Mirror Image

“Alright,” Narcissa said, pulling a long scroll of parchment out of the desk. “We must discuss the invite list.”

“Invite list?” Hermione asked, perking up from where she was sitting with a book across the study. Lammas was still a while off, but for the life of her, Hermione couldn’t think of anything else the Malfoys might need to create an invitation list for. She didn’t often get invited into Narcissa’s personal study, and she’d assumed the invitation today was an innocuous invitation to spend time together, not an invitation to plan a party together.

“Our engagement party,” Theo clarified. He stretched on the couch by Narcissa’s big, bay windows like he was just waking up, and smiled good-naturedly at Hermione’s shocked expression.

Draco hummed from the doorway. “Father mentioned you all were in here planning.”

Narcissa smiled. She and Draco had picked out the invites for the party earlier, something nice and creamy with gold embossing. What with Hermione being a functional orphan and Theodore keeping his father as far away from his matching as possible, planning and hosting an engagement party came down to the Malfoys. And tradition dictated they would get the final say in the finer, more stylistic choices.

“We were just starting,” Narcissa said. “The guest list.”

“The Zabinis, Goyles, Crabbes, Greengrasses, and Parkinsons.” Draco rattled off immediately. “Severus, and I suppose we can send Grandfather an invitation, but I doubt he will join us.”

“Theodore?” Narcissa prompted, turning to look at Theo.

“Invite the Abbotts, Woods, and I suppose the Puceys. Throw the Creevey’s on the list, too.”

Narcissa hummed. “The Lovegoods?”

Theo crinkled his nose. “I don’t think I want Luna to know just yet. She’ll tell people at school without thinking about it.”

Hermione didn’t realize that Theo and Luna were close, let alone close enough to warrant the discussion of inviting them to an engagement party. It made a certain kind of sense - Theo was one of the more friendly and well known students at Hogwarts even as a Slytherin, and Luna was, admittedly a Pureblood. A stray thought crossed Hermione’s mind, wondering if Theo and Luna were related through some distant cousin or another.

Narcissa made some notes on the parchment in front of her, then looked over at Hermione. “Hermione, dear?”

“Uhm,” Hermione wracked her brain. She had no family to invite, and the Weasleys were out. No Harry, either. She didn’t have any other friends besides the people in the study with her and Toma upstairs. “Neville Longbottom?”

Draco shot his mother a look over the length of the room. After a prolonged silence, he cleared his throat. “Put Fred and George Weasley on the list,” he said smoothly. “They’re more inclined to be open to this arrangement.”

“And the Johnsons,” Theodore added. “Just so they have company.”

Hermione wanted to interrupt, to ask them what Fred and George had to do with arrangements and the Johnsons and why they would threaten the Weasleys knowing, but Narcissa was already taking notes.

Narcissa nodded along, then looked up as she finished her notes. “That’s enough to get started with. What would the three of you like for the menu?”

“Fairy wine,” Theo said instantly. “The 1880 vintage that Lucius had for Christmas was nice, we could get something like that.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Fairy wine, as the gentleman requests. Firewhiskey and butterbeer, and pumpkin juice,” he said, shooting Hermione a kind look. “For dinner, let’s have game hen and roasted root vegetables. Something light for the salad course. We could have Giavani’s cater?”

Narcissa made some notes. “Dress code?”

“Formal,” Draco continued. He was excited, his tone happy and light, but it was impossible to tell if you didn’t know him as well as Hermione did. It was in the way he held his expression, and it was clear he’d thought about the engagement party extensively. He didn’t admit it, but he had his mother’s ability to plan and what’s more, he enjoyed it. He liked creating a vision, fulfilling it, seeing it come together. Hermione found Theo’s eyes across the room and they had a mutual understanding in a split second. This was important to Draco, and they were going to let Draco take the lead.

“Colors?” Theo prompted.

“Black.” Draco was adamant. “Classic, Muggle suits for the men, black dresses for the witches.”

