Gala Invites and Ministry Summons
Hermione stared at the shiny white paper. It was thicker than they usually used and embossed, as well. The seal was a forest green with gold accents instead of the standard red and silver. Her brown eyes traced over the words multiple times. She sat down at her worn kitchen table, debating if she should owl him. They, of course, would be expected to attend together and there was no way Hermione could beg out of it. The entire wizarding world would hear about the news by the morning edition of The Prophet.
Crookshanks jumped into her lap and started to purr. It was silly, but Hermione began to read the letter aloud for him to hear.
“Miss Hermione Granger,
It is our esteemed pleasure to cordially invite you to celebrate the upcoming bonding ceremony of Miss Pansy Persephone Parkinson and Mister Neville August Longbottom.
We humbly request your presence as we toast the happy couple in magic, merriment, and matrimony on the fourth day of Yule.
Malfoy Estate
Wiltshire, England
25 December, 2005
7.00 pm
Reception is Black Tie encouraged
Please RSVP by owl before the first day of Yule to
Lord Draco Malfoy or Lady Narcissa Malfoy
We look forward to celebrating the binding of these two families.
Sincerely,
The Malfoy Family”
The words floated through the air, ringing in her ears. Leave it to the Malfoy’s to only give five days to RSVP. Everyone would be in attendance, the RSVP merely a formality. Even the kneazel on her lap had stopped purring to stare up at her. It wasn’t the news of the engagement that made her head spin, but the thought of having to return to that room. Coming through the floo and watching herself writhe on the floor, calling for help she knew would never come in that mass of Death Eaters. That pair of blue-grey eyes became a lifeline, latching onto hers, forcing her to disassociate from the pain wrecking her body.
Hermione abruptly stood, Crooks dropping to the floor with a yowl. She paced and found a spot of sun shining through her windows, hoping it would warm her. Her mind healer had encouraged her to revisit the Manor, but the coldness seeped into her bones just at the thought of returning to that drawing room; it always prevented her from reaching out. She knew Malfoy would never deny her entrance, if only due to his good breeding. Narcissa would all but drag her over the threshold, never one to deny the woman who saved her son’s life. No, Narcissa Malfoy would do just about anything Hermione asked of her solely because Hermione had spoken on his behalf at his trial. The Malfoy matriarch sent her a Christmas gift and a birthday present each year. Hermione always returned them unopened.
Crookshanks headbutted her, drawing her from her dark thoughts. He pawed at another white envelope, this one with the Ministry seal. She had cast it aside thinking it was work-related, but upon another look, Hermione’s eyes narrowed. That was the Minister's seal. What official business could Kingsley want with her now? The only case on her docket was dead in the water thanks to the Ministry’s refusal to give her the funds needed to take care of Harry’s home.
Sinking against the base cupboard, she reached out a hand to gather the letter and to give Crooks a scritch behind his ear.
“You’re a good boy Crooksy. Such a good boy.” Hermione cooed at her feline companion while tearing open the envelope. Her eyes skimmed the five lines. Much like the engagement party invitation, Hermione read it multiple times, trying to comprehend it. The words swam around on the white sheet, not making sense. She closed her eyes, worrying her lip.
“There is no way possible. Absolutely not. This cannot be real.” Her words were shaky, on the verge of tears. Again, she decided that reading it aloud to her cat would help.
“This is ridiculous, it is not as though you can help.” She directed this at Crookshanks, who sat at her side, ever faithful. He slowly blinked at her and waited, as if he was waiting.
“MINISTRY OF MAGIC
Office of the Minister
Whitehall, London
Miss Hermione Granger
Dear Miss Granger,
The Office of the Minister wishes to extend its warmest congratulations to you on the occasion of your betrothal contract, formally executed on January 1, 1999.
You are respectfully requested to present yourself at the Minister's office at 7:00 a.m. 17 December to discuss matters pertaining to your forthcoming nuptials to Lord Draco Lucius Malfoy.
Please accept our sincerest congratulations during this joyous holiday season.
