Chapter Text
—So, she said, slightly overzealous, tell us about the proposal!
Hermione nearly choked on her champagne. That was an unexpected question, but after clearing her throat, she started—Right, well, it's really more of a three-step action plan to dismantle the registry, but of course it starts with a public—
She halted mid-sentence as the three girls in front of her exchanged confused looks.
Draco, sounding far too entertained by the whole situation, stole her glass away and gently nudged her hand towards them. —I think they mean my proposal, dear.
Hermione blinked, nodding in agreement. That made far more sense. —Yes, of course, that proposal, um… She looked up at him, then back at the girls, and back at him, her mouth opening and closing like a fish, trying to start the story. Draco’s amused expression wasn’t helping. She’s definitely starting to look like a deer in the headlights.
—Well? Clothilde prompted, breaking the silence.
Hermione snapped out of it, laughing awkwardly. —Sorry, just trying to decide, on which one to tell you about.
The three girls laughed along, like she was making a joke. She wished she was. Unfortunately, just trying to figure out which story required the least bending to stay both true and acceptable.
Technically, she wasn’t even sure if the first time even counted as a proposal.
—Marry me, claim the Malfoy seat, fuck them all over! He had said in between a mouthful of curry and a big gulp of his beer. Like that was a normal and reasonable response to her rant about her work going nowhere. Okay, granted she had been specifically complaining that you couldn't get anything through the ‘gamot if you weren’t bribing people or on there yourself.
—There is a Malfoy seat? She had questioned, instead of entertaining the idea of marriage.
He nodded and reached over her to grab a serviette.
—Yeah, I mean it's a shared seat, because of some marriages a couple of generations back, but Walton Montague has been hinting he wants to retire if I was willing to…
—Montague? She repeated, the name is familiar somehow.
—An uncle.
—Yours?
—No no, of Graham, from school, I mean I guess so in some way, a nth cousin far removed, second son and an oldest daughter or something, I'm not sure how they keep track of it, but according to him it's our turn. Not that I want it, but you know how it is. I have been trying to avoid him at events, which isn't that hard, he doesn't move very fast anymore, Malfoy chuckled and pulled a face.
—And he would hand it over to me? A woman? She mumbled distantly.
—Marry me, you would be a Malfoy. Good enough.The man can hardly see anymore, let alone read, I'm sure H. G. Malfoy would go right over his head. Then you show up all prim and proper dressed in plum, Muggleborn and progressive, give him a right heart attack and that's— he claps his hands— any protest taken care of. Difficult to argue from beyond the grave.
—Hmm, Hermione had paused, staring at him as if he had completely lost his mind. She had taken a sip of her soft drink, processing his words slowly. The entire suggestion was ludicrous. —No, she laughed, I'm sure I’ll figure something out.
—Your choice.
The suggestion had lingered though, and apparently, that was far too obvious.
—What’s got you thinking so hard? Ginny had asked at brunch, raising an eyebrow at Hermione’s distracted expression.
—Sorry, just... work, Hermione had mumbled, trying to dismiss it, quickly reaching for her coffee cup. —Really, just work. Nothing to worry about. But Ginny wasn’t having any of it. Well, okay, but this is crazy.
—Really? Ginny had leaned in, eyes sparkling with curiosity. —Spill!
Hermione hesitated, chewing her lip. The more she thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed. —Technically, Malfoy offered… to marry me.
Ginny froze, her fork mid-air, her jaw unhinging in shock. —What?!
Hermione waved her hand, trying to brush it off. —Yeah, I mean I think he was joking, but still. It was completely out of nowhere. She felt herself reddening at Ginny was still gaping at her, not quite processing the words.
—Wait, what? Ginny repeated, her voice a little higher than usual. Are you telling me Malfoy... as in Draco Malfoy, the Draco Malfoy, asked you to marry him?
Hermione rolled her eyes, trying to laugh it off. Well, he didn’t exactly ask me to marry him. It was more like an off-hand comment, a suggestion really. I was ranting about work, about how impossible it is to get anything done at the Ministry without some sort of... well, you know, connections.
Ginny nodded, urging her to continue, though her expression was still one of utter disbelief.
—And Malfoy casually said I could marry him to get his seat in the Ministry? Hermione bit her lip, trying to keep her cool.
—Marry? And he was joking? Ginny asked, voice tinged with incredulity.
Hermione chuckled nervously, —Honestly, I’m not sure. It was so ridiculous that I didn’t even know how to respond. I mean, who proposes something like that?
—Scratch that, who proposes like that?
—Exactly, Hermione laughed. Yes he had been joking and they would laugh it off and everything would be completely normal.
—I don't even know what to say. I mean, I know he’s... Malfoy, but still. Ginny perked up.
—Do you think he is in love with you?
—No! Hermione speared a piece of tomato, and it wouldn't matter, because I certainly don’t plan to entertain it. What would I marry him for! She said haughtily.
