The Witching Hour

For Hermione Granger, the trouble starts on the twenty first day of June. The month of June itself is known for its bipolar weather. One moment, it is a sunny summers day, and the next the remnants of the chilly spring weather is biting at your heels. As Hermione would come to know all too well, the people born in June are much the same.

The day started off with one of Hermione’s favorite pastimes. Opening the doors to her balcony, and every window in her room, she allowed the summer morning air to flow as she read The Apothecary’s guide to Potions, Poisons, and Pestilence, an interesting read that she pulled from one of the top shelves of the Granger Library. 

Toddy entered the room with a pop, bowing graciously. 

“Miss, Toddy is to announce guests are here. Mistress Eve wants for Toddy to dress you and be down in 5 minutes.” Her ears flopped around as she began to bustle through the room, gathering up various items of jewelry from the vanity Hermione never used and vanishing her laundry.

“Who’s here?” Hermione snapped her book shut. “We weren’t expecting anyone, were we?”

If she seemed a little miffed about the sudden arrival of guests, the house elf didn’t seem to mind as she went about levitating numerous dresses out of the closet. Hermione knew it must be someone important by the way Toddy avoided answering the question. 

She sighed, “You know I hate surprises, Toddy, can you at least warn me before I go down? If it’s Mrs. Longbottom again, I need to know now so I can prepare my excuses.”

“Mistress is not to be worried.” Toddy decides on her newest light blue gown, the fanciest one she owned for daywear, and incidentally the most uncomfortable. “Toddy has asked Bodkin to keep Mistress Longbottom with spirits when she is to come to call.” 

“Is that why she hasn’t come to visit for the last month? Because her house elf gets her drunk every time she thinks about popping in for a visit?” Hermione lets herself laugh at the elf’s antics and Toddy smiles widely at her mistresses approval. 

The elf pulls her to the vanity. “Miss must be looking beautiful. Must. Must. Must.” 

She set about fixing her hair into an updo with practiced hands and what Hermione suspected was at least a small amount of magic. The elf is finished in record time and Hermione looks at herself in the mirror. There was a lot of effort put into the five minutes Toddy was given to prepare Hermione and it wasn’t for nothing.

Her long brown hair had been permanently curled into waves down her back three months before. It had now been easier to throw up and down at her own whim. 

Toddy didn’t bother with makeup, knowing Hermione preferred to keep a simple color on her lips and to drank teas morning, noon, and night to keep her skin clear and refreshed. 

The teas tasted like rubbish but her grandmother always insisted that one day she would be grateful that she made her take them. 

“Miss is looking beautiful.” Toddy says, taking her hand, “Master Malfoy will be very pleased. Must not be late.”

Hermione was confused. “Malfoy? Malfoy from school Malfoy? What-“ 

She was cut off by Toddy’s apparition and their sudden appearance in the drawing room where Hermione finished her question, “-the bloody hell is he here for?”

Toddy sneezes into the pillowcase she was given to fashion into a dress for herself. She gives a small curtsy before she excuses herself back to the kitchens.

Five pairs of eyes looked at Hermione as she appeared. 

Fuck.

One she recognized immediately as the shocked eyes of her own Grandmother, Evelyn. The other was magnified by the thick lenses of her Grandfather’s bifocals. 

She herself was shocked to be meeting the amused silver stare of a boy she went to school with. And the next two are ones she had only seen in the papers or on the muggle television her Grandmother allowed her to keep once she moved in full time last year. 

The King and Queen of England. 

They were sitting here, in her Grandmother’s drawing room and Hermione just cussed in front of them. She was a deer caught in the headlights and the only thing to pull her out of her trance was the boy to the left of her as he stood.

Hermione dropped into a low, embarrassed curtsy, “Your Majesties.”

She could feel the heat rising and burning up the back of her neck.

Idiot.

They nodded their heads at her and Hermione hoped that the years of training in etiquette that her grandmother put her through, had shown. When she rose, she could tell by the pleased looks on their face that it had. 

