to cherish all the good moments we share and to overcome with you any obstacles we may face. I vow to respect you, to trust you, and always to remain loyal to you. And I vow to keep all my promises until the day I take you as my wife, and beyond, as we build a family together.”

She was relieved when the crowd broke into applause after his speech – it gave her a moment to breathe and collect herself.

“Now you, Miss Hermione Jean Dagworth-Granger,” the official instructed.

Hermione looked at him, a little surprised. She’d been fairly certain she’d have to give the vow under her full new name. She wasn’t even sure whether she wouldn’t have preferred that... She took a deep breath and forced herself to look again into Malfoy’s remarkable eyes.

“Draco, I vow myself to you as your betrothed. I vow to cherish all the good moments we share and to overcome with you any obstacles we may face. I vow to respect you, to trust you, and always to remain loyal to you. And I vow to keep all my promises until the day I take you as my husband, and beyond, as we build a family together.”

She wasn’t sure if she’d even managed to breathe once during that whole recitation, and she had no idea whether anyone had understood a word of it, since she felt as if she’d only babbled nonsense. Fortunately, the guests applauded once again, so apparently she’d managed all right.

“It is time to exchange the rings. Do so with the words: ‘I vow myself to you,’” instructed the official.

Draco was the first to receive the ring from Zabini – the one Hermione had chosen from his family vault. He whispered the vow so softly that only she and the official could hear it. It was strangely intimate and sent another wave of shivers through her.

She stared at the heavy signet ring adorned with an emerald-inlaid “M”. The Lord Malfoy’s signet… She slipped it onto Draco’s finger, where his tattoo with her initials still lingered, and just as softly repeated the words, I vow myself to you.

From now. From today. Not truly. But not quite pretend, she added silently in her mind.

Applause erupted once more. Hermione smiled, this time genuinely and with relief. The hardest part was finally over. Now all she had to worry about was not tripping during their first dance.

As the clapping died down, the official tapped their still-clasped hands with his wand and murmured something.

“The betrothal has been sealed and can only be broken if both parties consent or if one egregiously violates the terms of the contract.”

Hermione gave Malfoy a slightly puzzled glance. Both parties have to agree to end it? She’d thought it was enough for just one to decide. Still, in their case, it likely wouldn’t be an issue.

She hadn’t yet finished processing that thought when the Ministry representative spoke again:

“To seal the vow, you may now kiss your betrothed.”

Chapter Text

She felt as though a block of pure ice had dropped to the bottom of her stomach, its chill spreading through her entire body. On the tip of her tongue hovered a question: "He has to do what?!"

And just before she could fully panic, recalling how the pale-faced Graham Montague had tried to say something yesterday before Draco had rudely cut him off, she felt Malfoy pull her firmly toward him.

She didn’t even have time to fall properly into panic before his hand wrapped around just below her right ear, his thumb gently steadying her chin. The blond leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. Instinctively, she raised her hands and placed them on his shoulders, tilting her head slightly. A short, tender kiss.

Yet for her, the world seemed to stop. There was nothing else. Only the touch of his lips.

The guests once again burst into loud applause, dragging her back down to earth.

She barely managed to recover her vision when Draco shifted so she could take his arm, and amidst the continuing cheers, he smoothly guided her back to their seats.

Only when she sat down on the chair he pulled out for her did her chest fill with air again, and the shock from the sudden kiss began to fade.

“Are you alright?” Blaise asked softly, sitting next to her and watching her closely.

“Uhm,” was the only reply she could muster.

Narcissa and Lucius were still shaking hands with guests as they passed by to find their seats. Dagworth-Granger and his sour-faced wife were already seated at one table alongside Minister Robards and his family.

Hermione glanced around the hall, trying to distract herself. In the distance, she spotted several red heads and was almost certain the Weasley family sat there. At a nearby table, she recognised Kingsley and once again Professor McGonagall, who appeared to be sitting with other Hogwarts staff. Shacklebolt seemed to be accompanying Professor Sinistra.

