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Summary:

Hermione Granger thinks that she's read up enough on proper etiquette and is eager to display her skills to her longtime crush, but there seems to be some key differences of proper decorum in the wizarding world from her Muggle comportment classes.

Notes:

Prompt:

 

Everyone goes by their first names; only use surnames in intimate moments.

[I tweaked this a little, so this is my interpretation of this idea!]

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

“This is Crabbe, and that’s Goyle,” the platinum-haired boy stated; his smug grin drawing her eye. “And I’m Malfoy,” he declared before adding, “Draco Malfoy.”

Hermione Granger blinked quickly, sighing softly as she looked up at the boy wizard. Ever since she had discovered she wasn’t weird, that she simply had magic and belonged to another world, her life felt like it was finally on the right track. That track was the one embarked on at Platform 9 ¾, and then followed all along from bustling London to the serenity of the Scottish Highlands; to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  

The whole castle exuded magic, and all of the people around them were magic, and the beautiful blond wizard towards the top of the staircase was magic.

“You’ll soon realize that some wizarding families are better than others, Potter,” the same boy wizard said in a carefully delivered replied; Hermione having missed much of the rest of his interaction with the others at the front of the group of first years. His tone, his posture, the way he presented himself reminded her of all of those documentaries Hermione had studied about the royal family, having been so utterly enchanted by Princess Diana and her commitment to helping those without a voice.

At the peak of her obsession, she had requested every book her library held on the royal family, and even asked her parents for etiquette and ballet classes, so she could be just like the royal princess one day. Maybe then she’d fit in - though a disastrous haircut that did nothing for her curly mane must’ve dampened those odds, she had reasoned at the time.

However, when Professor McGonagall arrived with a formal acceptance letter to Hogwarts over the past summer, all of Hermione’s worries finally ebbed.

Now that she stood here, finally with her equals – witches and wizards that had magic just like her! – she was a mix of contentment while also thrumming with excitement, and although he seemed a little haughty about it, she suspected that this Draco Malfoy was similar to the gentry and royalty of her parents’ world, of her world, or perhaps her old world?

Hermione couldn’t wait to impress him with everything she’d been studying the last couple of years, and then they could study various fields of magic, together.

 

. . .

 

“He—Hello,” a shy voice whispered.

Draco Malfoy loathed being interrupted during his studies, and he would avoid the Hogwarts’ library entirely if it weren’t a ridiculous notion to owl books back and forth from the manor each day. Hogwarts’ collection was . . . fine, though his father said they had some unsavory texts on the shelves, books that were somehow worse than the darker texts his father collected, though Draco never got more of an explanation. One day, when you are older and can better understand, Draco, he’d say; just remember that you are a Malfoy, you’re a Black, you’re a pureblood, and being a wizard is as much your destiny as it is your duty.

Draco took his sacred responsibility to heart and surrounded himself with like-minded peers with the same heritage as him.

Finishing his last line, he pulled his quill up from his parchment to eye the rude person distracting him from completing his Potions essay, and found the curly-haired Gryffindor swot that seemed to know the entire lesson plan for each of their professors. She’d also been quite impressive with the Leviosa Charm in Professor Flitwick’s class.

He’d been meaning to better meet her acquaintance, but the blurring start of their first year, along with the inherent gravity to friendships within his own House. meant they’d only seen each other in passing.

“Good afternoon,” he stated smoothly, standing to greet her. When she offered her hand her hand a moment later, he accepted it with a firm handshake that had her smile breaking wide. “You are Hermione Granger, correct?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Pleasure to meet you, Granger. My name is Draco Malfoy.” He looked over to the study table that had seats for four, with his books just starting to spill over into the placement across from him. This would be a good test of her adherence to proper decorum - something that seemed to be sorely lacking in much of their fellow pureblood batchmates. “You’ve been an impressive force in our mutual classes. Would you like to join me? I’m working on my essay for Potions.”

“Of course. Thank you,” she replied simply, moving towards the seat that would look occupied to many plebians in this old castle – as his father usually bemoaned, Hogwarts let any old riffraff in these days – and politely waited to set down her belongings until he cleared the space for her. He did so promptly, and then pulled her seat out for her, which seemed to bring a blush to her already rosy cheeks.

They studied quietly for a while, with him chancing a couple of glances at her. Finally, he just had to ask.

“Why do you not style your hair for classes,” he asked without thinking, wincing internally when he thought of the way his mother would admonish him for asking a young witch such a question.

“Oh, well I haven’t quite found a new routine here. I think it’s something to do with the amount of magic in the castle, perhaps the ley lines?” She subconsciously batted her frizzy curls.

