Work Text:
Draco Malfoy... Still Single? Or Not? By Daphne Greengrass, Editor-In-Chief
I'm sitting with Draco Malfoy, Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor five years running. Mr. Malfoy look s dashing today in a sharp wool suit, a black tie, and a tweed overcoat. The different textures are a striking contrast to his pale blond hair. He cuts an intimidating pose, but he knows this and use s it to great effect. I am unmoved, however; I've known him since he was a spoiled little arse.
Mr. Malfoy has agreed to sit down with me because he wants to set the record straight, once and for all. And, dear readers, I can assure you it's worth the wait.
Me: Mr. Malfoy, thank you so much for joining me today.
DM: Well, you've been hounding me for weeks. I thought it best to get this out of the way.
Me: Yes, well, things at the magazine have been in a bit of a flurry ever since we received your letter.
DM: (chuckles) I do apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused.
Me: Well, other than scrambling to find a suitable alternative, there's been quite a lot of talk about why you sent us that letter.
DM: Isn't that much obvious?
Me: Your meaning was perfectly clear, I assure you. We remain, however, extremely curious about the details.
DM: I believe I included the exact details I wished to relate in my letter.
Me: I see. Of course.
The letter from Mr. Malfoy is here supplied:
Mr. Draco Malfoy / Malfoy Holdings / London
Miss Daphne Greengrass / Editor, Witch Weekly / London
To whom it may concern:
I received your letter informing me that I was chosen as your most Eligible Bachelor for an unprecedented sixth year in a row, but I regret to inform you that I will be unable to accept. My reason for this is because the title no longer applies. I wish you luck in your search for a suitable replacement.
Sincerely,
D.M.
Me: Surely you can understand why our curiosity was piqued. As far as our illustrious reporters have been able to detect, you remain eligible for our award.
DM: I understand, and I sympathize. Nevertheless, I am not unattached this year, and am therefore ineligible for the award.
Me: (purses lips) If that's true, Mr. Malfoy, perhaps you would care to enlighten us about the change in your status.
DM: (chuckles again) If I had wanted to do that, I would have.
Me: (flustered) But surely, Mr. Malfoy, you cannot expect this situation to go unnoticed. Five years you've been our selection, and no other Most Eligible Bachelor has simply refused the award. They have all gone on to be successfully attached. This will only lead to rampant speculation and an utter end to your privacy, should you continue to keep mum on the matter.
DM: I am aware. (Sighs heavily) That's why I'm here. Suffice it to say I am not, at present, an Eligible Bachelor. Can we leave it at that?
Me: (leans forward. Smirks.) Mr. Malfoy, you are at liberty to leave any time you wish. Just as I am at liberty to speculate about who has necessitated this alteration in your behavior.
DM: (nonchalant shrug) You have to sell your magazine, of course. Speculate away. I've got... Ten more minutes before I have to leave for a meeting.
Me: (dripping with sarcasm) Oh, yes, we do so appreciate you giving us a little bit of your time. We are the lucky ones, I'm sure. Were you aware that you were spotted purchasing flowers on the morning of July the eighth?
DM: (Unphased) There's nothing terribly interesting in that.
Me: This purchase was made in Camden, a neighborhood in London. A primarily Muggle neighborhood. In fact, Mr. Malfoy, according to Ministry records, there are no magical families in that area. What do you say to this?
DM: Only that your information is neither interesting or impressive. Are you suggesting I'm dating a Muggle?
Me: (eyes wide) So you admit that you're seeing someone!
DM: (drawling) That is, in a roundabout but obvious way, the conclusion one may draw since I declared myself ineligible for the Eligible Bachelor award.
Me: Yes, that might be so, but it's also no absolute confession. Now you're on record.
DM: (waves his hand) So be it.
Me: But to your previous question, no, I'm not suggesting you're dating a Muggle. While there may be no magical families living in that area—and therefore no pureblood families—there are records of individuals living there. The Ministry doesn't release specific details, but there are five magical persons living in Camden. Did you know this?
DM: How would I know this? Unless I happened to personally know all five people, which I don't.
