magic and muggle

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Summary:

When the Wizengamot enforces a cruel Marriage Law, most witches despair. Hermione Granger does not. She’s tired of being a pawn in other people’s games—and this time, she intends to play her own. Determined to turn chains into power, she seeks an unlikely ally: Draco Malfoy. Together, they could redeem a disgraced family, reshape the wizarding world, and put Hermione exactly where she belongs—on the path to becoming Minister of Magic.

But in a game of politics, ambition, and unexpected alliances, even the brightest witch of her age may find the greatest risk is not power… but love.

Chapter 5: Alliance or Surrender?

Draco stalked out of The Black Cauldron with his jaw tight, the night air of Diagon Alley cool against his skin. His shoes clicked sharply on the cobblestones as he shoved his hands into his pockets, his mind reeling.

Granger. Bloody Hermione Granger.

He couldn’t shake the image of her sitting across from him, poised as though she owned the very ground beneath his feet. Calm. Confident. Unimpressed by him in a way that left him… unsettled. She had stared him down without blinking, laid out her ambition like a chessboard, and dared him to underestimate her.

Minister of Magic. She had said it with the same certainty most people reserved for stating their names. And the worst part? He believed her.

Draco scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. “She didn’t just agree to this madness. She orchestrated it.”

He hated her audacity. Hated that she’d marched into his parents’ study and convinced them of all people. Hated that she’d spoken to him as though he were the one being courted, tested, weighed.

And yet…

There was something magnetic about it. About her.

Hermione Granger didn’t look at him the way others did. She didn’t flutter or simper or fawn over the Malfoy name. She dissected it, wielded it like a tool. She had looked him in the eye and told him outright that she wanted his last name, his family’s legacy, and she had done it without shame.

That should have infuriated him. And it did. But beneath the irritation coiled a reluctant respect, an intrigue he couldn’t smother. She wasn’t like the girls in Rome, who came easily with a smile and left just as easily with the dawn. She was playing a longer game. She wasn’t seduced by charm or wit—she was too clever, too calculating.

She wants to use me.

The thought should have burned. Instead, it lodged itself deeper. Because part of him knew—if he agreed to this marriage, he wouldn’t just be used. He’d be standing next to a woman who had already changed the world once. Who might just do it again.

Draco stopped in the middle of the street, staring down at his reflection rippling faintly in a puddle by his feet. His mouth twisted into a bitter half-smile.

“Merlin help me,” he muttered. “I think I’d rather marry the madwoman than let her ally with anyone else.”

But the admission only unsettled him more. Because for the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy wasn’t sure if he was making a choice or if Hermione Granger had already made it for him.

Witch & Tell Exclusive  By Rita Skeeter War Heroine and Former Death Eater Heir Spotted Dining Together: A Match Made by Law—or by Choice? Readers, brace yourselves! Your favorite quill-wielder has uncovered yet another delectable morsel for the hungry mouths of wizarding society. Just last night, none other than Hermione Granger, the celebrated Muggle-born war heroine, and Draco Malfoy, the only son and heir of the illustrious (and infamous) Malfoy family, were seen leaving Diagon Alley’s newest and most exclusive restaurant, The Black Cauldron. The establishment, owned by the Malfoys themselves, has quickly become the pinnacle of posh dining. But it seems last night’s main course wasn’t on the menu—it was the company. Eyewitnesses report that Granger and Malfoy were seated together in a private dining room, their conversation intense, their expressions unreadable. What could possibly bring these two together? Just one year ago, Miss Granger was the very face of the resistance against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, while young Malfoy was whispered about for his family’s… less-than-heroic allegiances. Yet there they were, side by side, leaving the restaurant at the very same time. And with the ink still drying on the controversial Marriage Law, tongues are wagging louder than ever. Could Granger have chosen Draco Malfoy as her designated match? If so, it would be the most unexpected—and scandalous—union of the decade. Imagine it: the brightest witch of her age tying herself to one of the oldest pure-blood names in Britain. A marriage of necessity? Or perhaps… of opportunity? Of course, when approached for comment, both parties remained maddeningly silent. Granger swept past reporters with her usual brisk determination, while Malfoy offered nothing more than a smirk (one imagines the same smirk that has made countless witches weak at the knees). Whatever the truth, readers, one thing is certain: if Granger and Malfoy truly unite under the Marriage Law, it will send shockwaves through every corner of our world. For now, all we can do is speculate—and oh, how delightful speculation can be. Stay tuned, darlings. Witch & Tell will keep you informed every step of the way. —Rita Skeeter, Editor-in-Chief, Witch & Tell

Lucius Malfoy’s pale eyes pulsed between irritation and something dangerously close to amazement as he held up the glossy, self-congratulatory pages of Witch & Tell. The moving photograph stared back at him: his son, impeccably dressed, leaving The Black Cauldron alongside Hermione Granger—the very witch who had promised to show them just how influential she had become.

She had not failed.

Summary:

When the Wizengamot enforces a cruel Marriage Law, most witches despair. Hermione Granger does not. She’s tired of being a pawn in other people’s games—and this time, she intends to play her own. Determined to turn chains into power, she seeks an unlikely ally: Draco Malfoy. Together, they could redeem a disgraced family, reshape the wizarding world, and put Hermione exactly where she belongs—on the path to becoming Minister of Magic. But in a game of politics, ambition, and unexpected alliances, even the brightest witch of her age may find the greatest risk is not power… but love.

