Archive of Our Own

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.”

Chapter Text

Pansy sets out a fifth platter of hors-d’oeuvres onto their dining table, crowding the surface almost completely with finger foods. Hermione admires the various canapes Pansy has prepared, marvelling at her artistic skill.

“These look amazing, Pans,” Hermione says. “You blow my mind.”

Pansy shrugs smugly. “They’re just crackers,” she says. “With some dip,” she adds. “Homemade, of course. Only black caviar. Smoked salmon. Some fresh dill for garnish. These right here are baby Dutch potatoes.” Pansy goes on to describe each one of her dishes while Hermione looks on with an affectionate smile.

“You didn’t have to do all this, Pansy.”

“Nonsense,” Pansy replies. “The engagement party is next week and we are on a deadline. The least we could do is feed the poor chaps after demanding that they all attend today’s auditions.”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “I meant, you didn’t have to do all this for me.”

Pansy looks over at Hermione with a worried expression. “Don’t go soft on me now, Hermione,” she says.

Hermione laughs. “I won’t. But can we please stop calling this an audition?”

Pansy folds her arms over her chest. “What shall we call it then? Tryouts?”

Hermione pictures a series of film premises about guys trying out for various school sports teams and cringes. “On second thought, let’s stick with audition.”

Pansy nods in agreement and goes back into the kitchen. “I’m making martinis!” she calls.

“We could just have wine,” Hermione offers.

“Wine gives me a headache,” Pansy says, peeking up from behind the counter after pulling out a large steel shaker from the cabinet below. “But you can, by all means.”

Hermione opens the liquor cabinet and pulls out a bottle of Merlot. Before she can summon a bottle opener, a crackling sound escapes their fireplace and out steps Marcus Flint.

“I’m first, then?” he says grandly. “Shall I call dibs?”

Hermione looks over at Pansy with an unimpressed air. The latter grins at her widely and leads Marcus to the table where he immediately starts exclaiming at the various dishes that Pansy has prepared, effectively forgetting all about Hermione’s presence let alone the objective of the evening.

Hermione flicks her wand and catches the bottle opener midair just as Miles Bletchley steps out of the fireplace, followed almost immediately by Adrian Pucey.

“Can I help you with that?” Miles rushes to Hermione’s side before even brushing his clothes off.

Hermione watches with aversion as he makes his way across the living room and ash falls away from his clothes right onto their Persian rug. She shoots Pansy another look of disgust, but Pansy isn’t paying her any attention. After the arrival of Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini through the fireplace, there’s a knock on the door.

Hermione looks up at Pansy, who raises her eyebrows at Hermione and then even higher at the door, as if it has somehow offended her.

“Who the fuck…” Hermione hears Pansy mutter under her breath as she traverses the length of the flat to open the door.

Hermione cranes her neck but alas, with Miles’ big head in the way – not to mention the corridor wall – she can’t see their caller.

“Oh,” she hears Pansy say. “It’s just you.” Pansy sounds disappointed and her face confirms this sentiment when she steps back out into the living room, followed closely by the ridiculously blond head of Draco Malfoy.

Hermione finds herself sharing in Pansy’s apathy toward their latest guest.

“Here, Hermione, let me.” Miles grabs the corkscrew out of her hand and starts to position it over the bottle.

“Careful.” Hermione winces.

“I’ve opened a bottle of wine before,” Miles retorts, lowering his face to concentrate on the endeavour.

Hermione gives the top of his head a look of revulsion. “So have I,” she says flatly.

“You’re going to lose the cork in the bottle, there, Bletchley,” Draco remarks, making his way over to the crowd that has now gathered around Hermione.

“Why would that – ” Miles goes mute as the bottom half of the cork breaks off and falls into the wine.

Hermione closes her eyes.

“Vintage wine,” Draco says, his hand hovering behind – but not quite touching – Hermione's back as he arrives at her side. “Cork might be compromised.”

Hermione lets out a withering sigh. “That was a fifty-six year old bottle,” she says.

“Here.” Malfoy holds out a hand to grasp the bottle. “Granger, we’re going to need a sieve and a cheesecloth.”

She lifts her eyes to look at him impassively. “Are you baking me a cake?”

Draco shifts his jaw sideways to keep from grinning. “I’m going to filter your wine, genius.”

Hermione stares at him. “That could work, actually.”

Draco's mouth moves into a small smirk. “Not my first vintage, Granger.” He starts backing away from her before turning toward the kitchen. “For future reference, this could all be avoided by storing your wine in a proper cellar with controlled humidity.”

“Oh,” Hermione responds in a mock posh tone. “Why did I not think of that? Must have slipped my mind as I was polishing my silverware and walking about my stables.”

Draco shoots her a look. “Why are you walking about your stables?” He sets the bottle down on the counter and adds. “You polish your own silverware?”

Hermione rolls her eyes and walks around the counter to retrieve the sieve from the bottom drawer. “I don’t have a cheesecloth, Your Majesty. Will a paper towel do?” She blinks at him mockingly.

He bites his lip, still smiling. “Might taint your wine.”

Hermione shrugs. “I’d rather flecks of paper towel than chunks of cork.”

Pansy looks over at the two of them. “Are you two high?” she says. “Did you forget that you can use magic?”

Draco looks over at Pansy patiently while Hermione shoots her a dirty look.

“Magic can’t” –

“It isn’t that” –

They both begin at once. Hermione and Draco turn to look at one another.

“You go,” Hermione offers.

“No, no,” Draco says. “Ladies first.”

After giving him one final glare, Hermione turns to Pansy and says, “Magic will alter the consistency of the wine.”

“That’s nonsense.” Pansy waves a hand. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“It’s true,” Draco says. “You might not notice it with any old bottle, but it will certainly colour the flavour of a good vintage, which defeats the purpose, you see?”

Pansy brings a hand to her eyebrow, her eyes flitting between the two of them. “Fine,” she says. “Do your thing so that we can get on with this. You two are giving me a headache.”

“He’s giving me a headache,” Hermione grumbles.

“I’m trying to help you!” Draco exclaims.

“Just your mere presence is enough to make me ill, Malfoy.” Hermione reaches for the paper towel roll and tosses it at him.

“Ill in a bad way?” Draco questions. “Got a pot or something?”

Hermione opens a cupboard and retrieves a large pot. She slides it under Draco’s hands and stares at him. “Is there a good ill?”

Draco shrugs, holding the sieve over the pot. He pushes the rest of the cork into the bottle and starts to pour the wine into the pot. The mesh of the sieve catches the largest chunks of cork masterfully. Draco lifts the sieve and both he and Hermione peer into the pot.

Draco lifts his hand to move a portion of Hermione's behind her shoulder, presumably because it's obstructing his view . “Sorry,” she says, straightening her posture and flattening her hands over her curls.

Draco glances at her, silent for a few moments before responding, “You should be. Your incredibly fragrant hair is muddling the wine’s aroma.”

Hermione’s eyes begin to ache from how often she rolls them in his presence. “There’s still cork in there, little bits of it, I can see it,” she says, eyeing the wine in the pot from a distance.

“I’d rather not use the paper towel. Do you have a coffee filter?” he asks.

Hermione’s face lights up. “I do!”

Draco grins. “You’ve been holding out on me, Granger.”

Hermione drops a stack of coffee filters onto the counter with a smile. “This was a good idea.” She nods.

“Are you two almost done there?” Pansy calls from the living room.

“Nearly,” Draco calls back. “Shall we?” he asks, lifting his eyebrows up at Hermione.

They place the coffee filter over the sieve and repeat the filtration process. The coffee filter does the trick and the wine in the second pot looks pristine. Hermione smiles widely and licks her lips. “This wine had better be good.”

“We should let it breathe for a while,” Draco notes.

Hermione looks over her shoulder at Pansy and grimaces. “I don’t think that would go over well.”

Draco chuckles. “Got a glass?” he asks, looking up at her.

Hermione nods, reaching for two wine glasses and handing Draco a funnel.

“You’re sharing?” He sounds surprised.

“Of course, I’m sharing. I can’t drink the entire bottle by myself.” When Draco raises his eyebrows skeptically, she adds, “Besides, it’s thanks to you that we have any wine to drink at all.”

…

“Finally,” Pansy exclaims as Draco and Hermione make their way into the living room. She springs up from the sofa to cordially welcome the guests to their humble flat, a comment which causes Hermione to down half her glass.

Hermione notices that Draco is eyeing her from the armchair with a slight smirk but decides to ignore him for the remainder of the evening.

“As you all know,” Pansy continues. “We have gathered here to accomplish a crucial task” –

Hermione groans audibly.

Pansy gives her a compassionate pat on the shoulder. “My dear friend, renowned war heroine, and,” Pansy clears her throat uncomfortably, “secondary school counselling coordinator, Hermione Granger, finds herself sans chaperone for an important event in the upcoming week.”

“She’s a what?” Marcus leans forward in his seat. “What is her profession?”

Hermione closes her eyes while Pansy tries to navigate her way out of this particular labyrinth. “It’s called mental health,” Pansy enunciates.

Hermione drops her face into her hand.

“She works with Muggles? You work with Muggles?” Miles says, his nose twitching as though he’s smelled something funny.

Hermione sets her wine glass on the coffee table. “Let’s just get this over with, Pansy,” she says.

“Alright, alright, everybody simmer down.” Pansy holds her hands up to indicate that she won’t settle for anything but order, despite no one having moved or said anything to provoke her. “Your incentive for attending said event as the Golden Girl’s plus one will be two personal favours that you can call upon in the future – one with Hermione, and the other with myself.”

Hermione is suddenly overcome with gratitude at the lengths her friend has gone through to arrange and carry out such an extensive scheme.

“Each of you will be given a scenario to act out with Hermione,” Pansy continues. “I will be judging your performance abilities, your improvisational skills, as well as your chemistry with Hermione on a scale from one to ten. Hermione,” Pansy addresses her. “Please stand.”

Hermione swallows uncomfortably and walks into the centre of the room while Pansy goes to sit in the second armchair.

“Alright, who’s going first?” Pansy calls out, looking down at her clipboard. Hermione thinks she might have seen a spreadsheet.

Miles Bletchley stands and approaches her, and that’s when Hermione realizes that he’s approximately two heads taller than her. He’s got his hands in his pockets and turns away from Hermione to look at Pansy.

“Hermione has just run into her ex-boyfriend’s new fiancée. What do you do?” Pansy inquires, striking her quill against her lip several times as she observes the speed with which Miles is able to process the information.

Miles immediately springs to action, grabbing Hermione’s arm and flinging her out of the way. He then stands with his back to her, looking out at Pansy, completely covering Hermione from view. “Hello,” he says awkwardly. “My name – I’m Miles. It doesn’t matter. Hermione who?”

Pansy scratches her forehead. “Okay,” she says slowly. Then, she yells, “Next!”

Marcus Flint proves to be just as bad. He takes an inordinate amount of time to understand Pansy’s scenario, and even longer to come up with what he thinks might make an appropriate response for the circumstances.

Each candidate seems worse than the last and Hermione even begins to reconsider Miles when Draco Malfoy finally stands from his armchair.

Hermione shakes her head. “No,” she says firmly. “No,” she repeats, looking at Pansy in horror. “You can’t make me.”

“Hermione, let’s just give it a go,” Pansy pleads.

“I will not be indebted to this… this…”

“I believe the words you’re looking for are fine gentleman,” Draco says.

“They most certainly are not.” Hermione glares at him.

“What if I told you that the only thing I would ask of you, is the same thing you’re asking of me.”

“That would be nothing then,” Hermione retorts.

“Let’s hear him out, Hermione,” Pansy intervenes.

“You need a date to Potter’s engagement celebration,” Malfoy says. “I need a date to an event hosted by my parents.”

Hermione raises her eyebrows. “You can’t get a date to a family function?”

Malfoy cocks an eyebrow. “You can’t get a date to a party?”

Hermione folds her arms and looks over at Pansy in exasperation. “Fine, just give him a scene.”

Pansy smiles and begins to read off her spreadsheet. “You and your date encounter her best friend. He corners you and you have no choice but to engage.”

“Weasley!” Malfoy exclaims loudly to the empty space before him and Hermione fights to keep a straight face. “It’s been a hot minute, mate.”

Hermione looks over at Draco in amusement right when he strides toward her and puts his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side.

“What’s that?” he responds to absolutely nothing. “Oh yeah, Granger and I’ve been dating for months now, isn’t that right, Granger?”

Hermione looks up at him and replies wryly, “You wouldn’t call me Granger if we were dating.”

“Are you – is she in character?” Draco asks Pansy irritably. “Am I the only one taking this seriously?” He looks back down at Hermione and says, “I’ll call you whatever I want to call you. Now, are we doing this, or not?”

“Fine,” Hermione settles into Draco’s embrace and smiles sweetly at the non-existent Ron that Draco has been addressing. “Hi Ron, yes, I’m with Malfoy now. Rock bottom, I know.” She nods. “I’ve also taken up drugs.”

Malfoy chuckles beside her. “Actually, it’s a pastime that we’ve often enjoyed together,” he says, his arm tightening around her shoulders.

“It’s quite lovely having shared interests,” Hermione adds, wrapping her own arm around Draco’s waist in order to alleviate some of the pressure on her shoulders.

“What drugs, you ask?” Draco says, glancing down at Hermione with a wide smirk. “Darling, what would you say was our favourite trip?”

Hermione rolls her eyes and detaches herself from Draco. “This is absurd, Pansy. Ron would never fall for this.”

“It’s only absurd because you’re acting like a goon!” Draco exclaims.

Hermione turns on him. “Surely you don’t actually want to go through with this. Can you imagine having to spend two evenings together, let alone just the one? It’ll be a nightmare. It’ll be two nightmares.”

Draco’s features are taut as he watches her protest. Once she is finished, he responds, “We can set aside our differences for two nights.  I can, that is, if you can.”

