It Takes Two [PG-13] for malena_sama
Title: It Takes Two
Author: aerna
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own either Harry Potter or the song “Let's Do It, Let's Fall in Love”
Warnings: Subtle digs at Marriage Law
Summary: When the Ministry of Magic starts an official dating agency, who do you think ends up with who?
Notes: The song and my muse did not get along, despite threats and bribes. But I did my best! Thanks to my friend Calvin for beta-ing this.
There were many things Hermione expected of the Ministry - justice, fairness and equal rights accorded to all magical beings.
A date wasn't one of them.
“Hermione, just deal with it. The Ministry sees fit to assign us partners, but it's not like we're obligated to marry them!” Trust Ginny Weasley-soon-to-be-Potter to be oblivious to the implications of the Ministry Mission of Matrimony.
“Besides, since you stopped seeing Ron, it's obvious you've been too long without a good shag.”
“Ginny!”
Despite her outward protestations, Hermione secretly agreed with the redhead. She hadn't had as much as a snog since she and Ron had amicably parted ways.
After a flurried courtship, and an almost-engagement, the Ron-Hermione relationship had fizzled out much like the way fizz does from pop.
There really wasn't enough going on there in the first place.
Hermione had begun to realise that when things had gotten just too, well, comfortable. Most times when Ron came to visit, he hardly stayed the night and instead they spent most of the time just watching the telly. It was the only thing they enjoyed doing together, really. She was horrible at chess, and he didn't fancy reading or advocating house elf rights.
She had her own flat, while he still stayed with his parents. Molly wasn't too keen on letting him leave The Burrow, unless, of course, he planned on starting a family, she said with a too cheery and rather hopeful tone.
Marriage? Children? So effin soon?
With the threat of Voldemort killing them all no longer hanging over their heads, a lot of Wizarding folk felt the same as Hermione - they just wanted to get on with their lives and do what they really wanted to do, instead of worrying about You Know Who.
But the Ministry, well-meaning as it was, worried about the dwindling Wizarding population. Apart from the Weasleys, the rest of Wizarding Britain weren't procreating fast enough.
Something needed to be done.
“Look, Ginny, I wouldn't mind so much if we were allowed to choose. But we have to fill in questionnaires, talk to some Divination-qualified quack for an 'assessment' and then have names taken out randomly from some bowl!”
Hermione truly believed the whole plan needed better guidelines, apart from those stemming from the Ministry's desperate desire to have Wizards make more babies.
Ginny Weasley only shook her head. “Look, Hermione. I dated around a lot at Hogwarts and I suppose I was lucky enough to have a lot to choose from. What about the ones who went to all-girl or all-boy schools? They wouldn't have the headstart we did at Hogwarts.”
“I just don't like the whole idea of the Ministry setting us up on blind dates. Honestly. It's just so, so, regimented.”
“And so speaks Ms. Not Often Spontaneous and Rarely If Ever Impulsive.”
“Hey!”
****
Monday. The first day of the week and the day of Hermione's dreaded appointment with the Matchmaking Maven. She was supposed to fill in a few forms, take a couple of tests, and have the Maven peer into a crystal ball, literally.
Thankfully the Matchmaking Maven was nothing like Professor Sinistra. She was kindly, matronly even, and not the type to put on mystical airs the way her ex-Divination professor had. So she sat down to the tests and attempted to endure it as well as possible.
One question she found hard dealing with was the one about what she considered non-negotiable in a potential partner. “A similar view as to Elfish Welfare” seemed to be pushing it, but Hermione decided to try her luck anyway.
After said tests were done, Hermione found herself staring fixedly at the crystal ball in front of her while the Maven peered into its depths. Despite her best efforts, Hermione and crystal balls were clearly not a match made in heaven. She'd long ago decided that the so-called visions seen in those things were mere hallucinations caused by staring cross-eyed at the bloody things too long.
“Well.” Startled by the Maven‘s (whose name was Isadora, of all things) sudden statement after being silent all through the tests, Hermione quickly wiped silt from the corner of her eyes and hoped she didn't have any drool on her face.
Isadora went through a long description of Hermione's perceived traits, which pretty much sounded like a standard horoscope, if you asked her.
“I do have rather bad news, dear. Of the pool of fine, eligible Wizards we have, most of them have a less than 50 percent compatibility with you.”
Hermione gawked. She couldn't be that undesirable, could she? “So you don't have a match for me?” Ah, well. There were still plenty of Muggle boys, after all. She hoped.
