Archive of Our Own

"Pardon," Pip squeaked, interrupting the Master and Mistress, "but Master's father is here. He waits in the lounge." The house elf stood in the doorway of the small, but cozy, library, wringing his hands and waiting for his master's acknowledgement. All the while he tried to keep his eyes averted from the sofa where the master and mistress were.

Draco reluctantly pulled back from a heated kiss with his new wife and bit back a groan of frustration. Chancing a glance at Astoria, he could see she was equally put out about their guest's arrival. He turned to Pip and dismissed the poor house-elf with a curt nod and instructions to prepare refreshments for his father. Once the house-elf was gone, Draco reached for her hand, drawing it up towards him, turning her palm to cup his cheek as he kissed the inside of her wrist.

"I'm sorry, love. Really, I am," he apologized gently.

Astoria sighed. "I know, Draco, but isn't it a bit much? He stopped by a couple of days ago at another such inopportune moment."

"I know," he replied. "I've never known him to behave thus - stopping in unannounced so often and the like; he never did before we were married. It's rather odd."

"You've also never known him when he's been grieving, have you, Draco?" Astoria moved her hand, staying Draco's reply before it began. "I know your parents weren't the best example of a loving and affectionate marriage but he likely misses her presence. He's been quite withdrawn in the years since she passed away, you know. Our marriage probably makes him nostalgic for the early days of his time married to Narcissa."

Draco listened as she made a point he had yet to consider in the time since his mother's death from the after-effects of the Dark Lord's punishment curses. Taking Astoria's hands in his he gave them a brief squeeze. "You're right. Even though they rarely spoke in the last year of their marriage, I guess you can't know someone most of your life and be married for twenty-three years without growing accustomed to one another being there.

He looked away from his wife, thinking about what life would be like without Astoria; he couldn't imagine how empty his existence would feel without her and they had only been married a few short weeks. That kind of attachment and familiarity would only grow more intense as the years passed, he was sure, and it wasn't as though his parents had hated each other.

Astoria watched Draco's expression change as he came to understand his father's situation better. She reached up and brushed the hair from his eyes. "Draco?"

"Hm." He started slightly before turning his attention back to her. "Yes, love?"

"We shouldn't keep Lucius waiting much longer, however, we should probably stress that he should owl a day or two before visiting," she told him. "Failing that, perhaps we should look into getting him season tickets for Quidditch or the theatre - something. It would do him good to start getting out again and we'd have a few guaranteed evenings to ourselves."

Draco grinned. "You might be onto something there, Astoria," he said as he stood from the loveseat. "Will you join us, or shall I pass your regrets along to Father?"

"Oh, I'll come along. Your father can be witty and interesting when he's of a mind to be, even if he has the worst sense of timing I've ever seen."

 

~*~*~*~

 

A few days later, while sitting in his office, Draco replayed the conversation he and Astoria had with his father. The older man had, at least, had the good sense to appear mortified when he realized that the newlyweds would appreciate some privacy and notification when he intended to visit. Still, Lucius' explanation for his spontaneous visits gave him quite a turn.

"I was simply recalling how awkward things between your mother and I were when we first wed, Draco. I remembered how delighted we were whenever someone came to call - just to break the tedium of stilted conversations and uncomfortable silences." Lucius turned away and walked to the window.

"I should have realized things would be different with you and Astoria," he continued. "Still, I sometimes forget the distinctions between couples with arranged marriages and those who marry for reasons other than contractual obligation."

Draco stared at his father's back, his mouth agape. He blinked a couple times in rapid succession before realizing his lower jaw was just hanging. Shaking his head, he pulled himself together a bit before speaking.

"I didn't realize you and Mother had an arranged marriage, Father." Although, he thought, it explained so much of his parents' interactions when he was growing up.

Even now, three days later, he still felt a bit shocked at the revelation. Nonetheless, his father's explanation for the visits was slightly odd. He supposed, though, that had he married Pansy Parkinson as a result of the marriage contracts her parents had tried to arrange with his.... Well, nothing against his friend but he would have been more than a little grateful for any and all visits Lucius would have paid him. Hell, he would have gotten the man a room at the same resort during their honeymoon!

