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Assistant: Title: Manners At Malfoy Manor
        Author: NotInWonderlandAnymore NotInWonderlandAnymore 
        Chapter: 1/6 
        Summary: Hermione Granger is desperate to get Hogwarts up and running again after the war. She wants to do a full renovation, add special courses, allow new regulations for muggle-borns and more. But despite being 'The Golden Girl', she's sh@t@ at getting the elite to spend their galleons on her cause. She's blunt and lacking in the social graces expected of someone of her status.Draco Malfoy has just finished serving a 3 year term at Azkaban for his part in the war-a sentence that was only lowered because of Hermione's character witness at his trial. He sees her struggling to make the right impression amongst the upper-class wizarding community and offers to give her lessons in manners and etiquette associated with closing the deals she needs to secure her dreams.But this isn't just any kind of arrangement.They have 10 lessons between now and the social event of the year.There's only 1 rule: For each lesson he gives her on how to act in public, she must return a favor of his choice.
        Contents: Chapter 1: Lesson #1
    

    


  

  
  
    
    
  April 25, 2003
 The heavy stone gate loomed in front of Hermione Granger, its ornate ironwork curling like vines as though it were protecting the secrets of Malfoy Manor. The secrets that she unfortunately knew all too well and had been a part of keeping during the war.It was an imposing structure, and she hesitated far longer than she would have liked before finally moving through it and onto the manor's main grounds. The ground was soft beneath her black pumps from the rain they'd had that morning, but judging from the beautiful roses that swayed lightly in the April breeze, it was welcomed by them.Hermione really didn't think she'd ever be here again, not after everything that had transpired when she was younger. And she was even more surprised that it was still standing tall and as proud as ever with some changes to the aesthetic—more flowers, more color, more  life. It was a reminder of the family's old ways and the inevitable changes that had swept through the wizarding world since the fall of Voldemort.Hermione hesitated for a moment, looking at the dainty leather watch on her wrist.5:47 p.m.She had exactly thirteen minutes before Draco Malfoy would appear and escort her inside.She straightened her posture, tugged at the hem of her robes, and took a deep breath. It was, perhaps, a bit ridiculous for her to be nervous about something as simple as this—an etiquette lesson, for Merlin's sake—but this wasn't just about lessons. This was about opportunity.An opportunity to secure the future of her project. An opportunity to finally find the backing she needed to fund her plan to re-open Hogwarts and restore it.The Sacred 28 (the most influential pure-blood families in Britain) held elite galas every year, each one more extravagant than the last, taking turns on which family would host it each year. The Greengrass family was in charge of the social event of the year this time, and despite her best efforts, Hermione had never been able to break into that world. Being the 'Golden Girl' had gained her praise, of course, but everyone knew that she was not on their level. Most of all, her, unfortunately.Looking up at the main doors to the manor and the dozen or so steps to the landing, she began to panic and patted her thigh, where she kept her wand strapped beneath her work robes out of habit.Wand? Still there.Gryffindor courage? Rapidly expiring.Sanity, because she willingly came here to see Draco bl@@dy Malfoy? Gone.She pivoted on her heel to head back where she came and apparate back to her flat in London, but her eyes caught sight of the flowers again.Flowers that were blooming amidst a place that held nothing but fear and death for so long and she wanted the chance for growth for herself, too.She earned it, d@mn it."Granger, you're early," a voice drawled from behind her.Hermione turned to see Draco Malfoy standing at the top of the steps leading to the manor's entrance. He was dressed impeccably, as always, in a dark ensemble of slacks and a dress shirt with a silvery-gray sheen. His platinum blonde hair was perfectly styled, and his expression was one of carefully maintained indifference. It was one she knew well."Wouldn't be the first time," Hermione replied, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest.Draco studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to decipher if she was partaking in banter with him or being swotty."Let's get you inside then," he said, his tone businesslike.Hermione followed him, her heels clicking against the steps that led toward the grand entrance. It was so quiet here, and the only thing she could hear were their footsteps echoing in the silence of the early evening. It was as if the grounds remembered what happened during Voldemort's reign and had committed to this strange solitude. Despite his usual haughty air, even Draco seemed somewhat diminished since his return from Azkaban. He had, in many ways, become a figure of mystery in the wizarding world since his release. He kept to himself aside from attending galas or fundraisers with his mother, Narcissa, and was content to try and stay out of the Daily Prophet as much as possible.For some reason, Harry and he had become cordial over the last year after he had been out of Azkaban. Harry spoke of him often when he went to check on the