The Scarlet Tome and the Stanch Overreaction
Black wasn’t bad when it came to party-planning, Draco thought amusedly. Already he’d considered the necessary number of attendees, planned a menu for a small reception, and ordered Kreacher to convert the dusty old parlour into an appropriate venue for a ceremony. It wasn’t the grandiose event that Draco imagined his mother spearheading, but it wasn’t too bad given the circumstances. Perhaps later his parents could host a larger, grander reception when it wasn’t necessary to keep his marriage small and secret.
Hermione had disappeared partway through the planning, but Draco figured she’d run off to the library.
Eventually he braved the Hippogriff-guarded door by himself to seek her out. Though he was still wrapping his head around the idea of being alone with her, it would soon be a necessity. Probably better to start getting used to her, he decided.
She didn’t look up when he entered. He slipped up behind her and glanced over her shoulder. The bookworm was paging through the old underage wizarding laws.
“You’re not gonna find another loophole, so you may as well stop trying,” he drawled. If she were anyone but Granger, he might be feeling insecure that she was seeking an excuse to NOT marry him.
Hermione’s lips tightened as her finger trailed down one page.
“I HATE how backwards this stupid world is. You lot think Muggles are savages because they don’t have magic, but wizards don’t even face criminal charges if they abuse or murder their children!” She slammed the book shut angrily.
“You’re reading the wrong books.”
“But these are still active laws–!”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Draco disappeared down a narrow aisle and returned with a red, leather-bound tome which he dropped in front of Hermione, releasing a small poof of dust into the air. She promptly wrinkled her small nose, which absolutely did NOT look cute, he told himself sternly.
“What’s this?” She flipped the cover. “The Pure-Blood Path? Lemme guess, it’s a manual for behaving like a CORRECT pure-blood?”
“You’ll need this,” Draco fell comfortably into a seat beside her. “You can’t be seen disregarding the old ways once we’re married otherwise it’ll raise suspicion.”
“Your adoring public at school won’t KNOW we’re married,” she countered immediately. “We’re pretending to be engaged, so it’s not as though someone will notice I’m not behaving like a perfect medieval house-witch who sells her children into slavery or–”
“I told you; you’re reading the wrong books. Some of our ways are supported by those old laws you hate but some AREN’T, and most pure-bloods favour our traditions instead.” He tapped the red book pointedly. “For one, children are precious commodities and meant to be protected. It might be legal to abuse your child, but it’s very frowned upon.”
Hermione grunted in response and opened The Pure-Blood Path to a random page.
“Oh, look, a list of expectations for a pure-blood wife upon presenting herself and her household when prestigious guests come calling! How useful–”
Draco resisted the urge to cuff her on the back of the head as he would do with one of his mates.
“This is important, Granger. You’ll have to know the customs when we’re back at school. You’ll need to address people correctly, dress appropriately–”
“I’m not turning myself into a perfect pure-blood princess just to impress your Slytherin thugs, Malfoy! My behaviour is utterly irrelevant to this plan–!”
“But like it or not, you’ll BE a pure-blood princess once you’re with me and you’ll have to play the part to avoid suspicion,” he countered immediately. “If you don’t act the right way, people’ll know we’re faking! Besides, if you really had chosen to accept my proposal, like they’re all gonna think, you wouldn’t complain about appeasing me.”
“Ugh!”
Hermione shoved the offending book away from her and resisted the urge to stomp her foot.
“I refuse to give up everything I believe in and memorise all these antiquated, disgusting rules that belittle people and make me out to be some sort of prissy snob!”
“Hm, I think Prissy Snob is chapter eighteen …”
He pushed the book back at her.
“I thought you liked reading, Granger. You might not agree with all this stuff, but you need to know it, or you won’t be able to fake your way as my future bride.
“Besides,” he added with a growing smirk. “It’s not all as bad as you probably think.”
“Prove it,” she challenged. “Show me ONE thing about pure-blood society that isn’t demeaning to women, prejudiced against blood status, or based on a law that’s over three hundred years old!”
Draco’s smirk grew sneakier, almost as though he’d been waiting for her to ask. Hermione stayed firmly in her seat, arms folded, as he stood and then knelt beside her chair. She held her breath as he travelled closer.
