“The bottom line is that we never fall for the people we're supposed to.”

- Jodi Picoult, My Sister's Keeper

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Draco had met Granger’s parents on three accounts. The first time must have been around December, just before Christmas. He had been home alone, bored to death with no one being around to annoy but that feline of hers, when there was a tap on the door.

He’d answered it grudgingly; half thinking that it would be one of her idiotic Gryffindor friends. Instead, it turned out to be a woman around her forties. Her brown hair was wavy and short, stopping a little below her ears; she had kind blue eyes, freckles on her nose and was holding a bowl of pasta salad.

When she’d lifted her gaze to Draco, her smile faltered. It had, naturally, been an awkward moment. What other conclusion could she draw, seeing a man still in his pyjamas with badly messy hair answering the door of her daughter’s flat? He had reassured her quickly that that was not the case, and had came up with the lie that Granger and him were old school friends living temporarily together.

Apparently, Hermione had inherited her genius from her mother, because this tale had only fooled Mrs. Granger for a few seconds. She must have recognised his trademark platinum hair thanks to Granger mentioning it at some point, and when she heard the term ‘school friends’ uttered stiffly, made the connection as to who Draco just was.

“You must be that Malfoy boy. Sorry if this sounds rude, but I thought you two never got on?” she had asked suspiciously.

Thankfully that was when Hermione came back alone from her shopping spree with Pansy. She’d hastened to tell her mother that they had both ‘grown up’ and ‘put aside their differences’ and now considered each other to be ‘really good friends’. At that time, Draco had had to cough so as cover up the laugh that escaped him, but maybe Hermione was a better liar than he gave her credit for, because Mrs. Granger accepted the lie and had then proceeded to give Hermione the pasta salad she’d brought over.

They’d ate it for lunch, and Draco found that the woman was not so bad. But it was only when he offered to help her wash up did Mrs. Granger warm up to him, becoming increasingly amused when he asked her (quietly so Granger would not hear) for her pasta salad recipe.

The second time her mother came by, it was with Granger’s father for dinner. He had Granger’s eyes and nose, his hair much darker than that of his daughter’s or wife, and at first was very quiet. The man had been hard to talk to and much more warier than his wife, but Draco supposed any father in his position would be. He grunted when asked questions and kept glancing at Draco from the corner of his eye. Mr. Granger’s resolve only broke when Hermione asked about work and he told a story that Draco could no longer remember but knew it to be funny in that cynical way. Only he and Draco found it funny. Maybe it was one of those things men only found amusing, but Mr. Granger, through his laughter, proceeded to tell Draco another story, and by the end of dinner they were both laughing as though they had been friends for years.

And now, this was the third time Draco had met Thomas and Alice Granger. They stayed for lunch this time and the atmosphere at the table was relaxed and humble. They shared stories about their days and made lame jokes and poked fun at each other; it was sort of how he always imagined a family dinner to be like but had never had the pleasure to experience himself. But the Grangers had this way about them that somehow made you feel included and wanted, as though you actually belonged there when everybody knew you didn’t.

Draco had no trouble pretending, and he laughed and joked with them until their plates were clean. He cleared the table and placed all the dirty dishes near the sink, where Mrs. Granger was running the hot water.

Draco handed her the dishwashing detergent. She smiled in thanks and did a quick glance over at Hermione and her father, who were moving to the sofa to watch the feetball (or was it football, he could never remember).

“You know,” Alice said after the sink was filled, “I’m glad you and Hermione have put aside your differences.” Draco handed her a plate. “I remember during, oh, it must have been around her first and second years at Hogwarts. She came home for holidays and by god did she complain. It was always Malfoy this, Malfoy that, or ‘stupid Malfoy’ and ‘can’t let him get higher grades’ and ‘won’t stop provoking Harry or Ron’.”

Draco smiled to himself. He could just picture a twelve-year-old Granger venting out her frustration to her parents. “I used to do that too,” he admitted. “I’d come home and whinge about her and her impossible brains and bushy hair.” Draco paused as he reached for knives and forks and handed them over. “I actually don’t think there was even a seat in the classroom I could sit in without her hair obscuring my view in some way,” he added as an after thought, and she laughed good-naturedly.

