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Chapter Text

Week 0, Michaelmas

Hermione Granger, possessor of excellent hearing, thought she might be going deaf. 

‘I’m sorry, I still don’t quite understand,’ she said politely. The porter behind the front desk grimaced.

‘Sorry love, the building works haven’t been completed for the new accommodations. You should have been notified, there was an email…’ he trailed off in the face of Hermione’s perfectly raised eyebrow. She didn’t mean to be rude, it was just that she was tired, her featherlight charm was wearing off her suitcase, and she’d been looking forward to a hot shower since she got up this morning (the hot water at Grimmauld place was broken, and Harry, bless him, hadn’t gotten round to calling a magical plumber). Someone implying that she was not on top of her inbox with militaristic efficiency was a step too far. 

‘Well, if there was an email,’ she said coldly. ‘I suppose that must be alright.’ 

The porter, who had faced down many more dangerous looking undergraduates and postgraduates alike, wasn’t quite sure what was so threatening about the small woman with the big hair in front of him, but he was very sure he didn’t want to get on her bad side. 

‘I’m so sorry Miss Granger,’ he began. 

Miss Granger sighed, rubbed her hands over her face and took a deep breath. It clearly wasn’t the porter’s fault, and she was being unfair. 

‘No, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just - I was just looking forward to having a hot shower. And getting settled,’ she replied, suddenly overcome with an uncomfortable pricking behind the eyes which meant that tears were imminent. Oh for Godrick’s sake, she thought. Get it together. 

‘You’ll be able to have all the hot showers you want,’ the porter, understanding deeply the importance of aforementioned showers, said kindly. ‘And it won’t be for long, just until Christmas I’m told. You’ll be in a hotel until then - breakfast will be provided too!’ 

‘Great,’ Hermione said weakly, taking the envelope which contained her key card with resignation. ‘I do love a hotel breakfast.’ 

(This was a lie. Hermione despised cereal and the coffee was always subpar, another surefire way to start her day wrong.) 

Leaving behind a very relieved porter, she stumbled out of the wooden doors that marked the entrance to University College, heaving her suitcase behind her. The highstreet was filled with returning and new students alike, but everyone was too busy to notice her mutter another featherlight charm and gratefully lift the case with a sigh. 

The walk to the bus stop was short. Hermione passed several colleges, the Town Hall and Lincoln College’s library, which she had earmarked to visit as soon as possible. She didn’t spare a glance at any of them, too upset at the prospect of staying in a Premier Inn for a whole term to allow herself to be entranced by the world-famous architecture. 

---- 

Hermione thought, as she surveyed her room, that she had been very right to be distressed. The rest of the occupants in her hall either hadn't moved in or were trying to come to terms with their upsetting living situation in private. Hermione thought them wise. 

It was inoffensive in a way that hotel rooms are, but even with the contents of Hermione’s (extended) suitcase unpacked it still felt like an ice box. Rules against candles and sticking things on the walls meant all of her more cosy and personal knick-knacks had been relegated to boxes under the bed. The view that she had dreamed of - old rooftops, sweeping spires, mysterious quads - was instead, a car park. It was fine, of course. It wasn’t the end of the world, and Oxford terms were notoriously short. She’d be so busy catching up she wouldn’t be spending much time here anyway. But even as she tried to comfort herself, Hermione felt the beginning of despair niggling in the back of her mind. 

It was silly, really, to put so much emphasis on where she was living. But after four years in London - six months in a rather disastrous flat with Ron and then the rest of it with Harry and Ginny in Grimmauld Place - Hermione had been ready for somewhere of her own. Since the war, she’d felt plagued by her desire to settle down and make a home for herself, but she’d never been able to find a place where she was comfortable enough to do so. Even when she had returned to Hogwarts for her eighth year, it hadn’t been the same. 

Had she been able to reverse the memory modifications on her parents then her desire for a home would have felt much less urgent. As it was, muggle London was filled with memories of her childhood, and Hogwarts was basically at this point a monument to sacrifice. Wizarding London was too full of people who wanted to talk to the Golden Girl, and living with Harry and Ginny was lovely as long as you could ignore the fact that she was third-wheeling a couple essentially waiting for her to move out until they got married. Hermione had walked in on them too many times to ignore it, and asking them to cast privacy charms in the privacy of their home felt a bit unfair.  

She had needed a fresh start in a new city. Just because it hadn’t turned out the way she had planned - that was fine. Plans changed. She was resilient. She’d survived a war, for Godrick’s sake. She could handle a change in accommodation. 

During the war there hadn’t been time to reflect on the things she had done to survive. She had just been relieved that her parents were alive, and happy. Now it was over, Hermione was still struggling to come to terms with her decision. 

Sometimes it was as though everyone else was just more capable at moving on than she was. Hermione Granger, Golden Girl, had finally found something that she couldn’t do. Harry, accustomed already to fame, found his new role as an Auror stimulating and the accompanied attention easy to manage. Ron, now a war hero in his own right, relished the attention that came not just from being Harry’s best friend. 

Even five years later, going anywhere meant people stopping them in the street, shaking their hands, or offering up some story of how they had been affected. Hermione knew that they were sharing because they wanted to express their gratitude. She hated the stories all the same. 

Everyone had expected her to go into the Ministry. Kingsley, one evening at The Burrow, had taken her aside after her NEWT scores were announced and quietly offered her the pick of departments. When she turned him down, everyone guessed it was to teach at Hogwarts. Instead, Hermione announced she was going to university. Muggle university. 

She promptly enrolled at Imperial, taking up molecular bioengineering. She had always thought about Healing, she said when pressed, and wizarding training didn’t seem to have a good enough grasp of the body. The real answer was more selfish. Her parents still lived happily in Australia with no memory of her, and she wanted them back. Her early visits had impressed the severity of the charm, and if she was going to start experimenting with medicine and magic to bring them back, she needed to understand how the body worked.

After four years of further study, an experience she found she had loved despite the difficulties of returning to muggle society, she realised it wasn’t enough. She knew about muggle brains, but her parents’ had been altered by magic. As higher education options in the wizarding world were limited, she started to look around for other courses that might be useful. She now knew how the brain worked, but what about the ways that people actually thought and acted? If she was to return a lifetime of memories, she needed a better grasp of human nature than just which neuron to attach to what. 

The medical anthropology course at Oxford seemed perfect. She applied for the two year Master’s in her last year at Imperial, got in (and got funding) with ease, and the first weekend of October, just after her 24th birthday, turned up in that famous city, to be told that actually she had to live in a hotel room. 

She sighed and then headed to the bathroom. She grudgingly had to admit that the water pressure, at least, was adequate enough to stave off a full mental breakdown. 

---- 

The next few days were a whirlwind of getting acquainted with a new city, new university and new people. Her college had organised a number of fresher events. Hermione went to all of them begrudgingly, desperate to prove Ginny’s worry that she was becoming a reclusive hermit wrong. 

‘You can bring your muggle friends over, you know,’ she had said one evening as they watched Kreacher make a shepards pie. ‘Harry and I don’t mind muggle-proofing the house for an evening. We think we’ve actually sorted the worst of the portraits now anyway, and Harry’s pretty sure the wards could be taken down for a bit -’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, of course they can’t be. I’ve lost count of all the times I’ve tried to explain blood magic to him,’ Hermione sighed, making a mental note to review the Black warding traditions again with Harry. ‘Anyway. I don’t really have any friends I’d want to bring here,’ she said, tracing the wood grain of the table. ‘I’ve been so busy I haven’t had time to make any.’ 

Ginny sighed. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way Hermione, but you’re going to end up one of those people who’s terrified of the outside if you keep going like this.’ 

‘I’m not agoraphobic Gin,’ she snapped. ‘I just don’t want to make loads of friends. I have enough already. Besides, I go out plenty. I’m always out of the house.’ 

‘Yeah, in the lab or library,’ Ginny countered. ‘When was the last time you came to the pub with us?’ 

Hermione had rolled her eyes. ‘You know I hate going in there -’ 

‘I know you do. I know you don’t like the attention and it’s hard now Ron is with Susan,’ 

‘It’s nothing to do with Ron.’

‘Okay, fine, I know you don’t like the attention then, but you can’t lock yourself away. You’re 23. You have a life to live! You can’t let Rita Skeeter stop you from doing that.’ 

So Hermione had showed up to a board games night (boring), a drinks mixer (acceptable), and a sports day (awful), before treating herself with library tours and museum visits that she attended blissfully alone. She found which coffee shops she liked the best, scoped out which libraries would be the most useful (Social Sciences down by University Parks), and which would be the most enjoyable to study in (Duke Humphries in the Bodleian reminded her so much of Hogwarts it almost hurt). She had made tentative friends with a girl across from her who was cheerful and also studying anthropology, and importantly, Hermione had not cried. 

That Wednesday night, her and Alice decided they would attend the departmental welcome drinks. It was a casual way to meet others on the course, and Alice had mentioned that she vaguely knew one of the DPhil students. Besides, in a worst case scenario, they could get drunk together on free wine and then go to the pub. Although Hermione was reluctant to have another evening of small talk, she agreed, Ginny’s warnings ringing in her ear. 

‘I can’t wait to come and visit you,’ she had said as she’d hugged her goodbye. ‘And meet all your new friends,’ she said, eyeing Hermione meaningfully. Hermione had grinned, grateful for Ginny’s mothering even as it annoyed her. 

‘I promise. I’ll let you know when it’s calmed down a bit for a visit. I’m going to introduce you to so many people you’ll beg me to be a hermit again.’ 

They set off, any residual summer warmth long since gone from the evening air. 

The Institute of Social and Cultural Anthropology lay in a large building with a pointed roof, just off Banbury Road. The road was wide, with equally large houses spaced generously along it, the trees holding onto the last of their brilliantly orange leaves. Hermione had reflected many times since arriving that Oxford in the autumn might be one of the most beautiful places she had been. She had enclosed a polaroid to Ginny in the one letter she had sent back, charming it to reveal several of the leaves falling to the wet ground. She had also suggested Ginny get a mobile, though that conversation was also one of their ongoing friendly squabbles. 

The Institute had a pale grey facade and a depressing interior, filled with strip lighting and linoleum floors. Although Hermione would normally be based with the medical branch of the school, she assumed the Institute was the best place for a department-wide drinks reception. She supposed that not everywhere could be a wood-panelled dream, and Alice murmured her agreement as a young man with a clipboard approached them. 

He greeted them warmly, offering them a name tag and a warm glass of red or white wine. After accepting a glass of red each, her and Alice retreated into a corner to survey the rest of the postgraduates who were gradually filling up the room. Hermione fiddled with the corner of her label, her spiky handwriting making her name appear almost illegible. Alice hadn’t bothered to put hers on. 

‘I can’t wait till Fresher’s is over,’ Alice said after a sip. ‘I think if I have to introduce myself and what I’m studying one more time I might vomit.’ 

Hermione grinned. ‘I know what you mean. If I have to explain how I got into medical anthropology again -’ 

Alice snorted slightly. ‘I thought you were going to hit that man at the board games night the other day.’ 

Hermione groaned, thinking back to the Politics DPhil who had aggressively asked why she hadn’t just done medicine, and was it because she couldn’t get in? 

‘He would be a good candidate for the first person I ever punched to be fair,’ she said, nodding. ‘Hang on - second person. Sorry.’ 

‘Second?’ Alice said laughing, ‘I had no idea I was living near such a violent and dangerous individual. You’ve got to tell me now.’ 

‘Oh, I used to be bullied at school,’ Hermione waved a hand. ‘It wasn’t really a big deal - the guy who did it was such a twat that no one else really liked him either. Anyway, once when I was about fourteen I got so fed up I punched him. Broke his nose I think,’ she added proudly. 

Alice mimed a round of applause, carefully so as not to spill the wine. ‘Okay Hermione Tyson. Remind me not to get on your bad side.’ 

‘Trust me, I don’t think you could ever be that bad,’ she said with a laugh. 

‘What happened to the bully? I bet he’s doing something really boring, like an estate agent, or working in finance.’ 

Hermione couldn’t help her giggle at the idea of Draco Malfoy trying to sell a three-bed in Acton. 

‘No,’ she said, trying to work out how to explain what had happened without breaking any Statutes. In her four years of experience of being in the muggle world again, she knew that getting as close to the truth as possible was the key to not slipping up. 

‘He got in with a bad crowd, it was actually very sad. In the end he came out alright, but I’m not sure where he is now. Probably in some kind of forced marriage - he was very posh and I think that’s what his mother wanted. They were old money.’ 

‘Christ, an aristocratic bully who joined a gang. Your school sounds mental.’

‘You have no idea,’ she said with a sigh. 

It turned out that anthropologists, when filled with enough booze, were a jolly bunch. As the evening progressed Hermione even realised that she was enjoying herself. She hadn’t thought about her parents, or secretly being a witch in what felt like hours. The DPhil student that Alice had known was a kind-eyed man studying the impact of the internet on remote communities. Having lived with one foot in a world without any understanding of technology, Hermione found his research fascinating and was totally absorbed by his descriptions of his fieldwork. 

That was until the second time that week where Hermione doubted her hearing. 

Because behind her, where Alice was standing, a deep voice filtered through. A deep voice that somehow, impossibly, she recognised. 

‘Oh Scotland - that’s so funny,’ Alice was saying. Hermione had a horrifying feeling akin to watching a car crash. She knew what was happening and yet was utterly incapable of stopping it. ‘My flatmate also went to school up there, she described it in the exact same way- I wonder if you know her!’

The voice replied that he doubted it. And Hermione frowned, because it was without any kind of snideness. Perhaps she was experiencing auditory hallucinations instead. The thought was reassuring. 

‘Oh you never know - it’s such a small world. Her name’s Hermione Granger, does that ring any bells? Here, I’ll grab her - she’s doing anthro as well, Hermione!’ 

And then, with a cold sickness that she could not mask, Hermione allowed Alice to tug her arm and turn her around, till she was face to face with Draco Malfoy. 

---

Draco Malfoy, possessor of perfect eyesight, wished he was going blind. Or hallucinating. Or somewhere, anywhere, else. 

Judging by the look on Granger’s face, she was feeling the exact same way. 

The young woman he had been talking to - Annie? Agnes? Alice. It was Alice, was wittering on. Draco had been enjoying chatting with her originally, they were both into the same kind of anthropology and her dissertation ideas sounded fascinating, but now he would cheerfully set her on fire and watch her burn alive. 

‘Hermione - this is Draco - do you know him? He also went to a weird remote Scottish boarding school and you both have weird names - really if you don’t know who he is then you should be friends anyway, you have far too much in common.’ 

‘Er,’ Granger said. Draco still couldn’t move or open his mouth. 

As soon as Alice had said her name, his stomach felt like it was falling out of his body. There was no way that Hermione Granger, the witch and war hero, would be studying the same course in muggle Oxford. Then Alice had grabbed someone behind her, and a cloud of hair that Draco hadn’t noticed suddenly emerged, followed by a body, and a face, of the woman who had haunted his dreams on a regular basis since Voldemort’s attempted return. And not the fun kind of dreams either - at this point Draco would have gladly replaced the chilling sounds of her screams with something dirty and fun. 

‘We -’ Granger tried again. Draco screamed at himself to say something, anything. He was frozen, just like that day all those years ago -

With effort, he interrupted his train of thought. You have moved on , he told himself. She might have too. 

‘Actually,’ Granger had pulled herself up and taken a fortifying sip of red wine. He recognised the steel in her eye. It was funny, he hadn’t seen her in years, not since the trials. And yet she still seemed exactly the same. She had barely changed, still possessed that keen sense of righteousness that had pissed him off in the first place. But that was the problem really - because she was right. And Draco was everything that was wrong. 

‘He was the guy I mentioned earlier,’ Granger finished. Draco blinked in surprise. 

‘Talking about me Granger? I had no idea I loomed so large in your mind,’ he drawled, trying to return to any sense of equilibrium. But why had he come up? They were surrounded by muggles, for Godrick’s sake. Christ’s sake - he reminded himself. Muggles didn’t say Godrick. 

‘I was referring to the list of men I’d punched,’ she said coolly. Another surprise. Had she always been this… he couldn’t work out what word he meant. 

‘Ooh,’ Alice said, looking him up and down. ‘Interesting.’ 

Her tone made Draco feel like dying a little. 

‘There’s a list?’ he said instead. 

‘No,’ she admitted, and he smirked slightly. ‘But there might be an addition. Politics students - actually’, she sighed, ‘never mind. It’s a long story.’ 

‘If you do follow through, please let me know. We can start a support group.’ 

Granger surprised both of them by snorting with laughter. 

‘Alright,’ she said, returning to her red wine. 

Alice hovered next to them until another man appeared next to Granger. 

‘Hi,’ he said, sticking his hand out. ‘Will, great to meet you.’ 

‘Will, this is Draco,’ Alice stepped in, given that both he and Granger seemed to have returned to a state of catatonic shock. ‘He went to school with Hermione, she once punched him in the face. Draco, this is my friend Will. He’s in the second year of his DPhil.’ 

‘Blimey,’ Will said. ‘Did you deserve it?’ 

‘Very much so,’ Draco said, before Granger could open her mouth again. She looked at him with what might have been surprise. He couldn’t tell. Alice and Will both laughed. 

‘I thought you might be an estate agent you know,’ Alice said, prompting Draco to once again be thrown off by the conversation. 

‘Why?’ He asked stupidly. Granger was guzzling her red wine, she’d be finished soon at this rate. 

‘If you bullied Hermione I didn’t think it was fair you’d do something cool, like a Master’s in social anthropology,’ she said, though it was more teasing than cruel. 

‘I was a right little shit,’ he shrugged. Granger finished her wine. ‘Top up?’ he asked her, jerking his chin to the empty plastic cup. Granger just stared at him. Draco downed his drink as well. Then she relented. 

‘Oh, alright. Alice, Will, do you need anything?’ 

They both shook their heads cheerfully. Draco cursed how unaware muggles - no, he stopped. They weren’t to know about his and Granger’s history. How would they have guessed? Wizards would be the same. 

As soon as he and Granger were by the drinks table she grabbed his arm, jerking him to the side. 

‘What the hell are you doing here,’ she hissed. This was the Granger he remembered. 

‘I could ask you the same thing,’ he returned with equal venom. ‘At least let me get a drink first,’ he said, grabbing a bottle of the red when the muggle in charge of the table was looking the other way. Granger was muttering something when he returned. 

‘Privacy charm,’ she whispered at his questioning eyebrow. 

‘Good idea,’ he grudgingly replied, topping them up with a generous measure each, and then grimacing as he took a gulp. He noticed she drank with equal desperation. 

They stared at each other for a moment, arms crossed, glowering over red wine stained lips. 

‘You first,’ she hissed. 

‘Is it really so surprising?’ he asked, gulping more wine. 

‘Draco Malfoy in a muggle university? Yes. Besides, you do know this is for postgraduates, right? You can’t be here if you’re on the undergraduate course.’ She sniffed disapprovingly. 

‘I’m on the MPhil, Granger. I already have a first in my undergrad social anthro course.’ 

If Draco knew how to properly work his mobile, he would have taken a photo of her face right there and then. 

‘What - how - I mean, what,’ she screeched. 

