Draco loved his job. He’d worked his arse off to get a healing mastery and had wrangled himself a position at St Mungo’s in spite of all the difficulties his surname brought him. It wasn’t that he didn’t deserve said difficulties, but surely he’d pulled enough wands out of enough arses (‘yes, Healer Malfoy, I did just fall on it’) to have repented slightly for his childhood. He supposed though, in the end, it didn’t really matter what the general public thought of him. The people that were important had forgiven him, and that was all he actually cared about.
He was cursing his healer status at that moment, however. His job had kept him late on a particularly important day, and so that was how he found himself running - something he’d never been awfully fond of - down a sleepy muggle street. There was only one person he’d ever even consider running for, and he had to get to her before someone more deserving did.
He’d seen the marriage law coming. The Ministry had been getting more desperate in the face of the population crisis, and Draco had assumed they’d enact some kind of edict to encourage procreation. Something as archaic as what they’d actually put forward had surprised him, but he didn’t have any better ideas so he couldn’t assume the Wizengamot did either. Wizards were a dying breed, so something had to be done whilst there was still time. The general populace had been granted a generous three months to find a marriage partner, after which the remaining singles - the dregs, essentially - would be put into a lottery. It was on day one of those three months that Draco found himself running to the only witch he could picture a life with. Stubborn as she was, she wasn’t on the floo network. Draco had found that particular quirk rather charming previously, but at that moment, as he realised he was on the brink of sweating, he wished she’d just accepted the damn floo connection offered to her.
He didn’t unlatch her finicky gate as he arrived at her house. There wasn’t time for that sort of faffing. He hurdled it, hoping that nobody had witnessed such a ridiculous act, before rushing up the garden path and letting himself in. She’d added him to her wards a few years back, and so he took advantage to save yet more time.
He was still too late.
“So, what I’m trying to say, I suppose, is...” Weasley was on one knee in front of Granger, open ring box in hand. “Hermione Granger, will you marry m-“
Draco wasn’t giving up that easily.
“Shut up, Weasel. Stop proposing for a second. Granger, as a woman of science, you need to conduct a thorough review of all your options here, and so, if I could ask that you rescind any promises you might have made to this man whilst I lay out my offer, I’d appreciate it.” He tossed his coat on her sofa, pointedly ignoring the way Weasley was glaring at him from his place on the floor.
“Malfoy, we’ve spoken before about you arriving unannounced.” Granger said, rolling her eyes, and looking oddly unaffected by his lack of care for societal norms. He took that as a positive sign and decided to fully commit to the task at hand.
“You are incredibly passionate about your work. I’m in a position to talk to you about your research. Other people I could mention may not be, considering their general ignorance of anything remotely erudite. I could also help. Funding your expeditions or going through your findings. Proofreading your reports, whatever you want.” He went in with what he imagined was most attractive to her first. Ever since Granger had told the Ministry to go and fuck itself for constantly overlooking her (a decision that had his hearty approval), she’d been researching rare potions ingredients. Her first success had been a more affordable but just as effective alternative to dittany, something that had affected his work in particular. That was why he’d pointed out that he was her equal in that particular area - it was a conversation they’d had before.
As Weasley snapped his ring box shut and stood up, Draco moved to his second point. Granger was observing him curiously, and he wasn’t wasting his opportunity, not when he had her attention.
“You’d be financially stable for the rest of your life. I’d give you a vault key and never ask what you did with it, I wouldn’t care. I know you don’t give a shit about how much money the Malfoys have, but if I’m selling myself to you here, then, in reality, that’s a fairly large benefit. You could do whatever you wanted with your time and not have to worry about it making you money. I want that for you, I want you to have that freedom. To find something that is fulfilling, regardless of it being financially viable or not. I want to give you that freedom, Granger.” He said, moving slightly closer now that Weasley was out of the way. “You’d also be helping me end hundreds of years of blood purity. It brings me an inordinate amount of joy to imagine my bigoted ancestors rolling in their graves, thinking about half-blood Malfoys, but we’d be on your schedule with that. We’d be on your terms with all of it. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.” He was edging into desperation, and so cut himself off before he got down on his knees and outright begged her. “I watched you two struggle to get your friendship back after your breakup last time. I know what he means to you, and I don’t want you to do something rash because you think it’s your only choice. If you end up hating me, then it’s not really anything lost, is it? Not when we started off there. If you end up hating Weasley again, then I figured that would be more of a problem for you. Both of you.” He glanced at Weasley briefly. “I’m just asking you to consider me for a second. That’s all.”