Chapter 4: Checkmate in White

The Black Cauldron gleamed softly in the evening light, a new jewel in the Malfoy family’s ventures—a restaurant at once luxurious and discreet, with dark wood panels, flickering candles in ornate holders, and the subtle scent of spiced mead and roasted meats hanging in the air. Draco arrived fashionably late, as always, slipping through the doors with an effortless confidence, blazer tailored, hair slicked back just enough to look undone.

He had been curious—who is the Muggle-born girl my parents think is suitable for me under this blasted Marriage Law?—and the question gnawed at him all the way from the manor. His mind ran through possibilities: timid, compliant, delicate… someone he could charm into obedience.

The restaurant’s private dining area was dimly lit, with tables spaced just enough for discretion. And there she was—seated at a table near the center, her back to him. Draco slowed, letting his practiced smirk ease onto his lips, the one that had always worked on ladies in high society, and began to approach.

But then he saw her turn slightly, a soft movement, and the world seemed to shift.

Hermione Granger?

The name repeated in his mind, disbelief hammering against his composure. The girl he had tormented throughout their Hogwarts years—the clever, relentless thorn in his side. The girl who had stood alongside Potter and helped defeat Voldemort. And now… she was here. His intended bride, chosen by his parents.

Hermione sat poised, a striking figure radiating quiet confidence. Chestnut-brown hair fell in soft, natural waves around her face, stray strands drifting slightly as though caught in perpetual thought. Her large, expressive brown eyes met him with a mixture of curiosity and resolve, brimming with sharp intellect and unspoken determination.

Summary:

When the Wizengamot enforces a cruel Marriage Law, most witches despair. Hermione Granger does not. She’s tired of being a pawn in other people’s games—and this time, she intends to play her own. Determined to turn chains into power, she seeks an unlikely ally: Draco Malfoy. Together, they could redeem a disgraced family, reshape the wizarding world, and put Hermione exactly where she belongs—on the path to becoming Minister of Magic. But in a game of politics, ambition, and unexpected alliances, even the brightest witch of her age may find the greatest risk is not power… but love.

Chapter 3: Terms of Alliance

The green flames of the Floo network swirled around Hermione, tickling her nose and making her hair frizz as she appeared in the familiar but now strangely foreign drawing room of Malfoy Manor. The opulence was still unmistakable: marble floors polished to a mirror shine, gilded frames lining the walls, and crystal chandeliers dripping light like frozen stars. But the atmosphere was different. Gone were the shadowed corners that had witnessed her last, horrified visit here under Bellatrix Lestrange. Gone were the memories of fear and torture. In their place, a crisp elegance reigned: polished wood, soft velvet furniture, and the faint scent of Narcissa’s lilies filling the air.

Hermione straightened her posture, smoothing the creases in her robes. She would not let the ghosts of her past intimidate her. Not here. Not now.

Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa awaited her in the study, a room lined with tall shelves of leather-bound tomes, and a desk that gleamed ominously under the afternoon light. Lucius gestured for her to sit, his expression carefully neutral, while Narcissa’s gaze appraised her with subtle, sharp curiosity.

“You’ve changed,” Lucius began, though it was more a statement than a question. “It has been… some time since your last visit.”

Hermione’s lips curved in a faint, polite smile. “Yes. A year. And the Manor… it looks quite different from my last memory here,” she said lightly, letting her eyes sweep the room, letting her words linger. “Much more… refined.”

Lucius inclined his head slightly. “We take pride in our home. It reflects the state of our family"

She noticed immediately that Draco was absent. Lucius’s practiced smile did not falter.

“Draco could not be present,” Lucius explained smoothly. “Business matters require his attention. I assure you, his absence in no way diminishes the importance of our meeting.”

Hermione’s brown eyes glinted with measured confidence. “Of course,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “Though I had heard through reliable sources that Draco’s business lately has mostly involved… drinking and an assortment of women outside Britain.” Her words were casual, almost conversational but the effect was electric. Narcissa’s eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued, while Lucius’s fingers twitched against the desk, a mixture of irritation and amusement flickering across his face.

Hermione folded her hands neatly in front of her. “I am here because of the new Marriage Law, and I am proposing a partnership—through marriage—with your son, Draco Malfoy. My status as a war heroine, my experience in the Ministry, and my influence among certain circles can provide both families with considerable advantages.”

Lucius leaned back, steepling his fingers, his expression carefully neutral. “And you expect us to consider this… favorably?”

Hermione allowed a faint shrug. “I expect you to consider the opportunity. For both our families. The Macmillans, Montagues, Shafiqs, Fawleys—pureblood families who have approached me through this law—are interested in alliances. The timing is advantageous, and the benefits are mutual.”

Lucius’s smile tightened, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of interest. “And what of your… personal obligations, should you proceed with this plan?”

Hermione leaned forward just slightly, her tone casual but sharp. “Are you referring to the traditional duties of a lady Malfoy? Producing an heir?” She let the words hang in the air for a moment, observing the effect. “I suppose a half-blood grandchild might not be ideal, but under the circumstances, it may be unavoidable. The law will ensure compliance, whether willingly or not.”

Lucius’s jaw flexed, irritation and amusement warring on his face. “You are… audacious.”

“Perhaps,” Hermione replied smoothly, “but I have always preferred opportunity over fear, Lord Malfoy. And I would hope the Malfoys are capable of the same perspective.”

Narcissa’s lips pressed into a thin line, while Lucius’s pale eyes studied her, assessing, calculating, testing. The conversation had begun as a meeting of courtesy but had shifted into a duel of intellect and ambition. Hermione had arrived ready—not as a victim, not as a petitioner—but as an equal, and the Malfoys recognized it.