“Ah, you’re in between Potion regiments,” he offered, nodding along. “Yes, the humidity of the dungeons has caused something of a problem for my own hair, so I’ve had to double or even triple the amount of Sleekeazy’s to get the same look I perfected over the summer.” His mother had assured him that he looked rather handsome with his hair slicked back for a gala several months ago, so he decided to do his hair like that every day.

“You do look rather handsome,” she replied in a whisper, before turning beet red. He found it amusing and a little sweet.

“Thank you,” he inclined his head. “So, from which branch of the Grangers are you?”

“Pardon?”

“I assume you are related to the great Potioneer Dagworth-Granger, yes? Is he from your direct family line, or are you are little more removed?”

“Oh,” she replied, furrowing her brow. “I-I don’t know. I’ve never heard of him.”

“Never heard of him? Well, how can that be possible?”

She shrugged, smiling nervously. “This is still all so new to me, but if you know of a book about him, I would love to do some research! Perhaps my family has had magic from even before me.”

Draco’s smile twitched as he contemplated her response.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

“Ah, I would think Madam Pince might be helpful in locating texts on his contributions to the greater wizarding society. I did just remember that I have something to tend to before dinner,” he said as he began gathering up his books and supplies. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Hermione.”

Draco stood up from their shared table and politely inclined his head towards her. She grinned widely, and bid him farewell as his feet almost tripped over each other, hurrying away before someone could see him willing talking to her outside of necessity.

 

. . .

 

Hermione absolutely loved everything about attending Hogwarts. There was so much to do – like a dueling club, actually there were clubs for each of her classes: a choir featuring toads, intramural Quidditch, Home and Hearth to learn basic spells and potions for a functional household – and then so much magic to unearth – she had joined Hogwarts Explorers her first year, thanks to her reading of Bathilda Bagshot’s finest work, and spent much of her free time perusing the stacks of the library – but being a part of Gryffindor House is what really helped her to find friends of all kinds. True, not many were as studious as her, and she often had to switch study partners for her various classes if she wanted someone that could keep up with her instead of simply having her look over their assignment the morning of, but she enjoyed the comradery that she shared with her housemates trying to earn the house cup via points in class and wins out on the Quidditch pitch (even if the sport was completely barbaric).

They were halfway through the last term’s exam week of third year, and she was looking forward to the summer she had planned: Exploring the Alsace and Lorraine regions of France with her parents, two weeks at the Ministry of Magic junior shadowing the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and then a few weeks spent at the Burrow while they attended the 422nd Quidditch World Cup before the start of their fourth year.

After telling her friends that she’d see them at dinner, she began packing up her study materials, planning on taking a stroll outside for some much-needed fresh air.

She’d not notice Draco Malfoy sitting at a table on the other side of the library when she entered, though to be fair, that had been a while ago, but it looked like he was getting ready to leave as well.

Unfortunately, she’d only gotten to admire him from afar the last few years, as the divide and rivalry between their two houses – moreso than between the four houses as a whole – added to the difficulty of spending time together, though it was all in good fun, she found. Gryffindors and Slytherins riling each other up before a game or while waiting for classes to start was a fantastic way to keep everyone on their toes. It also seemed to make her more friends in her own house when she often knew the answer to their professors’ questions during lecture.

Draco was always perfectly polite, and kind, if not vague, whenever they got to share a couple of words, but it was hardly anything like a real conversation.

Maybe next year she’d need to switch up some of her extra-curriculars so that they could have some time together outside of class. He was always flanked by his friends – almost all of them Slytherins – which made him hard to approach, but whenever she caught his eye, she knew her face flushed pink without her meaning it to.

Especially when he called her Hermione.

It was so personal, and intimate, she found, and he never even called his housemates by their first names, from what she could tell. He even called Harry and Ron by their last names; probably owing to the house rivalry.

She was sure that if they got the opportunity to get to know one another better, they could be great friends. Or even something more, a small voice whispered to her, making her blush.

Blinking, she looked around and saw that he was exiting through the large double doors and rushed after him. He’d had a growth spurt over the last few months, made more evident by his seriously lengthened stride, so it took a moment before she could catch up to him and his two friends, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.

It wouldn’t be proper to holler at him through the corridors, though rushing at this pace like she’d overslept her morning classes was rather uncouth. Hermione paused at a large standing stone near the lake to take a breath, and heard him laughing with his friends as they skipped stones across the lake’s still surface.

Breathe, she told herself. Just wish him a happy birthday, and maybe see if he’d like to go on a walk.

Hermione nodded to herself, summoning that Gryffindor courage that the Sorting Hat had seen in her as she pulled the small wrapped parcel from her pocket, and moved around the standing stone to join them by the shore.

“Hello,” she greeted, not letting their shocked expressions at her arrival weaken her courage. “H—how are you,” she asked lamely. She probably should’ve practiced what to say, given how nervous she was about this. She’d never given a gift to a boy before; well, there was Ron and Harry at the holidays and their birthdays, but like a boy-boy.