“Suits, or tuxedos?” Narcissa asked, pausing with her quill poised over the parchment.

“Suits,” Draco said. “No tails, no cumberbunds, no tuxes. Modern suits.”

Narcissa looked back over her notes. “Anything else?”

“Dinner served at 9,” Draco said. “Reception at 10. I want candlelight, so it’s important it’s an evening affair.”

Narcissa hummed and made a few more notes before she gathered her things and stood up. “Alright, that’s everything I have,” she announced, and Hermione got up as well. It was an unspoken rule that when Narcissa or Lucius were out of their personal studies, Hermione and the boys were, too. Hermione followed Narcissa out of the room, Draco and Theo trailing behind them, and that was the last time Hermione was part of the party planning process.

It was not the last time Hermione was bugged about the dress code.

Narcissa whisked her away to pick a dress this time instead of surprising her, taking Hermione to a couture shop in Paris’ designer district. It was the kind of place Hermione might have seen in a movie. There were color swatches and fabrics across the otherwise pristine desk, waiting for her to pick from. There were dressforms, some draped with the starts of other women’s gowns, all along the edge of the shop.

“What are you looking for today?” a nice, older woman asked, her voice thick with a french accent. Narcissa smiled good-naturedly and gestured to Hermione.

“An engagement party gown,” she said.

If the older woman was surprised by Hermione’s age, she didn’t show it. The woman was more than happy to show Hermione some choices - tulle dresses with tiered ruffles, slip dresses, tea-length A-frames, ruched dresses, wraps, and dresses with trains. Fabrics, too - satin and silk, wool blends, linen, chiffon, lace, cotton, synthetics, and velvet. Hermione knew as soon as she saw the plain sketch in the back of the woman’s design book what she wanted. She reached for the fabrics, and then for the wheel of black fabric swatches, but Narcissa pulled it away.

“Draco said black,” Hermione said.

Narcissa didn’t hand the fabrics over. “It is traditional that a bride-to-be wears a color other than the dress code. Draco’s insistence that other people wear black does not apply to you. If he’d named red, or white, you wouldn’t be able to wear those colors. But according to my dragon, the only color you’re not allowed to wear is black.”

Hermione didn’t have to look for long for her color. If she was exempt from Draco’s color scheme, she would pick something befitting of someone engaged to Theo and Draco. She held it out to Narcissa, who approved with a single nod of her head and a brilliant smile, and then all that was left was for Hermione to be measured.