“And yet, here you are.”

Draco nodded. “Here we are.”

They settled into silence, broken only by the dishes being scrubbed and Granger and her father’s voices drifting from the living room.

“I hear you’re leaving soon,” Alice said without looking up from the soapy water in the sink.

“Yeah.” Draco moved to pick up a tea towel and began drying up.

“Am I allowed to ask why?”

He shrugged to appear nonplussed. “Nothing unusual, really. We need to move our separate ways. Hermione’s got her work and I’ve got my own life, and it’s… it’s something that should be done.”

Alice nodded, then her expression turned thoughtful as she asked, “Do you want to leave?”

The question threw him off guard for a moment, and his attention had switched to Granger automatically. He watched her laugh at something her father said, and Draco answered without having to think.

“No.”

It was not something he would ever tell anyone else, but he somehow felt Mrs. Granger would not exploit this knowledge.

“Then why leave?” She looked where Draco was, at the oblivious Hermione. “Why not stay?” 

“I can’t. It’s – it’s not that simple.”

“But it is,” she corrected. “You want to stay, and I know Hermione wants you to too. What’s so complex about that?” 

Draco hesitated, and gave her part of the truth. “Weasley.”

Realisation dawned on her. “Ah. Ronald.”

“Yeah. Him.”

Alice did not speak for a long time, resuming her washing. “She loves him,” she said at last.

“I know.” He did not need to be reminded.

“When she’s with Ron she’s the daughter we’ve always known. Logical. Reasonable. Kind. Polite. Considerate. She keeps him on the straight and narrow; he makes her laugh. They complete each other, I guess you could say. But…” She paused, pursing her lips. “When she’s around you, she’s different. Suddenly, Hermione’s this person we haven’t seen before. She makes jokes. She doesn’t think things through. She’ll say whatever comes to mind. More reckless. And I find that very interesting. That you can bring out a side in her no one’s ever seen.”

“It sounds like you pay close attention to this sort of stuff,” he remarked, having no idea what else to say.

“No, I just notice what makes my daughter happy.” Mrs. Granger emptied the sink and faced him. “And the way I see it, Draco, is you’re either the best thing for her, or the worst.”

***

“No, no, no! Your other left!”

“This is my other left, fool!”

“Ugh. Draco, I swear you’re not even trying anymore.”

“I am! It’s just a tad difficult to concentrate when someone over there won’t shut up!” Draco scowled over at Granger as he said this, who was on the sofa and giggling shamelessly at the sight of him and Blaise.

Yesterday, the letter unnecessarily announcing the upcoming Sixth Month Ball had arrived. It had been Granger who suggested they brush up on their dancing skills, and it had been Blaise to jump straight to the opportunity to teach them.

Today the lesions had begun. Granger was first. She was not overly brilliant, but had improved a lot since six months ago when Draco had walked in to find exactly the same scene. For some reason as he watched the two practise, the ludicrous notion that he could do better entered his mind, and he told her so. She looked as though she wanted to say something to that, more probably snap at him, but seconds later a thoughtful smirk had crossed her face, and she told him to prove it.

Hence why Draco was now clumsily dancing with Blaise while being laughed at. He was sincerely regretting having ever opened his mouth now.

“Okay,” Blaise said loudly, dropping his hands from Draco and stepping away. “Take a seat beside Hermione. I’ll show the both of you by myself.”

Grouchily, Draco flopped himself down on the sofa. Only Granger’s constant laughter pushed him over the edge, and before he could think to stop the childish impulse he had shoved her off the lounge. Except, Draco had not been prepared for her to grab onto his sleeve and drag him right down with her.

Together, they fell flat on their bums, and for a moment they stared at each other, all three of them. Then Hermione bust out into another fit of laughter, Blaise also unable to contain himself, and even Draco eventually allowed a smile.

Granger moved to get back up, then stopped, laughter dying in her throat as she caught sight of something on the ground between them. Draco followed her gaze to the velvet box that had evidently fallen from his pocket. There was no mistaking what it was.

It had been Blaise’s idea to get the wedding ring. Something Draco knew he had to do but also knew he could never bring himself to do it on his own. He had picked out the most typical and traditional and expensive ring, knowing that that was what Natalie would prefer; gold with a large diamond in the centre. 