Looking further around the room, she noted that most of the Death Eaters—those who had gotten away by claiming to have acted under the Imperius Curse during the Battle of Hogwarts—were seated far across the hall. A wise decision by the Malfoys to ensure that. Officially, everyone was friendly—but unofficially, the war had never truly ended.

Hermione was genuinely grateful to the members of the Order of the Phoenix who had come today, even though they surely had their reservations. She knew they were here for her. The thought moved her deeply.

At last, everyone took their seats and the elegant dinner began to be served.

“Are you going to eat something?” Draco asked, as she continued to scan the hall, ignoring the first appetiser.

“I’ll try,” she muttered, reaching for one of the five forks at her place setting.

“Is something worrying you?” he asked, concerned.

“We’ve squeezed two opposing sides into one room—how do you think that’s going to end?” she whispered.

“With forced smiles and false pleasantries,” Draco replied with a faint smile.

She returned a similar smile, but the moment was interrupted by the flash of a camera. A journalist and photographer had appeared right in front of them.

“Could we get a photo of you two embracing at the table?” the reporter asked with a sycophantic grin.

“Thank Merlin it’s not Skeeter,” Hermione muttered as Draco moved closer, placing his arm around the back of her chair. His chin brushed lightly against her temple, and Hermione forced a smile she hoped was at least somewhat adorable.

“I know you hate her, so we made sure The Prophet would only get exclusive coverage of the event if they sent anyone but her,” Draco said as he leaned away once the flashing stopped.

“How do you know I hate her?” she asked, looking at him curiously. She’d long wondered how Malfoy knew so much about her… he couldn’t have observed her that closely—he would’ve had to have been watching for years.

“It wasn’t hard to guess, after the way she trashed you in the papers during our fourth year,” he reminded her.

“And you happily helped her with that,” Hermione narrowed her eyes at him in reproach.

“I did. With great pleasure and hope that it would piss off Weasley,” Draco said, his eyes gleaming oddly.

“Eat, don’t chatter, or the appetisers will vanish!” Tracey scolded them. “Everything’s being served on a strict schedule!” she declared.

“And to think I was glad my mother wasn’t sitting with us,” Draco sighed.

Hermione chuckled in spite of herself. She was almost certain Narcissa would’ve scolded them just as Davis did if they strayed from the agreed schedule and timeline.

💍💍💍

She hadn’t eaten much, though the knot of stress in her stomach had loosened a little. As soon as the last traces of dessert vanished from everyone’s plates, Tracey tugged her by the arm and indicated that it was time for her to go change.

The second gown was just as beautiful as the first, and Hermione thought it resembled a wedding dress more than an evening one. She didn’t complain, however — she simply let Loredana lace her into the gown, while Tracey replaced the set of topaz jewellery with dazzling, crystal-clear diamonds.

She was genuinely pleased when Narcissa popped into the room for a moment, bringing her a glass of champagne — because even though Blaise had kept his word and smuggled a little strong whisky into their wine glasses, Hermione had barely touched hers, afraid that if she drank more, she’d end up tumbling across the dance floor even with a cushioning charm.

The champagne caressed her lips and throat pleasantly. She could feel it beginning to relax her — just a little.

“That was such a beautiful ceremony. Good thing Lucius remembered to bring a handkerchief, because of course I cried,” Narcissa cooed cheerfully.

“I almost did too! Draco spoke so wonderfully, and the way he looked at Hermione! It literally took my breath away! I wish I could meet someone who’d look at me like that!” Tracey chirped in response.

Hermione decided a second sip of champagne wouldn’t hurt either…

Finally, there was a knock at the door, and Blaise appeared to inform them that Draco and the orchestra were ready for the first dance.

Hermione took a deep breath. She knew she’d have to summon every ounce of self-control once again — enduring Draco’s gaze without the aid of Occlumency… Or perhaps, for just a moment, she could believe that it was all real — and then, surely, her performance would feel that much more convincing.