“Yes, but can you set aside your attitude?”

“My attitude?” he laughs.

“Your entire personality, could you just be less Malfoy?”

Draco stares at her. “No,” he responds calmly. “Take it or leave it, Granger.”

Hermione sighs resignedly and Pansy squeals behind her.

“Ding ding ding ding!” Pansy yelps. “We’ve got ourselves a winner!”

Chapter Text

Hermione pokes her head out from behind the curtain. “All I’m saying,” she spots Pansy near the mirror and continues adamantly. “Is that of all people we could have chosen, we went with Malfoy?”

Pansy shrugs. “We didn’t exactly have the luxury of time.”

Hermione grimaces. “We had the luxury of reason. And yet, somehow, two intelligent women – yes, I’m talking about you and me, Pansy – ” she adds when Pansy raises her eyebrows. “Two intelligent women decided to suspend all logic and make a rash decision that I now have to live with.”

Pansy folds her arms across her chest. “Are you going to show me the dress, or what?”

Hermione glances down at her bare upper body tucked away behind the curtain and replies, “Be right back.”

“How bad can it be, Hermione?” Pansy speaks outside of the dressing room. “So, you aren’t besties with Draco Malfoy. Who gives a flying fuck?”

“I do!” Hermione exclaims, peeking out from behind the curtain once more. “I give a flying fuck, Pansy!”

Pansy is admiring her own reflection in the mirror. “But at least he’s pretty,” she responds absently. “And everybody knows him. So, it definitely won’t go unnoticed that you two are a pair.”

Hermione rolls her eyes and reaches up to pull the curtain closed again. “That he’s attractive is about the only thing going for him.”

“You hardly know him!” Pansy protests. “I mean, you had your reservations about me too, remember?”

“What are you talking about, Pans? I love your crazy arse.”

“Yes, but you hated my guts back at school. Wasn’t till later that you realized what you’d been missing.”

Hermione rolls her eyes and chuckles. Pansy sounds like she’s just behind the curtain now, and Hermione is finally dressed, so she pulls it back theatrically.

Pansy widens her eyes. “Yes.” She nods. “I approve.”

“I don’t know, Pansy; seems like a lot.” Hermione observes herself in the mirror as she turns about in the floor length gown.

“I think it’s just right.” Pansy grins broadly and lifts the skirt to watch the material shimmer under the moody lights of the boutique’s dressing rooms.

“I don’t think I want something quite so long.”

“You’d be making a statement,” Pansy says pensively, running her hand down the fabric on Hermione’s back.

“What would I be saying?” Hermione asks skeptically.

“I’m better off without you?” Pansy suggests.

“I don’t want to be saying that at all!” Hermione exclaims.

“Well, what do you want to be saying?”

“Haven’t the foggiest.”

Pansy purses her lips in thought. “Fine, we’ll try another one. I’ve got a whole rack prepared.”

“A rack?” Hermione cries. She shakes her head. “Not before lunch.”

“Is it lunch time already?”

…

“So, he was a prick in school.” Pansy shrugs at her chicken pie. “Who wasn’t?”

“He wasn’t just a bully, Pansy. He was vile. He followed Voldemort, for crying out loud.”

Pansy rolls her eyes. “Not by choice, Hermione. Come on, you know that!”

Hermione nods. “Yes, I understand. But even if you discount that entire aspect of his existence, he still spent an enormous amount of time making my life miserable.”

Pansy sets down her fork and gives Hermione a pointed look. “Look, I know you two have never gotten along. You have vastly different principals, share none of the same interests, and possess similarly massive egos.”

“I don’t have a massive ego!” Hermione scoffs.

Pansy lifts one of her eyebrows but ignores her comment. “Point is, I recognize that it won’t be easy being in the same room with him, let alone pretending to enjoy his company. But, for the sake of your reputation, won’t it be worth it?”

Hermione sighs. In the last four days, she’s slept a total of about fifteen hours. And to think that she’s been losing sleep over Draco Malfoy, well, it just vexes her that much more. “Why d’you think he offered?” she says, shuffling the mushrooms on her plate with her fork. The question has been at the forefront of her thoughts since Malfoy’s initial proposition at Cory’s Corner. It seemed suspicious to her at the time, and she still finds it bizarre. She can’t help but wonder if he’s got some trick up his sleeve. Perhaps he means to humiliate her in front of the dignified guests who will be attending Harry and Ginny’s festivities. She wouldn’t put it past him.

“You know why,” Pansy responds without looking up from her meal. “He needs a favour from you, too.”

It’s Hermione’s turn to give Pansy a disdainful look. “Does he, though? D’you really think Draco Malfoy can’t find himself a real date?”

Pansy shrugs. “Maybe he doesn’t want a real date. Maybe he just wants his mother off his back and we gave him the perfect solution.”

Hermione ponders Pansy’s words, but she’s still not convinced.

…

They settle on an asymmetrical cocktail dress in navy for Hermione, and an off-the-shoulder piece for Pansy. The following evening, their flat begins to look like a tornado has ripped through it as Pansy and Hermione rush around getting ready. Pansy gets dressed before applying her makeup whereas Hermione waits until the last possible moment to slip on her dress – less chance of getting powder on it that way.

“Can I borrow your eyeliner?” Hermione calls.

Pansy peeks into Hermione’s bedroom with a grin and wiggles her eyebrows. “You’re wearing eyeliner?”

Hermione scoffs. “Well, I’m wearing everything else – might as well.”

“I agree.” Pansy prances into the room and hands Hermione a liquid liner.

“Oh no.” Hermione shakes her head. “I can’t do liquid; my hand is too shaky.”

“What? Here, let me.”

Hermione grimaces as Pansy takes a hold her face. “Pansy, not too much, please. I don’t want to look like a clown.”

“Do I ever look like a clown?”

“No, but” –

“Can you stop moving your eyelids?”

“Pansy?” Hermione says quietly.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry I’m naked.”

Pansy snorts. “Oh my god, Hermione, I didn’t even notice. Have we been living together too long?”

At that moment, there’s a knock on their door and Hermione stares at Pansy in horror. “Fuck,” she says. “He’s early. Why is he early? Honestly, who comes early? Ridiculous.” Hermione turns away from Pansy and admires Pansy’s handywork in the mirror. “I have half a mind to send him away. Teach him some manners.”

“Actually, Hermione,” Pansy says, making a face. “You’re running late.”

“What?” Hermione exclaims, looking over at the clock on her bedside table. “Shit, okay, are you ready, Pansy? Can you please just distract him for a minute?”

Pansy stares at Hermione’s nude body. “I think you might need more than a minute.”

…

Hermione hears Pansy and Draco exchange pleasantries as she pulls the dress over her head. She shuts her eyes tightly, as if doing this might prevent the fabric from brushing off her makeup. Once the dress is on, she grabs her wand off the dressing table and zips the back with a swift motion of her wrist.

She turns to face the mirror and smiles. The outer fabric of the dress is textured with lace, and a sheer mesh runs down either side of her frame, just above the waist. Hermione runs a hand through her hair, separating the loose curls. She’d intended to make a French braid down the side, but she’s run out of time. She twirls her wand to tame the wild frizz but decides not to attempt the braid with magic – that could end badly.

She glances in the mirror once more, turning from side to side a few times to make sure everything is just right, and then she heads for the door to the living room. She walks out barefoot, looking around for the clutch she’d previously prepared for the outing.

“Just one moment,” she mutters, mostly to herself. “Hi Malfoy,” she adds, waving a distracted hand in his direction without looking at him.

He stands from the armrest of the sofa he’s been leaning on but doesn’t respond. The absence of a greeting annoys her, and she glances up at him.

“I said ‘hello’,” she repeats.

Draco is staring at her unblinkingly. “Hi,” he says finally and then clears his throat. “Good evening.”

Hermione shakes her head at him disapprovingly and then goes back to looking for her handbag. “Got it!” she says, digging it out from under an armchair cushion. “Shall we?” She smiles at Pansy and Draco, slightly out of breath. “Oh, hang on. I need my shoes.”

Pansy starts making her way toward the front door, leaving Draco by the sofa.

Hermione finds her ankle boots and slips them on. She straightens out and looks over at Draco. Grimacing, she says, “Why are you staring?”

Draco blinks, realizing that he hasn’t moved a muscle since Hermione first walked out of her bedroom.

Pansy doubles back and grabs Draco’s arm. “He’s practicing,” she says quickly. “Good work, Draco,” she adds. “More of that at the party.”

Draco glances down at Pansy and lets out a small chuckle, following her toward the door.

“Who are you bringing tonight?” Hermione asks Pansy.

“No one,” Pansy responds. “I’m on the hunt.”

Hermione gives Draco a knowing look while the latter bites down on his bottom lip to keep from smirking.

They walk out into the corridor and Pansy twirls around to face them. “See you on the other side, my pretties.” And after a resounding pop that echoes down the stairwell, she is gone.

Draco holds out his arm to Hermione. “Are you ready?” he says.

She glances at him in distress. “We haven’t practiced even for a moment,” she says. Suddenly, she is overcome by a wave of panic. “How did we get together? When did we get together? Where did we meet? Why did we” –

“Well, if you recall,” Draco says, “we met at Hogwarts. School of witchcraft and wizardry?”

“Right, yes.” Hermione nods vigorously, letting out a sharp sigh. “That part I know.”

“I’m sure we can figure the rest out as we go.” Draco shrugs.

“Figure it out as we go?” Hermione exclaims incredulously.

“You’re not a fan of spontaneity, are you?”

Hermione scoffs. “Of course, I am. But I have limits.”

Draco’s lips curve into a crooked grin. “Alright, Granger. We ran into one another at a bar, two, three months ago. You found me charming and immensely handsome, asked me out, I said yes eventually. We never looked back.”

“That’s awful,” Hermione retorts. “You’re terrible at this.”

“Well, it’s not exactly a skill I’ve felt necessary to hone,” Draco says wryly.

“Dating?”

Draco gives her a flat look. “Lying.”

Hermione blinks at him. “Well, I should hope not.” She sighs. “Fine,” she concedes. “We’ll do it your way. Make it up as we go.” She holds up her arm. “Just, please, don’t suck.”

“Alright,” Draco says, sliding his arm through hers. “But, just so we’re clear, you are more than welcome to.”

As Hermione looks over at him in outrage, she is jolted out of place. After several moments of being squeezed out of her skin, Hermione stumbles onto the paved walkway outside of Harry Potter’s engagement party venue.

She feels Draco’s arm steadying her as she tries to locate her centre of gravity.

“You alright?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” she says. “Haven’t done that in a while.”

Draco gives her a questioning look but doesn’t pry. They walk toward the front doors and Draco pulls on one of them. He holds out a hand, gesturing for Hermione to walk ahead, and follows her in. Hermione stops at the entrance, looking around the hall. It is bustling with witches and wizards and cocktails and cheeses on toothpicks.

Hermione takes a deep breath, and then she takes a step.

“There you guys are!” Hermione hears Pansy’s cry and looks over to see her friend shoving aside other guests to make her way toward them. “You thought you could get away with a quickie before cocktail hour?”

Hermione stares at Pansy and then glances awkwardly at Draco. He gives her a tight smile and looks back at Pansy.

Pansy shakes her head and rolls her eyes. Then, she leans in and whispers, “You two need to loosen up. Otherwise, nobody’s buying this charade.”

Hermione looks back at Draco worriedly as Pansy saunters off. She’s right, of course, no couple acts this rigid around one another. Hermione tries to relax her shoulders.

They stand in silence for several moments after Pansy departs; Draco with his hands in his pockets, Hermione with her hands clasped together before her.

“We’re so fucked,” she mutters.

She glances up at Draco, who is scanning the room. He leans in without looking at her and says quietly. “Have a little faith, Granger.”

“Hermione!”

She freezes all over again, just as Ron Weasley appears from the crowd.

“Hermione, I thought it was you!” Ron gives Hermione a warm hug.

After the embrace, Hermione straightens her posture awkwardly, and then starts glancing between Ron and Draco.

“What’re you doing here?” Ron gives Draco a dirty look.

Draco smiles at Ron and looks over at Hermione. “I’m Hermione’s date,” he says, still grinning, and Hermione can tell he’s enjoying throwing Ron for a loop.

“What – ” Ron begins, then trails off. “Are – Hermione are you and Malfoy a thing? Since when are you and Malfoy a thing?” Ron tries desperately not to make direct eye contact with Draco.

Hermione gives Ron a sheepish smile and then pats Draco on the arm. “I – ” she starts. “I’d say maybe two, three months?” She blinks up at Draco.

“Three.” Draco clears his throat.

Ron cocks his head. “Really? But I just saw you last week.”

Hermione nods quickly. “We weren’t telling people.”

“Since when am I people?” Ron sounds offended.

“I keep trying to remind her of that,” Draco says, and Hermione pinches his arm before she could stop herself. “Ow!” Draco hisses, jumping slightly.

Ron stares at them, bewildered.

Draco looks down at Hermione and his eyes are dancing. “It’s called a joke, dear.”

“You know how I feel about those, darling,” Hermione says through gritted teeth.

“Okay, this feels weird,” Ron says, and they both look over at him sharply.

“Why? Why’s it weird?” Hermione asks.

“It’s not at all weird,” Draco says at the exact same time.

Hermione gives Draco a sideways glance as Ron starts to back away slowly. He excuses himself to get a drink.

“Well, that went rather well.” Draco rocks back onto his heels.

Hermione grimaces. “We should have practiced.” She watches Ron make his way to the bar and says, “We should do that too.”

“Drink?” Malfoy suggests.

Hermione gives him a disdainful look. “Mingle.”

“But drink first, right?”

“Sure, by all means. Let’s just get pissed and call it a night.” Hermione throws her hands up in the air theatrically.

“Are you always this dramatic?”

“Just get me a glass of red. Elf made, please, none of this house wine bullshit.”

