Full Summary: Published in 1862 by Lady Apollonia Nott, Courting Customs Most Sacred is the comprehensive text for any pureblood family seeking to arrange suitable matches for their children. It's also patently ridiculous and not at all appropriate for the modern era of dating. It is certainly not how one should woo Hermione Granger, at any rate.

Story Length: Two-shot, about 15,000 words total.

Universe: Canon-compliant until epilogue, completely disregards epilogue.

Warnings: M for a reason, not suitable for younger readers.

Disclaimer: All characters from the Harry Potter universe belong to JK Rowling; no money is being made from this story.

Correction to Part 1: typo towards the end of the chapter. It should be "your" instead of "you're" here; "You're mother invited me to the Christmas ball being held at your family home."

"…while not carrying the same legal weight as the signed betrothal contract, the heirloom pieces signify to society that the match has been agreed upon by all parties and may serve as the official announcement of the impending marriage. Several of our ancient families make use of 'betrothal jewelry' such as the alexandrite tiara of House Nott, the golden and ruby cuff bracelet of House Shacklebolt, and perhaps most notable and historic of all, the amethyst and emerald necklace of House Malfoy…"
-Chapter 5, page 132, Courting Customs Most Sacred, Apollonia Nott

In the week leading up to the Christmas ball at Malfoy Manor, Narcissa was mysteriously indisposed every single time Draco dropped by to speak with her. Resigned to his fate and hoping beyond hope that attending the ball with Hermione would satisfy his mother's ridiculous thirst for meddling, Draco gave up trying to confront her.

The evening of the ball, he paced anxiously in front of the Floo in the front parlor, clad in his finest black formal robes. He'd agreed to meet Hermione here so he could escort her to the ballroom. This side of the Manor was nowhere near the infamous drawing room of horrors past, but Draco didn't want to take any chances of Hermione losing her way and suffering undue stress.

She arrived at a quarter past 7, just after the ball had kicked off. She'd confided in Draco that it would be easier for her to be fashionably late and perhaps blend in with a crowd already gathered in the ballroom.

As she dusted off her robes, Draco admired her choice of evening wear. Hermione was adorned in perfectly tailored, gray silk robes, with a fitted bodice and long, flowing bell sleeves. Her hair was sleeker than he'd ever seen it and pulled up into an intricate knot behind her head with not a single wild curl out of place. Heavier makeup than usual covered her face, and the click of her shoes indicated she'd chosen a rather high heel for the evening. As she approached him with a smile, he thought she looked every bit the proper pureblood wife.

It was all wrong.

She looked stunning, of course, but not at all like Hermione.

Hermione, who looked beautiful at 6 o'clock on a Friday evening, with tired eyes and her curly hair thrown up haphazardly as she dictated a last-minute report in her office and seemed quite on the verge of madness when Draco would stop by to urge her to "go home and actually have a bloody weekend, Granger, the reports will still be here on Monday."

Hermione, who was gorgeous as she walked swiftly past his office in the mornings in her plain and sensible work robes, sipping her tea and carrying far too many files at once.

Hermione, who made him weak-kneed when she argued until she was red and blotchy in the face with their shared nemesis in the budget office at the Ministry because the idiot dared audit their department's last investigation.

Hermione, who devastated him with a genuine smile whenever the two of them worked on a difficult task together and managed to collaborate and solve the case with their combined intellect.

The woman who stood before him was clearly a product of Pansy and his mother. They'd shaped and molded an already exceptional woman into some stranger they thought would appease Draco.

And around her neck, he realized with sudden horror, hung a very familiar piece of jewelry…

"Granger… that necklace—!"

"Oh, it's too much, I know, but your mother sent it this morning and absolutely insisted I wear it tonight."

"Did she now?"

Oh, Mother, tell me you didn't…

Hermione looked puzzled at his narrowed eyes and suddenly cold tone. "Y-yes. She said it would be a personal favor to her, but goodness, I feel so nervous with this around my neck. I'm only borrowing it, of course, she mentioned it was a family piece."

"Indeed it is, in fact it's the—"

"Miss Granger, there you are!" Narcissa appeared suddenly at Hermione's side, beaming at the ostentatious jewels clutching the young witch's throat.

"Hello Mrs. Malfoy, thank you again for allowing me to borrow the necklace, it's truly beautiful," gushed Hermione.

"Think nothing of it dear," replied Narcissa, waving an imperious hand. "Now," she linked her arm through Hermione's, "I've several members of the Wizengamot you simply must meet and of course, Lady Stanwyck has been asking after you since our luncheon. Let me take you through to the ballroom and we can—"

"Pardon me, Mother, but shouldn't I—"

"You'll have Miss Granger to yourself for the rest of the evening, darling, once the cocktail hour is finished. I've got you two seated together for dinner, at my table, of course, and you can monopolize her when the dancing begins."

And leaving a gaping Draco behind, Narcissa gently but firmly steered Hermione towards the ballroom. Draco stood still and tried to marshal his thoughts and calm his racing pulse. He finally decided he needed to intervene before Hermione unwittingly embarrassed herself and took off after the women. Trust his mother to take advantage of the younger witch's earnest nature.