status of Draco's reacclimation into wizarding society. Hermione listened with an open mind and truly hoped Harry was right—that Draco Malfoy had good intentions with his second chance at life.After finally seeing him for the first time in years due to them being at the same fundraiser, Hermione found herself in an arrangement that—if she had been sober—she would not have agreed to. But she was a woman of her word if nothing else, so she came.As they entered the grand hall, Hermione couldn't keep her mouth from opening a little in wonder as she stared at the luxury he lived in each day. The high ceilings, the gleaming marble floors, the priceless tapestries hanging from the walls. This was what pureblood lineage looked like up close, that's for sure."This way," Draco gestured when he noticed her studying the intricate wood carvings of swallows embedded in the columns encasing the room, leading her through a series of corridors that seemed to all look the same except for their different styles and textures of wallpaper. He didn't speak again until they reached a small, formal sitting room, and Hermione was grateful it hadn't been the drawing room. Not that she thought he'd actually bring her back to that room after all these years, but still, the fact made her relax a bit and take in the surroundings properly.A single fireplace crackled with the glow of a low fire, and a grand piano sat in one corner of the room. The furniture was sleek and elegant but not ostentatious. The tones of the room were deep green and black with the furniture black in design with some red accents. Everything was, as expected, perfectly in place."Have a seat," he instructed, and she did so on a large tufted chair beside the fireplace, folding her hands in her lap since she wasn't sure what else she was supposed to do.For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Draco moved to a nearby silver drink cart, pouring each of them a glass of Ogden's with a flick of his wand. He handed one to her, but his eyes lingered on her face, almost as if he were waiting for her to say something. Like he was challenging her to admit she'd made a mistake in coming here."Why are you doing this?" Hermione asked before she could stop herself. She looked at the Firewhisky in her hand and took a quick sip to keep herself occupied as she waited for him to answer.Draco raised an eyebrow. "I thought it was quite clear.""I mean, why, though? Why offer to help me with this—this... absurdity? I'm not one of your friends, and you don't owe me anything."Draco's lips twisted into a half-smile, but there was little humor in it. "I was trying to be  nice,  Granger. After all, you're the one who managed to convince the Wizengamot to be lenient with me after the war." His tone was carefully neutral, but Hermione could hear the faint edge beneath it. "I'm merely returning the favor. That's all.""But you said I would still owe you a favor when we discussed this at the bar."Draco sipped his drink slowly and moved to sit across from her in the matching chair, choosing his next words carefully. "That is because I am offering you a series of favors, Granger. Every other Friday, from now until September, when the Greengrass Gala arrives, I am offering to teach you manners and grace in all its forms. Seeing as how that would correspond to," he paused to make a show of counting on his long fingers, and Hermione couldn't help but notice he seemed to be wearing several rings on his hands, including the Malfoy signet. "Ten lessons before the ball, that would mean you'd owe me 9 favors by the event."Hermione swallowed her frustration. She had known, of course, that Draco's offer came with conditions. But the idea that he would try to turn something as important to her as this into a simple exchange of favors... well, it was sh@tty."Fine," she said, lifting her chin. "I can agree to that. But I want to clarify that I'm not doing anything illegal. I'm not going to Azkaban, and you don't need to end up back there, either. I'm also not planning on being happy about it."Draco regarded her silently, his silver eyes cool but not unkind. "I didn't expect you to. But don't pretend you're not here because of the opportunity to be the savior of Hogwarts. Potter told me of your plans to add an entire wing for muggle-borns transitioning their first year and dorms for their families to visit. I thought about throwing my money at you and calling it a day, but you need more than that. You need money and laws passed. You need legislation written in your favor and powerful people who will say "Yes" to you without hesitation. I can make you into that kind of woman, Granger. It would be my pleasure to do so. But, regardless of what I ask of you, it's a simple transaction, Granger. Nothing more. I'll need you to understand that once I start cashing in on my favors."She felt the weight of the words settle between them, heavy and almost taunting. But rather than letting it linger, Hermione took a deep breath and forced herself to focus on what was at stake if she backed out now. The etiquette lessons were important—vital, in fact. She would be attending the most significant social event of the year in September, mingling with the most influential people in the wizarding world, and she could not afford to make a mistake.Not when so much was riding on it. Like her entire future. And the future and learning of magic for generations to come."Let's begin, then," she said, straightening in her chair.Draco moved to stand in front of her, his posture poised and commanding