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Chapter Text

The day Lady Hermione Granger found out she was a witch started off quite normally. She’d had breakfast with her governess and lessons with her tutor. Hermione was quite a remarkable girl in that her parents paid for a tutor for her, instead of just a governess as most girls were afforded. Hermione didn’t even have any brothers to warrant a tutor; she was an only child. Which made her rather lonely but that was probably for the best. When her emotions ran high, strange things tended to happen around her. She’d gone through three tutors before Mr Jenkins had been hired. He, at least, dealt with her strange outburst with aplomb. The outbursts were becoming more frequent and Hermione was getting to be extremely embarrassed about them.

Halfway through tea with her mother, the butler—Caddington—interrupted.

“A Professor McGonagall is here to see you, madam,” Caddington intoned in his deep bass voice.

“Professor McGonagall? I’ve never heard of such a person,” Hermione’s mum, Lady Granger said.

“She’s asked to speak with Lady Hermione as well, madam,” Caddington informed them.

“Do you know of such a person?” Lady Granger asked Hermione

“No, Mother,” Hermione shook her head. While she was confused, she was also very excited. It was rare that her parents entertained, so having someone new to see and talk to was always a treat.

“Well, see her in Caddington. We’ll see what she wants. Is the Earl home yet?”

“Not yet, madam,” Caddington replied.

“Very well,” Lady Granger waved the butler away. As he left, a footman came into the room to add an additional setting for tea.

“Oh, are we to provide tea for this Professor McGonagall as well?” Lady Granger asked the footman.

The footman’s eyes widened and he froze in terror. Hermione hid her smile behind her hand. It wasn’t polite to laugh at servants.

“Well?” Lady Granger asked when the footman didn’t respond.

“Mr Caddington said—”

“Oh, well if Caddington requested it,” Lady Granger sighed and waved her hand, allowing the footman to continue with his setup.

“Thank you, Barrett,” Lady Granger said when he was finished. The footman bowed to them both and stepped smartly out of the room.

“Mother, that wasn’t very nice,” Hermione scolded her mother lightly.

“Oh, well, they are just too easy to frighten, aren’t they?” Lady Granger’s eyes twinkled merrily and Hermione did her best to suppress her laughter, even if she wasn’t capable of suppressing her grin.

“Professor McGonagall, madam,” Caddington said a few moments later, sweeping the door open for Hermione to see a severe-looking woman with black hair and a pair of spectacles perched on her nose. Hermione had never met any sort of professor before, but she had thought they were all men. She was quite surprised to find that Professor McGonagall was a woman.

“The Countess Granger and Lady Hermione Granger,” Caddington introduced. Hermione stood and dipped a small curtsey to the professor.

Professor McGonagall stepped further into the room and Hermione felt her heart beat rapidly. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt she knew that this visit was going to change the rest of her life. And she wasn’t wrong. Professor McGonagall told Hermione and her mother strange and unbelievable things. She was a witch! Just like Professor McGonagall. And when the professor had transformed into a common cat in front of their very eyes, Hermione had thought she must be daydreaming. She pinched her arm hard to see if she would wake up, but it seemed that it was really happening.

“Could this explain some of Hermione’s quirks?” Lady Helene asked.

“Quirks?” Professor McGonagall inquired.

“Yes, when Hermione gets excited, or very emotional, strange things seem to happen. Sometimes things levitate… We’ve had a terrible time keeping certain members of the staff. Her tutor is the fourth one we’ve had.”

“Ah, yes, well, Mr Jenkins is a Squib,” Professor McGonagall said.

“How do you know Mr Jenkins? What’s a Squib?” Hermione asked. Neither she nor her mother had mentioned the name of her tutor. Just how much did Professor McGonagall know about her?

Professor McGonagall sighed heavily, “In addition to being a witch, you are what we call Muggleborn. Muggle means non-magical folk. A Squib is someone who is born into a magical family but has no magic of their own. Most of the magical folk are pure-bloods. There is usually one or two Muggleborns born each generation.”

“Each generation?” Hermione asked. “So, I’m the only one?”

Professor McGonagall nodded, “The last Muggleborn we had was a boy, he’s about ten years older than you. Prior to that was another girl, about twenty years ago. There’s more…” the professor trailed off and looked concerned.

“More?” Lady Granger asked.

“Yes. Because Muggleborns are so rare, the marriage market for them is quite... fierce . Because of that, our government, the Ministry of Magic, assigns a wizarding liaison to each Muggleborn and their family to help them navigate the betrothal contracts as they come in. As well, as help the Muggleborn settle into the magical world.”

“You make it sound as if Hermione is going somewhere. And betrothal contracts? She’s only a child!”

“Lady Hermione will need to be educated with other witches and wizards as is our custom,” Professor McGonagall explained. “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is the finest wizarding school in Britain. Schooling is for seven years. Lady Hermione will be eligible to go in the fall. She’ll learn all about magic and how to control her talent. After that, it will be expected that she accept a betrothal contract into a pure-blood family.”

Lady Granger frowned, “And if we had a betrothal contract drawn up with someone in the peerage already?”

Professor McGonagall looked grim, “I’m not sure you understand Countess Granger. Muggleborns are so rare, that to keep one out of the wizarding world would be considered an act of war. If you chose to keep Lady Hermione out of the wizarding world, you could not do so and stay in Britain. Our government would track her down and bring her into our world without the benefit of Lady Hermione being able to still see her Muggle family.”

“You mean they’d take her from us? You would take our daughter away?” Lady Granger sounded both incensed and horrified by the prospect.

“If it came to that,” Professor McGonagall said. “There is much about wizarding culture that you don’t know and more than I could hope to impart in an afternoon. Suffice to say, wars have been fought over Muggleborns in the past. And they will continue to do so. Just as wars have been fought over other precious items in the world. Trading routes, gold, goods…”

Hermione watched the back and forth between her mother and Professor McGonagall and was equal parts fascinated and horrified.

“Mother?”

Lady Granger seemed to remember that Hermione was in the room with them and turned to her daughter.

“I don’t want a war to be fought over me. Nor do I want to lose you and Father. I think it would be best to send me to this Hogwarts and go along with Professor McGonagall’s plan. There was a liaison, correct?”

“Yes, my dear,” Professor McGonagall smiled at her. “You’ve been assigned Lord Arthur Weasley as your liaison. He’s a good friend of mine and a good man. He also has a son your age.”

Hermione smiled at the professor, then said to her Mother, “See? I think this will be alright. Besides, there isn’t a betrothal contract for me. I’ll hardly be missed when it’s my turn to come out. And this way, I don’t lose you.”

Lady Granger reached her hand out and Hermione grasped it.

“Always so logical, love,” Lady Granger murmured and squeezed Hermione’s hand.

“I’ll need to discuss it with The Earl, of course,” Lady Granger said. “But I don’t see why Hermione couldn’t attend this school.”

“It really will be for the best. As witches age and their bodies change, their magic becomes less stable. Having her in a school and learning how to use her magic and stabilize it will be best for everyone.”

Lady Granger just nodded. Professor McGonagall made to take her leave, promising to bring Lord Weasley with her next week. They would be getting a few lessons on the magical world with Lord Weasley and then he and Professor McGonagall would take them shopping. Apparently, wizards had their own shopping district in London. Hermione hadn’t spent much time in London and was exceedingly excited that she was going to get to go in a few weeks time. They’d even get to stay in the London townhouse! Hermione hadn’t been there since she was a very small child, her parents deciding they’d prefer to raise her in the country. But now, she wondered if it had more to do with her magic than anything else.  

Lord Ronald Weasley turned out to be a bit uncouth for Hermione’s tastes, but his father, Lord Weasley was delightful. Although, maybe only because of Lord Weasley’s absolute glee with all things Muggle. Hermione felt her lips turn up at the word, Muggle. She wasn’t a Muggle, like her parents. No she was a witch. A thrill ran through her when she thought about the wand, which was safely tucked away in her trunk. The carriage she was currently riding in consisted of her, Lord Ronald Weasley, Lord Harry Potter, and Lord Weasley. Lord Weasley had made introductions immediately, so Hermione knew she had permission to speak with the boys. It felt strange to be sharing a carriage and not having at least her maid with her.

She’d asked Professor McGonagall if she could take her maid to Hogwarts with her, how was she to dress otherwise? But Professor McGonagall had told her that Muggles weren’t allowed at Hogwarts. Nor, were they allowed to know about magic at all. She’d assured Hermione that there would be plenty of help at the school for dressing. The other girls in her dormitory would help, and there were house-elves. Hermione didn’t know what house-elves were, but now she was extremely curious to find out.

Lord Weasley explained that he’d had to hire the carriage to take them to the school from the wizarding government, the Ministry of Magic, where Lord Weasley worked. He was in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement dealing with Muggles, which was one of the reasons why he had been tapped to be her magical guide. The other had been that his family was too poor to offer her a contract. Which Hermione didn’t necessarily care for, but she had known her entire life that she would be accepting some sort of marriage contract. She was an Earl’s daughter, after all, her parents would want to make her a good match. She just hated that they were talking about it now. She was only eleven after all and wouldn’t marry for years and years.

“What’s it like being a Muggleborn, Hermione?” Lord Ron asked he’d insisted on Lord Ron over Lord Ronald.

“It’s Lady Hermione,” Hermione corrected with a frown. “What’s it like being a wizard?” Hermione asked in return. Honestly, how was she supposed to answer such a question?

Lord Ron shrugged and muttered, “Sorry.”

“My mother is Muggleborn, Lady Hermione,” Lord Harry piped up.

“Really?” Hermione asked, suddenly very interested in knowing Lord Harry Potter.

Lord Harry nodded, “Yes, there was apparently a very fierce bidding war for her contract. But House Potter won.”

“Do your parents not love each other then?” Lord Ron cocked his head to the side.

“Ronald!” Lord Weasley scolded. “That’s rather impolite.”

“Oh, no, they do,” Lord Harry told them. “Mother wanted Father the entire time, but her parents were holding out for the best contract.”

“Is that going to happen to you?” Lord Ron asked Hermione.

“Well, my parents will definitely give me a choice in any contracts,” Hermione said. It was something her parents had always told her. They’d never force her to marry someone she didn’t want to, but they reiterated that life wasn’t fairy-tales and even they hadn’t been in love when they married. But they’d grown to love each other.

“Did your parents have a betrothal contract too?” Lord Harry asked her.

Hermione nodded, “Yes, my father is an Earl. Which is why I’m introduced as Lady Hermione.”

She hadn’t meant to scold Lord Ron, but his face took on a pinched look and the conversation in the carriage fell quiet again. She couldn’t believe they were going all the way to Scotland. She had never been, and they were due at the school that evening. She’d asked Lord Weasley how it was possible they could travel so far in just one day. Normally a trip to Scotland would take three or more days, depending on how long they traveled each day.

“Magic,” Lord Weasley had said with a grin. And he wasn’t wrong. Not long after the carriage had picked her up, it had risen into the air, and flown like a bird. The horses drawing the carriage weren’t regular horses, but Pegasi. Hermione couldn’t wait until they were on the ground again, so she could see their wings. She hadn’t paid any attention to them prior to getting into the carriage, and now it was everything she could do to keep still and not try to climb out the window and look.

The trip to Hogwarts did take most of the day, despite the help from the Pegasi. The moment the carriage landed, and Hermione was handed out by Lord Weasley, she trotted around to view the beasts. They were huge—much larger than most horses—and were a beautifully matched pair in dappled grey. Their wings were folded neatly along their backs and Hermione longed to touch one but held back.

“First years?” a voice boomed from behind and Hermione whirled around to find a giant of a man with large black hair and a beard standing behind them.

“Yes, Mr Hagrid,” Lord Weasley said. “This is my son, Lord Ronald Weasley, Lord Harry Potter, and this is Lady Hermione Granger.”

Hermione dipped a curtsy, even as she stared wide-eyed at the huge man before her.

“Potter? I knew your parents!” Mr Hagrid said, holding out his hand.

Lord Harry stepped forward and shook Mr Hagrid’s hand, or rather, Mr Hagrid shook Lord Harry’s entire arm, he was so large.

“He’s half-giant,” Lord Ron whispered to Hermione.

“Giant?” Hermione’s eyes widened.

