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Assistant: Title: Jamais Pur
        Author: mayanahi mayanahi 
        Chapter: 3/5 
        Summary: The Mixed Marriage Act was created to force all Pureblood Heirs to marry half-bloods and muggle-borns ending blood purity in the UK.As the Golden Girl, Hermione is the face of the Project and enters the pool in hopes of being assigned to her boyfriend, Ron Weasley.Everything changes when she is placed with Draco Malfoy.
        Contents: Chapter 3
    

    

        
          
          
            Hermione meets Scorpius and Narcissa
          
        

      
        
          
          (See the end of the chapter for  notes.)
          
      
  

  
  
    
    
  Hermione was engulfed by green flames and then stepped out into a wide parlour. Not that she’d had much time to wonder what Malfoy’s home would look like, but she wouldn’t have guessed it correctly: the room around her had its walls panelled with engraved chestnut wood and red tapestries. The lights from the city lamp posts floated into the space through the creamy draped curtains and cast a warm light over the velvety red rug on the floor. Each and every ornate furniture around her had its flourishes hand-carved out of rosewood.
 
  “Oh,” She gasped, barely containing her admiration as she looked around. 
 
  “What?” Malfoy asked behind her, his hand already off her and his tone sharp.
 
  “I — er —” She scratched her arm, anxiously. “I thought we were going to the Manor.”
 
  “The Manor is 
  
    my family
  
  ’s house.” He explained curtly. “I won’t be taking you there, near my mother and my son, until we get married.”
 
  Hermione blushed. “Of c-course.”
 
  “This is one of our townhouses, we’re in Belgravia.” He added, adjusting once again his cufflinks. “I’ll be living in the other one, in Mayfair — It’s closer to the Ministry and to my other businesses.”
 
  “Oh, you’re not living here?” That was a very awkward situation indeed, to talk about living with someone you had only maintained an unfriendly relationship with for most of your life. 
 
  “Obviously, Hermione.” He sneered. “I wasn’t raised in a barn.”
 
  Hermione couldn’t help but feel offended by the not-so-subtle punch at Ron and the Weasleys, but decided to press on to a different matter. “You called me Hermione.”
 
  “Hm?” 
 
  “You’re not calling me Granger, like you always do.”
 
  “Well, you’ll be a Malfoy in less than a month, so why bother?”
 
  She took a huge breath. “I won’t be taking your name.”
 
  That made him chuckle. “Sure thing,” But when Hermione was about to retort, Malfoy called “Gibby!” 
 
  A tiny greenish house elf cracked into existence in front of them, dressed in a fluffy and bleached white hand towel with the Malfoy crest embroidered on it. “Master Draco.”
 
  “This is Hermione,” Malfoy drawled,  “She is to become your new Mistress—”
 
  “I will not!” Hermione shrieked, apparently, the enslavement of house-elves was just what she needed to snap back to her senses.. “I am totally opposed to slave labour—”
 
  “By all means, Granger,” He interrupted her. “I am assigning her to you, if you’d like to have her watching as you scrub a toilet or cook your breakfast, be my f@ck@ng guest. But she 
  
    will
  
   be here.”
 
  The elf’s ears had dropped miserably at the idea of watching her mistress do housework instead of serving her, but she nodded by the end of his sentence as if confirming she would be there. Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but Malfoy seemed to foresee her next words too. 
 
  “Gibby is also 
  
    mine
  
  , so you have no right whatsoever to free it.”
 
  “No,” Cried Gibby. “Why would Missus free Gibby? Gibby is a good elf! Gibby promises!”
 
  Hermione crouched to console the poor creature, but Malfoy raised his hand, and the elf silenced its wailing at once. “It’s okay, Gibby. Go give Hermione a tour of the house and have her choose the bed linens and towels—”
 
  “Mistress Narcissa has already chosen the linen and towels, Master!”
 
  Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Has she?” Then he walked purposefully out of the parlour and into a corridor with an equally rich decoration. “Mother.” 
 
  Hermione had just crossed the threshold when she met him, facing his mother, who stood on the last step of the staircase with a vase full of beige tulips in her hands and a pinkish house elf near her ankles.
 
  “Draco, dear.” Her accent was as posh and affected as his. “And Miss Granger!” The witch beamed, handing the vase to the pink elf so she could extend hers in greeting to Hermione. 
 
  Hermione and Narcissa greeted each other with kisses on both cheeks, as the French often did. Then, Malfoy’s mother held her forearms with endearment and announced how happy she was with the good news of welcoming her into their family, insisting that Hermione called her Narcissa when the witch thanked her. Malfoy cleared his throat.
 
  “Mother, what are you doing here?” He sounded irritated. 
 
  “Why, Draco! When you summoned Gibby a couple of hours ago and told her to prepare the Belgravia House for your 
  
    fiancée
  
  , I knew I had to be here to help.”
 
  “What about Scorpius?” He inquired, anger bubbling beneath the surface. 
 