She hadn’t been this close to him, ever. His eyes were a bit strange: slate-grey with just a touch of blue as though someone melted a silver sculpture and added a sprinkling of sapphire dust. His patrician nose was sharp, as was his jaw, but he didn’t look quite so pointy close-up.
His skin was flawless – she thought, jealously, without a pimple or blemish in sight – and his lips were smooth and pale pink–
–and suddenly pressed right against her own.
“Mmph,” she said in surprise.
Draco wasn’t daunted. His cool hands claimed the back of her neck while his lips simultaneously claimed her mouth and Hermione found herself paralysed.
Having had no other kissing experience but Viktor, who’d been careful with her as though she were made of glass, this was something almost otherworldly. Malfoy’s grip was gentle, but confident. He had no doubts about his technique … nor should he, it seemed.
Hermione lost all semblance of control as her body overcame the initial shock and started … melting under his touch.
His tongue flicked against her moist lips. When she subconsciously parted them, granting him entry, she wondered if he intended to paint the whole inside of her with his tongue. It was ticklish and hot and overwhelming, and she never wanted it to end.
It might’ve been an hour before he finally released his grip and slid away from her.
Hermione blinked at his now puffy red lips and wondered what sort of state her own were in.
“I … d– d’you mean to tell me there’s a chapter in that book about pure-blood kissing techniques?”
Draco chuckled.
“There’re multiple chapters about physical contact and how to keep your partner happy. Priority is nearly always given to the witch.”
“W–why?” she was definitely blushing. “Er, I mean … why isn’t it equal?”
“Because traditionally, witches work harder than wizards,” he answered easily. “Since we can both wield magic, we can both take jobs to earn money, so it’s not like Muggle marriages where the man is usually the breadwinner. But the witch is still the one who has to carry, birth, and nurture the children, so she works harder. In return, wizards are expected to put witches’ safety and physical needs above their own.”
“… oh.”
She didn’t expect that.
“M-hm,” Draco reached over and brushed some loose hair out of Hermione’s face. “Gryffindors like to claim that they’re all chivalrous but that’s more of a pure-blood trait than a Gryffindor one. We just reserve the chivalry for the people that matter.”
Hermione tilted her head. She couldn’t resist challenging him, “And now that you know I have pure blood and your rules suddenly apply to me, you’ll no longer treat me like rubbish, then?”
His pale eyebrow quirked, and she wondered if he was fighting the urge to sneer.
“I don’t … I don’t treat witches that way. At least, I don’t want to.” He wrinkled his nose and redirected his gaze to the red leather book on the table. “Our traditions might’ve been pushed on me, but I make a point to follow ALL of them, even if my grandfather didn’t. He only pushed the rules he cared about, just like the Dark Lord does.
“The Death Eaters claim to be traditional, but they’re not known for their correct treatment of witches. Maybe Grandfather had some good ideas, but I remember him hitting his wife when she didn’t obey him, AND he beat Father when he was growing up. I’d never do those things. Corporal punishment goes strictly against what I believe in.”
Hermione realised she hadn’t expected such a confident proclamation from him.
“And your father …?”
“The day he strikes Mother is the day he willingly snaps his wand and goes to live as a Muggle. When I was young he’d give me the occasional spanking when I misbehaved, but it was nothing like what he grew up with. Father isn’t perfect but he also cares about ALL the traditions, not just the ones that suit him.”
Hermione scratched her ear.
“Does that mean if … if all this goes through … he’d protect me?”
“Undoubtedly. I can’t make any guarantees that my father will like you, Granger – you are Potter’s flunky after all – but he’d put as much effort into saving your life as he would for me.”
“So, if being kind to witches is one of your pure-blood rules then why did you single me out before? You’ve always been a bully, but not to other witches, so is it because I’m– was Muggle-born?”
Draco wrinkled his nose again. He didn’t like being called a bully. He was obstinate and determined, and sincere about his beliefs. And he’d been trained since birth that his superior status was to be carefully nurtured so other wizards would never disrespect his family name.
But perhaps he had singled Gra– Hermione out. A bit.