The silence that followed was deafening. The possibility of him throwing up was also not insignificant, particularly as Granger continued to stare blankly at him whilst Weasley was smirking in his periphery. Draco decided to quit whilst he was ahead and attempt to salvage some of his remaining dignity. All he might have accomplished was interrupting a happy couple’s engagement, making a right tit of himself as he did so. His heart was on the floor somewhere, bleeding all over Granger’s rug. He’d just have to leave it there.
“Well, that’s all I wanted to say, so I’ll be off now. Best of luck with everything.” He clapped his hands before turning on his heel and grabbing his abandoned coat, shrugging it on quickly and heading for the door.
“Malfoy, wait.” Weasley called, and Draco sighed.
“What?” He snapped.
“Mione, aren’t you going to say something? Put the bloke out of his misery.” The ginger irritant suggested, and Draco frowned.
“Granger, I realise he’s always been somewhat mentally deficient, but what is he talking about?” He asked, waving a vague hand at Weasley, who rolled his eyes.
“Ron wasn’t proposing. To me. He wasn’t proposing to me.” She managed to get out.
“He kind of was.” Draco shot back immediately. “I don’t begrudge you a thing, you don’t need to worry. I’ll be off, and leave you to your happy life pushing out a quidditch team of ginger babies.” He saluted her, clapped Weasley on the arm - if it was a little harder than necessary, that was hardly his business - and turned once again towards the door.
“I have a girlfriend. Scarlett, from the snake’s quidditch team at school. Mione offered to let me practice my speech on her.” Weasley garbled out, and Draco blinked, turning around yet again to observe the two gryffindors.
“Scarlett Lympsham?” He asked, and the man nodded. Draco barked out a laugh. “How in the bloody fuck did you pull her?”
“That’s what I said.” Granger piped up, and Weasley huffed slightly.
“She’s fit, oddly enough I had noticed that. That doesn’t matter now, though. You two are supposed to be intelligent, and this-” He waved a hand between them. “-is bloody ridiculous.”
“It’s not ridiculous. He caught me off guard!” Granger put her hands on her hips and Draco took the opportunity to remove his coat again, sensing that all was not, in fact, lost.
“Talk to him then, you nutjob!” Weasley exclaimed, matching her tone.
“I am not a-” She started, but Draco interrupted.
“Nobody thinks you’re a nutjob, my darling. In the sense of saving us all some time, and perhaps before I keel over and die, might you use your exemplary brain to string a sentence together? If you’re not marrying Weasley, what are you doing?” Gods, he bloody hoped what she was intending on doing was marrying him.
“Um, well. I was hoping you, Malfoy, might be amenable to some kind of arrangement.” She said, sounding slightly defensive but also using the tone of someone in a business meeting. Weasley sighed loudly.
“I can’t watch this, it’s excruciating. Best of luck, mate. Get her to bring you to drinks on Friday.” Weasley then clapped Draco on the arm, returning the force he’d treated him to earlier, and slammed the door behind him.
“Granger, are you actually alright?” He asked in a slightly softer voice after a moment, and she ran a hand through her hair.
“Not a clue. Were you serious when you said…all that. Before?”
“Completely.” He nodded.
“And you’d just be marrying me for the law? We’d be friends?” She asked, and he felt a portion of his soul shrivel up and die.
“If that’s what you’d want.” He managed to get out, even if a crucio sounded preferable to having Granger as his wife in name alone.
“No. Not really.” She replied, looking slightly embarrassed. Draco nearly collapsed.
“Oh, thank the gods. No, I don’t want that either.” He quickly reassured her and a brilliant smile erupted on her face. He wanted to see it all the time, every day for the rest of his life.
“Seriously?” She tilted her head, and Draco all but ran at her, taking her face in his hands and kissing her like his life depended on it. In some respects, it rather felt like it did.
“Are you convinced yet?” He whispered, leaning his forehead on hers.
She grinned. “Well, I’ll need to conduct a thorough review of all my options first. You know, as a woman of science.”
“If anyone else asks you, I’ll push them down the nearest flight of stairs.”
“Just making more work for yourself there, Healer Malfoy.” She pointed out.
“Don’t care. Marry me.” He repeated, less uncertain this time.
“Alright.” She nodded, and he chuckled.
“What a romantic you are, Granger.”
“I’ll work on it.” She promised, but he shook his head.
“It’s fine. I’ll take you as you are.”
“Now who’s the romantic?”
They stood there for a moment, beaming like fools and clinging to each other, before Granger furrowed her brows.
“Why are you sweating so much?”