Shuddering at the thought that he might have married Parkinson, Draco turned his attention back to the business adverts section of The Daily Prophet. Oftentimes the section wasn't even worth the paper it was printed on, not to mention the ink with which it was printed, but sometimes there were little gems. Now and then he'd find a small business for sale that was related to one of the companies under the Malfoy Enterprises corporate umbrella.

There didn't appear to be anything of that sort today, though. Just as he was about to close the section and turn to real estate reports, a small phrase caught his eye:

          Concerned by the plight of a lonely friend? Disturbed by high rates of divorce?

Intrigued, Draco read on.

          If you, or someone you know, happen to be lonely and single, then try out our guaranteed compatibility questionnaire. Find out how well you match with a number of available witches and wizards in our large database.

Client confidentiality and happy matches are our top priorities.

Direct any inquiries to Marietta's Matchmaking Service by Owl Post only, please.

Draco raised an incredulous brow at the advert. If the proprietoress was the same Marietta he went to school with, he highly doubted her commitment to confidentiality. Then again, Granger's pustule hex may have cured the girl of her blabbing mouth. He copied the advert out, folded the parchment, and affixed it with his seal before summoning an owl. As he secured the note to the bird's leg he directed it to take the message to his wife. Watching as the owl flew away, he wondered if it was a sign of desperation that he was even considering a matchmaker.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Lunchtime on the second Monday in June found Hermione Granger sitting behind her desk at the Ministry for Magic, in the Department for the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts. Her sandwich lay on wax paper, untouched; her now-cold coffee sat on a coaster out of the reach of her elbow's reach. In her hand was a card from Jared, her boyfriend - er, her ex-boyfriend, if the card was to be believed.

She stared at the jarringly cheerful card, showing a clearly newlywed Jared on the front with another woman, before opening it to the message inside for a third time.

Hermione, love, you know we were just too different to make a proper go of it. I met someone during my business trip this weekend - I know it's sudden but we're married. It's been the most blissful 63 hours of my life.

Best wishes,

Jared

Despite wishing otherwise, reading the card multiple times did not change the contents of the message. Seething with fury, she glared at the framed photograph of Jared on her desk before picking up her wand and blasting it onto the floor. She watched with spiteful satisfaction as the glass in the frame shattered, some of it tearing the picture. Watching even a photo version of her now-ex cringe was gratifying.

Cleaning the remains of lunch off her desk, she checked the time. Thirty-five minutes. Perfect. She had just enough time to go let off some frustration before coming back and dealing with her afternoon appointments. She removed her work robes and draped them over the back of her chair before pulling her unruly hair up into a ponytail. With her wand, she cast a charm to turn part of the wall of her office into a full-length mirror. Surveying her business casual slacks and top, she transfigured them into a tank top and loose-fitting cotton capris, then transfigured her flats into a pair of trainers.

With a nod at her appearance, she returned the mirrored section of the wall to its original state, tucked her wand into a special pocket in her jogging trousers, and then left her office.

"Parkinson, I'll be out for a few minutes but will be back in time to get ready for my one-thirty meeting," Hermione informed her secretary.

Pansy looked up from her fashion magazine and nodded. "Going for a run, Granger?"

"Yes," Hermione replied a bit tersely before turning and walking away.

The secretary looked up with slightly narrowed eyes and watched the other woman make her way to the lifts, wondering what had happened to change her mood from the cheerful one she'd exuded in the morning.

Hermione waited impatiently for the lift before taking it to the main level and walking out past the security desk. Once outside the Muggle entrance to the Ministry, she picked a direction and started walking briskly, allowing her muscles to grow accustomed to the stretch and exertion.

After a few minutes, she sped up to jogging. As her feet pounded on the pavement and her ponytail flounced behind her, she went over the past seven months she'd been with Jared. They had been good together, at first. The past couple months had been less than perfect but relationships took work, after all. The trouble was, she was the only she was the only one making any effort, now that she thought about it.

Whereas before she'd been working late most nights, she had cut back. She made more time for him, leaving work promptly at five every night. Then she'd make dinner and wait for him to get off work at six. A few times he would Floo or owl to tell her that he couldn't see her that night, which would have been fine, had he not told her the day before to expect him.