He had not mentioned this trip to Granger, and he cursed inwardly for not putting the box away in his room sooner.

Blaise was silent now too – they all were. She glanced up from the little box to Draco, all humour void from her face. It was not so funny anymore.

***

“Pansy, I really don’t know about this –”

“Oh, come on, Hermione. This is your last Sixth Month Ball.”

“Yes, but the prices here are so… are so…”

“So what?”

“Expensive!” she burst out in a heated whisper, glancing cautiously at the cashier.

Pansy fixed her with that ‘you’re being a prude’ stare. “It’s not like you go gown shopping everyday.”

“I’m only ever going to wear it once!” she protested. “What’s the point? Can’t I wear what I did last ball?”

She grabbed Hermione’s arm, looking scandalised. “Have you lost your marbles?” she demanded. “That’s like fashion suicide!”

Hermione huffed, looking at the nearest rack of dresses. “It’s not as though they’ll remember what I wore the first time anyhow.”

Pansy shook her head. “Nope. Trust me, they will.”

“But how? There were hundreds of dresses –”

“Look, I don’t know how they do it. Sometimes I question whether they’re even human, but someone will notice.”

Again, Hermione huffed. “Fine, but lets find you a dress first, okay?”

As it turned out, Pansy was much fussier with dress picking than the first time they’d gone together. Part of it was, as she kept insisting, because they had waited too long for shopping and therefore all the best dresses and sizes were gone. The other part was due to her baby bump.

It was not noticeable, really, with Pansy only being around two months pregnant. But she had moved up a few sizes, and apparently ball gowns for pregnant women was something yet to be invented – at least for this store, anyway.

So both women spent a good forty minutes searching for the right dress that, not only was the right colour and one Pansy liked, but also one that wouldn’t apply too much pressure on her belly.

Finally, as Hermione pulled out a particular stunning emerald dress, Pansy let out a shriek of delight and snatched the dress from her.

“Oh, Hermione it’s perfect!”

She dashed into the changing rooms, Hermione trailing behind, and after five minutes of rustling and pulling from inside, Pansy stepped out and did a little spin.   

The straps of the dress were sparkly and gold; the neckline was low and round, showing off the tops of her breasts; underneath her chest, the same sparkly gold used for the straps fastened into a bow, leaving the rest of the grown to hang gracefully, ending only at her ankles.

“Yes? No?” Pansy asked uncertainly.

Hermione stopped gawking at the beautiful dress and looked back up. “You’re a vision, Pansy. Absolutely gorgeous.” 

She smiled and lifted the hem up, rubbing the green fabric between her fingers. Her other hand went to her stomach, smoothing down the material so her baby belly was no longer hidden. Pansy turned to the side in the mirror behind her, looked intently at her small bump. Through all this, her smile never left her face, though it did soften somewhat.

“I’m going to keep this baby,” she said clearly, no waver or unsureness in her tone. “I told Blaise the other day.”

“What’d he say?” Hermione asked quietly.

Pansy turned around to Hermione again. “He said he wanted to keep it too, that he had for a while now, only he wasn’t sure how to tell me. But you know what I’m like. When I want something, I say it. And I said it, and he agreed.”

Her eyes watered. Hermione blinked the happy tears back furiously.

“We’re going to be parents,” Pansy said after a pause, half to herself.

“You’re going to be wonderful, I just know it.”

“Oh god, Granger,” she said, noticing the thickness of her voice. “Don’t you dare start crying, because if you do, I will, and if I do, my mascara’s going to be all over the place. Do you really want that on your conscience?”

She laughed and shook her head, getting a grip on herself. “Of course not. Sorry. Should we… you know, find my dress now?”

Pansy gave Hermione a grin that did little reassure her, went in the changing room to change back, then, with her dress draped over her arm, pulled Hermione along behind her as she searched through racks and racks of garments. Again, it took them about another forty minutes, if only because neither of them could agree on anything. Everything Pansy picked out was too revealing, everything Hermione chose was ‘fit for a nunnery’, as her Slytherin friend put it.  