as he placed both their drinks beside them on the drink cart. "For this first lesson, we'll go over the basics—how to enter a room, how to greet a person of higher standing, and how to hold yourself in conversation without sounding too...  muggle-born."Hermione's eyes narrowed at his choice of words, but she didn't interrupt. She was here to learn, after all, not to argue. He hadn't called her a mudblood, and that's all that mattered."For starters," Draco continued, "You must make an impression when entering a room. A good one. A feminine one. Walk in with confidence, shoulders back, chin lifted. Your posture should be impeccable. The way you stand will speak volumes about you before you say a word." He demonstrated, walking to the center of the room and standing in a graceful pose, his hands clasped lightly behind his back. "Like this."Hermione followed his example, trying to ignore the way his presence seemed to fill the room. His stature was undeniable, his movements fluid and practiced. And yet... there was something in the way he held himself—something less arrogant than it had been in their school years. Perhaps it was the result of his time in Azkaban, or perhaps it was simply the growing maturity that came with age.Draco studied her posture, his sharp eyes scanning her body and Hermione almost moved to cover herself as if she wasn't covered in her dress robes. The way he was staring at her made her feel exposed in a way she wasn't used to and she swallowed when she felt a blush push into her cheeks. "Better. But you're still holding back. Don't be afraid to own the space, Granger. Confidence doesn't come from hesitation."Hermione rolled her eyes at his correction but held her ground. "I'm not hesitating. I'm just... trying to get it right.""Trying too hard," Draco said, his voice softer now. "It's about ease. It's about being comfortable in your skin, not pretending to be something you're not. This isn't going to work if you are just trying to act like you belong in my world, Granger. You need to believe you do."Hermione paused, letting the words sink in.  Ease. Yeah, right. She scoffed and went to cross her arms across her chest which earned her a quick glare from Malfoy."Alright," she said, exhaling slowly and dropping her arms back down to her sides. "Let me try again."Over the next hour, Draco guided her through the motions—how to address different members of society, the proper gestures of respect, and the appropriate ways to converse without overstepping boundaries. Every now and then, he would stop her, give subtle corrections, and point out mistakes she hadn't even realized she was making.Hermione was an eager student, as she had always been, and adjusted accordingly based on what he asked of her. Eventually, she tossed her work robes on the chair, leaving her in brown slacks with a black blouse tucked in at Draco's insistence. He needed to see the lines of her spine to ensure she stood adequately, and when he ran a finger in between her shoulder blades down the length of Hermione's spine, she forgot how to breathe. When his touch reached the small of her back, his hand opened to press against her as he led her back to her chair.For their remaining time, he had her practice the art of small talk—how to engage in conversation without diving too deeply into personal matters. She was supposed to make her target feel comfortable and intrigued without revealing too much about herself. It was a challenge for Hermione, who had always preferred honesty to pretension, but she tried her best to mirror his instructions."Granger," Draco sighed, his tone casual but with the edge of someone who was already losing patience, "I can't help but notice you're... shall we say, rather direct when speaking to people. And I mean, direct in a way that makes even the Weasley twins look like diplomats."Hermione's eyebrow shot up, and she opened her mouth to argue but Draco quickly held up a hand."Now, I know that you think you're being 'honest' and 'refreshing,' but, let me remind you, there's a certain way to speak in polite society. You can't just tell people exactly what you think. Purebloods and leading members of society don’t do blunt. We prefer subtlety. Elegance. Grace.""Grace?" Hermione scoffed. "Is that what you call it? Faking sincerity?""Not faking," Draco corrected smoothly and Hermione's eyes followed his hand as it raked through his hair, leaving a few strands to dip over his forehead. "More like... selective truth-telling. It’s an art."Hermione’s lips quirked into a smirk. "Oh, I’m sure you’re the expert on art, Malfoy.""I am," Draco said with a shrug, unfazed. "I'd be happy to show you the priceless pieces that are hung throughout the manor sometime. It would only benefit you to know your Monet from your Van Gogh. But this is an intricate part of playing their game. And this is art you need to master, if you’re going to survive in polite company. Take me, for example. At the next charity event, when some well-meaning, but dreadfully boring wizard starts droning on about his new line of broomsticks—""Which will most likely be something no one cares about," Hermione cut in, leaning forward slightly."Exactly," Draco said, his eyes glinting. "But instead of rolling your eyes, like you usually do, you say something like, 'How fascinating! I do so admire your dedication to innovation.' That way, he feels like he's made an impact, and you haven’t insulted anyone. You see?"Hermione blinked, clearly unimpressed and started to twist a curl in her finger absently. "And what if I