💍💍💍

When Zabini led her into the hall, she walked forward, staring only at the blond man waiting for her in the center of the room. No one else mattered. Only him. This was how it was supposed to be. It had to be…

She tried not to focus on the continuing applause from the guests gathered around the dance floor, or on the way Mikhail glared at her warningly from the stage. She knew their choreographer was counting on everything to be perfect – just as he always demanded.

Hermione took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. The orchestra began to play the first notes, and she smiled and moved forward. She knew she could handle it.

💍💍💍

She felt a bit like she was floating on clouds. Her dress swayed beautifully with each turn, and Draco's touch, though subtle, was powerful enough to bolster her courage. For those less than two and a half minutes, she convinced herself there was no one in the room—no one but her and Draco. Just like the hours they'd spent perfecting each step of this dance.

She squeezed her eyes shut a few times and tried to clear her mind before looking into his eyes again, but she hoped it looked as if she were actually experiencing the beautiful words of the song. Only at the very end did she realize she'd been smiling—completely naturally—the entire time.

When the routine ended, and she rested her forehead against Malfoy's chin, as he lightly kissed her temple, the applause no longer mattered to her. She'd done it. Them. Together. Now everything would only get easier.

💍💍💍

Hermione winced as, after a long round of applause, she had to let go of Malfoy’s hand so she could now dance with Lucius. According to the order, Draco went to ask Dagworth-Granger’s wife to dance — who, for once, stopped frowning — and Umberto approached Narcissa with an obsequious smile and kissed her hand, inviting her to the floor. Hermione genuinely admired that Lady Malfoy managed to smile at him instead of grimacing in disgust.
Tracey stepped onto the floor arm-in-arm with Zabini, followed shortly by Alma and her husband. Soon, many other couples joined, and by the time the orchestra began playing the first notes of the waltz, the floor was already full.

Hermione felt a strange ripple of magic around her and quickly realised it was a silencing charm — the music now sounded slightly muffled. She chose not to seek confirmation from Lucius; clearly, he wanted to speak with her more privately.

“The ceremony went so well my wife was truly moved,” Lucius smiled somewhat wryly at Hermione as he guided her with the ease of a seasoned dancer — as befitted a proper aristocrat.

“I heard,” Hermione looked him in the eye and returned an equally wry smile.

“My congratulations, Miss Granger. I didn’t expect you to be such an excellent actress.”

“And mine to your entire family. Sometimes I’m shocked by how good you all are at pretending,” she replied bluntly.

“Isn’t it? I have a feeling that today, you and Draco convinced every last sceptic who doubted the sincerity of your feelings,” Lucius didn’t avert his gaze, and Hermione had the sense he was trying to test her reaction.

“All the more shocking it’ll be for them when this whole thing suddenly ends,” Hermione pressed her lips together and withstood the weight of his gaze.

“Are you familiar with the saying that you never know what the end will look like until you reach it?” Lucius’s tone was cold and serious.

“That may be true, but in this case, some key aspects of the ending are rather predictable,” she said firmly.

“Predicting isn’t the same as being certain,” he teased.

“Then forgive me — I misspoke. I meant they can be counted on for certain.” Hermione had no idea what Lucius was trying to provoke her into, but she didn’t like it one bit.

“Would you believe me if I said it would be a great loss for us?” The man looked into her eyes intently again.

“Absolutely not, Mr Malfoy. We’ve known each other too long for me to believe your opinion of me has changed,” she replied smoothly, feeling her heart pick up speed.

“Reluctantly, I must admit — the talk of you being the brightest witch of your generation does seem to ring true,” his words didn’t sound like mockery at all.

“Thank you. I suppose it would be easier for you to accept if I actually were of pure blood, wouldn’t it?” Hermione gave him a false smile.

“Probably. Though, as you can see — it’s not an obstacle I haven’t been able to overcome.”

“Out of necessity, not choice — as you yourself noted in the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts.”

“Necessities sometimes lead to good outcomes.”

“As long as both parties agree on that,” Hermione pressed her lips tightly, the direction of the conversation making her increasingly uneasy.

