Chapter Text
Friday, September 6, 2002
Hermione Granger was well known for her achievements. In primary school it had been gathering every scholastic award the teachers could dream up. At Hogwarts it had been mastering the new world of magic while keeping up her grades; which she had excelled at. By nineteen she had so many accolades under her belt that everyone was clamouring for her to join their company. In the end, she had decided on the Ministry and in three and a half short years had moved her way up to Junior Manager of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.
With her clout to back them, Hermione had managed to get several of her adolescent social movements actualized. House elves were free. Her werewolf platform, entitled Lupin’s Bill, had passed in May just in time for the annual Remembrance Gala where she presented the signed legislature to Andromeda and her grandchild, Remus Lupin’s son, Teddy. It promoted job opportunities, protected against discrimination in all walks of life, and allowed for subsidies on wolfsbane potion for those who could not afford it themselves. Next on the docket was legislation protecting centaur’s migration lands.
Her friend group was strong as ever. The Potters and she saw each other constantly and had dinner whenever both groups could feasibly fit into each other's packed schedules, which Ron and Lavender usually joined. She had standing plans for lunch for whatever friend happened to be passing through. Dumbledore’s Army met annually, where they took over a local quidditch pitch and picnicked. The last one in June had introduced more than one new member as her childhood friends had children of their own.
Hermione Granger’s life was idyllic in every aspect…
Except one.
“So, there’s this guy--” Lavender Brown (soon to be Lavender Weasley as Ron had proposed last week after dating for seven months and living together for three) said, plopping herself down in the guest chair of Hermione’s office at eight fifteen in the morning.
Hermione didn't even bother to look up from the stack of documents she was reviewing to acknowledge her friend. It would only encourage her and Hermione had too much work to get through to cater to her obsessive fantasies. “No.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say,” Lavender pouted.
Hermione sighed, signing the page infront of her with a practised flourish. “Since we only have one conversation that starts with ‘so there’s this guy’, and I find myself being a fairly intelligent witch, the conversation will go as thus: ‘this guy Damien--”
“Marcus,” Lavender supplied helpfully.
“--has great hair--”
A dreamy sigh. “Shoulders.”
“-- I met him at the grocer--”
“It was the quidditch match Ron and I went to last Saturday.”
“--and I think you two will really hit it off. Sound familiar?” Hermione raised a brow as she passed off the stack of completed forms to her hovering assistant, Natalie Kemla. Fresh out of Ilvermorny, the young witch had been with her for three months as part of an ongoing government exchange program between the Ministry and the States. While a bit starry-eyed for Hermione’s personal taste, she had no complaints about the witch’s work.
“But you guys would really hit it off!” Lavender persevered. “He has a cat!”
“A lot of people have cats,” Hermione deflected, distracted, her eyes skimming the next document in her pile, putting it aside for further study.
Lavender continued on, unfazed, “and is a stage director for the Globe Theater!”
Noticing her assistant’s rabid attention to the conversation, Hermione was quick to dismiss her. “Thank you, Natalie, see that those are filed quickly.” The door closed behind the young woman before she turned back to her friend. “Lav, I know you mean well, but stop.”
The woman’s big brown doe eyes filled with tears. “I just want you to be happy. I know it hurt you when Won-Won and I got together and you’ve been such a trooper ever since--”
Hermione tiredly rubbed her eyes. “We’ve been over this, Lav. Ron and I weren’t right for eachother. I’m happy you made a go at it and I’m happier still that it has worked out for you both.”
“But we’re going to be married! Harry and Ginny are thinking about baby number three and Ron and I will be right behind them. Soon, you’re going to be all alone!”
Hermione sighed, pressing hard at her temple. It was too early to be getting a headache for how much she had going on that day. “Marriage and children are not death sentences. For Merlin’s sake, we all had dinner together last week, remember? Where we celebrated your engagement.”
“But it’s not going to be the same!” Lavender said. “Before it was only one married couple but now there will be two. That changes everything!”
“Lavender,” Hermione groaned softly, closing her eyes. Ginny had been needling her for years to find a man and settle down. Adding Lavender to the group had taken the matchmaking schemes to a whole new level. For the last several months, multiple times a week she would be cornered and forced to listen to the glowing review of whatever man they’d happened to stumble upon that would be ‘just perfect' for her and she was getting sick of it.