‘Careful Granger, you’re getting shrill,’ he sniffed, though by now he was enjoying himself slightly. 

‘Of course, of course, I can’t get five minutes’ peace.’ Now she was just talking to herself. He watched her twitter with amusement. ‘First my sodding room, and now Draco sodding Malfoy for the next two years,’

‘Hang on,’ he interrupted, cold in the pit of his stomach. ‘Two years?’ 

She levelled him with a look. 

‘I’m also on the MPhil you arse. So yes, two years. Although luckily for both of us I’m doing the medical course.’ 

There was a faint feeling of relief. 

‘Right. Well, at least we won’t bump into each other much then.’ 

‘It still doesn’t explain why you’re here in the first place,’ she replied. Merlin, (no, God, Draco reminded himself), did she ever let anything go? 

‘Because I have a passion for understanding why people act the way they do, and the ways in which being part of a group impacts behavioural choices,’ he quipped, quoting his personal statement. She didn’t need to know that it actually was the reason he was here. After being essentially indoctrinated into a cult over his young life which ended with the death of his father and two years of psychological torture, Draco funnily enough found figuring out why the hell he had believed all that bollocks in the first place quite compelling. 

Granger just stared at him, opening and closing her mouth like a fish. 

‘Why are you here?’ He asked, desperate to move the conversation away from the past five years of his life. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be running the Ministry by now?’ 

She shifted, looking just as uncomfortable as he felt. 

‘I fancied further study,’ she shrugged, not explaining anything at all. 

‘What did you do before?’ he asked. Weirdly, this was now descending into a mirror of all the conversations he’d had so far this week. Standing here exchanging freshers week chat with Granger of all people was like some kind of fever dream. 

‘Molecular bioengineering at Imperial,’ she said smartly. It was Draco’s turn to gape like a fish. He barely knew what those words meant. 

‘What are you doing here, then?’ He asked. A look of fury crossed her face, though he had no idea why. 

‘Because.’ She said, ‘I like knowing how people’s brains work.’ 

Great, that cleared everything up. 

‘Where did you do your undergrad,’ she said suddenly. ‘Weren’t you on house arrest?’ 

It was an honest question, but Draco still felt stung by it. 

‘Open University. There’s not much to do on house arrest except study.’ 

‘Oh,’ she said. They stared at each other again, and then drank deeply. Draco topped them up. 

‘God this is so fucking weird,’ Draco murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose. The wine was starting to take effect and he didn’t want to get drunk in front of all his peers on the first night. 

‘You have no idea,’ Granger shook her head, still looking blank. ‘Why am I in a muggle university with Draco Malfoy,’ she said, though mainly to herself. 

‘Tell me about it,’ he sighed. 

‘Right.’ 

‘Well.’ 

There was another pause, where they both drained their glasses again. Draco went to top them up, before realising the bottle was empty. 

‘Oh dear,’ Granger said, eyeing the empty bottle. ‘I haven’t had any dinner.’ 

For a moment Draco nearly asked if she wanted to grab some. 

‘What’s your cover story?’ She asked. ‘What do you say about school, I mean.’ 

‘Scottish boarding school, very remote. I was an arse, but now I’m reformed.’ Draco shrugged. ‘Not that it will come up, but in case it does I say I fell into a bad crowd and got into some legal trouble.’ 

Granger nodded, looking at him far too sharply. 

‘I’ll say the same, then.’

‘We probably won’t need to.’

‘No, we won’t spend that much time together.’

‘If any,’ he said.

‘If any,’ Granger nodded her agreement. 

There was another moment of silence, which Granger then broke. 

‘I’m going to find Alice,’ she said. 

‘I’ll leave,’ Draco offered. 

‘Oh,’ she stopped, looking at him and shrugging. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’m going to head and get some food. So, yeah.’ 

‘Cool.’ 

‘See you around,’ she mumbled before disappearing to the other corner of the room. Draco watched her grab Alice’s arm, and the girl grinned widely. When her eyes flickered over to Draco, he looked quickly away. 

‘Excuse me,’ a cross voice appeared at his elbow. He turned to see the muggle from the drinks table standing there, arms crossed ferociously. ‘Where did you get that bottle?’ 

Draco looked down, realised he was still holding the bottle he’d nicked. 

‘Sorry,’ he said, handing back the empty one. ‘I found it on the floor.’ 

He turned and left quickly, hoping that this was the last time he bumped into Hermione Granger. Even with wine-induced optimism, he knew it wouldn’t be. 

Chapter Text

Week 1, Michaelmas

Hermione woke up the next morning with a horrific red wine hangover. She was almost grateful for her hideous hotel room, because at least it meant she could hide in her ensuite before releasing her appearance on the rest of the world. Her hair was, as usual, near unmanageable, eyes bloodshot, and mouth painfully dry.

After flossing with the diligence of a child of dentists, washing her hair, exfoliating her entire body, and generally letting the hot water wash off the night before, she finally started to approach feeling human.

Hermione’s plans that day revolved around preparatory reading in one of the libraries. Seeing as she’d spent the last four years in the science, not anthropology, departments, she had a lot to catch up on in terms of the history of the discipline. But as she brushed out then carefully dried her curls with her wand, (making sure the bathroom door was firmly locked), she realised that her concentration was absolutely ruined. Another reason to hate a certain someone, who had turned up and ruined all her glorious plans for the next two years.  

Alice knocked on her door moments after she finished. 

‘Just a minute!’ Hermione called, frantically stashing her wand in the bathroom cupboard. She yanked it open to see Alice unfairly fresh faced and fully dressed.

‘Ugh,’ Hermione said, looking her up and down. ‘How are you not hungover?’

Alice snorted.

‘I didn’t drink a bottle of red wine in about 15 minutes, before three gin and tonics,’ Alice reminded her cheerfully. Hermione grimaced.

‘Please don’t remind me.’

‘Do all your school friends bring out your need to drink, or is it just the blonde god?’

‘Firstly, he’s not my friend, remember. Merciless bully. Secondly, he’s not a god either. If you had any idea of what a shit he was,’ she trailed off, pretty sure that actually last night Hermione had drunkenly informed Alice many times about how much of a shit he was.

‘I can see you overthinking last night,’ Alice said warily, ‘and I want to tell you now that you were absolutely fine. Nothing you said was weird, or inappropriate, or silly.’

‘You are a wonderful person for saying that,’ Hermione leaned her head against the door, pressing the frame into the precise point where her head was pounding. ‘Thank you.’

‘No problem. You basically said I was an honorary Gryffindor. I’ve got to keep up with whatever traits that derived from the weird, completely immoral behavioural scientific shite you were fed from a very formative age.’

‘Right,’ Hermione said weakly. Plenty of schools had Houses. Talking about those and the long-running Gryffindor/Slytherin rivalry was probably fine, right? No Statute of Secrecy broken there?

‘Anyway, I wondered if you wanted to go grab some brunch?’

‘Oh,’ Hermione did cheer slightly at the prospect of food. ‘Can you give me five minutes to get dressed?’

‘No. You must come in your towel.’

‘Great,’ Hermione deadpanned, shutting the door in her face.

The good thing about not having lots of time to get ready, Hermione thought as she rooted around for her knickers (how was her room already messy?), was that she didn’t have any time to think about what the hell Malfoy was doing here.

---

She didn’t see him for the rest of the week, which she told herself was a good thing. In fact, she was so frantically busy once her course started that she almost forgot about him entirely. Almost. She couldn’t quite stop herself from scanning the room for him in every seminar. Alice talked about him every so often - they had become fast friends it turned out, which was too weird for Hermione to try and wrap her head around. Luckily the work was intense, which meant most of her waking hours were occupied with thoughts of reading lists and clinical studies.

The medical anthropology strand involved a lot of lectures and seminars, and while the hours that were taught were nowhere near as many as her biomed degree, Hermione felt like she had double the amount of reading to do to even get close to the understanding her coursemates had. She’d spent the summer researching as much as possible of course, but it was one thing to prepare and another to apply that preparation. Not to mention research for her parents, which she hadn't had time to pick up again since arriving in Oxford. For the first time in her life, Hermione felt intellectually on the back foot. And it was only the end of week 1.

On top of that, her good luck at avoiding Malfoy ran out at the Turf Tavern, right after matriculation. 

‘Draco!’ Alice waved at him, catching sight of him instantly in the packed queue for drinks. Hermione had wanted to go back and get an early night - she had seminar reading she wasn’t finished with that she planned to do on the Sunday - but Alice wouldn’t hear of it. Hermione had a horrible suspicion that her and Ginny would get on like a house on fire.

The ease in which she greeted him made Hermione suspicious. Suddenly the invitation to come ‘just for one drink, some of my friends will be there, come on Hermione it's your matriculation!’ didn’t seem so innocent.

Draco looked unbelievable in subfusc. Hermione wanted to punch him all over again. His blonde hair gleamed in the dim tavern lights. He was so tall he had to stoop, even next to the bar, and his tux and black robe made him appear like a confusingly sexy wizard.

No - he wasn’t actually sexy, Hermione quickly corrected herself. It was just tailoring. And bone structure. And -

Draco smiled back, and raised a hand in greeting.

‘What do you want?’ he called over the heads of everyone else in the line. Alice beamed.

‘G&T please.’ 

‘Granger?’ He asked. Hermione really had to stop freaking out every time he acted like a normal human being. She was going to come across confunded.

‘The same,’ she replied, in what she hoped was a cool and unaffected tone.

‘We’ll grab seats outside,’ Alice replied, tugging Hermione alone by the hand.

Grabbing seats outside was not a task for the faint hearted. The pub itself was an impossible warren, with three separate seating areas. The best seats in the front and back gardens were clearly the padded benches along the medieval walls of the town, the wooden trellis above them holding heat lamps and generally adding to the cosy atmosphere. The rest of the benches were also absolutely filled, packed with students keen to celebrate their first week and matriculation. Most people were in an array of the same uniform of black cloak, white shirt and black or white tie, making it appear like the pub had been taken over by a very rowdy group of penguins. 

Alice took the back while Hermione was relegated to the front. After a brief circuit which revealed absolutely no chance of getting a seat, Hermione gave up.

‘Repello,’ she whispered, aiming her wand through her gown at the group of muggles with the emptiest drinks. Almost instantly, they started to move. Hermione darted towards them.

‘Are you leaving?’ she asked cheerfully. ‘Can I grab this table?’

They looked at her with slightly dazed eyes. ‘Sure,’ one of the guys, an undergraduate fresher by the looks of him, said.

Hermione texted Alice that she had seats, and then spent the five minutes it took for her to arrive stewing in guilt.

‘Brilliant!’ Alice said, arriving at the same time as Malfoy and bearing a gin. ‘How did you get these!’

They both sat down, Alice plonked herself next to Hermione, while Draco sat gingerly across from them.

‘Will’s gonna pop in,’ Alice announced cheerfully. Draco nodded. ‘And a few others from the seminar, I think. At least, I mentioned it in the group chat - are you in that one?’

‘The MPhil one?’ Draco asked, frowning.

‘No - there’s a seminar one for Monday’s, hang on, I’ll add you now.’

Hermione got to experience the surreal moment of watching Draco Malfoy pull out a mobile phone and be added to a WhatsApp group chat.

‘Cheers,’ he said, pocketing the device again. He ran his hand through his hair, even though it immediately fell back in place. For a wild moment, Hermione almost asked him if he used a sticking charm.

‘There’s an MPhil one?’ Hermione heard herself ask.

‘Oh, yeah,’ Malfoy said, surprised. ‘It’s for the social anthropologists but if you want -’

‘Oh no, don’t worry about it,’ Hermione waved a hand.

‘You don’t wanna be hanging out with us losers,’ Alice teased. ‘We don’t know how to work a lab, or whatever you do in them. We’re idiots!’

Hermione laughed at that.

‘To be honest,’ she found herself saying - God, one sip of a gin and it was like she’d lost all control over her thought to speech function - ‘I feel like the biggest dunce at the moment. Everyone knows so much about anthropology and I'm just,’ she shrugged, ‘a dumb scientist.’

Malfoy audibly scoffed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous Granger, you’re a walking genius. They’re probably so intimidated they’re desperately trying to one up you.’

Being complimented by Draco Malfoy made Hermione feel like she had swallowed a spiky ball. Luckily, she didn’t have to reply, because about three social anthropologists all showed up at that moment, loudly congratulating them on the seats, asking if anyone wanted anything to drink.

After the introductions had been made (‘This is Hermione, she’s on the medical strand, MPhil too, yeah her and Draco went to school together - she punched him in the face once…’), they all settled down and Hermione caught herself watching Draco interact with everyone.

It was…strange. He was open, smiling more than she had ever seen, even before everything had gone wrong. Even at school when he was happiest, she realised she had only ever seen him sneer. Never truly, openly smile. It made his face look lighter, younger. Contrasted to the photos that had been plastered across the paper during his trial, Hermione couldn’t believe it was the same person. For a moment, she suddenly realised exactly what the muggle world could offer someone like Malfoy. A chance to just be normal, unencumbered by the weight of years of bad decisions.

His and Alice’s friendship was also oddly charming. They teased each other, swapped tips on readings, and generally kept up a stream of chatter that everyone was happy to contribute to.

‘Seriously Draco - you’ve never read any Miller? What the hell did they teach you on that weird course?’

‘Ah, it’s so good to see that intellectual snobbery is alive and well. How comforting to know that being a posh white man isn’t enough to get you to listen to me.’

‘You know full well you’ve already got the whole department charmed. Thank God I’m a lesbian. Can you imagine if I fancied you? I’d never survive.’

‘It would end terribly, I am sure,’ he nodded gravely, though he was clearly suppressing laughter. 

‘We’d have a torrid love affair,’

‘I’d whisk you away to my house in France,’

‘I’d romance you with my sexiest walking boots,’

‘My mother would hate you,’ (Hermione snorted)

‘Oh, my family would be thrilled because you’re loaded,’

‘And then we’d break up,’

‘I think we’d marry first, in some incredibly ill-advised ceremony.’

‘Maybe Vegas,’ Draco mused. Alice nodded. ‘And then divorce a month later because you ruined my field work.’

‘I’d have cheated on you with your expedition manager.’

‘I’d be heartbroken.’

‘Hermione could be our witness!’

‘Could I?’ Hermione asked, grinning despite herself.

‘We’d pay for your gin and tonics,’ Alice offered.

‘And the flight, Granger,’ Draco added.

‘But you have to sort your own accommodation.’

‘Hmmm,’ she allowed. ‘I’ll consider it.’

Hermione couldn’t work out what was stranger. That Malfoy clearly had some understanding of feminist theory, or that he had a sense of humour. She drained her gin.

‘Do you two want another?’

‘Sure, your round Granger,’ Alice said. ‘Ugh, no actually. I can’t bear it - why don’t you both just call each other by your normal names? School was so long ago. Haven’t we all moved on?’

‘Old habits,’ Malfoy shrugged, not making eye contact with Hermione.

‘Anyone else?’

‘I’m good,’ Sasha, one of the other anthropologists said, ‘but when you return, I absolutely want to hear the punching story.’

There was a chorus of yeses to that, including from Alice who loudly said that she couldn’t believe Hermione had lived across the hall from her for two whole weeks and hadn’t yet gotten round to that story. 

‘Must we?’ Malfoy asked, moving to cover his face. ‘All you need to know is that I deserved it.’

'You’ve already said that,’ Alice said, rolling her eyes. ‘I want to know why.’

Hermione escaped to the bar.

Armed with three gin and tonics and some crisps - she wasn’t going to make the mistake of not eating again in a hurry - she returned to the table. The crisps luckily caused enough excitement to distract from demands to hear about their school days. Hermione no longer trusted her ability to uphold secrecy while under the influence of alcohol and in stressful situations (i.e., sharing rounds with Malfoy).

Discussions of ordering chips and matriculation filled the table, and Hermione found herself seated next to him as they all shuffled around to make room.

‘Thanks,’ he muttered as she pushed the gin towards him.

‘No problem,’ she said, comforted slightly that he appeared to at least find this entire exchange as bizarre as she did. 

‘How come you're not penguined-up like the rest of us?’ Malfoy turned back to Alice. Hermione felt oddly insulted that he wasn't talking to her more, and then reminded herself sharply that she hated him and that it was probably for the best.

‘Oh, I don’t have to do it - I was here for undergrad and they only make you matriculate once.’

‘Really?’ Draco asked, interested. ‘You didn’t feel like warning us about what we’d be facing?’

‘Well, it was like three years ago,’ Alice said, ‘and afterwards I did proceed to get so drunk all the memories are very blurry. Besides, what do you want me to say? There’s lots of Latin, and it can be cold?’

‘I could have donned my thermals,’ Malfoy replied and Hermione had to look away from his grin. 

Alice laughed. ‘Your parents couldn’t come up?’

They both shook their heads.

‘That’s such a shame!’ Alice exclaimed, and Hermione braced herself for the inevitable questions. ‘Could they not make it?’

There was a moment of awkward silence, when Hermione caught Malfoy’s eye. They both seemed to say ‘shall I go first, or shall you?’

Malfoy, probably motivated by guilt, took the bullet.

‘My dad’s dead. My mum isn’t keen on the whole Master’s thing.’

‘Oh,’ Alice flushed, and Malfoy smiled tightly.

‘It’s alright, it happened a few years ago now. We didn’t get on either, at the end. So, yeah. It’s fine.’

‘Hermione?’ Alice asked, desperate to smooth the awkwardness. Hermione almost snorted.

‘They’re in Australia.’

‘Really?’ Malfoy turned to her. ‘I didn’t know that.’

‘Yes,’ she said, not able to look at him.

‘I’m glad,’ he said quietly. ‘Glad they’re okay.'

Hermione nodded. She didn't want to talk about this, especially not with him.

‘I really regret asking now,’ Alice said cheerfully, sensing the tension. They all drank deeply.

---

Draco straightened his bow tie in the bathroom mirror, adjusting the robes that sat on his shoulder. Robes really was an overstatement, but he felt oddly nostalgic for wizarding clothes as he surveyed himself in subfusc. There hadn’t been much call for formality during his years of house arrest, and although his mother still strictly dressed according to pureblood wizarding traditions, Draco had gently been adding pieces of muggle clothing to his wardrobe ever since the war ended. Looking at himself now, he felt like he understood why Narcissa was so anti-jeans. There was just something more put together about this…

He shook his head, pushing all thoughts of wizarding dress out of his mind. He’d held up remarkably well, he thought, for the first two weeks.  He’d spent the year after his house arrest ended integrating himself into muggle society, but they had always been short journeys and he had always returned to The Manor after. This was the first time Draco had been in it for any extended period. He found himself able to stop his urges to reach for his wand in public, for the most part. There had been a moment of weakness when he needed a book that was too high up to reach for, but no one had seen his quick accio, so he didn’t really count it as a failure.  

Obviously, his mother had tried to get him to be based at The Manor during his period of study too, but Draco needed out. He couldn’t stay there any longer, had nearly gone mad during the four years he had to. Oxford was the perfect in-between - it was smaller than muggle London and he could return with relative ease to Wiltshire should there be any emergencies. Besides, being fully integrated as he wasn’t constantly going back and forth between the wizarding and muggle worlds made it easier to acclimatise. The telephone was easy(ish) to get the hang of (from what Draco had gleaned, social media caused some kind of disease that made you hate yourself and he would avoid it), and while he didn’t quite like the computer yet, he could access the internet, and hook it up to the wifi. He didn’t think he’d ever write notes on it like he saw many of the undergraduates do but that was fine. In fact, his dissertation supervisor had encouraged him to write notes out by hand anyway.

