Story Details: AU; five years post-Hogwarts; No Voldie, no death eaters; Hermione and Draco and the gang finished their 7th year like any normal wizarding teenagers, though the blood purity issue is still a problem for our protagonist. Neither Harry nor Ron feature prominently in this story. FYI: I had to bend the rules a bit about wizards coming of age at 17, I needed it to be 18 for this story to work. I am also operating under the assumption that the Malfoys have a long standing penchant for spending money, but not so much with the earning of money. While they are by no means paupers, in my story they did reach the point where they would have had to start living like normal people if drastic measures were not taken, hence…

Summary: Just before his 18th birthday, Draco's parents signed a magical contract effectively selling him into marriage with a wealthy spinster from France (I'm going to put her at about 35, not because I think 35 is old, but because wizards tend to marry young in my imagination). The Malfoys were motivated both by money and the desire to keep Draco away from a certain muggleborn witch they feared was getting too close to their son. Unable to disobey his parents and bound by the contract they signed on his behalf, Draco was forced to marry and move away to France immediately after graduating from Hogwarts. Five years later, Draco returns to Britain as a very wealthy widower in the hopes of marrying again, for love this time.

[Insert standard 'I'm not JKR' disclaimer here.]

Chapter One

Hermione Granger was sitting at her desk with her nose stuck in a huge book about a rare species of dragon. Quill in hand, she was furiously copying down notes and totally engrossed in her work when she heard a sharp wrapping on her office door.

"Come in," she said automatically, not bothering to look up from her parchment.

She heard the door open and close again before the sound of loud throat-clearing finally prompted her to turn her attention to the man standing before her. Tall and rotund with brown hair and beard that were slightly graying, her boss Amos Diggory stood before her looking irritated as per usual.

"Granger," he barked, "how is that new piece of legislation you've been drafting to protect that endangered dragon coming? Have you closed all the loopholes in the previous law to prevent those blasted hunters from wiping the ruddy things from the face earth?"

"I believe so, sir. I should be able to have the final draft on your desk by tomorrow morning if I stay late again tonight," she said promptly.

"Good. Very good, but it can wait until Monday. I have a much more pressing matter for you to attend to this evening."

"What is it sir? Do you need me out in the field?" she asked hopefully. Field research was the best part of her job with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Unfortunately she didn't get to spend nearly as much time as she'd like out of the office because although Hermione was more than capable of holding her own in the wild, Mr. Diggory preferred to send the men in the department to do the 'dirty work'.

"Ah, yes something like that," he said evasively. "I need you to attend a function this evening. It's a fundraiser for the department."

Her mood sank immediately.

"You want me to go to a fundraiser?" she asked, trying not to sound as disappointed as she felt. She would rather be stuck at her desk all night pushing papers than attend some stupid fundraiser.

"It's more like a ball really. Some wealthy donor wants to give money to fund that house-elf bill of rights thingy that you've been working on and they intend to present the donation at the ball."

"A ball," Hermione reiterated. She was so focused on the prospect of having to go to a ball that she missed the bit about getting money to help house elves. "You need me to attend a ball? Tonight?" she asked, hoping against hope that her boss was playing some sort of sick joke.

"Yes, you see I was scheduled to attend, but something's come up and we need someone there to represent our department. I've already arranged for the invitation to be sent to your home. The invitation acts as a portkey and will transport you directly to the event. You do own formal attire, don't you Granger?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes, I'm sure I can find something," she said, sounding slightly exasperated, "but wouldn't it be better to send a more senior member of the-"

"Granger," he interrupted curtly, "I need you there. Show up. Wear a dress. Make nice with the rich donors. We need this money Granger. I'm counting on you. Now take the rest of the day off so you can go home and get ready. Portkey activates at seven o'clock. Don't miss it. I'll expect a full report on my desk first thing Monday morning." With that, her boss abruptly turned to leave, closing the door behind him with shuddering finality.

Hermione let out a groan and dropped her head to her desk. She had to go to a ball? Did people still have balls? What self respecting adult actually enjoyed dressing up in some ridiculous formal robes just so they could waste an evening standing around sipping champagne and making small talk with people they don't even know? She groaned again as she hoisted herself up from her desk. She gathered all the papers she wanted to take home with her that weekend, returned all of her other files to the filing cabinet, grabbed her jacket and headed out the office.