“Very well,” Lucius said finally, leaning forward, his steepled fingers tapping the desk. “We shall continue this discussion. But know this—Draco’s presence may be required sooner than you think.”

Hermione inclined her head, her calm smile never faltering. “I would expect nothing less.”

Summary:

When the Wizengamot enforces a cruel Marriage Law, most witches despair. Hermione Granger does not. She’s tired of being a pawn in other people’s games—and this time, she intends to play her own. Determined to turn chains into power, she seeks an unlikely ally: Draco Malfoy. Together, they could redeem a disgraced family, reshape the wizarding world, and put Hermione exactly where she belongs—on the path to becoming Minister of Magic. But in a game of politics, ambition, and unexpected alliances, even the brightest witch of her age may find the greatest risk is not power… but love.

Chapter 2: Echoes of Rome, Shadow of Duty

The thrum of bass shook the walls of Il Serpente, one of Rome’s most exclusive nightclubs, where velvet drapes hung from the ceiling and mirrored columns reflected the chaotic swirl of neon lights. Smoke curled lazily from hidden machines, curling over tables scattered with crystal glasses that glinted like stars under the club’s strobing lights. The air smelled faintly of expensive perfume and warm champagne, mixing with the tang of late-night indulgence.

Draco Malfoy sat perched on a high leather banquette near the DJ booth, a glass of deep-red Italian wine in hand. Blaise and Theo lounged on either side of him, each laughing easily, reveling in the anonymity Rome offered away from British eyes. Around them, the dance floor pulsed with bodies: women in sequined dresses swayed and gyrated to the relentless beat, their hair whipping with abandon, hands thrown in the air; men and women alike shimmered in the glow of gold and crimson lights.

Draco’s gaze flicked to the Italian girl beside him he had been flirting with for the past twenty minutes—a cascade of chestnut hair, lips glossed with a bold red, and a dress that left little to the imagination. He leaned in, letting a smirk curl across his lips as she giggled at some joke he didn’t even remember telling.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Blaise interrupted, leaning closer over the music, his voice laced with disbelief. “Did you see this?” He waved a crumpled piece of parchment—someone had sent him a copy of the new British Marriage Law decree.

Draco barely glanced at it, spinning the glass in his hand. “What’s this, a Ministry prank?” He snorted, then took a long sip of wine. “You’re telling me that, what… Muggle-borns and half-bloods have to marry pure-bloods? That’s… ridiculous. Completely bloody ridiculous.”

Theo laughed, shaking his head as a dancer in a sparkling black dress twirled past them, her heels clicking on the mirrored floor. “It’s real, Draco. Just passed. Kingsley and the Wizengamot finally did it. The whole Wizarding World is buzzing.”

Draco waved the parchment dismissively, returning his attention to the girl, letting his smirk widen. “Buzzing? Let them buzz. I’ve had enough of laws, decrees, and politics. Rome’s better. Wine, women… freedom. Now that’s a law I can obey.”

The girl laughed, brushing her fingers lightly over his hand as the DJ shifted to a new track—a deep, hypnotic beat that sent the crowd into a frenzy. Draco leaned closer, his green eyes glinting under the strobes, entirely unconcerned with anything back home. The decree, Blaise’s warnings, even the political world—they were distant echoes to him now. Rome was alive, intoxicating, and Draco Malfoy intended to drink in every moment.

Blaise watched his friend, exasperated but amused. “You’re impossible, you know that, right? You can’t just ignore this forever.”

Draco laughed, brushing a hand through his slicked-back hair. “Why would I? There’s nothing for me there. Politics, marriage laws… let someone else care. I’ve got Rome, and I’ve got tonight.”

And with that, he leaned back into the girl’s laughter, letting the chaos of the club swallow him whole, oblivious to the storm brewing back home.

Draco and the girl left the club, their steps quick and purposeful as they made their way to his flat. The night air was warm, and the city hummed with a life of its own, but they were focused only on each other.

Once inside his flat, Draco wasted no time. He pulled her close, his lips capturing hers in a fierce, hungry kiss. She responded eagerly, her hands tangling in his hair as they stumbled towards the bedroom.

The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows. Draco’s hands roamed over her body, exploring every curve, every line. She shivered under his touch, her breath coming in short gasps as he trailed kisses down her neck.

He pushed her gently onto the bed, his body covering hers as he continued to kiss her deeply. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer, her desire matching his own.

Draco’s touch was confident and demanding, his fingers deftly unzipping her dress, revealing her bare skin. He took a moment to appreciate the sight of her before his mouth followed the path his hands had taken, leaving a trail of heat and want.

She moaned softly, her body arching against his, her hands gripping his shoulders. Draco smiled against her skin, his fingers tracing patterns on her thigh before moving higher, teasing her until she was breathless and begging.

With a final, fierce kiss, Draco positioned himself between her thighs, entering her with a single, powerful thrust. She cried out, her nails digging into his back as he began to move, his hips driving into hers with a rhythm that was both intense and intimate.

The room filled with the sounds of their pleasure—the soft gasps and moans, the wet slapping of skin against skin, the rustle of sheets. Draco’s body was slick with sweat, his muscles taut with effort as he chased his release, her name a litany on his lips.

Finally, with a low groan, he came, his body shuddering as he spilled himself inside her. She followed soon after, her inner muscles clamping down on him as she rode out her own orgasm, her body trembling beneath his.

