She was still reeling from her unexpected encounter with Malfoy, whom she sarcastically referred to as Mephistopheles himself, a reflection of her utter dismay at the situation.
As she got ready for work, her thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and anger. She couldn't believe that she was being forced into a marriage with Malfoy, someone she had a tumultuous history with. The idea of marrying into the Malfoy family, especially given their past allegiance to Voldemort, was nothing short of a nightmare for her.
Despite her rattled state, she managed to get herself dressed and presentable, trying to maintain her composure as best as she could. She knew she had to face the day ahead, regardless of how unsettling her personal life had become.
Arriving at the Ministry atrium, she found the bustling space already filled with workers going about their morning routines. The air was filled with hushed conversations and the clatter of heels on the marble floors. She navigated through the crowd with a sense of urgency, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of what lay ahead.
She stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. The elevator doors closed, and she was left alone with her thoughts in the small, mirrored enclosure.
The ride to her department was brief but felt interminable. She stared at her reflection, her expression a mix of frustration and determination. She couldn't let her personal life overshadow her duties at the Ministry, especially with the current political climate and the delicate state of wizarding affairs.
When the elevator doors opened, she stepped out into the familiar surroundings of the D.R.M.C. atmosphere. The usual hum of activity greeted her, and she forced herself to focus on the tasks at hand.
She nodded curtly to her colleagues as she made her way to her office, her mind already spinning with plans and strategies to tackle the day's workload. Despite the chaos in her personal life, she was determined to prove her professionalism and dedication, even if she couldn't shake the feeling that her world was falling apart around her.
As she settled into her office chair and began to sort through the stack of paperwork on her desk, she tried to push thoughts of Draco Malfoy and their impending marriage to the back of her mind. Today, she had a job to do—a job that required her undivided attention and unwavering commitment.
Little did she know, the day would bring more surprises and challenges than she could have ever anticipated.
"Good morning, Pam," she said with a forced, high-pitched voice that sounded anything but genuine.
Pam Beesly had spent several years as the receptionist and administrator at the Ministry of Magic. She and Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt shared an unspoken romantic tension between them, which was often the subject of whispered gossip among the Ministry employees. It was both endearing and amusing to watch, especially when Kingsley would stop by Pam's desk just to say hello or linger a little too long during their meetings.
"Good morning, Ms. Granger, condolences." Pam said softly, her voice laced with the deepest sympathy.
"Thank you so much, Pam. It means a lot," she replied, offering a small, sad smile. "But please, do not feel sorry for me. Mr. Malfoy and I are being forced into marriage. It's a decree from your boyfriend. There's nothing more to discuss."
Pam's eyes widened in surprise at her blunt response. She had known herfor years, having worked with her at the Ministry of Magic. The news of her impending marriage to Draco Malfoy was shocking, to say the least. But she also knew how strong and determined shewas. She couldn't imagine being forced into anything against her will.
"I... I had no idea," Pam stammered, her mind racing. "I can't believe Kingsley would do something like this."
She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "It's a new law, aimed at promoting unity and reconciliation and populating our country"-she explained, her voice tinged with resignation. "Apparently, pairing me with Mr. Malfoy is supposed to help heal old wounds and foster unity among witches and wizards."
Pam nodded slowly, trying to process everything. "But... you and Malfoy?" she asked hesitantly, her brow furrowing in concern.
She shrugged helplessly. "Yes, me and the devil, now walking side by side" she replied, her voice tinged with bitterness. "It's not exactly what I had planned for my future."
"I can only imagine," Pam said sympathetically, reaching out to squeeze hers hand in support.
She managed a weak smile. "Thank you, Pam," she said gratefully. "I appreciate your support, but I don't need your pity."
Pam hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked gently.
She shook her head, her expression resigned. "I'm not sure there's anything anyone can do at this point," she admitted. "But thank you for asking."
Pam nodded understandingly, her heart going out to her friend. "Well, if you need someone to talk to or anything at all, I'm here for you," she offered sincerely.
"Thank you, Pam, but I will be just fine." she said sincerely, feeling a flicker of gratitude amidst the turmoil.
Pam smiled warmly. "Anytime, Hermione," she replied. "Hang in there. Maybe... maybe things will turn out better than you think."
Shenodded, her thoughts already drifting to the uncertain future that lay ahead. As Pam left, she couldn't help but wonder how she would navigate this new chapter in her life, and what it would mean for her and Malfoy.
How far can she run before she finds herself in Azkaban for murder. A girl can only dream.
By lunchtime, a beautiful silver envelope arrived at her desk, adorned with a monogram—DLM. Judging by the color and aristocratic style, it was obvious that the letter was from Malfoy.