As she waited for the elevator, she overheard two secretaries gossiping and pawing over the pages of Witch Weekly.

"He is so gorgeous," the first one cooed.

"And so rich," the second added with gusto.

"I'd give anything to go to that ball tonight," the first witch moaned.

"I know. I would willing go without pay for a whole year if Mr. Diggory would send me," the second witch sighed dramatically.

Hermione merely rolled her eyes at them, though neither one noticed as they were both too busy drooling over the mystery man who would supposedly be in attendance that evening. Not that Hermione cared a jot about who was going to be there. She didn't even know where 'there' was! She just wanted to get the night over with as quickly as possible so she could get back to her real work.

She stepped off the elevator at the atrium level of the Ministry where all the fireplaces were located and walking into the first available fire, she shouted her address and was instantly whisked away to her London flat.

When she arrived at her apartment, she noticed an envelope made of thick parchment sitting on her kitchen table. She assumed that must be the invitation Amos was talking about and didn't bother to open it. Instead, she fixed herself a cup of tea and went upstairs to have a shower.

Freshly showered and bundled in a large fluffy blue bathrobe with a towel wrapped around her wet hair, Hermione made her way back into the kitchen where she fixed herself a light dinner and measured out a small amount of food for her cat Crookshanks, who had gotten a lot slower and considerable fatter over the years, especially now that he spent every moment of the day either eating or sleeping.

"Crookshanks," she called. "Dinner time!" She waited for him to come slinking around the corner, but when he didn't come she moved through the house, peering behind furniture, stopping to listen for a distant mewling cry, but she neither heard nor saw any sign of her ill-tempered ginger cat. "Get down here you fat, lazy fur ball!" she called again, but the cat was nowhere to be found.

"That's odd," she said to herself, but shrugged it off thinking that he was probably just asleep somewhere upstairs and hadn't heard her. He was getting rather old and she wouldn't be the least bit surprised if he'd gone slightly deaf.

After she'd finished her own supper and cleared the dishes with a wave of her wand, she dragged herself back up the stairs to find something to wear and ready herself for the evening.

As she opened her closet she thought that perhaps her boss had had a point in asking whether or not she owned dress robes. The selection of robes in her closet was rather dismal. Her typical attire for work consisted of an assortment of pants and sweaters in a variety of neutral colors with a few pastels thrown in for good measure. Shifting her work clothes aside, she came to the section of her small closet that contained her weekend clothes: three pairs of jeans and a dozen t-shirts. At the very back of her closet she had one gray wool business suit, which she had worn only once to her job interview at the Ministry, a black cocktail dress that she reserved for dates (not that she had many of those) and other special occasions, and lastly, at the very back there were two sets of dress robes; one of which she had worn to the Yule Ball in her fourth year (almost eight years ago), the other from Bill and Fleur's wedding. She clearly needed help.

Leaving her depressing closet in disarray, she ran into the living room, stuck her towel-turbaned head into the fireplace and shouted the address for the apartment that Harry and Ginny shared.

When her head finally stopped spinning and she was looking into their sitting room, she called out for Ginny.

Within moments, she saw her red-headed friend bounding down the stairs with a look of surprise and delight when she saw who was calling.

"Hermione! What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at work? You never skive off early!"

"Today I was forced to. Mr. Diggory wants me to go to some fundraiser for the department and I haven't any decent dress robes. I was hoping I could pop by and borrow something of yours?"

Ginny beamed at her.

"Of course!" she said excitedly. "I've been dying to dress you up and give you a makeover for years!"

"No, no, no Ginny. I just need a dress. No make-up or any of that nonsense."

"Fine," Ginny huffed in mock indignation, "if you don't want my help, then you'll just have to go out and buy some new robes," she said, knowing that Hermione would cave at her threat.

"Oh alright," she sighed, "but don't go overboard. The last time I let you get hold of me I was scrubbing that stuff off my face for weeks."

"You were not. Don't exaggerate. Here, let me help you out of the fireplace."