He wondered how Granger was adapting. Of course, this was probably easy for her having already done a degree not under house arrest. Not to mention literally growing up in the muggle world, but still. It was a new city for her too, especially if her parents were living so far away in Australia. For a moment he wondered if they’d gone there during the war. He wondered how she’d convinced them to leave her. And then, with effort, he turned his mind away from such thoughts. The gins had hit him quite hard, and everything was feeling slightly blurry by this point. He couldn’t remember who’s round it was - perhaps his. He left to return to the bar anyway, pushing past the number of muggles that stood in his way. It was times like these where Draco wished a discreet repello charm would work, but it was probably far too risky. Not to mention bad form if he was caught using magic just to speed the queue up. 

After a while, a short and frizzy presence made itself known at his elbow. 

‘We were wondering what was taking so long,’ Granger said. ‘And there’s been a request for more chips.’

‘Queue,’ he said, leaning against the bar for some support.

‘Oh,’ Granger replied. 

Instead of leaving, she kind of hovered there. He could almost smell her mind whirring away. Instead of it being irritating, Draco found himself quite up for waiting to see what she’d say. This whole experience was so bizarre, that watching Hermione Granger struggle to make small talk was actually quite enjoyable.

‘Almost feels like we’re back at school, doesn’t it,’ she said, gesturing at their robes. Although he stiffened at her easy reference to Hogwarts, she didn’t seem to look at him with the hatred he’d come to expect from the wizarding world.

‘Yeah,’ he found himself saying. ‘Kinda weird.’

‘Super weird,’ she agreed, and because she must have broken some kind of conversational seal, she kept talking. ‘I got pissed the other night with Alice and accidentally told her about the houses,’ she sighed. 

‘I had heard that, actually,’ Draco said with a grin, remembering the first time Alice had said he was ‘such a Slytherin’ for stealing her last Skittle over lunch.

‘Godric, I’m sorry,’ Granger replied, flushing bright red and hiding her face in her hands. It was so silly Draco couldn’t help his laugh.

‘Don’t be stupid Granger, it doesn’t suit you. It doesn’t actually matter.’ 

‘You’re right,’ she acquiesced so easily his eyebrows shot up. ‘Don’t get too used to hearing that though,’ she warned him.

‘I’ll try not to,’ Draco replied dryly, before reflecting that this was the longest conversation they’d ever had without insulting each other.

‘How are you finding it?’ She asked as they inched closer to the harried barmaid.

‘Not bad, actually,’ Draco admitted, quickly checking to see how attentive people were to their conversation. The pub was too loud to overhear anyone but he lowered his voice just in case and bent his head towards her. ‘Finding some of the tech stuff difficult, and a repello every now and then to clear the tourists out the way would be appreciated.’

Despite the detente in their relationship, he decided admitting to the accio in front of the ultimate teacher’s pet was probably slightly too risky. Granger, for reasons unknown, stifled a giggle.

‘I have a confession,’ she admitted, eyes slightly glassy. Draco waited eagerly for whatever the Golden Girl could consider worthy of sin. 

‘That’s how I got the table,’ she whispered. 

‘What?’

‘I know. A repello . Worked a charm. Ha! See what I did there!’

Draco burst out laughing. ‘You’re kidding.’

‘Nope,’ Granger sighed. ‘It’s terrible, I know. I really didn’t want to stand. Don’t tell anyone!’ She said suddenly. Draco held his hands up.

‘I promise. I didn’t think you had that kind of rule breaking in you,’ he joked. She eyed him dangerously.

‘You’d be surprised, Malfoy,’ she said, her gaze hardening a bit.

All of a sudden it was too close to the war, to the things they didn’t talk about, and the walls were very tight around him and his bow tie was strangling his neck. Draco tried to breathe through it. It had been such a long time that he’d forgotten how immobilising that fear was, the way it held his body, not allowing him to move. What was he supposed to do again? There had been things he’d known in the aftermath of the war, things he’d learned, occlumency techniques he’d made the most of in order to stop it from being so overwhelming, but he’d gotten lazy and forgotten and he’d been thrown off course by this stupid interaction and… 

A small but strong pressure on his upper arms interrupted the fog.

‘It’s alright Malfoy,’ Granger said quietly. ‘Just breathe. I’m going to give you something cold to hold, alright,’

He had barely nodded before Granger was pressing ice into his hands, curling his fingers around the cubes. The pressure in his chest subsided.

‘Thanks,’ he said weakly, embarrassed.

‘Don’t mention it,’ she said. ‘Studying the body and trauma responses for four years does have its practical applications.’

It wasn’t really a joke, but he laughed anyway.

‘I don’t know what’s in these bloody gins,’ he said, searching for his equilibrium.

‘Tell me about it,’ Granger replied with rather too much enthusiasm. ‘Honestly, I can’t keep my mouth shut.’ 

‘If the ministry ever run out of veritaserum perhaps I’ll send them a case, along with my suggestions for use.’ 

‘I’ll include a clinical letter of recommendation.’

‘Deal.’

Draco reflected that Granger was quite fun when she was pissed.

‘Hey, if you need any help,’ she said as they finally approached the front of the queue. ‘I mean, with the whole muggle thing. I don’t know, like how to Google things or something. Not that you probably don’t already know that but you know what I mean -’

‘I’d really appreciate that,’ Draco said, surprising them both back into silence. ‘Yeah.’

‘Should I…should I give you my phone number? In case you need to call?’

‘Probably,’ Draco agreed, pulling his out and handing it over.

‘This is so weird - I can't believe you have a phone and I’m giving you my number,’ she said, once more voicing what he was thinking.

‘What a world Granger. What a world.’

They ordered, and Draco paid even though Granger tried to.

(‘I know you understand the concept of rounds, so don’t even try,’ he warned her. She rolled her eyes.)

Granger turned to leave when her elbow snagged on a stray muggle, and the entirety of her gin deposited itself down the back of their neck.

They leapt up with a furious yell, ignoring her hurried apologies. Draco watched with alarm as Hermione almost pulled her wand out to fix it, before shaking it back up her sleeve.

It was when the muggle turned around that Draco audibly groaned.

‘You,’ they seethed. Draco would have recognised the furious face of the long-suffering anthro DPhil, guardian of the drinks table, anywhere.

‘Hello,’ Draco said awkwardly. ‘Terribly sorry. My companion and I,’

‘We’re just leaving!’ Granger said as Draco replied ‘We’ll just grab one more gin and be out of your hair.’

Around them, people were cheering. Draco was confused - had they all come to near blows with this one drinks table muggle? Were they famous in Oxford, for guarding shit red wine with unnecessary care?

Ignoring Granger’s beseeching look, Draco turned and pushed back to the front of the queue, grabbing an extra G&T despite the crowd’s protestations. They stumbled back into the cold, now rapidly darkening air, all drinks intact.

‘We should have gone to the back of the queue,’

‘And waited all that time again? Granger are you mad? No bloody way.' 

‘How did he recognise you anyway? I thought you were trying to make friends this time around.’

‘Excuse me - he caught me with the bottle of wine we stole at the department drinks. It’s not my fault you left me with the evidence!’ Draco accused. Why couldn’t Granger be silly and fun all the time? Why did she have to suddenly become so righteous?

‘I thought I was going to have to write to Harry and tell him you’d found a new mortal enemy.’ 

Hang on - was Granger joking? He snuck a peek at her face, just to make sure. She was grinning despite her gin-soaked shirt.

‘Oh,’ Draco said, walking very carefully up the steps. ‘I didn’t realise you had a sense of humour.’

‘Funny, I was thinking the exact same thing earlier.’ Ah, Granger still possessed the ability to be snippy. At least some things could be relied upon in this upside down world. 

‘Why was everyone cheering back there?’ he asked her quietly before they rejoined the table.

‘Oh,’ her eyes brightened. ‘It’s a muggle thing. If you drop something in a pub everyone groans. Or shouts. It depends.’

‘What, in every pub, ever? ’ Draco asked, stupidly.

‘Yes,’ she sniffed. ‘Well, probably not literally all the time. But often, yes.’

‘Right. And there’s a reason or…’

‘Oh, I don’t know actually!’ Funnily enough, she actually seemed enthused by the prospect of researching this bizarre tradition. ‘Do you know, I’ve never thought to wonder where it came from. I’m going to look it up at the table.’

They rejoined the masses to lots of complaining that they’d taken so long. Draco found himself sitting next to Hermione again. She brought out her telephone and started researching the pub thing. Discreetly, Draco cast a drying charm at her shirt. She started, and then looked at him with surprise. 

‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t mention it.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Good - because -’

‘Statue of Secrecy, yes, yes. Just because you make one joke doesn’t mean I have to be exposed to the rest of them.’

Draco laughed again, leaving Granger to her research. There must be something in these gins, he thought to himself. They were a kind of magic all by themselves.

Chapter Text

Week 2, Michaelmas

Draco didn’t think he’d ever get used to the early mornings. The cold always hit deeper when tired, and even though his school days had taken place in a draughty old castle in the Scottish Highlands, there was something about his 23 year old body that just struggled to heave itself out of bed at 5am every weekday. 

He had taken to running to the boathouse just to get his blood moving. He could use a warming charm, of course, but there was something oddly satisfying about forcing himself to exercise in terrible conditions. It reminded him of quidditch, when they’d play in anything and he’d return to the common room drenched and sweaty and exhausted. 

It began because he had been dragged round a ridiculous concept called a ‘Freshers Fair’. Draco liked to think he was pretty used to the muggle world by now, but he was still occasionally thrown by the sheer number of people that lived in it. Even the busiest day on Diagon couldn’t compare to the crush of students trying to vye for free pizza (Draco had one bite before deciding it was an abomination of the Italian dish of the same name), and signing up for an increasingly bizarre number of societies. He only recognised the tiniest fraction of the sports, and the only other booth that he was even slightly intrigued by was the Tolkien Society, before he saw the people clustering around it. Draco may have been reformed, but he was still a snob. 

(He also made a mental note to ask Theo what ‘pole dancing’ was. Given that most of the pictures on the stand involved women in various states of undress, he had a feeling his friend would understand why muggles liked to hold onto what was essentially a giant metal wand. And probably be a fan.) 

He was about to abandon the whole enterprise when he got stuck behind a small collection of muggles crowded round an especially large table. A man wearing a rugby jersey with bouffant hair to rival Draco’s own was waxing lyrical to the crowd of equally tall and bouffant-ed men. Draco was about to write him off as a tosser when he caught the end of it. 

‘Yeah, the early mornings do need getting used to, but when you’re out there on the river, it feels just like flying.’ 

And so Draco discovered one (1) muggle sport that he actually enjoyed - rowing.

He’d been placed in a boat with four others, one smaller guy at the end of the boat who shouted at them (the cox), and then three other rowers, along with Draco. Although he had no clue what he was doing, years of flying had given him the core and leg strength needed to quickly get to grips with the movement of the boat. As someone who actually had been on a broom he thought that John’s (the head of the society, it turned out) proclamation about flying wasn’t entirely accurate, but he decided that for muggles it probably was as close as they’d get. Besides, he wasn’t above admitting that the lycra uniforms complimented his muscles nicely, and his access to magical hair products made sure that his locks were the best of the bunch (especially when sweaty). He also wasn’t above admitting that he enjoyed knowing that he was being checked out when running to and from the river. Now that he’d stopped expecting people to curse him in the back, Draco felt like he was able to really lean into this new life. 

It was moments like these, when he was standing under his large pressure shower, put so hot that his fingers and toes tingled as they came back to life, that Draco’s thoughts turned to Hermione. 

Really, everything would have been perfect had she not also been there. It wasn’t as though she had done anything. In fact, Draco ought to be grateful that she’d kept the depths of his depravity secret and allowed him to start afresh. They’d even had fun, that night at the pub, and Draco enjoyed spending time with her roommate, so it was unlikely she was going anywhere. It was just that whenever she appeared, Draco couldn’t lose himself in his new life the way he wanted to. She was a reminder of everything awful he had ever done. The recipient, actually, of much of the evil he had contributed to the world. Granger was a symbol of Draco’s guilt. And he was tired of feeling guilty. 

He sauntered out of the bathroom, leaving the steam to billow around the towel slung low on his hips. Just because Draco refused to live at the Manor anymore didn’t mean he’d enrolled in student accommodation. Though the Magdalene rooms weren't exactly shabby, Draco was not about to start living with muggles, when he could have space and privacy to practise as much magic as his heart desired. Not to mention apparating if he needed to get home, or a proper floo system to stay in touch. While Theo and Blaise had whole-heartedly embraced many muggle modcons, they both still refused a mobile. 

So Draco, upon being accepted, had purchased a neat little home on Norham Road. ‘Little’ probably was a bit of an exaggeration. With five bedrooms, four floors, a garden and a garage that Draco was toying with turning into a brewing room, it wasn’t exactly cosy. But coming from someone who had grown up in The Manor, he thought he’d been quite restrained about the whole thing. 

He dressed for the day. His undergrad experience had (obviously) been very different, and even the small moments of being able to walk freely from class to class, books slung in his satchel or one or two under his arm still felt like novelties. He found himself slipping into a kind of uniform, long sleeved shirt under jumper (with jacket if necessary, but it wasn’t cold enough quite yet), and a dark kind of jean. Again, purchased with Theo and Blaise, in a strange pastiche of their older ‘back to school’ rituals on Diagon Alley. Draco grabbed his reusable coffee cup (these muggles and their inventions! It had been quite a shock to realise that the environment was collapsing around them, and also that wizards didn’t seem to want to do anything about it), and headed out the door. 

More than the rowing and the freedom, Draco’s favourite thing about university was the classes. They were much, much more rigorous than his distanced learning degree, and it had come as a bit of a shock to the system when he’d first offered an opinion in a seminar and had been promptly ripped to shreds (by Alice, of course). So he’d said no to many of the further pub offers and had steadily been working his way through the libraries and his reading list. He’d always had good grades, near top grades, actually (another annoying thing about Granger being here - she would probably end up beating him again), and he wasn’t about to start failing now. 

He also wanted to know. He wanted to understand why he’d so eagerly accepted, without any critical thinking, what his father and mother had fed him. He wanted to know why he was so eager to go along with it. How he was able to be manipulated so thoroughly. Draco wanted to know why. And then he wanted to make sure it would never happen again. 

Three years studying muggle anthropology, coming up against theories that finally started to explain why people acted the way they did, and how those actions were dictated by many things, but often their environment, made Draco realise that there was very little support in the wizarding world for people who might come across someone like Voldemort.

And Draco didn’t think that he’d be welcomed back into society once he achieved this (a ward in St Mungo’s? A separate rehabilitation centre? A learning programme at Hogwarts? He hadn’t worked out the details yet), or been given an Order of Merlin or anything, but he did think that if there was a way to prove that he’d changed, this might be it. 

Today was a good day - low on actual contact hours which meant that Draco could catch up on some of the seminar readings for the week ahead. He was glad of the extra time - readings on cultural understandings of space and time would probably be fairly brain-melting and he wanted space and time to prepare. Mainly so that Alice couldn’t laugh at him again, but also so that next time he bumped into Granger at the pub he could impress her with his understanding of temporal research. And see if there was any truth to that time turner rumour in third year. An interview with someone who had actually bent the rules was surely going to give his essay an edge. 

He’d also decided that today it was time to check out Duke Humphries. So far he’d mainly restricted his exploration to the Social Sciences library, an ugly modern building near the University Parks and his home. But he’d heard lots about the ancient wood-panelled room situated in the old Bodleian Library, and thought that perhaps it would be the perfect thing to remind him of happy times spent in the Hogwarts library. Although sixth year had been one of the worst periods of his life, he had developed a kind of rose-tinted view of the hours that he’d spent there desperately researching, often with only Granger at some far off table for company. 

The Bodleian library was a sandstone quadrangle right in the heart of Oxford. The statue of Thomas Pembroke (not a wizard, Draco had been surprised to learn), stood imposingly in front of the double glass doors. Draco climbed the many stairs to the first and a half floor, another strange throwback reminding him of the Hogwarts Express platform, and walked back in time. 

The first thing he noticed was the smell. It was books and furniture polish and age and it was so like that of Hogwarts it stopped him in his tracks. After a moment of calming his heart rate, Draco walked towards the guard sitting behind the wood-panelled desk, presented his Bod Card (the university muggle form of identification), and passed through the swinging gate. 

Rows of desks lay perpendicular to the central hall, looked down on by old muggle monarchs. He gave Queen Elizabeth a cheeky wink on behalf of his ancestor, and continued walking to the large open desks at the other side of the hall. It was nearly empty at this hour, and Draco found he had pick of the seats. A small desk, right on the upper gallery that narrowly ringed the large room below, and accessible only by a narrow flight of steps, looked like the most enjoyable to spend the morning in. It was close to the elaborately painted ceiling and had a view across the rest of the library, should he wish to people watch in between articles. He folded his long body into the small seat, took out his notes, and removed his mechanical pencil from his pocket. 

There were no pens allowed, which was a shame because Draco was starting to really enjoy writing with ballpoints. Luckily, the pencil made a satisfying clicking noise that sort of made up for it. He’d had to beg Alice for help with the printer for the notes, citing general technical deficiency, as that muggle contraption still completely eluded him. He’d also had a bit of trouble with the stapler, but he’d worked that out in secrecy.  

He was about to bend over and start work when a movement caught his eye. 

Sitting across the balcony on the other side of the room, at the mirror image of his desk, was Hermione Granger. 

He suppressed a sigh. She hadn’t noticed him yet. She had removed the pencil holding her hair up, and the tumbling of it around her shoulders had been what had alerted him to her presence. He checked his watch. 9:35. The doors opened at 9:30 - how the hell had she made it here before him?!

She yawned into her hand, absently pushing her hair out of her eyes, utterly absorbed in what she was reading. 

Draco took a moment to study her unobserved. 

She looked tired. There were dark circles under her eyes and a pinched look to her face that he remembered from exam season. Her hair was as unkempt as ever, but Draco found himself thinking that she had rather grown into it. She’d cut a fringe that somehow made the curls look fuller, and it ensured that dainty tendrils hung around her face even when it was pulled up, making her look softer. She was wearing a baggy jumper, a slightly stained collar visible underneath. For a wild moment, Draco thought maybe he should text her. 

Then he pulled himself together. Hadn’t he just been thinking it was a shame she was here? Why was he suddenly mooning about tendrils and worrying about her sleeping habits? Enough was enough. Draco put his head down, and got to work. 

The work was not as absorbing as he had hoped. After about an hour, Granger noticed he was there, and she offered him a small smile, which Draco returned. Thirty minutes later, they caught each other’s eye once more, as Draco stretched out his back and Granger stifled another yawn. Another thirty minutes later, Granger huffed and shut her book quite forcefully, leaving Draco to spend ten minutes wondering what had annoyed her, and sneakily trying to see what she had been reading. 