don’t care about his 'dedication to innovation?'"Draco gave her a patronizing look. "It doesn’t matter if you care. No one expects you to. You make him believe you do. That’s what makes you seem refined. It's about showing respect—not honesty.""Respect," Hermione repeated dryly. "So I just say what they want to hear, no matter how ridiculous it is?""Exactly. Now you’re getting it.""Maybe I’d rather just tell them the truth," Hermione said with a raised eyebrow. "Like, 'Oh, I do admire your skill in inventing broomsticks that no one will ever want to buy.'"Draco chuckled, a glint lighting up his gray eyes that Hermione didn't think she'd ever seen before. If made him look even more handsome than was necessary. "That would be entertaining, but it’s not how things work around here. You’ll need to learn to... navigate your way through these conversations. Like when you meet someone important, a wizarding professional, let’s say, you don’t ask how their research is going unless you want to sound like you’ve just crawled out of a library."Hermione snorted. "That’s rich coming from you. I doubt your conversations ever stray far from 'Quidditch,' 'blood status,' and 'pureblood superiority.'""Touché," Draco said with a wry grin, leaning back in his chair. "But at least we know how to talk to each other in a way that isn’t excruciatingly awkward. Which is more than I can say for you.""Right, which is why you've been so polite to me during this exchange. That makes sense because I’m sure you’re just thrilled to be offering me these lessons," Hermione retorted, her arms still crossed but her expression softening slightly."I plan to be when we get to the favor you'll owe me for next time.""What?""Nothing. Let's continue, Granger. We only have a few minutes left of our time. You’ve already made progress but the key is to never let them know you’re just waiting for the conversation to end. Take a compliment, for example. When someone says, 'Oh, Granger, I simply adore your hair,' you don’t respond with 'It’s just a mess, really.' No. You say, 'Why, thank you! It’s a new charm I’ve been working on!'"Hermione rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of her lips at Malfoy mentioning her hair in such a conversation. Because he had to know that no one ever complimented her wild curls. "So, lie through my teeth while they talk to me about things I don’t care about. I’m starting to see the appeal.""Exactly," Draco said, with a laugh and she realized she liked the sound of it. "You’re learning. Maybe, just maybe, we can get you invited to a proper party to practice without causing a diplomatic incident.""Great," Hermione said dryly. "I can’t wait to try it out. As long as it doesn’t involve talk about broomsticks."Draco’s grin widened. "There will always be a wizard happy to talk to you about his broomstick."Groaning, Hermione slid a hand down her face as she felt the familiar blush come back with a vengeance. Great.Taking pity on her, Draco patted her knee across from him. "Just leave it to me, Granger. You might actually enjoy yourself.""Let’s not get ahead of ourselves," she replied, shaking her head. But there was a hint of amusement in her voice now, and Draco couldn’t help but feel a little bolder about the decisions that led them to this encounter.By the end of their lesson, she felt exhausted but oddly satisfied with herself. She couldn't stop the smile as she poured herself a new glass of fire whiskey.Draco stood beside her as he fixed another drink at the cart, his gaze flickering with something unreadable. "You're getting the hang of it."Hermione nodded, but her mind was already drifting. She had another question that had been gnawing at her since their first encounter."Draco," she began carefully, "How did you get through it? Azkaban, I mean. It must have been terribly difficult."For a brief moment, his eyes hardened, his expression falling into the cool mask he wore so well. Despite how handsome and gracefully he had aged, there was still a boy who had gotten brought into the wrong side of the war, and it showed."I didn't have a choice," he replied shortly. "You don't survive Azkaban by asking  how. You just... do. And hope to Merlin that your brain doesn't break before you manage to get out." His tone was final, and the conversation ended there.Hermione nodded and felt a flicker of respect for him, a quiet understanding that perhaps, beneath the layers of snark and privilege, there was more to Draco Malfoy than a former Death Eater. Harry had expressed that very sentiment to her and they'd had a rough past between them. Draco had also encouraged this whole arrangement to help her, so he must have changed for the better. Or so she hoped.Hermione downed the rest of her drink and set it on the cart as she stood and gathered her robes around her once again. "Same time in two weeks?" she asked, her voice lighter, as though their lesson was now a casual occurrence."Same time," Draco confirmed, feeling a small knot of anticipation curl in his stomach.Draco lingered near the door as she made to leave, his gaze following her every move. When she meant to walk past him into the corridor, he pulled her back with a gentle but firm hand on her arm. He smirked as she look up at him in confusion before he produced three small cards from the pocket of his trousers. He held them out toward her with a deliberate, calculated movement. "I’ve written a few favors on these. You may look them over at your leisure. Choose whichever you feel inclined to fill and give me your answer by Monday."
  