She noticed Queen Narcissa first. In person, she was even more beautiful than the photos in the papers. It was a shame they didn’t do justice to her feminine facial features. 

Narcissa had sharp ocean blue almond eyes, a soft cupids bow lip, and an aristocratic curve to her nose that read fine breeding. Put together, she looked almost like a fox. It was easy to see why the king had chosen her of all three black sisters to be his bride. 

Her eyes shifted over to steal a glance at King Lucius. He was a tall man, lean in stature, even sitting Hermione could tell he was tall. His striking blond hair was cut in a fashion close to his head but long enough that it touched the collar of his robes. 

He, too, had sharp features that created almost too-harsh lines on his face. It made him look stern, even as he smiled pleasantly at her manners.

The last strangers whose gaze she met was that of the Prince, who now stood at her side, offering his hand. She felt strange, looking so directly into the face of a boy she’s attended school with for nearly six years now and had spoken to only twice. 

The look he was giving her now was so intense, it was jarring. 

The first time she spoke to him, she was on the Hogwarts Express for the first time. She had been helping Neville, who lost his pet frog Trevor. 

Hermione had just come from the carriage Harry and Ron had occupied to the last carriage on the left, where the Prince sat with his friends.

Blaise Zabini was the first to attack. “Why on earth would we have seen a disgusting little frog belonging to something called ‘Neville’?”

The two girls that sat across from them howled in laughter at him and then turned on Hermione. 

“You better go look for your boyfriend’s frog somewhere else-“ the first one, a plain girl with short black hair and a pinched face sneered. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Hermione interjected, “He’s seriously distraught about his pet and I offered to help him find it.”

“Well go help him find it somewhere else. Can’t you see you’re bothering his royal highness?” The second one chimed in. This one was just as plain as the first but had blonde hair and an annoyed tone to her voice. “You didn’t even greet him when you entered. What are you? An idiot?”

“Look at how she’s dressed,” the first girl said.

Hermione looked down at her clothes. It was a simple red jumper that she wore over the white button up her mum had gifted her for Christmas. She wore it with jeans that made her grandmother cringe when she got to the platform to see her off.

The second one laughed again, her nose wrinkled in disgust. “She’s a muggle-born bumpkin.” 

Though he smiled along with the rest of them, to his credit, the prince didn’t join in on their taunting. 

When he looked at her, she gave a quick curtsy before he said all but seven words to her. “I’m sorry, miss, we haven’t seen him.” 

With his dismissal, Hermione turned on her heel and continued down the corridor. When she got sorted into Gryffindor, and their entire compartment got sorted into Slytherin, Hermione was sure they would never talk again.

She was right for a while, until fifth year came and they were both invited to Professor Slughorn’s Slug club. They were sitting across the table from each other, eating quietly when Slughorn turned his attention to her.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, Miss Granger, are you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?” Professor Slughorn asked. 

In Hermione’s opinion, he would do well to mind his own bloody business. 

The entire table turned to wait for Hermione’s answer and she forced herself to swallow before speaking. 

“Yes, sir. He was my great-uncle. I tell everybody I’m a muggle-born because it’s easier than explaining my parents are squibs, but it’s not true. In truth, I’m not sure what to call myself.”

“Well, whatever the case, you’ve certainly acquired his affinity for potions, Ms. Granger. I do have many interesting stories about your great uncle. In fact…”

Professor Slughorn told many stories throughout the evening but the only thing Hermione could focus on was the fact that the Prince across the table kept stealing glances at her.

He sought her out as they were leaving that night, she was on her way to Gryffindor tower when he called out to her. “Ms. Granger!”

She whipped around so fast she nearly tripped on the stones. “Your highness.”

“You left this,” her book on advanced potion makings was in his offered hand. “It was on the entry table.”

“Thank you, your highness,” she curtsied as he turned on his heels and left, leaving her staring after him. 