After the dress was taken care of, all that was left for the party was getting the Manor ready and making sure the details were set. Preparations for the engagement party were somewhat mundane without much to do or discuss, and Hermione and Theo kept out of Narcissa and Draco’s way. Draco oversaw the majority of the preparations, from the decor to the food to the music, while Narcissa took a more guiding role in helping Draco take control of situations. He argued beautifully with the caterers when they messed up the food, all with the help of Narcissa’s raised brows and carefully controlled coughs.

~~~

The Family Line

Guest Written by Hermione Granger

Familiar magic is a foreign concept to me. I was raised by people who don’t have magic themselves, so there was never an instinctual pull between myself and my parents. I have never felt my magic’s will to be close to someone, nor have I ever experienced the way that magic recognizes those who are your blood relative.

It is a feeling I only realized I did not understand until my friends explained it to me. The feeling of their magic calling out to their parents at Kings Cross, siblings who possess that near-sixth-sense to pull off pranks at school together, and married couples who can communicate nearly wordlessly are all as fantastic as they seem, and up to three years ago, I didn’t know those kinds of bonds could exist. That essential, core magic that seems to thrum to life and yank people towards their family is as misunderstood as it is rare in these days, and bonds are valuable. Bonds strengthen the magical core of family trees, bringing a fresh, new scent to each family’s fabric of being. Bonds act as a currency - with more bonds comes more magical power. And Bonds are, at heart, the most instinctive way of claiming those around you as loved.

It is, perhaps, the most compelling reason for the age-old Pureblood tradition of arranging matches.

As a Muggle-born, I was skeptical and wary of such a practice. Arranged marriages in the Muggle world are usually made out of family obligation first, affection a happy side-effect for those who are lucky enough to find it. In the Wizarding world, I have learned this is the inverse. Affection is an undeniable spark at the beginning of magical relationships, but the insuing blaze of romance isn’t unlike Fiendfyre. With care and precision, it’s unbelievably powerful. Without precaution, it will kill you and anyone standing close to you.

The use of carefully negotiated arrangements keeps that fire in check. It protects one party’s magic as much as it protects the other, and it’s good for keeping family lines separate and distinct.

I may not have been raised around people who engaged in arranged marriages for the benefit of their magical core, but I have met them at Hogwarts. Friends who have begun to look for their spark, friends who have already made arrangements with their own parents. It’s sweet to see love taken so seriously, with the gravitas it deserves.

In the Muggle world, we tell young adults they are not yet ready for love. We scorn serious commitment. We treat marriage as a burden. The thought of working towards a healthy, thoughtful relationship is a sign that your relationship isn’t working. Fairytales are mistaken for reality, and anything that falls short is clearly a doomed relationship. 

Where the Muggles fail, the wizarding world sees worth and beauty. Work is not a futile attempt to force a romance, it is a lesson in how to bend without breaking.

The practice of arranged marriages has fallen out of favor in the modern era. On some level, I understand. There’s something cold and sterile to signing contracts before you can kiss someone, but there is also a kind of romance in that, too. To be worthy of the work is to be loved.

I don’t mind if witches and wizards want to wait to arrange their relationships, or if they want to forgo a formal, contractual relationship all together. I do mind when people around me treat arrangements as different and disgusting, particularly when those same people have tight bonds with their family and friends. Magic is a natural, unpredictable thing - that is what makes it beautiful. Bonding that magic to another’s is just as natural, and it’s important that people are protective of their core.

Would you allow others into your home, with everyone you love, without being certain of their intentions?

Would you blindly walk into a relationship that could permanently alter your magical core?

No. Anyone who says otherwise is lying to themselves.

Our magic knows us better than we do sometimes. It is sensible to trust it - magic does not steer you into trouble or danger. It protects you, even when you cannot begin to understand the threats around you. It is our best friend from the moment we are born, and it should be allowed to grow and mingle. Magic choses relationships as much as we do - listen. Allow that magic to find your love in unlikely places. Allow it to search out the proper fit.

It is not likely I will find an arranged match for myself. Those few families who still practice the act of arrangements aren’t likely to entertain the idea of a Muggle-born witch marrying into their families, and why should they? I have no other magical bonds, nothing to compare with. No family to grow closer to. No experience in managing a magical bond.

But if I were so lucky as to find myself the perfect love - one that took work and understanding, one that was as much my choice as my magic’s desire - I would be honored to engage in a formal, traditional arrangement for marriage.

~~~

“She isn’t wrong,” Minerva said, letting the paper fall back onto the ornate desk sitting between herself and Dumbledore. “Arrangements are falling out of fashion, and they hold an important place in our world. Magical bonds are powerful, and they can be disastrous if not given appropriate attention.”

Dumbledore steepled his fingers in front of his face. “The content of the piece is not my concern.”

“With all due respect,” Minerva said, her eyebrows jumping up on her face. “What is your concern?”

“Miss Granger’s pieces are interesting, not for what they day, but rather what they don’t say.” He pushed an older copy of the Prophet towards Minerva, folded back to show a different one of Hermione’s articles. Minerva picked the paper up and glanced at the article shown.

“I read this one. She was rather vocal about Umbridge’s direction for Hogwarts, as were we all!”

Dumbledore shook his head. A long finger tapped at the page. “She isn’t speaking about school or marriage. She is speaking about Pureblood traditions.”

“I don’t know where you are getting this preposterous-”

“Someone is teaching her about Pureblood traditions,” Dumbledore continued, speaking as though Minerva had never said anything. “And convincing her that Dark magic isn’t a threat.”