The more she thought about things, the more Hermione realized that she should have broken up with Jared weeks ago. Frustrated with herself for holding on to yet another relationship long past its expiration date and mad as hell at the man too cowardly to break up with her properly, she pushed herself harder, running faster. It was all she could do to not go to Jared's work and force his secretary to tell her where she could find him, so she could go hex his bollocks off.

As she ran, she glanced up at the signs of the shops, offices and flats she passed. There was a digital billboard ahead that flashed the time as she was watching it. Shite. It was nearly one o'clock and she was still tense and angry. Her afternoon appointments were going to be hell. She sped up more, deciding to finish off with a three-minute sprint before ducking into an alleyway to Apparate back to the Ministry.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of meetings and anger towards Jared. Between meetings, Parkinson acted suspiciously kind, bringing her tea and distracting her with office gossip - something out of character for the formerly Slytherin woman who usually performed her duties quietly.

By the end of the day Hermione figured Parkinson had probably been snooping while she was out on her run; the first thing she had noticed when she got back was that the glass photo frame had been repaired and the photo replaced with a landscape. Although she was glad that the mess had been cleaned before her meetings, she was a bit disappointed to no longer have the disfigured picture.

"I'm not giving it back, you know," Parkinson told her as she brought in a fresh glass of water along with a steno pad and self-inking quill.

Hermione looked up the notes from her last meeting of the day. Satisfied that the proposal for seminars on the appropriate use for toasters was in order, she placed the papers in a file folder and put them aside before glancing up at the secretary.

"I really think you will," Hermione responded with a short lived glare. 

Parkinson set the glass down before sitting in a chair across from Hermione's desk. Smoothing her skirt she said, "I won't. Now, before we leave for the day, is there anyone you want me to contact for you?"

Hermione shook her head. "Everything's been taken care of for the week, including correspondence regarding meetings, proposals, follow-ups, the trials, and legislation hearings. I can't think of anything else that needs to be done."

"I didn't mean that and you know it. You went for a lunch run, something highly unusual for you," Pansy said with an exasperated sigh. "When I came in to drop off the files for your first meeting, before you got back, I saw Jared's picture and the card. Now, I'm asking, again - would you like me to contact anyone for you? Any of your friends?"

"No. They're all getting together tonight to plan Gin's wedding. I'm not turning that into a pity party for myself," Hermione sighed. The last thing she needed was Ginny trying to get ideas for her upcoming wedding to Seamus from the picture of Jared and his wife. Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Hermione looked up and saw Pansy waiting with her quill poised over parchment, ready to take down a message for someone, anyone.

"I've already sent a note saying I won't be there. I think I'll just go home, purge his things from my flat, and then track him down and hex him, actually," she informed the woman sitting across from her.

"He isn't worth going to Azkaban over, just so you know," Parkinson said wryly.

"I only need to worry about that if I get caught," Hermione replied with a haughty smirk. "And, I'll have you know, I rarely get caught."

 

~*~*~*~

 

As Pansy took a sip from her glass of wine, she marvelled at the fact that she was sitting across a table from Hermione Granger. Sure, they'd worked together for a little over a year - much to their mutual disgust at first, of course. But Pansy had to prove she could hold down a job and live on her own for two years before she could access her trust fund, so she'd done her best to forge a truce of sorts with Granger. Still, it was a mite surreal.

And in any event, sitting in a pub and getting Granger blitzed on a Monday night was better than letting the infuriated woman go off half-cocked after work and land in Azkaban for doing something rash and Gryffindorish. Besides, Pansy did need the job and there was no guarantee that whomever the Ministry replaced Granger with would keep her on.

"I just don't know where it went all pear-shaped," Granger said. Her frustration was evident in her voice, not to mention the serviette she was shredding in her hands.

Pansy snapped back to attention. "I'm sure I don't know. You were carrying on about him in that way new couples have. Disgusting really, when you think about it," she sniffed. "Given his attention span, the tosser will be divorced by this time next year.

"Oh, I hope so," Granger replied, her eyes sparkling with vindictive glee. She chuckled bitterly and downed the rest of her third shot of firewhisky.