Yours faithfully,
Beldon B. Burke
Under-Secretary to the Minister of Magic
The paper fluttered from her hand, trailing softly to the worn floor. The words had a meaning she couldn’t understand. A betrothal to Malfoy? In 1999? Her ears were ringing, her head filled with cotton. She felt spit pooling in her mouth even as her vision swam. Eventually, she rose from the cold floor, her legs tingling. She slowly dragged her heavy frame through the cottage, pulled back her floral sheets and slipped into bed still clothed.
As she curled her legs to her chest, Hermione ached for her parents. So many years passed since she obliviated them and still, she craved their presence, advice, and all-consuming hugs. She might live in England, but too much of her heart resided in Australia.
✧✧✧
Hermione fumed as she was left standing outside Kingsley’s office the following morning. Under-Secretary Burke’s lip curled in disgust when she arrived promptly at the requested time as though he had not been the one to pen the summons like she was a naughty child called to the headmaster’s office. She tapped her foot in a rhythmic beat, her black heel clicking against the marble. Burke dithered about his desk; shuffling parchment and organizing his quills. Hermione was sure the balding man was avoiding her.
We are no more than a metre apart, does he think I do not see him? She let out a hrmph and glared at the Under-Secretary. Just as she was about to open her mouth and demand he let her enter Kingsley’s office or she was going to blast the door off its hinges, the door creaked open.
Standing in the doorway, Kingsley motioned for her to enter. Shooting a final glare at Burke, who sneered in return, Hermione was ushered into Kingsley’s office. Malfoy was already there. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, which pulled his deep blue robes tight against his torso. She refused to let her eyes linger at the fabric.
“Malfoy. Do you have a direct floo to the Minister’s office?” She tried to keep her tone cordial but knew it came out sharp. Of course, the Malfoys would have a direct line to the Minister. Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, she turned away before he could respond, his voice directed at her back.
“I came through the Atrium, actually. I simply arrived a few minutes ahead of seven. I was on time unlike someone else.” He stared pointedly at the small clock on the desk. Burke allowed her to wait in the hall for twenty-two minutes! Hermione’s ire morphed into pure loathing. Having a wand in saving the world from an egomaniacal overlord would still not solve the undercurrent of bigotry that flowed through the magical community.
Kingsley waved a hand towards the plush chairs in front of his desk and Hermione sunk gratefully into one. Her feet already ached and she regretted not casting a cushioning charm before she arrived.
“I will be honest, I am not sure anything could have prepared me for the parchment that graced my desk yesterday. I was unaware there was a betrothal agreement between the Granger and the Malfoy families. While I can see how the two of you would be suited, you both have kept the arrangement well under wraps. With both of your histories with the papers, I have to admit, I am surpised this is the first I have heard of such a long engagment.”
Malfoy was still standing against the wall and Hermione fought the urge to turn to look at him. Of course it had been kept a secret, only the closest to their hearts had known about that stupid pact.
“About that sir, I would like to rescind my name from any and all agreements made that night. Seven years ago, I was, what I mean is…WE were children who had no idea what we were doing.” Malfoy scoffed from his spot on the wall. She flung her body to face him.
“We were drunk on firewhiskey and raging with hormones, Malfoy. Neither of us was in our right mind when we made that pact!” Hermione stared at him incredulously as he rolled his eyes.
“I think we remember that night differently, Love.” His posture was relaxed as he let his eyes wander her body, “Though the hormones part is accurate.” Hermione shuddered and Kingsley cleared his throat bringing them back to him.
“However the moment came to be, this document is signed in both Miss Granger’s and Mister Malfoy’s blood on the witching hour of a new year. That is binding magic. I can have the Unspeakables look into it but as it stands, come the strike of midnight on the new year, the two of you will be bound. Whether you still wish to be or not. Adding your blood to a marriage agreement by itself is strong magic. The timing of the signatures doubled the potency of the powers you invoked,” Kingsley’s eyes softened as he leaned forward on his desk. “Unfortunately, there may not be a way to stop the magic from taking what it was promised.” He said the words kindly, but there was an undercurrent of incredulity.