But Draco was too late. He'd dithered too long and now Hermione and Narcissa had entered the ball, arm in arm, and were immediately photographed, because of course his mother had enlisted the services of a society photographer for the evening.

A growing dread overtook him as he realized pictures of Hermione Granger strutting around the Malfoy Manor ballroom bedecked in the infamous amethyst and emerald betrothal necklace would surely make the Daily Prophet. And the worst part was, Hermione had no idea. She was completely ignorant to these idiotic and outdated courting customs, but the veil would be lifted tomorrow when the headlines would scream about an impending engagement between her and the Malfoy heir.

Draco walked purposefully to catch up, intent on Accio-ing the damn thing off Hermione's neck if he had to, but once again, was far too late. Many of the assembled guests had noticed the necklace on Hermione and if Draco hadn't been so concerned for her, he would have laughed aloud at some of their expressions.

Kingsley Shacklebolt almost dropped his glass of whisky. Molly and Arthur Weasley went wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Minerva McGonagall looked from Hermione to Draco as if she'd just caught the pair of them snogging in the Hogwarts corridors after curfew. Horace Slughorn choked on a deviled egg. The Greengrass sisters bent their heads together to whisper heatedly. Pansy daintily sipped her champagne with a look of fierce triumph in her eyes.

It didn't escape Draco's notice that this year's guest list included a surprising number of Gryffindors, former Order of the Phoenix members, and plenty of Weasleys.

Subtle as a Howler, Mother.

Harry Potter and his red-headed wife could be seen chatting with Ron Weasley and whichever Patil twin had agreed to marry him. That foursome gave him polite nods and waves, and Draco was thankful that at least that group hadn't cottoned on to the necklace's true meaning.

Narcissa kept to Hermione's side for the entire hour, taking her around to different couples and social cliques, Draco only able to catch snatches of conversation as he strategically placed himself amongst chatting groups nearby.

"Oh yes, Miss Granger and Draco work together at the Ministry, didn't you know? They make quite the team! My Draco specializes in cursed artifacts and Miss Granger here is an expert at research and analysis. Quite the complementary pair, don't you agree?"

Draco gnashed his teeth and tried to concentrate on his conversation with Theodore Nott, who was smirking knowingly at him, the arsehole, but could not keep his scowl at bay at his mother's words. It wasn't like anything she said was untrue, but perception is everything and Narcissa knew exactly how this would play in the society pages. Conveniently, etiquette rules of polite society meant that no one dared mention the perceived engagement between Hermione and Draco to Hermione's face. Wonderful.

Just as Draco grew hopeless and was on the verge of berating his mother in public, dinner was announced. But Draco was thwarted again, when Narcissa sat herself in the chair directly in between Hermione and Draco. Since current Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt himself was seated at their table, Draco could hardly cause a scene.

Throughout dinner, Hermione chatted warmly with both Kingsley and his wife, and Narcissa looked far too pleased with herself. Hermione engaged Draco in conversation a few times, and Draco forced himself to answer as normally and cordially as possible, even if he wanted to scream.

When Draco's torture ended with the announcement that dancing would commence and a waltz filled the air, he seized his chance to confront his mother.

She tried to sneak away from him, claiming she needed to have a word with the conductor of the full orchestra she'd enlisted for the evening, but Draco wasn't letting her slip away this time.

Before he was more than a few feet away from the table, a soft voice called out to him.

"Malfoy?"

He stopped in his tracks, as he did whenever his name fell from her lips. Draco sighed and turned to face Hermione.

"Granger, give me a moment, I really need to talk to my mother."

He expected her to beam up at him and wave him off, but instead she looked a bit crestfallen. Had he done something to offend her? They'd barely interacted all evening.

"Of course, maybe you could find me when you're done? I was wondering if… if you wanted to maybe uhh… dance with me?"

As he looked down into her glowing brown eyes, Draco wanted to say yes, immediately. He wanted to whisk her off to the parquet dance floor and hold her close for the remainder of the night. He wanted to gather her in his arms and conduct soft conversations in whispers about all the things he could do to her if she let him.

But he couldn't do that, not to Hermione. Because the second they began waltzing together, most of the room's suspicions would be confirmed and the society photographer would have all the evidence he needed to publish his speculative story about Draco's intentions to wed Hermione. It wasn't right, and Draco wouldn't let her be another salacious story in the gossip pages.

It was clear now to Draco that Hermione had some feelings beyond friendship for him, and he more than returned the sentiment. But this wasn't fair, to have the situation manipulated by others to force them together. He wanted his pursuit of Hermione's affection to be genuine and natural, not hastened along by outdated notions of courtship.

"I'm not sure that would be the best idea, sorry," he said flatly, and turned away before he could see or hear her response.

Reaching his mother, he clasped her elbow and murmured in her ear, "We need to talk. Now. Let's go to the traveling parlor."

Narcissa pursed her lips but mercifully obeyed and they parted through the crowd easily, Draco trying to remember to nod and smile politely at passing guests.