A boy she fancied.

“I’m doing well, Hermione,” he said with a polite but closed smile. “And yourself?”

“I think I switched two of my answers on Professor Snapes’ exam, but I might be misremembering. I tried to ask Harry and Ronald if they recalled what ordered they were asked in, because I’m sure I remember the order I answered, but they haven’t a clue,” she rambled.

One of his friends snickered, but she wasn’t sure which.

Or why, considering they were at the bottom of the class lists for the last couple of years, and likely would be again. Hermione found it odd that Draco didn’t spend as much time with the brighter Slytherins in their year – always favoring his free time with Vincent and Gregory – but perhaps they were just that close and tight knit that it was hard to break up that time with others.

She really could’ve used a study partner like Draco Malfoy this past year, given her heavy course load, but dedicated study time with one person across all of her subjects would’ve easily given away that something was up with her class schedule, so it was fortunate that her study partners varied so much that no one had thought to ask about her strange comings and goings.

“Anyway,” she said, clearing her throat and straightening her shoulders up. Mistress Belfroid always emphasized the importance of good posture, stating that it was best for your health, best for your appearance, and best for boosting your confidence. “I got a gift for you,” Hermione said, holding out the small parcel with a special selection of decadent Muggle chocolates inside. She’d been conferring with her mother via owl for the last month, stating that she’d happily use up her summer allowance to buy him something truly special, and much different than what she’d been seeing in the local wizarding town. Draco had such a strong sweet tooth, and she was sure that he’d enjoy these as well. “Happy Birthday, Draco,” she said clearly, though she wasn’t able to suppress the blush that bloomed on her cheeks.

He stared at her.

Just . . . stared at her.

And then his friends burst out laughing.

Her arm grew tired as she continued to hold out the wrapped present.

And he never reached for it.

“Malfoy, it looks like you have a girlfriend,” Gregory Goyle howled with laughter.

Draco’s ears turned pink.

“Yeah, Malfoy,” added Vincent Crabbe, “wait until your father hears about your little Mudblood girlfriend.”

Draco’s face turned red, and he immediately turned from her to face his friend.

What did you just say?” he hissed. Hermione dropped her hand, holding the small box close to her torso as the horrible word just said began to sweep over her, threatening to drown her as if a Grindylow had popped up and pulled her to the bottom of the lake.

He is defending you, she said to herself. Deep breaths. You are a Gryffindor. Don’t let the word get to you.

But then Draco Malfoy continued speaking.

“You know that we aren’t allowed to say words like that out in public. Should I owl your mother, explaining what her foolhardy son is spouting off in mixed company?”

“You—you believe that old tripe?” she asked, her voice a low whisper. He probably confused it for being meek, but a wise man would see the approaching storm and the anger stewing rapidly.

“It’s not something talked about,” he began, looking like he was carefully choosing his words, as if this might come back to look bad on him. As if the way he addressed situation would be criticized, instead of the foul opinion he might espouse. “I suppose I should thank you for the well wishes, but I’m not sure why you’d bother getting me a gift. We aren’t friends, Hermione.”

“But—but you call me Hermione,” she pleaded, wondering where it all went wrong; what had she missed?

“Your family name is of no importance,” he offered easily with a smug crossing of his arms, like he held the high ground. “Of course I call you Hermione. Can’t go around saying the name of a filthy Muggle family.”

Her anger boiled over as she unconsciously dropped the little chocolates, her fist tightening as she pulled it back and slung it forward, colliding with his jaw. Luckily, her father had thought that self-defense (and this was her honor, so it really was self-defense) was just as important as fine etiquette, so she no longer tucked her thumb into her fist like she did as a little girl.

Draco Malfoy – apparently, and henceforth – stumbled backwards, falling into the lake. His once alabaster face was pink with embarrassment, his left cheek and jaw would soon sport a triumphant bruise, and he was utterly soaked with algae and lake water.

“I’ll be gifting your present to the Hogwarts’ Elves, Malfoy,” she said a dangerous whisper. “They are much better company than a foul and loathsome little cockroach like you.”

She turned abruptly, not caring about the way he sputtered and if it were due to the lake water, indignance over who would be receiving three month’s worth of allowance in fine chocolates, or any level of regret for his actions. Of course, she would hope for the latter as she always had a soft spot for smaller creatures, but she wouldn’t be holding her breath.

 

. . .

 

Draco’s fourth year at Hogwarts was shaping up to be pretty fantastic.

He had felt smug and prideful that the Durmstrang delegation had chosen the Slytherin table for their daily meals, making it easier to meet and befriend the infamous Viktor Krum who represented his country at this year’s Quidditch World Cup whilst still finishing his studies.