Lord Ron hummed his response.

“Well, come on then, follow me,” Mr Hagrid waved his huge arm and indicated that they follow him to the boats resting at the lake shore.

Hermione looked around and realized they were at the edge of a small village, and across the lake was a very large castle.

“That’s Hogwarts,” Lord Harry said pointing at the castle.

“And that’s Hogsmeade,” Lord Ron said indicating the village. “The only all-wizarding village in Britain.”

Hermione took it all in, suitably impressed and grinned at the two boys. She couldn’t wait for her Hogwarts education to begin.

Chapter Text

The first thing that happened when all of the first years arrived at the castle was formal introductions. Hermione had wondered how they would communicate with each other, but that was taken care of in short order. Professor McGonagall, and the many first years who didn’t know the others were introduced. Hermione had to be presented to everyone except Lord Harry and Lord Ron. There were several other Lord’s in her class, but quite a few Mr’s and Misses. Hermione had wondered at the difference and Lord’s Harry, and Ron had laughed, saying they’d explain it all later, but it was too complicated to explain it now.

Most of the people she met were kind, however maybe a little too curious about her. She deflected all sorts of very personal questions. However when one blond boy named Lord Draco Malfoy—what kind of name was Draco anyway—asked her why she was Lady Hermione. Hermione had smiled politely and informed Lord Draco, and all who were listening, that her father was Earl Granger, and part of the peerage.

“The peerage? What is that?” Lord Draco asked, raising his nose in the air. Hermione glared at him. Usually, she didn’t give much thought or attention to the fact that she was of the peerage, but this boy rubbed her the wrong way.

“I’m part of Muggle royalty. Thirty-sixth in line to the throne, if you must know,” Hermione sniffed.

Lord Draco scowled and turned away. Hermione didn’t know what that action meant, but she rather thought it meant she’d won. Did her being an Earl’s daughter make her rank higher than his? He seemed so pompous but sulked like that was the case. Hermione couldn’t wait to find out more about wizarding society and how it was structured differently than Muggle society.

The sorting ceremony and accompanying feast were magnificent, Hermione had ended up in the same house as Lord’s Harry and Ron, Gryffindor house. Several of Lord Ron’s brothers were also in Gryffindor, and Lord Harry had commented that both his mother and father were also Gryffindor’s.

After the feast, Lord Ron’s brother, Lord Percy guided them and the rest of the Gryffindor first years up to the tower that served as the house for all Gryffindors. Along the way, Lord Percy explained that the boys and girls slept in different towers and that after eleven in the evening, the common room was always cleared out by their prefects or Head of House, ensuring that the girls and boys stayed in their dormitories until morning again. Hermione was relieved to have heard this, she had worried about her reputation, in sharing a house with so many boys she was not related to.

Once all of Gryffindor house had assembled in the common room, another round of formal introductions took place, this time introducing the first years to everyone in the house they did not know. Again, Hermione had to be presented to everyone. There were many more prying questions, but Hermione didn’t mind as much. Everyone in Gryffindor was exceedingly lovely.

It was after formal introductions of Gryffindor house that Hermione finally received the lowdown on the Lord and Lady versus Mr and Miss address among wizards. There were thirty families, called the Sacred Thirty, who were descended from the best wizarding stock Britain had to offer. Anyone who was a member of one of those thirty families, whether by their mother or fathers side was addressed as Lord or Lady. Weasley and Potter were apparently part of the Sacred Thirty, as was Malfoy.

“So the Sacred Thirty is similar to the Muggle peerage,” Hermione had mused.

“Similar, yes,” Lord Harry responded, “Each member of the Sacred Thirty has a seat on the Wizengamot, the wizarding equivalent to Parliament, rolled into the court system as well. However, our Minister is an elected official from members of the Wizengamot.”

“Sounds awfully similar to the Muggle system,” Hermione replied.

“We don’t have a king or queen,” Lord Ron said. “That’s what is different.”

“Can families who aren’t part of the Sacred Thirty have a Wizengamot seat?” Hermione asked.

“No,” Lord Harry shook his head. “Although there are some who think that should change, my father among them.”

“Mine too,” Lord Ron nodded. “But there are others, like Lord Draco’s family, who disagree.”

Hermione nodded, she could see how similar it was to the Muggle parliament with their House of Lords. Maybe when she was older, she could help introduce something similar in the wizarding world? That had been the Muggle compromise after all to the House of Lords, by creating the House of Commons. Her conversation with the two boys—who were fast becoming her friends—gave her a lot to think about as she headed to bed.  

Hermione was loving her first year. Everything about it was magical and inspiring, everything except Lord Draco Malfoy. He was a prat, and she told him to his face on more than one occasion. For some reason, every class the first year Gryffindors had—they shared with the first year Slytherins. She wished they shared just one class with the Hufflepuffs of Ravenclaws, but it was not to be. And in every class, Lord Draco Malfoy was seated directly behind her. She had thought the boys and girls would take separate classes, but things were much more equal in the wizarding world, and the idea delighted Hermione.

She hated, as a child, never being allowed to express her opinion—or even have an opinion in some circumstances. Things were different in the wizarding world, and Hermione loved it.

The only complication was Lord Draco Malfoy and his ridiculous friends, Mr Goyle and Mr Crabbe. They were brutes who flanked Lord Draco and followed him everywhere he went. The first time Lord Draco pulled on her braids, Hermione had been incensed and had ratted him out to Professor Snape.

“Yes, Lady Hermione?” Professor Snape said dryly.

“Lord Draco keeps pulling my braids,” Hermione complained.

“Nonsense, how can you tell when you wave your hand around so profusely?” Lord Draco countered.

“It appears Lord Draco is correct, Lady Hermione. Please refrain from your needless hand-waving.”

Hermione blushed and didn’t raise her hand for the following fortnight in Professor Snape’s class.  

Hermione’s second year at Hogwarts was very similar to her first, the exception being that this year they were invited to join the dueling club.

“Even the girls?” Hermione had asked Professor McGonagall after she’d announced it.

Most of the girls in the class looked at Hermione strangely, but Professor McGonagall smiled at her warmly.

“Yes, Lady Hermione, even the witches participate in dueling. In the wizarding world, witches and wizards are on much more equal footing than in the Muggle world.”

Hermione was so inordinately pleased with that statement that she walked around the rest of the day with a broad smile on her face. Dueling! Something she’d only ever heard whispered about, or read about in the novels her mother tried to hide from her. She couldn’t wait to see her first duel! Or even, to be in her first duel! What she wouldn’t give to wipe the perpetual sneer off Lord Draco’s face.

Dueling Club turned out to be just as exciting as Hermione had anticipated. She’d even been paired with Lord Draco, whom she’d come to think of as her nemesis. At least in school. He was always almost tied with her for grades, and again sat behind her in nearly every class this year. At least they had a few classes with other houses, but every class they had with Slytherin House, Lord Draco sat behind her to pull her hair. Hermione had mostly gotten used to it.

“Well, this will be easy,” Lord Draco snickered to his friends when the pairings were announced.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, “I know more spells than you, Lord Draco.”

“Ah, yes, but I’ve actually witnessed a proper duel before.”

Hermione felt herself redden in embarrassment and turned away from the unlikeable boy. She wanted to stomp her foot but held off, knowing how childish that action was. 

“Now, now! We’re aiming to disarm only! The spell is Expelliarmus . With a flick and point. Say it with me now… Expelliarmus !” Professor Lockhart, this year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts professor announced.

The dueling club all shouted along.

“ Expellermiss ,” Ron shouted.

“Honestly, it’s Expell-ee-AR-mus . Not Expell-ER-miss ,” Hermione corrected him. Ron rolled his eyes but went on to practice saying the spell correctly.

“Alright, everyone, get with your pairs,” Lockhart directed.

Hermione glanced around to find Lord Draco on the other side of the Great Hall, apparently expecting her to come to him. How he’d gotten over there so quickly, Hermione wasn’t sure. She narrowed her eyes at him and waited, a gentleman never made a lady move more than was absolutely necessary. It was clear that Lord Draco was unaware of some of the finer rules of etiquette. Hermione felt a small smirk form on her lips; perhaps she’d enlighten him. With a short flounce, she turned and made her way to where her partner was standing.

“Ready, Lady Hermione?” Lord Draco asked with a sneer.

“Perhaps,” Hermione replied. She was itching to tell him how he’d failed at treating her properly like a lady, but decided maybe she’d hold back for a better time to hold that over his head.

“Assume your stance!” Lockhart shouted.

Hermione squared off against Lord Draco, and they bowed to each other.

“ Expelliarmus !” Hermione shouted.

At the same time, Lord Draco shouted, “ Serpensortia !”

Hermione almost screamed as the huge black snake erupted from Lord Draco’s wand and headed right for her. She probably would have if she’d gotten any closer, but luckily Harry and Ron had followed her over.

Harry began hissing at the snake. The snake hissed back and curled up into a tight coil right between Lord Draco and Hermione.

“That wasn’t the spell you were supposed to use!” Hermione scolded Lord Draco. “And what did you do to it, Lord Harry?”

Harry shrugged, “Just told it to stay still and not bother anyone.”

“You can speak to snakes?” Ron asked. “Wicked.”

Professor Lockhart hustled over then, to check in on the commotion. “Ah, who conjured the snake?”

“I did,” Lord Draco smirked. Hermione longed to wipe the smirk off of his face.

“Well, it was very well done, despite being against the rules. Five points from Slytherin.”

Hermione found herself sneering at Lord Draco for once.  

Third year brought more classes with the Slytherins. This time it was Care of Magical Creatures—which they had with Professor Hagrid, who had just been promoted that year. Hermione was unsure about the class; however, she loved animals of all sorts and this year had just adopted her first familiar; a half-kneazle, half-cat named Crookshanks. So she was excited to learn about the types of creatures to be found in the magical world. And the class was highly enjoyable, even if they did start with something as dull as the flobberworm. It was now spring, and they were getting to the more interesting creatures in the book. Hermione couldn’t wait to see what Professor Hagrid had for them today. Maybe unicorns!

“Come ‘round, come ‘round!” Professor Hagrid shouted, leading all the children toward a paddock behind his cottage. There were several large hippogriffs in the paddock, Hermione’s eyes were wide as she looked at them.

“Now, who can tell me what this is?” Professor Hagrid said as he slapped the neck of one of the hippogriffs.

“They’re hippogriffs, you dolt,” Lord Draco sneered.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the rude boy.

“Right you are Lord Draco!” Professor Hagrid said, who acted like he didn’t hear the last half of Lord Draco’s statement.

“Alright, get into your pairs. You’ll each take one.”

Hermione groaned, she was paired with Lord Draco for this class. But since they were already standing next to each other, at least she didn’t have to go far.

“Now, hippogriffs are very proud creatures,” Professor Hagrid said. “They have rules on how and who can approach them. First, bow and do not make eye contact! Wait for them to bow back to you. If they do, you can approach and give them a pat on the neck; if they don’t, back away quickly, but without startling them. It’s alright if they don’t bow back; as I said, they’re proud creatures.”

“I’ll go first,” Hermione told Lord Draco. “You’ll probably scare it off.”

Lord Draco didn’t say anything, so Hermione approached the hippogriff they were assigned to. It was huge, towering over her. It had the head and front legs of an eagle, with the body and hind legs of a horse. Its huge orange eyes stared at her.

She bowed low to the hippogriff, just as Professor Hagrid came over.

“That’s right, Lady Hermione, well done. This one’s named Buckbeak.”

Buckbeak stared at Hermione for a moment, and she thought she was going to have to back away. But then out of the corner of her eye, she saw Buckbeak fold his forelegs and bow to her.

She stood up and grinned.

“There you are, come give him a pet,” Professor Hagrid grinned at her.

Hermione stepped forward and reached a hand out. His feathers were so soft, and Buckbeak leaned into her touch.

“He likes you,” Professor Hagrid said then moved on to someone else.

“Oh, what an ugly brute,” Lord Draco snorted.

Hermione moved away from Buckbeak with one last touch of his feathers and turned to Lord Draco.

“He’s not a brute! He’s gentle and kind and obviously a good judge of character.”

“Pah, he’s an ugly thing,” Lord Draco sneered, now directly in front of Hermione.