When they reached the parlor, she swept past him to stand regally by the fireplace and turned to face him, waiting for him to speak.

"You need to put a stop to this charade, Mother. Now." Draco ordered.

"I've no idea what you're talking about and –"

"Don't play stupid, it doesn't suit you." Draco snapped and she narrowed her eyes, but stopped talking.

"I'll admit, it took me a bit longer than it should have to catch on, but needless to say, your reprehensible action this evening has made your intention quite clear."

"Reprehensible? Really Draco?" she arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow.

"The Malfoy betrothal necklace, are you insane?" he hissed. "Did you really think I wouldn't know? Half of that room knows what that piece signifies, as well as that over-eager vulture with the camera you hired, which I'm sure was exactly your plan."

Narcissa said nothing, neither confirming nor denying his accusation, but her silence was as good as an admission of guilt for Draco.

"Granger has no idea, none," he pleaded softly. "You're playing on her naivety of pureblood customs and it has got to stop."

His mother scoffed. "You are overreacting. From what Pansy has told me and from what I've seen with my own eyes, the two of you are rather enamored with one another. Pray tell, what sin have I committed in merely helping the courting process along?"

"My feelings for her are beside the point! She's gallivanting around that ballroom right now because of you and Pansy, completely ignorant that everyone is smiling and whispering and gossiping behind her back because of that Merlin-damned necklace! How do you think she'll feel when she discovers tomorrow morning that wearing that blasted thing means I've essentially proposed marriage to her? We haven't even gone on a date! Why would you want to put that pressure of the spotlight on her? Don't you think she's been through enough because of our family?"

Draco's chest was heaving by the end of his tirade, unable to fathom how his mother and best friend could be so inconsiderate, so duplicitous.

After a few beats of silence, his mother merely huffed out an impatient breath. "Are you honestly going to stand there and tell me you have no wish to court Miss Granger?"

"I DON'T WANT TO COURT GRANGER!"

Narcissa opened her mouth to reply, but quickly snapped her lips shut as she stared wide-eyed at a point over Draco's shoulder.

Whirling around, Draco found to his utter dismay that Hermione was standing in the doorway to the parlor. If the look of genuine hurt on her face was anything to go by, she had most definitely heard what he'd just shouted in his mother's face.

"Granger, I—"

"So sorry to interrupt, I merely wanted to say goodnight before I left," Hermione offered in a shaking voice, speaking over Draco.

"You're leaving?" he cried. "But—"

"Thank you for the lovely evening, Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione rushed out, talking over Draco again and addressing Narcissa. "But I really must be going."

"No, please, stay Miss Granger. Draco and I were only—"

"No, really, I must be going. I—I feel rather unwell. Thank you again for inviting me to your home," Hermione forced the sentence out as if it pained her. She met Draco's eyes for a moment, and her feelings were written plain as day, wrecking him. She was distraught, humiliated.

Hermione spun on her heel and practically sprinted away. He could only stare at the space she'd just occupied, willing his brain to speed up and figure out how the hell to fix this mess.

Narcissa rounded on him. "Draco, why would you say such a thing?"

"Because it was the truth," he responded hoarsely. "I don't want to court her, I want to date her. I want to explore an honest relationship with her on our own time, on our own terms, not bind ourselves to the mad scribblings of some pureblooded hag from the 1800s." He turned back to his mother, furious. "And now, thanks to you, I've quite lost that chance."

Narcissa shook her head. "No, go after her. Now, go."

With a growl of frustration at both his mother's scheming and his own stupidity, he tore down the hall back towards the ballroom. He darted through the crowd, but there was no sign of Hermione. There was no way she could've Flooed away, having just come from the traveling parlor, and it would be most unlike her to wander to other rooms of the unfamiliar and imposing Manor. Just as he was considering enlisting the help of Potter and his entourage he was confronted by a distressed Pansy.

"Draco, I'm so sorry, I just saw Hermione and—"

"Where? Where is she?"

"She rushed past me out to the garden a few moments ago, if you hurry you can catch her before she gets by the wards to apparate. She was really upset, I'm sorry, I—"

"Save it, Pansy, I'll deal with you later," he said shortly then hustled to the back of the room. He burst out the glass doors onto the snow-covered stone verandah behind the estate, the chilly December air stinging his lungs.

In the near distance, he saw a slim figure clad in silver running pell-mell towards the edge of the grounds. With his much longer legs, he could probably catch her, but when he was 20 yards from her she suddenly stopped.

Draco came to a halt too, wondering what had slowed her down, when he saw the tell-tale trembling of her shoulders. Her body began to shudder and curl in on itself, and he knew she'd succumbed to shaky sobs.

He stayed silent and watched her walk the final 10 yards before she disappeared into thin air. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he meandered listlessly back to the party, a sinking feeling in his gut. Draco had no desire to return to the revelry, so instead cast a few warming charms and sat out the remainder of the evening on the verandah.

As he heard the ball wind down a few hours later, his mother came to find him.

"An owl just arrived. She's sent back the necklace."