Ginny raised her eyebrows, —Right. Because what could you possibly gain from that? I mean, who needs power, influence, a Wizengamot seat, the Manor, the jewels, the name, when you can work your way through the Ministry, huh?
Hermione rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help but laugh. —Hey, this isn't the first time I’ve declined a proposal for my career.
She wasn’t quite sure what it was, but after that brunch, she couldn’t quite get the notion out of her head.
The idea of Draco Malfoy—Malfoy, of all people—suggesting that she marry him, not for love or even a partnership, but to claim a blasted Ministry seat, had wormed its way into her thoughts in a way she couldn’t shake.
It wasn’t just that it was absurd—though, of course, it was absurd. It was the how and the why of it all. The casual way he’d said it, as if it were some normal, even reasonable, proposal. Who got married like that, like how could he just say that. Wasn't marriage supposed to be some grand permanent decision? And, maybe that was what bothered her most: the fact that she was still replaying it in her mind.
She would find herself pausing mid-lipliner, staring at her reflection as she wondered if this was really the system she was up against. Was this the kind of thing that really got you ahead in the Ministry? And if so, would it be worth it? To make the world a better place. No, he was joking and she was being silly.
Right?
In the shower, as the warm water sprayed over her, the thought would sneak back in. She’d catch herself wondering what it would be like to even say yes. What would it mean to marry Draco Malfoy, of all people? She could never live in a manor, Merlin, his mother would probably be there with them. Then she’d quickly shake herself out of the daydream.
And then once the thought became so consuming that she nearly missed her train to the theatre.
She had been running late, already rushing to make it to the event on time. But as the train pulled into the station, she had been so deep in thought—playing over Malfoy’s words, imagining a world where she said yes, imagining the chaos that might follow—that she barely noticed the time. She had to dash for the doors.
Though perhaps this time, since she was meeting him there for the first time since that dinner, "Want to grab something on our way out of here?" said after an interdepartmental meeting ran late, thinking about it was more forgivable than in the shower at least.
She found him just outside the entrance, tapping his foot impatiently, eyes fixed on his watch. He looked every bit the part of the polished, slightly-irritated wizard—sharp suit, pristine, and magically still completely dry, a large umbrella clutched in his hand. When she ran up the stairs to meet him, he gave her a once-over, then sent her a look.
—Cutting it close, he muttered, and without waiting for a response, he shoved the umbrella over her head and started almost pulling her up the street. Hermione blinked, surprised by the move. They hurried along in silence for a few moments, their footsteps echoing against the cobblestone streets. They turned a corner and perhaps it was the thought of having to sit in silence next to him for the next few hours, or perhaps the manifestation of people on Wizengamot seats coming into view, colleagues, superiors, she stumbled, nearly stepping out of her shoe.
—Wait! Malfoy stopped in his tracks, his attention snapped back to her. He held out his arm, steadying her without even asking. She grabbed his sleeve, clutching it for a moment as she tried to wiggle her heel back into place. She stayed standing still though, took a moment before looking up and meeting his puzzled gaze. —Did you twist it?
Hermione hesitated. The rain had started to fall harder now, but her thoughts were elsewhere, —Tell me you were joking. She demanded softly.
—What? He frowned, clearly not following.
—Thursday, when you… tell me you were joking.
He stared at her for a moment, his gaze flicking between her and the crowd heading into the theatre. —Are we doing that now?
—Tell me you were joking. She repeated, firmer this time.
—Really, right now? She gave a nod, he scoffed, a nonchalant expression settling over his face. I don't know. Yes, no? Why not?
—Marriage?
—It would be a great PR move! He shrugged. She narrowed her eyes at him. —What do you want from me? A ring?
—No! I want you to tell me you’re joking so we can go join everyone, and I can be normal about it...
Malfoy crossed his arms stubbornly, his posture rigid, his gaze fixed on her. —No.
—No?
—No! he repeated firmly, and there was an almost childlike determination in his voice. I have decided I was not joking. Marry me!
—Malfoy! She gasped, incredulous, her voice rising despite herself. The rain continued to fall around them, but it felt like time had stopped.
—Should I get on my knees? He started to get down, she pulled him up furiously. —Stop it. She muttered through gritted teeth. She should have never asked.
—Say no then, marry me.
Hermione’s heart was in her throat. —You are crazy!
Malfoy’s lips quirked into a smile. —Crazy about you? He sang and stole a kiss, square on the lip of the now gobsmacked Hermione Jean Granger.
She felt dizzy, and god she felt herself starting to tip backwards, her knees must have locked.
—Hermione? Malfoy pulled her back upright, you should see yourself right now.
And his tone unlocked her breath again, Malfoy was joking, she was ridiculous and he had decided to take the piss. She could feel her cheeks burning, her heart pounding in her chest.
See, that one could have been a good story. All dressed up for the theatre, nearly fainting on the rain-soaked streets. That one would be so easy to spin into something romantic.
If only that one didn’t finish with her saying —Oh, go fuck yourself.