Minerva gave him a look. “Albus, you’ve gone too far. Hermione Granger is one of our brightest Gryffindors, a Muggle born to boot, and she’s firmly allied herself with Harry Potter. What could possibly possess her to sympathize with the same blood purists who would sooner see her killed than matched?”

“Her friends,” Dumbledore said. “Tell me, when was the last time you saw Miss Granger and Mister Potter together outside of classes? She frequents the library with Mister Grozdanov of late.”

“Is this all the manifestation of your hatred for that boy?” Minerva asked, throwing her hands up. “He is a boy! A scared boy who was sent here to be safe. What’s more, he’s a half-blood who has, admittedly, made a friend out of Miss Granger. That does not mean he is a Death Eater, Albus!”

Dumbledore stroked a hand down his beard in thought. Minerva was right - Toma Grozdanov was not a Death Eater. But he wasn’t who he said he was, of that Dumbledore was sure. There was something unsettling and disturbing about the boy, particularly when he made rare eye-contact with Dumbledore. The old wizard had seen many things in life, but he couldn’t quite place a finger on what was wrong with Toma. Even Dumbledore could not ignore the Muggle-appearance Toma had cultivated for himself, but it was a mask. Surface-level. Nevertheless, he was a part of the Gryffindor house now, and if Dumbledore’s suspicions were correct, he was doing more than just studying with Miss Granger.

If Hermione was learning about Pureblood traditions, it was only a matter of time before her curious mind got the better of her and she tried them. Dumbledore had seen smart, ambitious, brave lions fall to the false promises of Dark magic, and he wouldn’t allow Miss Granger to follow the same paths.

Dumbledore did not fear many things. He feared Hermione’s natural, uninhibited magic.