It was a helpful distraction, especially from one curly-haired witch that had gone from an acquaintance (and at times nuisance, since he couldn’t be seen talking with someone like her for too long) to an enemy in the span of two minutes and one fist. His whole summer had been filled with distractions to stop thinking about what had happened, and that fact that a young lady such as herself – someone that always properly comported herself – would resort to fisticuffs against someone like him.

He'd certainly never heard of anything like that happening before, and had immediately instituted a gag order with his two bouldering shadows.

Draco had almost convinced himself that he’d practically forgotten about the incident, maybe even forgotten she ever existed – perhaps he was a naturally-born Occlumens and had locked her away in the deep recesses of his mind? – until he crossed paths with her at the World Cup. She looked like she’d gotten some sun, as her freckles seemed a little more visible. Upon that thought, he’d donned a firm scowl for much of the proceeding match.

“Krum,” Draco said, jogging up to meet with him in the courtyard. “I was thinking about heading down to the pitch for a bit. Want to join?”

They probably flew together once or twice a week, and sometimes Draco would let a couple of his friends join in. Krum always had a little fan club that followed him everywhere, so there was always a guaranteed audience if they decided to venture to the school’s pitch.

“Not today, my friend,” he said with a slight smile. “Off to library.”

“Again?” Draco furrowed his brow, tucking his broom in the crook of his elbow. “That’s everyday this week. Surely that dragon didn’t put you off your coursework that much.”

“Vhat can I say?” he grinned broadly. “Vhen in doubt, go to library.”

“Alright . . .” Draco said with a bemused nod. “I’ll catch up with you later, then.”

 

. . .

 

“Oh, look! Parvati Patil is Potter’s date!” Pansy Parkinson squealed as she mentally noted – and verbally announced – all the couples for the Yule Ball. Draco ran a hand over his face, wondering why he took his parents’ suggestion to ask Parkinson of all witches to this dance. She wasn’t even that good of a dancer. He’d know. She stepped on his toes and scuffing his shoes all the time when they were children, so he'd taken to bribing others in their classes to trade partners with him for even one day.

He should’ve just asked a witch from Beauxbaton, but his father thought it best to start cementing ties locally. You are fourteen, Draco. Best start narrowing down your choices.

He huffed, not understanding why he needed to be thinking about marriage when he had only just gotten his first chest hair. It was a single strand, and one would have to be standing in just the right light to notice it, but Draco was proud.

“Has anyone seen Krum?” Nott asked, wrapping his arm around Daphne Greengrass. They’d been practically dating since all their friends were five.

“Not yet, but no one knows who his date is supposed to be, but I heard that several girls asked him recently and he stated that he was already escorting someone,” Parkinson stated, her eyes fanning the crowd to search out her next announcement. “Ooo! Longbottom is here with the littlest Weasley!”

“Hooray,” Draco groaned, wondering if Zabini had convinced his mother to send a care package so that he could drown this entire evening out.

This was going to be his life. Whimsical, illustrious events that offered nothing but boredom.

Boredom, however, would not afflict him this night as the next couple to come through the doors of the Great Hall - and the loud mouth of one Pansy Parkinson - would draw him up from his slouching position.

“Her—Hermione is here, with Krum!”

Their entire group snapped their attention to the militant dress robes of the famed Bulgarian Seeker and Triwizard champion; his arm gracefully leading the most incandescent witch he’d ever seen.

“I’m never seen dress robes like that before,” Parkinson stated.

“I don’t think they are,” said Greengrass. “Probably something Muggle.”

“Yeah,” his group all said in unison, him only slightly delayed as his eyes and focus followed her.

And follow her they did, all through the night from the opening dance by the champions and their dates through the series of dances that had Draco casting a protective Charm on his shoes and narrowly a Notice-Me-Not Charm on the witch in floaty periwinkle.

He dropped out of many dances, citing thirst, hunger, sore feet (actually true!), and anything else if it would get Parkinson to beg off, but she eventually got fed up and asked him what was going on.

“It’s nothing,” Draco said, throwing out the excuse of exhaustion. At this point he was, considering the mental strain of the last few hours. Parkinson was unconvinced, and followed him out of the Great Hall, shouting at him as if they’d not both had their hands switched by Madame Saubestre growing up.

“You asked me to this dance, Malfoy! I had other wizards asking me, but I turned them all down for you!”

“I apologize for the inconvenience, Parkinson,” he hissed, hating how many people were tuning into their conversation now.

“Just tell me what is going on! You’ve been acting weird all summer, and I finally thought that I’d gain your attention, but it’s been erratic all night!”

He closed the distance between them, momentarily lowering his voice to a growl. “You want to know what's the problem?” Draco’s eyes bounced between both of hers, a sneer on his face. “I’m trying to figure out why Viktor is here as Granger’s date!”

Notes:

Thank you for reading ❤️