Chapter Text
“Oh gods, not that witch,” Draco groans, his hands pulling at his hair, an obvious sign of his distress for him to make a mess of his normally immaculate strands.
In actuality, it makes perfect fucking sense; his karma points have been in the negative ever since all that Death Eater business during his sixth year. So naturally, out of every non-pure blooded witch in the entire country, the Ministry would choose her to marry him off to.
The her in question stands before him glowering, her cheeks flushed in anger and what he assumes is embarrassment, as his parents look her over. Draco has to admit the pink of her cheeks becomes her, especially paired with the white cashmere sweater she wears with a body skimming wool grey pencil skirt. It’s unseasonably cold for March this year—there’s still snow on the ground—but looking at her is warming Draco in certain neglected areas of his body and mind.
But, it doesn’t matter if she’s pleasant to look at. She is Granger and he is Malfoy, to her, a vile loathsome cockroach, and this is never going to work.
Narcissa shoots him a look when he opens his mouth to argue.
Draco wasn’t keen on the idea of the Marriage Decree to begin with, and there was a part of him that knew in his soul it would be her just because the irony of it would be amazing. When she was the one escorted through the door, he’d almost laughed out loud, until reality had immediately slapped him, and thus, the hair pulling.
“Miss Granger,” the magistrate begins wearily. To be fair, this stout little man wasn't responsible for their predicament. “I need you to come and join hands with Mr. Malfoy—”
“I will do no such thing,” the temperamental witch snaps. Draco hears her voice quiver, although she tries to maintain some semblance of dignity. His own dignity is long gone, and any remnants vanished the moment he laid eyes on those brown curls, cupid’s bow lips, and a freckled, pert nose held high in the air.
She hasn’t looked at him even once. She has looked at his mother, she has looked at his father, she is glaring at the magistrate at this very moment, but her eyes carefully avoid him.
Meanwhile, Draco can’t take his eyes off of her.
The creamy white of her sweater complements her tan skin, brings out her large brown eyes framed by stupidly long eyelashes. She is ridiculously cute and he fucking hates her for it. He does, really.
Hates the perfect shape of her arse in that skirt, her delicate curves, breasts that appear perfectly sized for his hands and mouth. He doesn’t allow himself to think about what her cunt might look like. Or feel like. Especially not with his parents sitting there looking at him.
She catches him licking his lips while perusing her body and her eyes blaze gloriously.
“You’ve had weeks to prepare for this,” the magistrate says, scolding Granger for her sour attitude. Those golden brown eyes narrow as they flick briefly to him for the first time, then back to the Ministry official.
“I was informed about this stupid inhumane law, yes. That in no way means I am prepared to be forcibly married to someone, and I will certainly not be handholding with him.” She gestures in Draco’s direction.
For the first time, Draco notices his mother’s back stiffen. One can only take so much of listening to their son being bashed upon and it just so happened that his mother thought he was pretty spectacular. Even if this unruly other witch didn’t agree.
“Now, Miss Granger,” he hears his father say, and he cringes all the way to his toes. You’d think his father would be wise enough to keep his mouth shut in this particular circumstance. How many instances of Granger’s almost death had his father been present for?
Granger barks a laugh, interrupting whatever his father was about to say. “What? You of all people can’t possibly be okay with this? You— your entire family hates me!”
Draco cringes when she pulls the sleeve of her sweater up. “Your sister carved this into my arm,” she says to Narcissa, just this side of shrill. “And now I’m your Mudblood daughter-in-law and we’re just going to be one big happy family?”
“You’re making a scene,” scolds Lucius, and Narcissa puts her hand on Lucius’s knee to silence him. She stands and slowly approaches Hermione, her hands clasped in front of her to show she is no threat.
“Please, let me speak,” she implores softly, even as the fiery witch opens her mouth to interrupt.
But somehow, miraculously, Granger lets her speak, her eyes glued to Narcissa. “Miss Granger,” his mother says gently, “we are all in shock right now. This isn’t an ideal situation for anyone.”
Both Draco and Granger scoff, and his mother shoots them both a look before continuing on.
“However,” she continues, “I think you’ll find that we are more welcoming than you’d think.” Draco’s brows knit with curiosity. What is his mother playing at? He notices his father nodding as well.
Narcissa looks speculatively from Draco to Granger, and back to Draco, who wishes to sink through the floor at what she says next. “What my son feels for you is far from hatred.” Lucius snorts and rolls his eyes, nodding in what appears to be enthusiastic agreement.
Draco feels his face flame with embarrassment and something else he won’t name.
“If I may, Miss Granger,” Lucius adds, “I think what my wife is trying to say is that my son does not dislike you, and though this marriage law is not ideal nor what we may have wished for Draco…it doesn’t have to be a dire situation.”
Narcissa nods. “You can and should make the most of it, and if you’re lucky, you may find you learn to appreciate, if not even…enjoy each other.”