Hermione had hoped with the wedding Lavender and Ginny would be too busy with preparations to have the time to continue setting her up. Honest truth, she had been looking forward to a break from the constant ribbing and mediocre dates they tried to set her up on. Instead the time crunch seemed to have sent the two women into hyperdrive to get Hermione to the same blissful, down-the-isle path they were on.
So, for the sake of her sanity and the continued sanctity of her friendships, she told a little white lie.
“Look, I didn’t want to bring this up, with your big day coming up and all but, since it means that much to you, I have met someone--” she raised a hand to forestall the excited gasp and the run down of demands to know who it was. “We’re keeping it quiet because he’s in the middle of a divorce.” That would be good cover as to why she hadn’t talked about him prior and a convenient ploy as to why he would be absent in the future. “It’s new so don’t be shocked if I don’t invite him to the wedding.” There, that covered all her bases. Maybe she’d finally get some peace.
“That’s such great news!” Lavender gushed, vibrating in her seat, tears nearly forgotten in her excitement. “Is he handsome? He has to be handsome. Where’d you meet? How’d you meet?”
“It- it was at the grocer,” Hermione fudged quickly, almost slapping a hand to her face when it was the exact same scenario she had used earlier.
“Oh,” the witch drawled, eyeing her slyly. “Is this the mysterious ‘Damion’ with the good hair?”
“His name is not Damion,” Hermione said primly, “but yes, he does have nice hair and a kind smile and a warm laugh--” she trailed off with a frown.
She wasn’t lonely, so why did this imaginary man make her go all wishful? Merlin’s beard, maybe she needed to get laid. When was the last time she had sex? Two dates ago? Three? No, it was the quidditch player with the broom thighs and the amazing hands. Had that really been four months ago?
“And what does this mystery man do for a living?” Lavender flexed her eyebrows suggestively.
Hermione blinked, coming back to herself and the situation at hand. “No way. I tell you that and you’ll have who it is within the hour.”
“Guilty,” she beamed, the notorious gossip knowing her worth ferreting out information and proud of it. She turned serious as she locked eyes with one of her soon-to-be-husband’s best friends. “But you’re happy, right? He makes you happy?”
Catching her breath, Hermione looked away, guilt like a lead weight in her stomach for giving her friends cause to worry about her. That more than anything made her double down on her lie. “It’s still new and not going anywhere until his divorce finalized.”
“Which should be soon?”
“Any day now,” Hermione guaranteed with more conviction than the comment deserved.
A knock on the door, then her assistant stepped in. “Miss Granger, the Daily Prophet just came in.”
“Thank you, Natalie.” Welcoming the interruption, Hermione took the paper and immediately flipped to the editorial section.
“I thought you said that paper was trash,” Lavender said.
“It is trash but it’s trash I must read if I’m to keep abreast of things. Also, I sent in a notice that I want to make sure they formatted correctly.”
Lavender gasped, eyes riveted on the front paper that was aimed towards her. “Malfoy’s divorce finalized yesterday.”
Frowning, Hermione folded the sheet to take a look at the front cover. A moving black and white photo of Malfoy, the younger, walking down the steps of the courthouse, flanked on either side by his parents and a covey of lawyers. Face tight, his cape-like robes were pulled protectively over something he cradled to his chest as a slew of reporters tried to descend on the family but were held back by a ring of aurors.
Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass Marriage Dissolved.
Child custody still to be determined.
Scandal always made for big news, coupled with a pureblood family it would keep the rumour mill churning for weeks. For self preservation reasons only, Hermione had kept up on Draco Malfoy’s exploits. For as annoying of a prat he’d been at school, he had always been sinfully clever. At age nineteen, the boy that had once insulted her over her heritage broke out into the muggle business world, dipping his silver spoons in several pies. He’d taken over Malfoy Industries directly after the war while his father had stepped down from Chairman to serve his ten year stint in Azkaban. There was speculation on how Malfoy Sr. had gotten out after fourteen months for good behaviour and how directly after the Pureblood wedding of the year had taken place.
Hermione remembered reading some months ago, quickly and quietly swept under the rug by the release of a new wizarding tech from the company, about the birth of the Malfoy heir. What was his name, something with an ‘S’. She ran her finger over the photo right where the child no doubt slept securely in his father’s arms. “Scorpius,” she breathed, her eager mind finally supplying the knowledge.