“Take that back!” Hermione shouted, suddenly feeling very defensive about Buckbeak.

“I won’t! It’s the truth,” Lord Draco sneered.

Hermione had just had enough of Lord Draco, always sneering at her and her friends. And she was just so sick of him and his superiority. Her face felt hot, and she was sure the blood was boiling in her veins as she looked at the twisted sneer on Lord Draco’s face. She pulled her hand back and slapped him right across the face. His head turned with the slap and Hermione could see a red hand print already forming.

“You’re the brute,” she huffed to Lord Draco then ran away back to the castle. Not even caring that she missed the rest of the class, she was just so angry.

It wasn’t until dinner that night that Hermione had heard about what happened in Care of Magical Creatures after she had left the class. Buckbeak had attacked Lord Draco. Harry and Ron assured her that it wasn’t that bad and that Lord Draco had deserved it, but Hermione still felt a little bad about it.

It’s how she found herself standing before the doors of the hospital wing. She hadn’t brought him anything; she just wanted to see for herself that he was alright. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open and began peering around curtains, looking for Lord Draco.

When she found him, he was sleeping, and his right arm was wrapped in a bandage from shoulder to wrist. He looked almost angelic lying here in the hospital bed. His hair was spread across the pillow, and his face was relaxed, not sneering for once.

“Oh no,” Hermione breathed and stepped closer. The location of the wound wasn’t visible, as the bandage was completely white. Hermione supposed that was a good thing; it meant that Madam Pomfrey had been able to stem the bleeding. Hermione touched it lightly with her fingertips. She didn’t want to wake him up.

“I’m so sorry, Lord Draco,” Hermione muttered, and touched his unbandaged hand lightly. She shouldn’t be touching him at all, but she felt really guilty about what had happened in class earlier that day.

Lord Draco’s fingers tightened around hers imperceptibly, “S’alright,” he mumbled, and Hermione darted her eyes to his face to find he was still sleeping. She breathed a sigh of relief and squeezed his fingers once more before scurrying out of the hospital wing and back to her common room.

Chapter Text

Hermione’s fourth year at Hogwarts brought with it the Triwizard Tournament. A tournament that was held every five years at one of the three premiere magical schools in Europe. Hermione was delighted and excited to learn about other magical schools and cultures and found herself almost bouncing on the steps of Hogwarts as they awaited the arrival of students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.

“My father wanted me to go to Durmstrang,” Lord Draco boasted loudly.

“He probably should have and saved us all the trouble,” Ron said loudly as Hermione rolled her eyes.

Snickering was heard throughout the rest of the fourth years, and Hermione longed to look back at Lord Draco, who stood behind her to see his face, but just then someone shouted. Everyone was craning their necks to see a large carriage being pulled by huge Pegasi, larger than the ones that pulled Hermione’s carriage to school every year. There were at least a dozen Pegasi pulling the vast carriage. Hermione wondered how many champions they were bringing.

“Which school is that?” Hermione asked.

“Beauxbatons, I think,” Harry responded.

They soon found out as the carriage landed and the Beauxbatons Headmistress descended from the carriage.

“Merlin, she’s as large as Mr Hagrid,” Ron commented.

Hermione elbowed him, “Hush.”

“That’s Beauxbatons,” Harry confirmed as the students began exiting the carriage. “Blue uniforms.”

“How do you suppose Durmstrang will arrive?” Ron asked as he began scanning the skies.

“Look!” A Hufflepuff third-year shouted, pointing toward Black Lake.

The lake was bubbling and swirling. Within moments, the tall masts of a ship broke the surface—soon followed by the ship itself, bobbing up like a cork.

“Wow,” Ron said.

“That is quite impressive,” Hermione replied. “How do you suppose they managed it?”

“No idea.” Harry shook his head.

Dinner that evening was rather raucous as both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students presented themselves. Hermione felt a little saddened that Hogwarts didn’t have a demonstration, but perhaps since they were the host school it wasn’t required? Overall, Hogwarts seemed much more relaxed and informal than either Beauxbatons or Durmstrang.

“That’s Viktor Krum!” Ron shouted as the tallest boy from Durmstrang passed their table.

“Who?” Hermione asked.

“Viktor Krum! He’s the Seeker for the Bulgarian National Quidditch team!”

“Oh,” Hermione nodded then tuned Ron and Harry out as they began discussing Quidditch. It wasn’t that Hermione didn’t like the sport, she just thought it was silly the way they obsessed over it. Krum was a somewhat sour looking boy—tall and thin, as Seekers usually were, with a heavy brow and brooding eyes. Hermione wasn’t sure she cared for the look of him.

Overall, having the Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts impacted Hermione’s life very little. The Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students were much older than Hermione and her friends, so they didn’t share classes with them. Since Hermione didn’t play Quidditch, she didn’t mind that the Quidditch season had been canceled for the year in place of the tournament. The drawing of champions was mildly entertaining. But as a Gryffindor wasn’t chosen, Hermione lost interest rather quickly.

The most significant impact on Hermione’s life was that Viktor Krum seemed to have the same library study schedule as Hermione. That in itself wouldn’t be a problem, if he didn’t have a gaggle of followers everywhere he went. Younger girls or girls who hadn’t been formally introduced seemed to flock around wherever he was. Even that wouldn’t bother Hermione so much if Krum would ever work in a part of the library that Hermione wasn’t . But he didn’t, no matter where Hermione decided to work, Krum soon showed up. It was enough to drive Hermione batty.

It got so bad after the first task that Hermione had taken to doing most of her studying in either empty classrooms or the common room. It was exasperating that the librarian was unable or unwilling to control the bevy of witches who shadowed Krum.  

“I have an announcement,” Professor McGonagall said near the end of their Transfiguration lesson in mid-November. “There will be a change to the Yule Ball this year, in honor of our guests. As you know, Hogwarts hosts three balls annually, for our sixth and seventh-year students. We will only be hosting one this year; the Halloween and End of Year balls coincide too closely with the first and third tasks. For the Yule Ball, we will be allowing students fourth year and up to attend—”

Immediate whispers broke out in the joint Gryffindor and Slytherin class.

“Quiet!” Professor McGonagall snapped. Instant silence was heard throughout the classroom. “As such, we expect you to be on your best behavior. This is a special privilege, and I expect none of you to abuse it.”

More whispers broke out, and Professor McGonagall gave up on teaching them for the day, allowing them to all leave a few minutes early.

“A ball, this is so exciting!” Hermione said as she, Harry, and Ron left the classroom to head to the common room and prepare for dinner.

“I hope I don’t have to dance,” Ron made a face.

“Oh, I adore dancing,” Hermione sighed happily. “What about you Lord Harry? Are you looking forward to the ball?”

Harry blushed, “Perhaps.”

Hermione took that to mean there was a particular witch he wanted to dance with. She wondered who it was and why he’d never said anything?

The first thing Hermione did before dressing for dinner that evening was rush an owl off to her mother. A Yule Ball required a formal gown, something Hermione had not brought with her nor did she feel comfortable buying on her own. Her mother would know what to have made for her. 

“Stay after class, Lady Hermione,” Professor Snape drawled at the beginning of Potions near the end of November. Hermione frowned, trying to figure out what she had done wrong. Had her essay been too short?

“What did you do?” Lord Draco whispered right behind her.

Hermione just shook her head, refusing even to turn around and engage him. Lord Draco would just use it as an excuse to get her in trouble. And it sounded like Hermione was in trouble already. She had a difficult time concentrating knowing that Professor Snape already had something to discuss with her. She hoped it wasn’t her essay, as she’d worked very hard on it. But other than the essay, she couldn’t imagine what else she’d done to garner his wrath.

She fretted her way through the rest of potions class—turning in a substandard brew—but at least she hadn’t blown up her cauldron. She was quite unsettled by the time class was over. Packing up her books with everyone else, Hermione waited as the rest of her classmates left. Harry and Ron casting commiserating looks over their shoulder at her. She hadn’t even had a chance to speak with them during class.

“Follow me,” Professor Snape ordered and swept from the classroom. Hermione scrambled to follow after him and still maintain some decorum. He led her up the stairs from the dungeons and toward the east wing where she knew guest quarters were. It was where both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students were staying. What on earth was going on?

Professor Snape stopped abruptly and knocked on the frame of a portrait depicting a group of older gentlemen playing cards.

The men in the portrait grumbled at the intrusion, but the portrait swung forward to reveal an entryway. Professor Snape handed her up and on the other side was a common room, for Durmstrang. Several students looked up at the intrusion, and Viktor Krum came forward.

“Mr Krum, please meet Lady Hermione Granger,” Professor Snape intoned. “Lady Hermione, Mr Viktor Krum.”

Hermione dipped a small curtsy as Krum bowed his head to her. Had Krum asked for this introduction? He must have.

Professor Snape turned his back, and Krum smiled at her.

“Lady Hermione,” he said in a thick Bulgarian accent. “I was hoping you would do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to the Yule Ball.”

Whatever Hermione had been expecting, that certainly hadn’t been it.

“You do not even know me, sir,” Hermione said scrambling for words. She felt extremely off-put by this sudden invitation.

“Please pardon my forwardness, Lady Hermione,” Krum began, carefully enunciating each word. “However, I do feel I know of your character. You enjoy school and study hard in the library most days. As a Champion of the Triwizard Tournament, it is required that I escort a witch. You would be my first choice. And now that we are introduced, perhaps we could spend some time together in the library prior to the ball?”

Hermione chewed the inside of her lip as she considered his words. It was one night, and while Hermione wasn’t overly vain, showing up on the arm of one of the Champions of the Triwizard Tournament would undoubtedly be a feather in her cap. And she would enjoy learning more about him, Durmstrang, and Bulgaria.

“In that case, I accept. Both the invitation to the Yule Ball and spending time in the library,” Hermione smiled up at the dour-looking boy. The smile he gave her then transformed his face, and Hermione felt better about her decision; he didn’t look nearly so intimidating when he smiled.

“Wonderful,” Krum enthused. “Shall we meet in the library after dinner? I have an essay to write for Professor Snape’s potions class.”

“Of course,” Hermione replied. “I’ll see you then.”

Professor Snape took that as his cue and turned back facing them, escorting Hermione out of the Durmstrang common room and to the central part of the castle.

“I assume you can find your way from here, Lady Hermione.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Thank you, Professor Snape for everything,” Hermione grinned at him and bobbed a small curtsey before hurrying away to her common room to dress for dinner. Suddenly, she was very excited about the prospect of studying with Viktor Krum.  

Studying in the library with Krum wasn’t as bad as studying in the library with Krum close by, but it was close. The Gaggle—as Hermione had come to call them—still clustered around Krum, giggling and talking. But now they also glared at Hermione. She didn’t care what they thought. She did appreciate Krum’s work ethic, as he was happy to stay in the library until curfew. He walked her back to the common room each night—which was unnecessary, but the gentlemanly thing to do and Hermione did appreciate good manners.

They only spent a few evenings in the library. And while they did talk a little, it wasn’t much as Hermione really valued her revising time. As the Yule Ball crept closer, Hermione still felt like she didn’t know Krum all that well and was beginning to feel uneasy about being his escort to the ball. However, it would also be the height of rudeness to not attend with him once she accepted.

“Alright, Lady Hermione?” Harry asked when Hermione entered the common room after her latest study session with Krum. The Yule Ball was just a few days away.

“I think so,” Hermione responded and sat heavily in an armchair near where Harry and Ron were playing wizards chess.

“Worried about the ball?” Ron asked, concentrating on the chess set before him.

Hermione nodded, “I’m worried about Mr Krum actually.”

“Oh?” Harry frowned at the move Ron had made and turned to Hermione. “He hasn’t been inappropriate, has he? The Krums are nouveau riche ; he may have no idea how to act in proper society.”

“Oh, he’s polite as ever,” Hermione said. “He escorts me to the common room each night. No inappropriate touching either. It’s just…”

“Yes?” Ron finally looked away from the chess set.

“I’m not sure,” Hermione said. “I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“If you want to back out—”

“I couldn’t!” Hermione shouted. “It would be inexcusable.”

“Too right,” Ron nodded. “Either way, Harry and I will be there. If things get fishy, just let us know.”