Draco still hasn’t spoken and feels like he’s left his body, floating above the scene in some strange purgatory situation, until Granger sighs and finally speaks to him for the first time, her soft voice bringing him back to earth.
“They’re… not wrong,” she says.
“Aren’t they?” he sputters in disbelief.
“Well…the Ministry isn’t going to change the laws on our account and neither of us wish to lose our right to practice magic or go to Azkaban. So…”
He holds his breath. She’s never looked at him like this before, not once in their entire lives. It’s a look she might reserve for, well, anyone who isn’t him. There’s no abject hatred or any hatred at all, in fact. Her eyes are alight with contemplation, and he wonders briefly if this is what Potter and Weasley see when she looks at them, when she’s scheming or plotting a way out of something.
He stares at her for a moment and then shrugs. “Alright,” he agrees. Who is he to argue with the Brightest Witch of Her Age?
The magistrate speaks again, meeting off a long piece of parchment. “You have three months to consummate the marriage, and thereafter, you are required to be intimate during Ms. Granger’s fertile window until a pregnancy is confirmed.” He looks up, clearing his throat and looking intently from Draco to Granger. “You’d do well to start sooner than later.”
Draco wants to Avada himself, knowing his mother and father are sitting there listening to what will be the plan for his sex life for the foreseeable future. Granger’s face flames, and Draco can see her jaw clench as she once again refuses to meet his eyes.
“If, by one year, no pregnancies have resulted, the marriage may be annulled in which case you may choose to be rematched with a different candidate.”
“A candidate,” Granger grumbles under her breath, and Draco can’t help but nod in agreement. They’re twenty four year old adults, and they’re being treated like political pawns, or breeding stock.
The magistrate sighs and casts a Tempus. “Are you both ready? I have several other couples after you.”
Draco and Granger lock eyes, and for a moment, he’s lost in the golden honey of her eyes. There’s a softness there, a lack of animosity that surprises him. In this circumstance, at least, they aren’t enemies. They are partners in this, and they will have to figure their way through it together.
He swallows hard and offers her a hand. She takes it and he’s floating again, no longer in his body as she stutters her way through the vows, reluctant but maintaining composure. He repeats after the magistrate and just like that, Draco Malfoy is married to Hermione Granger.
And she hasn’t even hexed him to death yet.
***
After the ceremony, the Magistrate ushers them out of his office, summoning the next couple—none other than Ginevra Weasley and Blaise Zabini. They chat amicably, and Draco can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at their easy rapport. Ginny gives Hermione a sympathetic glance, while Blaise merely winks at Draco. The two witches exchange a brief hug and promise to catch up soon as they pass by.
When they step through the floo into the Manor, Draco notices she’s trembling. She looks around the room and suddenly appears relieved. The reason for her discomfort dawns on Draco, and in a brief moment of insanity, he wants to reach for her, but decides against it.
She wouldn’t want his touch, and he doesn’t want to make this worse for her. Narcissa and Lucius bid them a good night, leaving them to “get accommodated to each other.”
After a moment’s silence, Draco clears his throat. “This is my wing of the Manor. The…uh, drawing room is far away from here. And mother has completely redone it. You won’t even recognize it.”
When Granger visibly pales, Draco quickly goes on to say, “If you ever want to see it, that is. Of course you don’t have to.”
She says nothing, and the silence disturbs Draco. “Would—would you like a tour of…where you’ll be staying?”
The magistrate had put them on the spot to choose a place to live for the next twelve months, and once Granger made it known she’d been staying with Potter and Pansy at Grimmauld Place, she’d basically been forced to agree to live at Malfoy Manor for the time being.
Draco has come to the realization that this entire thing is considerably more of an ordeal for Granger than for himself.
He gets to stay in his home, a place he is comfortable, while she is uprooting her life to live in a place where she experienced trauma, married to a man she hates. His feelings about her are more complicated, and more than he’s willing to delve in to, but he will admit that she is pretty, and that fucking her won’t exactly be a hardship. Draco can admit to himself that he certainly does not hate her.
She tilts her head at him, pursing her lips as she watches him, and then finally nods in acceptance of the tour. He offers her his arm; after all, she’s his wife, and he can’t help but be pleased when she accepts it.
Once the tour concludes, they stand in her rooms, staring at each other awkwardly. He opens his mouth to speak and then he receives the shock of his life when suddenly, Granger launches herself at him, her lips smashing against his, teeth clanking together and when he grunts in surprise, she uses the opportunity to plunge her tongue into his mouth.
Her arms twine around his neck, and his hands hover over her waist. He waits, giving her a chance to come back to reality and push him away. Instead, she presses closer, and he finds himself unable to resist, relaxing into the kiss and pulling her closer.
He’s married. To Granger. And she’s kissing him. Can it really be so easy?