    
      
        Hermione stared at the cards for a moment, her curiosity piqued. She reached forward without thinking, her fingers curling around the smooth edges of the cards.
        He continued when the cards slipped from his fingers and into hers, his voice laced with something dark. It stirred a burning sensation in the pit of her belly as she took in the black cardstock with his monogram in silver on one side. She was hesitant to turn them over to see what he'd written. "But, understand this. The nature of the favors I’ll ask will grow more... personal. If at any point you decide our little arrangement is no longer worth it, you can back out. No questions asked."
        She glanced up to find his eyes looking at her with an intensity that had her taking in a deep breath. "How personal?"
        Draco leaned a broad shoulder against the door frame and angled his head to gesture that she look for herself. He could feel her eyes land on his Azkaban number tattooed into the bottom of his neck before she looked back down at the cards. His eyes never left her face as she turned the first card over in her hands. "Well, Granger, you’ve proven yourself worthy of being taught the subtleties of polite conversation. I think we should remember that after you see what I'm asking in return."
        Hermione’s hand stilled on the first card before quickly flipping it over to stare at his gentle script of silver ink over the black background. She glanced up at him, meeting his gaze. "You’ve got to be kidding me. What are these? Some kind of... joke?"
        Draco chuckled darkly, his smile curling into something far too knowing. "Not a joke, Granger. I’ve been in prison for three years. And the last person I saw before being sentenced..." He trailed off, as if the memory of it were both bitter and sweet. "Well, let’s just say I’ve had plenty of time to think about her."
        Hermione’s stomach tightened. "What are you saying?"
        His voice dropped a few decibels, a soft rasp to it now. "What I’m saying, Granger, is that I haven’t been with anyone for years. And the last time I saw you—at my trial—there were so many emotions I had. We were so different yet so similar. Both desperate to keep the ones we loved safe by doing anything we had to. I tried to tell you I was a lost cause, but you stood up there and defended me like you gave a sh@t. I almost..."He sighed deeply. "But, of course, you wouldn’t have heard me then, would you? Now..." He paused, letting the air hang thick between them as he reached out to touch a curl. "Now, I’m in a position to cash in on a few of those thoughts that kept me warm in my cell during that time."
        Hermione’s heart skipped a beat as she glanced at the first card in her hand, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. The cards looked simple, yet the implications were anything but. She wanted to look at the other two but she was still glued to the words on the first card. She glanced back up at Draco, her face betraying a mix of confusion and something else—curiosity?
        He saw it. The flicker of interest in her eyes. He leaned forward so he was at eye level with her, forcing their eyes to meet and their breath to mingle. "I’m not asking for anything too extravagant, Granger. Just a little... mutual understanding. We’re both adults now, no longer children. We both need something from each other, don’t we?"
        Hermione bit her lip, her mind racing. She looked down at the card again, her breath catching in her throat. She hadn’t expected this—didn’t know what she’d expected, really, but not this. The second card seemed to burn her fingertips, even though she hadn’t even touched it yet.
        "Why?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. She wasn’t sure if she even wanted to hear the answer, but she needed to know.
        Draco didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back against the door frame and giving her space. "Because, Granger," he said slowly, "what else is there to want after all these years? The things I’ve wanted, the things I’ve imagined—all of it comes from you. I want to know everything about you. And I’m not just talking about those damned books or your intellect. I'm talking about your body."
        Hermione gasped at his blunt response. Never had she ever questioned if he felt anything for her. He was her childhood bully. He made sure she knew how much he believed her to be beneath him and now he... wanted her?
        Draco’s voice dropped even lower, sending a shiver down her spine. "I want to know how far you’re willing to go for me, Granger. But don’t worry," he said, a sly smile dancing on his lips, "You’re in control. If you don’t want to play this game, I’ll walk away. It’s up to you."
        The moment stretched between them, both of them holding their breath. Finally, her fingers moved—unwillingly, yet unable to stop themselves—and she flipped the second card over. Her eyes scanned the words written there, her stomach dropping again.
        The favors were... intimate. They weren't exactly sexual, no, but they were personal in a way that made her breath catch in her throat. Slowly, she reached for the last card.
        Draco watched her every movement, his expression unreadable, though a spark of something like desire lingered in his eyes.
        Hermione’s gaze flicked back up to him as she chewed on her bottom lip. Merlin, that was doing things to him.
        "What’s the catch, Malfoy?"
        "There is no catch, Granger. The only question is—how much are you willing to give to fulfill one of my favors? And which one will you choose?"
        Hermione hesitated, her fingers hovering over the third card. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears as she thought about what she might be getting herself into. Was it worth it? Was this just the beginning of something she wouldn't be able to handle? He had said that they would only get more intense as time went by.
        The silence in the room was uncomfortable, just their breathing and the crackling of the fireplace filled the space as she stared at the three cards in her hands.
        
