Chapter Text
August, 2010.
Hermione thought her life plan was pretty solid. She was going to graduate in Hogwarts, get an O at her NEWTs, work as an intern at the Ministry of Magic and eventually she, herself, would become minister of magic. The first muggleborn woman to ever achieve such a thing.
That part of her life… Well… Let’s just say it was not like she planned at all. She did get an O at her NEWTs but she was not expecting that Ronald Weasley would break up their engagement as soon as he learned what a cellphone was. So he did break up with her, with a text message. In the most muggle fuck boy way possible. What she didn’t know about the situation was that he would announce a relationship with none other than Millicent Blustrode and that would send herself in such a depressive state that she barely could eat, sleep or talk.
Her friends have visited, of course, but in an awkward way. Ginny and Harry got married soon after the end of the war, not giving chance to fate to separate them again, wanting to live life together and express their love. They were, respectively, Ron’s sister and bestfriend, so although they were understanding and supportive towards Hermione, they couldn’t really be mad at Ronald for chasing something Hermione could not give him. And to be honest, she didn’t quite know what the Weasley was looking for in a woman. Someone like Molly? That wanted to stay at home and pop out an entire quidditch team? Or someone spontaneous, with fire? She liked to think she had plenty of fire, but he always knew she liked things programmed and without surprises. Maybe he fell out of love with her after the thrill of all their adventures had passed and all that was left was just life? Or maybe he just realized that they had nothing in common besides both of them being gryffindors and having Harry Potter as their bestfriend?
Eleven years had passed since her breakup with Ron. Some days seemed like it happened just yesterday, but others she could really see how much stuff had happened. She couldn’t get her internship at the Ministry of Magic, but she did get an okay job at Flourish and Blotts, it was not a career but made her pretty… content, on a daily basis.
She, no longer, was the Hermione Granger that she once was. The bookworm girl still lived inside her, of course, her job was proof of it. Hermione did enjoy reading and buying books, recommending them to people and assisting them to get what they need, but she noted that her life needed change in order to progress. She thought she needed to be the kind of girl people would notice. The flirty, party girl she never was. It was cute when she was twenty two and the future looked bright as the Brightest Witch of Her Age, now that she’s thirty it is not so fun anymore. But that’s nothing else she knows how to do. Is she supposed to be visiting Ginny and Harry every weekend at Grimmauld Place? Or offer to babysit for them, watch the kids as the couple took some time to themselves? She did that, but not so often anymore. Should she visit The Burrow again? She would be there at every holiday and no, she didn’t think that she needed to spend more time with the Weasleys and, even though her friendship with Harry and Ron was still strong, it was pretty odd to see Ron’s and Millicent’s kids and wonder how some woman was living the life that supposed to be hers.
So she stood by what she knew how to do. Close the store on friday night, head home, open a wine and get ready to go out to some club, muggle one, wizarding one, it didn’t matter. She just needed to feel something, dance until her feet hurt or feel nothing at all, numb with all the alcohol she drank.
Saturday she woke up hungover, dragged herself to the store for the opening. She would take a pepper up potion and go through the day, closing the store at night and repeating what she did in the day prior.
Sunday was her day off, she would just get cozy inside her house, with her nearly dead pet, Crookshanks, and read until her head hurt. Reading for pleasure only, who would believe? Sometimes even she didn’t believe that reading, searching for dark artifacts and dark wizards was not a necessary thing anymore. Yes, she did know that was her life more than a decade ago, but… Somedays still looked like yesterday. Sometimes Hermione dreamed about waking up in her dorms at Hogwarts, her life now being just a nightmare and she would still have all her youth to do everything different and maybe achieve the things she wanted the most.
Hermione would not let herself waste away after breaking up with Ronald. She would not allow herself to be depressed over this man. She would get up, pursue the career she always wanted, would never distance herself so much from her friends, she would not give up on reverting her parents obliviation and when she saw herself today, she would be proud and happy. Maybe married? With kids? Or no? Maybe the kids would interfere with her career planning. Maybe her so-perfect-husband wouldn’t care at all, they could always adopt anyway if she got too old to bear children of her own. But really, she could only dream, couldn’t she? Even if she had a time turner, she would not mess with an entire timeline just because some day the golden girl lost her life rails.
