Chapter Text
Hermione Granger stares at the front page of the Daily Prophet, where Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley are smiling at one another under the obnoxiously conspicuous headline: “Harry Potter to Wed Love of His Life”. Hermione drops the paper onto her kitchen counter and reaches for the coffee pot; this isn’t a tea kind of morning. Harry Potter is engaged. To the love of his life.
Hermione makes a face. Once upon a time, that title was reserved for none other than the Golden Girl herself. But then, college happened, careers happened, life happened. And before she knew it, Harry Potter had moved on. To be fair, their relationship had whittled down to a couple of Floo dates a month. Somehow, everything had seemed more important than romance in her early twenties. She wasn’t even upset when they had decided to call it quits. But now – only six months later – it seems that Harry Potter has not only moved on, but he has also moved in on Ginny Weasley.
“I’ll be expected to attend the wedding,” Hermione says the moment Pansy Parkinson walks out of her bedroom.
Pansy stops in the doorway and stares at Hermione with bleary eyes. She yawns. “You’re getting married?”
“No, Pans,” Hermione sighs, holding up the paper so that Pansy could see what she’s talking about.
Pansy squints her eyes from across the room and tilts her head to the side as if that might make it easier to read. She steps closer and says, “Professor McGonagall is getting married?”
“What?” Hermione asks in exasperation. She pulls back the paper and flips it over to see what Pansy is referring to. Hermione rolls her eyes when she sees McGonagall smiling back at her from the lower half of the page. The caption reads: “Hogwarts’ beloved Headmistress heading for retirement”. Hermione flips the paper and holds it back out forcefully, nearly smacking Pansy since the latter had approached the counter without Hermione’s knowledge.
“Whoa!” Pansy yells. “Watch it, will you?”
“Pansy, what the bloody hell? How is it that Harry is already getting married while I – I haven’t even been on a proper date since we ended things?”
Pansy sets the paper down and watches Hermione soberly. “I’ll tell you how,” Pansy says. “You hate people.”
“I do not hate people,” Hermione counters in outrage.
Pansy folds her arms. “You hate socializing. You’d rather stay in and read. Honestly, Hermione, any time I ask you to come out, your response is that you’ve got a hot date with Aristophanes.”
Hermione blinks at her friend. “I have never once in my life said that.”
Pansy shakes her head absently. “That or something like it. My point is, how do you expect to get a date when you spend the bulk of your time at home?”
Hermione shrugs. “I go to work.”
Pansy stares at Hermione. “You work at a school. With children.” Pansy grimaces, as if the mere thought disgusts her.
“The children have parents,” Hermione offers. “I get to talk to parents sometimes.”
Pansy cocks her head. “So, you’re actively looking for someone who’s already done the childrearing bit? Fascinating.” Pansy furrows her eyebrows. “Perhaps I should consider that.”
Hermione rolls her eyes. “Okay, Pansy, can we please without the unnecessary commentary about my profession or the children I work with – I happen to know exactly how you feel about both.”
“I suppose you could hook up with a teacher,” Pansy suggests.
Hermione shrugs. “Nobody has really struck my fancy.”
Pansy nods. “When is the engagement party?” she asks.
Hermione looks back down at the paper. “Doesn’t say.”
Just then, an owl flies through their open window with a scroll attached to its foot. “Ah, Lute,” Pansy strokes the bird’s feathers. “Not a moment too soon.” Pansy throws a mischievous grin in Hermione’s direction.
Hermione recognizes the snowy owl that Harry had purchased after Hedwig's death with a painful jolt. She swallows uncomfortably as Pansy unfolds the parchment. Hermione holds out a small bowl of treats for the owl, waiting impatiently as Pansy skims the letter.
Pansy’s eyes widen and Hermione sighs audibly. “Pansy, when?”
“It’s worse than we thought,” Pansy responds, looking up.
Hermione fights the urge to throw the contents of the fishy-smelling treat bowl at Pansy. “Pansy, I swear to” –
“Next week.”
“For fuck’s sake.”
“That leaves no time for you to make a genuine connection with someone,” Pansy says, drawing her lips into a tight but still perceptible grin.
“Thank you for rubbing salt into the wound, Pansy,” Hermione says irritably. Then she adds. “Why are you laughing?”
Pansy clamps her mouth shut but a quiet burst of sniggers escapes nonetheless. “I’m sorry, you’re just making me anxious with all your hostility.”
“Now I’m hostile? On top of being antisocial?”
“I never said you were antisocial. I said you were unsocial.”
Hermione sighs, wrapping her fingers once more around the handle of the coffee pot. “No matter,” she mutters under her breath. “I shall go alone. Or better yet, not at all.”
“Hermione, we are invited, we have to go.”
“I don’t have to do anything.” Hermione turns the tap aggressively and sticks the pot under the running water.
“Hermione, what if – ” Pansy’s voice cuts off abruptly and Hermione looks over her shoulder to see her friend step around the counter with an excited expression on her face. “Hermione!” she squeals. “What if we get you a fake date?”
Hermione gives her another hostile look. “As if I’m not pathetic enough.”
“Hermione, you’re anything but pathetic,” Pansy says. “I, for one, think it’s admirable that you devote so much of your time to those kids and that school. All the research you do. Reading.”
“Please stop, Pansy.” Hermione closes her eyes.
“What? No, I mean it, Hermione! So, what if guys haven’t been at the top of your priority list?”
“Guys are not on my priority list at all.”
“Hang on.” Pansy holds up a hand. “Are we talking about an actual, physical list?”
Hermione blinks. “No?” She feels cold water trickle over her knuckles and looks back at the coffee pot to see it overflowing. She shuts off the tap, sighing, and dumps out half the water.
“Oh, Hermione.” Pansy pats her friend on the back. “We’ll get you the hottest date ever. Promise.”
Hermione lifts her eyebrows and looks over at Pansy. “Pansy, don’t you dare.”
But Pansy has walked away before Hermione could grab a hold of her arm.
“Pansy!” Hermione repeats.
“Your date will be the talk of the party,” Pansy says in a cheery voice that sounds eerily like song.
“I don’t want to be the talk of the party.”
“I said your date would be.”
“Pansy, please,” Hermione implores. “It isn’t my engagement. I just want to make an appearance so as not to lose face, and promptly blend into the wall.”
“Nonsense.” Pansy grabs a handful of Floo powder from a cannister on the mantel. “When has Hermione Granger ever blended into the background?” Pansy adds, “Not on my watch.” Then, looking over her shoulder, she calls to Hermione. “You coming?”
Hermione sets the coffee pot full of water down on the counter with a sigh. “Where?”
“Breakfast, of course.”
“I just put down some toast.”
“Splendid,” Pansy remarks. “I’m not hungry.”
“Wha – ” Hermione begins, but she’s interrupted when Pansy throws her powder into the fireplace.
“Cory’s Corner, Diagon Alley,” Pansy says and steps into the green flames.
Hermione lifts an annoyed gaze to the ceiling with a sigh.
…
“Pansy, for Pete’s sake, what in the world are we doing here?” Hermione grumbles, dusting the soot off her plaid trench coat after stepping out of the fireplace.
“Who’s Pete?” Pansy quirks an eyebrow judgementally while reshuffling her black bob. Flecks of ash disperse from the motion.
“For – for Merlin’s sake,” Hermione reiterates.
Pansy nods. “I don’t get it, but okay.”
“Pansy, why are we at a diner if you aren’t hungry? I’ve got work in a half hour!”
Pansy glances around the space and shrugs. “Quit.”
Hermione stares at her friend. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, sorry.” Pansy throws her a quick smile. “I meant skip it. Forever.”
“Cute, Pans.” Hermione gives her a wry smile.
“Ah,” Pansy exclaims. “Just who I was looking for.”
Hermione follows Pansy’s gaze to a table near the far end of the establishment. A table at which several men are holding a boisterous conversation. Pansy begins to walk, tugging Hermione behind her, but the moment Hermione notices the nearly white, blond head of hair, Hermione starts to vehemently resist Pansy’s persistent pull, shaking her head violently.
Pansy stops abruptly and gives Hermione a look. A Pansy look.
“I did not sign up for this.” Hermione continues to shake her head.
Pansy watches her friend incredulously. “Sign up for what? It is a table full of eligible bachelors” –
“Slytherins,” Hermione hisses.
“Your point?” Pansy raises her eyebrows haughtily.
Hermione rolls her eyes. “How did you even know they’d be here?” Hermione asks angrily.
“Believe it or not, some of these people are my friends,” Pansy replies in a snooty tone. “That’s what happens when you leave the house for a minute. You have friends.”
Hermione gives Pansy a pointed look. “I am quite content with my current circle of friends.”
Pansy raises her eyebrows. “Are you talking about me?”
“And Ron!”
“Pardon me, I forgot that we still associate with him.” Pansy rolls her eyes.
“I’ve got Luna.”
“She lives a million miles away in New York.”
“New York is not a million miles away, Pansy.”
Pansy shakes her head. “I don’t care! Two million, then.” Her shrillness escalates.
Hermione pulls her cheeks in to conceal a smile. She nods. “Better.”
“Don’t patronize me!” Pansy exclaims incredulously.
“Ladies, ladies.” A drawl comes from behind Pansy. Hermione looks over Pansy’s shoulder to see Draco Malfoy and Marcus Flint walking toward them. “No need to fight over me,” Draco continues. “You can each have a go. Or, perhaps, you don’t even have to take turns.” He smirks and Marcus lets out a low laugh.
Hermione grimaces. “Bite me,” she says.
Draco’s eyes flicker. “Where?”
Hermione is so angry that she nearly growls. She grabs Pansy’s arm forcefully and says, “This was a mistake.”
“Wait, wait,” Pansy urges. “It doesn’t have to be Draco! I agree, Draco would be disastrous. But what about Marcus?” Pansy twists her arm out of Hermione’s grip and drapes herself over Marcus Flint, whose face looks as though he’s been stupefied. He glances down at Pansy with a gaping mouth.
“What doesn’t have to be Draco?” Draco glances between Pansy and Hermione.
“What about Marcus Flint?” Marcus manages to say, although it comes out slowly like he’s still practicing the phrase in his head.
“Okay, maybe not Marcus,” Pansy says, letting go of Marcus in mild disgust.
She walks over to the table of men, who have quietened considerably to attend to the altercation, and waves her arms this way and that, as if to show off the goods.
Hermione shuts her eyes and takes in a frustrated breath. “Pansy, I haven’t had any breakfast. If I don’t eat right now, I won’t be dating anyone here, I’ll be murdering them.”
Draco lifts his eyebrows. “Dating?”
Hermione’s eyes slide over to his face and she aims a generous dose of animosity toward him. “You wish.”
Draco purses his lips to keep from smirking. “Ah, Granger, you just know me so well.”
Hermione looks away sourly. “Unfortunately.”
“Alright, alright,” Pansy agrees. “Let’s get some food in you. You can decide after.”
“Decide what?” Marcus pipes up. “Am I still in the running?”
Pansy glances at him sympathetically. “Sweetheart, why don’t you stick to the broom? I don’t think running’s really your thing.”
Hermione lets out a loud, obnoxious sigh, and heads over to the front counter. Draco trails in behind and, as she approaches the vendor, she could hear his low drawl somewhere in the vicinity of her left ear.
“I recommend the sausage,” he murmurs.
Hermione rolls her eyes. “You would.” She hears him stifle a laugh and looks over at him with loathing. “How are the pancakes?”
Draco gazes at her face for a moment, his eyes lingering on hers. Finally, he replies, “Perfect.”
“Perfect,” Hermione repeats, turning away from him to face the counter. “One order of pancakes, please. Oh! And a cup of coffee. Please.”
…
Hermione sets her fork and knife down, finally feeling content. To her left, Pansy mumbles, “Can I talk now?”
Draco, who is sitting across the table from them, smirks at Pansy.
“When did you stop?” Hermione brings a hand to her forehead as Miles Bletchley’s elbow digs into her ribcage. The former Slytherins had graciously offered up their table to Pansy and Hermione, only to crowd back around them once they were seated. So, Hermione has had to enjoy her meal while sandwiched so tightly between Pansy and Miles, it’s a wonder her food was able to go down at all.
Pansy rolls her eyes. “I mean, about why we’re here. About you.”
Hermione considers standing and leaving, but this action would be futile. They are so encased in a body of Slytherins that she wouldn’t even make it to the edge of the table before Pansy could grab a handful of her trench coat and forcibly sit her back down.
Speaking of coats, Hermione could feel herself becoming increasingly warm. She decides that it’s time for her to get comfortable. “Fine,” she concedes, beginning to shimmy out of her coat, her arms awkwardly pushing both Pansy and Miles away as she sheds her top layer.