Hermione could not help looking over her shoulder at Malfoy again. She hadn’t thought of their marriage pact in so long, she had almost thought it had all been a dream, a ludicrous fantasy she dreamt up. But she remembered the abuse that flowed off her tongue that night, the way Malfoy’s eyes flashed with heat and how he snatched his wand off the common room floor and slashed his palm, declaring to the entire party that he had put blood supremacy behind him and would prove it. Malfoy pulled a piece of lint off his robes and glanced up at her.
“What the good Minister is trying to talk his way around is he believes we have utterly fucked ourselves and will need to get hooked to appease the magic.”
“Hooked?” Hermione’s brow furrowed, her head tipped to the side as Malfoy stared back at her.
“Hooked. To get married?” She smothered a smile behind a cough. He stared at her as if she had grown a third eye.
“You mean hitched. Muggles say they are going to get hitched. Though the phrase is rather low-brow.” She knew Malfoy hated when she poked at his high society upbringing and she was rewarded by the scowl that made her want to crow.
“Yes. We will need to get married if your royal swotty-ness cannot figure out how to unbind us from our blood vow.” He sneered down at her, eyes going cold, daring her to figure it out.
“I was not the one to pose the challenge in the first place, so if anyone is to ‘figure this out’, it should be the prat that got us into it!” Her voice was rising. One of his stupid looks and she was thrown back to Hogwarts, feeling the need to defend herself. Hermione looked up into Malfoy’s pinched face, sharp jaw tipped down towards her. Their breaths mingled together as they stood centimetres apart.
When did I stand up? Did he approach me or did I…
“If you would have used that brain of yours instead of that ridiculous Gryffindor pride–” He was cut off by the sharp clearing of Kingsley’s throat.
“That is enough. I called the two of you in to see if this was something you both were sure you wanted. I see now that I should have assumed there was more to the story. I will have someone look into it, if there is a solution, and I am sure with the intelligence of you both paired with the DoM resources, we will be able to nullify this, however, I believe you should prepare yourself for a wedding.” The office door swung open, dark eyes directing them to the corridor without words. With a huff, Hermione gathered up her bag and shoved her way past Malfoy.
She was not sure if he was behind her, but she did not turn to speak to him as they quickly walked towards the Atrium. Orpheus would be proud. Her shoulders were thrown back, head tipped up with enough haughtiness, no one would meet her eyes. Oh, they whispered behind their hands and newspapers as they stood in their little groups waiting to move through the Ministry's system, but not one dared to say hello.
After appearing in newspapers worldwide since she was in fourth year, Hermione was above the rumours. Let them talk and speculate on why Golden Girl Hermione Granger and the Reformed Death Eater Draco Malfoy were seen leaving the Minister’s office, Skeeter or one of her lackeys will most likely run a column on it tomorrow. There was no point in hiding the fact.
She could feel their eyes on them but still, no one approached, Dean Thomas gave a small wave as he exited the floo, headed in her direction but his eyes widened when he saw who stood at her side. Rolling her eyes at her friend as he quickly turned on his heel towards the lifts. Coward. He and Seamus had owled her after their little setup, inquiring about how the night had gone. She dipped a pale hand into the pot of powder. She stepped into the grate and called out her address before she felt his deft fingers close around her elbow. Before she could end the magic, she felt her body twist and contort, flinging her through space and time.
✧✧✧
He hadn’t meant to grab her, he just needed her to take a minute to hear him out. But she was already throwing the floo powder, her home rolling off the tip of her tongue like a caress. His fingers wrapped around her arm, pulling him through the grate as she disappeared.
He landed hard, his head scraping against brick as they stumbled from her hearth. His vision blurred but he knew Granger well enough to know there would be a wand at his throat in seconds. Sure enough, as his eyes cleared, she had already drawn on him. Her orange familiar, a ball of hissing fluff, at her feet as if he had been waiting for this moment to shine.