Hermione nodded, feeling a small measure of relief at that. Harry and Ron were excellent friends to her and would absolutely help her if she needed. She would just have to guard herself against Krum carefully. She didn’t even know what she was guarding him against; there was just something telling her to be careful. She chuckled to herself as she bid Harry and Ron goodnight. It was probably just nerves from attending her first ball.

Chapter Text

“Champions! Over here, Champions!” Professor McGonagall shouted.

Hermione grinned as she found Krum in the crowd and hurried down the steps to his side. All the other students were streaming past into the Great Hall that had been converted into a ballroom for the festivities. The dress her mother sent was a glorious, crimson ball gown, dotted with silk roses. The sleeves fell elegantly off her shoulders, and the neckline was daringly low. It was quite probably too old for Hermione, but she felt beautiful in it.

“Hello, Lady Hermione,” Krum said smiling broadly at her, his eyes flickered to her bosom. “You look lovely.”

Hermione felt her face flush at the compliment. She bobbed her head, “Thank you.”

“Champions and escorts!” Professor McGonagall clapped her hands gathering everyone’s attention.

“You must all dance the first and the last dance together. Then you may have two additional dances with your escorts, but no more! It wouldn’t be proper! This is an opportunity to mingle with those of other schools, so please take that opportunity!”

Professor McGonagall clapped her hands once more, and the doors to the Great Hall opened wide. Professor Dumbledore stood near the band and announced the champions and their escorts as they walked through the doors. Hermione and Krum were after Fleur Delacour, the Beauxbatons champion, and before Cedric Diggory, the Hogwarts champion.

She smiled as they entered the Great Hall and was almost taken aback at the beautiful decorations that littered the room. Snow fell softly from the enchanted ceiling, and the winter wonderland theme came across very well.

Krum swept them toward the dance floor, where the Champions immediately set to dance the cotillion to open the ball. Hermione breezed through the steps and felt grateful once more that wizarding dancing wasn’t so dissimilar to Muggle dancing.

The cotillion was quite a bouncy dance, and by the time they had finished, Hermione was laughing and out of breath. Krum offered to gather them drinks, and Hermione happily took him up on the offer. Before Krum could return, however, Harry swept her out for a country dance and then Ron took her for a turn for a Scotch reel. By the time she found Krum again, he was looking less than pleased and still clutched her glass of punch.

Hermione did her best to soothe Krum’s feathers and then asked if he would dance once more with her. After that, the night went much more smoothly.

The ball ended, and Hermione felt light with happiness. Krum’s disposition had improved, and by the end, he was laughing along with her.

“Shall I escort you to your common room, Lady Hermione? Or would you like to take a walk?”

Hermione grinned at him; she wasn’t quite ready to go to bed yet, “Let’s walk.”

Krum held out his arm for her and Hermione settled her hand in the crook of his elbow as he led them from the Great Hall and into the corridors beyond. It was much too cold to venture outside—so they wandered along the halls of Hogwarts, all the sconces and candles lit in honor of the party.

“I had a wonderful time tonight, Mr Krum,” Hermione said to him as they turned the corner to a darker corridor.

“I as well, Lady Hermione.”

Krum kept walking, and the corridors got darker and darker.

“Mr Krum, I think we ought to turn back,” Hermione said, stopping and pulling her hand from his arm.

“This is a shortcut,” Krum said, “just a bit further.”

Hermione peered ahead into the gloom, but she didn’t recognize this part of the castle, suddenly she shivered as a chilly wind had swept down the corridor. Were they near the dungeons? How was that possible?

“I don’t think so,” Hermione shook her head, suddenly wishing she hadn’t decided on a walk with Krum.

She turned to go back the way they had come when Krum reached out and gripped her arm above her elbow very tightly.

“No, I don’t think so,” Krum growled, pulling Hermione to him. She lost her balance and stumbled into him. He took advantage and pushed her against the wall, pawing at her dress.

“Please! Stop!” Hermione shouted as she struggled against him. She was trying to push him off her or hurt him, anything to get him to stop.

“Stop struggling,” Krum growled, and he slapped her. Hermione’s head twisted to the side from the force of the blow, and she was sure that her lip was split open, but Krum had successfully captured her wrists and was now holding them above her head in one hand.

“Stop!” Hermione cried. Fear welled up and tore at her. Her wand was buried in her skirts; she had no hope of getting to it with her hands above her head. Krum was much, much larger than her. “Please! Stop!”

Krum grunted and forced one of his large thighs between her legs.

“No!”

“What’s this?” a voice from the end of the corridor called out. Hermione turned her head but was unable to make out whoever it was.

“Help!” Hermione screamed, and Krum gripped her chin and slammed her head back into the wall behind her, dazing her.

“Here, now!” The voice shouted, and with a flash of brilliant red light, Krum was thrown off of Hermione.

Lord Draco stood before her and caught her before she could crumple to the cold, stone floor.

“Lady Hermione! Are you alright?” Lord Draco helped her to stand, keeping one arm around her waist steadying her.

Hermione’s heart felt as though it was going to beat out of her chest. Tears streamed down her face, and she knew at least her lip was bleeding, and quite possibly her tongue as well.

“He attacked me,” she felt horror and fear all rolled into one as her knees gave out once more.

Lord Draco swept her up into his arms and settled her hands around his neck.

“Shh, it’s alright,” he whispered to her. “I’ve taken care of him. I’ll be sure to report him.”

“No! You can’t! I’ll be ruined if you do!” Hermione was frantic. As awful as she felt—as much as she wanted Krum punished—she knew that if word got out, she would be well and truly ruined. Nobody would marry her. And Hermione didn’t want to get kicked out of the wizarding world for not marrying one of the pure-bloods who was bound to petition for her.

“Alright,” Lord Draco soothed. “It’s alright, let’s get you to the Hospital Wing.”

“No!” Hermione protested again. “You can’t. Nobody can know, please Lord Draco!” Hermione begged him.

Lord Draco’s lips tightened fiercely, and Hermione thought he would refuse her. She didn’t know what she would do if she were ruined.

“Please, Lord Draco. I cannot be ruined… I’ll be banished from the wizarding world! Professor McGonagall said wars had been fought over Muggleborns before. I don’t want a war! I just want to be a witch.”

“Alright,” Lord Draco finally conceded after many minutes. It took Hermione a moment to realize that all this time Lord Draco had been walking. He opened the door to an old Charms classroom and set her carefully on the edge of the professor’s desk. With a flick of his wand, the sconces lit, and he turned back to face her.

His eyes widened, and he rushed forward, taking off his coat and throwing it over her shoulders. Hermione looked down to find both of her breasts almost out of her dress due to Krum’s pawing at her. She felt her face heat and wrapped the coat around her tightly, covering herself from his view. Lord Draco seemed to approve as he took a deep breath and the set of his shoulders relaxed somewhat. It was then that Hermione realized how broad Lord Draco’s shoulders were. She looked away quickly.

“Let me see,” Lord Draco said softly, and Hermione faced him. He had his wand out, and Hermione did her best not to flinch.

“It’s alright,” Lord Draco said calmly. “I’m just going to clean you up and heal your injuries.”

Hermione nodded tightly and watched with wary eyes as he whispered under his breath, tapping the corner of her mouth with the tip of his wand. The magic flowed from his wand to Hermione’s skin with a small shock, and then a welcome brush of his magic against hers. Her eyes widened, meeting his suddenly. He licked his bottom lip and tore his gaze from her.

“Are there, um, any other injuries?” Lord Draco asked.

Hermione shook her head. The bleeding on her tongue seemed to have stopped, and if not, she could always heal it herself once she arrived back at the common room.

“Good,” Lord Draco nodded then stepped away, taking a deep breath. Hermione mimicked him, trying to steady herself.

“How do you feel?” Lord Draco asked.

“Shaky,” Hermione muttered.

“Here,” he held a small silver flask toward her. She looked up at him skeptically.

“It’s just wine, see?” He took a quick swallow.

Hermione nodded and reached for the flask, the shoulder of his coat falling as she did so. Lord Draco’s eyes landed briefly on her almost-exposed breast before darting away, and Hermione pulled the coat back around her quickly.

Taking a quick swig of the flask, Hermione wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and handed it back to Lord Draco. This time keeping the coat around her shoulders securely.

“Think you are up to walking back to your common room?” Lord Draco asked.

Hermione nodded, refusing to meet his eyes. She was ashamed. Ashamed of her behavior. Ashamed of not listening to her feelings on Krum originally. Her lip trembled, and she felt a lump begin to form in her throat once more. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks, and before she even realized what was happening, she was sobbing into Lord Draco’s chest as he held her close.

“Shhh, Lady Hermione, it’s alright. You are safe. I promise. I’ll keep you safe. Shhh,” he murmured and ran his hands up and down her back. It was quite improper, but Hermione couldn’t find it in herself to care at the moment. She clutched at his vest and buried her face into his chest.

A few moments later, Hermione’s tears had lessened, and Lord Draco began to pull away from her, offering her his handkerchief.

“I’m so sorry,” Hermione sniffled, covering her face with the handkerchief, unable to meet his gaze. How was she going ever to live this down? Crying on him like this? He had saved her and was being so incredibly kind to her. How could she ever repay him?

“Think nothing of it,” Lord Draco said. He seemed to draw into himself, and Hermione felt ashamed once more.

Taking one more deep breath, Hermione stood from the desk. “Thank you, Lord Draco.” She bobbed as deep a curtsey as she could without going off balance in her unsteady state.

“You are most welcome, Lady Hermione.” Lord Draco bowed just as deeply toward her and Hermione wasn’t sure what that meant.

Lord Draco escorted Hermione the rest of the way to the Gryffindor common room. By the time they arrived, Hermione was equal parts mortified and exhausted from her evening.

“You won’t tell anyone?” Hermione asked suddenly as they stood in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady.

“Not if you don’t want me to,” Lord Draco said. His eyes were kind, and Hermione thought she detected pity in them. Nothing steeled her spine as quickly as that. She squared her shoulders and offered him a small bob of her head again.

“Thank you,” she moved to take off his coat, but he held up his hand, eyes wide.

“Keep it,” he said. “Sleep well.”

Hermione nodded and turned to the portrait which opened for her without the password. She scrambled inside and was relieved when the common room was empty. She didn’t want to answer any questions.

‘MUGGLEBORN BEAUTY AT HOGWARTS’ read the headline of the Daily Prophet . The morning after the Yule Ball. Hermione was horrified to see that the article was all about her. It mentioned the Triwizard Tournament and the Champions very little.

“Oh, no,” she groaned when the post owls came. Fifteen letters landed before her. She swept them all into her bag and vowed to open them later. She didn’t know for sure, but she suspected they were betrothal contracts. It seemed the secret was out of the bag. Professor McGonagall had assured her this wouldn’t happen until her sixth year. The appropriate age for her to come out to wizarding society. But apparently, that wasn’t going to be the case for Hermione.

Hermione was pleased that Krum didn’t show his face the next day at all. And when he did appear, after the break was over, he was sporting two black eyes. She glared at Lord Draco when she’d seen them. Lord Draco simply shrugged.

Even better was that Krum seemed to have understood that he was to leave her alone. She had thought she was going to have to be always on guard against him. And she was, she rarely went to the library without either Harry or Ron anymore. Never studying there. But Krum never once approached her. In fact, he all but ignored her. Harry and Ron thought her feelings were hurt, but Hermione was just relieved.

When fourth-year ended and the Triwizard Tournament with it, Hermione celebrated. Hogwarts was all celebrating due to Cedric Diggory’s win. Hermione was celebrating because Durmstrang was leaving and she’d never have to see Viktor Krum again.

Chapter Text

“Must I?” Lord Draco Malfoy asked his father for the third time that summer.

“Yes, Draco you must,” Lord Malfoy intoned. “She’s the only Muggleborn of your generation. The Malfoy’s haven’t had a Muggleborn bride in almost three hundred years. We are overdue.”

“I don’t think she’ll accept,” Draco muttered to himself. Lady Hermione was too swotty for Draco. She always had her nose in a book. And when it wasn’t in a book, he often found her nose in the air. Somedays Draco thought she was snobbier than he was. Frankly, he found her rather dull. Not like the girls in Slytherin, who were ladylike and coquettish.