Me: Which one or ones do you know?
DM: Let's move on, shall we? This is getting tedious and, as I've said, I do not have all day.
Me: Right. Yes. Let's just move forward, then, shall we? According to records obtained from Gringotts, you have exchanged Galleons for pounds no fewer than five times over the last month.
DM: (frowning) The Gringotts Goblins are well-known for their discretion and would never betray such privileged information.
Me: Records also show that your personal fireplace is connected to a flat in Camden, though we couldn't obtain any details about the location.
DM: Quite the research you've done, Daph. I'm guessing that's all you've got, though. Everything is pretty circumstantial, really. One instance of me buying flowers? Surely you can do better than that.
Me: (smug grin) Oh, Draco. I certainly can. Ahh, I saw that. Don't think I haven't learned to read you like a book. You're suddenly not so sure, curious and slightly panicked about what I'm holding in my lap. This stack of envelopes could contain... well, anything. Photographs, for example? But as I was saying, you were reportedly seen talking with one Hannah Abbott at the Leaky Cauldron on March the seventeenth.
DM: (still calm, though it's a facade) If you say so.
Me: Do you remember what you discussed?
DM: (shrugs, frowns) I do not. I'm sure it was insignificant. She is the owner of the Leaky, and everyone in our world goes through the pub at some point.
Me: (nods) Do you remember where you were before that conversation?
DM: No. How can I when I don't even recall the instance you are referring to?
Me: (simpers) Oh, of course, how silly of me. Well, let's say for the purposes of this exercise that this conversation happened. I can tell you that you were observed coming down the stairs of the establishment.
DM: (huffs) And? Your point?
Me: (slyly) You weren't passing through. You'd spent the night in one of the rooms above the pub. Oh, I see by your expression that you weren't expecting that. Yes, we did extensive research before this interview. Do you want to go ahead and tell us now who stayed in the room with you?
DM: (jaw tight) You're making an awfully big assumption.
Me: It would be, sure, if an unidentified woman hadn't come down those same stairs not ten minutes after you left.
DM: What's that have to do with me?
Me: Oh, nothing, I'm sure. It's just the beginning of a series of events that, when strung together, paint an interesting picture.
DM: I thought we were here to discuss the award?
Me: We are. Discussing why you are ineligible seems pertinent. Shall I cut to the chase?
DM: (curtly) Please do.
Me: You spent the night in a room over the Leaky in March. When Hannah cleaned the room the next day, she found a ribbon wedged between the bed and the wall. It was an especially lovely ribbon, looked expensive, so she thought, perhaps, whoever left it might want it back. Do you want me to stop?
DM: (eerily calm) You've come this far.
Me: Let's skip ahead to June, when somebody saw the ribbon and claimed possession of it. Were you aware of this?
DM: No. This is so tedious, Daphne.
Me: (with a saccharine smile) As in sure you can imagine, the rooms are cleaned regularly. That ribbon could only belong to one of the occupants of that room on the night in question. So it is either yours... Or it belongs to the mystery woman.
DM: (silent glare)
Me: I will assume you don't make a habit of wearing two-inch lace the color of blood. Though, if you're into that kind of thing, we won't judge. But moving on. The owner of the ribbon has been seen wearing it on no less than fourteen occasions since she retrieved it in June, as you will see in these photos. Go ahead, look through them. What's the matter, Mr. Malfoy? Afraid of what you might see? You'll notice, certainly, that the woman's identity in these photos is obscured. Whoever took these went to great pains to highlight just the ribbon and wherever it was placed. She seems to favor it in her hair, though the time she wore it as a choker was especially daring, don't you think?
DM: (refuses to look) Must I remind you that I've a meeting to attend?
Me: There is an unusual design on the ribbon which, I happen to know, carries special significance to your family. Oh, the design is miniscule, it's true. Nobody would think anything of it upon first glance, but when you get a very clear shot and use a magnifying glass, well... It's rather hard to miss. And then, just two weeks ago, she had the audacity to wear this ribbon to your parents' fundraising event. The way she draped it down the back of her open-backed dress was pure artistry. Didn't you think so? It was almost as though she were flaunting your association. In fact, that ribbon almost looked like it belonged right there, trailing down her spine, beckoning. But we both know the truth.