Draco collapsed beside her, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He pulled her close, his arm wrapping around her waist, their bodies still entwined. The city outside hummed with life, but in the quiet of his bedroom, there was only the soft sound of their breathing and the occasional sigh of satisfaction.

Draco woke to a blinding shaft of sunlight slicing through the thin curtains of his Roman flat. His head throbbed as if a troll had set up camp behind his eyes, each pulse in time with a lingering, faint echo of last night’s music. A dry, metallic taste coated his mouth, and the sharp tang of wine reminded him that his memory was fragmented—too many drinks, too many distractions, too many reckless choices.

He groaned, rolling onto his back, trying to piece together the previous night. The city outside seemed impossibly bright, the hum of distant traffic grating against his still-sensitive nerves. Somewhere beneath the disarray of clothes, bottles, and half-empty glasses, he felt the faint impression of a body curled against him. He squinted. Oh. Right.

Before he could slip back into a blissful stupor, a sharp, familiar tug interrupted him—a letter, levitating at the edge of the room, hovering mid-air. Draco blinked, trying to focus through the fog in his skull. The wax seal gleamed unmistakably: the Malfoy crest.

He groaned again, shoving himself upright. Of course. They’ve found me.

With a heavy hand, he broke the seal. The parchment was crisp, the writing unmistakably his father’s:

Draco, It has come to our attention that your prolonged absence has raised questions and concerns. Your mother and I request your immediate return to Britain. There are matters requiring your attention—urgent, delicate, and of significant consequence. Your presence is expected. Lucius Malfoy

Draco stared at the letter, a sharp pang cutting through the haze of last night. He felt his stomach turn, a mix of dread, irritation, and something he couldn’t quite name. Rome—the freedom, the chaos, the reckless nights—suddenly felt impossibly far away.

He rubbed his temples, grimacing at the pounding behind his eyes. Urgent, delicate… significant consequence… The formal tone dripped with the same authority and expectation he had always been trained to obey, whether he liked it or not.

Draco swung his legs over the edge of the bed, wincing as the room spun slightly. The fun, the freedom, the playboy life—it was over. The letter reminded him that no matter how far he ran, the Malfoys had a reach, a grip that was impossible to escape. And now, with the Ministry passing ridiculous new laws and the world seemingly careening toward chaos, he realized this summons was more than a mere parental scolding.

With a resigned groan, he crumpled the letter in his hand, tossing it onto the floor. 

Draco had spent the past three days in a haze of champagne, cocktails, and late-night escapades. Clubs in Rome, Paris, and even a brief stop in Barcelona had offered him anonymity and distraction—anywhere but home, anywhere but the summons from his parents. Each night blurred into the next: laughter, flirtation, clinking glasses, and the careless thrill of being untouchable.

Yet tonight, as the early morning sun crept over Rome’s rooftops, Draco stumbled back to his flat, the faint stench of perfume and alcohol clinging to him. Another girl in tow, giggling and leaning against his shoulder as they fumbled with keys, he barely registered the sense of relief at returning to his private haven.

He pushed the door open, expecting the familiar chaos of empty bottles and discarded clothes. Instead, the flat was unnervingly quiet. The air was still, save for a faint, deliberate rustle—footsteps, slow and measured.

And there she was.

A Granger Proposal

Summary:

When the Wizengamot enforces a cruel Marriage Law, most witches despair. Hermione Granger does not. She’s tired of being a pawn in other people’s games—and this time, she intends to play her own. Determined to turn chains into power, she seeks an unlikely ally: Draco Malfoy. Together, they could redeem a disgraced family, reshape the wizarding world, and put Hermione exactly where she belongs—on the path to becoming Minister of Magic. But in a game of politics, ambition, and unexpected alliances, even the brightest witch of her age may find the greatest risk is not power… but love.

Chapter 1: Chains into Crowns

Hermione stood in the cavernous atrium of the Ministry, marble floors gleaming under the enchanted light as Kingsley Shacklebolt’s deep voice echoed through the hall. His tone was heavy, reluctant, as he read the decree that will consumed every headline for weeks:

“By order of the Wizengamot and under the authority of the Ministry of Magic, effective immediately, all witches and wizards between the ages of seventeen (17) and thirty (30) are required to enter into lawful marriage..”

Gasps rippled through the gathered crowd, followed swiftly by the cacophony of quills scratching parchment, reporters shouting over one another, and angry whispers swelling into arguments. To everyone else, this was a bombshell. To Hermione Granger, it was an inevitability.

She had fought tooth and nail against it—standing in heated chambers with Harry at her side, pleading with Kingsley, demanding reform, drafting counter-proposals until her quills bled dry. But the war was barely a year behind them, and the Wizengamot was still governed by the same clutch of wizened men, greedy for legacy and control. They had won. The law had passed.

Hermione did not flinch.

The law was meant to shackle her kind, to make her a pawn in yet another political game. But pawns, she thought, could become queens. And if they thought they’d cornered her, they were sorely mistaken.

They thought they’d forced my hand. They were wrong—I’d just found my opening.

She did not linger to hear Kingsley finish his announcement. As the crowd surged with outrage and despair, Hermione slipped away, her heels striking sharp and purposeful against the polished floors. Back in her office, she cleared her desk with one sweep of her wand, pulled a fresh sheet of parchment toward her, and dipped her quill in ink.

If she could not fight the system, she would bend it to her will. And there was only one family in Britain powerful enough, influential enough, and disgraced enough to accept her proposition.

The Malfoys.

Her quill scratched decisively across the page as she began the letter—an offer that would scandalize the entire Wizarding World. An offer that would change everything.

To Lord Lucius and Lady Narcissa Malfoy, I write to you under circumstances that demand discretion, urgency, and strategic foresight. Recent legislation, passed by the Wizengamot, has imposed strict requirements upon the unions of witches and wizards—particularly those of Muggle-born and half-blood descent. While many regard this law as an unfortunate constraint, I see it as an opportunity for those capable of navigating the currents of power. I propose a meeting to discuss a potential alliance—an arrangement that would secure mutual benefit for our families. It is my intention to offer my hand in marriage to Draco Malfoy. This union, I believe, can restore and enhance the influence and reputation of the Malfoy name while providing me with the necessary support to implement meaningful reform and rise to a position of power within the Ministry. The details of this arrangement would, naturally, be discussed in confidence. I request the pleasure of your company for a formal meeting at a location of your choosing, at your earliest convenience. I assure you that I come prepared with a plan that is as pragmatic as it is ambitious. The Wizarding World is shifting, and those unwilling to act decisively will be left behind. I hope that the Malfoys will recognize the advantage of joining forces at a moment when fortune favors those with the courage to claim it. Respectfully, Hermione Granger

Lucius Malfoy leaned back in his high-backed chair, long fingers steepled beneath his chin as the letter unfolded across the polished mahogany desk. He read Hermione Granger’s neat handwriting twice, each word sparking a flicker of curiosity behind his cold, pale eyes.

Amusement tugged at the corner of his lips. The girl has audacity, he thought. She comes to us with a proposal rather than a plea, offering what others would never dare—our son’s hand.

Narcissa, standing behind him, arched a finely shaped brow, her lips pursed in measured disapproval—or perhaps admiration. “Lucius,” she said softly, “she is bold… perhaps too bold.”

Lucius waved a dismissive hand, though his expression betrayed a spark of intrigue. “Boldness, my dear, is often mistaken for foolishness. Yet this… this is clever. She does not beg; she does not appeal to sentiment. She frames it as an alliance, as though she is extending power rather than taking it.”

He tapped the letter against the desk thoughtfully. “And she seeks Draco’s hand. Our Draco… she dares to place him at the center of her ambitions. It is audacious, but not without merit. There is power to be gained here, influence to be restored. The girl understands leverage.”

Narcissa folded her hands elegantly, her sharp gaze never leaving him. “And yet… she is a Granger. Muggle-born. The world has not been kind to those who cross the bloodlines. Are we certain we wish to entertain such a union?”

Lucius’s eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and calculation. “Certainly, caution is warranted. But watch closely, Narcissa. Hermione Granger is not the naïve girl who stormed through the Department of Mysteries years ago. This is no impulsive act—this is strategy. And strategy, when executed well, can be… profitable.”

He leaned back, a thin smile curling. “We shall see, of course. Invite her. Let us hear the plan in full. Draco will listen, and we shall judge whether this Granger has overestimated her reach—or whether she has, in fact, underestimated ours.”

Narcissa’s lips curved slightly, just enough to hint at intrigue. “Very well. But let us proceed carefully. The girl is ambitious… and ambition can be dangerous.”

Lucius tapped the letter again, savoring the tension. “Indeed. But ambition, when guided wisely, can be most… enlightening.”

The Boy Who Called Me Mummy

After five years abroad, Hermione Granger returns to England , eager to reconnect with old memories and friends. But a simple visit to Flourish and Blotts takes a surreal turn when a young boy with platinum blond hair clings to her, calling her “Mummy” and insisting she’s finally come home—for his birthday. The boy’s name? Scorpius. His father? Draco Malfoy. Caught in a whirlwind of mistaken identity, haunting familiarity, and magical innocence, Hermione finds herself face to face with a mystery she never saw coming... and a child who believes she belongs to him.

Chapter 4: Letters from Mummy

Dear Scorpius,

Happy Birthday, my darling!

I’m so sorry I won’t be able to be home to celebrate with you this year. Things have been rather hectic at work—the Kappa population in the Sumida River has grown unusually aggressive. Riverbanks have collapsed, rice paddies have flooded, and even the nearby potion makers are struggling with strange, glowing algae affecting their ingredients. We’ve been sent to negotiate with the Kappas and try to restore balance to the waterways before things get worse.

Even though I can’t be there in person, please remember to stay healthy, be kind, and continue being the wonderful boy I know you are.

I love you more than words can say.

Mum

Dear Scorpius,

Happy Christmas, my darling!

I do hope this finds you in the very best of health and spirits.

I read the most extraordinary news from the Western Ghats—villagers there are quite terrified. A group of Occamies has taken to blocking a river valley and attacking livestock. Even more troubling, silver eggs have gone missing, and it seems poachers may be involved. We , The Global Enchanted Beings Protection Bureau has sent a specialised squad to relocate the nests, restore harmony, and ensure these remarkable creatures are not driven to extinction.

Earlier today, I saw a little boy, and he reminded me so dearly of you. I hope you are growing strong, clever, and kind, just as I imagine.

I love you very much, my dear Scorpius.

All my love, Mum

Dear Scorpius,

Happy Fourth Birthday, my darling!

You’re growing up so fast—I do hope you’re having a wonderful day filled with smiles and mischief. I’m ever so sorry that I can’t be home to celebrate with you this year.