Another few minutes and another yawn later, Draco’s concentration was shot and his nerves were frayed. He never normally had trouble studying. In fact, this was hardly the first time he and Granger had studied in the same room. But something about her being here was getting in the way of his work. He stretched again, and she looked up. Holding her gaze, Draco mimed drinking a cup of coffee. 

He watched her eyes widen in surprise, and then her stifle a yawn again. She smiled guiltily, and then nodded. Draco felt an odd sort of fluttering in his chest, as though he had achieved something. They both stood up in tandem, walking down their respective flights of stairs and meeting at the bottom. 

Draco realised that the bottom half of her outfit consisted of a plaid miniskirt, her legs encased in thick black tights. He didn’t think he’d ever seen that much of them, and was disgruntled to realise they were very nice. The skirt was slightly flared and swished as she moved and Draco wished that he would just Stop Looking. Legs were legs. He didn’t need to be a wizarding terrorist and pervert. 

The rest of the library had filled out and they filed past, whispering their thanks to the attendant and dodging the first tour of the day as they clattered down the steps. 

‘Thanks,’ she said in between another yawn. ‘God, sorry I’m just so tired.’ 

‘Late night?’ Draco teased, wondering if she’d been out, and if she’d worn the skirt. 

‘Ugh,’ Granger wrinkled her nose and it was quite sweet. They made their way outside, Granger leading to what he assumed would be the coffee shop she wanted to visit. 

‘Sort of,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Well, yes actually. But it’s a bit naughty, so you mustn't tell anyone.’ 

Draco’s heart picked up, for mysterious reasons. 

‘Oh?’ he said, trying not to make a joke about rule breaking, because the first one hadn’t gone down so well. 

‘I disillusioned myself,’ she admitted, turning to him as they approached the small coffee shop tucked down the side of Brasenose College. ‘I know, I know. But I’ve just got so much to do - and my room is really awful so I can’t study in it and I thought, well, no ones going to know so actually it’s fine, and then when the thing opened properly I slipped down to the loos, finished the charm and pretended like I’d just arrived.’ 

‘Hang on - you pulled an all-nighter? We’re only in Week 2!’ 

‘Not a proper one. I had a quick snooze in between - the chairs are quite comfy if you push three together and transfigure them into a sort of day bed thing. Anyway - it’s not a big deal, I just -’

Granger kept up a hushed babble as they joined the queue. Now that Draco looked at her, he thought she actually looked quite awake considering her midnight activities. It irritated him - why was she doing this so early in the term? Had he forgotten about an assignment that she knew about? Why was she always one step ahead of him? 

‘What do you want, Granger?’ He asked, interrupting her monologue. 

‘Oh,’ she blinked. ‘Black coffee would be fabulous. Large, please.’ 

Draco ordered one, along with a flat white. While she was rooting around in her pockets for her purse, he paid. 

‘But anyway,’ she finished as they took their places in the window, condensation already marking the inside of it, ‘that’s why I can’t stop yawning. I have got a pepper-up supply at home, but I’d rather only use them in case of real emergencies.’ 

‘Like what?’ Draco asked stupidly. 

‘Oh, you know. Essay season. We’re still early on in the term after all.’

‘So why are you pulling all nighters now?’ Draco asked. He was irritated. What a stupid thing to do. She rolled her eyes. 

‘I told you, I’ve got so much to catch up on.’

‘You have to sleep, Granger.’

‘Did Ginny put you up to this?’

‘What?’ Draco’s knee hit the small table as he jerked in surprise. He didn’t think he had ever had a conversation with the youngest Weasel, nor was he particularly keen on doing so. 

‘This isn’t a wellness check or anything is it?’ 

‘Firstly, no. Secondly, if you think your friends would disapprove then maybe you should, you know, rest?’ 

‘Shut up Malfoy,’ she muttered, sipping her coffee. 

He was about to retort when a familiar voice called his name. 

‘Draco!’ 

John arrived, slapping him on the back. Draco grinned, reflexively leaning back, his legs falling slightly further open in a display of friendly masculinity. 

‘John - how are you?’

‘Good times this morning, I heard.’

‘Well, you know.’ Draco shrugged modestly. He was secretly thrilled Granger would be able to witness how far he had turned his life around, making friends with muggles and fitting in. 

They exchanged small talk about the upcoming races and how up for competing Draco might be. Draco tried to appear unbothered by it all, though he hoped Granger was listening. 

‘Hello,’ John drawled, finally turning to Hermione. 

‘John, this is Granger. Granger, this is John. We went to school together.’ Draco said, ignoring Narcissa’s imagined reproach for Draco forgetting his manners in such a spectacular way. John dropped into the chair next to them even though Draco noted he was drinking out of a takeaway cup. 

‘Granger is an unusual name,’ John said, smiling with probably five too many teeth. 

‘It’s Hermione,’ Granger said primly. She crossed her legs. Draco noted the movement and disregarded it. 

‘Hermione, it’s a pleasure,’ John said with another smile. Draco suddenly felt quite irritated with his captain. Hermione was very tired. It was obvious in the way she was sitting, in the bags under her eyes. She did not want to be disturbed. 

‘Likewise,’ she said. Was she being polite or did she mean it? 

‘Anyway,’ Draco said, driving the conversation back to rowing. ‘What are you up to for the rest of the day?’

John gave a boring and loud answer before finally rising, coffee in hand. He bid goodbye, expressing a hope to bump into Hermione again. She gave a half-hearted little nod, but Draco could tell her mind was already on something else. Feeling a little better, he settled back into his seat. 

‘So,’ Granger said, mouth twitching. ‘Rowing, eh?’ 

‘Rowing,’ Draco agreed. She laughed. ‘What?’ He demanded, feeling a bit put out. 

‘Nothing.’

‘No, come on.’ 

‘Well,’ she hesitated. ‘It’s just that it’s a bit of a stereotype, isn’t it. You know - you’re posh in our world, you're posh here.’

‘Obviously, Granger. Did you expect me to sign up for pole dancing or something?’ (Theo had replied to his letter with a satisfyingly graphic description). 

‘I’ve heard that’s actually very good exercise.’

‘I’m sure it is.’ Draco was not doing a very good job of convincing her he wasn’t a pervert. 

‘How are you finding it?’ She asked with genuine curiosity. 

‘Loving it,’ Draco replied truthfully, launching into an unnecessarily enthusiastic report of everything he’d learnt so far, the things he loved, the things he missed about home (mainly his friends and his brewing room). He was expecting Granger to get excited again like she did when anyone else seemed to talk about research. Instead, she looked even more pinched. 

‘What?’ He finally asked, after he had delivered a charming and funny recount of his stapler battle and she hadn’t laughed. 

‘Nothing.’ she said. Her lips were almost pursed to invisibility. 

‘No, come on,’ he pushed. 

‘Well, it’s just that you’ve got it all figured out, haven't you?’ She said, surprising him with the bitterness. ‘You’re not stressed at all.’

‘Of course I am,’ he said, feeling quite cross. 

‘Sure,’ she snorted. ‘I don’t even know why I’m surprised.’

‘Am I supposed to be miserable? Did you want me to go back to house arrest, is that it, Granger?’ his voice grew hard. 

‘Don’t be bloody ridiculous. I don’t believe for a second you deserve any more punishment,’

‘Then why are you upset that I’m enjoying myself?’ He replied hotly. He would have to be careful - anyone could hear them now. 

‘Because why aren’t you finding it hard!’ She said. ‘You make it look bloody effortless, that’s why!’ 

‘It’s not that bad,’

‘Oh shut up Malfoy. Shut up. I don’t want to hear about how easy you're finding settling in.’

‘Maybe you should take up rowing,’ he said rudely. ‘Pulling all nighters isn’t healthy, especially not this early in the term. Maybe you need more balance , Granger, and then you wouldn’t fly off the handle in the middle of the day after someone’s bought you a coffee,’

‘Oh, so because you bought me a coffee I’m not allowed to be frustrated?’

‘You know that’s not what I was saying,’ 

‘You know what,’ she said, standing suddenly. ‘Keep the rest of your shitty coffee and Fuck. Off. I’m going back to the library. Just so we’re clear - you are not allowed to sit opposite me anymore. In fact, you’re not allowed in Duke Humphries. If you’re finding everything so easy you can bloody well find somewhere else to do your stupid readings.’ 

-----

Hermione was not proud of her outburst. She was also slightly annoyed that it had happened in the best-closest coffee shop to the Bodleian. Now she’d have to go elsewhere for at least a week while she got over her embarrassment. 

She didn’t know what it was. One moment she was absolutely fine. Tired, yes, but she’d been tired before and didn’t often fly off the handle that spectacularly. In fact, when she’d looked up that morning and seen Malfoy across from her she had actually been quite pleased to see him. 

He had on his elegant professor look that she had come to realise was his muggle uniform. Even Alice had mentioned once or twice about how well he pulled it off. Nestled among the upper shelves Malfoy had looked perfectly at home, a strange combination of their Hogwarts days along with the new environment they were both in. 

It had been a relief to be able to talk about spells and transfiguring things even for a moment, and the coffee had been a nice touch. She had thought it was going well. 

And then the rowing dickhead had turned up and been so loud and annoying and Malfoy had become that same smarmy kid she’d remembered from the quidditch matches, and he had the audacity to talk about how much he loved it in Oxford when she was so clearly stressed and it was all too much. 

And then he had the audacity to try and suggest she also try rowing as some sort of stupid coping mechanism. As if she needed lessons on stress management from Draco Sodding Malfoy. 

And finally - he had annoyed her so much that there was no way she was going to be able to concentrate again. Despite her insistence that he not return to DH, she also packed up her things and stalked out. She’d go home - maybe she could have a nap and then start working again. Besides, if she needed to work late at least she knew the disillusionment trick worked a treat. 

She seethed the whole way back to the hotel. Getting into her room hardly improved her mood. 

She hadn’t been back in days and it was a mess. Hermione had never had much time or interest in household spells. After living on the run for the best part of a year, she had never really picked up the skills. And then, living with Ron, who expected her to somehow become as accomplished and willing as Molly Weasly when it came to running a home, she had refused to learn out of spite. It wasn’t the healthiest she had ever acted in a relationship, but had all been dealing with things and Hermione hadn’t been able to bring herself to add learning dishwashing spells to her list of concerns. 

So now she just angrily kicked about, too tired to sleep, too cross to work. 

‘Hello?’ Alice rapped on her door and Hermione groaned. But she was very clearly in, so she couldn’t hide. 

‘Hello,’ she tried for friendly as she opened the door. Alice took in the state of the room and the state of Hermione. 

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Oh, nothing,’ Hermione began airily. ‘Only that Draco Malfoy is still the twat I remembered from school, and I haven't slept very much, and actually he seemed to think it appropriate to lecture me on supposed ‘coping mechanisms’,’ she began. Alice walked into her room and closed the door. 

‘Oookay,’ she began, making space on the bed to sit down. ‘Let's work backwards. Coping mechanisms?’

‘He told me to go rowing, ’ she fumed. ‘ROWING, ALICE. As if the thing I need right now is to be up at 5am on a freezing river!’ 

‘How did you even start talking about this?’

‘We were in the library, we went for a coffee, we bumped into one of his new rowing friends, whatever.’ 

‘What did he do to you at school, Hermione?’ Alice said quietly. ‘If it’s something serious - I want you to tell me. I know we’re friends, but you come first, okay? If my relationship with him makes you feel uncomfortable -’

‘No it’s nothing like that,’ Hermione flopped onto the bed. There was no way she could even begin to explain the truth. ‘I’ve told you, he was a little shit about my background, the way I looked. But you’re right - it was all so long ago and I thought I was over it - I AM over it. I just hate that he’s come here and he’s fine, you know?’  

Alice stroked a soothing hand along her back, and Hermione started to feel the past few days of bad sleep and overwork as her body unwound from the human touch. 

‘I think you’re feeling like this because you’re overtired,’ Alice said gently. ‘It’s the second week, my love. You have to look after yourself. And I know you don’t want to hear it! But why don’t you think about doing something you might enjoy to break up the work?’

‘No.’ Hermione muffled into a pillow. ‘All I want to do is punch him all over again.’

‘One day you are going to tell me the full story,’ Alice said. ‘But why not punch something else?’

‘Mmph.’

‘Yeah! You remember Will - digital anthro Will?’ Hermione nodded into the bedding. ‘He got super into boxing during his Masters. Said it was the only thing that carried him through it. He still goes twice a week to a club - why don’t you go with him one evening?’

Hermione considered this. 

‘Maybe.’ She said into the mattress. Alice stayed with her until she fell asleep (about seven minutes), and then quietly left, pulling the curtains shut on the way out. 

Chapter Text

Week 3, Michaelmas 

‘Come on, Hermione, I know you’ve got more than that.’ 

She was drenched in sweat. Everything, every muscle, every movement, hurt. Even her eyes felt like they were sweating. Or perhaps those were tears of frustration. 

Will stood in front of her, holding up the pads with ease. 

‘Just one more round and then we can swap.’ 

They’d been at it for 37 minutes (Hermione was counting), and if she didn’t stop soon she was sure she’d collapse. 

After she had slept for 12 hours, freaked out again about being behind, and spent another disillusioned night in the library, she started to realise that maybe Alice had been right to suggest she do something other than study. The pressure was getting to her. If she was going to get through this, she needed an outlet. So she’d reached out to Will and asked him if he’d mind her tagging along to one of the sessions to see what the fuss was. 

He had responded enthusiastically, and Hermione had unearthed her running trainers, leggings, and oversized t-shirt she had stolen from Ron years ago (transfiguring off the Chudley Cannons logo), and turned up filled with naive enthusiasm. 

37, no, 38 minutes later, she was regretting all of her life choices. 

She raised her arms, though her muscles felt like they would never recover. She’d have to drop out, due to no longer being able to lift a pen or type. 

‘No, chin down,’ Will corrected. ‘Keep your fists up, you want them next to your face to protect it.’ Hermione wondered if he’d be quick enough to dodge her accidental punch to his face. Then again, she was so exhausted that even if she did make contact she doubted it would make any kind of impact. 

She started again, focusing on at least touching the pads in the right places and in the right rhythm, even if she couldn’t get much force behind them. 

‘Nice, come on, nearly there.’ 

Will, bless him, was being as encouraging as possible. It did not help. 

She collapsed into a sweaty heap when the buzzer rang. 

‘Right, last round guys!’ The instructor, a peppy woman with the most toned arms Hermione had ever seen, called out. ‘Really give it your all - let’s go out on a high!’ 

Music started blasting, Will and Hermione switched gloves and pads, and the torture started again. 

Finally, finally it was over. Hermione was bent double, shaking her arms out to try and ease the aching. Blissfully she gulped water and then headed into the cooldown. She was pretty sure stairs would be a no-go for the next few days. But as Will handed her a towel, she couldn't help but admit she felt good. 

‘It is kind of addicting,’ he said, once they were out in the evening air again. The night was nearly totally dark, only the barest sliver of a new moon to light their way. They walked slowly across Magdalene Bridge, Will understanding that Hermione needed to stretch out her muscles. 

‘I see what you mean,’ she allowed, breathing in deeply. ‘I didn’t think about anything for nearly an hour.’ 

‘That’s the point,’ he grinned. ‘The Masters programme is meant to be really intense. I needed somewhere I could go and just forget about it.’ 

‘I get that,’ she said heavily.

‘It’s okay if you’re feeling overwhelmed. But no matter what it seems like, everyone hasn’t read everything. We’re all feeling just as out of our depths. There’s a reason you’re here, yknow?’ 

Hermione looked at Will gratefully. 

‘Thank you,’ she said, meaning it. ‘I think I just freaked out a bit. I’ve never really been anywhere like this before.’ 

‘It’s a bubble,’ he said with a laugh. ‘It makes everything seem so much more important than it is. Thank God we’re not the poor suckers who are actually having to cure cancer. Like, yeah we’re here to learn, but we’re also meant to have fun.’ 

Hermione smiled, though she felt the hollow pit in her stomach that had started to close ever so slightly with the exercise, happily reopen. 

‘Yeah,’ she said weakly. She wished she could talk about it with someone. But she didn’t want to write a letter to Ginny, and the only other wizard or witch here was currently avoiding her, after she had spectacularly exploded at him in a coffee shop. Not that he didn’t deserve it - she was still annoyed at how righteous he’d been. It’s just with a bit of perspective she had started to realise that actually, maybe, the fact that she was jealous wasn’t his fault and she could have been a bit less…punish-y?

‘I go once a week,’ Will was saying, ‘and then run in between. What kind of exercise did you do before?’ 

‘Huh? Oh -’ Hermione was pulled out of her reverie, ‘Um, not much really. I did a bit of yoga but wasn’t really into that stuff at school.’ 

She decided magical self-defence, duelling, being on the run and being tortured in front of said former school bully probably didn’t count as regular exercise anyway.  

‘You're decently strong if you haven’t done anything before.’ Hermione warmed at the praise. ‘You should come back.’ 

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I think I will actually.’ 

Will beamed at her, and she smiled. He was easy to like and easy talk to. Perhaps he was even good looking. It had been a while, after all. Since Ron she just hadn’t felt anything with anyone worth pursuing. There had been a few instances at uni, but they were only ever one night things, and not particularly satisfying either. It was as though all her attention was laser focused on trying to heal her parents. Everything else just...took a back seat. She looked at him, trying to see if she felt anything. 

‘Are you coming tomorrow?’ Will asked. 

‘I’m not sure,’ Hermione replied. Sasha, Alice’s friend, was hosting a Halloween party. From what Hermione understood, most of the graduate anthropology body had been invited, along with a mix of her other flatmates’ friends. Hermione really didn’t feel like it. Yes, she was trying for more balance. But also, if she got an early night then she’d be able to work for the whole weekend on her research for her parents. A few new neuroscience studies had also been published that she wanted to get to grips with, and a new book had recently been delivered by owl. Judging by the seal, it was sent by one of the Healer’s at St Mungo’s, who had been the one to explain to Hermione the risks involved with what she wanted to do, as well as highlight the limitations of their magical knowledge in that area. 

‘Oh, come on,’ Will pushed. His eyes were warm in the yellow lamplight and the fog was moving in over the river. They stood close to the edge of the bridge, looking over the punts collected below. It felt like it should have been romantic. 

Hermione sighed. 

‘I might pop in,’ she allowed. 

‘Excellent,’ he said, seeming satisfied. They hovered there, for a moment. 

‘What are you going to go as?’ Hermione asked, vaguely remembering it was fancy dress. 

‘Haven’t decided yet,’ Will said. ‘I’ll probably be lazy and do the classic toga out of a sheet thing. Or maybe just go in my field work gear and say I’m an explorer.’ They both laughed. 

‘That’s actually not a bad idea,’ Hermione agreed. ‘Plus, at least you’d be comfortable.’ 

‘True, true. Not very sexy though,’ he said. 

‘Well, I guess I’ll have a think about what I’ve got lying around,’ she said. ‘See if anything works.’ 

They left it there, Hermione ignoring the mildly flirtatious overture that Will had offered. Perhaps tomorrow she’d feel differently, but at the moment, all she wanted was to spend an hour in the shower and then curl up in bed with some of her new readings. She tried to imagine kissing him, and to be frank, she just didn’t have the time. 