He slowly admitted, “Blood status aside, I particularly disliked you since you had exactly the position I once wanted. I grew up hearing stories about Harry Potter, and I dreamed of starting Hogwarts and becoming his brilliant best friend.”
“… you were jealous of me?”
“I can hardly be jealous of Weasley since he’s got nowhere near your brains … oh, don’t look at me like that. Am I wrong?”
Hermione huffed. “I may score higher on tests, but it’s not as though Harry and Ron are imbeciles! They have different traits that I lack–”
“Like the ability to stay on a broom?”
She rolled her eyes.
“I’m talking about traits that matter. For one, Harry is far braver than me, and he cares more about people’s feelings. I tend to snap and say what I’m thinking instead of considering how it affects other people. Harry is much more considerate and empathetic, even though he doesn’t always show it. Ron is a very loyal friend, he’s able to find humour in rough situations, and he has brilliant planning and tactical skills! Did you know he hasn’t lost a game of chess since his grandfather passed away? Even Remus tried last summer, and he can’t beat Ron.”
“Hm,” Draco mused. “I’ll have to put him up against Theo one of these days. I’d like to see that match.” He tilted his head at her. “So, Miss Nott, you’re trying to tell me that I shouldn’t judge things I don’t understand?”
“Of course–” Hermione asserted immediately.
He lowered his chin but kept his eyes fixed on her.
“And don’t you think such well-rounded, open-minded thinking can apply to pure-blood culture, too?”
Damn.
His lips quirked into a tiny smirk when Hermione finally sighed in obvious surrender.
“Very well, I’ll read your pure-blood book. In exchange, you WILL cease being a bully, Malfoy. I refuse to pretend to care for you in any form if you treat people badly, consequences be damned. And no matter what this ruddy book says, I won’t adopt superiority over supposed lesser wizardfolk, I won’t condemn Muggles, I won’t enslave house-elves, and I WON’T start dressing like Pansy bloody Parkinson!”
Draco rose to his feet and watched as she took the large red book and buried herself behind it.
“Too bad. You’d probably look better in those short little skirts than she does.”
Hermione looked over the edge of the book in surprise, but he’d already left the library.
xxxxxxxxx
It was almost midnight, but Hermione couldn’t sleep. She glared at the stupid Pure-Blood Path taunting her from the bedside cabinet, reminding her that it was her guide to blending in as Malfoy’s WIFE.
She’d barely cracked the book, and already it was infuriating. Some of the courteous rules were alright – making polite bows, not eating until the host takes their seat, addressing people by title – but many of the rules were a ridiculous waste of time. Witches in particular had such strict rules about what to wear and how to act and what they could or couldn’t say in public–
A knock sounded at her door.
She promptly growled, “Go away, Malfoy.”
“Guess again,” Theo’s voice drifted through a crack around the door. “May I?”
“Yeah,” Hermione sighed, moving over in bed so Theo could flop down next to her.
“I saw the light,” he said, propping himself up on a few pillows so he could look down at her. “Weird day, huh?”
“That’s one way to put it.”
Theo glanced at the red volume beside the bed.
“I see he gifted you the guidebook.”
“You mean the list of rules that removes all aspects of my personality and turns me into the perfect pure-blood princess who stands prim and proper on her husband’s arm and never speaks a word out of place?” she spat.
“That was some impressive alliteration.”
Hermione pulled the covers over her head, muttering something about how she’d rather go back to Divination than continue that awful book.
Theo chuckled. “I know the rules can be frustrating, but the book is a little outdated. You’re allowed to embellish and interpret a few of the guidelines differently in the modern world.”
Her facetious tone was muffled from inside the bed. “You mean it’s NOT required that I never wear a robe showing more than a half-inch of bare ankle or a speck of bare collarbone?”
Theo snorted.
“Exactly. Honestly, Hermione, the rules in there that people actually care about aren’t so specific. Besides, we’re gonna be at Hogwarts, not traipsing around Britain attending high-society teas and formal balls. And do you really think any of your pure-blood allies will mind if you break a couple of those old etiquette rules? Do you think people like Andromeda or the Weasleys would care? D’you think I would?”
She peeked out from under the blanket and Theo poked her on the nose.