Draco made no reply as his mother stepped forward and handed him the open letter. His sharp gray eyes scanned it eagerly as he recognized Hermione's handwriting. His heart sank at the cold and stiff language in her missive, formally thanking his mother for the invitation and borrowed jewelry and further saying that she unfortunately had to decline any future teas and luncheons from Mrs. Malfoy, as she had too much to be going on with at the Ministry. Draco was not mentioned at all.

"What will you do?" inquired his mother.

Draco let out a hollow laugh. "What can I do? What can I ever do? You know, I rather thought with Father gone that perhaps I could be trusted to make my own decisions about what I want in life. But I suppose that was just wishful thinking."

He stood abruptly and made to stalk by her, but Narcissa laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I was only thinking of your happiness, darling, but I see I may have been misguided."

Draco gave her a curt nod, his expression softening slightly, before he took his leave for the night.

The next morning, Draco's Floo roared to life not long after breakfast. An anxious-looking Pansy stepped out, wringing her hands.

"I can't find her. Draco, I'm really worried."

Draco did not need her to elaborate on whom she was discussing. He himself had already tried two methods of contacting Granger that morning and both had been unsuccessful. Hermione had closed her Floo and the owl he'd sent had returned almost immediately, his letter unopened and declared undeliverable.

"She's not home, I was just there," said Pansy, pacing in front of his fireplace.

"How did you get in?"

"Oh," said Pansy, waving an impatient hand, "I was added to her wards a while ago. I apparated in. She must have forgotten in her haste to leave. Her flat was deserted, I don't think she slept there last night."

He fought down his own rising panic and said calmly, "She probably spent the night at Weasley's or Potter's."

Pansy burst into tears. "Oh, Draco I've been so foolish! She's been nothing but wonderful to me after I treated her so horribly for years! She forgave me and befriended me, and I had to muck about her love life and I thought… I thought I was helping! I thought I was doing you both a favor!"

"You should have left well enough alone," he said sternly.

Pansy sighed and wiped her eyes. "I know, I'm truly sorry Draco, I've been a terrible friend to you too. I just want to apologize to her is all. Even if she never wants to see me again, I just want her to know I'm sorry."

Draco took her by the shoulders and rubbed her arms gently. "She'll come round. Granger's nothing if not forgiving."

Pansy nodded sadly but didn't look too convinced. "Did you see the Prophet this morning?"

Draco froze. He'd completely forgotten about the press coverage. Sensing his alarm, Pansy clarified, "There was nothing, it's fine. Your mother paid off the photographer. There's a few pictures from the event, but none of her."

He let out a breath he'd been holding. At least there wouldn't be any public fallout from this whole fiasco.

"I know you're angry with me, but I do hope you try and make things right with Hermione," Pansy said softly and turned to go.

Draco could only shrug, feeling his chances weren't all that good. "I'll see her at work tomorrow, she can't escape me there."

He was wrong of course, Hermione had found the one way to escape Draco at the office. She simply did not show up at all.

He waited and waited all morning, his door wide open, to see if that familiar silhouette would stride past his door. By the time lunch rolled around, Draco was desperate enough to corner a co-worker and spew some falsehood about waiting for a report from Hermione that morning. He was then informed that Hermione had sent word that she was taking sick leave today.

Draco frowned and returned to his desk. Granger never took a sick day. It was something he mocked her for all the time. Hermione Granger had to be literally on fire before she would even consider missing a day of work.

There was nothing else for it, he needed the Boy Wonder.

Tucking the book he borrowed from the Manor's library under his arm, he trudged down the hall, and knocked firmly on Potter's door before he lost his nerve. "Enter," came the brisk reply.

When Draco closed the door behind him, he found Potter's wand pointed in his face.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't hex you."

Still holding the book, Draco could only raise one hand in supplication.

"Because I'm not the one you should be hexing. Your real quarrel is with Pansy and my mother."

Harry raised an eyebrow, but held his wand firm. "You know where Granger is," accused Draco. "And I don't buy for a second that she's sick."

Harry shrugged. "That's none of your concern, Malfoy."

Draco shut his eyes and took a calming breath, holding in all the petty insults he longed to throw at his former childhood foe.

"Please," he ground out. "I haven't been able to contact her to explain. To apologize."

Harry regarded him suspiciously for another moment and then lowered his wand. "Let's say, for argument's sake, that I do know Hermione's current whereabouts. Why should I let you see her?"

"She's all right then?" Draco asked hopefully, earning a strange look from Harry.

"Well," said Harry slowly, carefully weighing his words. "Physically, she's perfectly fine. But whatever the hell you said or did to upset her on Saturday really messed with her head."

"What did she tell you?" he asked quickly.

Another noncommittal shrug from Harry. "Not much, but it doesn't take an investigative Auror to put two and two together. When Ginny and I returned home from your party we found her crying her eyes out in our living room. She refused to tell us much of anything, just insisted that it was no one's fault but her own for being foolish. Seeing as Hermione was your date for the evening, which she was a little too excited about for my taste, by the way… I think I have a pretty good idea as to who upset her."