-- 

‘Alice!’ she knocked on her friend’s door, hearing music from within. It popped open. 

‘How did it go!’ She said grinning, taking Hermione in. 

‘It was SO hard,’ Hermione said, leaning against the door. ‘But - you were right. It did feel good. I feel less inclined to murder everyone.’

‘I’m deeply relieved.’ 

‘Tomorrow?’ 

‘Yes?’

‘The party.’

Alice squealed. ‘Are you coming!’ 

‘Will convinced me,’ Hermione said with a sigh. Alice’s eyebrow rose. 

‘Oh, did he?’

‘Not like that,’ she corrected quickly. ‘Anyway. I was wondering if you wanted to go as something together. I don’t have a costume or anything and -’

‘Oh Hermione I’m so sorry,’ Alice said, face falling. ‘I already made plans with Draco - I thought you weren’t going to come!’ 

‘Oh, don’t worry about it!’ She said, ‘I did say that originally.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Alice looked so guilty that Hermione laughed. ‘You can join us if you want?’

‘Hmm. What are you going as?’

‘Space cowboys!’ she said promptly, moving out of the door to reveal a glittery cowboy hat on the floor, and what looked like the remains of an entire aisle’s worth of glitter on the carpet around it. Hermione laughed again. 

‘Wow. Well, I cannot wait to see Malfoy’s interpretation,’ she smiled at the thought. ‘But I’ll figure something else out. I haven’t spoken to him since I was insane in Missing Bean so, yknow….’ she trailed off. 

Alice looked at her shrewdly. 

‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ she said in a tone that suggested it was not nothing at all. Hermione gave her a Look. 

‘Well I just think it’s interesting,’ Alice caved, with a small smile on her face, ‘that both of you have been extra mopey since your little fight.’ 

‘Why was he mopey?’ Hermione asked despite herself. Alice grinned, Hermione realising her mistake too late. 

‘Aha! You do care!’

‘I never said I didn’t,’ Hermione was feeling oddly defensive. ‘Why is this a big deal?’ 

‘Because!’ Alice said. ‘You both clearly do want to be friends, even if you pretend you hate each other. I am shipping this. If I can’t experience it myself then I want my enemies-to-lovers storyline to happen to the two of you, so I get to watch it unfold from both sides.’ 

Hermione spluttered indignantly. 

‘Malfoy and I are not -’ she began, but Alice cut her off. 

‘I know not now,’ she said with a grin. ‘But I can see it. You’re both fit, you’ve got that fun history that makes it all a little spicy, he’s also rich -’

‘I do not care about that!’

‘Whatever, Hermione. I’m just teasing you, but clearly I have touched a nerve,’ she said with a wink. 

‘You are lucky that I am exhausted,’ Hermione said, crossing her arms, ‘and no longer insane, or you would be in trouble.’

‘Sleep and exercise truly work wonders,’ Alice nodded, sagely. 

‘I’m going to find something to wear now,’ Hermione replied, ‘and see you tomorrow.’

‘Do you want to meet up for pres before?’ 

‘No thanks, I’ll meet you there.’

Alice pouted, but there was no way that she would be finished early enough to join them for drinks. 

--

Hermione was obviously running late for the party. She’d had a productive research day, managing to clear the decks of her seminar reading for the following week so she could focus on the book the Healer sent over the weekend. 

However, it had meant she hadn’t managed to sort a costume. Deciding on sailing a little close to the wind would be fun (it was Halloween, after all), Hermione pulled her smallest black dress out her wardrobe - a slightly stretchy contraption that was strapless and ended above her mid thigh. Because she wasn’t insane, she paired it with a thin pair of black tights, and then added some pointy black boots. She threw her matriculation gown over the top and, grabbing a bit of cardboard from the recycling, transfigured a black hat like the old Hogwarts ones they wore for special occasions. And then, because no one would think it was real, she took her wand. 

A bit of hair and makeup later, Hermione was knocking on Sasha’s front door, the party audible already. 

‘Hermione!’ Sasha slurred as she opened the door. ‘Ohmygod you look so good!’ 

‘Thanks,’ Hermione said, glad she swiped a gin and tonic for the walk over so she wasn’t turning up stone sober. ‘You look great too!’ 

Sasha was dressed in nothing but caution tape and, somehow, suited it. 

‘Come in,’ Sasha yanked her through.

The party was heaving. Hermione found herself squeezing through the hallway between two rows of scantily clad bodies, all talking loudly over the music. The air smelled like glitter, hairspray and booze, plastic cups cracking around them in people's fists. Sasha led Hermione to the kitchen. 

‘Whatare you driiiking?’ she said, rooting around in a cupboard. ‘Shit - we’ve run out of cups. Do you want a mug?’ 

‘I’m sorted actually,’ Hermione said, holding her can of gin and tonic aloft. 

Sasha’s face fell.

‘But what else are you gonna drink?’ 

‘I don’t -,’ she started to say, until something attacked her from behind. 

‘Hermioneeee!’ Alice squealed. 

Hermione laughed and turned to greet her friend. 

‘You’re the most glittery space cowboy I have ever seen in my life.’ 

It was true - Alice’s shorts and denim bra had spangly bits dangling from them, and her glittery hat was starting to moult over the rest of her body. Big fluffy boots (which Hermione supposed was the ‘space’ part of the outfit), completed the look. They were also trailing glitter. 

‘Shh,’ Alice said, holding a finger up to her lips. ‘You cannot talk, when you are the sexiest witch of all time.’ 

‘Hermione only has one drink,’ Sasha said to Alice, who gasped dramatically in a way that made Hermione laugh. The atmosphere of the party was starting to soak in, and even though she was only a bit tipsy, it wasn’t too bad. 

‘It’s alright - Draco has loads. You can steal some!’ 

‘Oh, it’s fine,’ Hermione tried to say, but Alice was already yanking her through to the front room which was also filled with people. All the lights were off, and people were dancing enthusiastically to cheesy music. 

‘Draco,’ Alice said, reaching up and pulling him round. 

The dim light still managed to gleam off him. Draco had glitter round his eyes to match Alice’s, as well as a glitter cowboy hat. The rest of his outfit was obscene - a denim waistcoat left hanging open, and nothing underneath. Her eyes travelled down to his tight jeans in a matching denim, and, if Hermione was very much not mistaken, dragon hide boots. He should have looked ridiculous. But the cut of his abs was visible, and his arm muscles really shouldn’t have been that sculpted, and actually the way he smiled lazily when he looked down at Alice was too much. 

‘Howdy partner,’ he said, grinning. Then he looked at Hermione. 

‘Fuck,’ he said, taking her costume in. 

‘Hermione needs a drink!’ Alice shouted in his ear. 

‘Sure,’ he said, swallowing slightly. ‘Come on Granger, I’ll show you where we’ve stashed the booze.’ 

And then before Hermione could process it, he had grabbed her hand and was leading her back through the crush of people to the outside. 

The garden (it was more of a yard), was filled with yet more people, smoking underneath a half-hearted string of fairy lights. Draco led Hermione round the corner, to the back of the kitchen. He started rooting around in the dark, until Hermione offered a sneaky lumos. 

‘I’ll say it’s my phone light,’ she whispered, as he found the box stashed behind the recycling. 

‘Nah, we’re good,’ Draco said, straightening slightly unsteadily with another can in his hand. He handed it to Hermione. 

‘Espresso martini?’ She asked. He grinned again. 

‘Have you ever had one Granger? They’re amazing. Plus, loads of booze. I need to learn how to make them. Muggles are very good at drinking. Possibly better than me.’

‘You do know it’s real coffee, right?’ Hermione was supposed to be cross at him still but she wasn’t about to let him overdose. ‘How many have you had?’

‘Oh,’ he airily waved a hand. ‘Probably six, not too many. I was drinking beers before.’ 

‘Six?’ She gasped. ‘Draco, Jesus. You’ll give yourself a heart attack.’ 

He solemnly placed a (slightly shaky) hand on her shoulder. 

‘You called me Draco.’

Hermione blushed in the dark. 

‘I suppose I did.’ 

He nodded, once. 

‘Thank you, Hermione,’ he said seriously, ‘for keeping my best interests at heart, even when I don’t deserve it.’ 

She rolled her eyes, and then thought she might as well make the most of the moment. 

‘Look, Malfoy - about the other day,’ 

‘No!’ he said. ‘I thought I was Draco now?’

‘Old habits,’ she replied tartly, cracking open her can of cocktail. 

‘Fine, anyway you’re not allowed to say anything until I’ve apologised.’

‘What?’

‘Yes - I was going to say sorry,’

‘You don’t need to -’

‘No, shut up Granger,’ he said. ‘Wait, no, don’t shut up - I mean be quiet but not in a rude way, shut up so I can apologise to you. Not properly apologise for - for everything obviously, because that deserves a sober apology not right now but I want to say sorry for the other day at coffee. I was a dick and I wanted to impress you and it came out shitty because I got defensive and John was pissing me off,’ when Draco was on a roll he was almost as bad as Hermione. 

‘He was awful, wasn't he,’ Hermione couldn't help but interject.

‘Yes - such a dick. It doesn’t matter though - I might be kicked off the squad anyway because we had a bit of a bust up -’

‘Wait, why?!’

‘Granger, Hermione, I am trying to apologise. Stop interrupting.’

‘Only when you tell me why you might be kicked off the squad.’ 

‘It wasn't a big deal, he was just being foul about you and I didn’t like it.’

In the spirit of good sportsmanship, Hermione didn’t point out the irony of this. 

‘How?’

‘You know, being inappropriate and saying stuff about you, and the way you looked and things that he wanted to do to you and I told him to fuck off -’

‘Hang on. Draco Malfoy, did you defend my honour?’ She couldn't help giggling. It was just so ridiculous. 

‘Oh Salazar’s balls, I mean you can absolutely defend your own honour if you want I don't want to deny you that, it’s just cos you weren’t there and it felt a bit wrong y'know to let him talk about you like that, and I’m trying to not be a total shite this time around,’

‘No -’ she was now fully laughing - ‘it's just so funny. And so old fashioned. You don’t have to beat off suitors from my door.’

‘So - you want to go for a drink with him?’ He was frowning. 

‘No,’ she said quickly, ‘not him - he was an arse and thank you for defending me against his nefarious intentions.’ 

‘Nefarious is a big word for however many drinks I have had.’ 

They grinned at each other. Hermione finished her can - she always drank too quickly around him. He wordlessly handed her another, cracking a (different) cocktail, Hermione was pleased to note, for himself. 

‘Why did you want to impress me?’ 

‘Because you’re you,’ he said, as though this was obvious. ‘You’re Hermione Granger. The golden girl. If I could impress you then I’d pretty much be nailing it.’

She pulled a face, even though his words made her feel oddly warm. ‘Please don’t call me that. Can’t you just pretend you don’t know me or any of that stuff?’ 

‘No,’ Draco was back to being sincere. ‘I promise I won't make it weird, Granger, but I am never going to forget that you are extraordinary.’ 

‘Alright then,’ she said awkwardly. 

‘So,’ he said, leaning against the kitchen wall. She had thought he’d want to go back inside, but was oddly happy he wanted to linger. 

‘So,’ she said, mirroring him. 

‘Did you bring the hat from home?’ 

She laughed. 

‘Funnily enough I don’t carry around my old school uniform with me,’ she said dryly. ‘I transfigured this out of a cereal box.’ 

‘Mm, a pity.’ 

They were standing in a filthy, busy garden, dressed ridiculously, but Hermione was suddenly aware that this felt more romantic than fog-covered rivers. She was glad it was dark and Draco couldn’t see her blush again. 

‘Did you really not know how to work a stapler?’ she asked, to prolong the moment. He grinned. 

‘It was awful, I nearly stapled my fingers off,’

‘I highly doubt that,’ she said drily.

‘Don’t you think it’s odd we don’t have a stapling spell, though?’ He asked. ‘I mean, why not? It would be bloody useful. Someone should look into that.’

‘I suppose you’re right.’

‘I’m always right, remember?’ 

She rolled her eyes, and hoped he could see that. 

‘How did Alice bribe you to dress up in this?’ she gestured vaguely at his outfit, pleased that her voice was steady.  

Draco stretched. She absolutely, did not, let her eyes travel down his chest. 

‘Wanna know a secret, Granger?’ He said lowly. Godrick help her, she stepped closer. 

‘Go on then,’ she said. If it came out suggestively, it was not her fault. 

‘It was my idea.’ he winked, and she burst out laughing. 

‘Come on, be serious.’

‘I am! You ever read Daegos the Dragon Rider when you were younger?’ 

‘I grew up in a muggle household, so no,’ she reminded him. 

‘Yeah but you know Beedle the Bard and you’ve basically read everything else - anyway, stop making me get off track - I was obsessed when I was a little kid. He had big boots and a waistcoat and hat and would ride dragons around the world and get into all kinds of adventures. They were my favourite books,’ he said wistfully. ‘When I was learning about muggle stuff the cowboys reminded me of Daegos. So when Alice suggested going together I said I wanted to do that. Technically, I suggested she go as my horse but she wasn’t up for that,’ he pouted prettily. ‘The glitter was her idea.’ 

Hermione was about to reply when a voice appeared behind them. She turned, holding her wand behind her back out of instinct and feeling oddly guilty. 

‘There you are,’ Will said. He had come in his sheet toga, as promised. 

‘Hi!’ Hermione said brightly. His eyes caught Draco behind her, who grinned in a less-than-friendly way. 

‘Oh, hi Draco,’ he said, slightly put out. Hermione ignored the undercurrent of whatever pissing contest they had decided to engage in. 

‘Hey,’ he replied. ‘Great costume. What are you, a house elf?’ 

‘Draco!’ Hermione hissed. 

‘What’s that?’ Will frowned. 

‘Wiltshire folktale,’ he said smartly. Hermione could have kicked him. 

‘Oh,’ Will said. ‘I’m a Roman. Or an Ancient Greek. Last minute,’ he shrugged, speaking directly to Hermione and ignoring Draco. ‘What are you guys up to round here?’ 

Because she panicked and they’d been talking about magic, Hermione pulled out a hurriedly conjured lit cigarette from behind her. It was just an illusion, but still, it looked real. 

‘Smoking,’ she said, taking a fake drag. She angled her body back towards Draco’s slightly to hide the fact that the illusion faltered when it met her lips, pretending to offer the fake cigarette to him. He took it, and when she turned back round to Will, she felt the slight tingle of magic. Will was looking at her with a disappointed air. 

‘I didn’t know you smoked,’ he said. She was sure he didn’t mean to sound so forlorn, but it was also annoying. 

‘Well, she does,’ Draco said happily, now blowing very real smoke towards him. ‘See you inside!’ 

Hermione turned back to berate Draco as Will retreated, but was distracted by the magic. 

‘What spell is that?’ she asked, intrigued as he took another drag. 

‘Sytherins always threw the best parties,’ he said. ‘Theo, Blaise and I picked up a few handy tricks.’

‘Teach me,’ she demanded. 

‘No.’ He said, and Hermione snatched it out of his hands, taking a drag. It was perfectly accurate. She was begrudgingly impressed. 

‘Why not?’ She demanded. 

‘Because I haven’t thought about what I want in exchange yet,’ he drawled. 

‘You are such a Slytherin,’ she muttered.

‘Oddly, Alice has started to remind me of that too.’ 

‘I shouldn’t have told her,’ Hermione moaned. Draco laughed. 

‘It’s funny. Do you ever find it weird when muggles get close to the truth? It blows my mind how much they brush up against magic every day.’

‘Oh, all the time,’ Hermione said eagerly. ‘When I first started at Hogwarts I couldn’t believe how ignorant I'd been of something that had suddenly made everything in my world make sense.’ 

He surveyed her curiously, offering the cigarette again. 

‘I should have thought more,’ he began slowly, ‘about what it must have been like. To be thrust into a world you had no idea existed and everyone else just…knows about.’ 

‘We were eleven,’ Hermione reminded him charitably. ‘But, yeah. It was overwhelming at first. Luckily, I am a fan of research.’ 

Draco laughed loudly at that. 

‘That is lucky indeed. Bloody lucky for Potter that he found you as well.’ 

Hermione rolled her eyes. 

‘Well,’ she said as he stubbed the fake-real cigarette out against the side of the house. ‘I suppose I should make a move.’

‘You’re leaving?’ he asked, sounding a bit surprised. 

‘I just wanted to pop in, remind everyone I was still alive etc., hence rocking up with only one drink.’ 

‘Don’t get angry at me again, but please save the all-nighters for some actual deadlines Granger,’ he said, looking at her intently. 

‘Don’t worry - Alice is officially on the case. And I’ve taken up boxing,’ she added. ‘Someone suggested I do more hobbies. Find a bit of balance.’ 

‘What an arse,’ he said with a small smile. 

‘The worst,’ she agreed, nodding. ‘Thanks, though,’ she said, feeling a bit shy. ‘For the other day - I know I was stressed and you meant well. So, yeah.’ 

‘It’s not a problem.’ 

‘And thanks,’ she added, before she lost her nerve, ‘it’s been really nice to just talk about magic again with someone who knows.’

‘Anytime,’ he said. ‘I mean it. Just say you want to go for a smoke,’ he grinned. 

‘I will,’ she replied, also meaning it.

‘Get home safe, Hermione.’

‘Don’t have any more espresso martinis, Draco.’ 

--- 

Draco watched her walk back inside. He wondered if he should cast a silencing charm while he screamed into his stupid cowboy hat here, or wait until he was in the privacy of his own home. 

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK,’ he muttered, rubbing his hands over his face, forgetting about the glitter that Alice had so carefully applied. 

He’d been having such a fun, stupid time until Alice had pulled him round and he’d seen her and then everything had seemed… well. 

If he’d known she was coming, he’d at least have tried not to get so drunk, so that he might have been able to say anything other than ‘fuck’ at her appearance. ‘Hello,’ probably would have been better. Maybe a ‘Hey Granger,’ even if he was feeling casual. 

But really - it was obscene. Draco wasn’t exactly a prude, but he did think it was slightly inappropriate the way the fabric had clung to her body, making him mentally trace every curve and imagine what it would feel like to slot his hand around her waist. How dare she walk in here, looking that good. She’d done something to her hair and it was wilder than normal, glitter scattered through it to make it shimmer as she moved. Her eyes had been darkened and her lipstick was also deep and slightly smudged around the edges, and it made him think of eating cherries all afternoon. Which shouldn’t have been sexy, but wizard pervert it appeared Granger made him. 

He’d never seen Hermione wear much makeup before, and while it was fairly minimal compared to other witches he knew, it just looked so effortlessly sexy that he had a hard time remembering why he hadn’t found her attractive at school. 

At least he had managed to apologise before flirting with her. She had said his name though, and through the booze fog he had realised that it sounded very, very good indeed. Had she noticed he was unable to stop himself flirting with her? Had she noticed what he was wearing and thought it so embarrassing she had wanted to escape? He realised he had no idea what she was thinking, she was always so self-possessed. 

And he shouldn't be feeling like this! He should not want to shag Hermione Granger. She deserved far, far better than him, firstly. Her friends, family, the wider wizarding world - none of them would ever approve. 

Not that he wanted to be with her. It was just a thought exercise, induced by tight dresses and smudged lipstick and long legs in short skirts. 