“I know Draco doesn’t plan to marry in the future or continue the family line,” he suddenly said, genuinely surprising her.

“That’s his private matter...”

“But I hope I’ll manage to change his mind,” Lucius said as the final notes of the melody played and he came to a stop.

“Then all I can do is wish you luck,” she replied quietly, feeling that this conversation had far too many strange undertones.

“I’ll let you know once I’ve succeeded, dear Hermione,” Malfoy Senior bowed and courteously kissed her hand, then stepped back and walked away.

Hermione watched him go, wondering inwardly whether that had been a promise… or perhaps a threat.

💍💍💍

Dagworth-Granger danced like a duck, stepping on her toes and rambling nonsensically about how lucky she was to have been found and to be marrying an aristocrat instead of some pauper. Hermione was genuinely relieved when, as the song ended, Blaise appeared right beside her.

“Smile a bit, you’re not here as punishment,” he reminded her with amusement, taking her hand and placing his other on her back.

“Do you really think so? Because I’m having doubts,” Hermione smiled at him despite herself.

“After me, you only have to dance with the Minister of Magic, and then you can sit down for a while. At least, that’s what Tracey and her schedule say.”

“Merlin forbid we deviate from it,” Hermione chuckled under her breath.

“Soon, this circus will be over. Except, of course, for the necessity of attending at least ten more like it — but then you won’t be in the spotlight anymore, so it should be easier.” Zabini winked at her knowingly.

“You’re lucky you got out of it.”

“If you say so. I know you don’t consider me a true friend… yet,” Zabini gave her a small smile. “But I’d like to ask you not to tell Weasley anything. It’s not important… There’s no need...”

“I had absolutely no intention of saying a word to her!” Hermione assured him firmly. “And yes, maybe you’re not number one on my friends list, but I respect you for the friend you are to Malfoy. I hope that once all this is over, we can actually call each other friends.”

“I’d really like that,” Zabini smiled warmly, and Hermione returned it.

They chatted for a moment about how great the orchestra was, and how even Baryshkov clapped when they finished dancing — a sign of the highest praise from him. The melody finally came to an end, and Hermione was passed off to Minister Robards, who gushed endlessly — especially about her future mother-in-law’s taste and looks.

She was honestly relieved when the first block of dancing finally ended, and Draco was once again by her side. Surprisingly, it was with him that she felt the most comfortable — something she absolutely wouldn’t have predicted even a month ago.

“Quickly, darlings!” Tracey urged them. “You’ve only got fifteen minutes to drink something before they serve the cake, and right after that, you have to go change for the photo session!”

“Sit down and have a drink yourself — you’re running around like someone dropped you in boiling water!” Hermione grabbed her hand, trying to get Tracey to stop even for a second.

“I can’t! I have to finalise the key for our performance with Graham and the conductor!” she cried, pulling her hand free and dashing toward the stage.

“I didn’t know it would be Montague and Tracey performing for us,” Hermione admitted as Draco politely placed his hand on her back and guided her toward their table.

“Neither did I, though I know Graham’s got a decent voice. He used to sing in the changing rooms after Quidditch practice, and no one’s hexed him for it yet,” Draco smiled to himself.

“I’m curious what they’ll sing,” Hermione mused.

“Something stupidly romantic, probably,” Draco muttered, pulling out her chair.

“Can’t wait,” she replied in the same tone.

“I’m here! I’ve got the relaxants!” Zabini appeared quickly, bottles of alcohol in both hands.

“Saviour,” Hermione laughed at the sight of him.

“I brought you Draco’s wine — Tracey told me you really liked it yesterday,” Blaise smiled and quickly filled her glass with the red drink. Hermione swallowed nervously. She couldn’t faint now — not in front of five hundred guests…

“Did you really like it? I’ve always thought it was too sharp,” Draco looked at her with interest.

“Oh no, it’s really lovely. I was just surprised when Tracey told me it was produced to commemorate your birth. That’s… quite adorable,” Hermione hoped she didn’t sound like she was rambling.