Draco stifles a laugh and makes his way to the bar. Meanwhile, Hermione looks around uncomfortably, hoping nobody else recognizes her. She realizes that Pansy was right – Hermione has shut herself away from people for so long that she’s entirely forgotten how to socialize.

“Hermione, your friend is a buffoon.” Hermione turns to see Pansy rolling her eyes as Ron Weasley makes his way through the crowd toward them.

“It is absolutely absurd,” Ron is yelling before he’s within talking distance. “To pour your milk in before your tea,” he finishes once he’s standing before them.

Hermione tilts her head and blinks. “What” –

“Of course, the milk comes first!” Pansy exclaims. “To think you would do it otherwise is ludicrous!”

Hermione furrows her eyebrows, glancing between the two of them.

“What is the purpose of pouring the milk first, then?” Ron steps closer to Pansy.

“It’s just how it’s done! In a proper household, anyway.”

Ron narrows his eyes at her. “Pansy, suck a dick, honestly.”

“Gladly.” Pansy smiles at him broadly. Then, she flips her hair haughtily and walks off.

“I hate her so bloody much,” Ron mutters under his breath. Then, he sees Draco approaching and promptly goes off after one of the waiters distributing appetizers.

“A glass of Cabernet for the lady,” Draco murmurs quietly behind her.

She turns and smiles at him graciously. “Thank you, you’re too kind,” she responds. Draco raises his eyebrows, so she adds, “Too much?”

“I think it’s more believable when you yell at me and call me names.”

Hermione stares at him. “Well, I’m supposed to actually like you.”

“Even so, I can’t imagine it any other way.” Draco shrugs, taking a sip of his beer. “Have you tried the sausage rolls? They look quite good.” Draco eyes the food trays that the waiters carry about the reception hall.

“This wine is delicious!” Hermione exclaims. “Try this!” She lifts the glass up and shoves it in Draco’s face.

He backs away slightly and gives her a look. Then, he takes the glass out of her hand and brings it to his lips. “Not bad,” he nods.

Hermione grins as he hands back her glass. “I’ll be having more of these.”

Draco chuckles. “It’s good to have a plan,” he says.

“Oh, right.” Hermione nods. “The plan. So, I think we should perhaps walk around the room a bit, parade our flourishing relationship. Oh look, the sausage rolls!” Hermione jumps into the path of a waiter heading in their direction and takes a handful of sausage rolls off his tray. “Oh!” she exclaims as he’s about to take off. “Might I have a serviette?”

The waiter eyes her critically and hands her a single serviette from his tray.

Hermione returns to an amused looking Draco and nods for him to hold out his hand. She drops half of the sausage rolls into his palm. “Enjoy.”

“So, I take it we’ll be parading later, then?” Draco asks, popping a sausage roll into his mouth.

Hermione nods, chewing. “I’m less likely to be mean if I eat first.”

Draco raises his eyebrows. “That is a very important detail, I wish you would’ve told me sooner.”

“I meant to,” Hermione says. “I’ll try to keep you apprised of all further pertinent information.”

“I’ll try to keep you fed,” Draco responds.

Hermione lets out a small laugh. “It would be in your best interest.”

…

After finishing their sausage rolls, Draco and Hermione decide that it is time for their tour of the room. She can’t help but notice that Draco hasn’t so much as touched her all evening. On the one hand, she appreciates that he hasn’t taken this as a free-for-all but, on the other, the fact that they are always at least a foot apart likely seems suspicious from a bystander’s perspective.

As she deliberates over what might make their relationship look more authentic, he bows his head to hers and says quietly, “I like your dress.” She could feel his breath on her temple as he speaks and this gets her heart racing, because, to an outsider, the interaction would certainly appear affectionate – intimate even.

Hermione brushes her palms over the flared skirt and smiles to herself. “Me too,” she admits.

She glances over at him, briefly noting his attire before looking away. He’s wearing a midnight blue tuxedo jacket with a classic white shirt and bowtie, and his trousers are slim-fitted to compliment his physique. Hermione must admit that he does clean up nicely, although she can’t be sure that he can take the credit of planning out his own wardrobe.

“You don’t look half-bad, yourself,” she says.

As they make their way around the room, she spots a few wizards she remembers meeting at Harry’s office a few months back and gives them a polite nod. They hold up their glasses to acknowledge her.

Draco comes to a halt when one of the men approach them from the bar.

“Hermione, what a pleasant surprise seeing you here,” he says. He glances over at Draco, holding out his hand. “Ellis Graham,” he introduces himself.

Draco extends his hand toward Ellis. “Draco Malfoy,” he says flatly.

“Oh, I’m aware.” Ellis cracks a smile. “Hermione,” he says, turning to look at her. “I tried getting in touch. After the shitstorm with Potter, that is.”

“I’d hardly call it a shitstorm.” Hermione shrugs uncomfortably.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean – I think that’s just how Potter referred to it,” Ellis says quickly.

Hermione purses her lips and gives Ellis a tight smile.

“I just thought.” Ellis rubs the back of his neck as though he’s suddenly feeling uneasy. He glances briefly at Draco before continuing. “Just wanted to take you to dinner or something. See if maybe you wanted to get together.” He catches Malfoy’s glare and adds, “To chat and whatnot.”

Hermione feels Draco’s arm snake around her, and he tugs her toward himself sharply. So much for maintaining distance.

“Sorry,” Hermione apologises. “I wasn’t really in the mood to chat with any of Harry’s mates from work.”

“Understandable,” Ellis states. He seems unfazed by Draco’s arm around Hermione and she begins to fret over whether they might look like a couple of frauds rather than a happy couple.

Uncomfortably and extremely reluctantly, Hermione slides her arm around Draco’s back. The gesture is symbolic in nature – she’s barely touching the fabric of his jacket – but she still feels the thumping in her temples as a blush creeps up her face. She’s sure that the two of them look completely ridiculous, and she’s about to give up on the endeavour entirely, when she senses Draco’s hand move slightly in response to her awkward embrace, his thumb brushing lightly over the mesh of her dress.

“Well then,” Ellis says, shuffling his feet on the spot. “It was lovely seeing you again, Hermione. Draco.” He nods at Draco.

After he leaves, Hermione peels herself away from Draco’s side and stares at the floor for a few moments.

“Wanker,” Draco mutters.

She looks up at him with a small grin. “Look at that, we do agree on something.”

Chapter Text

The moment Hermione sees Harry, she feels faint. She reaches over to stabilize herself on one of the standing tables in her vicinity. On second thought, her queasiness could just as likely be wine-induced. She has, after all, had three refills, and everybody knows that elf-made wine is quite intoxicating stuff.

She watches Harry mingle with the guests, his arm around his future bride, who is all smiles. Hermione is genuinely happy for him – to her own surprise. She doesn’t have any lingering feelings – in fact their flame burnt out long before they finally called it quits. Her only aversion to the hasty engagement lies in Rita Skeeter’s persistent exposés on her and Harry’s split and his subsequent reconnection with pure-blood Ginny Weasley. And Hermione’s lack of connections.

Normally, Hermione wouldn’t give a rat’s arse about what Rita Skeeter – or anybody for that matter – thought about her. But it seems important to her, for some reason or other, that Harry knows she’s moved on. Her friendship with him has been strained since their breakup – practically nonexistent – and she wants to have her best friend back, without any of their ancient relationship drama getting in the way. And the only way to definitively prove to Harry that she is completely over him is to show him.

She searches for Draco who had briefly stepped away to retrieve yet another glass of wine for her. She spots him at the bar and tries to blink a message to him, but he merely furrows his eyebrows in confusion. She groans as Harry moves closer to her table.

She smiles when he sees her. He lifts his hand and tilts his head to the side, giving her a subtle wave as Ginny continues her conversation with Kingsley Shacklebolt. Harry excuses himself, placing his hands over Ginny’s arms briefly to indicate that he means to walk away, and she turns to give him a quick peck before he goes. Ginny beams at him and then turns back to Kingsley, while Harry looks over at Hermione sheepishly.

Hermione gives him a tight smile. She could be happy for him and still prefer to not see him kissing his fiancée.

“You made it,” he says once he’s standing right before her.

She nods. “Of course,” she says. “My best friend is engaged. To be married!”

Harry lets out an uncomfortable sigh. “Life’s kind of funny that way, isn’t it?”

Hermione stares at him. “I’m not sure I see the humour. But I am happy for you.”

Harry glances to the bar where Malfoy has finally procured their drinks. “Can’t help who you fall for.” Harry shrugs.

Hermione raises her eyebrows as Harry turns back. He has noticed her and Malfoy together, and it seems that he has bought into their ruse. She only hopes that they can keep up appearances now that he is close enough to scrutinize their behaviour.

“Potter,” Malfoy declares as he approaches them. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Harry rolls his eyes at Hermione and gives Malfoy an unconvincing smile. “I was going to say the same to you.”

“Ah.” Malfoy waves a hand casually after handing Hermione her glass. “Not everyone can be so quick on the draw.”

Harry gives Hermione a wry look. “I trust you’re doing well, Malfoy,” Harry says, eyeing him haughtily. “You must be,” he continues. “Considering Hermione deems you to be sufficiently tolerable.”

Draco grins, glancing at Hermione mischievously. “I think you’ll find that her priorities have rather shifted as of late.”

Harry narrows his eyes, while Hermione stares at Draco in horror. “What does that even mean?” Harry blurts out.

Draco leans over and utters in a low voice, “It means I’m good in bed. And the rest hardly matters.”

Hermione closes her eyes and brings her hand up to her face, running her finger along her brow as her face reddens. And just like that, their jig is up. What had she expected, anyway? For Malfoy to take this seriously? Her hand slips to her mouth as she peeks up at Harry.

Harry is watching her with a half-smile on his face. “Well,” he says, partly to her but mostly to Malfoy. “As long as she’s happy.”

Hermione blinks at him and then at Malfoy’s smirk and presses her lips into a painful smile. “I am,” she says quietly.

Harry meets Hermione’s gaze with an earnest smile. “Well, I better go,” he says. “It was good to see you, Hermione.” He turns and claps Malfoy on the arm. “Take it easy, Malfoy.”

“Potter.” Malfoy acknowledges his departure with a nod.

The moment Harry is out of earshot, Hermione rounds on Draco. “I could murder you,” she hisses.

Draco sneers. “I doubt it. But I wouldn’t mind participating if you wanted to try.”

Hermione’s gaze turns cold. “Is this all a big joke to you?”

Draco purses his lips. “Relax, Princess Gryffindor. If you haven’t noticed, we’re actually proving to be an extremely convincing couple.” Draco glances around musingly. “Go figure.”

Hermione peers behind Draco’s shoulder at Harry and Ginny, now being congratulated by none other than Rita Skeeter herself. She brings a hand to her stomach, feeling suddenly extremely ill. “Oh, dear god,” she whispers. “What the bloody hell is she doing here?”

Draco turns to inspect the situation. “Skeeter?” he asks.

Hermione grabs his arm. “Malfoy, please, listen to me,” she says desperately. He turns back to look at her but she’s still watching Rita. “Rita must believe that you and I are together and very happily so.” She directs her gaze at him. “This is extremely important.” She gulps. “This is –” she sighs, unsure how to relay the magnitude of this encounter.

“This is why we’re here?” Draco finishes. His carefree smirk has given way to an uncharacteristically sincere expression.

Hermione nods, unclasping her fingers from his arm. Just in time, as Rita Skeeter is already making her way over toward them.

“Oh, Hermione, dear!” Rita exclaims, as if she’s wildly surprised to see her in attendance. “You’re here!”

Hermione feels a shiver running through her. Fooling Ron and Harry was one thing but getting Rita Skeeter to accept this farce as fact would be nearly impossible.

She feels Draco’s fingers close around her hand and Rita stops in her tracks. “Wait just a minute,” she says. “Don’t tell me you’ve snagged yet another prominent wizard of your generation with your wiles.” She blinks innocently between the two of them. “Let’s hope you can hang on to this one, shall we?” She gives Hermione a wicked smirk.

Draco’s hand tightens around Hermione’s. “Let’s hope I don’t fuck it up,” Draco says with smile, looking down at Hermione.

She smiles back at him gratefully as he puts his arm around her. She rests her head on his shoulder, glancing back at Rita. “I think this one’s going to stick, Rita,” she says. “But thank you for your concern.”

Rita glares at the two of them as if they had just announced the return of denim on denim.

…

Hermione stumbles out of the venue doubled over from laughter. Draco can barely hold her upright. “But did you see her face?” She guffaws.

Draco nods in amusement. “For the seventh time, yes. Yes, I did.”

“Oh god, it was absolutely magnificent!” she gushes.

Draco chuckles. “I’m happy you’re pleased.”

Hermione stands upright suddenly and Draco lets go of her waist. She places her hands on her hips. “You know what?” she says. “I am pleased. I am pleased as punch.”

Draco smirks. “You’re also drunk as a fiddler.”

“Am not.”

Draco raises his eyebrows. “You’re extremely intoxicated.”

Hermione bites her lip and gives him a sly smile. “Don’t you tell anyone. You’re my boyfriend and that means my secrets are safe with you.”

Draco eyes her with a grin, his hands in his pockets. “I could live with that,” he says. “Although, I’m not quite sure why we’re hiding the fact that you’re inebriated at a party serving alcohol. Three quarters of the guests can’t walk straight.”

Hermione shrugs, her smile falling slightly. “I guess I still care what people think of me.”

“Strange then, that you decided to bring me to this shindig.”

“Why? Your family’s redeemed itself many times over. Your mother has successfully restored your family name. Your father” –

“Doesn’t erase what we did,” he says tersely.

Hermione looks down at the ground. The conversation has taken an unpleasant turn and she’s not sure she could handle it in her current state.

Malfoy begins to walk, brushing past her. “Forget I said anything,” he mutters.

She turns and wobbles. “You know, I probably will,” she says.