Granger pulls away, and he releases her, looking at her wet, swollen lips and panting foolishly. He wonders if she’ll offer an explanation, and hopes she might kiss him again.
“Malfoy,” she starts, taking a deep, centering breath, and he refrains from pointing out that she’s a Malfoy now too.
“Yeah?” he asks idiotically.
“We’re stuck together for twelve months, and we can either let it be horrible or we can make it… interesting.”
His cock, half-hard after their impromptu snogging session, twitches with intrigue.
“Interesting,” he repeats after a moment. “How…do you propose we do that?”
Granger chews on her bottom lip, still watching him.
“We have to have sex anyway. We might as well…do it on our own terms,” she adds with a huff, “instead of letting the government ruin everything about our young adulthood.”
Gobsmacked, Draco says, “On our…own terms?”
“I’m not a virgin,” she informs him suddenly, which makes him feel a twinge of…something he doesn’t feel like examining at the moment.
“But there are plenty of things I haven’t done yet,” she continues, “and…some things I’d like to. I assume the same is true for you.”
Granger lifts a brow, as he continues to stare, slack-jawed, looking as confounded as Weasley during an Arithmancy exam.
“Malfoy?” she asks with concern, noticing his expression. “You’re not… a virgin, are you?”
“What? No, of course not.” Not since fifth year, although he’d been in a dry spell lately, mostly due to feeling bored by all the usual witches in his rotation. After a while, they all felt, sounded, and tasted the same.
What Granger was suggesting was…intriguing to say the least. And Draco really needed to get a grip.
“You seem confused or…surprised or…something, I—just want to make sure we’re on the same page about,” Granger waves her hand vaguely, “all of this.”
Draco watches her, noticing her pink cheeks and the swottiness of her tone even while discussing sex. With him.
If she’s saying what he thinks she’s saying, they are most definitely on the same page.
”I’m…” Draco clears his throat. ”I mean, yes, we’re on the same page.”
Granger looks relieved and oddly pleased.
He leans toward her, thoughtful, and intrigued. “What do you like in bed?”
“I’m up for anything,” Granger shrugs, then reconsiders. “Well, most things I should say.”
“But what gets you off?” he specifies. “During—” he gestures between his crotch and hers, a crude gesture but she just rolls her eyes.
“I can come from penetration alone,” she says matter-of-factly, “if you know what you’re doing.”
“I do,” he says. And it’s not a lie. He’d made it a point to learn how to get a witch off. He knows all the right angles and speeds and positions and such. But the idea of Granger coming from his cock alone is sending him into territory he’d rather be alone to ponder. She may have kissed him, but there’s no way she’s going to let him inside her this soon.
Granger smiles (a genuine smile, not a sneer) at him for the second time in their lives. The first of which he doesn’t like to think about often because it gives him a stomach ache.
“We have twelve months. We should each choose a few things we’d like to try—kinks or fantasies or whatever—and,” she bites her lip and releases it, “we can try and do them all during our time together.”
He nods slowly, his eyes glued to her plump, bitten lip. Smartest Witch of Her Age indeed.
“We don’t have to have actual sex yet,” she continues, “but maybe we can go slow, and just…get to know each other.”
Her honey-gold eyes drift down his body, landing on the undeniable tent in his trousers, and then flit back up to lock on his own silver gaze. “Deal?”
He is mesmerized by the pursing of her lips, and remembers the taste of her tongue in his mouth. As long as he lives, he’ll never forget.
“Deal.” Absofuckinglutely.
“We should each write down some fantasies, and place them in a box, for safekeeping,” she says, all business suddenly.
Draco’s mind is whirling a mile a minute as Granger conjures parchment, quills, and a small white box, while he tries to narrow down all the sexual things he hasn’t yet done but would love to do, with Granger in particular.
His cock perks up with each thing she writes down, and her fantasies inspire some of his.
She gathers all the slips, her brows raising as she reads a few of the things he wrote, and then she levitates the slips of paper inside it. “I’ve charmed them to disappear once we’ve…satisfied them.”
She casts a locking charm on the box and places it on her dresser.
“We should also choose safe words, just in case,” she suggests.
He nods in agreement. “Lioness,” he blurts immediately.
“Basilisk,” she responds, her lips twitching in a half-smirk, a gesture that makes him want to kiss her again, hard.
“Until tomorrow then,” she says, sounding suddenly shy. Her brown eyes watch him as he hesitates then leaves her alone, going next door to his own room.
Lying in bed that night, he finds it hard to fall asleep, his mind consumed with thoughts of his new wife and her willingness to make the best of their situation.
While she got the short end of the stick, he got the lucky draw. His parents know it, he knows it, it’s likely the whole world knows by now.
He’s determined to make her see that he isn’t all bad; that he can show her a good time. For at least twelve months, she is his.
Maybe he can even make her like him.