Draco groaned and sunk heavily into the chair in front of Harry's desk. "Fuck," he muttered. "My mother, aided and abetted by Pansy, took it upon herself to orchestrate a series of events and situations to make it appear as if I were actively courting Granger, even though I wasn't. Granger happened upon a private conversation and concluded that I don't care much for her."

Harry tapped his chin in thought. "Well I think she got the message loud and clear. What do you need to see her for? Apologizing and letting her down gently is only going to twist the knife and I'll not have you causing her any more pain."

"No, you moronic twat, I need to see her so I can tell her I do have feelings for her!" Draco snapped.

Harry blinked a few times and then leaned back in his seat. Coming to himself after a few moments, he pushed his glasses up his nose and jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

"She's holed up in one of my guest rooms. You can use my private Floo."

"You would have a private Floo in your office," grumbled Draco. He did manage to bite out an almost sincere-sounding "thank you," before taking advantage of Potter's personal fireplace, and disappeared into the green flames.

It didn't take long for Draco to find which bedroom was currently housing Hermione; it was the only one with the door closed. He knocked apprehensively and was met with a groan of frustration from the other side.

"I'm fine Harry! I told you not to check on me, just go back to the office and let me be pathetic a little while longer. I promise this will be out of my system by dinner."

Draco sighed and tried turning the knob, but it wouldn't budge.

"Leave it Harry! I don't want to talk about it! I'm fine, I swear, I'm… fine… I'm—"

The rest of her sentence ended in the sound of muffled crying. Draco closed his eyes and leant his forehead against the door. Dully, he tried knocking again. He heard an exasperated groan and what sounded like Hermione throwing a bunch of blankets to the floor and bolting off a bed.

"All right, you want to know how I feel, Harry!? I feel like an absolute idiot. I feel humiliated beyond belief and I feel so bloody stupid and I just want one more day to reflect upon my own stupidity before I have to show my face at work and… and… see him and… damn it…" she broke off into what sounded like labored breathing.

Unable to stand her anguished sounds any longer, Draco pointed his wand at the door and muttered a soft "Alohomora."

Before he could turn the knob, the door was wrenched open from the other side and he was greeted with a furious Hermione. "Harry, I said—oh!"

She gave a little gasp of surprise and leapt back as if burnt. Draco's eyes roved over her figure in concern. She was wearing pajama pants covered in the Holyhead Harpies sigil and a frayed knitted jumper at least two sizes too big. Her hair was at its frizziest, barely contained in some sort of bun atop her head. Her eyes were red and puffy, looking overly large on her pale face as she gaped at him in a mix of surprise and horror. She looked a right mess. She looked beautiful.

An instant later, her shock subsided, and her face twisted in rage. "Come to laugh at my tears?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You think me that heartless?"

Hermione scoffed and threw up her hands in frustration before crossing her arms protectively across her chest.

"Well congratulations on pulling off your cruel little game! The conversations at work, the flowers, the manipulation into getting me to go to the ball with you... well done! You even fooled your mother and Pansy, didn't you? They came to some insane conclusion that you actually fancied me! That's what I overheard, wasn't it? You assuring mummy that of course you couldn't possibly want me—"

"Wrong Granger, wrong. You were being manipulated, just not by me."

He held out the book to her, but she made no move to take it.

"This book might help," he offered and her eyes flicked down to read the old, embossed cover of Courting Customs Most Sacred by Apollonia Nott.

Gingerly, she took the tome from his hands and opened it cautiously. "I've never heard of it," she said breathlessly, and Draco took a moment to simply admire Hermione Granger discovering a new book.

He cleared his throat and gathered what little courage he possessed. "It's only found in pureblood family libraries, I imagine. This is a sort of manual that all Sacred Twenty-Eight families like mine, like Pansy's, are raised on. My mother and Pansy… this is all they know when it comes to relationships."

Draco tapped the cover gently with a finger. "It's what the two of them have been using to force us together. I confronted Mother last night about her scheming. That's what you overheard. I promise you Granger, I had no idea until I saw you wearing the necklace."

Hermione's throat bobbed as she met his eyes again.

"Your mother?"

"Yes."

"And Pansy?"

"Yes."

"Plotted together using the pureblood customs in this book to manipulate certain situations whereby we'd somehow find ourselves in a courtship?"

Draco nodded, glad she had caught on so quickly. "Yes. Mother and Pansy claimed they were trying to do us a favor to help us act on our feelings for one another. I suppose we weren't moving fast enough for their liking," he explained, and chanced a wry smile.

"I see," she clipped and cast her eyes down to look at the book again. Draco was confused, shouldn't she be a touch happier at his explanation? Happy that he wasn't trying to play with her emotions but rather had genuine feelings for her?

"So the flowers, then? Those weren't really from you, were they?" she asked in a small voice.

"Nope. That was all Pansy."

"Ah," Hermione replied. "And your mother… I see now… she suggested you would be willing to be my date, knowing I'd ask you and you'd be too polite to refuse."

"Yes."

"And that's why… why you refused to dance with me…"

"Yes, exactly!"