But it was never really him, was it? Ronald. The truth is that the war never passed for her. After the war she no longer… Was? What? She didn’t know. Losing people that she loved, losing her parents while they’re still alive, gave her a sense of solitude she truly wouldn’t be able to explain. For the longest time, throughout her whole life actually, her academic mindset was what drove her. Seeing Lupin and Tokns die, Snape, Dumbledore, even sodding Lavender Brown… Got her to realize that life was indeed fragile. Being in all those adventures with Harry and Ron had given her the perception that they were immortals, that life and death held no meaning to them, because they will always prevail, but seeing so many corpses around her made Hermione actually see. Was academic realizations all there really was? Is this what life is about? In the end, Harry was right. Love was what mattered, having someone waiting for you at the end of the day was what mattered, and maybe he was the only one that could see it so soon because he never had anyone before learning he was a wizard and Hermione, even when the muggle world was all that existed for her, had everything. A family, unconditional love, support, a home. And now she had what? A few friends that moved on with their lives, as it supposed to be, a flat and a half kneazle that was too old.
And don’t even start with the fame! Yes, she has fame! She will forever be the heroine who helped The Boy Who Lived save the wizarding world, but she never really wanted fame. She wanted to be a noticeable muggleborn, exceptional amongst all wizards and witches, to get her kind to be recognized as worthy of magic, as normal as anyone, but she never really wanted the fame that came with. Ron, on the other hand, loved the fame, bathed in the glory of the old times, and Harry… Well, since he arrived at wizarding London, all he ever knew was fame. The damned Daily Prophet and that horrible Rita Skeeter never gave her a second of peace. Every date she went to was followed by a newspaper first page with “Is this finally the one?” and no, none of them ever was. Hermione did want a boyfriend, something long term, but all she ever gets is one night stands. So she stopped inviting them over to her flat at the end of the night, because all they truly wanted was to get into the Golden Girl’s pants and brag about it to their friends.
Skeeter often wrote about her, Witch Weekly too, always highlighting Hermione’s age, making thirty look like, somehow, a very old age to a witch to be unmarried. The life expectation of the wizarding folk outstrips the human one, by several years, so she knew she would probably have a long life. 30 wasn’t the end for her, but… It really looked like. The media always pictured her as the stray dog of the golden trio. Harry was a retired auror and now a professor at Hogwarts, teaching Defense Against The Dark Arts (nothing more like him, ha?) and Ron was still blazing guns and doing all kinds of life threatening stuff being an auror himself. They both married, had children. Harry had two boys and one girl, Ron had a boy and a girl. Both respected men, successful, happy, never alone, never lonely, always thriving and she -
She wasn’t even on the “Ten most eligible single witches” article on the Witch Weekly anymore. She was a spinster. She didn’t even accomplish what everybody expected of her!
Looking at her face in a dirty mirror at the pub she chose for the day, seeing her makeup smothered by sweat, noticing she didn’t even bother to perform a charm on it so it would stay in place. The look on her face… She knew that look. She felt lost and looked just like she felt. “How did I get here?” was all that she could think about. She was depressed, truth be told. She wondered why, how, but for the first time in life, Hermione Granger didn’t have the answers she needed.
At this point of her life she only didn’t want to feel alone. She wanted something, someone, expecting her at her kitchen, with warm food and warm smiles and hugs, a cuppa in hand, waiting to hear all about her day and dreams and hopes and life, not just the great part with her friends and fighting dark wizards, but the ordinary parts too. Her perfect man would wanna know all about her. To get to know her upbringing and listen to her childhood stories that didn’t have anything to do with saving the worlds, would want to know what was her favorite subject at school, what was her favorite color, what was her comfort food and he didn’t would have to ask her favorite book, because he would already knew. He would cuddle her when her period came, watch the telly with her, read with her, sharing their favorite quotes. He would be tall and handsome, polite, educated, a good listener but also intelligent, with something to contribute to the conversation. He would make her feel safe, loved and taken care of. He simply… Did not exist.
She did everything. Learned how to take care of the mane she called hair, learned how to dress better, to value herself and don’t lower her standards just because the right man didn’t appear yet, and maybe never would. She kept her social life going, tried to stay interesting even though her life couldn’t be more boring right now. She stayed pretty, smart and all her other qualities. She was a good, decent person, so why was she still alone? Why did she feel like she could have accomplished so much more? Why was she chasing something that, if she was herself still, it wouldn’t matter in the slightest?
