Chapter Text
Chapter 1: It’s Okay, Darling
The first sign that Hermione Granger’s day was going horribly wrong was that she woke up late. The second sign was that Crookshanks, traitorous beast that he was, had apparently decided that her Head Girl schedule was less important than occupying the entire width of her bed. The third sign was the clock.
Hermione sat bolt upright. "Merlin's—"
Eight twenty-three. Her Potions apprenticeship seminar started at eight forty-five, leaving her exactly twenty-two minutes.
"Wonderful".
The sarcasm was wasted on the cat, who merely blinked at her. Hermione launched herself from bed, somehow managing to get dressed, brush her hair into something vaguely resembling civilization, and gather three textbooks, two essays, one planner, and a half-eaten piece of toast before racing out of the Head Suite.
The corridors of Hogwarts became a blur. Students flattened themselves against walls, and a second-year Hufflepuff nearly dropped his cauldron.
"Sorry!" "Sorry!" "Sorry!"
Hermione wasn't sure which apology belonged to whom, but she rounded two corners and burst into the Great Hall—a monumental mistake. Breakfast was in full swing, the room buzzing with hundreds of students. Directly in her path stood the last person she wanted to encounter while moving at terminal velocity: Draco Malfoy.
The poster boy of rehabilitated Slytherins, former Death Eater, and current Quidditch Captain, he was also the rumored future corporate overlord of Malfoy Consolidated Industries. He stood near the Slytherin table with Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini, the other members of a "bad boy-heir" triumvirate that certainly hadn't formed organically.
Unfortunately, he turned at the exact moment Hermione continued forward.
The collision was spectacular. Books flew, parchment exploded, and someone's pumpkin juice launched into the air like a decorative fountain. Hermione bounced backward; Draco stumbled.
Silence crashed over the Great Hall. Hermione stared. Draco stared. Every survival instinct she possessed vanished as years of being raised by polite Muggle dentists took over.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, dear!" the words escaped before she could stop them.
Absolute silence followed—the kind where one could hear a flobberworm sneeze. Hermione's soul left her body, slowly and painfully. Draco blinked, then his lips twitched.
Oh no. No, no, no.
That was a Malfoy smile—a dangerous one that usually preceded lifelong humiliation. Draco leaned down, picked up one of her books, and his grey eyes sparkled. Hermione hated sparkles, especially Malfoy ones.
He handed her the book, then drawled loud enough for the entire hall to hear: "It's quite alright, darling".
The Great Hall exploded. Hermione wished for immediate, violent, possibly dragon-related death. A fork clattered, a Ravenclaw dropped his goblet, and someone at the Gryffindor table choked. Theo Nott made a sound suspiciously like a dying seal.
Draco, the absolute menace, looked delighted.
Hermione snatched her books from him. "Thank you".
"You are most welcome".
"Stop smiling".
"I wasn't aware I was". "
You are".
"It's difficult not to when my darling is so cross".
The hall erupted again. Hermione contemplated murder, knowing it wouldn't be the last time. She pointed a finger at him. "You".
"Me".
"We are never speaking of this again".
Draco's smile widened. "Oh, certainly".
Hermione narrowed her eyes; that was not the face of a man who intended to keep a promise. That was the face of a man who intended to become a problem—a very attractive problem, which made everything worse. She spun and stormed from the hall, the roar of gossip following her to the doors.
Behind her, Theo’s laughter echoed. "Darling?"
"Shut up, Nott".
-o0o-
By lunch, Hermione was officially engaged—at least according to the rest of Hogwarts.
The rumors evolved with alarming speed. Version one involved secret dating; version two, a clandestine summer romance; version three, a proposal; and version four somehow involved twins. Hermione didn't know where the twins came from, and she wasn't sure she wanted to. She dropped into a seat beside Harry, who looked exhausted.
"Please tell me you've heard the rumors".
"I've heard all of them".
"Good, I guess? They do get worse every hour, though".
Hermione groaned, while Ginny, across the table, looked entirely too entertained.
"I liked the one where Narcissa Malfoy was planning your wedding".
"There is no wedding".
"Yet".
Hermione threw a bread roll at her, which Ginny caught.
Harry rubbed his face. "I hate this school".
"You fought a dark lord," Hermione deadpanned.
"I know."
"Yet, this is somehow worse."
"Exactly".
Ron arrived a moment later with Pansy Parkinson—holding her hand. The entire table froze.
"Oh," Ron said, blinking at the shock around him.
"You're holding hands," Harry noted.
"So I am," Ron said.