He beamed at her deduction but Hermione only frowned and bit her lip. "What was that you said before? You said you didn't know until you saw me wearing a necklace?"

"Oh, that… here," He took the book from her hands and flipped to the correct page and handed it back. "Start at the beginning of the third paragraph."

"…while not carrying the same legal weight as the signed betrothal contract, the heirloom pieces signify to society that the match has been agreed upon by all parties and may serve as the official announcement of the impending marriage. Several of our ancient families make use of 'betrothal jewelry' such as the alexandrite tiara of House Nott, the golden and ruby cuff bracelet of House Shacklebolt, and perhaps most notable and historic of all, the amethyst and emerald necklace of House Malfoy…" Hermione read aloud before trailing off in horror. "Oh my gods, your mother let me wear your family's betrothal necklace in public?!" she shrieked.

"Erm, yeah. Which is probably why you were being stared at an awful lot and—"

"The Prophet! Tell me there weren't pictures!"

Draco held up a placating hand. "Calm down Granger, Mother runs a tight ship with all her party vendors. No photos of you made it to the press."

Hermione sagged with relief, then closed the book with a snap.

"They are sorry, you know. Pansy was in a right state yesterday when she couldn't find you. She'd like to apologize if you'd let her," Draco said gently.

"Of course, she… she meant no harm, I'm sure." Again, with that meek voice. What the hell was wrong with Granger now? If anything, she'd gone paler and was refusing to meet his eyes.

"So we're all right then? I mean, you understand what happened now… right?"

She nodded swiftly, and Draco was alarmed to see tears gathering in her eyes again.

"Perfectly. Thank you for coming by and clearing it all up," her voice wavered a bit, defeated in tone. Draco was positively bewildered at her behavior.

"And I owe you an apology," she forced out a shaky exhale. "I'm sorry for accusing you of hurting me on purpose. You shouldn't have had to come over and see me in such a state. I'll write to your mother and apologize to her as well. I shouldn't have left the ball like that, it was rather immature. It was simply… simply harder than I thought it would be to hear the truth," she said, dejectedly.

"The truth?"

Her eyes flashed with ire at his question. "Are you really going to make me say it? This has been hard enough already! Just… just go, Malfoy. I'll see you at work tomorrow."

She moved forward to usher him out of the room and hand him the book, but Draco held his ground.

"No, not until you explain! What truth?"

She let out a roar of frustration. "What you told your mother! That you don't want me! I get it, all right? You'd never actually flirt with me at work or… or bring me flowers or…"

Draco shook his head and repressed the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she saw sense.

"That's not what I said at all! I said—"

"Yes you did! You said, and I quote, 'I don't want to court Granger!'"

If he wasn't so fond of his own hair, he would have torn it out at this point. "What the hell happened to remove all your confidence and common sense!? I didn't come all the way over here after being threatened by Saint Potter to let you down easy and I'll tell you what I told my mother after you decided to run off instead of letting me explain myself! I don't want to court you, I want to date you!"

Hermione's mouth clamped shut. He'd rendered the little self-righteous motor-mouth speechless and if he hadn't just laid his feelings bare he'd indulge in his smarmiest smirk.

"You… you want to date me? Not," she held up that blasted book, "go through any of these customs with me?"

"I absolutely do not want to do anything listed in that book with you," he asserted.

This was apparently the wrong thing to say as she flared up in indignation. "Oh, so I'm not good enough for your precious pureblood customs, is that it?"

Draco grabbed the book and flung it clear across the room. "Will you stop assuming the worst of me? I don't want to go through those dragonshite rituals with anyone! That book is nothing but bigoted, misogynistic, outdated, rigid and ridiculous customs that are an insult to you and witches everywhere!"

"But… but your mother and Pansy—?"

"I told you, you daft witch, it's all they know, they were brought up to think it's the height of romance to be pursued that way! And I don't want that with you Granger, I want something real!" He broke off with a frustrated sigh. "Real like our conversations at work. Those were all me, I swear to you Granger, those moments, they were… us."

He chanced a step closer towards her, emboldened when she sucked in a breath but stayed still.

"Dating you means building on those moments and conversations at the office. It means I amp up my flirting until I lack all subtlety. It means I finally crack one day and blather out an offer to take you to dinner. It means late nights talking after work where we order horrendously cheap Muggle takeaway but I insist on pairing it with horrendously expensive wine from my personal cellar."

His last comment got a watery laugh from Hermione, and Draco pushed his luck further. He stepped into her personal space and tilted her chin up to look down into her eyes.

"It means I'd probably buy you 30 different types of flowers because I'd be too proud to simply ask you your favorite and you'd be too worried about hurting my feelings to tell me outright. It means awkward moments, stupid arguments, cringe-worthy explanations to our friends and families, far too many pictures of us in the press, but ultimately all the nonsense would be worth it just to be together the way we wanted… the way I've wanted to for a long time now," he finished softly and ran a finger along her jaw.

Hermione licked her lips and Draco was gratified when a mischievous smile graced her mouth.