"You're better off without him, in any case," Pansy continued, ignoring Hermione's interjection. "He was all wrong for you, truly. He had no idea of your contributions in the war - hell, did he even know there was a war? No, don't answer that," she said on second thought. "So, he wasn't involved in the war, in which you were heavily invested; he didn't handle your resultant near-celebrity status well at all - not that you do, either, but you have no choice."

Pansy was just getting warmed to the subject of why that Jared wanker was all wrong for Granger when the woman in question interrupted her.

"Well, if he really was all wrong, why didn't you say anything sooner? Like before he ran off and married some slut he met on a business trip after knowing her only a few hours?" Granger demanded, signalling to the server for another firewhisky.

"You would never have listened to me," Pansy said. "No, really," she insisted when the woman across the table scoffed. "You hardly ever pay attention when I tell you your next appointment has arrived, so why would I say anything about your personal life?"

Besides, that's what friends are for, not secretaries.

To her credit, Granger appeared to think on what Pansy had said rather than immediately arguing it. When the server arrived with the bushy brunette's drink, Pansy motioned to the man and, when he was bent level with her, she ordered fish and chips with salads for the both of them. No way was she going to keep drinking on an empty stomach. Ugh.

Pansy nibbled at her food as she listened to her boss go over all the things that were right and wrong about her latest failed relationship and reflected on what she knew of Granger's short dating history. She'd started off well in Fourth Year with that Bulgarian seeker but most flings between students from the different TriWizard Tournament schools were short-lived. Then there was that fiasco with the Weasel. Well, it was a disaster for Granger but worked to Weaselboy's benefit since he had two witches after him.  Except that a few months after the final battle of the war he dumped Hermione Granger, brains of the Golden Trio, for the biggest dunderhead of them all - Greg Goyle.

As far as Pansy knew, there had been no rumours of romance for the former Gryffindor princess during the three years after Weasley until Jared came along. The bloody sod.

Finished with her meal and desperate for a moment away from angry, drunken Granger, Pansy excused herself to the loo. While she was washing her hands, she noticed a parchment on the mirror. Taking a closer look, she realized it was a questionnaire, similar to ones Witch Weekly sometimes printed.

          Find Your Perfect Wizard in Two Easy Steps!

Pansy quickly dried her hands and cast a quick cleaning charm on the parchment before snatching it off the mirror and reading further. Seems simple enough, she thought. She just has to fill it in and when all the questions are answered, it activates an object-only Portkey Charm and the form goes off to be processed. Within a few days, the most compatible wizard from the matchmaker's file should appear on her doorstep.

With any luck, Granger would be just drunk enough to fill it out and too drunk to remember doing so.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Lucius Malfoy was sitting in his office at Malfoy Enterprises near the end of a fine Friday afternoon. He had a meeting shortly with the head of one of his most lucrative projects and he knew he ought to be preparing for it. However, he'd just received the most peculiar piece of correspondence he could recall seeing - at least that he could recall seeing since his early Hogwarts days.

The note had been delivered by a dove, of all things, and had lurid pink hearts watermarked on the parchment. After making sure, for the third time, that it was in fact addressed to him, Lucius turned the parchment over and saw the initials MMS stamped into the wax seal. Glaring at the parchment, eyes dark with suspicion, he finally grasped the ceremonial dagger he used for a letter opener and flicked the seal open.

As the wax gave way, the soft strains of violin music filled the room. The tune was soft but forgettable, so Lucius turned his attention to the contents of the parchment, curious if it was some sort of invitation. Instead, he read:

Congratulations, Mr. Malfoy. According to our database, you are nearly 100% compatible with one Miss Hermione Granger. Your next closest match is a Ms. Gertrude Templeton at 4% compatibility. We wish you the best in your courting endeavours. To facilitate meeting, this note is charmed to stay within arm's reach today then at seven o'clock it will transport you to your match's doorstep.

An invoice will be sent within the next five business days.

Thank you for choosing Marietta's Matchmaking Services.

Lucius' eyes widened as he read and reread the missive. After casting Silencio on the ridiculous parchment, he checked the time. Fledge, the man he was meeting with, had not yet arrived, so Lucius had his secretary cancel the remainder of his meetings for the day. Once that was taken care of, he grabbed the heart-covered parchment, folding it and placing it in the pocket of his waistcoat.