“Keep an eye on her,” he said finally. “See to it she understands the difference between light and shadow.”

~~~

Molly and Arthur were already seated at the breakfast table when the kids started to wake up themselves. Ginny was first, coming down the stairs with heavy, slipper-covered feet, and Hermione was on her heels looking far more put-together in her silky pajamas. Ron and Harry came down not ten minutes later, and then Percy, already dressed for the day and looking like he’d been up for hours. The twins were last, stomping all the way down the stairs in a peal of laughter. It was something Hermione had grown to love about them - the sheer force of their happiness and humor. They had this power to them, and though they hid behind their jokes, they were brilliant wizards. Their pranks were beyond impressive, and they were starting their joke shop in Diagon Alley to show off their abilities.

When Fred and George stepped into the kitchen, though, their happy smiles dimmed.

“Mornin’,” Fred drawled, loading up a plate with eggs and sausage and passing it to his brother before he made a second one for himself.

The twins had only just sat down when there was a pecking noise at the window. Molly got up, walking to open the windows, and Hermes flew into the room with an impressive flap of his wings. It was strange to see Hermes in the Burrow, especially when Hermione had only left the Manor last night for her annual visit to the Burrow. Narcissa and Lucius wouldn’t have been so careless, and the boys could have contacted her with the necklace.

Molly untied the letter attached to Hermes leg and the owl flew directly out of the window without even looking at Hermione. “It’s for the boys.”

Harry and Ron each put out a hand, but Molly was looking at the twins. They exchanged a glance with one another, then each grabbed a corner of the envelope in their mother’s hand. As they pulled it back, Hermione caught a glimpse of the cream parchment and a gold, embossed dove on the front.

She stiffened in her seat.

The House Malfoy invites you to join them in celebration of the engagement of the heirs Malfoys and Nott to Miss Hermione Jean Granger on July 2nd at 9pm. Dinner to be followed by the introduction of the arranged bride and grooms, drinks, and dancing.

Fred opened the invitation with flourish and his eyes roamed the parchment, furrowing for just a split second before he looked up at Hermione. It was quick, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it, but it was there. George read the invitation just as quickly as his brother had and pulling it from his twin’s hands, he folded the parchment up again. As he dropped it onto the table, he let the flame of an early-morning candle lick up the edge. It was accidental to the others sitting with them, but Hermione knew it had been intentional. They were protecting her, and she hadn’t even asked them to. Perhaps Theo and Draco had been right to invite them after all.

As the invitation went up in flames, George and Fred each caught her eye and gave a half-hearted show of ‘putting out’ the invitation.

“Oh!” Molly jumped up, throwing a towel from her apron across the table to tamp out the fire. It was too late, as the invitation was truly burned up at that point. “Boys! Clumsy, the lot of you!”

“What was it?” Ginny asked, perking up.

“Fancy paper,” Ron grumbled. Hermione rolled her eyes but kept her face turned down. She couldn’t risk laughing right now.

Fred just brushed ash into his hand. “An invitation-”

“To an engagement party.” George finished.

Molly paused. “You’re so young, who could you know getting engaged?”

“We’re 17,” George protested. “Adults!”

“And arranged marriages are still somewhat normal in Pureblood society,” Fred added.

“Like you know any Purebloods,” Ron snorted. It was that derisive snort he did when he was verging towards mean, and it almost always preceded something that would haunt Hermione for a while. Besides, Ron seemed to forget that Weasleys were Purebloods. “Even if you did, do you really want to go watch some poncey Purebloods dance around with their gold-digging wives? Or watch some moon-eyed wizard scrambling for power by marrying some old witch.”

Hermione didn’t need to say anything about Ron’s bigotry because Molly reached over and smacked Ron on the back of the head. “It’s not all about money, Ronald.”

Arthur hummed. “My parents had an arranged marriage and they loved one another very much.”

“That was a hundred years ago,” Ron argued. “I don’t want my mum picking out my wife, let alone when I’m still in school. I have a life to live.”

“Who is getting married?” Arthur asked, directing attention back to Fred and George. The twins shared a look before their lips pulled into matching, troublesome smiles. “No one you know,” they said at the same time. It was the same smile they wore when they were being facetious, and their parents knew to let the joke die before the twins could take it further.

The Weasleys let it go for the rest of the day. After breakfast, Percy and Arthur went to work, Ginny, Ron, and Harry went out flying, and Hermione settled herself in the grass to watch them fly. The twins found her soon enough, dressed in their matching purple suits and hair styled up.

“Miss Granger,” George said, a sparkle in his eyes.

“Would you be so kind as to-”

“Help us with a tricky product?”

Hermione looked away from where the others were flying and took in the twins. They were being genuine, that much was clear, but they were smiling, too. It wasn’t joking or teasing - it was kind.

“Of course,” she said. She stood, brushing grass off her dress, and raised her voice. “Harry! Ron! I’m going to help the twins, I’ll be back for dinner!”