"This dinner offer you mentioned. That would be our first date, yes?"

Draco smirked down at her. "Yes, I'd much prefer our first date be at a ludicrously pricey yet intimate restaurant as opposed to a premature engagement announcement in the ballroom of Malfoy Manor."

"I see. And the rest of the evening?" Her hands traced up his arms to land on his shoulders. "Tell me. Tell me what happens next," she whispered. The atmosphere in the room shifted abruptly.

"Let's start at the beginning, shall we?" he said in a low voice, his hands skimming down her sides to rest on her hips. "I'd arrive at your flat to escort you to dinner. You'd be dressed in some fantastic little number that I will want to immediately remove from you, but because I was raised a gentleman, I'll insist we leave to make our dinner reservation."

Hermione bit her lip and leaned in closer. "And then what?"

"Then I'd take you out to the most exclusive restaurant in all of wizarding London, obviously," he drawled. "A private table in the back, of course, we wouldn't want to be disturbed."

"Just how private is this table?" she asked coyly.

"Private enough that should I want to have you straddling my lap while you feed me, that could be arranged with but a few Galleons tossed at the wait staff to sod off for a bit. But alas, I am still a gentleman, so you'd have to settle for being ogled across the table."

Hermione's fingers moved up to play with the hairs at the nape of his neck. "And for dessert?"

Draco grinned. "You would insist that you are simply too full and couldn't possibly eat another bite, but I would counter that we cannot leave until we sample their specialty."

"Which is?"

"Chocolate soufflé, of course." Draco kicked the bedroom door shut behind him. He tightened his grip on Hermione's hips and turned them around, walking her backwards towards the closed door. "And wouldn't you know, but they only left us one spoon to share. I suppose I would be remiss in my duties as a good date if I didn't offer to assist you in tasting."

He had her back against the door now, a few inches of space remaining between their bodies. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly.

"I'd have you entirely at my mercy and I would absolutely delight in spooning an indecent amount of chocolate into that mouth of yours," he said huskily, and moved one of his hands off her hip to thumb at her pouty lower lip.

"Despite my best efforts to be neat, a bit of that chocolate remains on your lips and the side of your mouth. And though I want to lean forward and lick it all off, I'd once again remain the gentleman. Instead, I'm sure you'd dart out that little tongue of yours and I'd be helpless to fantasies of imagining that tongue doing things to me, not just lapping up chocolate."

Draco felt her breath stutter as he moved his hand from her lips and upwards to palm the curve of her face. Her bright eyes were brimming with anticipation.

"Is that it then? Does our night end right after dessert?" she whispered. Draco bit his lip and leant his head down further, a few of his platinum locks falling forward to just brush her forehead.

"Of course not Granger, I've got to escort you home, haven't I?"

Draco saw her eyes darken and wondered if she could see the lust reflected in his own. "I'd be so, so, sorely tempted to persuade you to invite me inside," he whispered. "But Hermione Granger is not the type of woman to invite a man inside after the first date. Instead I shall have to settle for a kiss worthy enough to get you to agree to a second date."

He finally closed the distance between them, gently pressing his lips to hers and parting them slowly. He brought his hands up to rest them in her soft hair and met her movement as she angled her head to deepen the kiss. Draco felt her rise up on her tip toes to press herself closer, emboldening him to tighten his hold and slide his tongue into her mouth. She tasted of a bliss that he'd been chasing his whole life and the euphoria of finally touching her, holding her, tasting her, settled the anxious beating of his heart.

And it was this, he thought, this charged energy between him and Hermione that no book, let alone a book on bloody courting customs, could ever properly capture. This type of connection between two people wasn't brokered by mindlessly following a rigid set of rules. Nowhere in that offensive text did it describe the sublime feeling of Hermione's lips pillowing beneath his own, of her silken tongue grazing his, of her small hands gripping his hair gently and anchoring him to the earth. It didn't detail how it warmed him when she praised him at work, or how his abdomen clenched when their eyes met as they discussed or argued over the proper procedure for curse containment… no, Draco was quite sure no book existed in the universe that could detail that unreserved joy to be had in succumbing to a mutual attraction unencumbered by parental or societal expectations.

Draco pulled away slowly, resisting the temptation to take things further than Hermione was ready for. She had an impish grin on her face but then to his surprise, she let out a disappointed sigh.

"So close. Pity Malfoy, I really wanted to give our first date an Outstanding but unfortunately you'll have to settle for an Exceeds Expectations."

He frowned, puzzled. "What did I get wrong?"

"I am absolutely the type of woman to invite a man inside."

They shared momentary wicked grins before Draco crushed his lips to hers and backed her against the door with his full weight. No curve went untouched, no part of her neck un-kissed, as Draco gave into his baser urges to feel and taste every inch of Hermione within reach. The witch in his arms matched his enthusiasm, thoroughly wrecking his carefully coiffed hair and shamelessly grinding her hips against his.

They only parted long enough for Draco to shuck his robes and shirt, Hermione following suit as she pulled her ratty jumper over her head. He experienced a pleasant surprise at the fact that Hermione wasn't wearing a bra underneath, and suddenly found himself with a topless woman planting open-mouthed kisses along his collarbone.