“Then make her,” Lord Malfoy warned.

“Right,” Draco nodded definitively. He really just wanted his father to leave him alone. He didn’t hate Lady Hermione or anything. But after that debacle last year with Viktor Krum, he did feel terribly awkward around her. He’d been the gentleman, he thought, but the whole situation was embarrassing for them both. And enraging at the same time. He had been quite satisfied in his retribution against Krum. A few of the older Slytherins were happy to accept a bit of coin in return for exercising their fists against the Bulgarian.

That had also been the most expedient way for Draco to warn Krum away from Lady Hermione. She may not have wanted anyone to know about what Krum had done to her, but Draco wasn’t going to let Krum get away with it. Nor was he going to allow that blaggard to run about Hogwarts attacking any other ladies. Draco shook his head; Krum had gone back to Bulgaria.

How was he ever going to approach Lady Hermione about a betrothal contract? He could just send one, but he’d noticed that she seemed to get several every single day and he wouldn’t want his to get lost in the muddle. No, it was best to approach her first. See if she was even open to the idea. He had no idea what he would do if she weren’t.  

Draco bided his time the first several weeks of fifth year. He shared many classes with Lady Hermione, as the Gryffindors and Slytherins were always put together. He finally got his break in potions class when Professor Snape assigned them partners for the term. He and Lady Hermione were paired up. Draco would have to thank Professor Snape later that day for unknowingly helping him with his plans.

And still, he waited to approach her. He didn’t want to scare her off, nor did he want to discuss it in a classroom full of other people. He felt that asking someone to marry him was a private conversation. And when he thought about it like that, he felt entirely too young to be asking anyone to marry him. But his father was not to be defied. So he watched Lady Hermione and waited for a time to present itself.

It did near the end of the term. Professor Snape had assigned them a joint essay, and he and Lady Hermione had made a plan to meet in the library to read each other’s parts and work on combining them into one cohesive piece. The library was secluded enough that Draco felt he could at least broach the topic, perhaps feel her out a bit before formally asking her.

They had been working on the essay for about an hour before Draco said anything. He knew she wouldn’t want to chat straight away, but instead get right to work. Draco frowned at that thought. He seemed to know an awful lot about someone he wasn’t even sure he cared that much about.

“Lady Hermione,” he began. She paused in her writing and looked up at him, but didn’t say anything. He cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable under her gaze. Her whisky-brown eyes bored into him, and he felt wholly inadequate. “Have you chosen a betrothal contract yet?”

Lady Hermione’s eyes widened, and she leaned away from him. Draco felt like fleeing; he had not meant to say something so forward. He had intended to ease into the talk of marriage.

“I’m not sure that is any of your business, sir,” Lady Hermione answered rather coldly.

Draco groaned inwardly. Of course, it wasn’t his business. Unless he also petitioned for her hand.

“I apologize, I hadn’t meant to be so forward,” Draco said. “I only meant…” Draco trailed off, suddenly unsure of what he meant.

“Yes?” Lady Hermione prompted. “You only meant what?”

“Just if you had chosen anyone yet,” Draco shrugged and looked away. This situation was becoming awkward.

“I haven’t. I’m only sixteen. I have no plans of marriage until after I graduate from Hogwarts.” Her voice was cold and firm. Draco couldn’t blame her. He didn’t think he could handle the bombardment of betrothal contracts that she received on a weekly basis with nearly the amount of grace she showed.

“Right, that’s good.”

“Why do you ask, Lord Draco?” Lady Hermione lifted her eyebrow at him. Draco swallowed hard. He was only fifteen. How could he ask her to marry him?

“It’s just, I wanted to know if I should submit a betrothal contract for you,” Draco said.

“Should you?” Lady Hermione asked.

“Well, did you want me to?”

Lady Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.

“Thank you for that kind proposal, Lord Draco,” her voice was heavy with sarcasm, and Draco felt sick. “But I do not think a betrothal contract from you would be well received at all.”

She stood from the table, gathering her things, including both portions of the essay and swept out of the library, her head held high. Draco groaned and dropped his head to the table. That had not gone well. It was clear that Lady Hermione was not at all interested in him. Probably, much too embarrassed from that disaster last year with Krum. He didn’t blame her. It would be difficult to find yourself in the worst situation of your life with someone you had disliked since you were a child. Although, Draco found he didn’t dislike Lady Hermione. At least not anymore. In fact, he found her rather fetching.

He groaned at that realization. He was in big trouble.  

Draco did his best to ignore Lady Hermione and the new round of awkwardness between them. At least, the term had ended, and they were no longer paired in potions class. That helped, but it’s not like Draco could entirely ignore her presence, she was in each of his classes.

The more Draco tried to ignore Lady Hermione, the more he found himself watching her; thinking about her. It was maddening. She was a snob and slightly improper, although that could surely only be blamed on her Muggle heritage. Draco did find it fascinating that her father was apparently important enough in the Muggle government that his daughter also had a title. He’d asked his father about it over the summer and was fascinated and slightly in awe of what he’d learned. Apparently, Muggles had much stricter terms of address than wizards. The whole of Muggle society seemed to be vastly different than wizarding society. And he was terribly interested in learning more about it.

Draco shook his head; he shouldn’t even be thinking of her. He’d promised himself since the failed non-proposal to not think of her.  

It was like the directive to not think about Lady Hermione only brought Draco’s attention to her more often. She tossed her head back and laughed, Draco could hear it clear across the Great Hall and found himself drawn to it. Merlin, he wished he hadn’t made such a fumble of whatever their relationship was. A longing to court her was growing within him, and Draco wasn’t sure he knew how to stop it. Or what to do about it. She’d said no to his idiotic proposal, and Draco was sure once her mind was made up, she wouldn’t be changing it.

But how he wished he could do something to change her mind. The end of their fifth year brought a new vow from Draco. Not only would he not think of Lady Hermione, but he would also do his best to get her out of his mind. Sixth year meant they could officially begin courting and Draco decided he would woo every witch in Hogwarts to get Lady Hermione out of his head. He prayed that it would work.  

The first ball of sixth year was the Hallowe’en Ball, and Draco asked Lady Pansy Parkinson to attend with him. She was beautiful, even though her nose was a little too-upturned for his tastes. She was also the epitome of grace in society. Draco knew that Lady Pansy had hoped for a betrothal contract between their families. He hoped she wouldn’t cling to that idea, as he had no intention of submitting any betrothal contract for anyone. Not for years yet anyway.

The ball went rather well. Lady Pansy was an accomplished dancer, although Draco found her tittering laughter somewhat grating. He couldn’t help but notice that Lady Hermione didn’t appear to be escorted by anyone and danced with almost everybody who had asked her. Draco hadn’t asked her, although he very much wanted to. He was still vowing not to think of her as much as possible but found that more difficult to do than he’d previously realized when they shared most classes together.

Finally, near the end of the ball, Draco had found an excuse to go out to the little balcony off of the back of the Great Hall for a breath of fresh air. Lady Pansy’s perfume tended to be quite cloying, and Draco was counting the minutes until the end of the ball and the end of this torture. It had only cemented in his mind that Lady Pansy was not a good match for him.

He stepped closer to the railing, watching the moonlight over Hogwarts grounds and breathed deeply.

“Enjoying the evening?” a feminine voice said from behind him, and Draco froze. He knew that voice. Turning, he found himself correct when Lady Hermione was standing just before the closed doors leading back into the Great Hall.

“It’s been a fine evening,” Draco said. “And you, Lady Hermione?”

She smiled slightly, “My feet are sore from all of the dancing. However, I’ve had a wonderful time.”

“Yes, I saw that you danced every dance. I had no idea you were so… athletic.” Draco felt like an idiot. Athletic? He’d just insulted her, and he knew when her face hardened, and her lips tightened into a grim line, that he was in for a tongue lashing.

“Well, I did come without an escort,” Lady Hermione said tightly. “So I suppose I must have felt obliged to dance with any gentleman who asked. And as there are more gentlemen among the sixth and seventh years than ladies, I was polite by dancing with those who wanted to.”

“You shouldn’t let them take advantage of you,” Draco muttered.

“You should try to be less familiar, Lord Draco,” Lady Hermione sniffed and turned to go back inside the Great Hall.

Draco hung his head and desperately wanted to leave to curl up into his bed. Lady Hermione hurt his brain with her hot and cold attitudes. He couldn’t make out her character, and half of him desperately wanted to, while the other half wanted him to run in the other direction. But Draco knew that he couldn’t. His father had made mention again of petitioning for her hand over the summer. Draco had put him off, telling his father that he knew she wasn’t planning to accept any proposals until after graduation. He just hoped he could explain to his father why his proposal wasn’t accepted when the time came.  

Lady Daphne Greengrass was a much more delightful companion than Lady Pansy had been, Draco thought as he whirled Lady Daphne around the dance floor at the Yule Ball. The Great Hall had become a winter wonderland, just as it had two years ago when he’d attended during the Triwizard Tournament. Lady Daphne danced just as well as Lady Pansy, without the annoying giggles—which Draco appreciated greatly. In fact, Lady Daphne was perfect in almost every way but one. She wasn’t Lady Hermione.

All evening, Draco had been stealing glances at Lady Hermione. This time, she had chosen to come with an escort; Lord Harry had taken her. Draco tried to ignore the hot lump in his chest because surely it wasn’t jealousy. How could Lord Draco ever be jealous of Lord Harry? It was inconceivable. And yet, as he watched Lord Harry twirl Lady Hermione around the dance floor, Draco knew that’s what he was feeling. He desperately wanted to be the one holding Lady Hermione tonight.

Merlin, at this point, he’d give his left foot for even a dance with her, if he couldn’t have her for the whole night.

“Lord Draco?” Lady Daphne asked.

Draco looked down and realized; he’d stopped dancing. He flushed, and picked up Lady Daphne’s hand once more, leading her in the waltz that was playing in the background.

“My apologies, Lady Daphne. That was inexcusable,” he murmured, but couldn’t make himself meet her gaze. He knew his cheeks were pink with embarrassment.

“You are excused, Lord Draco. Really, it’s no trouble.”

Another way in which Lady Daphne would be perfect. Lady Hermione would have surely taken him to task for such a grave misstep. And yet Lady Daphne did not even seem to mind. Draco wanted to sigh, but doing so would be just as rude, and so he held it in and continued the dance.

As soon as the music ended, Draco guided Lady Daphne off of the floor. “Would you care for a refreshment?”

At Lady Daphne’s smile and nod, Draco swept away to the refreshment table. When he spied Lady Hermione exiting the Great Hall for the balcony, Draco looked back at Lady Daphne. She was absorbed in conversation with Lady Pansy, so Draco decided to follow Lady Hermione. He would like to apologize for his atrocious behavior from the last ball. And perhaps secure a dance for himself later, if he could.

The wind whipped around the side of the castle, bringing the already frigid temperatures even colder on the little balcony. Lady Hermione must have cast a warming charm as she stood with her face in the wind, braving the elements.

“Lady Hermione,” Draco greeted pleasantly after casting his own charm. She turned around suddenly and scowled at Draco. He let loose the heavy sigh from earlier. It appeared that Lady Hermione had not forgiven him from his trespasses at the Hallowe’en ball.

“Come to berate me once more, Lord Draco?” Lady Hermione asked with her eyebrow arched.

It took everything in Draco not to flinch at her tone. “Of course not, I just wanted to take in the fresh air.”

“I’ll leave you to it then,” she snapped and hurried away before Draco could do or say anything else.

What was it about that witch who always made him feel like a heel?  

The end of year ball came upon Draco faster than he’d expected. It felt as though one moment it was March and the next it was the end of June already. Exams had all been taken, and there were only three more days of school left before the end of the year. This time, Draco took Lady Millicent Bulstrode. She wasn’t someone Draco would ever petition for, but their families had been friends for a long time. In fact, Draco and Millie practically grew up together. She was the only person in his year he dropped the honorific.

Millie was a decent dancer, but she didn’t care for it and urged Draco to dance with others as necessary. Draco obliged her, but couldn’t find it in himself to keep his eyes from Lady Hermione. She was dressed impeccably that evening in a gorgeous plum-colored gown and Draco longed to dance with her.

“Just ask her,” Millie said.