“I’m doing all that I can” she said to her reflection, in hope that the mirrored image would respond “I know, you’re doing great”.
It’s sad, but it is true how society said her life was already over. What prospects did she have? To make a 360º on her life, try to fight time, the most powerful force that it is? To pretend that she was still a young girl full of dreams and hopes, knock on the Ministry door and ask for a job? Or maybe she could be a professor? McGonagall surely would accept her, but she lacked the patience… There was something she wasn’t seeing? Something that she could be doing that would make her life turn upside down and probably to the way that it is supposed to be. Maybe if she tried really, really, really hard she could be again who she once was and none of this would matter. She would have her friends and their kids and a lovely job at the bookstore she's always loved and that would be enough, because Harry and Ron and orbiting around them used to be enough. She could always be the brains, the brilliant sidekick, the useful information to a charade where she wasn’t the protagonist. Could she? She knew she couldn’t, because if she did, she would’ve already done it. She would do anything if it soothed this void inside her.
Honestly, for once in her life, she allowed herself to be selfish and futile. All she wanted was a boyfriend, a friend with benefits, a life companion, someone for her and for her only and until the man of her dreams comes along, picks her up and put her over his shoulders, there was nothing to do and nothing to say, she will do what she’s been doing for years, living one day at time, working, paying her bills, drinking her life away at weekends and snogging a stranger or two. Visiting her friends on holidays and birthdays, sometimes on ordinary occasions, just for shits and giggles. She would grab her cat on Sundays, lay on her sofa and watch the same muggle movies over and over again and maybe bawl her eyes out crying when she felt like it.
She saw some witches at the cabins behind her doing coke, an old thing for muggles but it was all the rage nowadays in the wizarding world, giving that potion addiction was now out of style. Synthetic muggle drugs was all that it was. She thought about it, once or twice, but she knew addiction was partially a genetic thing and she didn’t have enough knowledge on her family to know if someone was an addict, now or in the past. What was she thinking? She didn’t even have a family anymore. But of course, she could use a more strong form of intoxication… No! No drugs! Bad Hermione.
The girls were talking about someone who just got into the pub and was stealing all the attention. Hermione couldn’t listen exactly word by word to know who they were talking about, but she could gather that it was a very famous, or unfamous, wizard. Whoever was, it was the novelty of the night. She didn’t like to repeat pubs, having a schedule of which pubs she would go on that month and trying to maintain a rotation amongst them, but really, after over a decade, even on that rotation was a certain pattern and she was a well known face in whatever pub wizarding London or muggle London could have.
They were young, the witches, she could see. Both of them should barely be out of Hogwarts right now. Scandalous clothing and makeup, trying to look older than their years, while Hermione tried to do the opposite, chasing the time that passed right through her in the blink of an eye. They could’ve just met at the dance floor or they could be each other's person, their safe place and bestfriends, it was impossible to know, but Hermione loved to play this little guessing game, observing the faces of people she most likely wouldn’t see again, or maybe would, be it wouldn’t be important at the point of deserving remembrance. She loved to imagine people’s lives and what they did for a job, their ages, if they were married and, if they were magical, what house of Hogwarts they’d belong to, if not, what would’ve been their simple muggle life, if they had children, where they lived and how would be their routine.
In the end, none of this matters. It was all a temporary distraction. Thinking about the life of others gave her an excuse to not think about hers. Writing other people's stories, at least in her head, eased up the fact that she couldn’t erase what bothered her in hers.
Being truly honest, she envied the girls behind her even if they were ruining their lives by doing drugs, just because they were at their prime, with their whole youth ahead of them, ready to make mistakes and learn from them, to meet people, make friends and build memories. Hermione felt like she was 90 instead of 30. Being part of a war, being a child soldier, had made her live ten lives in one. She felt like she had seen too much already, the horrors, the screams, the lives ending, new lives beginning, great wizards being put down, even greater wizards arising. Sometimes she felt so depressed that she didn’t want to do anything, just die. She couldn’t muster the energy that life required. Other times she thought that if she didn’t feel anything at all, even the tiniest bit of emotion, she would combust, the void finally taking her whole.