          Card Number 1: “Spend an hour with me, away from the eyes of others. No conversation about politics, blood status, or the past. Simply... be present. Let me see you, Hermione—no walls, no defenses. Just two people, talking as equals, without pretense.”
        
        Card Number 2: "I want you to tell me about your life—the small, seemingly insignificant moments that shaped you. The things you’ve never shared with anyone. I will listen, and in return, I will tell you my own story, one you don’t know, about the boy I was before Azkaban. And the man I have become. A trade of memories—nothing more.”
        
          Card Number 3: “Let me kiss the back of your hand. Your cheek. Your lips. A brush of my lips against your skin as a sign of my gratitude, a symbol of respect. It’s not a lover’s kiss--not yet, but it’s one I’ve wanted to give for a long time.
        
        "I have until Monday to let you know which one I choose, if any, correct?" Hermione finally asked as she pocketed the cards in her robes and straightened her shoulders to look at him.
        "Yes."
        "And if I choose not to continue with this?"
        Draco shoved a hand in his pocket and sauntered back over to the bar cart to grab his drink. "Then I will assume you've made your decision if I don't have an answer from you by then."
        Hermione nodded. "Okay," she breathed. "Will you send an owl for me?"
        "Of course. And please feel free to use the floo outside this room and to the left instead of walking back to your apparition point. It's late."
        Hermione nodded again and began to walk out into the corridor before popping her head back in, hand on the door frame. "When are we expected to do these favors? Won't that eat into our time together working on the lessons?"
        Folding his arms across his chest, drink still in hand, he smiled at her. "Why do you think our lessons are every other Friday? That leaves the other ones for favors."
        "But that's every Friday for months, Malfoy. Surely you have better things to do than—"
        "Spend my time with The Golden Girl? I assure you, I do not." Draco chuckled when he saw her eyes widen in surprise at his words. "Get on home and wrack your brilliant brain over your choices. I'm anxious to see what you decide. Goodnight, Granger."
        Hermione blinked at him a couple times before mumbling a 'Goodnight.' Turning left she marched her way to the floo and clutched the cards to her chest through her robes.
        What did she get herself into?'
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
Assistant: