Between Headlines and Hearts

Hermione had been wrong.

She had assumed that simply ignoring the article would allow the gossip to die down naturally, that after a few days, the public’s attention would shift to some other scandal, some other ridiculous rumour about an unsuspecting Ministry employee. But if anything, the situation had only escalated, gaining momentum with every passing hour as if fuelled by some relentless, invisible force. It had started subtly—colleagues offering her knowing smiles in the hallways, a few raised eyebrows, an occasional whispered conversation that abruptly ceased whenever she entered a room. The woman who ran the tea cart on Level Four had started charging her less, claiming it was a "congratulatory discount." Percy’s name was mentioned alongside hers in casual conversations, as though their engagement was already common knowledge, and whenever she stepped into a meeting, she felt the weight of lingering glances, as though people were attempting to spot the telltale signs of romance they had convinced themselves existed. It was a peculiar sensation, being watched with such quiet curiosity, and she found herself adjusting her posture, moderating her expressions, painfully aware that even the most mundane interactions were now subject to scrutiny.

But the moment she realized the situation had truly spiralled out of control was when she arrived at work on Wednesday morning to find her desk buried beneath a veritable mountain of engagement gifts. She stopped short in the doorway, staring in mute disbelief at the overwhelming display of flowers, elegantly wrapped boxes, and cards addressed to "The Future Mrs. Weasley." There were bouquets in every imaginable colour—roses, lilies, enchanted violets that shimmered under the office’s candlelight. A bottle of elf-made wine sat beside an exquisite silver envelope, which, upon closer inspection, turned out to be an invitation to a high-society luncheon hosted by none other than Millicent Bagnold. There was even a small, neatly wrapped box labelled For the Happy Couple, which, when opened, revealed an enchanted quill that wrote in shimmering gold ink. The sheer absurdity of it all was almost enough to make her laugh—almost.

Instead, Hermione let out a long, slow groan and dropped her head onto her desk, the cool wood offering little comfort against the rising heat of frustration in her cheeks. "What have I done?"

A voice, smooth and unmistakably amused, interrupted her misery. "Ah. I see you've received the morning’s tributes."

She didn’t need to lift her head to know who it was. Instead, she groaned again, this time muffling the sound against the wooden surface. "Percy. Fix this."

The sound of careful, deliberate footsteps filled the space before the chair across from her scraped against the floor. He sat down with his usual precise movements, the rustle of his crisp robes indicating that, as always, he was impeccably put together—his appearance untouched by the absurdity currently drowning her in flower arrangements and unsolicited well wishes. When he spoke again, his tone was maddeningly composed. "It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think?"

Hermione finally lifted her head just enough to glare at him, her curls slightly askew, a telltale sign of her mounting stress. With a sharp gesture, she motioned at the chaos engulfing her workspace. "This is not funny. I have gifts, Percy. Gifts. From people I barely know! And unless I’m mistaken, we’ve also been invited to a luncheon—a luncheon that I’m fairly certain includes half the Wizengamot."

Percy, to her immense frustration, merely picked up the embossed invitation with mild curiosity, tilting his head as he scanned the elegant script. His lips twitched, as though suppressing a smile. "Millicent Bagnold? Former Minister of Magic? Impressive."

Hermione felt her eye twitch. "Percy!"

He sighed and set the invitation back onto the desk with an infuriating air of calm. "Look, we knew there would be some attention. If we just—"

"Some attention?" she repeated incredulously, voice rising as she swept her arm across the table, nearly knocking over a precariously balanced box of chocolates wrapped in gold ribbon. "This is a circus! Any moment now, I expect an orchestra to show up and serenade us with a wedding march!"

Percy considered this with a small nod. "That would be excessive, I agree."

Hermione let out an exasperated huff and rubbed her temples. "I cannot believe you’re so unbothered by this."

"On the contrary," he replied, adjusting his glasses in that precise, practiced way of his, "I find it rather fascinating. People’s responses have been quite illuminating. Did you know that when I entered the Minister’s office this morning, he actually smiled at me? Smiled, Hermione. As though I were suddenly an amusing conversationalist instead of a policy-driven bureaucrat."

She narrowed her eyes. "So you like this? The attention?"

Percy hesitated, considering his answer carefully. "I wouldn’t say that. But I will admit, the social advantages have been… notable."

Hermione groaned again and dropped her forehead back onto the desk. "I hate that you’re right."