She focused on the mirror again. With light fingers, she tried to fix the makeup under her eyes, making them less smothered and more smokey. With a tissue, she cleaned the excess of lipstick, applying it again the best she could with her vision so blurry. It ended up looking kinda messy, but she didn’t really care. It was the best she could do at the moment, just like everything else in her life. She fluffed up her hair, noticing that the humidity and sweat had stiffened her curls a bit. She was still pretty, you know? Still…
“Are you Hermione Granger?” one of the girls behind her asked.
Oh, fuck.
“Yes, that's me,” she answered. She didn’t want to be Hermione Granger tonight.
“You’re like such an icon! I’m a muggleborn too, you know? And thanks to you, I never felt like I was less than the other students at Hogwarts… They could never make me question my worth, because one of the greatest witches to ever exist is a muggleborn… Like me,” said one of them with tears in her eyes. Hermione has seen a fair share of drunk talk in her life to recognize one, but even if this girl is just vomiting the first thing that comes in her mind when she thinks of Hermione Granger, for once, Hermione was extremely proud of being exactly who she was.
She smiled at the two girls, a true meaningful smile. All her questioning to the mirror ended up just like that, with drunken words from a young witch. It comforted her, even momentaneously. For today, she thought that she could go home, take a shower, eat something and go to sleep. She didn’t need to nearly pass out drunk and get home not knowing how. She could just go home.
Hermione politely excused herself, not that the girls would’ve noticed, and got out of the bathroom. They were quite right about that wizard stealing all the attention, because the place was bustling with people. She didn’t want to know what all the commotion was about, she didn’t care who was this wizard that set this place ablaze, she just wanted to go home. Tonight was okay, but apparently this was another plan in her life that didn't go as expected. It was too crowded, she tried to go around the corners, but it was impossible with so many bodyguards so she did what she thought was clever: She ducked herself down, on all fours, and crawled through the crowd. If you look in a certain way, yes, it was kinda humiliating for a grown woman to be crawling on the floor of a dirty pub, but if you look in another light, it is just a tired woman doing what she needed to do in order to get home.
She then found a place where the people dispersed a bit and followed there, because it seemed to be a way out. For a girl who once ran off Gringotts on a dragon's back, this wasn’t her most exciting escape, but I guess it’ll have to do for today. When she reached a point that nearly no one was in, she got up on her feet and stood, dusting off her clothes and putting her hair up in a bun. Godric, that was quite tricky! She was just ready to look out for the exit, when her vision was taken by a large chest covered in black. Black suit, black dress shirt, black tie and a smell of green apples, fresh parchment and something she quite couldn’t put her finger on what exactly was.
Hermione liked to think she wasn’t easily surprised, but nothing could’ve prepared her for what came next.
“Well, what is that we’ve got here?”
Draco Malfoy was the owner of the largest chest she ever bumped in. He was changed, it was obvious for her to see. The last time she was face to face with him was soon after the final battle, eleven years ago, when he apologized to Harry and her (never to Ron, though), but Hermione would recognize that white hair and gray eyes anywhere. The boyish in his face was gone. His features were always kinda pointy, but now they were sharp with a jawline that could cut glass and cheekbones high. His gaze continued to be dragon-like, just like his name suggested. Wait! Was he the wizard that caused all this commotion? It could only be, him being an ex death eater and all that… “Cat got your tongue, Granger? You see, I remember you with a lot more to say, actually, it was quite difficult to get you to close your mouth”.
She had done it again, got lost inside her own thoughts and forgot to have her wit to answer Malfoy.
“Malfoy”, was the first thing she said. Brilliant. She could see amusement in his eyes as she noticed that she didn’t step back, just looked up to see his face. He was… Quite handsome. Ginny and her potty mouth may have mentioned that he was on the cover of some gossip magazines frequently and that he was rather fit, but seeing in person… Hermione wasn’t a frigid teenager anymore, she could see as bright as the day what was the appeal he had over witches. He drew an eyebrow up with her lack of words, a smirk forming at his… Hum, rather full lips. “I’m just trying to go home” she finally mustered to say.
“No, I don’t think so”.