“Am I over-thinking this?” she wondered quietly.
“Hermione Granger, over-thinking something? Perish the thought–”
She flicked him and folded her arms, though she was grinning. She loved that her possessive brother never wanted to call her Nott.
“So why is Malfoy shoving this book on me, then, if it’s not important?”
“Some of it will be. You should know how to walk with him and how to address his parents and his friends, for one. Social niceties will help you two to blend in as a couple. I’ll help you with that, it’s not difficult.”
“Surely I don’t need to know this entire book for such small things–”
“You’re really refusing to read? Are you feeling sick?” Theo teased.
After he fixed her pillow once she was done hitting him with it, Theo softened.
“Draco’s a bit of a perfectionist, and I’m sure he’s had this picture in his head of the perfectwife for a long time,” he explained dryly. “But you aren’t made for that role, and he knows it. He just needs a little time to let that old vision go and accept you for the brilliant witch you are, instead of trying to turn you into the imaginary Pure-Blood McPrissy.”
Hermione wrinkled her nose. “Why would anyone want to be with someone like that? Some stuck-up bint who just obeys without question and produces children and looks perfect? Really, you may as well marry a porcelain doll.”
Theo looked down at his hands.
“Oh,” Hermione said softly. “Is that … was our m– mother like that?”
“I’m not completely sure,” said Theo quietly. “She passed when I was four, so I don’t remember her much. But yes, I think she was mostly like that. She saved you though, so she must’ve had a bit of a rebellious streak.”
Hermione studied her brother’s identical eyes, knowing from Theo’s stories that their eyes came from Isabelle.
What would it have been like if she could’ve grown up with Isabelle? If Thoros hadn’t been so biased, would Hermione have been raised alongside Theo under harsh, traditional tutelage, or would Isabelle have allowed her daughter to rebel a little?
A sick feeling crept into her stomach. Theo expertly played along with his father’s pure-blood rules and kept his own feelings under the table, but Hermione wasn’t known for being so subtle. Perhaps she would’ve been the same stubborn, hot-headed witch she was now, but her Ancient and Noble father might’ve forced her into the role outlined by ThePath regardless. Maybe she would already be engaged to the likes of Draco Malfoy anyway, or maybe Thoros would’ve found an excuse to get rid of her as soon as he learned he couldn’t control her.
Maybe instead of cursing her current situation she should be grateful that she spent most of her life with the loving Grangers and not trapped under the iron rule of Thoros Nott. The memory of her dad’s – Gerald Granger’s – teasing grin flashed through her mind.
She fought back a sniffle. No matter what, they would always be her parents. She would always be her Mum’s Love and her Dad’s Little Bookworm.
Theo ran a hand through his hair as he watched Hermione’s contemplation.
“I suppose Andromeda might help you understand a few of the traditions if you’d prefer, so you don’t have to read about them. She’d offer better perspectives from the witch’s side of things, I expect.”
Hermione wasn’t so sure. “Weren’t her parents just as awful– er, I mean … weren’t her parents like ours?”
“Yeah,” Theo said with a slight grin. “But as a Slytherin, she’ll know exactly what to teach you so you can fool everybody into thinking you’re Draco’s perfect bride. If she’s anything like Narcissa I reckon she knows every loophole.”
“Right, you know them. Malfoy’s parents. I’ve only met Lucius and he’s … not very nice.”
“Not to lesser people, no,” Theo said with a roll of the eyes. “He’s perfectly polite to people in his own class, especially to witches. Some of the traditions you’d be more approving of are the kind that Lucius clings to, perhaps because of his own mother.
“For one, Lucius treats Narcissa like a queen, certainly better than Father treated Mother. I’ve also seen Lucius around younger witches, like the Greengrass sisters, and I reckon he’d gift them his own wand if they asked politely, just so he could make them smile.”
The picture Theo drew sounded like a far cry from the Lucius Malfoy who condemned a Hippogriff to death, passed Ginny a cursed diary, and manipulated Fudge to further his political goals.
Hermione twirled her hair around her finger uneasily until it started to frizz.
“What about Narcissa, then? Is she like Andromeda?”