“Oh my god.”
Hermione looked up, surprised at the muggle expletive, to see Lavender, gobsmacked, staring at her with wide eyes.
“Oh. MY. GOD!”
“What?” Hermione's eyes flickered around her office searching for danger, hand itching for her wand.
“It’s Malfoy, isn’t it?”
Hermione blinked, brain short circuiting. “Excuse me?”
“It is Malfoy! That’s why you didn’t want to tell me where he worked. How could I have not seen it. Damion with a ‘D’, good hair, pending--” Lavender snatched up the paper, pointing aggressively at the headline, “finalised divorce; it’s all there!”
“Lavender, it is not Draco,” Hermione said hurriedly. It was fine if it was just her lie about a fictitious romantic partner but her conscience would not allow her to drag down a real person just so she could get her friends to stop setting her up on dates for a few months and focus on their own lives.
“‘Draco,’ is it?” The cat-in-the-cream grin sent panic through Hermione. “Now I really see.”
“No, you don’t understand--”
“Don’t worry,” Lavender said, gathering her things for a quick departure, and tapping the side of her nose, “your secret is safe with me.” She swept out of the room like a giddy whirlwind before Hermione could stop her.
Sucking in a breath she let it out harshly.
“Fuck.”
Hours later Hermione was still at her desk finalising reports while mentally drafting a letter to Malfoy. It was only common courtesy to inform him of the potential rumors that might or might not(she prayed that this might be the one time Lavender kept her mouth shut) start circulating about their romantic involvement but everything she came up with left her sounding far too pathetic for her peace of mind. Finished with her pressing work, Hermione had just set quill to parchment for a first draft when Ron burst into her office, his auror robes snapping behind him.
“Tell me it’s not true!” he demanded, face flushed and jaw tense. Harry, on his heels, closed the door behind them, flicking his wrist to release a silencing charm as their friend continued on his rampage. “Tell me you’re not dating that bloody blonde pratt!”
Hermione’s head fell in her hands, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. Realising this was a possibility she had nonetheless held out some modicum of hope that everyone had matured enough not to air personal things in public, let alone their place of work. Gathering her inner fortitude Hermione sat up straight, putting on her best career-smile and waded into the frey.
“Sit down Ron,” she offered cordially, gesturing to one of the two guest chairs opposite her desk. “Harry, why don’t you join us?”
Ron continued to stomp around her office, throwing his hands in the air. “I will not sit until I get--”
“SIT! DOWN!” she boomed, her magic crackling around her. They came to attention like marionettes on a string. Both boys had been with her long enough to know when she used that tone she was done being nice. They quickly scuttled into chairs.
“Now,” she said, modulating her voice and laying her interlocked fingers on her desk, “I understand this is a bit of a shock--”
“I’d say,” Harry grumbled under his breath. She shot him a warning glare, letting him know she was allowing him to get away with the comment but wouldn’t be so lenient the next time. He looked away, shifting uncomfortably.
“As I was saying, this may come as a shock, but I’m a grown woman capable of making my own decisions.”
“But why him?” Ron demanded, hand fisted in the material over his thigh. “I thought you had better taste than that, Hermione! Or at the very least some self respect.”
“Ron!” Harry protested.
The redhead turned on him, defensive. “What? This is the git that treated her like shite all through school and called her a ‘Mudblood’. Who’s crazy aunt carved the word into her arm. And she suddenly falls for him?” He swung back to her, looking down his nose. “I knew you were trying to get your projects funded but I didn’t think you’d sell yourself!”
Hermione didn’t pick up her wand for the sole reason that she didn’t know what she would do with it in her hand. And for someone who always knew what her next move was, that was concerning. Instead she kept her spine locked and stared him down. “Get out.”
Harry sat forward, always the mediator. “Moine--”
She flicked her hand up with a dueler’s precision, stalling him. “Not another word. Get him out of my sight before I do something I won’t regret until later. If at all.”
Seeing the seriousness in her eyes, Harry tried to bundle Ron out but the redhead was resisting, spouting more and more hateful things lost in his anger, when the door popped open.
“Granger, I-” Draco Malfoy stepped into her office like he owned it and took in the scene with a flash of imperial silver eyes before they settled on her, carrying a significant weight.
“Honey,” his voice was as frigid as glacial ice. She shivered. “I thought we were keeping this quiet.”