Dear Granger,
Hereby I would like to formally invite you for tea tomorrow afternoon to my home.
I would like to discuss our marriage contract. Please advise me what time will be perfect for you.
Yours,
DLM
She was quite literally shook. The letter from Malfoy had left her stunned and uncertain. To my home? What is he thinking? There was no way she was going back to Malfoy Manor, that was for certain.
She stared at the letter, the elegant silver envelope still in her hand. The invitation was unexpected, and the thought of discussing their forced marriage contract in the place she had once feared and despised filled her with unease.
Her mind raced. How should she respond? She couldn't outright refuse, not without causing a potential diplomatic incident. But going to Malfoy Manor felt like stepping into enemy territory. The memories of the war, of Voldemort, and of Draco Malfoy himself were still too fresh.
Taking a deep breath, she picked up her quill and hastily penned a reply:
Malfoy,
Thank you for your invitation. However, I must insist that we meet in a neutral location. The Leaky Cauldron, perhaps? Tomorrow afternoon will work for me. Please let me know if this arrangement suits you.
Sincerely,
Hermione Jean Granger
She sealed the letter in the silver envelope and called for an owl to deliver it to Malfoy. As she watched the owl fly off, she couldn't help but feel a mix of apprehension and determination. She was not going to let Malfoy dictate the terms of their marriage, not if she could help it.
Sixteen minutes later, to her dismay, the silver envelope appeared on her desk again. She hesitated before opening it, unsure of what to expect. Inside was another letter from Beelzebub.
Dear Granger,
I would like to apologize, I did not know that you had the information of my relocation but I do not live in the Manor anymore.
However, I do understand your point. I have had my own penthouse in central London for years now. I really wish you can visit me, so you will be familiar with your new home.
Please advise me if the blueberry scone is still your favorite pastry so I can welcome you with some.
Ps. You were not the only one who paid attention to how you enjoyed your coffee and what food you liked when we went to school together.
Pss: I do not have any house elf in our home if this will be one of your concerns.
Yours,
DLM
She read the letter with a mix of surprise and wariness. She couldn't deny that Malfoy's invitation was unexpected, and his efforts to accommodate her preferences were unexpected as well. A small part of her was touched by his consideration, but she remained cautious, it was still the devil that we are talking about.
She took a moment to collect her thoughts before composing a response:
Malfoy,
Thank you for clarifying your current residence. I appreciate your understanding of my concerns.
I am willing to meet at your penthouse in central London, if that would be more convenient for you. Tomorrow six in the afternoon works for me.
Ps: Yes, blueberry scones are still my favorite.
Sincerely,
Hermione Jean Granger
She sealed the letter in the silver envelope and sent it off with the same owl. As she watched it fly away, she couldn't help but wonder what awaited her Malfoy's penthouse, and how this meeting would shape their future together.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Unfortunately, the next day at 5:54 in the afternoon, she stood in front of the full-length mirror in her office, next to the fireplace, nervously checking herself to ensure she looked presentable for what she sarcastically dubbed as "Beelzebub." Why did she even care about how she looked? She was incredibly nervous for the meeting and had no desire to see Malfoy.
Her reflection stared back at her, looking unsure and somewhat anxious. Her hair, usually bushy and untamed, was tamed down into neat curls. She had opted for a simple blue dress, but her hands were trembling as she fiddled with the cuff of her sleeve.
5:59 PM, she used the Floo Network to visit her new "home".
Dusting off the Floo powder from her dress, she found Draco Malfoy standing in front of the fireplace, which appeared to be the living room.
"Good afternoon," he blurted out immediately, looking a bit shy for a second.
"Good afternoon to you too," she replied coolly, trying to mask her nerves.
"Welcome to our home. I do hope that you will like it,"he continued, his words causing her to bristle inwardly.
Why did he keep saying "our" home? She had no desire to live with him at all. She didn't want to talk to him, see him, or be in the same place as he was.
"Thank you, Malfoy. It looks beautiful," she managed to say, trying to maintain a polite facade.
Beautiful was not the right word for it. It was breathtaking at worst. The penthouse was elegantly decorated with modern furnishings and art, and she couldn't help but be impressed despite herself.
Malfoy invited her to sit in the tea room, which she had no idea why someone needed, but that was beside the point.
He had gone a little overboard with the blueberry scones and every other blueberry-flavored pastry imaginable.
"Thank you so much for the blueberry everything," she said with a shy smile.
"It is my pleasure. Thank you so much for coming," he replied, his tone surprisingly sincere. "I would like to present you with our marriage contract if you don't mind."
He pulled out an approximately 26-page scroll and placed it in front of her.