  “Your son has been asleep since eight pm, my dear.” Narcissa flashed him a hard smile. “He’s perfectly fine.”
 
  Sensing the tension, Hermione tried to say something. “Oh, I am looking very forward to meeting Scorpius!” She smiled.
 
  “That’s wonderful!” Narcissa clasped her hands. “Of course, you should meet him as soon as possible. Would you be available for tea tomorrow?”
 
  “Yes, I’d love to…” Hermione trailed off, imagining if she would be having tea in the same room where she was once tortured. 
 
  It was like Narcissa could read her mind. “I’ll bring him by three pm.”
 
  “Perfect,” Hermione answered quickly. 
 
  “Hermione,” Malfoy said, and it took all of her not to jump at his severity. “Go to the kitchens and see what you want the elves to serve you for breakfast tomorrow.”
 
  Once again, he was giving her a clear order with no space for refusal or discussion. Hermione convinced herself to obey because he clearly wanted to speak privately to his mother, and she was a guest after all, at least for that moment. She nodded and directed a tight smile to Narcissa before walking towards where she imagined the kitchen was. 
 
  She was about to pull the handle closed when the curious part of her won the internal battle over the polite one, and she left the door ajar.
 
  “What are you doing here, mother?”
 
  “Draco, I have already told you I came to prepare the house for your 
  
    fiancée
  
  —”
 
  “I don’t want you meddling in my relationship.”
 
  “I am not meddling!” The witch hissed, her tone harsher than Hermione had ever heard. “But be aware that I will be around as much as needed to ensure that my successor will uphold the high standards I established for the title of Lady Malfoy.”
 
  “Fine,” Malfoy snapped. “But I don’t want you bringing Scorpius—”
 
  “Is the boy not to meet his new mother?’
 
  Hermione’s stomach clenched at that idea. She had never even been with a child alone for more than fifteen minutes; her whole babysitting experience had consisted of half an afternoon with Ginny, Ron and Harry to take care of Teddy or Victoire in the Burrow. Now she was expected to become a little boy’s new mother? She would never be able to replace Astoria, his real mother. But she would obviously need to assume a specific and important role in Scorpius’ life. That was a huge responsibility she would not dare to take lightly.
 
  “She’s not—”
 
  “
  
    You know she will have to be!
  
  ” Narcissa cut him off. “The responsibility over the children lies with the wife, and I will need to step back once you two are married. Do you expect it to be their first time meeting?”
 
  “I said 
  
    no
  
  , mother.”
 
  There was almost a whole minute of silence, and Hermione wondered if they had cast a 
  
    muffliato
  
  , but then Narcissa spoke — her voice dripping with venom. 
 
  “Draco, you forget yourself. You might be Lord Malfoy, but I am still your mother, and you have no power over me.”
 
  “Yes, I do not.” He answered with as much acidity. “But I do have power over my wife and son.”
 
  “Naturally,” Narcissa replied coldly. “Just like your father did.”
 
  And after a few steps and a roar of the fireplace, Hermione understood Narcissa had left. Fearing Malfoy might quiz her on the breakfast menu, she indeed went downstairs and asked Lynette — the kitchen elf — not to cook anything, but to only make sure that she had eggs, bread, butter and orange juice so she could cook herself. 
 
  Then, Hermione walked upstairs and found Malfoy at the same spot she had left him minutes earlier, jaw clenched as he looked at the floor. When he heard her steps, his head whipped towards her, and he muttered, “I’ll see you tomorrow” before storming towards the fireplace.
 
  …
 
  When Hermione woke up, her first mission was to find herself some clothes. She knew her flat floo would not be open to Malfoy’s townhouse as neither she nor Ron were aware of its existence until the previous night. Besides, she found it best to give Ron some space to process their new realities, and perhaps they could talk better on Monday. The Daily Prophet hadn’t been delivered to her, so she had no idea of who his match was. A glance around the several rooms inside the house showed her not a single item of clothing she could wear, so eventually she had to give in and ask Gibby what to do. 
 
  “Master Draco gave Grippy money to buy Missus clothes!” Grippy cheered, clearly feeling proud and happy with said mission. 
 
  It took her half an hour, but Hermione finally managed to convince Grippy of using Malfoy’s money for another purchase (a gif for a special boy) and instructed the elf to go to her flat and bring her a bag with pajamas (Hermione has slept in only her knickers that night), underwear and two change of clothes for that day and also for monday at the Ministry. Hermione never gave in to wizarding robes, choosing to wear Muggle office wear to her work and Muggle clothes to her times at home.
 
  That was how she found herself that morning, standing in the front of the house with a teacup in her hand, dressed in Muggle jeans, white sneakers and a black thin striped tank top. Belgravia’s townhouse was a four-store Georgian home (which Hermione knew after years of reading home decor magazines in her parents’ dental practice). Its outside was elegant and simple, with pale stone, tall windows and black wrought-iron balconies. 
 