“What?” Draco turned to his date to see she was offering him a refreshment. He took it and sipped as Millie explained herself.

“You’ve had eyes for Lady Hermione all year long. And tonight, you can barely dance for looking at her,” Millie said quietly. “Just go ask her to dance. She’s bound to say yes. She’s danced with half a dozen different gentleman already.”

“She’ll say no,” Draco replied. “She doesn’t like me.”

“So show her your good side,” Millie smirked at him. “You know you have one. Show her.”

Draco sighed, he really did want to ask Lady Hermione for a dance, and Millie was right, she probably would say yes. Draco was decided. He handed his glass back to Millie and strode off through the crowd, trying to figure out what he was going to say. Lady Hermione tossed her head back, laughing at something her escort, Terry Boot, had said. Boot looked inordinately proud of himself, and Draco found himself scowling.

“Lord Draco,” Boot nodded to him.

“Boot.”

“Can we help you?” Lady Hermione asked, peering at Draco with a strange look on her face.

“Ah, yes, I was wondering if you would be available for the next dance, Lady Hermione?” Draco asked, without even bothering to address Boot.

Lady Hermione gazed between Draco and Boot for a moment, and Draco felt his breathing stop. She was going to turn him down. He knew she was and if she did, he was done. He wouldn’t bother trying to—

“Yes,” Lady Hermione said softly. She handed her glass to Boot and extended her hand toward Draco.

Draco couldn’t stop the small smirk from crossing his face at her acceptance and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm as he led her out to the floor. The dance was a waltz, different than the country dances and Draco couldn’t have planned it better if he tried.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Lady Hermione?” Draco asked.

Lady Hermione smiled demurely. “I am.” She didn’t elaborate, but she still had that small smile on her face. Draco hoped that meant she was enjoying herself with him.

“And how has Boot treated you this evening?”

That got a scowl out of Lady Hermione. “Not that it is any of your business, Lord Draco, but Mr Boot has been a gentleman.”

She lifted her nose in the air as if that was the end of the conversation, and attempted to pull from his grasp, but Draco held her fast.

“I apologize, Lady Hermione. I did not mean to offend. Only to ascertain that you were being treated properly.”

Lady Hermione cast a baleful eye over Lord Draco and pursed her lips. “Again, I’m not sure what business of it is yours.”

“A concerned friend,” Lord Draco said, smiling slightly.

“Perhaps, acquaintance,” Lady Hermione sniffed.

Draco’s heart twinged at her words. She didn’t consider him a friend? Although, if he thought about it, they seemed to spend more time arguing then they did having a civil conversation. Just then, the song ended and Draco stepped back from Lady Hermione. He swept her a deep bow and stiffly thanked her for the dance.

He felt like he could never win with her.

Chapter Text

Hermione couldn’t believe that she was due to start her seventh year at Hogwarts already. It seemed like just yesterday that Professor McGonagall was at their home introducing her to a world of magic. She was equal parts excited and apprehensive about the coming year. She had put out to the papers that she would not be accepting any betrothal requests until after she graduated. Yet all summer long they had come in, more and more as the long days passed. It had gotten to the point that her father, the Earl, had an owlery built just to house all of the incoming owls.

She didn’t know what she would do when she got to the school; perhaps they could re-route the owls with betrothal contracts somehow? She’d have to speak with Professor McGonagall about it. But reroute them where? Lord Weasley did not have time to help her sort through them; in fact, he seemed quite overwhelmed with the process entirely.

“Is something on your mind, Hermione?” Harry asked. They were on their way back to Hogwarts, and Hermione couldn’t get the betrothal contracts off her mind.

She sighed, “What am I going to do this year? All summer long I received at least fifteen betrothal contracts a day. Fifteen! I didn’t realize there were so many eligible wizards in wizarding Britain.”

Harry laughed, “Likely there aren’t. Some could be foreign, but most are probably duplicates. Have you been responding at all?”

“How could I? Fifteen a day? It would be all I did,” Hermione complained. She felt bad about complaining. It’s not like this was a terrible problem to have, except right now it felt rather awful.

“Well, then most are surely duplicates. I think my dad knows someone in Hogsmeade that could help,” Harry offered.

“Really?” Hermione desperately needed the help. She hadn’t felt so out of her element in the wizarding world as she had this summer with the influx of betrothal contracts.

Harry nodded. “Maybe we can pop in to see him when we arrive at Hogwarts?”

Hermione smiled, “That would be lovely.”

“Good, that’s settled,” Ron nodded decisively and dragged Harry into a conversation about Quidditch. Hermione smiled fondly at her two best friends. Who would have thought that a prim and proper lady of society like her would ever be best friends with two boys? Admittedly, it wouldn’t have been possible if not for Hogwarts. Just one of the many reasons she was thankful for being a witch. In fact, the only reason she wasn’t grateful was this whole betrothal business. Hermione had always known she’d have to get married. It was expected of her as the only daughter of an Earl. But she’d thought she would have time. At least more time than she had now. It suddenly felt as though the pressure was on to find a gentleman to marry the moment she graduated. Would her husband allow for furthering her education? Hermione hoped so; she had a deep interest in both Potions and Arithmancy and would love to further her education in either of those fields. She sighed, she had one more year of school to get through before she had to think about it at any rate.  

Once the carriage had landed at the gates of Hogwarts, Harry sent their trunks on to the school, and he held out his arm for Hermione. She took it as he escorted her to Hogsmeade, Ron walking on her other side.

“Who is it we’re meeting?” Hermione asked.

“He’s a solicitor. I think the same one my mum used,” Harry explained. “I figured if he helped her, he could help you too.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“How does this all work?” Ron asked.

“Apparently, should I not choose a contract, I could incite a war,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe that’s quite true, but Professor McGonagall seemed rather insistent upon that fact.”

Harry nodded, “She’s right. My dad told me about it. He was terribly in love with my mother for years, you know. Apparently, he saw her in first year and decided she was going to be his wife.” Harry laughed. “She disagreed quite vehemently. Had her heart set on Professor Snape, of all people.”

“Really?” Hermione had never heard this story before.

“Snape?” Ron asked with disbelief.

Harry nodded. “I think they grew up near each other or something? Snape’s father is a Muggle I gather. Although, he’s technically a Lord on his mother’s side. She was a Prince.”

“What happened?” Hermione asked. If Harry’s mother wanted Professor Snape, how had she ended up with Lord Potter?

“She and Professor Snape had some sort of falling out in her fifth year. My parents won’t really talk about it. Then in seventh year, they were both named Head Boy and Head Girl, and the rest is history, as they say. Here we are.” Harry indicated the door before them.

‘Mr Telby Horton, Esquire’ a plaque near the door read.

Ron opened the door, gesturing for Hermione to enter, causing her to smile at him as she found herself in a small lobby. There was a reception desk and two club chairs against the wall. The lobby was so small that, with the three of them, it felt quite crowded.

“May I help you?” a house elf asked from behind the reception desk.

“Yes, I’m looking for Mr Horton? I’m Lord Harry Potter. This is Lady Hermione Granger and Lord Ronald Weasley.”

“Let me see if he’s taking visitors,” the house elf sniffed at them and disappeared.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. Harry just shrugged.

A moment later, the door behind the reception desk flew open.

“Lady Hermione Granger?” An older gentleman asked.

“Yes,” Hermione responded, offering a slight curtsy to the man.

“Excellent, and I must thank Lord Harry for bringing you here, I’m guessing.”

“Yes, Mr Horton. My father recommended you.”

Mr Horton laughed, “I’m sure he did. Well come in, come in.” He turned and entered his office, gesturing for them to follow him. Hermione did and found herself in an equally small office, but it at least had room for all four of them to sit somewhat comfortably.

“Now, what can I do for you?” Mr Horton asked once they were seated with teacups in their hands.

“My betrothal contract,” Hermione began. “I will not only need help with negotiations but—frankly—I’d prefer to not even see one until after I graduate in the spring.”

Mr Horton frowned, “Well, I’m not sure we can hold the lads off that long. How many have you gotten?”

“Hundreds? Maybe a thousand?” Hermione shrugged. “I haven’t been opening them. I’ve been very clear. I won’t accept a contract until after I’ve finished my last year at Hogwarts.”

“My word, a thousand you say? That is rare. Why I don’t think your mother had more than a couple of hundred Lord Potter.” Mr Horton sat back further in his chair, deep in thought. “You must be getting several a day then.”

“Yes fifteen to twenty is about average,” Hermione responded.

“Well, we’ll set up a redirect then. They can’t all be new ones. There have to be repetitions. I’ll redirect to here and send out form replies to them all. Thanking them, but explaining that you won’t begin looking at them until the spring term. I’m afraid we can’t put them off much longer than that, but hopefully, that will tamper down the amount you get anyway.”

Hermione felt relief spread through her chest. “Yes, thank you. Just not having to see them every day will be helpful.”

“Of course,” Mr Horton nodded. “I’ll sort them as well, see if we can find someone who is more eager than most. I suppose you’ll want to meet anyone you are serious about.”

“Absolutely,” Hermione nodded. “That is non-negotiable. I will not be accepting any contract if I have not met the person beforehand.”

“Very well then, I shall think on that as well. Anything else?”

Hermione shook her head. “Thank you again, Mr Horton. For everything. Please send your fee to me, and I’ll be sure you’re paid.”

Mr Horton waved his hand, “Nonsense. Whoever’s contract you accept will pay my fee.”

“Oh,” Hermione hadn’t known about that.

“It’s alright; you couldn’t have known. Now I’m guessing you three are needed at the castle?”

Hermione thanked Mr Horton once more before allowing Harry and Ron to escort her back to the castle for the Sorting Feast. She felt as if a weight had been lifted from her chest and resolved herself to enjoy her seventh year while she could. 

Hermione attended the Hallowe’en ball with Mr Zacharias Smith. He was a complete bore and pompous to boot. He went on and on about all the ways he was essential and would be significant after they graduated. His father was a clerk for the Wizengamot, did you know? Hermione had not, nor did she particularly care. If he was trying to impress her, he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. Frankly, she was bored and wished someone, anyone, would save her from the ridiculous nature of Mr Smith.

“Lady Hermione,” a smooth voice drawled behind her and Hermione did her best not to sigh in relief. She whirled around to find Lord Draco behind her. He looked dashing as always and took her breath away.

“Lord Draco,” she dipped her head. “How are you this evening?”

“I’m quite well. Although I must confess I’ll be better if I have a chance to dance with you,” he lifted one corner of his mouth in a slightly devilish looking smile.

Hermione returned the smile before glancing over her shoulder at Mr Smith, who she found deep in conversation with Mr Boot. She decided not to bother and took Lord Draco’s outstretched hand.

“Are you enjoying your final year?” Lord Draco asked as they stepped into line.

Hermione responded once she was closer to him again, it was a country dance, so the ability to talk was somewhat limited by the movements of the dance.

“I am, are you?”

Lord Draco smirked at her again, and Hermione rather thought he looked quite good with that expression on his face, which was a change from their younger years, when she’d hated that expression on him.

“It’s been tolerable,” Lord Draco replied.

Hermione nodded and smiled. She suddenly felt shy around him and wasn’t sure how to broach the subject of a betrothal contract with him.

The dance ended without another word spoken between them, and Hermione felt like she had missed out on something. Mr Smith was still conversing with Mr Boot, so she headed to the balcony for a breath of fresh air. It was rather warm for October and Hermione did love the autumn season.

“Is something on your mind, Lady Hermione?” a silky voice asked from behind her.

Hermione turned to find Lord Draco there, with a glass of punch in either hand.

“Is that for me?” Hermione asked.

Lord Draco nodded and handed her one of the glasses.

“Thank you, although I don’t believe it is your responsibility to bring me refreshments this evening,” Hermione commented lightly.

“No, however, Smith is doing a terrible job of escorting you. He’s an idiot.”

Lord Draco’s proclamation startled Hermione into a laugh. “I have to agree with that one. I wish I’d known that before he asked me.”

“Perhaps you should have consulted me,” Lord Draco lifted an eyebrow at her and Hermione’s heart began to beat faster. They were coming to the same issue they always had with each other. A point that Hermione was starting to think she felt differently about.

“Well, as we’ve established, you hold no responsibility for me either.”