Hermione had only met Tonks’ mother once and found her to resemble Professor McGonagall: Stout-hearted and firm, obviously not a witch to cross, but softer once you earned her affections.
“Narcissa is the type who seems like the perfect pure-blood wife. She dresses exquisitely and follows every etiquette rule to the letter and is the world’s most perfect hostess. But she’s got her quiet rebellions. For instance, she ignored the Malfoy’s tradition of choosing a Roman name for her son in favour of a constellation, like the Blacks. She’s also said unexpected things to Draco like, ‘I hope you find someone who makes you happy’ rather than, ‘I hope you choose a proper wife.’ Geez, relax, silly.”
Theo grinned as he swatted Hermione’s hand, forcing her to abandon messing up her hair further. She started picking at a hangnail instead.
“You think … will they let this happen if they don’t know the truth?”
“If Narcissa believes Draco’s happy with you, she won’t argue,” Theo said quietly, covering up Hermione’s hands with his own so she’d stop her nervous picking. She was jealous of her twin’s ability to sit still. “Lucius might be harder to convince, but Draco’s gonna play up that he’s with you so that he can get close to Potter.
“Honestly, Lucius’ll probably let the wedding happen and expect Draco to divorce you after the war before his son has an heir anyway,” He added with a scowl.
Something clenched in Hermione’s stomach at the words wedding and heir.
“Well, then Lucius and I have something in common,” she mumbled.
Theo blinked down at her in surprise.
“But …”
Hermione looked up at her brother questioningly.
“You don’t …?” Theo shook his head. “Er, never mind. It’s alright. Anyway, Draco’s not gonna try and risk anything physical, he knows better than that–”
“Well, he already stole one snog,” Hermione sighed. “And it wasn’t as bad as I–”
She stopped talking in surprise when Theo sat up straight as a flagpole with his eyes flown open wide.
“He did NOT!”
Hermione raised an eyebrow at her twin.
“It’s not a big deal. I mean, wouldn’t we have to kiss anyway–?”
“No,” Theo growled. His hands were curling into fists.
Hermione was a little daunted; she’d never seen Theo angry before.
“I would’ve let him kiss your cheek at the wedding, but that’s …! He– I’m gonna kill him!”
Theo was on his feet faster than lightning, pounding across the floor, and Hermione dove out of bed to grab his arm before he reached the door.
“Theo, calm down! He didn’t hurt me–!”
“I know how his mind works!” Theo spat, venomously. “He’s a Slytherin! He’s trying to lay the groundwork to take things to the next level and … no, let GO, Hermione– I need to CURSE HIM–!”
A knock on the door surprised both twins.
Hermione called out “Yes?” without letting go of her angry brother’s arm. Harry entered the room, one eyebrow raised.
“Kinda loud. Wasn’t sure if it was ‘cause Malfoy came in here.”
Theo whipped his head around to glare at his sister.
“Did he EVER–?!”
“No, of course not! He’s never been here – except that first morning when he came looking for you.”
“Good,” Theo growled. “If he tries to set a TOE in here, I’m gonna cut it off!”
Harry chortled from behind Theo, “Ron would have fun helping you.”
Theo turned back around to suspiciously eye the other wizard.
“And are YOU in the habit of coming into Hermione’s room late at night?”
Harry barely had a chance to raise an eyebrow before Hermione gave Theo’s arm a tug to make him sit back down on the bed.
“Theo, for heaven’s sake! Harry’s been my best friend for almost six years, and I TRUST him. And Ron. Even though Ron can be a little childish perhaps, you don’t have to worry about them any more than you’d have to worry about Ginny.”
Her brother folded his arms with a huff. Hermione stared him down until he managed to relax his tight shoulders.
“I think I’ll feel better once you’re back at school and no boys can get in your dormitory,” he muttered.
“Is that a thing in all houses, that boys can’t do that?” Harry asked, bemused. “She can get into ours, but she insists its ‘cause the founders thought girls were more trustworthy.”
“They ARE,” Theo and Hermione answered together.
Harry chuckled. “Alright, Hermione, if you’re OK then I’m gonna head to bed. Try not to have any nightmares about your future husband.”
He quickly pulled the door shut before her stray pillow hit him in the head.