“We produce wine for every major occasion,” Draco revealed, reaching for his whisky.

“This year’s batch will probably be for your engagement,” Blaise laughed.

“It’s not even grape harvest season,” Hermione pointed out.

“Magic will handle that,” Zabini replied.

“Blaise, can I borrow you for a moment?” Daphne asked as she approached their table.

Hermione and Draco both turned to watch with interest, curious what the older Greengrass sister could want from him. Unfortunately, Daphne took Zabini by the arm and led him far enough away that they couldn’t hear the conversation.

“Could we get a photo, Miss Dagworth-Granger? We don’t have one of you in this dress at the table,” asked the Prophet ’s photographer.

“If I must,” Hermione said as she felt Malfoy’s hand slide to her lower back. She looked straight at the camera and slightly lifted the corners of her lips.

Draco was still watching his friend’s lively conversation with Daphne when an irritating voice spoke up behind them.

“You do know, Malfoy, that while you’re watching other women, someone might be watching yours?”

Hermione and Draco both turned in unison to face Theodore Nott, who had casually taken Tracey’s seat and was smiling at them with shameless amusement.

“What do you want, Nott?” Draco hissed through his teeth.

“I just dropped by to tell the future Mrs Malfoy that she looks absolutely stunning tonight,” Theodore leaned back slightly and winked cheekily at Hermione.

“Thank you very much,” Hermione replied coolly, edging closer to Draco.

“You’re the perfect couple. So cute I might just melt,” Theo mocked.

“You’re only here because I didn’t want to stir up gossip by retracting your invitation,” Draco stated bluntly. “But if you don’t get up and leave right now, the entire magical world is going to see me knock your teeth out myself.”

Thankfully, Theodore rose to his feet and smiled triumphantly.

“I fear, Hermione, you didn’t take my advice... What a shame. Just remember — you can always find comfort with me when you need it. And you will. Soon.”

Draco stood up and took a step forward. Hermione looked around the hall in a panic, hoping to find help before a scandal broke out. Fortunately, Nott merely grinned smugly, then turned and walked away.

“Bloody prick,” Malfoy growled, collapsing back into his seat and reaching for his whisky again.

“He’s delusional,” Hermione took a sip of her wine as well. Inwardly, she wondered if she’d really been pretending so well that even Nott believed she was in love with Malfoy.

As the taste of the wine spread across her tongue and its scent struck her senses, she felt another small wave of dizziness. She glanced at the blond man out of the corner of her eye.

It couldn’t be true! She had to get the ingredients and brew the Amortentia again to make sure she hadn’t made a mistake. She hoped it had been a mistake. Otherwise she would be doomed.

💍💍💍

The cake was a hit with the guests, and Hermione herself devoured a large slice with pleasure. She was already looking forward to the part of the reception when she’d finally be allowed to chat a bit with the guests. She hoped to get even a brief moment alone with Ginny. She missed her friend so terribly…

At last, Tracey directed them to the adjacent hall so they could change for the photo session. Meanwhile, the orchestra had started playing again, and the guests poured onto the dance floor — in great spirits after their first few drinks.

For the session, Hermione was dressed in a slightly extravagant silver witch's robe with a long train. Loredana’s stylist let down her curls and enhanced their shape with a wand. This time, her jewellery was a set of emeralds, which, as Hermione had learned, had once been Narcissa’s engagement set. She wasn’t particularly bothered — after all, the Malfoys were intent on fulfilling every engagement tradition.

Warming charms had been cast on the beautiful marble pavilion in the garden. The photographer was already waiting for them. First, they had to pose together for a few photos. Surprisingly, Hermione found that she didn’t mind touching Malfoy or being touched by him. The instructions mainly involved standing close to one another, embracing, or having Hermione rest her hand on his shoulder to show off the engagement ring. Nothing too intimate, for which she was honestly grateful.