He could have left it where he had found it, or returned it to Professor Slughorn, or even asked one of the Gryffindors at the party to hand it back to her. But he didn’t. He chose to find her, to make sure it got back himself.

She wondered if she was reading too far into his  stolen glances and the way his fingers lingered too long on the book when it was exchanged between them. 

She wrote the behavior off as her tired mind playing tricks on her. Without much more thought, the witch continued back to her dorm before she collapsed into her bed. 

And that was that. 

Little did she know then that barely a year later she would find herself in the drawing room of the Granger Estate, speaking to him for only the third time in her life. 

“Prince Draco,” she took his hand and allowed him to lead her over to the sofa to sit between him and her grandfather. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into her ear as they sit  and Hermione wonders if she’s missed some sort of communication between them. 

Queen Narcissa was the first to speak. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Granger, your grandmother was just telling us about how well you do in school.” Her lips pointed up at the ends, making her smile seem somehow sweeter, more encouraging.

“She doesn’t just do well in school, mum.” The Prince, to her surprise, answers for her. “She’s top of the class. She has been since we started at Hogwarts.”

We? Hermione didn’t think there was ever a world in which she would hear a prince use the word we in reference to herself. 

He is sitting next to her, pouring her a cup of tea, plopping a cube of sugar into it and then forcing it into her hand as if they had tea together every Sunday.

“You flatter me, your highness, but I try my best at what I’m good at,” Hermione tried to be humble at the Prince’s praise. “I haven’t a head for subjects like divination so I don’t bother to take it.”

How did he know how she liked her tea?

“There’s no need to be so formal, Ms. Granger,”  the Queen says, “We aren’t under the impression you don’t call our son Draco. Especially given the circumstances…”

Hermione doesn’t ever think the name Draco has come out of her mouth without “Prince” in front of it.

“I’ve always thought divination to be a load of shite,” Her Grandfather said, sipping from his cup (which Hermione suspected was more than just tea).“I once tried using divination to see the best quidditch team to bet on. It was the World Cup of ‘52 and I bet against the Irish…. I lost the house in Ibiza and the trousers I was wearing that day.”

He looked wistfully off into the distance.

Hermione patted her grandfathers leg and reminded him, “I don’t think it’s proper to say “shite” in front of the King and Queen of England, grandfather.”

“Oh no, Hermione, shite is fine, right?” Evelyn looks to the King for his judgement.

King Lucius hesitates and Hermione is sure no one has ever said “shite” so freely in front of him before. “Well, in some situations, I suppose..”

Evelyn looks at his expectantly, almost hurrying his statement along. 

“Yes, Madam Granger, shite is fine,” Narcissa reassured her, although she stumbled across the word, “We say sh- that sometimes, don’t we?”

“Oh yes,” her husband says, “we say it all the time.”

“See? Shite is fine, Hermione.” Her grandmother waves her off, “Anyways, that’s not what we’re here to discuss today.”

Only having just sat down, Hermione wonders how long they had been here before she was called down to their afternoon tea. Taking notice of her surroundings for the first time, she realized her Grandmother had pulled out all the stops. 

Flowers weren’t just spread across the tables, they were strewn across the room in every corner they fit. A symphony of white lilies and delphiniums in every shade of blue they came in were at full bloom. Her grandmother hardly kept flowers in the home. They were nice to look at in the garden but flowers in the actual house were a rarity given Toddy’s allergies.

The most expensive set of china that the Granger estate had was kept locked in vault 004 of Gringotts. She didn’t know when her grandmother had made the trip, but it was now on full display alongside sandwiches, biscuits, scones, crackers, cheese, and even little meats in the shape of roses. Another surprise considering how her grandmother felt about wasting food. 

Between the flowers, the china, and the impressive display of foods, Hermione knew something was up, but she didn’t expect to be the only one left in the dark. 

A quick glance told her she was the only confused party in the room besides her grandfather, who never knew what was going on, as he looked down at his cup of tea in suspicion. 