"Gods, but I do love a modern witch," he groaned, his hands wantonly caressing her bare breasts and inciting delightful moans from her.

"I'll show you modern," she replied huskily and pushed him back toward the bed. She immediately took charge of undressing both of them and climbing atop him. Draco reached down between them, intent on priming her fully, but Hermione batted his hand away.

"Next time," she said and Draco's breathing stuttered as the realization sunk in that Hermione wanted to do this again, not just use him for a one-off.

"Fuck, Granger," he hissed as she gripped his erection in hand to line him up properly and slid herself down onto him. "You've no idea how much I've wanted this," he said through clenched teeth.

"Ditto," she breathed and then both of them became rather incoherent as she rocked her hips up and down.

Draco truly had no idea that seeking out Hermione to apologize on behalf of the insane women in their lives would lead to him buried deep in her tight, wet heat, but suffice it to say, he was not going to complain about this extraordinary turn of events.

When both had achieved release, Draco gathered her spent form close and pressed light kisses to her temple and hair. Now that the cards were on the table, he couldn't stop himself from showering her with all the affection he'd been holding in for months. Hermione snuggled into his side, alternately stroking his chest and peppering his neck and shoulder with her own kisses.

Draco had no idea how long they remained in this blissful state, but he knew his lunch break was long over and he had no intention of returning to the office.

"So Granger," he drawled. "Free for dinner this evening?"

He felt Hermione sigh as she nuzzled the side of his neck. "I suppose we can take a long enough break to order in some food."

Draco chuckled at her forwardness. "Shall we take this to my place or yours? I doubt Potter would be overly pleased to come home and find us still shagging in his guest room."

"We can go to mine, I'll let Harry and Gin know I'm all right."

Once they'd dressed and Hermione wrote a quick note for the Potters, Draco held his hand out for her to take.

"Ready?"

"Yes, let's… oh wait!"

She dashed back to the other side of the bed and picked Courting Customs Most Sacred up from the floor. Draco couldn't help but scoff. "I know you're loathe to ever disrespect a book, but you should bin that thing. In fact, if this works out between us, we should have a ceremonial burning."

Hermione beamed at him and shook her head. She looked down at the old tome fondly.

"If this works out between us, I'm putting this front and center on our mantle."

Eight months later

Pansy stared curiously at the cream envelope that had just been unceremoniously dropped in her lap. The delivery owl took flight immediately, not bothering to wait around for her to open it or respond. Silver letter opener in hand, she made to slice the top, but her sharp tool met stiff resistance. Black curling letters appeared across the front.

This letter may only be opened in the presence of Narcissa Malfoy.

When she stepped through the Floo of Malfoy Manor minutes later, she was greeted by Narcissa herself, also clutching an envelope. "Did you get—?" Narcissa approached her and reached for Pansy's envelope. When her hand touched the letter, it floated out of both their grasps and hovered in the air in front of them.

The letter unfurled itself slowly and Pansy recognized Draco's elegant handwriting as it appeared along the pages, as if an invisible quill were writing in real time.

"Dear Pansy and Mother,

We trust this letter finds you well. Consider this a long overdue thank you note from Granger and myself. Apologies, that last statement is no longer factually accurate. This is a thank you note from Mrs. Granger-Malfoy and myself. Contrary to what is written in Chapter 8 of Courting Customs Most Sacred, Hermione has hyphenated her married name instead of solely adopting the surname of her husband. While I'm still rather put off that you two conspired to interfere with my romantic prospects, my lovely wife has urged me to concede that your hearts were in the right place and that we do in fact owe you some gratitude in helping us to recognize our feelings for one another. Please don't be too angry with us when we tell you we've flouted another custom and eloped on our holiday in Switzerland. I'm very aware this type of marriage ceremony flies directly in the face of the entirety of Chapter 10. We're extending our trip by another week so as to have a proper, private honeymoon.

Love from,

Draco and Hermione"

Pansy glanced uneasily at Narcissa to see how the older witch would take the news that she'd been deprived of throwing a ridiculously lavish nuptial affair for her only child. To her surprise, the Malfoy matriarch was holding a trembling hand over her smiling mouth, happy tears pricking her eyes.

"Let's open yours now," Pansy urged softly and touched her finger to Narcissa's letter.

Instead of flowing words, a small black and white photo emerged to float in front of them. When Pansy realized what she was seeing, she had happy tears of her own.

"Oh… oh how wonderful!" Pansy exclaimed and heard a soft gasp from Narcissa.

The short caption was in Hermione's neat script:

"Please see the enclosed photographic evidence of our latest rebellion against that rubbish text. She's due to arrive in 6 months and we're seriously considering naming her Apollonia."

FIN

A/N: Thanks for reading! I'm a long-time reader of D/Hr stories, so thank you to anyone who gave my first published story even a passing glance. I have several one-shots, short multi-chapter stories, as well as one gigantic novel-length fic in the works for this pairing, so stay tuned if you enjoyed this one!