Chapter Text
An invitation to Malfoy manor never proved necessary. Everyone, Pureblooded or not, knew that Draco Malfoy had been courting her.
Hermione Granger, under no circumstances, envisioned this life for herself. Tea with Narcissa and her committees, if you could call them that. Refined, older women all huddled together scheming on who will be betrothed next or what garish party to throw for the season. Lunches with Lucius discussing the Malfoy’s ever-changing sociopolitical beliefs, grooming Hermione for the next Wizengamot position for the Malfoy family line.
And then there was Draco. Draco Malfoy. His name was never without Harry’s or Ron’s despite Hermione’s constant shock at The Daily Prophet headlines. A trio of Aurors perpetually in danger without her. She knew he was capable for the position; there wasn’t any doubt about that. Perhaps, only sometimes, she was jealous he had taken her place within the original trio. But in secret, she was overjoyed they got on well with each other.
“So, Hermione, when do you suppose the wedding will be?” Astoria’s cheery tone broke her concentration.
Under the table, Hermione picked at her nails. A disgusting habit, but these events unnerved her. Tonight she would have to play dress up once again. She would much rather be sitting on her plush couch in her own flat, Crookshanks lazed across her lap with a book open resting on his ribs.
But she would do it. For Draco.
The patio overlooking the garden was exceptionally beautiful, even in the early December light. The trees were beginning to lose their leaves, suggesting the true change of season. A renewal. A new beginning.
Even the foliage knew to shed its skin. Quite fitting for their surroundings which represented Slytherin more than Harry stood for Gryffindor. Green satin tied to wrought-iron bistro chairs with silver chandeliers alight. The serpent detailing that lined every piece of metal or wood had Hermione wondering if this family was full of snakes rather than dragons. She chalked it up to house pride.
“I think it’s too early to tell, Tori. We’re not even officially engaged yet.” Hermione said flatly setting down her teacup. She had finally convinced Narcissa to stock Earl Grey after two years of coming to the manor. Even their newly freed house elf, Topsy, loved the taste. Astoria inversely met her movement, sipping her tea.
Ever since Astoria and Draco’s marriage contract ceased, both girls became increasingly close. Tori, like Hermione, craved independence and a sense of agency, and after the war, she had opened a magical orphanage with the help of the Malfoy family. Of course, Draco still let her manage the building and the children since it pleased Hermione. If anyone needed to know one thing about Draco Malfoy, it’s that he would do anything for his Hermione.
“Nonsense!” Narcissa chimed in. She was in rare form these days, flitting about hosting parties and assisting with wedding planning for the ancient families. Her demeanor from the day Hermione stepped into Malfoy Manor to now was completely disparate.
Narcissa stood, her emerald dress robes swishing about her ankles. Her contrasting hair tumbled down her shoulders while she faced the windows. The cadence carried even when her back was to them, “Tonight is the winter solstice. That is what we will be celebrating. The return of warmth: You, my darling. The battles between light and dark is just another theme of this special seasonal soirée. I am quite sure you don’t need me to spell that out for you, Hermione.”
A coy smile played upon her person when she finally turned, meeting the girls’ gaze. Tori nudged Hermione, bit into a pastry, and whispered between bites, “Brightest witch of our age, huh? D’you think Cissy held that title in the past?”
Before Hermione could answer, Narcissa halfway across the room already shouted, “Mind your manners and annunciate, Astoria. Your mother would be severely disappointed. You two girls must go get ready for tonight. I've laid out your robes in the guest room Hermione usually occupies.”
…
Within a few hours, the manor had been completely transformed. The Malfoys employed many elves and paid them handsomely, thanks to Hermione’s suggestion to Lucius. Following her time stationed in Malfoy Manor as a curse breaker, she and Lucius formed a mutually beneficial friendship of sorts. Hermione made it her mission to influence Lucius’ Wizengamot votes and proposals, while Lucius had practically owed Hermione a life debt for her assisting in his case to evade Azkaban. The process felt as if it went on forever, but he walked free. All thanks to her.
Topsy popped into Hermione’s makeshift room, startling both her and Astoria. “Is the future Mistress and friend ready to present themselves?” She eyed Hermione carefully, ambling over to her focused on the hem of her dress robes. Topsy’s fingers charmed the edge of the fabric, and both Hermione and Astoria locked eyes attempting to hold in a laugh at the little elf muttering to herself. “Topsy told Mipsy to take accurate measurements because sewing is not baking, and Mipsy can’t just measure with Mipsy’s heart.” Her tongue kept tutting until she appeared satisfied with her work.
Hermione smoothed the gold satin against her skin. She supposed the movement would attempt to calm her, but Topsy smacked her hand away instead. “Topsy, we’ve talked about this. I’m not future Mistress. Hermione is fine, or if you must per house rules, you can call me Miss Hermione. Not Mistress. Not future Mistress. Not future Mistress Malfoy. Please, Godric, do not call me that.”
Topsy huffed and stomped away to tend to Astoria. “Topsy suggests you swear to Salazar in the manor. Godric is not welcome here. Topsy knows you were a Gryffindor, but Miss Hermione will be marrying into a family with ancient lines on both sides that were molded by the Slytherin way. Topsy thought future Mistress Malfoy already knew that though.” The elf rolled her too-large eyes and finally stopped tending to the women like flowers.
Astoria covered her mouth with her sleeve, trying to hold in a laugh but it started to sound more like a cackle as time went on. When she caught her breath, she admitted to Hermione, “Not just in casual conversation. Might want to practice it before you officially consummate the marriage.” Hermione glared at her as furiously as she could muster, and then Astoria eventually corrected herself, “Engagement? Maybe that’s a better word since it’s not ‘official’ yet. Though I’m sure it would piss off the portraits.” She gestured with her hands and stuck her tongue out at her friend.
“I swear to Merlin you are all out to get me.” Hermione blew a tendril away from her coiffed hair. “Alright Topsy. Take me to the snake pit.” Topsy’s small hands clasped both the girls,’ and they apparated to the ballroom.