DM: (yawns) What truth is that?
Me: (triumphant) That this is the woman you are dating!
DM: (arches eyebrow) A mystery woman. Whom you haven't identified. Whom you, yourself, admit isn't clear in any of these pictures of this ribbon which you claim is important to my family.
Me: Well, there is also the matter of those flowers. And the five residents of Camden.
DM: (crosses arms over chest, stretches legs out) I look forward to hearing how they connect.
Me: There is only one magical resident of Camden that is female and within any sort of acceptable age range for a match. I have her name.
DM: (flicker of doubt) You have a name, you say. And I bought flowers. That's hardly much of anything, Daphne. You promised better than this.
Me: (smug) It might be true that all I have is circumstantial. But in the court of public opinion, I think my evidence is quite enough to convict. What will your parents say when they realize? (leans forward eagerly) What will they do? To you? To her? Have you considered the full ramifications of your actions, Mr. Malfoy?
DM: (stands) I believe I'm done here. (chair scrapes along the floor) My time is up, I'm afraid.
Me: (remains seated) Would you like to give a statement then? We will be publishing her name in an accompanying article. Is there anything you'd like to say?
DM: (frowns, shoves hands in pockets, rocks on heels) Nothing that's appropriate to print in this fine publication. But give my regards to your sister. (winks, leaves)
And so, dear readers, Mr. Malfoy left without a single comment, nothing to deny or discredit the evidence I put before him. And now, the editorial staff of "Witch Weekly" can exclusively reveal that Mr. Malfoy's mystery lover is none other than Hermione Granger, a household name for many of us, yet still far from Narcissa Malfoy's short list for a potential daughter-in-law.
Draco shut the magazine with a snap and chuckled, then handed it to Hermione. "Well, at least Astoria was predictable. Her constant snooping played right into our hands."
Hermione lightly touched the cover, her fingertips reverent as she gazed at the striking photo of the man beside her. "Where is this suit?"
"At home." He gave her a puzzled look. "Why?"
"And the overcoat?" She bit her lip, her finger running down the tie in the photo until it disappeared behind the coat of his suit. Then she continued the path until her finger ran off the bottom of the page.
"The same. But, Hermione. We did it. It's done." He pulled the magazine out of her hands, ignoring her squeak of protest. "Everything went as we planned." His witch was wearing nothing but the exquisite ribbon in question, tied around her neck. He did, in fact, prefer it as a choker to any other iteration.
"Of course it did." Her reply was snappish, impatient, and she reached for the periodical once again. "Did you expect otherwise? I want to look at it again."
"But I'm right here?" He nuzzled her neck, trying to draw her attention from the photo of himself on the front cover.
"But you're not wearing this." She pointed, her eyes glued to his likeness.
"No, love, I'm wearing nothing. Come on, now, let's put that away."
Hermione sighed and let him take the magazine. "I'm keeping that though. And for my birthday next week, you're wearing that entire ensemble so I can take it off of you, piece by piece."
"Yes, ma'am." His grin was predatorial, ready to enjoy his girlfriend again. "And no, I didn't think we'd fail. It was just all so easy. We need something more challenging next time."
She laughed. "This one took an entire six months to come to fruition."
"How long do you think before someone's pounding on your door?" He climbed on top of her, his arms on either side of her head.
"I suspect it's already begun. I closed everything down, though. No disturbances today." She reached up and pulled him down into a kiss. "And I can't wait to see the look on your mother's face when we tell her it worked."
Draco grinned. "She should have known better than to bet against us."
Hermione smirked and kissed him. The ribbon caught the light just so as the end trailed down her chest, and he thought it was the most incredible thing he'd ever seen. She was his everything. While he was no longer Witch Weekly’s Most Eligible Bachelor, he found being Hermione Granger’s boyfriend was a more fulfilling title.