He stops and rotates to look at her, chuckling. “C’mon, Granger. We’ll have to take the long way, since you’re clearly in no condition to Apparate.”

Hermione furrows her brows and tilts her head. “What’s the long way?”

…

“You know, we could’ve just Floo’d,” Hermione says as Draco ushers her toward the back of the Knight Bus.

“I wanted to have a chat,” Draco mutters as they sit down. “Before we end the night.”

She looks up at him uneasily, wondering if perhaps she had pushed him too far and he is annoyed at having been used as a pawn in her scheme. Promptly, she reminds herself that he was the one who had offered his services and, more importantly, she cares very little whether she’s ruffled his feathers.

“I wanted to go over the plan for the event next week,” he says.

Hermione bristles. “Oh, sure,” she says derisively. “For my function, we just went with the flow, but for your party, we must perfect every detail.”

Malfoy sighs irritably. “My mother is more perceptive than Rita Skeeter, trust me.”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “Fine, what do you suggest?”

“Well, for starters, let’s limit the alcohol intake.”

Hermione stares at him in outrage. “You were the one who said I shouldn’t be ashamed of drinking at a party!”

“And I meant it,” he responds. “I just don’t want you to slip up because you aren’t entirely lucid.”

Hermione grits her teeth. “You know, it might be easier for me to be nice to you if I’m not entirely lucid.”

Draco sucks in his cheeks as he smirks. “So now I have to keep you fed and hydrated to avoid aggression?”

Hermione laughs. “I should have mentioned that I’m exceedingly high maintenance.”

Draco chuckles. “Don’t worry, I can handle it.”

“I was actually looking forward to some fine wine at the Malfoy Estate.” Hermione frowns slightly.

“I didn’t say you had to abstain entirely.” Malfoy shakes his head. “You know what? Fine, drink all the wine, Granger.”

Hermione chuckles. “I’m joking. Of course, I understand your concerns.”

“Well, you’re making me feel bad about it.”

Hermione raises her eyebrows. “Is it your first time?”

Draco gives her an unamused look. “Funny.”

“Alright, alright,” Hermione says. “What else? Other than staying sober? Which I will attempt, promise.”

Draco shakes his head. “Well, we should know some things about each other,” he says.

Hermione nods. “In the event your mother decides to quiz us on the irrelevant details of our lives.”

Draco watches her disdainfully. “In the event my mother mentions something that, as my girlfriend, you should know.”

Hermione purses her lips. “Okay, give it to me,” she says. “What is your toilet roll hanging preference? Hang on, I should take notes.” She unclasps her clutch and reaches in for a notepad just as Pansy had done at Cory’s Corner.

Draco puts a hand over her arm before she could extract her pen. “This is serious,” he says. “And over, obviously.”

Hermione’s pursed lips unravel into a poorly contained grin. She starts to laugh again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll stop.” She lets out a breath. “It’s that bloody elf wine. It is toxic.”

Draco keeps his hand on her arm for another moment, then lifts it unceremoniously, as if he’s just realized what he is doing. “Yeah,” he says, staring blankly at the floor of the bus. “You’re going to feel like shit tomorrow.”

Hermione lets out a sigh. “That’s alright,” she mutters. “It will have been worth it.”

Draco smirks absently. “It will have been.” He laughs. “Only you, Granger, would find a way to use the future perfect tense in casual conversation.”

Hermione chuckles. “Something to add to the list of things you should know about me.”

He looks up at her. “I have to tell you something,” he says, his tone taking on a more serious edge.

Hermione stops laughing warily. “Okay,” she says suspiciously.

“The event we will be attending,” he says. “It’s my parents’ wedding anniversary.”

Hermione blinks at him. “So?”

“So, never once have my parents hosted a party for their anniversary.”

Hermione narrows her eyes. “Perhaps it’s a significant date? I hear thirty-five years is jade” –

“They have an ulterior motive, Hermione.”

She raises her eyebrows, partly due to his cryptic statement, but mostly because he said Hermione, which sounded both bizarre and at the same time oddly natural.

“They’ve invited all of their friends with unattached daughters.”

Hermione tries to hold in a laugh. “All the single ladies?”

Draco gives her a scathing look. “It’s a setup.”

“So?”

“So, I don’t need to be set up. I don’t want to be set up.”

“Because you’re secretly seeing someone?”

“Because I am not ready to get married. To settle down into the life they’ve planned for me.”

Hermione watches him without much sympathy. “Then just say so.”

“You think I haven’t? Why do you suppose they’re throwing this farce of a party? They’ll never admit they’re actively trying to find me a suitable wife.”

Hermione shakes her head. “I don’t know why it’s such a big deal. Just play along. At the end of the day, nobody can force you to walk down the aisle.”

“Have you met my mother?”

Hermione snorts.

“We just need to get through this one event, and then my mother will be off my back for a good several months.”

Hermione shrugs. “A deal’s a deal. Doesn’t matter to me why you’re doing this. I’ll do whatever it takes to convince her.”

Draco raises his eyebrows. “Whatever it takes?”

“Within reason, of course.” Hermione shakes her head. She leans back and rests her head on the seat, closing her eyes. “Alright, Malfoy, what else does your girlfriend need to know about you?”

She feels him relaxing into the seat beside her, his arm brushing against hers. He sighs as his head hits the headrest. “You know what, Granger?” he says quietly. “I think we’ll be okay.”

She rolls her head to the side to look at him. “I don’t mind” –

He turns his head to look at her and their eyes meet. “I mean it,” he says. “As it turns out, it’s not very hard being your boyfriend.”

Hermione’s mouth slides into a grin. “To be honest, you’re not as big a pain in the arse as I was expecting.”

He smiles. “That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“You’re welcome,” she says. “Don’t get used to it.”

He nods, turning his head back. “Get some rest, Granger,” he says. “I’ll wake you when we get to your place.”

…

The following morning, Hermione wakes up with an excruciating migraine. In hindsight, drinking six glasses of elf-made wine was probably not the best idea. She groans, propping herself up onto her elbows, and squints at the light peeking through her curtains.

The dress hanging off her chair reminds her of the previous night’s events. She closes her eyes, dropping back onto her pillow, and brings her hands up to her face with another groan. Harry Potter’s engagement party had gone off without a hitch, it seems. So, why is there a knot in her stomach?

She goes over the evening in her mind as though completing a checklist. Fool Ron so that he won’t go telling Harry any suspicions? Check. Convince Harry’s workmates that she is unavailable? Check. Show Harry that she is in a happy relationship and is ready to move past their drama? Check, check, check. Drink copious amounts of wine? Unfortunately, also check. Even Rita Skeeter seemed persuaded of a genuine liaison between her and Draco. So, why is she so tense? Dissatisfied, almost. Must be alcohol poisoning; she nods to herself.

Draco had played his part well enough. She even, and it pains her to admit it, had the slightest bit of a good time with him. Suddenly, she sits bolt upright in her bed. There lies the cause of her distress. She had not expected everything to go so smoothly, let alone to enjoy her evening. And the simple fact that she had sends her reeling.

Pansy had pleasantly surprised her in the past, Hermione reminds herself. So, why can’t Draco? She shakes her head and immediately regrets it as everything starts to spin. She goes to massage her temples while her head continues to pound. Slowly, without making any sudden movements, she hangs her legs off the bed and stands, taking hold of her dressing table for support.

…

“Hermione!” Pansy exclaims when she exists her bedroom.

“Ugh, Pansy.” Hermione grimaces. “Why are you so chipper?” Hermione rubs her head, making her way to the kitchen counter.

Pansy eyes her with a smirk. “I see somebody had a good time last night?”

Hermione blinks at her. “Wha – who said?”

Pansy stares at her. “I mean, because you’re obviously hungover. Why?” Pansy adds suspiciously. “Did you?”

Hermione shuffles toward the coffee pot. “I’m just glad it’s over,” Hermione mutters. “Oh, Pansy! You do love me!” she squeals when she sees that the coffee has already been made.

“That’s not for you,” Pansy says.

“What?” Hermione cries. “Who’s it for?”

Pansy turns to face her with a grin on her face. She’s leaning into the counter with her back, looking smug – smugger than usual. “What happened last night?”

Hermione stares at her. “What do you mean?”

Pansy wiggles her eyebrows, folding her arms over her chest.

“Pansy, why can’t I have the coffee? I feel like death,” Hermione whines.

“Draco came by this morning,” Pansy says, casually dusting crumbs off the counter into her hand.

“He came by… here?” Hermione tries to stifle the shock in her voice and fails miserably.

Pansy gives her another smirk. “Brought you a hangover potion.” She nods toward the far corner of the counter. “Said you’ll more than likely need it.”

Hermione stares at the little corked bottle sitting by the breadbox. There’s a small note attached to the neck with a piece of baker’s twine.

“I didn’t read it,” Pansy assures her. “But it nearly killed me.”

Hermione snorts. “It probably says something like ‘You’re an annoying drunk, Granger. Learn to hold your liquor.’”

Pansy narrows her eyes. “I doubt it, but let’s find out.”

Hermione sighs and reaches for the bottle. She detaches the small scroll and straightens the parchment.

“Read it aloud,” Pansy orders.

Hermione rolls her eyes but obeys.

“Just doing my part to keep you hydrated. If you’re feeling up for it, I can feed you too. I’ll be at Cory’s around noon. Bring your notepad.

- DM”

Hermione sets the note down on the counter while Pansy gawks at her. Hermione avoids her gaze, instead inspecting the liquid through the cloudy glass of the bottle with distaste. “D’you reckon he’s trying to poison me?” she says lightly.

Pansy stomps around the counter toward her with her hands on her hips. “Did something happen between you two?” she asks, her eyes wide with exhilaration.

Hermione gives her a pointed look. “Like what, Pansy?”

Pansy rolls her eyes. “You know like what.”

Hermione shakes her head. “I do not.”

Pansy cocks her head. “This oblivious act is only making you look more guilty.”

“Guilty of what?” Hermione laughs. “Pansy, come off it. Of course, nothing happened. It’s bloody Malfoy, for crying out loud.” Hermione walks away to pour herself a mug of coffee. “I find him more irritating than rush-hour traffic.”

“So, then, you aren’t going to be meeting him for lunch – or, in your case, breakfast?”

Hermione takes a sip of her coffee and lets out a satisfied sigh. “No, I will,” she says. “I owe him.”

Pansy grins. “Right. And, I told you, that coffee’s not for you.”

“What? Who’s it for, then?”

At that moment, the door to Pansy’s bedroom opens and out walks a dishevelled looking, very shirtless Ron Weasley.

“Morning, Hermione,” he mutters groggily.

Hermione widens her eyes and stares at Pansy. She is desperately trying to hold in a cackle. Pansy just shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “At least I deal with my problems head on,” she grumbles under her breath.

“Head on what?” Hermione raises her eyebrows.

“You’re a child,” Pansy states. “Weasley, coffee’s in the pot. I’m off to work.”

Hermione bites down on her lip when Pansy disappears in the green flames of the fireplace. She looks at Ron inquisitively. “I thought you couldn’t stand her,” she says.

“I thought you couldn’t stand Malfoy,” he retorts.

Hermione hands him a cup of coffee. “Right,” she says awkwardly.

Ron shrugs. “We like them mean, don’t we?”

Hermione laughs. “Malfoy isn’t mean. Not anymore, at least.”

Ron’s eyebrows converge as he looks at her. “Pansy’s still mean.”

…

Hermione steps into Cory’s Corner and sees Draco’s blond head bowed over the table as he scribbles furiously on a piece of parchment. She makes her way toward him and he looks up when he hears her approaching.

“You’re alive.” He grins, looking jovial.

“Barely,” she responds weakly, sliding onto the bench opposite Draco.

“Potion didn’t help?” He lifts an eyebrow.

“A bit, but then I Floo’d here and nearly lost last night’s dinner.”

Draco chuckles. “You certainly know how to paint a picture. Coffee?”

“Always,” she mutters. “What is that?” she adds, reaching for the parchment under Draco’s hand.

Draco puts his palm down on the parchment before Hermione could take it. “I’ve thought about what you said.”

Hermione narrows her eyes. “I’ve said so many things.”

“About playing along?”

Hermione furrows her eyebrows suspiciously. “Okay.”

A server comes by to bring Hermione a cup of coffee. Hermione takes the sugar and starts adding teaspoons of it to her drink.

“Do you want some coffee with your sugar?” Draco raises his eyebrows.

“Don’t judge,” Hermione snaps. “That’s my territory.”

Draco brings his attention back to the parchment in his hand. “This is my mother’s guest list. I’ve decided that you and I will speak to each of the guests – rather than simply my mother – so that the families are aware that I am not available to court their daughters.”

Hermione blinks at him. “How many people are on that list?”

“They don’t have to be long conversations. Just enough to demonstrate that we are in a serious, loving relationship.”

“And we can’t do that just by, I don’t know, acting like we’re in love from a distance?” Hermione grimaces.

Draco gives her a wry look. “That would require overt physical interaction.”

Hermione stares at him. “You’re right, talking will be easier.”

The server returns with two plates of pancakes and Draco says. “Hope you don’t mind; I’ve ordered for you. You liked the pancakes last time, right?”

Hermione tilts her head to the side. “I did. But how did you know that I’d come?”

Draco shrugs. “Well, if you didn’t, then more pancakes for me. If you want something else, we can” – Draco is already trying to wave down a waiter.

“No, no!” Hermione reaches across the table for his arm. “Pancakes are perfect.”

Draco lowers his arm and grins. “Perfect.”

“Right, so,” Hermione starts, picking up her fork and knife. “If we’re going to be talking to a dozen different families, we’ll need to know a lot about one another.”

“Precisely what I was thinking,” Draco agreed. “I say we take our time coming up with a list of our most important attributes, achievements, values” –

“It’s not a resume, Malfoy,” Hermione scoffs. “That sounds so tedious. I don’t exactly want to be memorizing Draco Malfoy facts over the weekend.”