  The entrance hall opened onto a wide staircase with ornate handrails and a burgundy carpet over its steps. In fact, just like the stairs, every other corner of the house was full of delicate details. It was all very rich and embellished. 
 
  A quick tour showed her six bedrooms, each with its own fireplace and ensuite bath; two drawing rooms with silk-upholstered furniture and heavy velvet curtains; a formal dining room that seated twelve beneath a crystal chandelier; the services’ area and the floo travelling parlour. 
 
  But all of that paled in comparison with the library to Hermione. She knew that was not nearly as impressive as the Malfoy Manor’s library, but it was much larger than she had ever seen in a house before, filled with old magical books and soft armchairs. 
 
  The palette was soft and surprising for the house of a Slytherin: cream, deep red and gold. But it fitted Hermione perfectly, going as far as reminding her of Gryffindor’s common room, only 
  
    much 
  
  poshier.
 
  At the back of the house, through tall French doors, there was a private walled garden filled with roses, hydrangeas and even a trickling stone fountain, because why not? Hermione took her breakfast there, where she sat in iron sun chairs to eat, basking under the sun— not daring to eat in the library and stain a book. 
 
  For that time, she allowed herself to worry about Ron — the boy she had planned on marrying ever since she was thirteen. She could only hope he would have a good match and find happiness. Perhaps they could all be friends someday, though she doubted her soon-to-be husband would help in this endeavour. 
 
  After breakfast, Hermione moved to the kitchen and attempted to bake some of the delicacies she found in an ancient recipe tome. It brought Lynette and Gibby to the verge of tears, but Hermione found herself having an amusing time in that ancient and rich marbled kitchen, worthy of a food TV show.
 
  In the afternoon, she adjusted the final details of the first tea party she would ever host, as the light poured through the windows in golden streaks, warming the polished floors and catching on the edges of the light wooden frames of the several portraits around one of the drawing rooms (the one with the piano).
 
  That’s when she heard the fireplace roaring to announce the arrival of Narcissa and, hopefully, Scorpius Malfoy. She almost skipped towards the parlour, her hands frantically running her hands through the front of her denim-covered thighs.
 
  Unfortunately, when she entered the room, there were three Malfoys there. The tallest one of them was busy sweeping the dust off his regular all black robes when Hermione greeted them with an out-of-breath “Hya!”
 
  Narcissa’s smile faltered an inch as her eyes darted up and down over Hermione, but she quickly covered it up with an aristocratic “Good afternoon, Darling!!”
 
  Almost hidden behind her fine, dark blue robes was a tiny boy dressed in light green tailored pants and a white buttoned-up shirt, his face just as pale and pointy as his father’s had once been, with the sole exception of his cheeks, which were much rounder. Hermione crunched down to greet with a wide smile. “Hello, Scorpius! Nice to meet you, I am Hermione.” She extended her hand to him.
 
  Scorpius, who by her calculations couldn’t be over four years old, curved the corners of his mouth down and observed bluntly. “Witches don’t do it like that! That’s for wizards!”
 
  “Scorpius!” Narcissa admonished. “Mind your manners!”
 
  Behind them, Scorpius’ father poorly disguised his snort with a cough.
 
  Hermione didn’t allow herself to be defeated. “Sorry, love. What do you mean?”
 
  “Your hands.” The boy said, annoyed.
 
  “Oh! Can you teach me the right way?”
 
  The boy grabbed her hands with his little chubby ones, turning them so her palm would be facing the floor. “Ladies do it like this.” And then he leaned forward and placed a beautiful, albeit slobbery, kiss on her knuckles. “So, gentlemen do this”.
 
  “Oh, aren’t you a proper gentleman!” She cooed and saw the boy blush before he stepped back, hiding behind his grandmother’s robes. Hermione stood back tall and smiled. “Shall we go to the drawing room?”
 
  “Perfect,” Narcissa smiled. “I’ll just take little Scorpius to the lavatory before—”
 
  “I don’t want to pee—”
 
  “
  
    Scorpius
  
  !”
 
  The grandmother all but dragged the child by his ear towards the corridor, and Hermione was about to follow them when Malfoy grabbed her harshly by the arm, yanking her to him so her back pressed against his front. 
 
  “Am I poor, Hermione?” He sneered against her hair, making every fine hair of her body stand. “Is that why my fiancée dresses like a harlot for an afternoon tea?”

  
  

    
      
        
        
          my two favourite characters have arrived.and also one of my favourite tropes: Malfoy can't deal with muggle jeans!Okay, so I got overwhelmed with the immense response for this fic and blurted out the three first chapters. From now one I'll space the updates a bit more ok? Like at least once a week, but definitely not daily! Again let me know what you think!The story is fully outlined and the first 10 chapters are ready! I'm imagining it will be around 20 chapters long, but sometimes while writing I feel the need to cut a chapter in two, so the number might change!'
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