Things have been rather extraordinary here. The villagers in Yunnan are in quite a state! Entire tea plantations were destroyed overnight by a Chinese Fireball defending its nest. The forest rangers are struggling to control the accidental fires, and, rather worryingly, there are rumours of poachers trying to steal the dragon eggs. We’ve been sent to help relocate the dragons, protect the local ecosystem, and prevent further human-dragon trouble.

Did you know, my darling, that Daddy’s name actually means Dragon? Isn’t that simply amazing?

Be brave and well, my little one. I love you very, very much.

All my love, Mum

Dear Scorpius,

Happy Christmas, my darling!

Grandma told me you rode your very first broom! How exciting! Did you enjoy it? I do hope it was as wonderful as it sounds.

I must tell you, my dear, that Phoenix sightings in the Nile Delta have been dwindling. Poaching, desertification, and expanding towns are putting these magnificent birds at risk of extinction. The Global Enchanted Beings Protection Bureau is working closely with the Egyptian magical authorities to protect their oases, safeguard their nesting grounds, and ensure that the fiery cycle of rebirth continues. Phoenixes are such beautiful and majestic creatures—I do hope one day you’ll be lucky enough to see one with your own eyes.

Take great care of yourself, my love.

All my love, Mum

Morning of Scorpius’ Birthday

“I don’t want to take a bath!” five-year-old Scorpius whined from his bed, his small frame curled beneath the covers as his house-elf, Winky, tried in vain to coax him toward the bathroom.

Draco, already dressed in his morning robes, paused in the doorway at the familiar sound of his son’s protests. His brow furrowed slightly, a mixture of amusement and exasperation crossing his face.

“Scorpius, don’t make Winky’s life difficult,” Draco admonished gently. The little boy pouted, lips jutting stubbornly, but the whines continued regardless.

“Oh, Scorpius,” Narcissa’s voice chimed in from the door, soft and singsong, “I’ve got a new letter from Mummy! But if you don’t take a bath, Grandma won’t read it to you.”

Scorpius froze. His eyes widened, and in an instant, the pout vanished.

“Mummy’s got a new letter?” he exclaimed, leaping out of bed and dashing toward his grandmother with uncontainable excitement.

“Yes, of course!” Narcissa laughed, delighted by his sudden enthusiasm.

“I wanna read! I wanna read!” he shouted, reaching desperately for the letter in Narcissa’s hand.

“Uh-uh,” Narcissa said with a sly smile, holding it just out of reach. “Stinky children don’t get to read Mummy’s letters.”

Scorpius paused, then frowned in determination.

“Okay! I’ll take a bath!” he declared, grabbing Winky’s hand and marching obediently toward the bathroom, the promise of his mother’s letter brightening every step.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Draco turned to his mother, a frown shadowing his face.

“Mother… I thought we agreed to stop with these fake letters.”

“Did we?” Narcissa replied coyly, a playful glint in her eye.

“Mother, I don’t want my child to grow up believing… all of this. He had a mother,” Draco said, his voice tight, heavy with memory, Astoria, gone before Scorpius could remember her.

“But Draco,” Narcissa’s voice softened, tinged with sorrow, “how could I break his heart like that? He’s just a child!”

She looked at the room where Scorpius’ laughter echoed, and her heart ached.

“It’s better he learns the truth from the start,” Draco insisted firmly, though his jaw clenched with restraint.

“Fine,” Narcissa relented, a wistful sigh escaping her lips, “but at least… after his birthday?”

Draco gave a curt nod. “Fine.”

The Boy Who Called Me Mummy

After five years abroad, Hermione Granger returns to England , eager to reconnect with old memories and friends. But a simple visit to Flourish and Blotts takes a surreal turn when a young boy with platinum blond hair clings to her, calling her “Mummy” and insisting she’s finally come home—for his birthday. The boy’s name? Scorpius. His father? Draco Malfoy. Caught in a whirlwind of mistaken identity, haunting familiarity, and magical innocence, Hermione finds herself face to face with a mystery she never saw coming... and a child who believes she belongs to him.

Chapter 3 Five Years Ago

Five Years Ago

“Mr Malfoy, I’m afraid we’re losing her,” the Healer said quietly, his expression grave.

Draco’s head snapped up. He seized the front of the Healer’s robes with a trembling hand.

“I didn’t pay you to stand there doing nothing! Do something—treat her!”

“Draco…”

The voice, soft and strained, pulled his attention. Astoria. She was motioning weakly for him to come closer.

He was at her side in an instant.

“It’s no use, Draco,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “You know the curse… it only worsens with time.”

“No,” he said fiercely, clutching her hand as though he could anchor her to this world. “You have to fight. What about Scorpius? I can’t raise him alone.”

A faint smile curved her lips—tired, tender. “Yes, you can. I believe in you.”

Draco gazed down at her. Their marriage, arranged not long after they’d left Hogwarts, had begun out of obligation—an alliance, as their parents had intended. But what had grown between them was real. Astoria had never been like the other pure-blood girls. She was clever, kind, and quietly defiant of the very ideology they’d both been raised in. She had been his solace in a world that often left him adrift.

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering for a moment, unwilling to let go.

Before midnight, Astoria Malfoy, née Greengrass, succumbed to the ancient family curse—leaving behind a husband, a son, and a silence that would echo through the halls of Malfoy Manor for years to come.

A piercing wail echoed through the manor nursery as young Scorpius Malfoy—barely a year old—let out yet another cry. He hadn’t stopped for hours. His small face was flushed, his fists clenched tight, and the tears rolled down his cheeks without pause.