Draco raises his eyebrows. “But you’ll memorize the entire contents of Spellman’s Syllabary?”

“Well, I find that interesting.”

“Granger, we’ve got exactly one week to learn enough about one another to fool a mass of people who have watched me grow up. Half of them know more about me than I do myself.”

“I have an idea,” she says. “Let’s play a game.”

“Fine,” Draco says dismissively. “Let’s just get on with it.” He seems tense.

“Have you ever played two truths and a lie?”

“I have not. Sounds like a waste of time.”

Hermione takes a bite of pancake. “I’ll tell you three things about myself, and you have to figure out which two are true, and which one is not.”

Draco rests his forearms on the table and leans forward. “This is a very roundabout way of getting to know one another.”

“But it’s fun,” Hermione says. “And when something is fun, you are much more likely to stay focused and retain the information.”

“Alright,” he says. “You start.”

“Okay.” Hermione holds up her index finger. “Number one: I was nearly sorted into Ravenclaw.” She gives him a sly smile. “Number two.” She holds up another finger. “My favourite subject in school was Charms. And number three: Viktor Krum asked me to marry him two months ago.”

Draco stares at her, deep in thought. “All of those seem plausible.”

“That’s the idea.” Hermione beams at him, proud of herself.

Draco raises an eyebrow. “I thought the point of this game was to get to know each other.”

Hermione scoffs. “The point of this game is to win, Malfoy.”

Draco chuckles, shaking his head. “So, basically, your lie has to be believable.”

“Exactly.” She nods. “It’s got to be a good lie. Otherwise, it would be too obvious.”

Draco looks down to study Hermione’s hands which are clasped together on the table behind her plate. “Ravenclaw, huh?” he says, glancing up at her and scrutinizing her reaction.

She smiles. “Indeed.”

“I could see that. Actually, I could see Slytherin too.”

Hermione makes a face.

“Charms,” he continues. “I remember you always hogging the spotlight in that class. You were certainly Flitwick’s favourite student.”

Hermione’s mouth twitches into a slight smirk.

“And Krum.” Draco searches her face. “Seizing an opportunity after you’ve ended things with Harry. Also, not unlikely.” He shrugs. “Why wouldn’t he ask you to marry him?”

Hermione bites her lip.

Draco smirks. “You have a tell, Granger.”

“I do not!”

“I’ll go with number two. I’ve no idea what your favourite subject was, but it couldn’t have been Charms.” Draco leans back into his seat and folds his arms triumphantly.

“How did you know?” Hermione exclaims in outrage.

“The Krum thing was too specific to have been a lie. Also, you mentioned that a good lie is a believable one, and number three was by far the most farfetched on your list. That solidified it as a truth.”

Hermione raises her eyebrows. “Continue.”

“When I spoke about your Charms proficiency, you smiled – very briefly. You were pleased that I was considering it as a truth. You love winning, ergo number two was the lie.”

Hermione scoffs. “Well played.”

“So, Krum really did ask you to marry him?” Draco watches her as though she had piqued his interest. “I assume you declined.”

“No, actually, the wedding’s next month. Your invitation is on the way.”

Draco smirks. “You’d invite me?”

Hermione shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Well, I should hope so. Considering I am your boyfriend.”

Hermione laughs. “Okay, okay. It’s your turn, Malfoy. Two truths and a lie. A good lie.”

Draco takes a moment to think. Then, he says, “Number one: my closest friend in sixth year was Moaning Myrtle. Number two: I hate Salt Water Taffy. Number three: I take my tea without milk.”

Chapter Text

Hermione arrives at Malfoy Manor by Floo, and Draco is there to meet her as she steps out of the fireplace. He’s wearing a charcoal-coloured suit and, as he rises from the settee to greet her, he does up a button of his jacket over his white shirt. The anxious expression that Hermione noticed him sporting gradually dissipates when he sees her – either because he doesn’t want to induce a similar sentiment in Hermione, or because the dress that Pansy had helped her pick out for the occasion has distracted him. Hermione elects to assume the latter.

Malfoy approaches her without saying anything, but she still sees his eyes slip briefly to look at her dress. The motion is so quick that she’s sure he meant not to do it. Once he’s right in front of her, he gives her a sheepish smile and holds out his arm.

“Shall we?” he says.

She’s disappointed that he hasn’t anything else to say, but she’s not sure why. Normally, Hermione can’t wait for Malfoy to shut up. “We shall,” she responds, slipping her arm through his.

He leads her toward the corridor at the far end of the hall, the clicks of her heels echoing as they hit the marble floors. The afternoon sun shines through the enormous windows set into the left side of the room, and dust particles dance in the beams of light.

“You’ve redecorated,” she notes, eyeing the tapestries on the walls and the crystal chandeliers.

Draco stops walking and looks over at her in horror. “Fuck, Granger, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think” –

“It’s fine, Malfoy.” Hermione waves a hand. “It was a long time ago. I’ve healed, your family has … moved on, obviously.” She gestures at the landscape oil paintings along the upper walls which have replaced their ancestral portraits.

Draco eyes her warily, his anxious expression re-emerging rapidly. He shakes his head. “It’s not fine,” he says. “It’ll never be fine.” He sets his jaw and, placing his palm in the middle of her back, he continues guiding her toward the back lawns.

Before he opens the door into the courtyard, Draco pauses again. He lets out a steady breath and says, “This is it.” He runs a hand through his hair.

Hermione watches him squirm sympathetically. “We can do this,” she says firmly. “I haven’t memorized hundreds of Draco Malfoy facts just to turn back now.”

He looks up at her with a raised eyebrow. “Hundreds?” he repeats in outrage.

“Well, how many did you memorize?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Ten? Fifteen maybe?” He shakes his head. “Probably ten.”

She stares at him, unimpressed. “I’m so glad I spent all that time writing out half a notebook’s worth of information about my life.”

Draco’s lips curl into a tight smirk. “Well, now you’re that much closer to writing the highly anticipated Hermione Granger autobiography.”

Hermione pushes his shoulder with her hand in mock aggression. “You’re honestly just the worst,” she says, but she’s also smiling.

Draco watches her for a moment with a slightly mischievous grin, before finally pushing on the door to the outside.

There are a couple of stone steps down to a cobbled pathway that curves around the building toward the back. Malfoy holds his hand out again as Hermione steps outside, leading her down the stairs and along the uneven path toward the courtyard.

Once around the bend, Hermione sees Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy navigating the various refreshment tables as they mingle with their guests. Hermione feels her heartbeat picking up considerably at the prospect of trying to fool Narcissa Malfoy, who appears even more intimidating than she remembers her.

“Draco, dear!” Narcissa calls when she spots the two of them approaching. “Come, come! Everyone is already here.”

Hermione sees Draco’s posture stiffen out of the corner of her eye. “You did tell her I was coming, didn’t you?” Hermione mutters.

 Draco looks over at her nervously. “I may have left that part out” –

“Malfoy!” Hermione hisses, stopping abruptly and pulling him back toward her by the arm. “How could you?”

Draco looks between Hermione’s face and his mother’s in the distance. “I couldn’t take the chance,” he says. “She would have almost certainly forbidden it.”

“What? Why?”

“Come on, look around. Every single person here is a pureblood. Clearly my parents have a certain type in mind. If I’d told her I’d be bringing you, she would have found a way to get rid of you. This way, she’s had no time to plan ahead. Any schemes she comes up with are bound to have a lesser chance of success than if she’d had the opportunity to conceive them beforehand. It’s called the element of surprise.”

Hermione narrows her eyes. “I’m not a weapon and this isn’t a battle you need to strategize for.”

“But it is. And you’re more of a tool than a weapon.”

“What did you call me?” Hermione exclaims in outrage, just as Narcissa Malfoy appears in her peripheral vision.

Draco clears his throat and eyes Hermione warily. Hermione stares him down, relishing the alarm on his face as he wonders if she will play along despite their altercation.

“Draco,” Narcissa says once she’s beside them. She looks between Draco and Hermione with raised eyebrows. “I didn’t realize you were bringing someone.”

Hermione gives Narcissa a polite smile and Draco clears his throat again. “It was sort of last minute,” he says. “Hermione had a work commitment which fell through.”

Hermione is taken aback by how easily he’s able to lie despite previously denying he possessed that skill.

“Well,” Narcissa watches Hermione carefully. “I’m so glad that you could join us, Miss. Granger. It is still Granger, is it not?”

Hermione blinks, glancing at Draco as she tries to decipher the intent behind Narcissa’s question. “It is,” she confirms. “And thank you, I’m happy to be here, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“So,” Narcissa says, as she leads them toward the tables. “I suppose I didn’t realize that you two were friends.” Narcissa turns to look Hermione in the eye. “Draco has never spoken about you.”

Hermione looks to Draco once more, who is in the midst of rolling his eyes. “Mother, please.”

“I didn’t realize that was a secret,” Narcissa replies. “Perhaps if certain things were not kept from me, I could have prepared more appropriate topics for conversation.”

“Happy anniversary,” Hermione says in an attempt the change the subject.

Narcissa looks over at her in surprise. “I’m sorry?”

“Your wedding anniversary, mother,” Draco says impatiently. “The reason you’re hosting this party?”

Narcissa lifts her eyebrows and begins to nod. “Ah,” she says. “Yes, thank you.”

Draco looks over at Hermione pointedly. Hermione chuckles lightly.

“Lucius,” Narcissa calls her husband. “Lucius, look what your son brought.”

“Whom, mother,” Draco says, shaking his head. “Whom I brought.”

“Of course, dear.” Narcissa smiles at him. “That’s what I said.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Well, then, that’s what I meant.”

Draco scoffs. “We can leave.”

“Nonsense!” Narcissa exclaims. “Here comes your father.”

Lucius Malfoy narrows his eyes as he approaches. “You look familiar,” he says to Hermione.

Draco closes his eyes and brings a hand up to his face. “It’s Hermione, father. Hermione Granger?”

“Oh, yes, yes.” Lucius nods. “It’s hard to recognize her without the other two,” he adds dismissively when Draco shakes his head.

Lucius is then called away and Narcissa turns to them with a haughty air. “Well,” she says, “at least I knew who she was.”

“That went not terribly,” Hermione says when Narcissa steps away.

Draco stares at her. “Sure, if you replace ‘not’ with ‘very’.”

Hermione pulls her mouth into a grin. “If you think about it, it doesn’t much matter if they like me or not. It’s not like any of this is real.”

Draco, who is dejectedly staring at his shoes, blinks up at her. He’s not laughing.

“As long as we convince them that we are, in fact, together, who cares if they don’t approve?” she says. “Right?”

Draco looks back down, then over to where his parents are conversing with the Greengrasses. “Right,” he mutters.

“Good,” Hermione continues. “Now, stop sulking and go get us some drinks.”

Draco chuckles and steps away in the direction of the bar.

Hermione picks up a plate and starts to gather some of the finger food for herself and Draco. She reaches for a second biscuit when someone else’s hand reaches for the same platter. Quickly, she retrieves her hand, laughing, and looks up. The man whose hand it had been smiles at her and gestures for her to go ahead. She grins and takes the biscuit.

“Enjoying the garden party?” he says when she places the second biscuit on her plate.

She glances up. “Very much,” she responds, mentally replacing ‘very’ with ‘not’.

He smiles and offers his hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Hermione shakes it. “Hermione Granger,” she introduces herself.

“Benjamin Rosier.” Hermione tries to remember where she’s heard his family name before when he clarifies. “I’m Narcissa’s first cousin, once removed.”

“I see.” Hermione nods.

They walk toward the end of the table and Hermione takes a couple of sandwiches. Benjamin accompanies her when she moves away from the appetizers.

“So, what is Hermione Granger doing at a Malfoy gathering?” he asks with a grin.

Hermione glances toward the bar and sees Draco watching her and Benjamin with an ominous air. “I’m here with Malfoy – Draco,” she responds, watching as Draco pushes off the bar the moment a glass is in his hand. He’s walking toward them purposefully.

“Really?” Benjamin scratches his head as if her response has taken him aback. “Never would’ve guessed.”

“Why not?”

“I was under the impression that he is courting the Greengrass girl,” Benjamin responds, nodding toward the fountain where Astoria and Narcissa are deep in conversation.

Hermione shrugs. “Not to my knowledge.”

Benjamin places a hand on her arm. “Would you like to talk about it?” he asks, the left side of his mouth twisting upward.

“Is there a problem here?” Draco, who is suddenly at her side, says in a low voice. She can feel his fingers faintly brushing the small of her back.

Benjamin smiles. “Just getting to know your girl, here.”

Draco hands Hermione the glass he’s holding. “She is certainly worth getting to know,” he says, watching Benjamin carefully.

Hermione takes a sip of her wine and cries out, “Good god, this wine!”

Draco chuckles at her side. “It’s a 1959 Bordeaux. Thought you might like it.”

Benjamin lifts his eyebrows at them. “My offer stands, Hermione,” he says, glancing at Draco briefly to see his reaction.

Draco’s expression remains impassive and the moment Benjamin walks away, Draco’s hand drops away from her back like it was never there. He turns to look at her. “Have a nice chat?” he asks.

Hermione narrows her eyes as she tries to read his expression but, if his tone is any indication, he seems displeased. Hermione takes another sip of wine. “I suppose I might’ve,” she responds. “If it weren’t cut short.”

Draco clenches his jaw. “You’re supposed to be pretending to be my girlfriend.”

“I didn’t realize that being your girlfriend precludes me from conversing with others.”

He gives her a pointed look. “It precludes you from flirting with my mother’s cousin.”

Hermione snorts. “I was not flirting.”

Draco stuffs his hands into his pockets and looks away from her. “He was,” he grumbles under his breath.

“You know, if you want people to think we like each other, you might consider looking less irritated by my presence.” Hermione watches him patiently as he turns back to look at her with a cross expression. She grins at him broadly and holds out the plate she’d previously assembled for the two of them.