She finally found the way out, but his bodyguards now standed between her and the door. She looked up at him. Of course her wand was in a holster in her thigh and she could easily get rid of the man if she was a little less intoxicated, she was still a very powerful witch after all. Malfoy was still staring at her with an amused face, Hermione was still too close to him and everyone seemed to be staring.
“See, is not everyday that I ran into the Brightest Witch of Her Age in one of my pubs” Malfoy was staring at her directly in the eyes, never swaying his sight elsewhere. She was starting to get dizzy, too much eye contact. She didn’t want the attention, especially from him. His pubs? He owned it here?
“Yes, Granger, I own here and several other pubs around London and some in Paris. You see, money is a thing you can never have enough”, fuck! Did she say that outloud? “Yes, you did. I see that you are rather daft when you’re drunk”.
She hit him in the chest and was already aiming another punch to hit his face.
“Easy, tiger” he said when his bodyguards started to approach. Malfoy held her wrist and she couldn’t help but notice that his hand covered the entire of it. He had pretty hands for a man. “If we’re gonna get into a brawl, I need to say I much prefer it if it was just you and me, no wands”.
“I wanna go home, Malfoy. I don’t have the time for whatever you think is happening here”, Hermione hoped that her voice was as firm as her intent of getting out of there. She would have to search which pubs belonged to Malfoy so she never stepped foot inside one again.
She looked at him again and then at his men.
“I don’t think so, Granger”, he nearly purred. “You see, it is not a common thing to come across the golden girl herself, in a pub, particularly drunk. It arose a certain… Curiosity, one may say. I think I’m going to keep you for the night”.
Even before she could have said anything, his men surrounded her, making the only way possible to follow Malfoy into some stairs that led to the upper side of the pub. She did follow him, even though she could’ve tried to escape. Hermione didn’t feel like she was in danger, which was a good thing, she was, in fact, as intrigued by him as he appeared to be by her. So she followed, just because it was about time for her life to have some adventure again.
They went up the stairs into a lounge with large couches and even lower lights, with everything in tones of black and purple. Sultry, she thought to herself.
Malfoy stood about a head and half above her, his lean figure and large back facing her as she walked behind him and watched as he and his presence took almost an entire sofa, motioning for her to sit beside him.
She pondered her options. She no longer had any kind of hatred towards him, forgiveness wasn’t something she found hard to give, and she had given him years ago as she was now giving him the benefit of the doubt. He was, indeed, her child tormentor, but she knew what an ill-advised upbringing could do to someone, and he only was that little menace because of the way he was raised by Lucius and Narcissa. If he was so interested in her company, he didn’t have anything against her blood status anymore.
She eyed him down, trying to sense if he, himself, presented some kind of danger, which was sort of stupid of her, seeing that she was outnumbered here. Ok, let bygones be bygones.
She sits next to him.
Draco surprised her by taking a pack of muggle cigarettes from the pocket inside his suit and lit one up, offering to her. She refused, almost in shock seeing him smoke like it was the most normal thing in the world. A pureblood, the sole heir of the Malfoy family, staining his lips and lungs with muggle shit.
“Mama didn’t tell you that it is rude to stare?” He asks. “Or you see something you like?”
“What do you want, Malfoy? Why are we in this place, why do you own pubs and why are you smoking muggle cigarettes? Mostly, what do you want from me?”
It all blurted out of her in one breath.
Malfoy moved in a dragon like way, his neck indicated the path that his body was going to go. His eyes were brighter, amused by her curiosity. She rested her back against the soft furniture. One of his men brought them a glass of wine and one of whisky, Malfoy took the whisky and she accepted the wine, sipping it and savoring the unique and expensive flavor.
“Is comforting seeing that, no matter how time has passed, you are still as eager for knowledge as the little swot I once knew,” his long finger, the same that carried the cigarette, swipes above the rim of the glass. Pretty hands, she thought again. “What a pleasant thing that the object of your studies is now… Me,” he offered her a little smile. Not a smirk, not a sneer, just a little smile. A sad one, if she were really being observative.
Hermione didn’t answer his provocation, only lifting an eyebrow to him, expecting him to respond to her questions.