A few minutes later, Lucius was approaching Draco's office door, intent on going in and ranting about the matchmaker's letter. When he was passing the secretary's desk, however, he was informed that his son was in a very important meeting and was not to be disturbed. After delivering an icy glare to the stubborn witch, he sat in one of the waiting area chairs.

Fortunately for all involved, Lucius didn't have a long wait before the office door opened and Grace Bednerack and Connor Smithson from Klendham Industries exited. After brief greetings, vague promises to do lunch sometime, and hurried farewells, Lucius finally managed to get into Draco's office, throwing a final glare at the boy's secretary over his shoulder as he closed the door. Once the latch clicked he cast several strong privacy and locking spells.

"Father, what a surprise. Is there something I can assist you with," Draco inquired as the last spell was cast.

Lucius turned to face his son. "There certainly is," he said, voice taut with purpose and hand reaching in his pocket. "I recently received an odd message." He tossed the parchment with pink hearts on Draco's desk and, with a flick of his wand, removed the silencing spell he'd placed on it.

Draco looked at the note, which had begun emitting the soft violin music again. He picked the note up and read the message. "Granger? No way!" The younger Malfoy snorted. "Wow. And your next nearest is almost completely incompatible. Way to go, Father."

Lucius clenched his teeth and counted - slowly - in his head until he reached ten. "Do you happen to know how I came to be in the matchmaker's database, Draco?" Lucius watched his son's face carefully, looking for any indication of guilt

"You mean you didn't sign up, Father?" A smile of dubious innocence played on Draco's lips.

"Certainly not. Matchmaking, as a profession, hasn't been practiced for nearly two hundred years and Malfoys have never done business with anyone foolish enough to make their living from anything as intangible as love." Lucius sneered at the very idea.

"Well, apparently, Malfoys are doing so now," Draco said as he cast a non-verbal Silencio on the note. "So, will you court Granger, do you think?"

"Are you out of your mind, Draco?" Lucius stared at his son in disbelief. "First, I need to find out how this ... matchmaker," he sneered with contempt as he said the word, "saw fit to think she could pair me off as though I were some common lovelorn idiot - unless this is your idea of repayment for my recent visits."

"The matchmaker probably put the names of wealthy, influential and otherwise famous witches and wizards in her file," Draco said, supplying a logical, if evasive, answer to his father's question.

Lucius' eyes narrowed as he considered the possibility.

"Moving on to more important matters.... As much as it disturbs me to admit it, Father, now that I'm married, you are one of the most eligible men in Wizarding England," the younger Malfoy informed him. "I can see why the matchmaker would pair you off with Granger, considering her golden status and reputation as a war hero."

"Don't let's forget I am also a widower and Miss Granger is your age. It's unseemly." Lucius paused to consider. "And, of course, there is the question of certain past differences. She won't be receptive to advances from a man who once held her at wand point with intentions to kill."

"Past being the keyword," Draco interjected. "The war is over, has been for four years. She spoke up at your trial after the war; her feelings, whatever they are, about your differences aren't so strong in that light. And you've changed since the war, as well - adapted to the new political climate. In any case," Draco continued, "it seems as though you have no choice about seeing Granger tonight. If considering it a date, as the note suggests, makes you uncomfortable, you could always tell her you wanted to belatedly thank her for testifying at your trial."

Draco trailed off for a moment, lost in thought. "Wait. I know just the thing. That project you're working on with Fledge has to do with some Muggle thing, right? Well, Granger works in the Department for the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts at the Ministry. You can always use work as an excuse, if you must."

Lucius tuned out as Draco prattled on about his non-existent courtship of Miss Granger and how to go about wooing her. The entire situation was so ridiculous and if he ever found out how the matchmaker obtained his name and preferences, those responsible would find themselves in a world of pain. No one made a fool of Lucius Malfoy without suffering dire consequences.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Hermione stood at the entry of her flat, door ajar, staring at Lucius Malfoy. Of all the things she could have come home to on a Friday night, finding a former Death Eater on her doorstep was one of the least expected. The only thing that could have made the situation more shocking would have been if Malfoy shoved his way into her flat, pushed her against the wall and proceeded to ravish her.