“I could,” Lord Draco shrugged and turned away from her. Hermione was sure in the dim light that his cheeks had turned slightly pink. She felt torn with indecision. Part of her wanted to tell him she would consider an offer if he made one, but the other part of her wanted him to get over his pride and offer for her without her needing to prompt him.

It would be entirely unseemly to ask him to offer for her, even if he was practically offering for her now.

In the end, she didn’t say anything and, after another moment of silence, Lord Draco left the small balcony. Hermione went to bed that evening with a disappointed feeling deep in her chest.

Chapter Text

Hermione found herself ridiculously disappointed when, during the Yule Ball, Lord Draco hadn’t asked her to dance at all. In fact, he’d left the ball early. Hermione was rather quiet on the carriage ride home for the holidays, and nothing Ron nor Harry did could draw her out of her shell.

“Darling, you’ve been moping for a week,” Lady Granger finally said one day. Hermione had ensconced herself in the family library and had been concentrating on her studies. Perhaps if she put off all thoughts regarding betrothal contracts, then feelings of Lord Draco would also dissipate. She wasn’t sure it was working.

“I’m sorry, Mother—it’s nothing, really,” Hermione smiled at her mother, but Lady Granger wasn’t fooled. She pulled out the chair across from Hermione and settled onto it. Fussily arranging her skirts.

“Tell me what’s got you so bothered,” Lady Granger ordered, and Hermione sighed. She knew there was no getting around it when her mother acted like this.

“It’s the betrothal contracts. Do you have any idea how many I get?” When Lady Granger shook her head, Hermione dug through her school bag to find the latest owl from Mr Horton. “There are over five hundred contracts. All from different people. How in the world am I supposed to choose?”

“Well, perhaps you can put the choice off? It wouldn’t be the end of the world if you waited a year or so would it?”

“That sounds so reasonable, doesn’t it?” Hermione laughed. “But it’s not. The wizarding world is very strict about these things. Signing day, they call it. It’s the same day as graduation and me any  other ladies in my year who’ve received a betrothal contract are expected to sign them.”

“That is utterly absurd. And there’s no putting it off?”

Hermione shrugged, “Perhaps by a few weeks, but surely not longer than that.” She shook her head. “I think the worst part is that I know who I want to send in a betrothal contract, but I’m afraid I’ve put him off.”

“Can’t you ask him to put one in for you?”

“I tried,” Hermione explained, “But I’m not sure it came across clearly. It’s not like I can go up to him after Potions class and ask him to put a betrothal contract in for me. He probably isn’t even interested anymore.”

“Anymore? Was he at one point?” Lady Granger probed.

Hermione felt herself redden when she thought back to the events after the Yule Ball in fourth year and her disastrous conversation with Lord Draco in fifth year.

“Maybe, he did offer once. But circumstances weren’t what they are now, and I told him I wasn’t interested. I’m an idiot, aren’t I?”

“Oh, child, no you aren’t.” Lady Granger reached across the table and grasped Hermione’s hand. “It’ll all work out in the end, I’m sure of it.”

Hermione was not so sure. Nor did she feel as far from her parents and their culture as she did then. It truly highlighted the fact that soon Hermione would have even fewer ties to the world she grew up in.  

“Have you thought about your choice yet?” Ron asked one evening about a week before the End of the Year Ball.

Hermione laughed, “It’s all I’ve been thinking about. Look at this!” She pulled the latest list from Mr Horton, and Ron’s eyes bugged out when he saw how many names were listed. It was a huge scroll and had taken two owls to carry it to the school.

“Merlin, how are you ever going to choose?” Harry asked. He and Ron had just come back from Quidditch practice and were quite windswept.

“I have no idea,” Hermione shook her head. “I’m open to suggestions though. Either of you feel like putting one in?”

She was only half-joking, but if Harry or Ron would put a contract in for her, she’d at least consider it. They were her best friends and if Hermione had to tie herself to someone for the rest of her life, she’d rather it be one of them than some stranger she’d never met.

Harry shook his head, “I’m not eligible. My mum’s a Muggleborn.”

“Neither am I,” Ron added. His face was beat red, “Weasley’s may be part of the Sacred Thirty, but we don’t have the fortune many of the other families had. I could put in for you. However, the contract could be contested.”

“Contested?” Hermione asked. Here was another facet of this whole betrothal contract thing she’d never heard of. “In what way? For what reason?”

“Contested to the Wizengamot. For the reason that the Weasley’s couldn’t possibly afford to house a Muggleborn, especially one of your stature in a way appropriate for society,” Ron muttered, clearly embarrassed about the conversation.

Hermione nodded, but felt offended on her friend’s behalf, “That’s decidedly ridiculous.”

“Agreed,” Harry said in solidarity.

“But it doesn’t help you at all,” Ron said glumly.

“Well, maybe it does. If a contract can be contested, perhaps that means my list isn’t quite so long. There are quite a few foreigners on here, do you imagine that a British family might contest if I chose a foreign contract?”

“Oh! That’s brilliant,” Harry said. “I’m sure they would. Muggleborns are so rare that they are highly prized. No way, would anyone want you to end up in another country.”

Ron grabbed a quill and together the three of them began crossing names off the list.

“We can also probably cross out anyone who isn’t Sacred Thirty,” Harry commented. “Even if you chose someone, again, you have the issue of the contract being contested by a Sacred Thirty family.”

“Well, that helps,” Hermione muttered. “What about age? Am I allowed to choose someone who isn’t, I don’t know, over the age of fifty?”

“Make it thirty,” Ron said. “There are plenty of people on here that we can narrow it down.”

“But how am I to ultimately choose?” Hermione asked. “I won’t choose anyone I haven’t met, which basically boils my list down to the Sacred Thirty members who have petitioned for me that are currently at Hogwarts.”

“Maybe host a ball?” Harry suggested.

“Yes,” Ron agreed. “Let’s narrow your list, then host a ball and invite everyone you find acceptable. And perhaps the rest of your year-mates.”

“A ball? That’s brilliant! Do you think I could hold it at my parent’s home? I’d love to include them as much as possible.”

“Let’s talk to Professor McGonagall about it,” Harry suggested. 

“A ball is a splendid idea, Lady Hermione,” Professor McGonagall said.

“Well, it was Lord Harry’s idea, actually,” Hermione admitted. “But I’ve narrowed down the list and given it to Mr Horton for invitations. I’d also like to invite the rest of my year, of course. I’m hoping you can help with the location, however. I would very much like to host it at my parent’s home. They have a huge ballroom.”

“The servants would be an issue, I’m afraid. We can’t ask a hundred witches and wizards not to use magic.”

“Of course, I thought we could dismiss them for the evening and hire wizarding servants? There are a few in my parent’s household that are in on the secret as it were. However, I would not want to alarm any Muggles.”

“That too is a good idea. I’ll discuss with Lord Weasley and get it arranged. When is the ball to be?”

“On the summer equinox. Lord Ron tells me that is an auspicious day in the wizarding world.”

“Indeed it is,” Professor McGonagall nodded approvingly. “I’ll help get it all arranged. Never fear, Lady Hermione.”

“Thank you.” Hermione was indeed quite thankful for all that Professor McGonagall had given her over the years. She’d truly become one of Hermione’s favorite people. “You and the rest of the Professors are invited, of course.”

Professor McGonagall smiled warmly at Hermione as she took her leave. Now all she had to do was get through the End of Year Ball, graduation... and signing day. Why they had scheduled it all to be on the same day, Hermione would never know.  

“Lady Hermione,” Lord Draco greeted as he glided up to Hermione and Harry at the End of Year Ball. Hermione had gone escort-less once more since she did not sign a betrothal contract earlier that day.

Mr Horton had been exceedingly helpful in sending communications to all of those who had petitioned for her; either inviting them to the ball to be held in two weeks time or thanking them for the contract but politely declining, for one reason or another. Hermione was thankful she didn’t have to come up with reasons to refuse over three hundred contracts. Still, the ballroom at her parent’s home would be at capacity with almost two hundred people in attendance. Hermione was rather dreading it; she was still no closer to making a decision.

“Lord Draco,” Hermione bobbed her head in greeting. They hadn’t spoken since the Hallowe’en ball. Hermione couldn’t fathom why that fact bothered her so much. Or rather, she could, but was in denial about it. It was obvious that Lord Draco no longer held any sort of tender feelings toward her. Otherwise, he’d surely have put in a betrothal contract. She’d instructed Mr Horton that she was especially interested in learning if any of her fellow Hogwarts students petitioned for her. Plenty of them had, but Lord Draco wasn’t among them.

“May I have the next dance?” Lord Draco asked.

Hermione acquiesced and felt butterflies form in her abdomen at the prospect of dancing with him once more. He had been invited to the ball she was hosting in two weeks and, while she hoped that he would come, she also fervently hoped he would change his mind about sending in a betrothal contract. Maybe this would be a good time to try and bring it up?

The next dance was a waltz—which was both exhilarating and terrifying as it meant she would be in Lord Draco’s arms for the entirety of the dance. Unlike the country dance or the quadrille, the waltz was new and done entirely face-to-face.

Lord Draco led her out to the floor just as the music began to play and began guiding her through the couples.

“Do you have plans for after Hogwarts?” Hermione asked, just to get the conversation going. She felt awkward and like she had nothing yet everything to say to him.

Draco nodded, “I’m to begin at my father’s company.”

“Your family owns a business?”

“A conglomerate, really. We own and invest in other businesses. And you? Do you have plans after graduation?”

Hermione scoffed, “I’m to be married, don’t you remember? I have a little less than a month to accept someone’s betrothal contract.”

“How is that going?” Lord Draco’s voice sounded cautiously light as if he wanted to know the answer to the question, but was almost afraid of asking.

“It’s not. How am I supposed to make such a choice when I haven’t met even half of the wizards who are petitioning for me? And I love my parents, but they aren’t any help. Professor McGonagall is a dear, as is Lord Weasley, but they are both woefully unprepared to sort through as many contracts as I have received and then give advice on them.”

Hermione flushed when she realized how much she had just admitted to Lord Draco. She might complain to her friends like that, but it was quite indecent to have complained to an acquaintance in such a way.

“How very personal and open you are, Lady Hermione. Does this mean we’re friends?” Lord Draco asked, tilting his head as he considered her.

“I-I’m not sure. I shouldn’t ha—”

“Don’t bother yourself with it. You are clearly overwhelmed. I shall return you to your friends.” He began moving them toward where Harry and Ron were standing.

“Lord Draco? Would you, that is, if you wanted, I mean…” she trailed off. They had arrived at Harry and Ron’s sides now.

“Have a good evening,” Lord Draco bowed over her hand, giving her a look she couldn’t decipher and swept away. Hermione felt more confused now than she ever had before.

Chapter Text

Hermione paced her room nervously. The ball was to begin in an hour, and she was extraordinarily nervous. Hermione still didn’t know what she was going to do or who she was going to choose. She’d narrowed it down to a few people she sort of knew from Hogwarts, but none of them felt right to her. Her lady's maid had been dismissed for the evening, and she felt truly alone.

“Mr Horton is here for you, Lady Hermione,” Caddington announced. He hadn’t entered her bedroom, just tapped on the door and cracked it. He was quite uncomfortable with the fact that most of the servants had been dismissed for the evening and had fought vociferously to be allowed to serve his family.

“Mr Horton? Really? He’s so early,” Hermione opened the door entirely and smiled when Caddington had covered his eyes with his hand. “Really Caddington, I’m quite decent,” Hermione announced.

Caddington slowly removed his hands and breathed a sigh of relief at seeing Lady Hermione dressed appropriately for the ball. “Of course, miss.”

“Well, where is Mr Horton then?” Hermione asked.

“The Earl’s study.”

“Thank you, Caddington,” Hermione smiled at him and set off for her father’s study. Mr Horton was invited to the ball, of course, but Hermione couldn’t imagine why he was so early. She didn’t dare to hope that meant he had another betrothal contract for her.

“Ah, Hermione,” Earl Granger greeted her when she’d knocked on the door of his study.

“Hello, Father. Mr Horton.”

“Lady Hermione, delightful to see you as always. Are you ready for tonight’s festivities?” Mr Horton asked.

Hermione smiled, “As ready as I can be.”