“Daphne’s father just asked me what you do for a living. At the bar.” Draco clears his throat.

Hermione stares at him in disapproval. “That information was in my notes!”

“Yes, well, I didn’t quite understand it,” he says in frustration. “So perhaps you can refresh my memory.”

“I’m a counselling coordinator.”

“And what is that, exactly?”

Hermione grimaces. “I wrote out an entire explanation!”

“Granger, do you want me to whip my notes out, perhaps? This isn’t an open book test.”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “I work at a school – a Muggle school. I help students navigate difficult times in their lives. Sometimes, I help with course selection, or make recommendations regarding higher education. Other times, I assist with educational assessments. I cater to any mental health needs that may require attention, as much as I can. Or I make referrals or suggestions for parents if I don’t have the resources” –

“Wait, stop.” Draco shakes his head. “None of that makes any sense.”

Hermione raises her eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, for starters, you work at a Muggle school? Why?”

Hermione scoffs. “Why not?”

Draco shrugs. “Because you’re a – well, you’re very good at” – Draco clears his throat again. “You’re a reasonably proficient witch. Why would you waste your talents?”

Hermione stares at him in disbelief. “As much as I appreciate that you find me to be a reasonably proficient witch, I wouldn’t say I’m wasting my talents,” she responds. “I’m helping kids in need. That’s never a waste.”

Draco narrows his eyes but drops the subject. “Alright, I’ll just say you’re a teacher if anybody else asks.”

Hermione shakes her head.

“Draco!”

Hermione turns her head to see Narcissa lay a hand on her son’s shoulder as she walks around to face the two of them. She gives Hermione a tight smile.

“Draco, dear, I’ve got great news! The Greengrasses have accepted your father’s invitation to join us at the summer house this July,” she exclaims. A moment later, she glances at Hermione with a sort of soured expression. “I suppose you will be joining us as well, Miss. Granger?”

Hermione blinks at her several times and then looks over to Draco. He’s staring back at her with the same horrified expression. They had not practiced this question. “Er,” Hermione stammers. “I – it’s” –

“She’s got work, mother,” Draco intervenes.

“I thought Daphne told Lucius that Hermione works at a school. Surely you don’t teach over the summer?” Narcissa furrows her thin brows until they scrunch up into zigzags.

“I” – Hermione pauses again.

“Summer school,” Draco offers, looking at Hermione with a grimace as though he’s all out of ideas.

“Oh.” Narcissa purses her lips even though her mouth threatens a smile. “Shame.”

Hermione gulps, relieved that Draco was able to think on the spot when she couldn’t.

“Hang on,” Draco says as Narcissa starts walking away. She turns back inquisitively. “Did you say the Greengrasses will be staying with us?”

Narcissa’s smile widens and she nods. “Won’t it be simply delightful?”

Draco’s face contorts. “For how long?”

“July, my dear – I believe I’ve already mentioned it” –

“Hermione.” Draco turns to her quickly. “Doesn’t your summer school start in August?”

Hermione stares at him in horror and shakes her head. “No, no.” She vigorously shakes her head. “No, no, no, I specifically remember July” –

Draco’s eyebrows form a triangle over his eyes as he watches her pleadingly. “Perhaps you should double check” –

“There’s no need,” she responds. “It’s definitely in July. All of July.” She turns to Narcissa and gives her a regretful frown. “It’s quite unfortunate as I do very much appreciate the invitation and am terribly sorry that I must decline.” She puts a hand on her chest while Malfoy is aggressively rubbing his chin in her peripheral vision.

At that moment, Daphne’s mother joins them and nods politely at both Draco and Hermione.

“Narcissa,” she says. “I believe that my husband misinformed your husband.”

Narcissa turns to look at her friend. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Well, Philip confirmed that we will be coming up in July but he has clearly forgotten that that is when my mother intends to visit.”

Narcissa pouts. “How unfortunate!”

Hermione notices Draco’s posture relax slightly so she gives him a little elbow nudge in celebration.

“Might it be possible,” Daphne’s mother continues, “to postpone the whole affair to, say, August?”

Draco stiffens and Hermione nearly passes out. Narcissa’s eyes brighten. “Why, of course we can! August it is!” Narcissa turns to look at Draco with a smile and sighs audibly. “This will be a wonderful summer.”

Hermione stands very still, hoping that perhaps this time she might just go unnoticed, but Draco turns to look at her. “That means Hermione can come,” he says.

“That’s right,” Narcissa responds tartly. “I forgot about that.”

“Won’t you?” Draco says, looking at her hopefully. “Come?”

Hermione glances up at him with a pained expression. There is still over a month until August. Perhaps they can stage a public breakup by then and she will no longer be obligated to go. She nods weakly. “Of course.”

Narcissa and Daphne’s mother depart and Hermione hears Narcissa mutter, “Shame about July.”

Hermione rounds on Draco. “Are you high?”

Draco raises his eyebrows while his mouth twitches as he tries to suppress a smirk. “If only,” he replies.

She gives him a light shove on the shoulder. “This is not what we discussed.”

“Look at it this way, it’ll give you the opportunity to put to use all those fascinating Draco Malfoy facts you memorized.”

Hermione huffs. “You are unbelievable. I don’t even know what to say.” Hermione shakes her head. “Obviously, I can’t go.” She turns away and folds her arms across her chest.

“Why not?”

She looks back at him in shock. “Because, Malfoy, we’re not actually together. I’m not going to spend half of my summer pretending to be somebody I’m not.”

“You don’t have to pretend to be somebody you’re not. I would never ask you to do that.”

Hermione sighs. “Malfoy, we can’t keep this act up for an entire month.”

“It won’t be the entire month; it’ll be two weeks at most. We never go up for longer than that.”

“Even so. Can you imagine how much information you will have to remember about me? Wouldn’t it be easier to fake date Pansy or something?”

Malfoy stares at her. “Pansy is exactly the type of girl my parents want me to marry. If I bring Pansy home, I’ll wake up the following morning somehow engaged.”

Hermione drops her head in frustration. She tries to find another solution because she has already decided that she would not be going.

“Look, I’m not thrilled about this either.” He lets out a frustrated sigh.

Hermione gives him a sharp look and he drops his gaze.

“I’ll owe you,” he says quietly.

She stares at his polished shoes with their pointed toes, and then at her own strapped heels which keep sinking into the grass. She closes her eyes. “I don’t need anything from you,” she says to the ground.

“Not yet,” he responds. “But maybe someday.”

“I doubt it.”

“Come on, Granger. It won’t be that bad. There’s a lake. Hiking trails. Even a small library.”

Hermione’s eyes lift to meet his gaze. “With books?” she asks.

He chuckles lightly. “What other kind is there?”

Hermione shrugs. “Fake libraries designed to lure me into an undesirable situation.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “The library is real. There’s also a village nearby and there’s a small bookstore there, if I’m not mistaken.”

Hermione watches him grumpily. “You better not be mistaken.”

Draco bites his lip and grins. “I promise you all the books, alright, Granger?”

“Fine,” Hermione concedes. “I will accept this form of payment. Although, I do still retain the right to call upon you for a favour.”

He nods. “Anything.”

Chapter Text

“What is movie night?” Draco steps into their flat out of the fireplace. How he manages to Floo without getting soot on his clothes baffles Hermione. He must have some sort of secret trick up his sleeve.

“It’s the best thing in the world,” Pansy says excitedly as she flies by him toward the sofa with a bowl of popcorn. “It’s better than magic.” She glances back at him after setting the popcorn down on the coffee table and wiggles her eyebrows.

Hermione rolls her eyes from the kitchen where she’s arranging Pansy’s smoked salmon and cucumber sandwich creations on a platter. “Magic is better,” she mutters.

Draco approaches the island and stands an ancient looking bottle of Barolo on the counter. “Straight from the Malfoy cellar,” he declares.

Hermione stares at the bottle in awe. “A lifetime supply of fine wine was most certainly the right call on my part.”

Draco smirks. “A lifetime supply of fine wine and we’re even.”

Hermione holds out her hand to give him a firm handshake. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Malfoy.”

“What will it be, boys and girls?” Pansy calls from the living room. She holds up two films. “Top Gun or this new one? War of the Worlds. Looks brilliant!”

“Let’s go with the classic,” Hermione suggests, holding out two empty glasses for Draco.

“Top Gun it is,” Pansy replies.

Draco takes the glasses and grimaces. “I’m still confused about what we’re doing. Who is Gun and why is he on top?”

Pansy giggles. “I love virgins.”

Hermione snorts, carrying the tray of sandwiches into the living room. Draco follows her with the wine glasses and mutters, “And what is he on top of? Or whom?”

“Trust me,” Hermione says, plopping down onto the sofa beside Pansy. “You’re going to love it.”

“Er, Hermione.” Pansy makes a face. “You can’t sit here.”

Hermione, who’s just pulled her feet up and crossed her legs, glances at her friend in surprise. “Why not?”

“Because I’ve invited a friend.”

Hermione blinks at Pansy as Draco plants himself on the second sofa. “Well, your friend can sit with Malfoy,” she replies pointedly.

“Hmm, I was kind of hoping to sit beside my friend. Considering we might start groping each other halfway through the movie.”

Hermione stares at Pansy in horror. “Halfway through the movie? Pansy! That’s when” –

“Shh!” Pansy slaps a hand over Hermione’s mouth. Hermione’s eyes widen as Pansy brings a finger to her lips and whispers, “Spoilers!”

Hermione gives her an unimpressed look. “But that means I have to share a sofa with Malfoy!” Hermione groans. “I don’t want to sit with” –

But at that moment, Ron Weasley steps out of their fireplace and Hermione freezes mid-sentence. She glares at Pansy while Ron brushes ash from his red hair. He coughs. “Blimey, you need to clean out your chimney.”

Hermione’s mouth is still open in shock while Pansy turns to look Ron over unenthusiastically. “Why, are we expecting Father Christmas?”

Ron stares at Pansy. “Fireplace. Whatever. It’s dirty.”

Pansy smirks. “I’m a dirty girl.”

Hermione closes her eyes and finally shuts her mouth.

“Where was it you didn’t want to sit, Granger?” Draco calls from the other sofa.

Hermione opens her eyes and sees Pansy mouth “Sorry” as Ron makes his way around and grabs a sandwich.

Hermione takes a deep breath and stands. “I don’t want to sit with Pansy,” Hermione says through gritted teeth as she stomps to the second sofa. “Because I loathe her,” she adds under her breath as she sits down beside Draco.

“Don’t worry,” Draco says quietly, eyeing Ron as he takes a second sandwich. “Your furniture is so absurdly large that we don’t even have to be touching.”

“Good, because the only person I’m going to want to touch after watching Top Gun is myself.”

Draco stares at her incredulously. “Seriously, what the fuck are we going to be watching?”

“I still find this union so bizarre,” Ron says while chewing on his third sandwich. He finally plants himself beside Pansy.

Draco leans forward to look at him around Hermione. “I find your face bizarre, Weasley.”

Ron sticks out his tongue and Pansy rolls her eyes. “So mature.”

“Really,” Hermione agrees. “However did we get so lucky, Pans?”

“Alright!” Pansy flicks her wand and the lights dim. “Everybody ready?”

“Ready for what?” Ron pipes up to Hermione’s right. He sounds slightly spooked. “What exactly are we doing?”

Pansy chortles wickedly and points the remote control at their television screen. It lights up and both Draco and Ron gasp.

“What is it?” Draco half-lifts himself out of his seat.

“Oh! Oh!” Ron points an excited finger at the TV. “My father told me about this! This is a printer, isn’t it?”

Hermione raises her eyebrow at him, while Draco continues staring at the moving images on the screen. “This printer is the brightest thing I’ve ever seen. My eyes hurt but I can’t look away,” he says.

Ron stands up in his excitement. “You have no idea, Malfoy. Printers are bloody brilliant!”

Malfoy stands also, craning his neck and bending at the hips as he tries to look at the screen from different angles. “Will Gun be on top of the printer?” he asks.

“Who’s Gun?” Ron looks over at Draco.

Malfoy shrugs. “Beats me. I just want to know how the printer is involved in all of this.”

“It’s NOT A PRINTER!” Pansy yells. “Will you two just sit down and shut up?”

Draco and Ron return to their seat obediently. Draco leans over to whisper to Hermione, “Is Gun running late?”

Hermione pulls her lips in and chuckles lightly. “Just sit back and enjoy the show, Malfoy,” she says quietly. “It’s like you’re an alien, or something.”

Draco blinks at her. “A what?”

Hermione laughs. “Forget it.” She shakes her head just as the music starts playing and leans into the back of the sofa to watch the opening scene. A minute later, she glances at Draco, who looks completely mesmerised by the television.

…

When the film ends, Pansy turns the lights back on. Hermione looks over at Draco, whose back is compressed into the sofa, his eyes fastened on the screen. His mouth is partially open as he watches the credits roll.

“I want to be a fighter pilot,” he mutters. He turns slowly to look at Hermione, his eyes still wide. “How do I” – he’s pointing a wiggling finger at the television – “how do I do that?”

Hermione bursts out laughing. “Well, first you would need a pilot’s license.”

“Where can I buy one?” he sits up.

“Oi, Malfoy, can you buy me one too, mate?” Ron chimes in.

“Oh, now you’re mates, suddenly?” Hermione turns to give Ron a judgemental look.

“Sure thing, mate,” Draco responds. “Granger, who sells pilot licenses?”

Hermione runs her hand over her forehead. “You have to learn how to fly to get it.”

“Not a problem,” Draco says. “I can fly.”

“Me too!” Ron exclaims.

Draco reaches over Hermione to give Ron a fist pump. Hermione looks at Pansy who is shaking her head.

“Weasley,” she says. “You didn’t even make out with me once.”

“Make out with you?” Ron asked incredulously. “During Top Gun? Are you mad, woman?”

