Work Text:
October 1998
“What? You can’t be serious?” Draco Malfoy looked at his fiancée incredulously.
“I’m not, I’m Hermione, Sirius is dead.” Hermione deadpanned.
Draco felt his eye twitch slightly, “Do be serious Hermione. You can’t honestly believe that William Shakespeare had no contact with wizards, how else do you think he got the inspiration for Iago? Iago is the literary facsimile of Voldemort.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, “Sure… except that Othello was written 335 years before Voldemort was even in the Wizarding world.”
“Honestly woman,” Draco huffs in frustration, “We have time-turners, I know muggles have theories on time travel being an impossibility but we wizards have long possessed that technology, as it were.”
The pair were sitting on the grassy edge of Black Lake during their free period looking at the serenity of the water’s calming ebb and flow.
“You know, this is one of the things I love about you—“
“What? That I read and can carry on an intellectual conversation?”
Hermione smiles and snuggles in closer as Draco wraps an arm around her shoulders.
“Okay, I concede that the similarities between Iago and Voldemort are pretty obvious but I refuse to believe Shakespeare met a wizard and based a character on him three-plus centuries before his entrance into the Wizarding world.”
Draco blew his hair out of eyes, “I suppose a partial concession is better than nothing.” Then Draco smiled a little devilishly, that worried Hermione.
“So what’ll you do if I can prove Iago and Voldemort are one and the same?”
She pulled away from him and narrowed her eyes, “What’s going on in that Slytherin mind of yours?”
Her fiancé smiled and stood offering her his hand. She took it and brushed off stray grass from her school skirt and they started back toward the castle.
“If I can prove that Shakespeare met a wizard—Voldemort no less—you have to let my mother help you plan our wedding,” he said with a tone of finality.
“Is Narcissa still bugging you about it?” She chuckled.
“You have no idea,” he whined.
“Oh poor baby,” she patted his arm condescendingly, “And if you can’t, what do I get?”
“What do you want?”
Hermione thought about it as they entered the courtyard, “You at my mercy for an entire weekend.”
Draco smirked, “That can be arranged.”
“All right, deal.”
“Prepare to get a crash course in pureblood society party planning, Hermione,” Draco smiles.
Hermione bit her lower lip, maybe she shouldn’t have conceded so soon. Draco led her toward the Gryffindor common room. Luckily the Fat Lady was in her painting.
“Excuse me, madam,” Draco addressed the Fat Lady.
“Hello Lord Black, unfortunately, unless you have the password I can’t let you in,” the Fat Lady acknowledged, “Oh, hello Hermione.”
Hermione sheepishly said hello, but a sense of dread was starting to pool in the pit of her stomach.
“Actually madam, I was hoping to ask you a few questions to settle a bet,” Draco smiles at the Fat Lady and winks at Hermione.
“Oh, I suppose that’ll be all right.”
“According to my research, you lived in Stratford-upon-Avon when you were alive, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent,” Draco winked again at Hermione, she bit her lip again. “Also, from my research, you befriended a muggle named William sometime around 1602, correct?”
“Yes,” the Fat Lady replied.
Draco looked at Hermione smugly.
“Wait, so you were alive in Elizabethan times?” Hermione asked her interest piqued.
“Indeed Miss Granger.”
“So why does your portrait look like it’s set in Ancient Greece?”
The Fat Lady smiled, “My dear girl, I have guarded Gryffindor Tower for nearly four centuries, in that time I’ve had my portrait redone countless times to remember my life, my current portrait depicts me on holiday in Greece in 1563, a most pleasant holiday.”
“May I ask, what your name was?” Hermione was really interested now, “We all know you as the ‘Fat Lady’ but not by any other moniker.”
The pair heard the Fat Lady choke back a sob, that surprised them, “It has been centuries since anyone has asked or conversed with me in any significant capacity,” the Fat Lady cleared her throat, “My name was Desdemona. Mona for short, but only friends and family called me that.”
Hermione’s jaw dropped, “Are you the inspiration for William Shakespeare’s character of Desdemona from Othello?”
The Fat Lady’s brief moment of melancholy was over, “Why yes! William appreciated my looks and determination, and surprised me on opening night at the Globe Theatre.”
“Which brings me to the point of our inquiry,” Draco spoke as it appears his fiancée had lost all form of speech, “During your friendship with William, did he meet someone you didn’t approve of?”
“Yes, in 1597 he met a rather ambitious and charismatic, but also, shrewd young man in a Nottingham pub; after that meeting, William started to focus on writing tragedies, which is a shame since I loved his comedic works.”
“Need any more proof, my love?” Draco addressed Hermione.
Hermione huffed, “Fine, you’ve proved your point.”
Draco smiled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, “Well madam, I thank you for your assistance.”
The Fat Lady was confused but shrugged it off, “You’re quite welcome, Lord Black. If you want to talk about Shakespeare some more my portrait is here for you.”
“Good afternoon, madam.”
The pair thanked her again and left.
“You set me up! You knew this whole time.” Hermione shrugged off Draco’s arm after they left the Fat Lady.
Draco laughed, “Yeah I did.”
“Biggest prat I’ve ever met,” Hermione said half-heartedly, rolled her eyes, and returned to his embrace.
“But you love me.” Draco laughs.
“Merlin help me, I do.”
“Don’t worry Hermione, my mother won’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable, you’ll have final say on all wedding decisions, but having my mother in your corner will definitely make things easier at least with overzealous vendors.”
“I suppose,” Hermione conceded.
“That’s my girl.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow, “I am no one’s property, Malfoy.”
Draco smiled indulgently, “Of course not darling. Just mine.” He proceeded to snog her in an empty alcove near the Great Hall for the rest of their free period.