Then, as they were both digging through the same rack, something caught Hermione’s attention. She grabbed it and tried to pull it free as gently as possible, only something was preventing her to pry the gown free. She glanced up and found Pansy was having a very similar problem, followed down her arm to her hand and realised that they were both trying to take the same dress.

Pansy saw this the same time Hermione did. She gave a breathy laugh and let go, allowing Hermione to take the dress herself. She held it up in front of them, and both gaped.

The gown was a faded, soft red. Strapless, the neckline was heart-shaped, and, unlike Pansy’s dress, the material around the bust down to the hips would cling to the wearer; a pearl here and a pearl there was stitched into the fabric around the torso, then, at the end of the clingy material, the dress flared out in layers, barely touching the ground, and at the right hip were two roses, one big and one small.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” asked Pansy beside her, and the sound of her voice startled Hermione out of her reverie. “Go and try it on before I do!” 

Quickly, she headed to the changing rooms, stripped, zipped down the back and slipped into it effortlessly. As she had predicted, the top part clung to her breasts and stomach. She turned sideways like Pansy earlier in the mirror. No bump, save for the two prominent on her chest. She bit her lip in thought, had only begun worrying that perhaps it was too clingy when Pansy, manifestly bored of waiting, stuck her head under the door.

“You done?”

Hermione gasped. “Pansy!”

“Hurry up and show me, then!”

The moment her head disappeared, Hermione unlocked the door and (gingerly) stepped out. She fiddled with her hair nervously as Pansy looked her over.

She let out a low whistle. “Gotta say, Granger. You sure clean up mighty fine.”

“I don’t know, Pansy… this is going to cost a fortune. And it shows off my…” she searched for the right word, “assets.”

Hermione frowned as Pansy broke out into laughter. “Christ, Granger. You really are one of a kind.”  

She went back into the dressing room to change back into her old clothes and also draped her gown over her arm. Hermione decided that she would buy the dress, damn the expenses, because she thought every girl deserved to have at least one stunning dress in her wardrobe.

As she and Pansy headed down the street, shopping bags dangling precariously by their fingertips, she turned to ask if she’d like lunch now or later. Only the question never made it out loud. Pansy’s face was suddenly sombre and very far off, which struck Hermione as strange because it had only been moments ago she was laughing at her.

“Something wrong?”

Pansy’s head jerked up as if just remembering her presence. “No…” she answered slowly. “But I’ve been thinking…”

“Yeah?” she inquired when Pansy did not elaborate.

Pansy stopped in the middle of the street so people were forced to walk around them. “You do realise, don’t you, that the end is drawing near? That this will all really be over?”

“Of course I realise,” Hermione said shortly, but at the words her brain had already put up a barrier, shielding her from things she could not afford to think about.

She tried to start walking again, but Pansy grabbed her shoulder. “No, I don’t think you do realise. Draco’s going to be engaged within a week.”

The shield went up higher. “I know.”

Pansy looked at her for a long time, as though trying to say something without knowing whether she should. “Engaged to somebody else, Hermione,” she said, speaking each word clear. “Is there anything you feel you should, I don’t know, do before that happens?” 

Hermione stared back levelly. She understood what Pansy was trying to convey across, only she didn’t understand why. Pansy knew that even if Hermione wanted to stop the engagement, she couldn’t. The vow was he had to get engaged to Ophelia Hopkins, and that was how it would be. She had to accept that and could not delude herself into thinking there was a way around it, because there wasn’t.

“No,” she said. “There’s nothing I can do.”  

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Next chapter; the start of the ball, and then Draco and Hermione get a tip from an unexpected source to run away. Temporarily, obviously, they have to go back. But they kind of have a date *squeals in excitement*

“Natalie’s announcement concerning you and Ophelia will be at 8pm, Draco. That gives you two hours to… If there’s anything the two of you feel you should do within that time, I suggest you do it.”

~

I've been meaning to have Hermione's parents in this for AGES, only something else always got in the way. So I hope you liked this little introduction of them.

And thank you all for telling me where that quote, 'you're either the best thing for her, or the worst' is from. I actually don't want Vampire Diaries nor have I ever seen an episode, but I knew I had heard that line from somewhere.