“Alright boys,” Pansy grins widely. “Today is your lucky day…”
“Please don’t tell them they’re going to get lucky.” Hermione covers her entire face with her palm.
“You’re right,” Pansy corrects herself. “Only in public.”
“Pansy!” Hermione exclaims when a sonorous whoop resounds about the table.
“I didn’t mean it like that!” Pansy groans. “Can we please be adults about this?” She eyes each and every one of the Slytherins soberly.
“But could we make that part of the arrangement?” Draco winks at Hermione and she sends him a death glare.
Pansy waves a hand at him. “Draco, hush. Don’t make this about yourself.”
“Are you going to finish those?” Marcus, who’s sitting to Draco’s left, eyes Hermione’s plate of now cold, soggy pancakes.
She makes a face at him and slides her plate across the table reluctantly. He holds out his hand, waiting for her to also pass him her fork and knife.
When she hesitates, Marcus says, “Why dirty a new pair of utensils?” Hermione lets out a slow sigh to expel her frustration and hands him her used fork and knife with a phoney smile plastered on her face.
Pansy holds her hand out at Marcus and says excitedly, “What do you know? Practical. Environmentally conscious. Marcus, you’re back in the running!” Then as an afterthought, Pansy adds, “I should start a list.”
Marcus smiles at them with his teeth and Hermione grimaces and grabs Pansy’s hand. “Please don’t make a list, Pansy.”
“If you can make a “Life Priorities” list, I can make a ‘Fake Date for Hermione’ list.” Pansy responds, taking a quill and a piece of parchment out of her purse.
“It is so bizarre that you carry a quill and parchment on your person.” Hermione shakes her head.
“Like you don’t,” Draco mutters under his breath and Hermione shoots him another dirty look.
“I know you’re hurting, Hermione,” Pansy says sweetly, ignoring Draco’s remark. “So, I won’t take offense to your choice of words.”
Hermione takes a deep, calming breath and looks away. Her gaze falls on Draco, who seems like he is enjoying watching their showdown. “Get a grip on yourself Malfoy,” Hermione says tersely, “lest you start to drool.”
He laughs. “I’ll be her date,” he says to Pansy.
Pansy’s eyes widen. She turns to Hermione in shock. “We have our first candidate.” She goes to write his name on the list.
“Pansy! He’s not an option, remember? It would be disastrous. Your words!” Hermione shrieks. Across the table, Draco continues to chuckle.
Pansy tilts her head to the side, eyeing Draco suspiciously before directing her gaze at Hermione. “I don’t know, I’m beginning to reconsider.”
Hermione shakes her head. “No. No! I draw the line at pompous, arrogant arsehats.”
Pansy gives Hermione another Pansy look. “Hermione, they’re all pompous, arrogant arsehats. You aren’t actually going be dating any of them. This is just pretend. Who cares which arsehat it is?”
“I take offense, actually,” Miles says, leaning forward to look around Hermione at Pansy.
Pansy’s face contorts as though she’s smelled something off. “Shocking,” she says.
Miles promptly leans back into his seat.
Hermione starts to rub her eyes tiredly and Pansy catches her wrist. “No, darling, don’t poke your eyes out!” she cries.
Hermione drops her hands and looks at her friend with a cynical expression. “I’m just rubbing my eyes, Pansy.”
Pansy brushes her fingers over Hermione’s eyebrows delicately. “You were tearing at them. You’ll have eye wrinkles by the time you’re twenty-five if you keep that up.”
Hermione scrunches up her face. “I’ll be twenty-five in three months.”
“All the more reason to stop terrorizing your face. Your skin doesn’t need extra help aging.” Pansy shakes her head as if Hermione has greatly disappointed her.
Hermione turns away from her friend and stares Draco down as he attempts to conceal yet another snicker. “You’re awfully cheery,” she remarks irritably. “Daddy get you a unicorn for your half-birthday?”
Draco’s shoulders start to shake. “You amuse me, Granger,” he says. He leans back in his seat and looks over at Pansy, who still looks all but appalled by Hermione’s assailment of her own facial features. “We should do auditions,” he suggests.
Pansy lights up instantly. “That’s brilliant, Draco!” she exclaims. “We could do chemistry reads!”
“Please, no,” Hermione implores with a hint of a whine. She will need more coffee if she is to survive the remainder of this outing.
“Open casting call for Hermione’s fake date.” Pansy smiles wickedly. “It’s perfect.”