Besides, even if none of them knew - Hermione Granger would never want to sleep with him. He wasn’t ginger, for starters. He didn’t know anything else about her taste in men, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t him. 

And they were friends now! Maybe. Well, he thought so. He didn’t want to fuck that up - he’d messed up so many times in their hideously chequered history that this time he really might be able to avoid being a dick and actually be…friends with her. He could admit that he wanted that. He missed the wizarding world, and to be able to survive this bizarre experience with someone who understood precisely what he was going through would be invaluable. And not worth jeopardising over the desire for a one-off shag. He would have a wank and pull himself together, like any normal person. Or, better yet, find someone inside with which to distract himself. 

Yes, he thought, feeling slightly better now he had a plan. He was probably just frustrated - it had been a while, after all. It wasn’t Granger, he reasoned, it could have been anyone. Maybe there would be someone in an equally tight dress and he’d feel the exact same way. 

Buoyed by the prospect of a hook up, and of not thinking about Hermione Granger’s mouth as she said his name, Draco squared his shoulders and strode back inside.

Chapter Text

Week 4, Michaelmas

Draco woke up alone, with no plans for the day. For a moment, he was a bit at a loss. He had work to do, of course, but given his advice to Hermione, he thought it would be better to enjoy a quiet and restful Sunday. He didn’t want to overdo it. Although she probably was set up in Duke Humphries already, black minidress long-since removed. 

He stared at the ceiling in his bedroom blearily. Granger had been right about those muggle martinis. He had been awake until 5am, when he’d finally relented and microdosed on Dreamless Sleep. He waved his wand lazily, checking the time. 11am. Still too early. 

An empty day stretched in front of him. He considered texting Alice, but she’d had a much more successful night than Draco and was probably still with whoever she had ended up going home with. Draco hadn’t caught her name - by the time he’d returned from outside Alice was already wrapped around her in the corner. He’d felt a bit put out that he’d had to go on the pull without a wingwoman. And then he’d felt a bit put out when he realised there wasn’t anyone there he particularly wanted to sleep with. 

He hadn’t been fussy, either. He’d kissed - what was her name? - he’d kissed someone in the hall as the party was winding down, but even though she’d been keen to move on together, Draco had suddenly felt reluctant. So he’d snuck home by himself, where he had stayed awake for a couple of hours attempting to have a wank without thinking of a certain witch. 

He couldn’t spend his Sunday doing the same thing. It was unhealthy. Not to mention, deeply disrespectful to his new friend. 

Although maybe it would help with his hangover? 

10 minutes later, Draco was having breakfast, staring at the fireplace and wondering who would be around. Being a war criminal had seriously diminished his circle of friends, so the wondering didn’t take too long. After he washed down his toast he settled himself in front of the fire with the floo powder. 

Theo’s wards were up, so Draco called Blaise. 

He wasn’t in his front room, but the wards were open. Draco took the liberty of entering uninvited. 

Blaise was living in the middle of muggle West London in a very smart townhouse that Draco was secretly quite envious of. The neighbourhood was quiet and stank of money, meaning that most of his neighbours were never actually in their London residences, which suited Blaise perfectly. It was close enough to Diagon Alley should Blaise wish to visit (having no actual ties to Death Eaters, save for his friendship with Draco, made him considerably less of a target than him or Theo), but distant enough that he could start his own life. 

He’d got a muggle in to decorate the interior, and then Pansy had turned up and demanded to know why she hadn’t been consulted, and re-did the entire thing top to bottom. None of the boys had wanted to admit they liked what Pansy had done, but Blaise had consented for the home to be photographed for the Magical Interiors Monthly (conveniently edited by Daphne Greengrass), where it was dubbed ‘the sexiest bachelor pad of the year’. Blaise had a copy of the article framed in his downstairs loo, ‘as a joke’. Draco and Theo took turns transfiguring it whenever they came over. 

Draco made his way up the generously curving staircase, to where he could hear music playing. 

It was the kind of monk chant-y stuff that Blaise had got really into following his ‘spiritual retreat’. India, he had informed them, was life-changing. Blaise had returned with a newfound appreciation for yoga, beads, and loose linen shirts that Theo and Draco desperately tried to get him to stop wearing. 

‘Mate, you look like a muggle drawing of a wizard,’ Theo had once drunkenly informed him. Blaise just sat there, serenely, playing absentmindedly with his bracelets. 

‘The thing about people who have found inner peace,’ Draco had muttered, ‘is that they’re fucking impossible to be around.’ 

Stupid coping mechanisms aside, Draco knew he owed a lot of his remaining sanity to the two men who had brought him back from the brink following the war. 

‘Oi,’ Draco said, opening the door to Blaise’s room. ‘Do you want to -’ 

He abruptly broke off as he took in the scene before him. 

Candles were littered on every surface, incense was burning, but the smell of bodies was still heavy in the air. Blaise and a blonde that Draco realised in a jolt of surprise was Luna Lovegood, were entwined in what should have been an impossible position, floating slightly off the bed, frozen in front of Draco’s sudden appearance. 

‘Holy balls,’ Draco howled. ‘Why is your fucking floo open!’ 

‘Get. Out.’ Blaise snarled, at the same time as Luna said dreamily, ‘oh, hi Draco.’ 

‘I’m leaving right now,’ Draco slammed the door, running all the way back to the floo. So that was one Sunday plan ruined. 

With a heavy heart and nothing left for it, Draco apparated to the one place that wouldn’t be able to keep him out. 

‘Mother,’ he called out as he arrived in the travelling parlour of the Manor. ‘Hello?’ 

‘Draco, darling,’ Narcissa glided into the room to greet him. ‘What a lovely surprise. You’re just in time for lunch.’ 

Draco’s stomach did an appreciative gurgle. Narcissa chuckled softly, leaning forwards to kiss him on both cheeks. Her nose wrinkled slightly. 

‘Out last night, darling?’ Draco slipped his arm through hers as they left the parlour. He tried to suppress his sigh, already regretting coming. 

‘Mmm,’ he said noncommittally. 

Draco looked around at his home. The Manor had undergone significant work since the fall of Dark Lord and the end of his regime. Narcissa had promptly welcomed the Ministry in to gut every room, removing as much dark magic as possible. Draco knew it looked like she was willing to reform, but his mother had wanted to get rid most of the Dark Arts crap for years, mainly because she considered it ‘naff’. She was also happy to save a bit of money considering the extensive reparations the Malfoy family had offered as a gesture of good will, which had nothing whatsoever to do with ensuring that their names were still spoken in the important political circles, and was strictly because they were Good, now.

The result was the place seemed an awful lot lighter than it had. Since the Emancipation of the House Elves Act theirs had (unsurprisingly) all left, but Narcissa was working with various magical cleaners, builders and interior decorators (namely, Pansy), to ensure that it one day would be able to return to a place to be proud of. And invite people to. 

Draco, on the whole, approved of the changes. Even if he still couldn’t set foot in the drawing room, he understood his mother’s desire to remove any trace of the stain that they had helped leave on the world. He was also relieved that the process of restoring the Manor and, eventually, their name, was enough to keep Narcissa occupied. Draco had no doubt, cavalier attitudes aside, she suffered from the same nightmares he did. 

That was why, despite her distaste for the idea, Narcissa had agreed that going to a muggle university wasn’t a total waste of time. Old prejudices took a while to unlearn, but Narcissa could at least recognise the strategic importance of Draco appearing so reformed as to willingly spend time in the muggle world. She was already planning how she would leak the news once Draco had completed his degree, he was sure of it. 

‘How are your studies going, darling?’ she asked, as they settled into chairs in the orangery. Vines creeped over every surface, the heat relaxing Draco, as he sipped on a small cup of tea. Outside, rain began to drum soothingly on the glass. 

‘Well, thank you,’ Draco said, unable to keep the enthusiasm from his voice. ‘It’s fascinating, really, what science can do in terms of understanding human development.’ Narcissa’s lips pursed slightly, but she didn’t stop him from talking. Progress. ‘They really have the most remarkable amount of knowledge of how people work, and why, and -’

‘How muggles work, darling,’ Narcissa reminded him. ‘Wizards are different.’ 

Draco audibly sighed. 

‘Mother, you know -’

‘Oh, I know, I know,’ she waved a hand. ‘I don’t need a lecture, Draco. I just wanted to point it out.’ 

Draco remained silent. 

‘Anyway - have you seen the papers recently? You must miss news of the wizarding world. I saw you cancelled your Prophet subscription so I kept the past few weeks in case you were interested,’ she waved a wand and a stack of newspapers appeared next to her. Draco gave another sigh. 

‘Thank you, mother.’ He didn’t need to explain that the gossip had been part of the reason he’d wanted to escape so badly in the first place. For Narcissa, there was no other world than the wizarding one, and no other form of success than to reclaim her role as Queen Bee of it. And this time, to do it on her own terms, not as someone’s wife. 

Draco glanced down at today’s paper, lying on top. To his surprise, the youngest Weasel was front page news. He wondered if Granger knew. 

He picked it up, flipping through it to get to the story. 

‘Pregnant, apparently,’ Narcissa said, seeing what had drawn his interest. ‘She’s with Potter, isn’t that right?’ She sighed. ‘So lovely that they are settled down -’ Narcissa’s desire for grandchildren outweighed her distaste for the Weasley family. 

‘Mother,’ Draco said, warningly. ‘Besides, it’s just speculation,’ he absently took his mobile out, snapping a photo of the two-page spread dedicated to determining whether or not the Chosen One was an imminent father, or whether Ginny had just gained a bit of training weight. He went to text it to Granger, before realising that there was no mobile signal in the Manor. 

Narcissa was frozen, a look of horror on her face.

‘Draco, really,’ she said. 

‘Oh, it’s actually quite convenient you know,’ he started to explain. ‘I can send this photo to anyone I want and it arrives almost instantly - i’d show you but there’s no signal here -’

‘Please,’ Narcissa held a hand up, stopping him from upsetting her further with his dastardly new fangled ways. ‘Who on earth would want a mobile photo of Ginerva Weasley.’

‘Hermione Granger,’ Draco said smartly, standing up. ‘Sorry mother, have to run. But I'll let you know whether or not this is true,’ he tapped the paper, ‘soon. Hope that makes up for me skipping lunch.’ 

He bent to kiss her cheek and then sauntered out, whistling slightly to himself. 

---

Hermione was in the library when her phone buzzed, revealing a text from Draco. 

‘Chosen One Choosing Baby Names?’ The headline screamed, showing a series of blurry photos of Ginny in a loose top walking around a department store. Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. 

‘Should I be offering my congratulations, or offering to lock Skeeter up?’ Draco had written. 

‘WTF!!!’ Hermione replied. ‘Must be fake. Shit - bet Gin is fuming.’ 

‘Have a floo you can borrow if your friends are as shit as mine at embracing 

muggle technology.’ 

‘YES! Thank u.’ 

Half an hour later Hermione was standing slightly awestruck in front of the giant building that Draco referred to as ‘home.’ 

‘This is student accommodation?’ she asked in lieu of saying hello as he opened the door. 

‘Don’t be ridiculous Granger,’ he replied also in lieu of greeting. ‘I bought it.’

‘You live here by yourself?!’

‘Obviously. Now, do you want to use my floo, or would you like to be rude about my abode while standing in the November drizzle?’ 

Hermione’s hair was expanding by the moment.

‘Floo.’

‘Right this way.’ 

Draco left Hermione to kneel in front of the fire while he fixed a cup of tea, which she was grateful for. Wizards were so bizarre about their resistance to technology, as if kneeling on the floor in a terribly undignified manner was somehow preferable to calling someone on a phone. 

‘Gin?’ Hermione called as she stuck her head through to see the front room of Grimmauld Place. ‘Harry?’ 

‘Hermione?’ Harry’s voice said, as he came into view. ‘It’s you!’ he grinned, rushing to sit in front of the fire. 

‘Hiya!’ She said brightly, feeling a sudden rush of homesickness for her friends. ‘How are you?’

‘Great,’ he enthused, leaving Hermione to think for a moment that perhaps it really was true. ‘Really great, it’s so good to see you. Gin was just saying she wondered what you were up to - how come you’ve got floo access, I thought you said there wouldn’t be fireplaces?’

‘I’m using a friend’s,’ she said. ‘Anyway, I saw the papers - what’s going on?’ 

‘Ah,’ Harry’s face fell. ‘Gin is fuming,’ he muttered, lowering his voice. ‘She’s put on weight for the new Quidditch season and Skeeter was being foul about it of course, as though somehow being a professional athlete isn’t enough to explain why you’d want to - y’know, bulk up a bit.’

‘Is she okay?’

‘Not really,’ Harry sighed. ‘She’s trying to pretend she doesn’t care but I can tell she’s upset. People keep stopping her in the street and offering congratulations and everything. She’s stopped going out,’

‘She can’t turn into me!’ Hermione joked. ‘Where is she now?’

‘Upstairs - want me to get her?’

‘Please.’

While Harry disappeared to grab Ginny, Draco nudged Hermione’s foot and showed the cup of tea he left for her on the side of the table. Hermione smiled gratefully, before putting her head through the flames once more. 

‘Hermione!’ Ginny squealed as she came into the room. ‘This is the BEST surprise.’ 

‘I missed you,’ Hermione admitted. ‘It’s been way too long.’

‘It really has,’ she agreed, sitting in front of the fire again. Harry was right - there was something down about her. Hermione had become so accustomed to seeing Ginny cheerful that the sadness was a surprise. 

‘How are you?’ she asked, gently. 

‘Well, I’ve probably been better,’ Ginny began, her voice starting to waver. ‘It’ll be fine soon though, someone else will get knocked up and everyone will forget.’ 

‘A very wise woman once told me not to let Rita Skeeter ruin her life,’ Hermione nodded. Ginny laughed. 

‘Yeah, that’s true. I think I just need a break from it all really.’

‘What are you doing this weekend coming?’ Hermione asked, a brainwave suddenly striking her. 

‘Nothing, why?’ 

‘Come visit!’ Hermione said. ‘You and Harry can come see me - there’s a muggle holiday so we can watch some fireworks, no one will know who you are, we’ll go on long walks and pub trips and I'll show you all the libraries and it’ll be great - you’ll love Oxford, Gin. Plus - I did promise you friends, so you can meet them too.’ 

Ginny was grinning ear to ear. It had been a long time since Hermione had spoken with that much natural enthusiasm about anything other than work. 

‘That does sound tempting,’ she allowed. 

‘Please,’ Hermione said. ‘I’ve missed you both so much.’ 

‘Alright, fine,’ she relented easily. ‘Can we use this floo to come through, or should we do something else?’ 

‘Oh,’ Hermione blushed. ‘Um, let me check with the…with the owner.’

‘Hermione Granger, are you blushing?’ Ginny said. ‘Who’s floo is it? Oh my Godrick - have you met someone?!’ 

‘It’s not what you think,’ Hermione said quickly. ‘It’s just - I mean, we know him,’ she said weakly. 

‘Is he there?’ Gin whispered, coming so close to the fire she was about to burn her eyebrows off. 

‘Um, no. Well,’ Hermione sighed. ‘Let me check.’ She pulled her head out to see an empty room. Hoping that Draco wasn’t hiding behind the door eavesdropping, she went back once more into the fire. 

‘Okay, he’s not there,’ Hermione whispered anyway. Ginny bounced up and down.

‘Hermione this is amazing oh I can’t believe you’ve met someone,’ she was grinning so widely Hermione blushed even deeper, memories of her inappropriate thoughts about space cowboy Draco rearing their glittered heads. 

‘No, I said it wasn’t like that. We’re just friends. I mean, if that really. It’s complicated.’

‘Sure,’ Ginny said, waggling her eyebrows. ‘I blush when I talk about my friends all the time. ’ 

‘Don’t freak out,’ Hermione warned, keeping her voice down. ‘And remember - you were the one who wanted me to be less of a loner.’ 

‘Whatever,’ Ginny rolled her eyes. ‘Come on Granger, spill the beans. Who’s got your knickers in a twist?’

‘My knickers are untwisted thank you,’ Hermione said tartly. ‘But fine. Um, well,’ she struggled with how to say it. ‘You know I said we knew him?’ 

‘Yeah,’ Ginny said. ‘If he’s a wizard, duh. We know pretty much everyone.’

‘Right. Well, it turns out that someone from Hogwarts is doing the same masters as I am.’

‘No!’ Ginny exclaimed. ‘What a small world! Hermione this is amazing! You can swap notes and talk about magic as much as you want!’ 

‘Yeah,’ Hermione agreed. ‘It’s been really nice, actually. Definitely helped with the homesickness.’ 

‘Who is it?’ 

Hermione cleared her throat awkwardly. 

‘It’s, um. It’s Draco Malfoy.’ 

--- 

Draco popped his head round the sitting room door once he stopped hearing the low sound of Hermione’s voice. 

‘So, which is it?’ He asked, enjoying the brief view of Granger’s bottom sticking in the air, this time encased in jeans. 

‘I thought the tea would be cold,’ Granger replied, sipping from the cup curiously. Draco wanted to roll his eyes, and thought it very generous that he resisted. 

‘It’s charmed to keep it at a perfect temperature,’ he explained, trying not to nag but really, he wanted to know. ‘Is there going to be a Potter the Second or not Granger?’

‘I really did not think you’d be such a gossip Malfoy , but you are full of surprises.’

Draco huffed and sat down opposite Hermione on the floor, his back leaning against the sofa. Had it only been last night he’d been flirting with her in a shitty garden? He realised that he was pleased he had an excuse to see her again. And then realised that he needed to get his shit together, sharpish. 

‘It’s not true,’ Hermione admitted. Draco grinned. At least this would slow Narcissa’s relentless hints that it was about time he settled down. 

‘Mid-season training?’

‘How did you guess?’ Hermione asked, her eyebrows shooting up. 

‘Quidditch fan, remember? Besides, Ginerva doesn’t seem like the type to put her career on hold in order to pop out sprogs. I heard she’s being tapped for England.’ 

‘That’s certainly true. She’s also not the type to be called Ginerva.’

‘I do have some sense of propriety you know. I don’t know her well enough to call her Ginny, and there are far too many Weasley’s to just refer to her by her last name,’ he sniffed distastefully. Hermione laughed. Draco felt warm. 

‘Well, I suggested she come here for a bit to escape the rumour mill,’ she said. ‘Would it be possible at all…obviously if you don’t feel comfortable you don’t have to, but if you wouldn’t mind…’

‘She’s welcome to use the floo, if that’s what you are trying to say.’

‘Thanks, Draco,’ she said, relieved. 

‘I’ll, er, well. I’ll pop out when she’s coming through -’

‘You don’t have to -’

‘No, it’ll probably be for the best. I can say hello in more neutral territory, perhaps.’ 

Hermione laughed again. She didn’t normally laugh this much, did she? 

‘Alright,’ she shrugged easily. ‘I’ve invited her for the fireworks. Oh, and Harry too - I hope that’s not a problem?’

Draco pursed his lips but left it at that. 

‘Course not. I will be on neutral territory, protecting myself with our muggle friends. I’ve seen what happens when he decides to start expelliarmus-ing things.’ 

‘A wise choice,’ Hermione nodded. 

--- 

Ginny, Harry and Ron emerged through Draco’s floo on Friday evening. 