“Ah, straight to business as always, Madam Granger. I admire that about you,” said King Lucius. “Draco, why don’t you give Ms. Granger the present you’ve picked out for her.” 

Hermione is still confused as Draco stands, pulling her to her feet as well. He holds her firmly by the crook of her elbow, as if afraid she’ll startle and run, and uses the opportunity to brush a strand of loose hair behind her ear, leaning down as if to kiss her cheek but instead whispering to her. 

“Say yes,” he says softly into her ear. 

The blood is rushing to Hermione’s head at this point and she’s certain she’s missed something vitally important. 

“When Draco informed us of your tastes- I must say, my wife and I are impressed that a girl of your age clings to tradition as much as we do,” King Lucius says, rising and extending a hand to his wife.

The idea that Draco, Prince of Wales, knew her tastes was utterly laughable to her on this, the third occasion of them speaking in six years. She would have laughed in his face if she wasn’t so confused.  

“I’m not sure I under-,” Hermione is stopped mid-sentence when she notices the box he pulls from his pocket.

It’s small and black, too small to be a necklace or a bracelet, but too distinct to be anything but jewelry. There were either a pair of earrings or it was a ring in the box and Hermione had a dreadful feeling that Draco’s parents hadn’t come all the way out to Granger Estate for a pair of earrings.

Her feeling was only confirmed when he dropped down onto one knee. 

Hermione nearly faints. 

He opens the box to reveal an oval Sapphire the size of her fingernails, enclosed in a a ring of solitaire diamonds on a white gold band. It was massive but not gaudy and Hermione had to admit it was in her taste.

Shite.

“Hermione,” the prince before her choked out. 

Theres no actual fucking way. No bloody fucking way. What the fuck?!

“I know, better than most, how you felt about the circumstances of our relationship.”

Our relationship? The one in which we’re barely acquainted? 

“It hasn’t been easy for either of us, keeping this arrangement a secret…”

 A secret even I didn’t know about… 

“-but I would truly be the happiest man on Earth if you would let me declare my love for you to the world and say you’ll marry me.” 

Are there tears pooling in his eyes?

She thinks she sees a tear slide down the side of the queens cheek.

Am I having a fucking stroke?

All five eyes are on her again waiting for her answer. She didn’t miss the wide pleading look in Draco’s eye and she remembers what he whispered in her ears moments before she assumed she was having a minor stroke.

Say yes.

His grip tightened slightly in her hands, a reminder of what he asked of her. She could only gape as he continued to plead with her.

“Hermione?” 

Say yes.  He mouthed to her.

“Yes,” she exhaled, her robes suddenly feeling too high up on her neck. She resisted the urge to reach up and pull at it. 

“Yes, Draco,” the name felt strange on her tongue but it was no stranger than the words that came next. “I will marry you..?” It came off as a sort of question but no one noticed it.

A round of clapping came from their audience and Draco slipped the ring onto her finger before swooping her up into a hug, spinning her around. Her grandmother embraced both the King and Queen, who each looked very pleased. 

When he set her down, Draco held onto her hand, newly adorned with its ring. His cheeks flushed. Later, he mouthed and Hermione didn’t know when they started sharing secrets. 

Hermione's grandmother sweeps toward her to take a look at the ring. The King and Queen are right behind her and they embrace the couple, exclaiming their congratulations. If it weren't for Draco's hand at the small of her back, holding her still, she might have taken off.

“My God!” Ignatius Granger exclaims, breaking up the celebration. They all turn to him, teacup in his hand as he takes another hearty gulp from his cup, “This is rum, not scotch!” 

When he started yelling for Toddy or Gimlet or whatever blooming elf served him rum instead of scotch, Hermione excused herself and pulled Draco out of the drawing room and into the afternoon sun. 

She led him down the narrow pathways of the small maze and into the very center of the garden before turning on him.

“You have five minutes to explain yourself.”