Percy smirked, leaning back slightly in his chair as he observed her despair. "I know."

Lifting her head once more, Hermione exhaled sharply and leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples as if she could massage away the growing headache that was this entire situation. She fixed Percy with a stern look, her fingers still pressing lightly at her forehead. "Fine. Fine. But we need to set some ground rules. If we’re going to keep up this ridiculous charade, we have to be consistent. No discrepancies. No slip-ups. If we’re supposed to be engaged, then we need a backstory that aligns."

Percy folded his hands neatly on the desk, his expression turning serious as he gave a firm nod. "Agreed. What do you propose?"

Hermione pursed her lips, her mind already running through potential pitfalls. "First, we need to decide on a timeline. How long have we supposedly been engaged? If we say too long, people will wonder why we kept it a secret. Too short, and it won’t seem plausible."

"A month," Percy answered immediately, his tone decisive, as if he had already anticipated the question. "It sounds long enough to be credible but recent enough that people wouldn’t have noticed sooner."

She studied him for a second before nodding slowly. "Alright. That works. Now, how did you propose?"

"In a way that was both practical and efficient, I assume."

Hermione let out a sharp sigh. "Percy."

He cleared his throat, adjusting his posture, which was already perfectly straight, but somehow he managed to sit even more upright. "Fine. We were having dinner at my flat. We had been discussing legislative inefficiencies when I suddenly realized, quite logically, that no one else could possibly understand me the way you do. So, I asked you to marry me."

Hermione stared at him, unblinking. "That is terrible."

Percy blinked, looking genuinely perplexed. "What? It’s realistic."

"It’s the least romantic thing I’ve ever heard! You might as well have handed me a contract and asked me to sign on the dotted line."

Percy frowned slightly, his fingers tapping against the desk as if running calculations in his head. "I fail to see the issue. The sentiment is logical."

She let out a groan and dropped her head into her hands. "People are going to ask about it, Percy. We need something that sounds… natural. Something people can believe. Something they can imagine me actually saying ‘yes’ to."

Percy exhaled, rolling his shoulders back as he considered her words. A contemplative look passed over his face before he spoke again, this time with far more dramatic flair, his voice lowering just slightly as if conjuring a scene in his mind. "Alright. Picture this: we were at the Three Broomsticks, sitting by the fire. It was a particularly cold evening, and you were fussing because I had forgotten my scarf. You kept scolding me, saying I’d catch pneumonia—"

Hermione’s eyes widened in horror. "Oh my god. Are you practicing?"

Percy adjusted his glasses, looking entirely unbothered. "If we are going to tell a story, it should at least be convincing. The details matter."

She threw up her hands. "Alright, fine. We’ll workshop it later. But there’s one more thing, and it’s important."

Percy arched an eyebrow, his attention fully focused on her, waiting. "Yes?"

Hermione took a deep breath, steeling herself before meeting his gaze. "We’re going to have to act like a couple in public."

A beat of silence followed, and for the first time since entering her office, Percy did not have an immediate answer. He regarded her carefully, his sharp eyes studying her face as if assessing the full weight of her words. Finally, he inclined his head slightly, his voice carefully neutral when he spoke. "Understood. What level of… demonstrativeness are we talking about?"

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, crossing her arms as she thought through the logistics. "Just… small things. Familiarity. Like standing close together, walking in step. Maybe the occasional touch on the arm, a hand on the back if necessary. Things that wouldn’t seem forced but would be enough to sell the idea."

Percy nodded thoughtfully, his gaze distant as if already running mental scenarios. "Nothing excessive, then. No grand romantic gestures. No public declarations."

She shook her head. "Exactly. Just enough to be believable. A natural level of comfort, nothing over the top. We don’t want to overplay it and risk making it seem artificial."

His lips pressed together in a thin line as he weighed her words. After a long moment, he finally gave a small nod. "I can manage that."

Hermione sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Alright. Fine. We’ll do this. But, I swear, Percy, if I start receiving wedding gifts, we’re putting a stop to this immediately."

Percy smirked, and for a brief moment, she could have sworn there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Of course."

But as she stared at him, suspicion creeping up her spine, Hermione had the distinct feeling that things were about to spiral far beyond their control. And something about the way Percy looked so completely at ease, so maddeningly composed as if he had planned for all of this, only made her more certain of it.