Pansy rolls her eyes. “Should’ve gone with War of the Worlds.”

“What’s War of the Worlds?” Ron asks.

“It’s about aliens,” Hermione responds, and Draco promptly starts tapping her on the knee impatiently.

“Aliens? Like me?” he says. “Let’s watch it next!”

…

“Hermione.” Narcissa glances over her as she walks out into the courtyard. Her expression instantly sours as her gaze lingers on Hermione’s shorts. “Your legs are showing.”

Hermione glances down at her outfit. “It’s summer,” Hermione responds lightly.

“You might want to try a cooling charm next time,” Narcissa comments as Hermione comes to stand by her side. “Do you teach in this?”

Hermione presses her lips together to conceal a smirk. Although she’s ashamed to admit it, riling Narcissa has become a guilty pleasure and has been quickly rising the ranks as one of her favourite pastimes. Hermione never misses an opportunity to aggravate Narcissa and the latter never disappoints with her responses. “Well, it’s a Muggle school.” Hermione shrugs. “So, clothing is optional.”

Narcissa gives her a scathing look. “Funny,” she responds.

“Is that Draco?” Hermione looks out at the lawn where Draco seems to be in the midst of a very serious conversation with a young boy.

“Do you not recognize your own boyfriend?” Narcissa asks.

“Who is he with?”

“Teddy, of course. Honestly, Hermione, sometimes I wonder whether you know my son at all.” Narcissa shakes her head and puts a hand over her face to shield her eyes from the blinding sun.

Hermione squints into the distance. “Teddy Lupin?” she asks.

“Yes, Lupin. Rub it in, why don’t you?” Narcissa lets out an irritated sigh. “It’s their weekly flying lesson. I can’t stand my sister, but Draco has insisted on getting to know the boy – her grandson. They’ve gotten very close. Oh, I’m sure you’re aware.”

Hermione nods slowly, watching Draco demonstrate various grips on a broomstick to Teddy. “Of course,” she responds.

Suddenly, Draco’s hold on the broomstick loosens and it tries to escape his grasp. He pretends to struggle with it as it pulls him this way and that, and finally as it lifts over his head and he hangs under it, still clutching the handle. His legs dangle above the ground, his toes barely brushing the grass, and he lets out several cries as Teddy doubles over with laughter.

Hermione smiles and she can see Narcissa watching her reaction out of the corner of her eye. She almost goes to conceal her grin but then remembers that Narcissa is meant to think that Hermione is enamoured with Draco and admiring his antics is exactly what a girlfriend would do. Still, she feels uneasy with Narcissa’s gaze scrutinizing her.

Draco chuckles, bringing himself and the broomstick back down. He lowers it to Teddy’s level and holds it steady for him as the boy stretches out his hand to grasp the handle.

“He’s very good with him,” Hermione notes.

Narcissa eyes her son as he tests Teddy’s grip by pulling up on the broomstick. Teddy is hanging on for dear life with both hands, laughing hysterically as Draco starts rotating on the spot. “Teddy adores him,” Narcissa states.

Teddy’s little body starts to lift as the broomstick spins and his chortles ricochet off the wall of the manor behind Hermione and Narcissa. Hermione laughs. “Looks like the feeling is mutual.”

Draco looks up at that moment and, seeing Hermione, his smile broadens and he waves a hand at her. Hermione waves back.

“Yes, well, Teddy is a very good boy,” Narcissa says, ignoring Hermione and Draco’s interaction. “Despite the unfortunate corruption in his lineage.”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “Mrs. Malfoy,” she says, looking over at Narcissa. “After all this time, do you really still shun your sister?”

Narcissa blinks at her coldly. “Nobody is shunning anybody. If anything, my sister wants nothing to do with me.”

Hermione watches the shifts in Narcissa’s face as she tries to maintain a sense of composure. “I wonder if you could remedy that,” Hermione says quietly.

“Why should I? I’ve no interest in repairing a bond that has long ago ceased to exist.”

“All because she married a Muggle-born once upon a time?”

Narcissa turns to look at her. “Dear,” she says. “Don’t mistake my tolerance for acceptance. While I don’t believe in the persecution of Muggle-borns, I also do not approve of diluting the bloodline. While my son can have as many trysts as his little heart desires, don’t fool yourself into thinking he would ever betray his roots by establishing a formal liaison with the likes of you.”

Hermione feels like the wind has been knocked out of her. She never for a moment has considered “establishing a formal liaison” with Malfoy, but being told by his mother that it would be unacceptable simply because of her blood status makes her nauseated. The heat of the afternoon adds to her malaise and she excuses herself before Narcissa could perceive her discomfort.

By the time Hermione makes it around the bend, she feels like she could demolish the entirety of Narcissa Malfoy’s rose garden in a blind rage, but she continues to walk hurriedly, her hands curled into tight fists in the pockets of her shorts. In her peripheral vision, she could see Draco run over to his mother, probably wondering what had happened.

“What did you say to her?” she hears him yelling, and she quickens her pace. She wants nothing more than to escape before Draco could catch up to her. Because if he does, she might just break down right in front of him. And she really doesn’t want Draco Malfoy to see her cry.

“Hermione!” she hears him call as she pulls the door open and slips inside. “Hermione, wait up!” he yells louder when she doesn’t turn around.

The door closes behind her and she rushes across the hall toward the fireplace.

“Hey! Granger!” he shouts when he enters the house.

She’s not even halfway to the hearth and, realizing that there is no way she could make it without him outrunning her, she stops.

“You forgot your wine,” he says, marching over to her. “Isn’t that why you came today?”

She stares down at the ground without responding.

“Granger?” He’s standing right in front of her now.

“Forget it, Malfoy,” she mutters. “I don’t need it.”

“What happened?” he asks, his voice hardening. “Did she say something to you?”

Hermione sighs, glancing up at him. She’s biting into her lip to keep her mouth from trembling. “Nothing I didn’t already know.”

He gives her a grim look, nodding. “Whatever it was,” he says. “She’s wrong.”

Hermione releases a bitter chuckle. She lets her eyes meet his and linger there, even when he doesn’t look away. “I don’t know if I could do it, Malfoy,” she says. “I don’t know if I can keep this up for two full weeks with no respite.”

Draco lowers his gaze and puts his hands into his pockets. “I understand,” he says. “Come, let me get that wine for you.” He starts walking away, beckoning her to follow.

“I said I didn’t want it.” Hermione doesn’t move.

Draco turns on his heel. “Take the wine, no strings attached. You’re already here.”

She shakes her head stubbornly.

Draco takes a few steps back toward her. “Arithmancy,” he says.

“Excuse me?”

“Your favourite class. Arithmancy. Favourite dessert? Crème brûlée. Music. Hair metal. Which I’m still trying to wrap my head around because neither of those words alludes to sound.”

Hermione blinks. “You read my list.”

Draco shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Hermione watches him for a moment. Then, she says. “Hair metal references the glam fashion of the musical era, particularly the big hair.”

Draco smirks slightly, bringing a hand up to lift a strand of her curls pointedly. “In that case,” he says, “you’re very hair metal.”

Hermione snorts. “Just wait till I loan you my Van Halen CD. You’re going to forget all about the fighter jets.”

“Your what?” Draco raises his eyebrows.

Hermione grins. “I bet you even Tom Cruise wants to be a rockstar.”

“Who?”

“Maverick, Malfoy.”

“Oh!” Draco’s eyes light up. Then he shakes his head. “He doesn’t have enough hair.”

Hermione laughs. “Thank you,” she says.

“For?”

“You know what for.”

Draco looks away as if she’s made him uncomfortable. “I better get back out there,” he says. “Teddy’s waiting for me.”

“Right.” She nods.

“I can bring the wine later?” He glances up at her and looks almost hopeful.

Hermione gives him a tight smile. “Sure, I’ll set aside a stack of CDs for you.”

Draco watches her expectantly. “And what do I do with them?”

Hermione sniggers. “I suppose I’ll let you borrow my CD player, too.”

Draco still looks perplexed. “Is that a person?”

Hermione laughs. “Why would I loan you a person?”

Draco shakes his head. “I don’t know, it’s all very confusing.”

“I’ll explain everything,” she says. “Tonight.”

“Tonight,” he confirms, sliding his hands into his pockets awkwardly.

Hermione turns away and takes a handful of Floo powder from the vase on the mantle.

…

“Scorpions, Whitesnake, Poison.” Draco shuffles through the CDs Hermione has prepared for him. “I’m sensing a theme.”

“Eww, who put Poison in there?” Hermione grimaces, snatching the disc out of his hands.

“Let him formulate his own opinions!” Pansy calls from her bedroom.

Hermione rolls her eyes, but Draco hangs on to the CD she’s trying to pry from his grip. “Trust me,” she says, “it’s for your own good.”

“Your censorship is suspicious, Granger,” he remarks, pulling the CD away and tucking it safely into the stack in his hand.

“Fine.” She shakes her head. “I warned you.”

He nods. “It’ll be the first one I listen to, now.”

Hermione hangs her head. “Please don’t let it colour your perception of the genre.”

He chuckles, holding up a dusty bottle of pinot noir. “’85 was a good year for wine.”

“’85 was a good year for hair metal,” she says.

He holds up the stack of CDs. “I’ll be the judge of that,” he responds with a sly smile.

“So,” she says, after several seconds of silence.

“So,” he purses his lips. “I reckon I better get home.”

She nods. “Right. And I better… well, I better start packing.”

“You’re coming, then?”

She glances up at him for a moment. “To be honest, I’m almost all packed. And I don’t really feel like unpacking again.”

He laughs. “Should’ve known.”

She shrugs. “I mean, how bad can it be?”

…

“Oh, Pansy, It’s going to be so bad,” Hermione whines the moment Draco disappears in the fireplace.

Pansy pokes her head out from her bedroom. She’s got a wily grin plastered on her face.

“What?” Hermione asks, dropping onto the sofa dramatically.

“Oh, nothing.” Pansy strolls into the living room.

“Spit it out, it’s never nothing with you.” Hermione rolls her eyes.

Pansy lowers herself into the armchair opposite Hermione. “You’re having fun with him, aren’t you?” she says.

Hermione lifts her head from the armrest indignantly. “Am not.”

Pansy scoffs. “Please.”

Hermione pushes herself into a sitting position and crosses her legs. “Alright, fine. So, he’s not as dreadful as I thought he would be.”

Pansy raises her eyebrows.

“He’s not as awful as he used to be.”

Pansy folds her arms over her chest and her smirk turns lopsided.

“He’s mildly interesting.” Hermione makes a face as though the words are painful to pronounce.

Pansy’s smile widens. “You like him.”

Hermione starts laughing. “Don’t push it, Pansy. I tolerate him at best.”

Pansy cackles. “I suppose that’s progress.”

“Are we going to talk about you and Ron?” Hermione asks.

“What’s there to talk about?”

“Pansy, I thought you hated his guts. You told me he was one of the most annoying people you’ve ever met.”

Pansy nods. “Yeah, I think that still holds true.” She gets up and crosses the living room to sit by Hermione, snatching the remote control off the coffee table on her way. She plops down onto the sofa, making Hermione bounce. “So, what’ll it be?” She eyes Hermione mischievously. “My vote is for The Breakfast Club. High school is such a trip. Blows my mind, really.”

Hermione nods. “Totally. Muggle school is just wild compared to Hogwarts.”

Chapter Text

“You call this a cottage?” Hermione stands at the entrance to the Malfoy summer residence in awe. The gates open on a winding road through a dense collection of oak trees. Through the foliage, she can see the red brick of the house and she can tell, even from this distance, that it’s quite large.

Draco picks up Hermione’s trunk along with his own and starts walking. “We’re late, Granger.”

Hermione rolls her eyes because she’s had enough of his sour mood, which started precisely the moment he arrived to pick her up that morning, to last till Christmas. “I understand that you’re nervous, but you don’t need to be rude.”

“You know what’s rude?” he retorts. “Being late.”

“I can carry my own luggage.” She reaches for her trunk, but he pulls it away.

“Just watch your step, Granger. Don’t touch the green stones – dad’s got some nasty shields up to keep out unwanted guests.”

“Like me?” Hermione chuckles.

Draco throws her a bitter glance.

“Two more weeks of this charade and then it’ll all be over,” she says lightly, trying to cheer him up.

He makes a noise that sounds like a combination of a grunt and a confirmation.

“Wow.” Hermione stops in front of the house. There’s a wooden porch that stretches around the back, and a white bistro set in the front, flanked by two giant lounge chairs and about a dozen potted plants. Peonies bloom under the lower windows and the garden below is bordered by a stretch of bushy lavender.

Draco stomps up the stairs and drops the trunks at the front door. “Let’s go around,” he says. “The house-elves will take care of these.”

Hermione follows him along the mossy path toward the back of the house, admiring the leafy clematis climbing the left side of the cottage.

“Draco, dear, you just missed lunch. Shall I have something prepared for you?” Narcissa’s voice chirps around the bend.

Hermione rounds the corner and smiles at Narcissa and Lucius, who are sitting at a small table on the deck, drinking tea.

Draco turns to Hermione. “Coffee?” he asks.

She gives him a tight smile and nods. He knows that she’ll never refuse a cup of coffee.

“Your cottage is spectacular, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy,” she says, walking forward when Draco holds his arm out to beckon her onward. “And I haven’t even been inside yet.”

Narcissa directs a piercing gaze in her direction. “We should remedy that, then,” she responds, standing. “Draco, call for lunch. I will show Miss. Granger around.”

“Granger!” Lucius exclaims. “That’s it! Couldn’t put my finger on it.”

“Come off it, father.” Draco looks over at him coolly. “You know exactly who she is.”

…

“This is the dining room.” Narcissa waves her hand to indicate the room with enormous windows looking out onto the steep slope toward the bay.

“It’s lovely.”

Narcissa shrugs. “We often dine outdoors when we’re here, actually. Lucius enjoys listening to the birds.”

