A Pure-Blood’s Worst Nightmare
Draco sat stiffly on the velvet settee, his suitcase at his feet, his father seated beside him, equally rigid. Across the room, his mother was still flitting about, levitating far too many suitcases as she debated which ones to bring.
It was their last day in Malfoy Manor. Their last day using magic. Their last day as true wizards, according to his father.
And the worst part? They were being sent to live with Hermione bloody Granger.
Draco had stared at the assignment letter for a full ten minutes when they’d first received it, convinced the Ministry was having a laugh. Out of all the Muggle-borns in Britain, why her?
The answer was obvious. The Universe despised him.
Lucius exhaled sharply beside him, clearly displeased with the situation. “Granger, of all people,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I still don’t understand how the Ministry expects this to work.”
Draco didn’t respond. He was too busy panicking.
How was he supposed to live with Granger? The girl he had tormented for years, the girl who had always beaten him in school, the girl who had risked her life for a world that had spit on her existence.
She was brilliant. Annoyingly, impossibly brilliant. And confident. And… well, he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t once found her interesting in a way he definitely should not have.
Not that he would ever admit that. Not even under the Cruciatus Curse.
His father sighed, as if hearing his unspoken thoughts. “You know, Draco,” he said, glancing at him, “this isn’t the first time you’ve spoken about Granger.”
Draco blinked. “What?”
Lucius smirked. “You used to write about her. In your letters home from Hogwarts.”
Draco paled. “I did not.”
“Oh, but you did,” his father continued, his voice filled with amusement. “Always complaining about how she bested you in every subject. ‘Father, you won’t believe it—Granger outscored me in Potions again.’”
Draco scowled. “I never—”
“‘Granger corrected me in Transfiguration today, and Professor McGonagall agreed with her!’”
Draco’s ears burned.
Lucius chuckled. “You talked about her so much, I began to suspect you had a thing for her.”
Draco nearly choked on air. “What?”
Draco spluttered. “I loathed her.”
“Of course you did,” Lucius said smoothly, amusement twinkling in his cold grey eyes. “That’s why you spent all of Hogwarts obsessing over her.”
“I didn’t—”
But before he could argue further, Narcissa finally came down the grand staircase, her mountain of suitcases floating behind her.
Lucius let out a slow, suffering sigh. “Darling, we only need one suitcase. We won’t be able to use magic to carry all of this.”
Narcissa huffed. “Nonsense.”
“We are going to be Muggles, dear,” Lucius reminded her. “We’ll have to carry our own belongings.”
At that, Narcissa made a sound of pure horror.
After another ten minutes of arguing, she begrudgingly used an Undetectable Extension Charm on a single suitcase, packing all of her essentials inside it.
And then they waited.
Draco swallowed thickly.
They were really doing this.
Leaving Malfoy Manor. Living without magic.
And worst of all—living in a Muggle house.
With Hermione Granger.
For an entire year.
This was Hell.
_____________________________________________________________
The Arrival
The Malfoys stood in their grand foyer, waiting for their assigned escort. Draco kept glancing at the clock, his nerves steadily worsening.
And then, with a sharp pop, their escort arrived.
Draco groaned. Of course it had to be him.
“Malfoys,” Harry Potter greeted coolly, hands in his Auror robes as he gave them a polite nod. “Ready to go?”
Lucius barely inclined his head in response. Narcissa lifted her chin, her face composed but her fingers twitching slightly at her sides. Draco simply stared.
He had been hoping for some low-ranking Ministry official, someone he could ignore. Instead, they got Potter.
Of course.
Potter wasted no time. “Hold on.”
Draco barely had a chance to brace himself before the uncomfortable sensation of Side-Along Apparition yanked him forward.
A second later, they landed in an unfamiliar neighborhood.
Draco swayed slightly, regaining his balance, before looking around.
It was… quaint.
A row of neat brick houses lined the street, each with a small garden in front. It wasn’t extravagant, like the Manor, but it wasn’t exactly poor either.
It was just normal.
And then, there she was.
Hermione stood on the front step of a modest two-story house, her parents behind her. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, and she wore simple black leggings and an oversized sweater. She looked—
Well.
Different.
Draco shook his head, scowling at himself. Don’t be ridiculous.
Potter strode forward, embracing Hermione tightly. Draco saw her shoulders relax slightly at the familiar presence, but the tension quickly returned when she looked past Potter—at him.
Her brown eyes met his, and for a moment, neither of them moved.
Then, ever so slightly, she tightened her grip on her sweater, twisting the fabric in her fingers.
Draco exhaled slowly.
This was going to be painful.
Feeling his parents hesitate behind him, Draco took the first step forward.
He approached Mrs. Granger first. “Mrs. Granger,” he said smoothly, bowing slightly before kissing her hand, a perfect display of old pure-blood manners.
She blinked, clearly surprised.
Hermione stared at him like he had grown a second head.
Behind him, he heard Potter stifle a laugh.
Draco ignored them. Turning to Mr. Granger, he extended his hand for a firm handshake—because kissing his hand would have been extremely awkward.
“Mr. Granger,” he said with a respectful nod.
As Draco stepped back from his introductions, his parents finally approached, their expressions carefully composed.
Lucius Malfoy, ever the aristocrat even without his cane, gave a polite nod before extending his hand to John Granger. “Lucius Malfoy. A pleasure.” His voice was smooth, controlled, but there was a flicker of something unreadable in his pale eyes—curiosity? Contempt? Resignation? Perhaps all three.
John Granger, who looked quite a bit like a Muggle version of Lucius—same sharp features, same cool gaze—accepted the handshake, his grip firm. “John Granger. We’ll see if it is.” The tension between them was immediate, two fathers sizing each other up like duelists before a match.
Beside them, Narcissa Malfoy took a different approach. Her expression softened just enough to be considered warm—at least by pureblood standards—as she reached for Jean Granger’s hand. “Narcissa Malfoy. Thank you for welcoming us into your home.” Her words were smooth, rehearsed, but there was a touch of sincerity beneath them, a glimmer of gratitude hidden behind the cool exterior.
Jean, ever the gracious host, smiled as she shook Narcissa’s hand. “Jean Granger. We’ll do our best to make this… arrangement work.”
With the pleasantries out of the way, they all stepped inside, the weight of unspoken judgments and decades of social divide trailing behind them.
It was… odd.
No moving portraits. No floating candles. No grand chandeliers.
Instead, there was a massive black rectangle mounted on the wall, along with an assortment of couches that looked suspiciously like they could swallow a person whole.
Mrs. Granger gestured toward the living room. “Please, have a seat.”
The Malfoys sat—stiffly, awkwardly.
Mr. Granger cleared his throat. “Tea?”
Narcissa, ever the aristocrat, smiled. “That would be divine.”
The next several minutes were filled with painful silence, only broken by the occasional clinking of porcelain as they sipped their tea.
Draco found himself eyeing Hermione.
She had changed.
Her face was sharper, more mature. Her posture, once tense and defensive, now carried a quiet confidence.
And then there was… well.
Her clothes.
Draco was used to seeing her in school robes or oversized Weasley jumpers. But now, in form-fitting leggings and a loose, comfortable sweater, she looked—
Comfortable.
Attractive...
Draco scowled, shaking the thought from his head.
Across from him, Lucius arched an eyebrow.
Draco pointedly looked away.
After a few more minutes of unbearable silence, Narcissa was the first to break it.
“So,” she said, setting down her teacup, “where are we staying?”
And just like that, the real nightmare began.