The blond stared at her more fiercely, hoping that she was the one to break the silence. She didn’t waver. It was not acceptable being almost coerced to get up to a place she didn’t know with her childhood nemesis and polar opposite. Malfoy had white hair, she had brown hair, his hair was bone straight and hers was curly to the skies; his skin, ivory like the most expensive marble, hers was bronzy, oliveish; he was a pureblood, she was a muggleborn; he was a slytherin and she was a gryffindor; he was silver and she was golden and every other difference possible mentioning, they fitted. All those things put them seas and oceans apparts, two different worlds about to collide, to have a polite conversation, simply because Malfoy wanted. Spoiled brat.
“I own many pubs because being the sole heir to the Malfoy family, sitting in countless vaults with amounts of gold never known by humankind, one of the most eligible pureblood bachelors and all that… Is boring. I don’t do well with boredom, you know? And this gives me something to entertain my mind, since no one around seems to be capable of having a decent conversation,” he confessed. “We are here because it sparked my never fulfilled curiosity why the ⅓ of the golden trio was crawling on the floor and this is my personal space here, so we can have a private conversation. Malfoy heir, Golden Girl… looks like something everyone would want to know what this conversation was about, don’t you think? And I happen to like my privacy just fine, even if you are the hottest topic of almost every tabloid once a month”.
“And what I want for you, my little lioness, it’s just to know what you’ve been up to, because even if Merlin himself resurrected and told me that the best student at Hogwarts just gave up her brilliant future and now goes clubbing every weekend and drinks her life away, snogging a few wizards every now and then, I would not fucking believe it,” he continued, never breaking eye contact. Hermione wanted to hide somewhere. Being Hermione Granger herself, not many people had the nerve to say harsh things to her, especially the ones that were true. Not even Harry and Ginny found the courage to talk to her about her corrosive habits. “Rich people like odd things, like albino peacocks and orgies, but I see myself facing the oddest thing ever: The most promising girl the wizardkind has ever seen, the future minister of magic… Being ordinary. What happened to you, cub?”
Malfoy had said a lot of things, Hermione was not thick enough to not have listened. He questioned her entire life since she graduated and repeated the same things she has questioned herself over and over. She didn’t know, either, how she ended up where she was now and why. To hear from someone else the shitshow her life is, was just… Astounding, to say the least. With her lack of response, Malfoy drawled:
“Did I break you?”
“Do you really believe that I was going to be the minister of magic?,” of all the reasons in the world, Hermione didn’t have a single one to trust him and to talk to him about her life, but she couldn’t help but to slip this silly question. From all the things that he said, the one that struck her the most was this: He said that she would be the minister of magic. The person that shouldn’t believe her potential at all, that was raised to hate her, said that he thought that she would fulfill her most pretentious desire. None of her friends ever questioned her that, apparently, all of them thought too that it was dreaming too high, but Malfoy had said like it was just… Expected of her. Just another task in her academic and professional life. Something possible.
“Even with all the bullshit Lucius put in my mind growing up, since the day of the battle of Hogwarts, I didn’t have an ounce of doubt, Granger,” his expression was calm, like a river flowing his natural course on a sunny day. Just calm. She could, or wanted to, see the truth in it.
Today was indeed an odd day. Some girl in the bathroom said exactly what she needed to hear, enough to send her home. Then, she bumped into Draco Malfoy’s chest (a pretty hard one, if you want to know) and he technically kidnapped her to the second floor of his pub, and then he proceeds to tell her the he believed in her biggest dream, that, in fact, he expected it from her to actually achieve it.
If she knew, maybe she would’ve closed the store, headed home and stayed inside with Crooks. At any given moment maybe she would wake up, seeing that she just didn’t hear her alarm and was late for work.
Hermione turned to face Malfoy straight, both of her legs over the couch. For a moment, the noise of the pub sounded minor, not bothering at all. The sound of her heartbeat overflowed her senses and now the man sitting in front of her looked so much more interesting. Who was he? That was not the first person who ever called her a mudblood, not the spoiled boy who threatened to tell everything to his father and he didn’t look like the scared teenager who looked away to save himself and his family while she was tortured. To save a father that didn’t know how to raise a child and a mother that loved a son so much that she would lie in the face of death to give her baby a chance to live a better future. Who was this man? Now she understood his curiosity towards her. Because one day, even superficially, she knew him and he knew her. He knew she was a swot, a bookish know it all, bestfriends with “Saint Potter” and “the Weasel”, the mudblood who tried too hard to be recognized amongst naturally magical beings, forcing herself to learn more about the magical world than anyone, to know more spells and charms and potions and history, just so she could be seen, and she knew he was a blood purist, the slytherin prince with his army of dumbasses (minus Blaise Zabini, she could admit he was quite clever), the son of a Death Eater and one of the youngest to ever take the dark mark, a sorry excuse of a person, too afraid to do anything, a coward, a loving child trying to survive as much as she was, but now… It was like staring at a non-cataloged creature and one thing Hermione Granger couldn't bear was to not know something. She had to get to know him.