Only Tracey and Blaise were in the garden with them, along with Loredana, who adjusted Hermione’s dress and Malfoy’s robe collar, and a hair stylist keeping their looks photo-perfect for each shot.

A few forced smiles, two or three held gazes, and Hermione finally breathed out, relieved that it was over.

“Now we’ll take the family photos,” announced the photographer, and Loredana and her assistant gave a short goodbye and left.

Soon, Narcissa, Lucius, and Dagworth-Granger and his wife — whose name turned out to be Wandy — entered the garden.

“Groom’s parents first,” the photographer decided. “As per Mrs Malfoy’s request that the photos not look too stiff — everyone, arms around the waist.”

Lucius gave his wife a sideways look but eventually approached Hermione, while Narcissa, smiling, stood beside her son.

“Smile, Hermione, it’s a happy occasion,” Malfoy Sr. muttered, and she couldn’t help but wonder what had prompted the sudden shift to using her first name?

Still, she did what was expected. The shutter clicked, and Narcissa planted a juicy kiss on Draco’s cheek, to which he only grimaced.

The next photo was similar, except now Wandy stood beside Draco, and Umberto clung to Hermione’s side like a slimy leech. Smiling was harder with him next to her than it had been with Lucius.

Then, they took a full group photo of all six of them.

Hermione let out a breath. Was that all?

“Thank you, Umberto and Wandy. You may return inside,” Narcissa smiled at them, and Tracey offered to escort them.

They had barely disappeared from sight when Blaise suddenly appeared from the other side of the pavilion, leading—

“Hermione?”

She turned her head and gasped softly in surprise. Molly and Arthur Weasley were smiling at her, both with tears in their eyes.

She felt Draco gently nudge her forward, encouraging her to go and embrace the Weasleys warmly.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” she whispered into Mrs Weasley’s shoulder, as Arthur wrapped his arms around them both.

“We are too, sweetheart. You look so beautiful tonight. I hardly recognised you!” Molly wiped her tears and stroked Hermione’s cheek with affection.

“Let’s get a photo, please,” the photographer prompted, apparently in a bit of a hurry.

“Narcissa…” Lucius’s tone was serious.

“Oh, stop. They’re her real family — not that idiot,” Lady Malfoy hissed. “Molly, Arthur, welcome. Come stand next to Draco,” she gestured.

Molly gave a soft smile and stepped up to the blond.

“Good evening,” Draco greeted politely.

“Good evening, dear, you look wonderful too,” To Hermione’s astonishment, Molly pulled Malfoy into a hug. “You have no idea how grateful I and my family are to you!” she choked out through tears.

“It’s nothing,” Draco looked slightly flushed as he pulled away.

“We’re in your debt for life,” Arthur assured him, shaking his hand firmly.

Hermione glanced at Draco’s parents. Narcissa looked genuinely moved, leaning on the arm of her visibly sour husband. Standing beside her, Hermione reached out and squeezed her hand.

“Thank you,” she whispered, swallowing her tears.

“If it weren’t so dangerous, I’d do everything I could to make sure they were here too,” Narcissa whispered in return.

Hermione blinked quickly, trying to clear her eyes. She didn’t want to look teary. This time, her smile was truly genuine when the photo was taken.

“Thank you. Now it’s time for the photo with grandmothers,” the photographer announced, adjusting something on the camera.

Hermione looked at Draco in surprise, and he seemed just as confused. As far as she knew, neither of his grandmothers was still alive — and neither were hers.

She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry again when Tracey brought Matilda into the garden, dressed in an elegant robe — along with none other than Minerva McGonagall.

“Not a word!” Narcissa warned, as Lucius opened his mouth, clearly about to protest.

“Your mum is amazing,” Hermione laughed, leaning against Draco’s shoulder.

“I don’t even have the words to argue with that,” Draco smiled too.

“I’m so so happy!” Matilda hugged them both warmly.

Professor McGonagall was more reserved, but she grasped Hermione’s hand tightly when she stood beside her for the photo.

The Malfoy parents and the Weasleys had already returned inside.