Both Draco and Narcissa sat slumped in armchairs nearby, utterly drained. The bags beneath Draco’s eyes had deepened, and even Narcissa, always so composed, looked pale and worn.

Desperately trying to calm the child was Winky, the house-elf they had recently brought into the household. She bustled about the nursery with nervous energy, a rattle clutched in her tiny hands.

“Master Scorpius,” she cooed anxiously, shaking the toy, “Master Scorpius is a good boy, yes he is!”

But the baby simply screamed louder, batting the rattle away with a furious swipe. Undeterred, Winky grabbed another toy—a soft Abraxan plush—but Scorpius pushed it aside without a glance. Next came a miniature Hungarian Horntaildoll, but that, too, was met with a shriek and a flailing arm.

“Shhh, Master Scorpius,” Winky pleaded, now tugging at her ears in distress. “Please, little master, don’t cry. Everything is all right, yes it is.”

In a moment of sheer desperation, Winky turned to the only things she truly valued. She pulled out a tiny, twinkling silver necklace, her voice trembling as she held it up. “Here, Master. My former lady gave this to Winky… very special it is.”

Scorpius sobbed, unimpressed.

Then she fumbled for another keepsake: an old, mismatched sock, faded but carefully preserved.

“It’s Dobby’s,” Winky whispered, her voice cracking slightly. “Dobby’s very own sock, Master Scorpius.”

Still no use. The baby’s cries rose again, echoing off the nursery walls.

Panicking now, Winky rifled through a small stack of items she kept close. Her hands landed on a folded copy of the Daily Prophet. She snapped it open and held it up so Scorpius could see the moving photograph.

“Look, Master Scorpius,” she said quickly, “It’s Miss Hermione Granger!”

In the photo, Hermione laughed warmly, her hair windswept and her eyes sparkling. To Winky’s amazement, the crying slowed. Scorpius blinked, hiccupped, and gazed at the paper. His little lips parted in wonder.

“Miss Hermione is a great witch!” Winky said proudly, seizing the moment. “She helps house-elves, yes she does. Helps lots like Winky!”

Scorpius let out a gurgling giggle, his tiny fingers reaching toward the paper. His eyes twinkled as he stared at the smiling witch.

For the first time in hours, the room fell quiet.

The Boy Who Called Me Mummy

After five years abroad, Hermione Granger returns to England , eager to reconnect with old memories and friends. But a simple visit to Flourish and Blotts takes a surreal turn when a young boy with platinum blond hair clings to her, calling her “Mummy” and insisting she’s finally come home—for his birthday. The boy’s name? Scorpius. His father? Draco Malfoy. Caught in a whirlwind of mistaken identity, haunting familiarity, and magical innocence, Hermione finds herself face to face with a mystery she never saw coming... and a child who believes she belongs to him.

Chapter 2 : Scorpius’ Wish

“Master Scorpius, wake up!” Winky whispered excitedly, her squeaky voice bouncing in the dark. “It’s twelve o’clock — it’s your birthday!”

He blinked, rubbing his eyes with tiny fists. A yawn escaped as he sat up, his pale hair sticking up like sleepy little feathers.

“Birthday?” he mumbled, his voice still fuzzy with dreams.

Winky nodded so fast her ears flopped. “Yes, yes! Five years old today!”

Scorpius gave a sleepy smile, then reached over to his bedside table, careful not to knock over the little knight toy he’d left guarding it. His small fingers curled around a picture frame. He pulled it close and held it tight against his chest for a moment.

Then, just like Winky had taught him, he put his hands together like in the storybooks, closed his eyes real tight, and whispered into the night.

“I wish Mummy would come home,” he said.

He peeked at the picture in his lap. The frame was silver and a little bit scratched at the corners, but inside was the most beautiful lady he’d ever seen. Her brown curls bounced as she laughed — over and over — in a soft loop. Her eyes were warm like melted chocolate, and she looked like she was laughing just for him.

Scorpius stared at her, his lip wobbling a little.

“I wish Mummy would come home,” he said again, softer this time. “Please. Please.”

He kept whispering the words, again and again, like a secret spell only he could say right. The picture smiled back, her curls swaying with each loop, and Scorpius kept wishing — harder than he’d ever wished for anything before.

Winky stood beside his bed, her big eyes glistening, and didn’t say a word.

Scorpius stood on a little wooden stool, grinning at his reflection in the tall mirror. His best dress robes — soft silver with tiny green buttons — sparkled in the morning light. He wiggled a little, watching how the fabric swished around his legs.

Winky was fussing with the hem, her tiny hands smoothing out invisible wrinkles. Grandma Cissa stood behind him, gently brushing back a strand of his messy blond hair.

“Aren’t you just the most handsome birthday boy?” His grandma said with a smile that crinkled her eyes.

Scorpius beamed, his cheeks going all warm. “I look like Daddy,” he said proudly.

“You do,” Grandma Cissa whispered, giving his shoulder a soft squeeze.

Today was special. Really special. Daddy had promised — a whole day just for him. Anywhere Scorpius wanted to go.

First stop was Flourish and Blotts. The bookshop was big and smelled like old paper and magic. Scorpius had never been there before, but Grandma Cissa said it was Mummy’s favorite place. She told him that Mummy used to spend hours there, flipping through books and smiling when she found a new one to read.

Grandma also told him something very important.

“Mummy’s favorite book was Hogwarts: A History,” she said, holding his hand as they walked past tall shelves full of floating books.

Scorpius held that thought like a secret treasure in his chest.

When they got to the front counter, he tugged on Daddy’s cloak and looked up with big, serious eyes.