With one quick tug, Ginny pulled Hermione up out of the fire where she landed with a dull thud sprawled on the floor in front of the hearth.

"Not exactly graceful are you?" her friend said with an appraising smile. "Don't worry about that, I can charm your heels so they'll feel like trainers."

"Heels? Isn't that just asking for trouble?" Hermione asked skeptically.

"Relax, 'Mione. Just leave everything to me," Ginny said as she led Hermione upstairs to the bedroom that she and Harry shared and plunked Hermione down on the bed. "You just sit here while I find you something to wear."

"Okay," Hermione sighed in defeat.

For the next ten minutes Ginny was buried deep within the confines of her walk-in closet, coming up for air only when she extracted a gown she thought Hermione might like and tossed it onto the bed before diving in once more. Hermione immediately ruled out anything strapless – too dangerous; puffy – too ostentatious; or transparent - too Ginny. That left them with threes gowns to choose from: a long, bright red spaghetti strap number that had lots of faux diamond detail around the waist that was not exactly Hermione's taste; a black halter dress that had a plunging neckline and was completely backless and not at all Hermione's taste; and lastly, an emerald green, one shoulder, empire waist gown whose skirt flowed lightly to the floor. This last gown was simple and elegant, precisely Hermione's style and her ultimate choice.

Given that Ginny had to work within a limited time frame, she dried Hermione's hair with a wave of her wand and tied it up in an elegant knot at the base of her neck, allowing a few curly tendrils to fall around her face. As Hermione demanded, Ginny applied minimal make-up; just enough blush to brighten her complexion, some smoky eye shadow and sheer ever-lasting lip gloss.

When Hermione spied her reflection in Ginny's mirror she hardly recognized herself.

"Wow. Ginny you're a miracle worker!" Hermione exclaimed.

"It was nothing," she said airily. "Especially when I've got such great raw material to work with," she added, smiling.

With a last look at her appearance Hermione said nervously, "Well I'd better be off. Thanks for everything Ginny."

They exchanged a quick hug and not wanting to get soot on her gown, Hermione decided to apparate rather than floo back to her flat to retrieve the invitation portkey.

Once in the kitchen she noticed that Crookshanks still hadn't eaten his dinner. She did another quick search of the apartment, but still couldn't find the cat. This didn't bother her too much though. Crookshanks had gone missing before. The last time her beloved cat had missed his dinner Hermione had found him exploring the crawl space in the back of her closet feasting on mice.

Glancing at her watch, she noticed that she only had a few minutes before the portkey was scheduled to activate. She had just enough time to grab her purse and throw a shawl over her shoulders before the parchment on her table began to exude a faint bluish glow around the edges. She reached for the envelope and the moment her fingers touched the glowing object she felt the familiar feeling of a giant invisible hook catching her by the naval and pulling her through time and space.

She landed heavily on her heeled feet upon the gravel driveway, but mercifully, she kept her balance. Ginny had been right about the shoes, Hermione thought with a relieved smile.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a high-pitched voice coming from somewhere around her waist squeaked, "Your invitation please, Miss?"

Hermione looked down to see a house elf wearing a white tuxedo and tails holding out a tray upon which she was prompted to place her invitation. She did as bade, but was taken aback at the sight of the elf. Who in their right mind would use house elves as servants at a fundraiser for house elf rights? It just didn't add up.

"May I take your wrap, Miss?" a second smartly dressed elf asked, invading her thoughts once more.

"Yes, thank you," Hermione said, recovering quickly as she handed her shawl to the elf.

Hermione was so wrapped up in her thoughts about the elves that she was halfway up the grand staircase leading to the large, open front doors of the house before she finally realized where she was. She couldn't believe how stupid she had been not to have read the invitation. For now, here she was, with no means of escape, standing on the threshold of none of other than Malfoy Manor.

A/N: So this was not the story I was intending to publish for my first fanfic. I am currently in the middle of an epic, slightly angsty Dramione romance that I'm not ready to post just yet. In a bout of writer's block, this little story wandered into my head. So here we are. Hope you enjoy!

p.s. This story was written very quickly and completely sans beta so kindly forgive any errors. If you happen to know a good beta looking for something do or would like to volunteer yourself please send me a PM! Please R&R!