“And finally, the siblings photo,” the photographer announced as McGonagall and Draco’s old nanny left with Tracey.

Hermione only smiled. She’d bet anything that Narcissa had something planned again...

This time, the tears came to her eyes immediately as she saw Ginny walking toward them — with Zabini by her side. Draco didn’t need to nudge her. Hermione rushed forward on her own to hug someone who truly was like a sister to her.

Chapter Text

She tried to stifle the sob in her throat, but it wasn’t easy. Especially since Ginny was openly crying on her shoulder. It was truly moving. They hadn’t seen each other in just under two weeks, but the longing for the daily support they gave one another had clearly taken a toll on them both.

“We’re so stupid,” Ginny laughed through her tears. “We’re going to completely ruin our makeup, and we’re supposed to have our photo taken.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’ll look natural,” Hermione smiled at her friend, feeling warmth bloom in her chest, so glad to have her close again.

“If you’d be so kind, ladies,” the photographer said, sounding a little impatient.

Draco and Blaise were already waiting in the pavilion for the girls to join them. Ginny let go of Hermione and stepped toward Malfoy.

“Thank you so much for what you did for us,” she whispered, placing a hand on his arm.

“I already told your parents, there’s no need,” he replied calmly.

“And thank you for keeping your word. I can see that Hermione is doing just fine,” Ginny looked back at her over her shoulder, and Draco turned his gaze to her as well.

“Everything’s okay,” she confirmed, smiling at them both.

“Well then, time to get a photo with the most handsome man at the party,” Blaise said, throwing an arm around Hermione and pulling her close.

Ginny giggled and casually stood next to Malfoy, not looking the slightest bit uncomfortable.

“I’m definitely asking for a copy of this one for myself,” Hermione promised.

“Smiles, everyone!” the photographer called out, apparently happy that his job was nearly done.

Hermione found herself feeling a bit jealous of him. She still had a lot to get through before her day was over.

💍💍💍

After a quick handshake with the photographer, the four of them made their way back to the ballroom. Hermione remembered that, according to the schedule, they were now supposed to stand in one spot and speak with guests who wished to approach and offer their congratulations in person. After that, Lucius was to give a short speech, and then Hermione would change once again so she could dance for the rest of the evening. She was reminded they still had the closing dance of the ball to get through – but she had no intention of complaining. After that, there would only be a fireworks display in the garden and then, finally, the long-awaited end of this ordeal. She hoped Narcissa would reveal her more humane side and refrain from sending her a detailed plan for tomorrow. She didn’t want to do anything for the next two days except sleep.

Ginny took her leave when they reached the designated spot near the exit to the garden, positioned so guests could approach freely, away from the dance floor. Draco’s left arm rested around Hermione’s waist, and she tried to smile at the guests naturally – not nervously, and not begrudgingly.

First to approach them, of course, was the Minister for Magic, eager to congratulate them once more, formally. His wife – Olga – only muttered something under her breath, eyeing Hermione’s emerald jewellery with envy. Olivia kissed her – more like air-kissed beside her cheek – while planting two long, overly juicy kisses on Draco’s face. Bastien, on the other hand, barely brushed his lips against Hermione’s hand while mumbling rushed congratulations. He shook Draco’s hand even more briefly before practically fleeing, as though afraid Draco might kill him with a single look.

Next came more guests – senior Ministry officials, Wizengamot judges, department heads, ambassadors – all with their families. Everyone wanted to exchange a few words, congratulating them on the wonderful event and praising their involvement in the new marriage law. After repeating the same words of thanks and assurances of trust in the Ministry’s decision for the twentieth time, Hermione began to feel like a wind-up doll.

Nevertheless, she soon regretted that the Malfoys hadn’t invited even more officials – because once they’d made their way through, the magical aristocracy began to approach, most of whom were also former Death Eaters. Hermione had met many of them already at dinner parties at the manor, but there were still several faces she was seeing for the first time – at least officially.