“You're lucky in one aspect, though. We have one candidate who's perfect. Nearly a 99.99% compatibility score. The only part he didn't quite match with you is that he's fond of house elves but is only 70 % keen on liberating them. You marked that as a highly desirable, if not required attribute.”
70 percent. She could live with that.
“So who is it?” Hermione knew it couldn't possibly be the very engaged Harry, nor was it Ron.
Isadora's eyes seemed to have a rather annoying habit of twinkling the way Dumbledore's eyes used to. “Ah, but that's where the element of surprise comes in. To ensure you go into the date without preconceived notions, you won't know until the date of your pre-appointed date! Isn't it exciting?”
Hermione wondered if using an Unforgivable right then would really be unforgivable.
***
He was late. Bad enough she hadn't any choice in the matter, her 'date' was likely standing her up. Hermione gritted her teeth and decided, why not enjoy the wine and food? The first dates were all on the Ministry's tab after all. And the Ministry didn't have bad taste, either. The Divine, if you believed the reviews, served food fit to grace the tables in Valhalla. Not that the rowdy, drunken dead Vikings would notice how good the food was, anyway.
She was just about to call the waiter over and get herself a much-needed drink when she spotted a familiar blond head. On a familiar neck, on familiar legs, walking and looking quite familiarly at her.
Draco Malfoy. She should have known. If the heavens were having a joke with her, wouldn't he be the ultimate punchline?
“I do apologise for my lateness, Hermione. But I wanted to pick these up for you myself.”
He handed her a bouquet of the most exquisite blooms she had ever seen, of flowers she didn't recognise. Beautiful they were, with petals of white and silver, seeming as soft and translucent as fine chiffon.
She wondered, idly, if the bastard chose them because they went with his hair.
“Endymion's Gift. They only bloom at night, because rightly that's when they're at their most beautiful.”
She couldn't quite help gaping at what he said next: “Just the way you look, right now.”
“Where was all that charm when we were in school?” Hermione said teasingly, hoping she wasn't beginning to blush. Blushes looked good on other women, on her it looked like she was having a bad attack of the sunburn.
“Waiting for the right...time.”
If he had said ‘person’ instead of ‘time’, Hermione might have swiftly melted...into a puddle of incredulity.
Yes, this was a parallel universe. Or a twisted version of Hell. Hermione could not believe she could rightly be in a world where not only did Draco Malfoy buy her expensive, rare flowers but he also called her beautiful. If only he knew how much his corniness was beginning to make her gag.
“No time like the present!” She said cheerily. “Shall we order?
If Draco was in any way flustered by her casual response to his overtures, he didn't show it. Nodding his head, he called the waiter over and so began the most surreal dinner date of Hermione Granger's life.
Draco was charming, polite, affable and ever-so-solicitous throughout the meal. Perhaps this was his date-face, Hermione pondered. It was all rather unnerving. She shuddered faintly at what would have come to pass if the original proposal, for a Marriage Law, instead of a Dating Agency, had gone through. Instead of seeing Draco Malfoy for dinner, she would be seeing him to make wedding plans.
Taking a good look at him, she decided he really wasn't that hard on the eyes. His face was still thin, his nose still rather pointy, the look of him far too angular for her tastes. But there was dignity there, a bearing that probably came with his upbringing. Confident, assured, refined; those were things that made him handsome, she thought. His looks alone wouldn't necessarily turn heads.
Then she noticed he was looking right back at her. It wasn't an approving sort of look. His eyes were narrowed, the set of his mouth grim and with a sigh, he stood up and nodded towards the exit.
“Is there something wrong?”she asked, but he only offered her his arm as they walked out.
They walked on in silence to the appointed apparition point, a secluded bench conveniently hidden behind some artfully arranged trees.
Draco stopped and looked at her. He blurted out,“You really won't even try to make this work, will you?”
“What do you mean? Make what work? I...” Hermione suddenly remembered something she'd heard about Snape. That he'd taught Draco Occulemency, as he had Harry.
He'd probably heard all the little jibes she made in her head, all the scathing little observations.
She really hadn't been prepared to give him a chance at all, from the very beginning. Hermione felt more than a little ashamed, but she had to make him see that the whole setup was doomed to fail.
“I'm sorry, Draco, but we've got such a history that I don't think this would work.”
“It has to, Hermione.” He said it with such a desperate-sounding air.
“Has to? Look, Draco. You're young, not bad-looking, still rich after the War. There are plenty of witches who would want to date you.” She really did think he was overreacting. It wasn't like she was jilting him after just one date. Yet.
“Do you know what the Maven told me, at my appointment, Hermione? That yes, I could likely date many women. That I was 'surface-compatible' with more than half of the witches in the list. That I would probably have decent marriages, almost guaranteed heirs.”
He took a deep breath, “But she also told me that you were the one most likely to really love me.”
Hermione shook her head. “That's just what she saw in a crystal ball, Draco. Divination isn't a precise science. Just because she told you that I could love you doesn't mean it's true.”
“It could. Because when I got asked what I most wanted in my partner, I said all I needed was for her to really love me.”
He sat down on the bench, beckoning for her to join him. Draco waited for her to sit down before he continued, “See, I've always loved my father. I practically worshipped the man. But I was never sure that he loved me until the day Scarhead killed You-Know-Who.”
Draco shook his head, staring out into the dark. “For the first time, I really felt it. That he loved me, really loved me, despite all the times that I didn't meet his expectations. That sure, he was a right git at times, but underneath that he loved me unconditionally.”
Looking at her, he said, “So when the Ministry came up with this whole dating thing, I decided I didn't just want anyone. I can have anyone of those pretty pureblood daughters of my Mother's friends. But they might just want my money or the name.”
They sat in the uncomfortable silence for a while, until Draco broke it, whispering “I just want something real, Hermione. Is that too much to ask?”
And that was when she reached over and kissed him.
The End
Let's Do It, Let's Fall In Love
Birds do it, bees do it
Even educated fleas do it
Let's do it, let's fall in love
In Spain, the best upper sets do it
Lithuanians and Letts do it
Let's do it, let's fall in love
The Dutch in old Amsterdam do it
Not to mention the Fins
Folks in Siam do it - think of Siamese twins
Some Argentines, without means, do it
People say in Boston even beans do it
Let's do it, let's fall in love
Romantic sponges, they say, do it
Oysters down in oyster bay do it
Let's do it, let's fall in love
Cold Cape Cod clams, 'gainst their wish, do it
Even lazy jellyfish, do it
Let's do it, let's fall in love
Electric eels I might add do it
Though it shocks em I know
Why ask if shad do it - Waiter bring me
"shad roe"
In shallow shoals English soles do it
Goldfish in the privacy of bowls do it
Let's do it, let's fall in love
ferretbush_post is the account the mods use to post gifts, it has not authored or created any of the gifts.
Author: aerna
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own either Harry Potter or the song “Let's Do It, Let's Fall in Love”
Warnings: Subtle digs at Marriage Law
Summary: When the Ministry of Magic starts an official dating agency, who do you think ends up with who?
Notes: The song and my muse did not get along, despite threats and bribes. But I did my best! Thanks to my friend Calvin for beta-ing this.
There were many things Hermione expected of the Ministry - justice, fairness and equal rights accorded to all magical beings.
A date wasn't one of them.
“Hermione, just deal with it. The Ministry sees fit to assign us partners, but it's not like we're obligated to marry them!” Trust Ginny Weasley-soon-to-be-Potter to be oblivious to the implications of the Ministry Mission of Matrimony.
“Besides, since you stopped seeing Ron, it's obvious you've been too long without a good shag.”
“Ginny!”
Despite her outward protestations, Hermione secretly agreed with the redhead. She hadn't had as much as a snog since she and Ron had amicably parted ways.
After a flurried courtship, and an almost-engagement, the Ron-Hermione relationship had fizzled out much like the way fizz does from pop.
There really wasn't enough going on there in the first place.
Hermione had begun to realise that when things had gotten just too, well, comfortable. Most times when Ron came to visit, he hardly stayed the night and instead they spent most of the time just watching the telly. It was the only thing they enjoyed doing together, really. She was horrible at chess, and he didn't fancy reading or advocating house elf rights.
She had her own flat, while he still stayed with his parents. Molly wasn't too keen on letting him leave The Burrow, unless, of course, he planned on starting a family, she said with a too cheery and rather hopeful tone.
Marriage? Children? So effin soon?
With the threat of Voldemort killing them all no longer hanging over their heads, a lot of Wizarding folk felt the same as Hermione - they just wanted to get on with their lives and do what they really wanted to do, instead of worrying about You Know Who.
But the Ministry, well-meaning as it was, worried about the dwindling Wizarding population. Apart from the Weasleys, the rest of Wizarding Britain weren't procreating fast enough.
Something needed to be done.
“Look, Ginny, I wouldn't mind so much if we were allowed to choose. But we have to fill in questionnaires, talk to some Divination-qualified quack for an 'assessment' and then have names taken out randomly from some bowl!”
Hermione truly believed the whole plan needed better guidelines, apart from those stemming from the Ministry's desperate desire to have Wizards make more babies.
Ginny Weasley only shook her head. “Look, Hermione. I dated around a lot at Hogwarts and I suppose I was lucky enough to have a lot to choose from. What about the ones who went to all-girl or all-boy schools? They wouldn't have the headstart we did at Hogwarts.”
“I just don't like the whole idea of the Ministry setting us up on blind dates. Honestly. It's just so, so, regimented.”
“And so speaks Ms. Not Often Spontaneous and Rarely If Ever Impulsive.”
“Hey!”
****
Monday. The first day of the week and the day of Hermione's dreaded appointment with the Matchmaking Maven. She was supposed to fill in a few forms, take a couple of tests, and have the Maven peer into a crystal ball, literally.
Thankfully the Matchmaking Maven was nothing like Professor Sinistra. She was kindly, matronly even, and not the type to put on mystical airs the way her ex-Divination professor had. So she sat down to the tests and attempted to endure it as well as possible.
One question she found hard dealing with was the one about what she considered non-negotiable in a potential partner. “A similar view as to Elfish Welfare” seemed to be pushing it, but Hermione decided to try her luck anyway.
After said tests were done, Hermione found herself staring fixedly at the crystal ball in front of her while the Maven peered into its depths. Despite her best efforts, Hermione and crystal balls were clearly not a match made in heaven. She'd long ago decided that the so-called visions seen in those things were mere hallucinations caused by staring cross-eyed at the bloody things too long.
“Well.” Startled by the Maven‘s (whose name was Isadora, of all things) sudden statement after being silent all through the tests, Hermione quickly wiped silt from the corner of her eyes and hoped she didn't have any drool on her face.
Isadora went through a long description of Hermione's perceived traits, which pretty much sounded like a standard horoscope, if you asked her.
“I do have rather bad news, dear. Of the pool of fine, eligible Wizards we have, most of them have a less than 50 percent compatibility with you.”
Hermione gawked. She couldn't be that undesirable, could she? “So you don't have a match for me?” Ah, well. There were still plenty of Muggle boys, after all. She hoped.
“You're lucky in one aspect, though. We have one candidate who's perfect. Nearly a 99.99% compatibility score. The only part he didn't quite match with you is that he's fond of house elves but is only 70 % keen on liberating them. You marked that as a highly desirable, if not required attribute.”
70 percent. She could live with that.
“So who is it?” Hermione knew it couldn't possibly be the very engaged Harry, nor was it Ron.
Isadora's eyes seemed to have a rather annoying habit of twinkling the way Dumbledore's eyes used to. “Ah, but that's where the element of surprise comes in. To ensure you go into the date without preconceived notions, you won't know until the date of your pre-appointed date! Isn't it exciting?”
Hermione wondered if using an Unforgivable right then would really be unforgivable.
***
He was late. Bad enough she hadn't any choice in the matter, her 'date' was likely standing her up. Hermione gritted her teeth and decided, why not enjoy the wine and food? The first dates were all on the Ministry's tab after all. And the Ministry didn't have bad taste, either. The Divine, if you believed the reviews, served food fit to grace the tables in Valhalla. Not that the rowdy, drunken dead Vikings would notice how good the food was, anyway.
She was just about to call the waiter over and get herself a much-needed drink when she spotted a familiar blond head. On a familiar neck, on familiar legs, walking and looking quite familiarly at her.
Draco Malfoy. She should have known. If the heavens were having a joke with her, wouldn't he be the ultimate punchline?
“I do apologise for my lateness, Hermione. But I wanted to pick these up for you myself.”
He handed her a bouquet of the most exquisite blooms she had ever seen, of flowers she didn't recognise. Beautiful they were, with petals of white and silver, seeming as soft and translucent as fine chiffon.
She wondered, idly, if the bastard chose them because they went with his hair.
“Endymion's Gift. They only bloom at night, because rightly that's when they're at their most beautiful.”
She couldn't quite help gaping at what he said next: “Just the way you look, right now.”
“Where was all that charm when we were in school?” Hermione said teasingly, hoping she wasn't beginning to blush. Blushes looked good on other women, on her it looked like she was having a bad attack of the sunburn.
“Waiting for the right...time.”
If he had said ‘person’ instead of ‘time’, Hermione might have swiftly melted...into a puddle of incredulity.
Yes, this was a parallel universe. Or a twisted version of Hell. Hermione could not believe she could rightly be in a world where not only did Draco Malfoy buy her expensive, rare flowers but he also called her beautiful. If only he knew how much his corniness was beginning to make her gag.
“No time like the present!” She said cheerily. “Shall we order?
If Draco was in any way flustered by her casual response to his overtures, he didn't show it. Nodding his head, he called the waiter over and so began the most surreal dinner date of Hermione Granger's life.
Draco was charming, polite, affable and ever-so-solicitous throughout the meal. Perhaps this was his date-face, Hermione pondered. It was all rather unnerving. She shuddered faintly at what would have come to pass if the original proposal, for a Marriage Law, instead of a Dating Agency, had gone through. Instead of seeing Draco Malfoy for dinner, she would be seeing him to make wedding plans.
Taking a good look at him, she decided he really wasn't that hard on the eyes. His face was still thin, his nose still rather pointy, the look of him far too angular for her tastes. But there was dignity there, a bearing that probably came with his upbringing. Confident, assured, refined; those were things that made him handsome, she thought. His looks alone wouldn't necessarily turn heads.
Then she noticed he was looking right back at her. It wasn't an approving sort of look. His eyes were narrowed, the set of his mouth grim and with a sigh, he stood up and nodded towards the exit.
“Is there something wrong?”she asked, but he only offered her his arm as they walked out.
They walked on in silence to the appointed apparition point, a secluded bench conveniently hidden behind some artfully arranged trees.
Draco stopped and looked at her. He blurted out,“You really won't even try to make this work, will you?”
“What do you mean? Make what work? I...” Hermione suddenly remembered something she'd heard about Snape. That he'd taught Draco Occulemency, as he had Harry.
He'd probably heard all the little jibes she made in her head, all the scathing little observations.
She really hadn't been prepared to give him a chance at all, from the very beginning. Hermione felt more than a little ashamed, but she had to make him see that the whole setup was doomed to fail.
“I'm sorry, Draco, but we've got such a history that I don't think this would work.”
“It has to, Hermione.” He said it with such a desperate-sounding air.
“Has to? Look, Draco. You're young, not bad-looking, still rich after the War. There are plenty of witches who would want to date you.” She really did think he was overreacting. It wasn't like she was jilting him after just one date. Yet.
“Do you know what the Maven told me, at my appointment, Hermione? That yes, I could likely date many women. That I was 'surface-compatible' with more than half of the witches in the list. That I would probably have decent marriages, almost guaranteed heirs.”
He took a deep breath, “But she also told me that you were the one most likely to really love me.”
Hermione shook her head. “That's just what she saw in a crystal ball, Draco. Divination isn't a precise science. Just because she told you that I could love you doesn't mean it's true.”
“It could. Because when I got asked what I most wanted in my partner, I said all I needed was for her to really love me.”
He sat down on the bench, beckoning for her to join him. Draco waited for her to sit down before he continued, “See, I've always loved my father. I practically worshipped the man. But I was never sure that he loved me until the day Scarhead killed You-Know-Who.”
Draco shook his head, staring out into the dark. “For the first time, I really felt it. That he loved me, really loved me, despite all the times that I didn't meet his expectations. That sure, he was a right git at times, but underneath that he loved me unconditionally.”
Looking at her, he said, “So when the Ministry came up with this whole dating thing, I decided I didn't just want anyone. I can have anyone of those pretty pureblood daughters of my Mother's friends. But they might just want my money or the name.”
They sat in the uncomfortable silence for a while, until Draco broke it, whispering “I just want something real, Hermione. Is that too much to ask?”
And that was when she reached over and kissed him.
The End
Let's Do It, Let's Fall In Love
Birds do it, bees do it
Even educated fleas do it
Let's do it, let's fall in love
In Spain, the best upper sets do it
Lithuanians and Letts do it
Let's do it, let's fall in love
The Dutch in old Amsterdam do it
Not to mention the Fins
Folks in Siam do it - think of Siamese twins
Some Argentines, without means, do it
People say in Boston even beans do it
Let's do it, let's fall in love
Romantic sponges, they say, do it
Oysters down in oyster bay do it
Let's do it, let's fall in love
Cold Cape Cod clams, 'gainst their wish, do it
Even lazy jellyfish, do it
Let's do it, let's fall in love
Electric eels I might add do it
Though it shocks em I know
Why ask if shad do it - Waiter bring me
"shad roe"
In shallow shoals English soles do it
Goldfish in the privacy of bowls do it
Let's do it, let's fall in love
ferretbush_post is the account the mods use to post gifts, it has not authored or created any of the gifts.