"Honestly, Weasley. Keep up," Pansy added, rolling her eyes.
Hermione blinked. "You're together?"
"Apparently," Pansy smirked.
Ron grinned sheepishly. Hermione felt a strange sense of relief. The war kiss had happened, but whatever might have been between them had clearly wandered off and found Pansy Parkinson instead.
Good luck to him; he was going to need it.
Harry, meanwhile, looked moments away from popping an artery.
-o0o-
At the Slytherin table, Theodore Nott was having a spiritual experience.
"Who is she?" he whispered.
"Who?" Blaise asked, glancing up from his breakfast.
"The goddess".
Blaise followed Theo’s gaze and sighed.
A girl sat near the end of the Hufflepuff table with long black hair, sun-kissed skin, and sharp brown eyes. Despite her elegant posture, she was unceremoniously judging her onion soup, her expression suggesting she wouldn't hesitate to hex anyone who annoyed her. Theo was instantly in love.
"Who. Is. She".
"You're frightening me".
Theo ignored him. Draco glanced over, recognition flashing across his face.
"That's Granger's cousin".
"Cousin?" Theo straightened.
"Distant cousin".
"Excellent".
"How is that excellent?"
"If she’s related to Granger, she must be intelligent".
"Your standards have evolved," Blaise said, looking horrified.
"I know".
The girl looked up, her gaze landing on Theo for three seconds before she narrowed her eyes. Theo smiled; she looked unimpressed. He smiled harder; she rolled her eyes and returned to her book, pushing the soup away.
Theo clutched his chest. "She's perfect".
Draco sighed. "You're doomed".
Cordelia Santos had traveled halfway around the world to study magic, not to deal with Theodore Nott—who seemed quite determined to deal with her. She could feel him staring again.
The transition had been difficult enough—learning British magical law, customs, and history—without the pressure of living in the shadow of Britain's most famous witch, her distant cousin, Hermione Dagworth-Granger. The family history was ancient; a Dagworth-Granger ancestor had traveled to Southeast Asia to research medicinal plants, fallen in love with a local healer-priestess, and never left. They had been hidden and forgotten until now.
With no direct magical descendants left, the lineage lived on through the squib branch to which both Hermione and Cordelia distantly belonged. Cordelia touched her wand—bamboo with a lambana wing core—a gift from her grandmother and her only defense against the idiot waving at her from across the hall. She stared daggers at him, but he only waved harder.
Merlin preserve her.
-o0o-
That evening, Hermione found Draco waiting outside the library. Of course he was. He leaned against an archway with the confidence of someone who had never worried about money or social status. Hermione envied him, slightly.
"Malfoy." "Darling".
She closed her eyes. "Don't".
"You started it".
"It was an accident".
"The best accidents usually are".
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "What do you want?"
Draco’s expression shifted, becoming nearly serious.
"I have a proposition".
"That's usually where things go wrong".
"For you, perhaps".
"Definitely for me".
His dangerous smile returned. "I need a favor".
Hermione stared. Draco Malfoy, walking trust fund and Quidditch captain, was asking her for help. The universe had clearly malfunctioned.
"What kind of favor?"
"Daphne Greengrass".
"What about her?"
"My mother wishes me to consider a betrothal arrangement".
Hermione laughed, but Draco did not, so the laughter died.
"Oh."
"Precisely".
"You want me to help you avoid marriage?"
"I want us to pretend we're courting".
Hermione stared; he stared back. A passing portrait muttered about modern youth.
"That is the stupidest idea I've ever heard".
"It absolutely is".
"You expect me to agree?"
"Possibly".
"I won't".
"You will".
"Why?"
"Because everyone already believes it".
Hermione opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. He had a point—the rumors were spreading faster than dragon pox.
"I gain freedom from an arranged match," Draco noted.
"And I gain what, exactly?"
"Social protection". She hated how quickly he answered.
"You're Hermione Granger," he continued.
"Obviously."
"Recently unattached."
"Don't".
"Former war heroine."
"Malfoy."
"Dagworth-Granger heiress".
She paused as his expression softened slightly. "You gain breathing room".
Hermione considered the endless scrutiny. Perhaps a controlled narrative would be easier. She hated that he made sense, but slowly, she extended her hand.
"This is a terrible idea".
"Completely terrible," Draco agreed, taking it.
Their hands shook, and neither noticed they were both smiling. Above them, a portrait sighed, "...Young love".
"Shut up," they said simultaneously.
The portrait looked delighted. Somewhere in Hogwarts, destiny began laughing because neither of them had the slightest idea what they had just started.