“I used to think that too,” she offered.
“And what happened to the mighty gryffindor lioness for her to look like a scared cat right now?”
“Life, I guess”. It was so much more complicated than that, actually.
“Considering that tomorrow is a sunday and that the pub is mine, I think we have plenty of time for you to tell me. Life happened to us all, but the Weasel and Potter didn’t abandon their dreams. Also, how come you didn’t marry Weasley?”
Of all the reasons in the world, Hermione didn’t have a single one to trust him and to talk to him about her life, but she also didn’t have a single one to not do these things. After tonight she was going to go home, she would sleep and spend her Sunday the same way she has been doing for years and her life would stay exactly the same. Malfoy would return to his normal activities too, doing whatever rich people do, running his silly little pubs and everything and they would never see eachother again. He looked like a private person, so he wouldn’t be spilling all about her to the Prophet and she was already humiliated by herself everyday, what was a little tête-à-tête with him? What harm could come from this? Life was already a joke by itself.
“If I’m gonna answer all these questions that you’re making me like we were old acquaintances that don’t see each other for the longest time, you’re gonna answer mine too,” it was that, or she would get up right now and leave this place, and he knew that.
“You know what they say, Granger. Turnabout’s fair play, after all”.
So she told him what he wanted to know. Started with the context of their adventures in Hogwarts, which Malfoy admitted he though half of it was bullshit, because there was no way kids would be doing the most life threatening stuff while the most he did was broke an arm flying with his broom during the breaks or hide to hear his fathers meetings without him knowing and getting caught every now and then. It followed with the war itself and again Malfoy eyes almost left their sockets when she told him they rode out of Gringotts on a Ukrainian Ironbelly’s back, saying “I’m NAMED after a the damn thing and if it wasn’t for the triwizard tournament I wouldn’t ever saw one”, but besides that, he listened to her very carefully, his eyes never changing direction, he only opened his mouth to ask “how come?” sometimes.
Hermione felt listened to. For the first time of her life, someone was actually paying attention to her and only her. With her friends she felt like, if it wasn’t a plan to save their lives, no one was really listening to her. She wasn’t just interesting enough to her life to be the subject of a conversation. Seeing this stranger paying so much attention to her vision of how the events of her personal life unfolded was just… Magical.
“So, I think that it was an amount of things that led to our end. My whole life I thought that it was obvious that we would stay together, it was the natural course of thing, but after the war, I think we saw that we don’t have much in common and -
“Há! You tell me that, Granger. The Weasel lacks the cognitive abilities just to be around you. It must’ve been so boring having do dumb down in order to maintain a simple conversation with him. I can only imagine you searching your gigantic brain of yours, looking for an easy synonym to a complicated word, just so he could understand what you were saying,” only after vomiting all of these words in 1.5 speed, Malfoy seemed to catch himself at fault with his good aristocratic manners. “Sorry for interrupting you, but not sorry at all for offending your ex”.
“Ponce,” she gave him an eye roll. “But yeah, you’re kinda right. I did have to dumb down some things, but Ronald is pretty smart at other things than academics. He is very brave too. I think it was not just that, I feel like I would be perfectly happy with him for a lifetime if we were still together, but he wouldn’t. He was looking for something that I could not provide and I’ve exhausted myself thinking of what it could be, so I could try to meet his needs but it was a dead end”.
“Granger, you would never be happy with him for two years, much more for your whole life. You weren’t compatible, it could never work. Don’t blame yourself”, sincerity poured from his voice. Who was he? This giant kind man? And why was he listening to her with so much attention, why was he engaging in conversation and acting like he actually was interested in what she was saying? Was she so fucked up that him doing the bare minimum and acting like a normal person made her so happy?