Her sitting room was small, a large Gryffindor red sofa sat directly in front of the fireplace, taking up most of the room. Layered carpets in various colours adorned the floor, but most impressive were the multitudes of books. Every surface had at least one novel. A side table sagged from the weight of the stacks piled high on its surface. There were several bookshelves crammed to overflowing, books propped atop one another as if a party of researchers just stepped out.
“I do not know what you’re playing at Malfoy, but you have ten seconds to explain yourself.” Draco wasted five of those seconds merely staring at her. She arrived at Shacklebolt’s office like an east wind, cold and abrasive. She barely looked at him, her curls piled high on her head, muggle skirt fitted to her hips in a way that made his mouth go dry, until she was stabbing a finger into his chest calling him on shite he had done everything to forget. Slicing his hand open for a blood oath had been the second impulsive thing he had done. He may have done it in the heat of the moment, but he had also known she would not back down. How was he supposed to know she wouldn’t end up married to Weasel with a parcel of red-headed demons by now? Truly, it was her fault they were in this predicament.
“Five seconds Malfoy, or I swear to…”
“Marry me.” He blurted the words out before she could make good on whatever threat was about to fall from her full, kissable lips. That same mouth dropped open in a delightful circle. He did not let his mind wander as he continued. “A blood oath is a blood oath, St. Potter himself could not change magic that deep. Shacklebolt’s Unspeakables are not going to find a loophole. So, marry me. We could both use the boost to our image, we casually let it slip to the press that we are dating. None need know we are married and then we void the marriage and none will be the wiser, both of us walk away with better images for it.”
He would write the paper itself if it was not the front news story on the First of January declaring Hermione Granger as his wife. If this was his only chance, Salazar, he would use both hands to snag the snitch.
“You cannot be serious.” She had not lowered her wand and he eyed it apprehensively. Her gaze followed his to her wand. She rolled her eyes but pushed the vinewood through her intricate hairstyle. He gritted his teeth at the thought of other things that would make her eyes roll back like that. To distract himself, he focused his attention on her absurdly large cat who sat at his feet, claws dangerously close to his dragonhide boots. Draco took a step back.
“You're going to be married to me one way or another, Granger. Might as well make it your choice.” He groaned, knowing the words were wrong and a step too far but he rushed on.
“I need this. My mother wants to marry me off to one of the Greengrass sisters. If she knew I had already promised myself and our name…well Narcissa Malfoy is not known for squelching on a deal. The papers would stop running hippogriff shite about you if you had the Malfoy name attached to your reputation.” They both knew that the Malfoy name would drag her into even more headlines, but at least he could guarantee none would continue to paint her as a vault-digging slag if she was Hermione Granger Malfoy.
She was silent for a long while before she let out a long sigh.
“I think your ten seconds are well over. Get out.” That line between her perfectly arched brows appeared, her cold dismissal would have impressed his mother.
✧✧✧
Longbottom was waiting for him in his study when he returned later that evening. Draco shook his head as his friend thanked him for the third time.
“Really, mate. It meant a lot to Pans for you and Narcissa to step in on her parent's behalf. Hard for them to host in Azkaban, ya know.” Draco knew well. Before he could respond, there was a light tapping at the study window.
Better than a tapping at the chamber door, I guess. He chuckled to himself as he pushed the window outward to allow the small owl to land on the desk. The tiny scroll on its leg was neatly sealed with an intricate monogram in gold.
Longbottom gave him a questioning look when he let out a crow of victory. He had yet to crack the wax seal, but there was only reason she would have written to him at all. Draco gave the owl several treats and sent it on its way.
“Time for a toast, firewhiskey is on the cart, if you please.” Once both men had a tumbler of the amber liquid, Draco saluted his friend. The large man was clearly confused as he took his glass.
“To promises.” He did not explain himself as he tipped the liquid into his mouth. The burn of the whiskey fortified him as he reread the single word written in Granger’s tidy print.
Fine.