She noticed Antoine Dolohov eyeing her lecherously before whispering something into the ear of the man beside him – Rowle. Both of them chuckled darkly, and Hermione felt Draco’s grip on her waist subtly tighten. The blond leaned in so close that his lips brushed her ear.

“Don’t let them provoke you, but don’t show weakness either,” he whispered, though to any onlooker, it might have appeared as if he was pressing a tender kiss to her neck.

Hermione forced herself not to flinch at his closeness and focused on his words instead. She donned a mask of calm and offered a faint smile to the approaching Death Eaters. Both men had stunning women on their arms. Xandria Rosier was the first to offer congratulations, and Hermione silently rejoiced that among the aristocracy, it was only the women who exchanged cheek kisses. The mere idea of Rowle’s cursed lips touching her hand made her stomach churn.

"Congratulations, beautiful Nina." Thorfinn ran his lips over her hand, as if to taste it, then straightened, still not releasing hers from his slimy fingers.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Rowle,” Hermione smiled politely at him.

"A beautiful bracelet. Is it yours?" The man turned her wrist to examine the diamonds more closely. Hermione knew he was merely trying to brazenly allude to the Aurora Malfoy bracelet scandal, of which he was the indirect perpetrator.

"Thank you. Yes, it's mine. It's an engagement gift from my wonderful future in-laws," she replied with a lightness and a smile.

"Another Malfoy family jewel..." Rowle still hadn’t let go of her hand, so Hermione yanked it away and placed it demonstratively against Draco’s chest, ensuring her engagement ring was clearly visible.

“All their jewels are lovely, but they pale in comparison to the finest one — the one I snatched… or rather, the one who snatched me for himself before anyone else could. Isn’t that right, darling?” Hermione giggled, resting her head on Malfoy’s shoulder.

Thorfinn’s face immediately twisted with pure rage. He looked at Draco with such hatred that Hermione had to resist the sudden urge to draw her wand and cast a shield charm.

“Of course. Who could resist the temptation to win over the most powerful witch of this generation? Even the toughest contenders didn’t stand a chance, love,” Draco said, placing a kiss in her hair. Hermione wondered if they weren’t going too far in provoking the man. Reminding him openly that Draco had ruined his plans regarding her was one thing, but reminding him that Hermione had defeated him and stolen his memories clearly struck a painful blow to his pride — judging by the look on his face.

Thankfully, Dolohov placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, which seemed to bring him back to his senses. Rowle allowed himself to be led away, and Xandria took him by the hand, pulling him toward the snack table. Still, Thorfinn looked over his shoulder at them a few more times.

Hermione kept smiling at him with a slightly provocative air, watching him go. She silently vowed that she wouldn’t let that psychopath ruin her sense of peace and safety. Never.

“My sincerest congratulations, Miss Dagworth-Granger,” Antonin Dolohov said, reaching for her hand to kiss it. This was the man who had cursed her during their skirmish at the Ministry. Officially, he claimed he’d been under the Imperius curse and faced no consequences… It was hard to pretend she believed that now. But she had to manage.

“Thank you very much. Unfortunately, I haven’t yet had the pleasure of meeting your fiancée…” Hermione smiled politely at the truly stunning blonde with long curls and a model’s figure.

“Lynna Safiq,” the woman introduced herself with a fake smile, eyeing Hermione with barely concealed disdain.

“We’re very glad you could come today. How’s your health, Mr Dolohov?” Hermione asked with a smile.

Draco couldn’t suppress a snort of laughter, looking down at the man with smug superiority.

“I’m doing great, thank you,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

“That’s good to hear,” Hermione said with feigned warmth.

“My fiancée is right. Wonderful to hear you’re back in shape!” Draco flashed him a broad, fake smile.

“Antonin, let’s go. I want to try those hors d'oeuvres too,” Lynna muttered coldly, still wrinkling her nose in displeasure.

“We wish you a good evening!” Hermione called after them, finally exhaling only once they were out of sight.

“Outstanding performance, brave Miss Gryffindor,” Draco whispered to her.