Actually, she'd had that fantasy rather often during the time between her break-up with Ron and the time she'd begun dating Jared. Mind, she'd also had similar fantasies about numerous other handsome men but Malfoy had been the most frequent guest star.

"Miss Granger," the wizard before her said, his voice commanding her attention. "Do you intend to keep me standing in the corridor all night? I would prefer our discussion to be rather more private."

"Oh. Right. Of course, Mr. Malfoy. Please come in," she said stepping back into her flat and opening the door further to allow him in. "I'm sorry to have kept you standing in the hallway. I just wasn't expecting anyone this evening," Hermione rambled a bit, flustered at finding the subject of one of her recurrent fantasies standing on her doorstep.

Malfoy walked past her, sweeping into the small flat. "I'm somewhat surprised to find you home; it being Friday night I would have thought you would be out with friends."

Hermione shrugged as she closed the door. "Friday night is no different from any other. I haven't been home long." In fact, she was pretty certain that Malfoy had arrived at her flat before she had, if the exasperated expression on his face had been any indication when she opened her door.

She turned from locking the door to find the aristocratic man surveying her lounge. His rigidly upright posture suggested he'd rather be anywhere but her flat and yet, the expression on his face seemed to be curious... even interested. Hermione stepped from the small entry and into the lounge, noticing that Malfoy's expression neutralized once he noticed she had joined him.

"How did you find my home, Mr. Malfoy, and why are you here?" Hermione watched the man expectantly. It was remarkable, after all, that a Malfoy - any Malfoy - should be in her home, considering that they fought on opposite sides in the war and the baggage that came with the ideologies in both factions.

Malfoy hesitated before pulling a folded piece of parchment from his pocket and handing it to her. As she examined the letter, she could feel the weight of his gaze on her and her cheeks flushed in response. As she read the note, only occasionally distracted by the pink hearts scattered all over the page, her eyes widened with disbelief.

"You, Lucius Malfoy, signed up with a matchmaker?" She looked up and the only thing that kept her from bursting out in a fit of laughter was the look of severe distaste on his regal face.

"Certainly not," the dignified man huffed. "I have been set up. You, on the other hand, surprise me. I would have thought you too logical, too sensible, to buy into such rubbish."

"I am," Hermione affirmed vehemently, although she vaguely recalled filling in a questionnaire on sexual and romantic relationships, while very drunk, at the behest of one tipsy Pansy Parkinson. As realization dawned, Hermione groaned. When she finally managed to find and torture Jared, she was going after Pansy next, she decided.

"Miss Granger?" Malfoy's tone was a blend of mild concern and amusement.

"It's nothing. Suffice to say, when in my right mind, I view matchmakers with the same attitude as I view the field of Divination: dimly," Hermione informed her guest briskly. "In any case, you've fulfilled the requirements of the parchment, so unless there was anything else you wished to discuss...." Hermione trailed off before telling Malfoy to leave, preferring him to imply she had a busy evening ahead, rather than lying, which she was terrible at to begin with.

To her surprise, the man seemed reluctant to take the opportunity to leave. In fact, he had a look about him as if he were scheming. During the silence, which was beginning to feel awkward to her, Hermione's thoughts returned to the earlier fantasy she'd indulged in.

"As a matter of fact, Miss Granger, there is something I would like your assistance with," Malfoy said, his words and the change in his manner from matter of fact to smooth and enticing, drawing her back from her fantasy. "Have you eaten yet?" As she shook her head no, he continued. "Why don't we conduct our discussion over dinner, then?"

Curious, Hermione agreed. After taking a few minutes to freshen up and make sure her wand was in her purse, she rejoined him in the lounge. After they decided on a restaurant, Malfoy Apparated them to the foyer of an exclusive Wizarding restaurant she'd never heard of and arranged a table with the host.

As she followed the men to the table, she recalled debating whether to change her work robes to formal; she'd decided against changing since Malfoy had been waiting for her already. As they crossed the dining room, she was pleased to note that her decision ended up being a good one, since most of the patrons were dressed as though they stepped into the restaurant from their business offices.