Hermione lifts her eyebrows but doesn’t respond. She can’t quite picture Lucius as an avid ornithologist.

“Here we have the library.” Narcissa leads her down the corridor. “Draco mentioned that you may be interested in that.”

Hermione grins, poking her head into the room. “He knows me well,” she says, playing the part of the blissful girlfriend perfectly. The smile isn’t difficult when she sees the enormous collection of books.

Narcissa heads up the stairs and Hermione follows. “Here is your room,” she says, opening a door to a spacious room with a large, bay window.

Hermione’s eyes widen as she takes in the beauty of the space, from the decorative, wooden trim of the walls, to the flowing, white curtains, to the brick fireplace opposite the bed.

The bed.

The one bed.

Hermione steps inside, swallowing anxiously. “It’s beautiful,” she breathes. She glances back at Narcissa, who is standing in the doorway. “Thank you,” she says. “This is perfect.”

Narcissa nods. “Miss. Granger,” she says. “I wouldn’t get too comfortable.”

Hermione blinks at her in shock. Surely, Narcissa did not just threaten her.

“I just mean,” Narcissa continues. “Don’t get your hopes up only to have your heart broken. I only have your best interest at heart, dear.”

Hermione stares at her. “Mine isn’t the only heart that stands to be broken,” she replies coldly.

Narcissa gives her a small smile. “Don’t take it personally, dear. I just see how you look at him. The way he used to look at Astoria.”

Narcissa walks out of the room, leaving Hermione staring after her as she goes. When the door is shut, Hermione lowers herself into one of the armchairs at the foot of the bed. Draco hadn’t mentioned any history with Astoria and, for some reason, Narcissa’s comment makes her somewhat unwell.

…

“Why am I here?”

“I beg your pardon?” Draco looks up after closing the door behind himself.

They have just finished their lunch and gone up to their room for an “afternoon rest”.

“Why am I here, Malfoy? The truth.” Hermione folds her arms.

Draco lets out a sigh. “She’s said something again, hasn’t she?”

Hermione cocks an eyebrow. “Is there something you’d like to tell me about your parents’ guests that will be arriving tomorrow?”

Draco narrows his eyes. “Such as?”

“Such as your history with Astoria, Malfoy! Did you date her?”

Draco brings a hand up to his forehead. “Just for a minute.”

“Why would you keep that from me? I was blindsided by your mother today, despite having read nearly fifty pages of your bloody autobiography!” Hermione exclaims in frustration.

Draco’s eyes widen and he brings his finger to his mouth. “Shh!” he hisses. He takes his wand out of his trousers and casts a Muffliato charm to offer them some privacy. “What does it matter if I dated her?”

“Don’t you think that, as your girlfriend, it’s something I should have known?”

Draco watches her irritably. “Seeing as how you’re not actually my girlfriend, I didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

Hermione narrows her eyes. “Pardon me,” she says contemptuously. “So, I’m girlfriend enough to drag to your family’s estate for two bloody weeks, but not girlfriend enough to share the most basic of information with? Please, show me your rulebook, because I’m a bit confused as to the particulars of this arrangement.”

“It slipped my mind, alright?”

Hermione shakes her head and lets out a scathing laugh. “There is no way in hell that it just slipped your mind. You left out that detail on purpose, and I want to know why.”

“You want to know why?” Draco’s voice rises. “You want to know why?”

Hermione’s eyebrows soar near the middle of her forehead. “You don’t have to yell.”

“You know why I didn’t tell you?” His voice drops as he suddenly steps toward her until his face is close enough that his breath stirs the curls around her face. His eyes dart between hers, waiting for a response.

Hermione stares at him, incredulous at his audacity, but doesn’t back away. She’s had encounters with far more dangerous things than the likes of him.

He sucks in his cheeks and retreats slightly, straightening his posture and adjusting the collar of his shirt. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think you’d agree to this ordeal knowing that Astoria and I were once engaged to be married.”

 “What?” Hermione exclaims.

Draco rakes his hand through his hair and turns away. “It was years ago. It was only for a few weeks. And it was a mistake.” He turns to look at her as though he half expects her to walk out the door.

“I don’t understand,” she says. “What happened?”

“We dated for a while after Hogwarts. When we got engaged, I asked our parents to keep it out of the papers. Probably because I knew I’d never actually go through with it.”

“Why did you propose? If you knew it wouldn’t work out?” Hermione asks.

Draco sits on the bed and then lays down on it, staring up at the ceiling. “I thought I had no choice.”

“How so?”

Draco lifts his head slightly. “Our families are very close. Not to mention, our parents were pushing for it. I’d taken her virginity and she wanted to move in together. I felt like I’d be letting everyone down if I didn’t propose.”

Hermione sits on the opposite side of the bed. “I still don’t understand why you thought keeping this from me would be a good idea.”

Draco drops his head back and covers his face with his hands, groaning. “It wasn’t supposed to get to this point. It was meant to be one afternoon – the anniversary party. That was it.”

“But, when you realized there would be more, you could have told me.”

Draco’s hands slip down his face and he lifts his eyes to look up at her sitting behind him. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I think I was afraid that it would scare you off. You were already very reluctant.”

Hermione lowers herself until she’s lying parallel to Draco, except upside down. He turns his head to look at her side profile as she blinks up at the ridiculously extravagant canopy over the bed. “Do you have feelings for her?” she asks. “Are you trying to make her jealous?” She glances at him and realizes too late how close they are to one another.

Draco doesn’t move. “No,” he says, but his tone sounds suspiciously uncertain for a Malfoy.

Hermione sighs, turning away. “No more secrets, Draco,” she warns.

“No more secrets,” he agrees. After a moment, he adds, “Just an assortment of lies.”

Hermione chuckles. “Right.”

Draco sits back up and Hermione cranes her neck to look up at him. “You know,” he says, “you were right about Poison.”

Hermione squeals. “I told you! Who was your favourite?”

Draco smirks at her. “Guess.”

Hermione scrambles to sit up. “Two truths and a lie – go!”

Draco thinks for a moment. “Two lies, one truth,” he says. “Number one,” he gives her a pointed look. “Bon Jovi.”

Hermione laughs. “No way!”

Draco maintains a passive expression. “Number two: Warrant.”

Hermione bites her lip, not thinking about how much Draco Malfoy looks like a young Jani Lane.

“Number three: Guns N’ Roses.”

Hermione smiles. Of course, he would relate with the most notorious band of the ‘80s. “GN’R,” she responds. “No question.”

Draco stands. “You’ll never know.”

“What? No, you have to tell me!”

“Maybe.” He shrugs, not looking at her. “One day.” He starts unbuttoning his shirt and turns to look at her over his shoulder, winking.

“Er, what are you doing?” Hermione says, quickly looking away.

“I’m going swimming,” he responds, dropping his shirt onto one of the armchairs and heading for the dresser. “You coming?”

Hermione swallows. “I think perhaps I’ll have a peek at the library.”

“Suit yourself,” he says, pulling a pair of swimming trunks out of a drawer.

…

After dinner, Lucius retires to the library and Narcissa heads upstairs while the house elves clear the table. Hermione is reluctant to return to the bedroom because that is where they will need to address the matter of the bed, and she’s not quite ready for that conversation. So, when Draco suggests they sit out in the garden, she happily takes him up on his offer, considering she can’t very well share the library with Lucius.

“I’m not looking forward to tomorrow,” Draco admits, sitting in one of the lounge chairs facing the water.

Hermione looks out at the lake after taking the chair beside his. “It’s so beautiful here,” Hermione remarks, taking a deep breath of the cool evening air.

He looks over at her and smiles. “Thought you might like it,” he says.

Hermione watches the sun sink slowly below the horizon, painting the clouds in a rosy glow. “You know,” she says after a while. “I’m surprised that nobody has questioned this relationship. I mean, your parents didn’t seem all that surprised that we were together. We didn’t have to try very hard to convince anybody.”

Draco chuckles. “Are you saying you wish it would’ve required more effort on our part?”

“I’m saying we’ve already put a lot of effort into it, learning so much about one another, and for what? Nobody’s quizzing us, nobody’s suspicious. Nothing.” She shrugs. “Even Harry wasn’t overly shocked.”

“Were you hoping to shock him?”

“Well, no. But I suppose I was hoping for a reaction. I mean, you and I as a couple is ludicrous! How does nobody see that?” She glances at him with an incredulous smile.

He laughs. “Can you imagine?”

She shakes her head. “We couldn’t be more incompatible.”

“Completely and utterly incompatible,” he agrees.

“Right? I mean, do we have anything in common?”

“Well, that depends,” he says. “What’s your favourite hair metal band?”

She grins. “I’m being serious. Look at this place. Look at your world!” She gestures around herself to indicate how ridiculously extravagant even the deck is, with its carved railings and collection of luxurious furniture.

Draco looks around and shrugs. “I don’t think my world has any bearing on the subject.”

Hermione leans her head back, looking up at the palette of pastels in the sky. “Pansy says we both have massive egos.”

“You absolutely have a massive ego,” Draco responds.

Hermione twists in her seat. “Me? Of the two of us, you positively have the bigger ego.”

Draco cocks an eyebrow. “Let’s just agree to disagree.”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “You just like to disagree because you like having the last word.”

“Says the woman who never passes up the opportunity to argue.” Draco watches her with a smirk. “Tell me you don’t think you’re the smartest person in nearly every room.”

“Alright, fine,” she concedes. “We are both egotistical egomaniacs with massive egos.”

Draco shakes his head, still chuckling. “Yeah, Granger, you and I are just a couple of arsehats.”

She laughs. “I suppose that’s what we have in common.”

“It’s good to know I’m not alone in this world.” Draco leans back into his chair, smirking.

…

After spending several hours chatting, and then reading, Draco and Hermione rise to head upstairs. They’re moving slowly, both reluctant to face the inevitable obstacle of the bed.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Draco blurts out the moment they walk into the room, as if he’s been rehearsing the words for some time.

Hermione glances at him awkwardly. “It’s your house, take the bed.”

Draco stares at her. “I persuaded you to come, I’m not letting you sleep on the floor.”

Hermione sighs. “I feel bad taking that giant bed all to myself.”

Draco starts collecting throw pillows off the bed and tossing them onto the floor. “Nonsense,” he says. “You’re sleeping on the bed. End of discussion.”

He starts arranging his makeshift cot while Hermione approaches the canopied bed. She finds her nightgown in a dresser drawer and heads into the bathroom to wash her face. When she comes back out, Draco looks like he’s already asleep. She tiptoes to the bed and climbs onto the tall mattress. She slips her feet under the covers and nearly gasps at the softness of the cool sheets. With a quiet sigh, she settles under the blanket, her head resting on the softest pillow she’s ever slept on.

…

“Draco! Are you decent?”

Hermione’s eyes fly open and she lifts herself up on her elbows to look at her surroundings in confusion. On the floor, Draco has sat bolt upright at the sound of his mother’s voice, the muscles in his bare back tightening.

There’s a rapid knock on their door.

Hermione sits up in a panic, grabbing her wand from the bedside table and sending all of the pillows making up Draco’s sleeping area into the partially open wardrobe across the room, leaving Draco scrambling up to his feet in his black boxer briefs.

He looks up at her in a panic when the doorknob begins to turn. “I’m coming in!” Narcissa calls from outside the door.

In one swift motion, Draco skirts the bed and hops under the covers beside Hermione. Together, they throw themselves backward into the mattress and pull the covers up to their chins, just as Narcissa enters the room.

Narcissa holds a hand over her eyes impatiently. “May I come in?” she says.

Draco shakes his head. “You’re already in, mother!”

“Well, you weren’t responding and I need the guest towels. Lolly keeps them in the wardrobe in this room.” Narcissa marches across the room and Hermione claps a hand to her mouth while Draco closes his eyes resignedly, letting out a slow breath.

Narcissa opens the wardrobe and five pillows and a quilt fall at her feet.

Draco bites into his bottom lip, watching his mother cock her head at the mound of bedding cascading out of the wardrobe. Narcissa clears her throat and reaches up to collect the guest towels. “I don’t want to know,” she says, making her way back out of the bedroom.

Hermione lifts her eyebrows as the door shuts, pressing her lips together tightly to keep from laughing. She turns to her left and, upon seeing Draco’s slightly open mouth, lets out a cackle. She slides deeper under the covers and then pulls them entirely over her face, squealing.

Under the blanket, Draco’s arm tenses as Hermione’s eyes adjust to the darkness. Suddenly, she feels very exposed lying side by side with a shirtless, trouser-less Draco in nothing but a nightgown that barely reaches her knees. She pulls down on it self-consciously just as Draco lifts the covers to duck his head underneath them.

He blinks at her for a few moments while she stays impeccably still.

“Hi,” he says.

‘Hi,” she breathes.

Draco watches her for another couple of seconds before speaking again. “That was close,” he says.

“Mm-hmm.” She nods. Her palms are pressing down on the skirt of her nightgown tightly, as though she expects it to lift of its own accord.

“It’s very warm under here,” he says.

“Mm-hmm,” she responds again.

A knock on the door interrupts their profound conversation.

“Draco! Hermione! The Greengrasses will be arriving in half an hour! Please be ready to receive our guests!” Narcissa calls.

Draco lifts his eyes wearily. “Give us a minute, mother!” he calls.

Hermione gives him a sideways smile and he smirks back at her.

“You ready to face the day?” he asks.

“Are you?” She raises her eyebrows.

Draco’s eyes slip over her face and linger for a split second on her lips before returning to meet her gaze. “How did you sleep?” he asks.

Hermione laughs. “Stop stalling.”

“What?” Draco scoffs in mock outrage. “I really want to know!”

“Well, in that case,” Hermione lowers her voice, as if she’s about to divulge the deepest of secrets. “I haven’t slept this well in years.”

Draco looks pleased. “I’m glad.”

“You?”

His smile wanes minutely. “I don’t sleep well anywhere.”