‘Hi!,’ Ginny said brightly, staring at Hermione meaningfully. Hermione caught the jist - Ron had invited himself at the last minute, and Harry had felt too guilty not to let him tag along. 

‘Hi guys,’ Hermione rushed forward to embrace them all, relishing seeing their familiar faces. ‘Oh it is so good to see you all.’

‘Hope you don’t mind me joining,’ Ron said easily. It had taken a while, but Hermione and Ron had carefully rebuilt their friendship. Ron had moved on quickly, and was now with Susan Bones, a witch Hermione didn’t know that well but seemed nice enough on the few occasions Hermione braved the pub. She had honestly been relieved that she was no longer meant to juggle looking after herself and him. After that, it had been relatively plain sailing. Besides, as Hermione lived with Harry and Ginny, there hadn’t been much room for them not to be on good enough terms. 

‘No, what a lovely surprise,’ she replied. She realised she meant it. 

‘Blimey,’ he said, looking around. ‘This is posh.’ 

‘Er, yes,’ Hermione said, catching Ginny’s eye again which clearly said He Does Not Know. 

‘This where you’re living?’ Ron continued. ‘Bloody nice.’

‘No, it’s a friend’s,’ Hermione said, before realising she would have to bite the bullet, seeing as Draco and other friends were currently waiting for them at the fireworks display. Harry was staring resolutely at the floor. 

‘Cool,’ Ron replied. ‘How did you connect the floo to a muggle home?’ 

‘He’s a wizard,’ Hermione said. ‘I mean, it’s Draco’s,’ she corrected. ‘Draco Malfoy. He’s doing a masters here also and he said we could use it. And he’s a wizard, obviously.’

There was a moment of pointed silence. 

‘Sorry - what?’ Ron asked politely, the tips of his ears turning red, a sure sign of imminent danger. 

‘Yep,’ Hermione said brightly. ‘He’s changed a lot, and he’s been very polite in letting us use it, and actually we’re going to meet him with the rest of my course friends, because we hang out quite a lot actually, so you can either come and be polite or you can return home.’ 

‘I think it’s hilarious,’ Ginny said quickly, relishing the awkward silence as Ron processed Hermione’s words. ‘Draco Malfoy learning about muggle anthrologiply. Come on, I want to see fireworks and eat toffee apples.’ 

They found the anthropology lot by the gates to the park, waiting for them with tickets. Seeing as Ron was an unplanned addition, Hermione sneakily reproduced hers and then gently confounded the guard to make extra sure he’d be able to get in. Once inside, she made the introductions, the group watching Draco and Hermione’s friends say hello. They had, of course, been filled in that some of Draco’s old school enemies (like Hermione) were coming to visit, and had spent the last week taking bets on whether or not there would be a fight. 

‘Malfoy,’ Ginny said, clapping him on the back and grinning as he eyed her nervously. ‘I’ve been reliably informed you have a generous double G&T habit. I’ll forgive you your previous indiscretions in exchange for a stiff drink. Fair?’ 

Draco considered this for a moment. 

‘I suppose,’ he said. He and Harry nodded at each other briskly. 

‘Potter.’ 

‘Malfoy.’

Draco turned to Ron. 

‘Weasley.’ It was the most curt greeting Hermione had seen him give, including her own. 

‘Hmph.’ Ron said, ears now fully red. He’d spent the walk over ranting to Hermione over her being a traitor, and had managed to irritate her thoroughly. 

‘Right,’ Hermione said briskly. ‘Shall we get drinks?’

There were various hello’s exchanged by the rest of the group, and then they all set off to explore. Fairground rides were scattered around the edges of the field, and in between them lay various food shops, selling Ginny’s preferred toffee apples, cotton candy, hot dogs, and numerous other kinds of carnival food that all smelled fried and delicious. With each ride pumping out different remixes of popular songs and those running the food stalls shouting out orders, there was an atmosphere of celebratory chaos. 

Alice caught Ginny and Hermione at the back of the group. 

‘Hi,’ she said brightly to Ginny. ‘That was deliciously awkward. The red headed guy Hermione dated, correct?’ Hermione had given Alice a run down of the friend group once Ginny had agreed to come. ‘Who is also your brother?’ 

‘Correct,’ Ginny said, smiling back to Alice easily. 

‘And he and Draco hate each other?’ 

‘Also correct,’ Ginny nodded. Alice grinned devilishly, looping her arm through Hermione’s. 

‘Whatever you’re going to say, don’t,’ Hermione warned. 

‘Don’t be boring Hermione. Anyway, I was talking to Ginny. I’m deeply invested in the eventual romance of our two favourite star-crossed lovers.’ 

Ginny cackled. ‘You know, I would have said it would never happen,’ she joined in, looping her arm through Hermione’s other. ‘But the other day she was blushing when she talked about him,’

‘Stop!’ Hermione said, bright red once more. 

‘Was she!’ Alice squealed. ‘How delicious. Anyway, we won’t talk about it any more because I don’t want to stand in the way of fate.’

‘Very wise,’ Ginny nodded. They had arrived at the one tent selling alcohol. The queue was utterly obscene. Draco caught Hermione's eye over the crowd. 

‘Cigarette?’ He asked, eyeing her meaningfully. 

‘Great idea,’ she said quickly. 

‘Oh, leave us to queue, why don’t you,’ Sasha moaned. 

‘We’ll be back soon,’ Hermione said. ‘Come on. Gin, Harry, Ron, you guys smoke too, right?’ 

‘Sure,’ Ginny said, picking up quicker than the two trained aurors that this was an excuse. ‘Come on,’ she grabbed her brother’s arm and they made their way slightly off in the field, away from the lights of the fair and into the darkness. 

Draco conjured a cigarette again. 

‘When do I get to know the spell?’ Hermione grumbled, shaking her wand out of the pocket she’d sewn into her coat sleeve. 

‘Haven’t decided yet,’ Draco replied grinning. ‘Right, I’m not waiting in that queue.’

‘No way,’ Ginny agreed. ‘But what’s the smoking thing about?’ 

Draco passed it to Hermione, who took a drag. 

‘It’s a decent excuse if we want to talk about magic stuff,’ Draco shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. ‘Sometimes you just have to admit to using muggle repelling charms to get a seat at the pub, right Hermione?’ 

‘That was only once,’ she rolled her eyes. 

‘Is this the time I bring up the disillusionments, or should I keep that in my blackmail folder,’ he teased. 

‘You’re supposed to be on my side,’ Hermione replied, grinning. She handed the cigarette back. 

‘This is so fucking weird,’ Harry said, shaking his head slightly. 

‘Drinks,’ Ginny reminded them. 

‘Right. Any ideas? Hermione?’ 

‘Could repello again but I think it’s too busy to get away with it. I reckon we go behind the bar under disillusionments.’ 

‘Devious,’ Draco nodded his approval. ‘We should just take a bottle of gin and enough tonic for the whole evening. That way we don’t have to keep sneaking off.’

‘We can’t steal Draco,’ she said frowning. He rolled his eyes. 

‘Obviously not. I’ve got muggle cash on me.’

‘You can’t pay again -’

‘Don’t offer to pay again -’ 

They both huffed, before coming to a silent agreement that Draco would pay this once, and Hermione would get the next round at the Turf. 

‘Right. All agreed?’ 

‘Uh,’ Harry said. Hermione saw him and Ron exchange a glance, and then hang back, obviously to mutter about how weird this was. 

Hermione, Ginny and Draco made their way to the tent, walking as casually as they could while under disillusionments, and trying to avoid the many bodies pressed around. Hermione could tell both Ginny and Draco were occasionally firing off muggle repelling charms to clear a way. Hermione made sure she watched a wad of muggle cash be slid onto the side of the bar before sneaking out with the drinks and a stack of plastic cups. 

‘Perfect,’ Draco said as they reappeared by the tree. 

‘We’ll say I popped to the shops,’ Hermione said, a bit breathlessly after the rule breaking. ‘That’ll explain why we took so long.’ 

‘Thanks guys,’ Harry said, clearly making an effort to be normal, though his voice was slightly squeakier than normal. Ginny winked at him affectionately. 

Ron was muttering at the ground. They all ignored him. 

The queue had barely moved when they returned, banishing any further feelings of guilt from Hermione. Drinks were passed around, the crowd for the fireworks grew, and Hermione found herself standing next to Draco as they clustered together, sipping and chatting. Ginny was devouring a toffee apple and talking animatedly to Alice. Hermione felt a sudden rush of affection for both of them. 

‘Oh, before I forget,’ she said, rooting around in her pocket. ‘Here - thanks.’ She handed Draco back his house keys. 

‘Cheers,’ he said, pocketing them. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but what in Sal- soggy bollocks is on your hands?’ 

Hermione glanced down. 

‘These are my gloves?’ She said, confusingly. Draco gaped at them, and then burst out laughing loudly. 

‘Gloves,’ he said between gasps of air. ‘Those are not gloves. Did your cat knit them?’ 

‘Ooh, I didn’t know you had a cat,’ Sasha said, turning round. ‘Do you have any pictures?’ 

‘No,’ Hermione replied, annoyed at Draco for his snobbery, ‘I lost them when I got a new phone.’ 

‘Awh, what kind of cat is he?’ 

‘He’s half demon,’ Draco replied, grinning. 

‘Firstly, don’t be rude about my cat,’ Hermione warned. ‘Secondly, how do you know so much about him in the first place! And thirdly, no Sasha he’s not half-demon, he’s an orange tabby,’ her voice warmed when thinking of the squish-faced cat currently ruling the top floor of Grimmauld Place.

‘I bumped into him a few times when wandering the corridors in my youth,’ Draco said with a shrug, leaving Hermione to narrow her eyes at him. Crookshanks hated pretty much everyone but her. Would he betray her by tolerating Malfoy? Possibly. ‘We respect each other,’ Draco continued. Hermione and Ginny both snorted. 

‘This is so weird,’ Harry repeated. Ron was staring at the sky, arms folded across his chest and moodily swigging from the stolen (no, purchased), gin. 

‘I was planning on bringing him up next term,’ Hermione admitted. Draco’s face literally brightened. ‘Once I’ve settled into my new room.’ 

‘You should. I’d love to check in on the old boy.’ 

‘Are you allowed pets?’ Sasha said again. ‘Because if you are, I’m getting one right now.’ 

‘No, but I’d find a way around it,’ Hermione said airily, staring straight ahead. She could feel Draco looking at her and silently laughing, no doubt planning which spells would be best to covertly hide a living animal in student accommodation. 

‘Was Hermione always this much of a rule breaker,’ Alice asked, in a generous attempt to bring Ron into the conversation. They all laughed. 

‘Hermione?’ Ron snorted. ‘No way.’

‘She was the goody two-shoes,’ Ginny nodded, grinning at Hermione’s pout. 

‘You’ll get us killed, or worse, expelled,’ Harry said, in an uncomfortably accurate impression of her first-year self. 

‘Draco must be a bad influence then,’ Alice said lightly, giving Hermione a wink. 

‘You can say that again,’ Ron muttered. 

‘I said, Draco Must Be A Bad Influence Then,’ Alice repeated. ‘What is that weird house thing again? Slytherin’s are evil?’

‘Alice,’ Draco warned. 

‘You did eat my last Skittle though,’ she replied mulishly. ‘So I don’t think you’ve grown out of your pre-destined character traits.’

‘Hermione told you about the houses?’ Ron asked, suspiciously. Hermione wondered if he was this obvious when working, and then, how he’d managed to stay alive for so long. 

‘It’s the G&Ts,’ Hermione said, quickly. ‘They’re like ver- they’re like truth serum.’ 

‘It’s true,’ Draco said lazily. ‘Might be worth looking into for work, Weasley. You probably need all the help you can get.’ 

Ron made a kind of non-committal humph, and turned back to the sky. Draco grinned, and Hermione gave him a shove. 

‘How do you keep up with all this,’ Ginny muttered, sidling up to Hermione. 

‘Ginerva Weasley, are you already tired of meeting my friends?’ 

‘Shut up.’

The fireworks luckily provided a reprieve, and they all ooh’d and aah’d at the appropriate times. Hermione was feeling warm from the gin and the people pressed against her, and she realised quite late that she and Draco were standing very close to each other. If anyone jostled her she would fall into him first. No one did bump into her, though, and Hermione had to give herself a stern talking to about inappropriate feelings, especially when her ex-boyfriend was standing right over there, and especially when it was Draco Malfoy and he was probably engaged to some pureblood heir anyway, regardless of reforms. 

‘Thanks,’ Harry said to Hermione as they were walking back into town afterwards. He and Ron were at the end of the group, and Hermione hung back to spend some time talking to them. She felt guilty that the number of people meant she hadn’t really been able to actually catch up with them. 

‘Really, thanks. This is the best mood Gin’s been in all week.’

‘Sometimes you just need to get away,’ Hermione said with a shrug. Ron snorted. ‘Don’t be like that,’ she snapped, her tempter fraying. ‘You’re ruining it for everyone else.’ 

‘Everyone else, or just Draco,’ Ron sneered. 

‘I did say you could have gone home,’ Hermione countered. History aside, Ron knew how to press all her buttons. Even though she knew he was winding her up, it was getting to her all the same. He had been stubborn and grumpy all night, and it had ruined the otherwise generally festive atmosphere.

‘We’re not going to do this,’ Harry said to both of them. He turned to Ron. ‘Come on, mate. It’s not worth it and you’ll upset Hermione.’ 

‘That’s exactly what I’m curious about,’ Ron replied in a hard voice. ‘Because why should me being rude about that twat ‘upset Hermione’? Hmm?’ 

‘We are friends,’ Hermione hissed. ‘And I know that’s hard to wrap your head around because it took me a while too, but we are and that should be enough.’

‘After what he did to you are you seriously -’

‘Yes, Ron, what he did to me. So it’s my choice if I forgive him, and I have. Not yours.’  

Later that night, a tipsy Hermione was bidding goodbye to Ron, Harry and Ginny, while Draco waited outside. 

‘Thank you,’ she said meaningfully. ‘It’s been so nice to have you here.’

‘We’ll come back soon,’ Harry promised. Ron was silent, as he had been since their altercation on the way back from the fireworks. Hermione sighed, already bracing herself for a censorius letter that would probably be arriving in the next few days. 

‘See you,’ Ron mumbled as he stepped through the floo. After he left, the rest of them sighed. 

‘He’ll come around or he won't,’ Ginny said with a shrug. ‘But it’s your life. And this is the happiest I have seen you in a long time, so he can go fuck himself.’ 

Hermione felt tears prick. 

‘Thanks Gin,’ she whispered into the girl’s shoulder as they hugged goodbye.

‘Love you,’ she whispered back. ‘He’s different, isn’t he?’ 

Hermione nodded. 

‘I know.’ 

Ginny looked at her once more, then nodded to herself, satisfied she had found what she was looking for in Hermione’s gaze. ‘Look after yourself.’

‘You too.’ 

Her and Harry floo’ed out, leaving Hermione standing in Draco’s darkened living room alone, the now-orange firelight painting strange shadows on the walls. 

‘All good?’ Draco asked, coming into the space. 

‘Thank you so much,’ Hermione said, feeling a rush of affection for him, too. 

‘Don’t mention it,’ he replied, awkwardly. Hermione stifled a yawn. 

‘I should be off.’

‘Are you sure it’s safe? It’s pretty late.’ 

‘I was going to apparate, actually,’ Hermione admitted. Draco grinned. He was glorious in the flickering shadow. Hermione wished she could paint. 

‘Love it when you break the rules,’ Draco said with a chuckle. 

‘I’m pretty good at it,’ Hermione replied. The flirting seemed to happen without her even trying. It was awful. 

‘Oh?’ Draco took a step into the room. Her heart rate picked up. She tried to remember all the reasons why she shouldn’t launch herself at him. 

‘Yep,’ she said, trying to be the opposite of flirtatious. She wasn’t convinced it was working.

‘You’ll have to prove it one day.’ 

‘I once impersonated your aunt using polyjuice potion, broke into her Gringotts vault and escaped on the back of a dragon - is that proof enough?’ 

Draco burst out laughing, and it broke the spell. 

‘You cannot be serious.’

‘Oh, I am.’

‘Please don’t ever impersonate her in front of me. I still -’ 

He broke off, but Hermione knew what he was about to say. 

‘Me too,’ she said quietly. 

They both looked at each other properly, then. Took each other in fully, not through half-glances or stolen moments. And though her heart was racing, there wasn’t anything that Hermione didn’t feel comfortable with Draco seeing. Both of them, tied together in so many ways by so many awful things, had somehow managed to make their way out of it, together. 

‘I am sorry,’ Draco said quietly. ‘I keep thinking I’ll somehow know exactly how to apologise, but the words never seem to come in the right way.’

‘I know,’ Hermione said, smiling slightly. ‘Thank you.’ 

She could have hugged him, then, he was only a few steps away from her. But she didn’t, because this felt like a new precipice that she wasn’t ready to face, and it was too soon and too strange, and Hermione did not have space in her life for anything unexpected, not right now. 

So she stepped back, nodded once, and disapparated with a crack, leaving Draco staring at the fire for a long while after she had left. 

Chapter Text

Weeks 5-7, Michaelmas 

Draco didn’t see Hermione much over the next few weeks. He wasn’t deliberately avoiding her, of course. It was just that they never happened to be in the same place at the same time. If he didn’t go to the places she’d be, that was nothing to do with him. 

Besides, opportunities to spontaneously bump into each other decreased sharply in direct correlation to the increase in workload. Their essays weren’t due until just after Christmas, but the atmosphere in Oxford had changed. Now, library seats were few and far between. Various ill-looking freshers skulked around, coughing pitifully. It wasn’t unusual for Draco to walk out of the library only to walk into someone in tears. He tried very hard not to let the pressure get to him, but it was like the fog that filled most mornings. Impossible to avoid, and fucked with your perspective. 

The Hermione thing, he mused, was a little like that as well. He didn’t want to acknowledge that there was a ‘thing’, in the first place. But their friendship occupied an uncomfortably large part of his brain. If that didn’t constitute a ‘thing’, he wasn’t sure what did. 

Firstly, her friends had met him and he had not died. Weasley hadn’t even tried to start a fight. Which must have meant that Hermione told them not to. Which was interesting.

Secondly, he now almost exclusively thought of her as ‘Hermione’. Which was weird and he didn’t like it but everyone else did and it was hard to constantly correct it to ‘Granger’ when Alice was wittering on about her. 

And thirdly, he could not deny that there had been Moments. 

The Moments he wished to obliviate the most, but they were also the most vocal. He wasn’t sure what Hermione thought of him, but it was clear that she had moved past their childhood. He did not think that he deserved this, but he also craved it. He didn’t know what to do about moving forward. His childhood had been, for better or worse (definitely worse), extremely orchestrated. Wizarding society had rigid behavioural expectations. As restrictive as this might have been, Draco had become accustomed to knowing how to behave in any given scenario. 

Here, in muggle society, all the rules were different. And then to add another complication, he was beginning to realise that Hermione operated on her own set of rules also. They were driven by what she considered to be Right. 