They chatted more and Hermione found herself leaning toward him, while Draco kept himself exactly where he was. The music that was blasting now was just silence, his voice and her exchanging conversation, surrounded by his men that dispersed themselves throughout the space, still keeping an eye on them. It was warm and cozy, the sleepness taking over little by little whilst she leaned her head over the couch backrest. His voice was deep and soothing, lulling her to relax little by little.
“So, what’s with the job? How come you didn’t get into the ministry as an intern at the department of magical creatures or I don’t know, some kind of beneficial thing for poor people?”
“How do you know I would want to be in the department of magical creatures?” Damn, it was really hard to hate him, not that she was trying anyway.
“Oh don’t treat me like I’m deaf, anyone in a 40 kilometer radius next to you could hear you talk about the elves and their rights and that project of yours regarding them”, he remembered that? Heat and redness flushed her face as she, for the first time in the night, averted her gaze to the ground. Ron and her shared their first kiss because of the S.P.E.W and anyone who valued or noticed her efforts with this project automatically gained a soft spot in her heart. “You know, after the war and my father’s death, I finally could free all the elves of the Manor. They stayed, anyway, because most of them had seen me grow and didn’t want to leave now that my father was not around. It’s quite funny seeing them in little clothes and watching what they decide to do with money and day-offs”.
If wonder could be a person, it would be Hermione right now. The man in front of her didn’t cease to surprise her and she couldn’t help but wonder what would’ve been like back in school days if Malfoy wasn’t a massive bigot. Would they be friends? Would they be The Golden Quartet? Or maybe even the Golden Duo, given that Harry and Ron shared such a unique bond that if she had someone to share more time with, maybe they would be separated in two pairs.
They talked about her difficulty to move on with life after the war and how the breakup with Ron had affected her even more and about her job at Flourish and Blotts, to which he said “That’s such a Hermione Granger thing!” and she could not object. Obviously, she didn’t tell him about her depression and all the negative stuff she thought about herself, she did trust him enough to share this drunken talk, but not enough to share about her intimate thoughts and feelings and that was ok, because this was an one night thing, a very more interesting version of what happened when she chose to spend a night with a wizard. For people like her, sometimes a good, intellectual conversation was more appealing and pleasuring than a mild shag. Tonight she felt satisfied in a way she hadn't felt in years and although Malfoy was handsome and quite fit, it didn’t even cross her mind the thought of having any kind of involvement with him.
“Now is time for you to answer some of my questions, Malfoy,” her eyes were closed, but she could still hear. A lock of hair was rolled up and unrolled by her fingers, a motion to keep her awake. The silence of the room and the calm conversation were soothing, easeness filled her up with a strange sense of comfort.
“I could, but it’s five in the morning and us mere mortals need to sleep to recharge the energies,” a lazy gaze stared at her and she believed that he was tired observing the slight dark circles around his eyes. Hers were more like a panda’s. “We could always continue the conversation, over dinner maybe, next week? How does seven p.m Friday work for you?”
Amongst all the things she could say, she surprised even herself saying “it works just fine”.
She got up feeling almost numb after being sat for several hours. Before she even told him she could see herself out towards the next apparition point, which was unnecessary even since she lived a few blocks away from there, Malfoy stopped her on her tracks and put one of his men in charge to take her home.
“I don’t want a stranger taking me home, Malfoy. My place of living is private”.
“But who said a stranger is going to take you home? Surely you know Mack”, the blazer of his suit now hanging on his left arm, the sleeves of his dress shirt now rolled up on his arms, showing his very veiny forearms.
“Mack?”
“Hi, Mione,” said Ernie MacMillan, one of the men that was somewhere around the pub and one of her old Hogwarts colleagues. In what world Ernie MacMillan worked for Draco Malfoy? Well, apparently, this one. Hermione didn’t know, but Draco had to bite the inside of his cheeks to hide a smile, because at that moment Hermione looked at him like he had grown a second head.
“Hi, Ernie”.
“So, shall we get you home?” He offered her his arm to her and she took it, still eyeing Malfoy with a frown in her head. “Yeah, of course”, she said. “Bye, Malfoy”.
“See you soon, Granger”.
Definitely, an odd day.