The boys each raised a hand to signal they had heard her, but their focus was on the game. Hermione took Fred’s offered arm and let them lead her to the Floo inside the house. She hadn’t planned on going into Diagon Alley today, but she hadn’t expected the twins to get their invitations either. It was a shock to them, that was certain, and they had questions. It wasn’t a question of if Hermione would go with them, it was a matter of where she would speak freely. The twins had been kind enough to give her an out, an excuse to leave the Burrow for this conversation.

The trip through Diagon Alley was quick on Fred’s arm. They weaved through the streets and to the newly opened Weasley’s Wizard Wheezies. There were kids streaming in and out of the building, and for a moment, Hermione was worried she’d have to fight her way through the front doors. But instead, Fred and George pulled her around the building to a backdoor. It opened into an office, albeit a messy one. Notes and sketches were strewn across the walls, floor, and desks. Projects half-built were lumped into a pile by the corner, waiting to be worked on again. Fred stepped through and pushed some things out of Hermione’s way, making space for her at his desk, and George plopped her down into a chair.

Once she was settled, they each leaned against the opposite desk and crossed their arms and tilted their heads.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Hermione said, but she couldn’t help the smile in her voice.

“Forge, did you know-”

“Our baby brother’s favorite lioness has been dating the messrs Nott and Malfoy?”

“For at least a year!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “My personal affairs are just that, thank you very much.”

George let out a laugh. “You can’t expect us to not have any questions at all after your engagement party invitation interrupted our breakfast.”

It was a fair point, so Hermione waved her hand as if to say get on with it.

“When did this start?” George asked, his voice turning serious. “I mean, we didn’t even know you knew them more than passing them in classes.”

“Third year,” Hermione said honestly. It was a relief of its own to be able to talk about her relationship. “Draco and I got acquainted over letters that summer.”

“Letters?” Fred wrinkled his nose.

Hermione just let out a laugh. “We met in the library the last week of school. We were talking and he said something that caught my mind, and I wrote to him. It must have been months of letters before Draco invited me to his house, and I met Theodore there.”

“Theodore!” George laughed again. “How formal for your betrothed.”

“Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy, I didn’t see that one coming,” Fred mused. “They were friends in school, but lovers?”

“Scandalous!”

Hermione finally broke, laughing hard and giving them the brightest smile. “Shut up!”

“No, really!” Fred said.

“We didn’t know you were into multiple men!” George said. “Otherwise we might have put our hats in the ring!”

It would have hurt more if it were coming from someone else. It would have been mocking and cruel and judgemental coming from anyone else. But from Fred and George, it was lighter. The kind of joking Hermione would have expected from a friend, a real friend, finding out about a new relationship.

“Theo and Drake have been circling each other for years,” she said flippantly. “I didn’t change that, I just joined in.”

“She just joined in,” George leered, the dirty joke pulling a belly laugh from Fred.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “So that’s it? You’re only going to make crude jokes about it, but you’re okay with it?”

The twins exchanged a glance with each other before they looked back at Hermione. Their faces were serious and open, no hint of a joke or insincerity. George was the first to move, pushing himself up off the desk and taking a step towards Hermione. His hand found Hermione’s shoulder and he gave it a squeeze.

“We couldn’t care less about who you marry,” he said. Fred joined him at his side and gave Hermione’s other shoulder a matching squeeze.

“Purebloods-”

“Witches-”

“Wizards-”

“Twins-”

“Redheads, the more handsome choice-”

“Or Muggles.” Fred finished. “We only care that-”

“You’re happy.” George stepped back again. “And if Malfoy and Nott have made you happy-”

“And you think they are good people-”

“That is good enough for me.” George finished.

Hermione hummed. “And you won’t step into the Malfoy Manor and scream about them being poncey Purebloods like Ron would?”

“Our brother has no tact or manners,” George said.

“But no, we won’t cause a scene,” Fred assured her. “It’d be a little hypocritical of us, being Purebloods. And really, if they are your friends, I’m sure we will find plenty to be friendly about.”

“I have to ask,” George said, settling back against the desk. “Did they write the Prophet article, or did you?”

Hermione furrowed her brow. “Why would you think they had written my articles?”

“Blood magic,” George said simply.

“Natural magic,” Fred added. “It’s a taboo subject, and most witches and wizards won’t talk about it, let alone practice it.”

“Have you been practicing it?” George asked with a wiggle of his brow. Hermione hesitated, perhaps too long, because the boys shared a look before they each gestured all around them to the products that scattered the office. “We have,” George said.

“You thought this was-”

“All magic we learned in school?” George finished, matching Hermione’s disbelieving brow with his own. Fred let out a laugh.

“The skivving snackboxes are all laced with potions we developed with intuitive brewing. The extendable ears were spell work we did wandless. And got wrong a good amount of the time, until we realized we could use disembodied ears for something.”

“The witches line is just bastardized blood potions we reworked. That’s why they’re so powerful and never-before-seen.” Fred added.

Hermione regarded them with a careful look, and when she found no evidence of insincerity, she smiled. “Well then,” she said. “Show me what you’ve been working with and maybe I can help. The boys say I have a particular spark for intuitive casting.”