"I will give you some time to read it," he said.
She took a deep breath and began to unroll the scroll. The contract was meticulously detailed, outlining everything from financial arrangements to living arrangements, and even clauses on potential children. Her head spun as she read through the legal jargon, trying to process the enormity of what was happening.
Malfoy watched her silently, his gaze unreadable.She couldn't help but feel a mix of frustration and resignation. This was their reality now, whether she liked it or not.
After what felt like an eternity, she finally set the scroll down. She looked up at him, her expression guarded.
"This is... comprehensive," she managed to say, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.
Malfoy nodded, his eyes searching hers. "It's a legal requirement under the new Marriage Law," he explained, his tone matter-of-fact. "I'm open to discussing any concerns you might have."
She hesitated, weighing her words carefully. "I understand," she replied finally, trying to keep her emotions in check. "I do have a few questions..."
"Why do we need to live together?" she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of suspicion.
Malfoy met her gaze evenly, his silver eyes holding a hint of resolve. "Because there will be a soul bond ceremony in the wedding," he stated matter-of-factly.
"A soul bond? Malfoy, what are you about?" she shouted, her voice filled with fury. "I do not want a soul bond with you. I do not want any bond with you. I don't want to live with you and I certainly do not want to procreate a child with you! Are you insane?"
His expression turned defensive, his own frustration and exasperation palpable. "It's not what you think, Granger, but it is mandatory to have a child within 3 years of marriage, I do not wish to go to Azkaban" he began, trying to keep his voice steady. "A soul bond is a magical contract required by the Ministry in cases like ours. It's meant to ensure the stability and longevity of the marriage, to—"
"To what? Force us into a relationship we never wanted?" she interrupted, her voice trembling with anger and disbelief. "I can't believe you would agree to something like this!"
Malfoy sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "It's not like I had a choice, Granger," he replied, his voice tinged with frustration. "This marriage is mandatory, and the soul bond is non-negotiable. We both have to comply or face serious consequences."
"A soul bond ceremony?" She repeated, her mind racing with questions. " It is not a ceremony, it is a form of torturing of our own being. We will never get rid of each other, Malfoy.
Her eyes widened in realization as she grasped the gravity of the situation. The idea of being tethered to Malfoy in such a profound manner made her apprehensive, yet a small part of her couldn't help but wonder about the possibilities it might hold.
"Well, I refuse to comply!" she shot back, her eyes blazing with determination. "I won't be forced into this. I won't let the Ministry dictate my life like this."
Malfoy's gaze softened slightly, his expression conflicted. "I understand how you feel, Granger. Believe me, I do," he said quietly. "But we're both in this together now. If we don't comply with the terms, we could be stripped of our wands, imprisoned, or worse."
She felt her anger become more and more powerful, boiling over as she tried to process the gravity of the situation.
"I DON'T WANT TO BE BOND TO YOU FOR LIFE!" she screamed, her voice echoing through the elegant penthouse.
He looked taken aback, his own frustration bubbling to the surface. "Granger, what happened to the girl on fire, what happened to the girl who always had a solution for every scenario? We will find a way to come around this."
"What happened to the girl? What happened to the girl?" her voice broke, raw and filled with pain. "THE GIRL YOU KNEW DIED ON YOUR DRAWING ROOM FLOOR."
Her words hung in the air like a curse. Malfoy's eyes widened in shock and regret as he remembered the horrifying events that had taken place at Malfoy Manor during the war. The torture, the screams, the same nightmare that kept hanting him in his dreams the pain—it all flooded back to him in a rush.
Her anger gave way to a flood of tears as she stood up abruptly from the table, her movements so forceful that one of the teacups fell to the floor, shattering into pieces. She couldn't bear to be in the same room with him any longer. She couldn't bear to be reminded of everything she had lost.
Without another word, she ran to the Floo, her tears streaming down her cheeks. She grabbed a handful of Floo powder, her hands shaking, and threw it into the fireplace, shouting her destination through sobs.
"Ministry of Magic!" she screamed, her voice thick with emotion before disappearing into the swirling vortex.
Malfoy remained rooted to the spot, heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The sight of her, so utterly broken, ripped away any lingering resentment he might have harbored. The depth of her hurt, the trauma that still clung to her like a shroud – it was a stark realization. Guilt, sharp and unwelcome, twisted in his gut. He was helpless; some wounds cut too deep, and even the most sincere efforts couldn't mend them overnight.
He forced himself to move, the tension in his shoulders mirroring the turmoil within. He Apparated with a silent crack, the familiar Ministry atrium materializing around him. He had to find her. He had to know what had driven her to such a state. What trouble had their "little lion" stumbled upon this time?