“Daddy,” he said softly, “can I have Hogwarts: A History? Mummy liked it. I want to read it too.”

Draco blinked down at him for a second, like he’d forgotten how to speak. Then he nodded once, quietly, and bought the book without saying a word.

Scorpius sat quietly on the cushioned chair beside Grandma Cissa, swinging his little legs back and forth. She was sipping tea from a dainty glass cup while Daddy talked to Uncle Blaise near the tall shelf of spellbooks.

He clutched his new book tightly in his lap — Hogwarts: A History — and tried to be patient like Grandma had told him. His eyes wandered around the shop, counting the floating candles and watching the books flutter their pages like sleepy wings.

Then — ding-a-ling.

The soft ring of the doorbell made his head snap toward the entrance.

Someone had walked in.

Scorpius stared, his heart doing a little flip-flop in his chest.

It was her.

The lady from his picture.

The one who smiled and laughed forever in the silver frame by his bed.

Her soft curls bounced as she walked, just like they did in the photo. Her robes shimmered with soft colors, flowing behind her like a storybook princess. She laughed at something someone said, and the sound was warm and kind — like summer.

Scorpius blinked.

His mouth opened in a tiny whisper.

“Mummy?”

He didn’t even feel his legs move. They just did.

He slipped off the chair and followed her between the shelves, his book clutched in one hand. She was right there — tracing her fingers along the spines of the books like she belonged in this place. Like she’d always been there.

His chest felt like it was glowing.

His wish had worked. Winky hadn’t been lying. Birthday wishes were real.

Scorpius grinned wide and ran forward, his voice bubbling out loud now, full of joy and hope and everything he’d ever wanted.

“Mummy! Mummy! You come home!”

His little footsteps echoed on the wooden floor as he reached for her.

The Boy Who Called Me Mummy

After five years abroad, Hermione Granger returns to England , eager to reconnect with old memories and friends. But a simple visit to Flourish and Blotts takes a surreal turn when a young boy with platinum blond hair clings to her, calling her “Mummy” and insisting she’s finally come home—for his birthday. The boy’s name? Scorpius. His father? Draco Malfoy. Caught in a whirlwind of mistaken identity, haunting familiarity, and magical innocence, Hermione finds herself face to face with a mystery she never saw coming... and a child who believes she belongs to him.

Chapter 1

Hermione smiled as her boots clicked against the familiar cobblestones of Diagon Alley, the air filled with the hum of magic and laughter. Beside her, Harry chuckled at something she’d just said. It had been five long years since she returned to England from France, and everything—every smell, every sight—felt both foreign and achingly familiar.

“I still can’t believe you’re back,” Harry said warmly.

“I can’t either,” Hermione laughed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she glanced around. “Feels like yesterday… and also a lifetime ago.”

As they walked, catching up with ease, Hermione’s steps suddenly slowed. Her gaze landed on a familiar sign swinging gently above one of the quaint storefronts: Flourish and Blotts.

She stopped in her tracks.

“It’s been so long… I’ve missed this place,” she murmured, a fond smile playing on her lips as memories rushed in—stacks of books, the scent of parchment, afternoons lost in words.

Without waiting, she grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him toward the shop, laughing as he groaned playfully in protest.

Inside, the bookstore was just as she remembered: shelves towering with magical tomes, ladders that rolled across the walls, and the comforting rustle of pages being turned. She wandered through the aisles, trailing her fingers along the spines of new arrivals.

Then, from somewhere nearby, a small voice rang out.

“Mommy! Mommy!”

She barely registered it until a small body bumped into her legs, nearly knocking her off balance. Startled, she looked down—and froze.

A young boy, no older than five or six, clung to her legs with tiny arms. His hair was a striking shade of platinum blonde, his wide grey eyes filled with joy and wonder.

“Excuse me—” Hermione said gently, trying to ease him off her. She crouched down to meet his eye level. “Are you lost, sweetheart?”

But the boy wasn’t listening. His entire face lit up with uncontainable excitement.

“Are you here for my birthday, Mommy? Are you finally coming home?”

Hermione blinked, confused. “Oh… no, I’m sorry,” she said softly, resting a hand on his small shoulder. “I’m not your mummy.”

The boy’s smile didn’t fade. “But Mommy, it’s me—Scorp! It’s my birthday! And Winky said if I wished really hard, it would come true! I wished for you to come home… and you did!”

Before she could respond, he threw his arms around her again, holding on tightly.

Hermione’s heart ached. She couldn’t bring herself to push him away. There was something so sincere, so hopeful in his voice. She glanced up helplessly, still kneeling on the wooden floor, her arms loosely around the boy.

Then came the sound of books clattering to the ground.

Hermione turned her head toward the noise and saw Narcissa Malfoy standing just a few feet away, her expression frozen in pure shock. Older now, yes—but still regal and unmistakably formidable.

Before Hermione could speak, another voice cut through the air.

“Mother, are you alright?”

It was a voice she hadn’t heard in years—cool, composed, and unmistakably familiar. Draco Malfoy stepped into view, concern etched into his features.

And then he saw them.

His eyes widened in disbelief as he took in the scene: Hermione Granger, kneeling on the floor, holding a boy who clung to her like she was the center of his world.

“Look, Daddy!” the boy cried joyfully. “Mummy came home!”

Hermione stared at the boy, then up at Draco, her brow furrowing in confusion. She opened her mouth to speak but found no words.

What in Merlin’s name is going on?

She had never had a child—and certainly not with Draco Malfoy.