“Well, then. I have another betrothal contract for you. It just came in, and since it fit your criteria, I had thought to bring it to you directly.”

“Oh?” Hermione was a little taken aback. Her criteria were basically anyone who went to Hogwarts, and she was almost sure she’d received one from everyone who’d gone to Hogwarts with her and was eligible. Except for Lord Draco.

“Yes, Lord Draco Malfoy,” Mr Horton announced and handed Hermione the contract.

Hermione did her best not to appear excited, but she couldn’t hide her smile.

“I take it that is welcome news then?” Earl Granger asked.

Hermione blushed and ducked her head. “I would seriously consider a betrothal contract from Lord Malfoy,” she admitted.

She unrolled the scroll and was a little dismayed to see it’s condition. It was quite crumpled as if someone had tossed it aside and then later smoothed it out.

“Yes, yes, it came to me like that,” Mr Horton confirmed at Hermione’s questioning look.

“You can read it later, darling,” Lady Granger said, sweeping into the room. “The first of the guests are arriving.”  

Hermione’s feet hurt from dancing and her cheeks hurt from smiling. Somehow word of the ball got out, and there were well over three hundred people in attendance. Most of the extra’s were suitors she hadn’t invited for a variety of reasons. She’d just finished dancing with a Finnish wizard who was at least four or five years younger than her. He was adorably precocious, but not that great of a dancer yet. And not much taller than Hermione herself.

Most disappointing was that Lord Draco had not made an appearance. Hermione hoped that he would, but supper was to begin soon, and it was unlikely he would be coming if he wasn’t there already. She had wanted a moment to discuss his contract with him. She felt wary of accepting it without speaking to him about it first.

“Let’s go get you fed,” Ron said, taking her elbow and guiding her away from a small swarm of suitors who were about to descend on her.

“Thank you,” Hermione sighed and allowed him to lead her from the ballroom to the dining hall where supper was laid out buffet style.

Harry caught up with them at some point and, between the two of them, they fended off every suitor who attempted to speak with her.

“Lady Hermione is taking a break,” Harry firmly told one octogenarian who had tried to weasel his way between Harry and Hermione at the table Ron had chosen.

“Merlin, maybe we should put up a privacy spell?” Ron suggested when yet another wizard approached their table.

“Do it,” Hermione replied.

“Gladly,” Harry pulled out his wand and cast the appropriate charms.

“How are you? Managing to hold up alright?” Harry asked.

“I think so,” Hermione replied. “I’m exhausted though. And…” she didn’t know how to tell Harry and Ron about Lord Draco’s betrothal contract.

“Upset a certain someone hasn’t shown his pointy face?” Ron asked, arching his eyebrow.

Hermione felt herself flush, “How did—”

“Really? The way you two have been dancing around each other for three years is a bit obvious, even for us,” Harry said. He placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, I hadn’t realized,” Hermione mumbled. She really hadn’t realized that whatever sort of strange relationship she had with Lord Draco could be seen by others too.

“I expect we could see it better than most,” Ron said, “being your best friends and all.”

“And if one of us needs to speak with him in regards to his treatment of y—”

“Oh, no!” Hermione cut Harry off. “No, please don’t say anything to him. I don’t even… it’s just…” she was at a loss for words again.

“Yes?” Ron prompted.

“It’s just I’m not sure how he feels about me, and I wouldn’t want him to feel like he was forced.”

“Even though you are,” Harry muttered.

“Right, but. Well, he offered back in fifth year. And I quite coldly told him off. So I didn’t expect and then…”

“And then?” Ron asked.

“He sent a betrothal contract today. Just before the ball began.”

“Well, where in Godric’s name is he?” Harry asked, looking around the dining hall.

“Please don’t make a scene, Harry,” Hermione implored. “I’m sure Lord Draco has his reasons for not turning up this evening. And it’s alright truly. I will have a day or two before I have to accept a contract. Perhaps I will have a chance to speak with him.”

“If you don’t, you let us know about it,” Ron said. “I’m not above intimidation.”

Hermione smiled—Ron and Harry were so kind to her. “I’m sure I’ll have a chance to speak with him.” She wasn’t quite sure she believed her own words, but she did want to ease the boy’s worries. And if she didn’t get to speak with Lord Draco, would she still accept his contract?  

Supper had ended an hour ago, and Hermione had been pulled off the dance floor by Harry, who handed her a refreshment. She couldn’t imagine what she would have done without Harry and Ron helping to run interference for her. Ron coughed very suspiciously, and Hermione turned around to find Lord Draco standing behind her. Her eyes widened, she truly hadn’t thought he would attend.

“Lady Hermione, I apologize for my tardiness but had hoped to secure a dance with you,” Lord Draco stated.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. He looked smug.

“I’m afraid my dance card is full, Lord Draco. If you’ll excuse me,” she stepped away, and it wasn’t long before her next partner found her and led her back out to the floor.

It was a man at least old enough to be her grandfather, and he whirled her around the floor with abandon. She already regretted her actions toward Lord Draco, when the man’s hands wandered inappropriately.

“Really, Lord Avery, if you cannot be appropriate, I’m going to have to insist we stop dancing,” Hermione scolded the older man the third time he reached down to grab her backside.

Just then a hand landed on Lord Avery’s shoulder, and Hermione looked up to find Lord Draco standing there, the hand had halted Lord Avery’s movements, and they were stopped in the middle of the dance floor.

“Since you are unable to abide by the lady’s wishes, it would be best if you moved on, Lord Avery,” Lord Draco said, peering down his nose at Lord Avery. Hermione didn’t want to feel relieved at being saved by Lord Draco once more, but she really truly was sick of fighting off all of the inappropriate advances.

Lord Avery sniffed at them both, before walking away stiffly. Lord Draco swept her up in his arms and began moving them about the dance floor.

“Thank you, Lord Draco,” Hermione said. “However, that was quite rude.”

Lord Draco scoffed, “Did you want his hand on your backside for the fourth time?”

“I hadn’t realized you were paying such close attention,” Hermione commented.

“To you? I’m always paying attention.” Hermione’s breath caught in her throat at the look on his face and the implication of that statement.

The song ended without another word being spoken, and when a new song began just moments later, Lord Draco started to dance once more.

“This is hardly appropriate,” Hermione said. “I’m sure there is someone else on my dance card for this dance.”

“I don’t care,” Lord Draco said, and Hermione was sure her heart had stopped beating. Was he saying what she thought he was? She wished they could just speak plainly with each other.

The second dance was a quadrille, and there wasn’t much time to talk. As soon as it had ended, Hermione rushed off without saying a word to Lord Draco. She needed space and some time to think. The corridor that contained the ballroom and dining hall also had several lady’s parlours lining it. Hermione found an empty one and stepped inside, willing her breathing to return to normal and her heart to stop racing.

“Lady Hermione,” Lord Draco drawled from behind her. She turned to find him entirely in the room, the door shut behind him.

“Lord Draco, it is entirely inappropriate for you to be in here with me. I need a chapero—”

“Hang your chaperone,” Lord Draco said, taking two steps and standing directly before her. “Tell me you have a better choice than me. Tell me there’s someone else out there you are going to choose.”

“I-I don’t know who I will choose yet.”

“Yes, you do.” Lord Draco stepped even closer, sliding one arm around her waist. “You’re going to choose me. Because I am the best.”

Hermione lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes at him, she stepped back, out of his embrace. “If you are so eager to marry me, why were you late to the ball? Why send your betrothal contract an hour before the ball began? How could you expect I would ever receive it at such a late hour?”

“But you did receive it,” Lord Draco smirked. Then he dropped the smile and turned from her, running his hands through his hair, mussing it. Hermione thought he looked rather good with his hair in shambles like that.

“I was arguing with my parents,” Lord Draco said finally, but didn’t elaborate.

“About what?” Hermione asked. It wasn’t polite, but she felt like she was owed some explanation for his terrible behavior.

“About the betrothal contract.”

“Why?”

Lord Draco sighed in frustration but didn’t say anything else. Hermione walked toward him, and he turned, so she was facing him.

“The betrothal contract I received looked half-mangled. As if someone had crumpled it up in an attempt to throw it away.”

“I wasn’t going to send it,” Lord Draco admitted. Hermione’s brow furrowed, and she took a step back from him. She was about to question him further when he continued speaking. “In fact, my mother dug it out of the rubbish, and my father sent it off.”

“I don’t understand,” Hermione said. If he wasn’t going to send it, why was he here? Why was he acting like he was the only logical choice for her to marry? Even if she felt the same, she wanted to know she wasn’t forcing something onto him.

“Because you rejected me !” Lord Draco shouted. “I believe your exact words were that in ‘no uncertain terms would you ever marry me.’”

“That’s what this is about? From fifth year? Lord Draco, I was embarrassed. Deeply, heavily embarrassed and ashamed by the events surrounding the Yule Ball in fourth year and the role you played in them. I-I don’t feel that way now, and I haven’t for a long while. I can’t explain…” she trailed off. How to tell him that she’d felt something for him all the way back in fourth year—when he’d rescued her. How thankful she was that it was him, who was quiet and discreet about the whole nightmare.

“Are you saying your feelings on the matter have changed?” Lord Draco asked.

“Yes! Yes, of course, they have. I can’t even explain how to tell you that what I said then was a reaction based on shame and embarrassment. Things change. I’ve changed,” Hermione pleaded with him.

“And would you accept my betrothal contract now?” Lord Draco asked. Hermione was sure he was holding his breath.

“Well, I haven’t had a chance actually to read it, but provided there’s nothing to barbaric in it, then yes I will accept your betrothal contract.”

Lord Draco lit up and swept her up into his arms once more. “You have made me very happy,” Lord Draco said, right before his lips descended onto her own.

Hermione leaned into Lord Draco, relishing the way his body felt against hers. Lord Draco nipped at her lip, and Hermione gasped, allowing the entrance of Lord Draco’s tongue into her mouth. She was ridiculously, deliriously happy at the most recent turn of events.

“We should return to the ball,” Hermione panted when Lord Draco began trailing kisses across her cheek and down her neck.

“In a moment,” Lord Draco breathed into her ear, and if he hadn’t been holding her up, Hermione was sure her legs would have given out.

Hermione moaned at the feelings Lord Draco was causing with his kisses. She had no idea kissing could feel like this. Lord Draco backed her into the wall behind her, pressing his body so tightly against hers that Hermione could feel every plane of it. She brushed her hands along his shoulders and down his chest as Lord Draco began kissing along her clavicle.

Please, Lord Draco,” Hermione muttered. She wasn’t even sure she knew what she was pleading for.

“It’s probably safe for you to call me Draco,” Lord Draco murmured into her skin.

“Draco,” Hermione moaned, and Lord Draco moved quickly to cover her mouth with his own once more.

“I want to hear you saying my name like that for the rest of my life,” Lord Draco said against her lips. He took a deep breath and stepped back. “But you’re right. We should return to the ball before our absence is too heavily noticed.”

Hermione was equal parts relieved and disappointed. Lord Draco helped her straighten her dress and hair, so she appeared presentable, before leading her back to the ballroom.

“A summer wedding then?” Lord Draco asked as they entered the ballroom.

Hermione felt her heart fall; he wanted to wait so long? She had instead been hoping they would marry before the end of the year. “Whenever you wish,” she responded demurely.

Lord Draco stopped their progress and turned to her, his brows furrowed slightly, and he held both of her hands in his. “Do you think we’ll be able to plan something so large in such a short amount of time?”

Hermione raised her eyebrow, a year was not a short amount of time, but she nodded her head.

“Good,” Lord Draco smiled at her. “August you think? Or September?”

“September will be cooler,” Hermione felt her heart sink further. Was he going to make her wait more than a year? Perhaps she could convince him to move it up to May?

“Excellent,” Lord Draco squeezed her hands. “Two months should give us plenty of time.”

Hermione’s eyes widened and then she smiled at him broadly. “I had thought you were talking about next September. I must confess I felt rather disappointed that you were going to make us wait so long.”

Lord Draco licked his lip and ran one of his hands down her arm. Hermione shivered deliciously at the contact. “I never want you to wait on me again, Lady Hermione.”

“Good,” Hermione smiled back and squeezed his hand gently.

Fin.