Once they were seated, Hermione was surprised when Malfoy didn't immediately begin discussing why he wanted her help. Instead, during their dinner, he initiated a rather general conversation and seemed genuinely interested in getting to know her thoughts on current events and recent developments in a variety of magical fields. She enjoyed answering his questions and asking some of her own; she was amazed at the scope of Malfoy's interests and the fields that Malfoy Enterprises was involved in. At one point, Hermione wondered whether Malfoy was leading up to offering her a job; he even asked her why she restricted herself to the Department for the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts when she had such diverse interests.

Eventually, over dessert, their sense of formality eased by fine wine and delicate confections, Lucius turned the conversation back to the letter that had brought him to Hermione's doorstep. "As I said before, I suspect I've been set up with this matchmaker business and I believe I know by whom," he confided.

Intrigued, Hermione leaned forward. "I do remember you saying so. Who do you think is responsible, then?"

"My son. He was recently wed and thinks I'm moping over my late wife. I think he wants to keep me occupied while he and Astoria grow accustomed to their life together."

"What led you to that conclusion?" Hermione asked, puzzled as to whether he was coming to the point where he needed her help yet.

"Several weeks ago, Draco gave me season tickets to the theatre and made a few not so subtle comments. The rest of my evidence is inferred, nothing that would sway the Wizengamot in a trial," he informed her with a low chuckle.

Hermione nodded. "It's logical. Although, to consult a matchmaker, I'd have thought there'd be some desperation involved."

Her dinner companion gave her a shrewd look, as if sizing her up. "Indeed, and I believe he was. However, now that my situation has been explained so well, I'm curious as to how you became entangled within this web. Am I correct in my guess that you and Draco aren't acquainted outside of your attendance at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, that's right," Hermione affirmed. "I've seen him, of course, at the occasional Ministry event but never exchanged more than a greeting. He'd have no reason to involve me in this scheme, if that was your next question."

Lucius nodded. "Do you have any idea how Matchmaker Marietta acquired your name and romantic preferences, then?"

"Marietta... that's not a common name, is it?" Hermione mused aloud. "In fact, I've only ever met one and she came off rather worse for the acquaintance." As she took a sip from her wine, Hermione decided that the only regret she had when it came to her past dealings with Marietta Edgecomb was that she has let the Headmaster persuade her to find a counter curse for the one that had labelled the girl.

"In any case, she's still as much a sneak as she ever was, and I wouldn't be surprised if she matched us together hoping one of us would kill the other," Hermione told Lucius. "There wasn't any logo or company name on the parchment I filled out. We - Parkinson and I - thought it was copied out of Witch Weekly. In any case that's the last time I fill in a questionnaire found at the pub."

Lucius' eyebrow lifted a quizzical brow. "You're friends with Pansy Parkinson?"

"Not exactly," Hermione answered. "She is my secretary and she decided that getting me drunk on a Monday night was better than my previous plans."

"Which were?"

"Hexing my ex-boyfriend to oblivion. Of all the ridiculous things - I can't believe I let her talk me into filling in that parchment," she groused.

"I'll have to thank Miss Parkinson the next time I see her, then, for persuading you," Lucius said. "It's been years since I've had a relaxing dinner with such enjoyable conversation. Most dinners I've spent out have been business meetings in recent years."

Hermione flushed, as flattered as she was surprised by the admission. When she thought about it, though, she realized she'd also had a rather nicer time than she would have anticipated. The intensely bigoted man she met in her youth, whom she had battled against during the war, had changed.

"Things have gone quite well," Hermione agreed. "Before you asked me to join you for dinner, you said you had something you could use my assistance with. You haven't mentioned anything about this matter since; have you thought of a different solution to the problem?"

Lucius chuckled. "I've actually re-evaluated the problem. Instead of following my original plan to torment my son for this matchmaker mess, I have come up with something different."

"What do you have in mind?"

"I would appreciate it greatly if you would accompany me on a few outings. My meddling son gave me two tickets to each opening night at the theatre for the season." Lucius' gaze locked with hers. "Rather than using only one ticket, or letting both go to waste, I would prefer spending those evenings enjoying your company."

Hermione smiled. "That's a really kind offer, Lucius. I think I would enjoy spending more time with you as well."

By the time Lucius had seen her safely home, both were looking forward to their next outing. As they parted ways outside of the building where she lived, each could feel the formation of a promise within themselves - a promise of new beginnings.