Which would have been fine, but what Hermione considered to be Right didn’t seem easy to define. He had always assumed she was a know-it-all stickler for the rules. But she had broken laws (of the wizarding world and, allegedly, time), was content to break the Statute of Secrecy when it suited her, and was also almost eager to admit when she didn’t know something. 

Despite this, Draco was pretty sure he was not on Hermione Granger’s list of things that were Right. Therefore, he had no idea how he could fit into her world. It was also confusing that he wanted to fit into her world. That her friendship was slowly, uncomfortably, becoming a thing that he wanted. (Not that she was a thing he reminded himself sharply. His head hurt.) 

So Draco was not avoiding her. He was just trying to focus on his essays, and not important ethical quandaries on the nature of forgiveness, et cetera. 

A distraction had arrived in the form of a long letter Blaise had sent, detailing exactly how he, Draco, had upset the balance of their friendship and taken liberties where he should not have done so. 

Draco spent an evening drafting one back, outlining proper ward protocol, a bill for eye-cleaning, and a promise of secrecy (as well as invitations to the Manor for Christmas Eve, as was tradition. Blaise accepted). After Blaise’s owl had taken it back, Draco was left with nothing to do except stare moodily out of the darkened windows, and chastise himself for not doing more reading. 

He was avoiding rowing, also. Since his minor disagreement with Captain John, Draco had decided that university rowing was far too high stakes and he’d stick to the college level stuff. There were still enough early mornings to get the blood pumping, but not enough to occupy his spare thoughts. Which just kept turning to Hermione bloody Granger. 

He sighed, again, and closed the curtains with a wave of his wand. Although his muggle house had electricity, as the weather grew colder Draco found himself leaning more towards candlelight over the harsh glow of the overhead lamps. Was he being dramatic? It was highly likely. Did he care? Absolutely not. 

His essay lay scattered over the wooden desk in the middle of his study, taunting him. He knew this really was being old fashioned, but the only way Draco was able to write anything was on parchment first, before transcribing it onto the computer. It was a pain in the arse and made everything take double the time, but Draco was totally unable to think when staring at a glowing square. 

The parchment, well - paper, parchment was rather tricky to get a hold of on the High Street even if Oxford was old fashioned, and Draco didn’t want to ask Narcissa to send any more because it felt like failing? Anyway, the paper also had the issue of being single sheets instead of a continuous scroll, and he could not remember to number them. He sat heavily in the leather chair, tightening his dressing gown, trying to figure out whether his essay was really so terrible that he couldn’t work out what order his own arguments were supposed to go in. They had a week until the hand in, and it was only a practice essay, but Draco really didn’t want to mess this up. He now felt able to fully empathise with how irritating Hermione had found him when he was talking all that nonsense about loving Oxford. Loving this? Working in darkened studies, wrestling with the sins of his past by candlelight? He was an arse.  

His phone buzzed, interrupting his train of thought. 

Alice had added him to a new group chat. Sighing once more (these muggles and their group chats - Draco thought he would go mad if he was any more contactable, no matter the convenience), he opened the message. 

‘OXMAS !!!’ it screamed at him. Whatever Oxmas was, Draco decided he didn’t like it. 

‘Hiiii, okay next week is Oxmas and then before we all head off home I thought we could 

have a dinner party/secret santa/end of term celebrations. Who is around? If anyone 

says they need to ‘work’, I will pry you out of the lib myself xoxoxoxoxo’ 

It was the normal group - mainly anthropologists who were all agreeing to attend. 

‘Sounds good!’ Hermione popped up.

Draco didn’t like that he felt relieved that she was going. He told himself it was because it would be impossible to survive without another witch or wizard there to compare to their Hogwarts traditions. He clicked onto the list of attendees, scanning through. And then his heart sank. 

Jenny - that was the name of the girl he had snogged at Sasha’s party. She was also attending. This would be fine. 

‘YAY!’ Alice’s ability to be cheerful under any circumstances was starting to grate. ‘I’m 

going to set up a Secret Santa thing and then will let you all know who you’ve got xxxx’

This added another layer of complication on Draco’s already desperately complicated life. 

‘Granger,’ he typed, feeling a bit guilty for avoiding the ‘Hermione’. 

‘SOS. What the fuck is a Secret Santa?’ 

Triple checking he wasn’t accidentally typing in the wrong conversation, he pressed send before he could think about it too much. 

Hermione, it turned out, was an evil, conniving woman who existed solely to torment him. 

She didn’t reply for hours. 

Literal hours - Draco found himself picking his phone up every few minutes and was very aware of the minutes moving sluggishly along. He turned the sound off and on, in case it wasn’t working and he’d missed her reply. He shut it in his desk drawer and tried to work from the downstairs sofa instead. He went back onto the message and checked that it had actually been sent. He read the small print of his contract, to ensure there hadn’t been a mistake about paying or anything. 

There was nothing for it, Draco thought, at five to 11 that night, two hours after he had first sent the message. 

Hermione Granger was evil, and he hated her. 

He pulled on his silk pyjamas, buttoning them angrily all the way up to the neck. As he lay in his bed, about to close his eyes, his phone screen illuminated the room with a cold blue light. 

‘Nnghhhh’ Draco screamed into his pillow. 

He wasn’t going to check it. She had taken hours to reply - he would reply in the morning. 

Well, he could see what she said and then reply in the morning. That way he’d be able to come up with something appropriately scathing. 

Yes, he’d do that. 

Draco grabbed his phone and lay back in his bed, flicking open the screen, throwing his other arm behind his head. 

‘Sorry,’ it started, which was strong. ‘Got caught up in some reading. Lol @ secret santa 

thing. Probs easier to explain in person? Could do coffee tomo if u have time?’ 

Draco ignored the swooping feeling in his chest at this. 

He was halfway through typing a response when he realised he was supposed to be punishing her and not saying anything. But she had said sorry, and she was online - the little message at the top said so. 

‘I am not sure if I will have time,’ he said formally. ‘But I will let you know.’ 

‘Ok’ 

Draco waited for a bit for her to say something else, but she didn’t seem inclined. He frowned at his phone. Did she not want to speak to him? Were they back to being not-friends, and had he just spectacularly misread this entire situation? It was highly likely. It was now also late, and he had training tomorrow morning. 

But Draco couldn’t sleep without turning her words over and over in his head. Ok. What did that mean? Okay, she’d wait, or okay, fuck you? 

‘How about 3? Could do Missing Bean again?’

He gave up on the silent treatment when it became apparent he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he had resolved the ‘ok’ mystery. 

‘Still too ashamed to go back after losing my shit at you there last time,’ she replied quickly this time, and Draco found himself grinning into the dark. 

‘If you’re in the lib we could do Reader Common Room,’ Draco said, referring to the empty room that was the only place in the Bodleian where food and drink were allowed to be consumed. 

‘Deal. In exchange for my knowledge, what will you give me?’ 

‘Someone has been talking to Alice about her ‘Religion’ essay,’ Draco replied. ‘Is G for Goddess now, as well as Granger?’ 

‘Obviously. Bring me offerings.’ 

‘I will have a think.’

‘Preferences are for something sweet.’ 

‘Not offal? Don’t fancy the innards of a crow?’ 

‘faéttan golde, manegum máðmum’

‘Careful, your nerd is showing’

‘It’s okay, you can ask for a translation if you need it.’ Granger was bloody cheeky when 

she wanted to be. 

‘My Old English is flawless. You’ll see tomorrow, when I turn up with exactly what you 

have asked for.’

‘I am laughing, just so you are aware.’

‘I am hilarious’

‘Sorry - that wasn’t clear. I am laughing at you.’

‘Okay - tomorrow I want to know about secret santa and how to get those italic things.  Now piss off Granger, I have to sleep.’

Draco went about his day with a greater-than-usual sense of enthusiasm. Suddenly it didn’t all seem so dark and dreary. His essays weren’t utterly disastrous, his seminar reading made sense. In short, Draco almost felt happy. He didn’t care to examine the reason why. 

Draco approached their 3pm meetup time with a bag of chocolate coins as a joke, and a salted caramel brownie as essential afternoon fuel. He grabbed them both a coffee (flat white for him, bucket of black coffee for Granger) and laden with his booty, settled into one of the high backed chairs that were scattered throughout the Reader Common Room. 

The room permanently had an air of abandonment, as though everyone in the library was too serious to ever break for lunch. It was also silent, despite several seats being occupied. Draco couldn’t help but sorrowfully compare it to the Slytherin Common Room, which was a much better example of the name. At least there, people talked to each other. 

He saw Hermione before she saw him, hidden behind the wing of a chair. He noticed that she looked slightly flushed, and was once again back in the baggy jumper with the short skirt and tights combination. He wished he hadn’t known what she looked like in something tight, and wished he could stop seeing how pretty she was, even barefaced with big hair from the rain again. 

‘I didn’t realise it would be so quiet,’ she whispered, plonking herself opposite him. She bounced slightly, as she sat down. 

‘I’m going to pretend I didn’t make a terrible suggestion, and blame it on them being cowed in your presence.’ 

‘Ah, thank you. Being a goddess is hard work.’

‘Your offerings,’ he said, dangling the chocolate coins in front of her. She laughed delightedly. 

‘And then, actual offerings,’ he continued, pushing the coffee and brownie across the table. ‘Although this, I must insist on sharing,’ he added, indicating to the brownie. 

‘The oracle has decided to accept your offerings,’ she slurped the coffee gratefully. ‘This is delicious, by the way.’

‘My pleasure. Tell me about Secret Santa.’ 

‘You don’t go in for niceties, do you?’ 

‘I’m a very busy man.’

Hermione snorted indelicately, and then cast a muffliato.  

‘Right. Well, how much do you know about Father Christmas?’ 

‘Muggle guy, big red coat, brings presents.’ 

‘I mean, yes, sort of. Although - did you know his coat was actually green? They changed it to red as a marketing thing for Coca-Cola, the muggle drink. And it caught on so much that people totally forgot that he was traditionally meant to wear green. Which is interesting, don’t you think. I wonder if it was the first major ad campaign that resulted in a change of consumer behaviour. Anyway, the modern interpretations of him most closely date from the Victorian era, though there are versions of him in England from as early as the fifteenth century. And then in 1616 Ben Johnson - do you know him? Playwright, very good. Anyway, Johnson personified Christmas as an old man and that’s the kind of first time the connection was made between the two -’

Hermione was radiant when she talked about something she was passionate about. Draco had to stop it.

‘Does this have anything to do with Secret Santa, or are you just excited about being able to lecture me?’ 

‘I'm giving you background,’ she chastised. ‘But no. Fine. You are a Scrooge.’

‘I know that one,’ Draco sipped his coffee and got started on the brownie. It was gooey and perfect and he had to lick the remaining crumbs off his fingers. ‘God, this is wonderful,’ he moaned through a mouthful of chocolate. Hermione was glaring at him. 

‘Secret Santa is a muggle tradition about giving presents. Instead of having to get everyone a christmas present you’ll get a random name and just buy that one person a present.’

‘Right. And who will get me?’

‘You won’t know.’ 

‘Oh,’ he frowned. He wasn’t sure he liked this. ‘What if I get a rubbish present?’

Hermione snorted again. ‘That’s the point. It’s supposed to be silly. Normally there’s a price limit too, something small, so it’s naff stuff.’

‘I don’t like ‘naff stuff’,’ Draco pulled a face. 

‘Careful, your spoiled brat is showing,’ Hermione said tartly. He rolled his eyes. 

‘Fine. Small naff presents. And the italics?’ 

Hermione sighed and took out her phone. Draco noticed that there was a message from Will on her home screen. Not that he was snooping. 

‘You add an underscore either side of the word. Happy?’ 

‘Immensely.’ 

‘I should have asked for the cigarette spell in exchange,’ she said, pouting. 

‘You’d make a terrible Slytherin. Although it’s not like you need it.’

‘It’s a remarkable bit of magic. Goes against Golaplott’s Third Law surely - I want to know how .’ 

Draco grinned. ‘It’s always good to hang on to a bit of leverage.’ 

She stuck her tongue out at him.

‘Right,’ she said, draining her coffee. He felt a bit put out she was leaving so soon. Maybe he should have extended the niceties. ‘Got to get back, I’ve got loads to do.’ 

‘What are you working on, and are you sleeping?’ He asked, because he cared. 

‘A personal project, and yes. And exercising - I’m going boxing later with Will so you don’t have to lecture me again either.’

‘I wouldn’t dare,’ he replied truthfully. 

‘See you next week, Draco,’ she called as she left. 

Draco’s phone went as she was leaving. 

‘You’ve got Hermione in Secret Santa!!’ Alice texted.

‘Is this a joke.’

‘I used an online automatic generator. So no. Limit is £10. No more complaining 

allowed.’

--- 

Hermione was grateful she was booked in to box that night, because she had excess energy she needed to burn off. Energy that kept wanting to return to Draco Malfoy licking crumbs off his fingers. 

Alice had told her she had Will at Secret Santa, which was fine. She knew he was eyeing up some new tape for his hands, so that plus a bag of sweets would probably do the job. 

‘I’m looking forward to our Oxmas,’ Will had said as they were warming up. Their relationship had stayed in a kind of in-between. They were friends, and it was nice, and Hemrione was ignoring the fact that he probably wanted more and even though she tried to make it work in her head sometimes, she really could not see it ever happening.

‘Same,’ she said, already breathless in between crunches. ‘Are you going to cook anything?’ 

‘I’m gonna bring sides. Not to brag, but my cauliflower cheese is extraordinary.’ Hermione laughed breathlessly. 

‘God I wish I was eating cauliflower cheese instead of doing this.’

‘No you don’t. Come on, get your gloves.’ 

The workouts with Will were always easy to get through. It was the walking afterwards where Hermione felt like she was waiting for him to make a move, just so she could turn him down and they could end this weird tension between them. 

‘I saw Draco and Jenny are going,’ he said as they made their way over the bridge. The fog was finally lifting, but the moon was hidden behind clouds.

‘Yeah, the whole gang will be there,’ Hermione replied. In addition to Sasha and Alice, Jenny, Will, two others from the anthro course that Hermione didn’t know that well were also attending. She felt very relieved that she hadn’t got one of them in the secret santa. 

‘Should be fun. Did you hear about what happened at Sasha’s?’ 

‘When?’ She asked, feeling slightly anxious. Will was grinning.

‘They hooked up,’ he said enthusiastically. 

‘Oh,’ she replied, slightly shocked. Will was studying her reaction, so she smiled. She could tell it didn’t reach her eyes. 

‘I know, right. I can see it though,’

‘Yeah,’ Hermione said slightly hollowly. She knew she had no right to feel this way. Just because they had gone to school together didn't mean she had some kind of claim over him. In fact, this feeling probably came from her feeling like she knew him best, even though that definitely wasn’t true. And he was perfectly able to sleep with whoever he wanted. He was gorgeous, and rich, and clever, and who wouldn’t want that? Apart from Hermione, of course. Who didn’t want him, and therefore this wasn’t an issue. 

‘Yeah. Wonder if it's going to be awkward or if they’re secretly dating or something.’

‘That would be cute,’ she said with effort.

Really, Hermione thought, this was Alice’s fault. She had been the one to plant ideas of them together in her head. If Alice hadn’t made any of those jokes to Ginny then she would be fine. 

‘Did anything ever happen between you two?’ Will asked, curiously. 

‘Draco and I?’ Hermione laughed bitterly. ‘Absolutely not. We hated each other.’ 

‘Ah, yeah, I remember you saying,’ Will seemed to stand closer to her as they lingered at the bus stop. ‘Must be really hard, being here together.’ 

‘It’s not, actually.’ This, at least, was truthful. ‘I forgave him a long time ago. Strangely, it’s actually been really nice to reconnect, bury the hatchet, that kind of thing.’

‘Your friends weren’t keen.’ 

Did Will have to be this observant about Draco, and not about her feelings for him? 

‘Well, they haven’t had the opportunity to spend much time with him since we left school. He kinda disappeared after we graduated.’ Because he was ordered to by the Wizengamot. 

‘Right. Weird.’

‘Not really,’ she said with a shrug. ‘We all - we all went through a lot so. Yeah. it’s difficult to explain.’ I literally cannot explain without obliviating you. 

To Hermione’s great relief, the bus arrived before Will could edge any closer. She hated having to get back to her horrid little room, but at least she could use that as an excuse to avoid him. 

-- 

Hermione hadn’t seen much of Draco the past few weeks as she’d been absolutely snowed under with work. She’d finished her practice essays by the end of sixth week, hoping to use the end of term to really crack on with some of her own research. The lack of time she’d had to devote to it was starting to make her anxious, and while she was trying to keep it together, it was starting to keep her up at night. 

The book the Healer had sent turned out to be pretty useless. Hermione had sighed as she made her way through it - most of the outcomes were things muggle scientists had already disproven, not to mention the lack of analysis in their approach. Had wizarding society not figured out the scientific method? No wonder technological advancements were limited. She couldn’t help but think back to Draco’s offhand comment about there not being a spell to staple pages together. Of course, magic solved most problems. The only problem was it also appeared to make you lazy. 

So Hermione had gone back into her neuroscientific research, delving through anything and everything she could get her hands on that had been published in the last five years. 

She was approaching the fact that she would need to visit again, and soon. Hermione’s first trip had been immediately after the war. That was when she realised that undoing her obliviation would not be as easy as just waving a wand. She had enough understanding to magically take some scans of their brains, but she had been distressed and hadn’t known what she was looking for, or what to focus on. Every year since, as her understanding had improved, Hermione had returned. 

The trips were always exhausting, both physically and emotionally. And the results were increasingly alarming. Their memories seemed to be deteriorating at an exponential rate. It wasn’t enough to affect their daily lives yet, but Hermione couldn’t help but think that her magic had increased the likelihood of early-onset Alzeihmers. If she couldn’t get her parents to a magical facility, with their memories damaged by magic, she dreaded to think of the potential fall out. 

There was also the issue that after five years of full-time education, Hermione was running out of money for trips across the world. But she had worked out a coping mechanism for whenever the anxiety threatened to overwhelm her. She’d nicked Alice’s course reading list one evening just to see the similarities and differences, out of mild curiosity. And she had ended up getting distracted by various seminars that she had found intriguing. Concepts of space and time, for instance - Hermione couldn't help but feel fascinated by the idea that time was experienced differently across different cultures - would Time Turners be different in different countries too? So whenever she felt like it was too much, and she was too far from a cure, Hermione would bury herself in her work and although it might not have been productive, she was a woman who understood that you never knew when you might need some obscure bit of knowledge. 

Which was why she was currently underground the Bodleian and Radcliffe Camera libraries, in the Lower Gladstone Tunnel. 

The Gladstone Tunnel was literally a tunnel buried far underneath Radcliffe Square, connecting both libraries. Historically, it had been reserved for extra collections that the librarians could access. But over recent years it had been opened as a study space, and desks skirted the two floors, where metal moveable shelves held many more books not available on the upper library shelves. 

She was searching for a text she had been intrigued by, reaching up to get it off the top shelf, when a low voice caught her attention. 

‘I bloody hope you are not about to nick the only copy of Gell’s Anthropology of Time that I can take out, Granger,’ Draco whispered. She whipped round, copy of said book in her hand. 

He was leaning against the shelf, once again in his ruffled professor look, lock of hair hanging tantalisingly across his brow. Hermione had given a great deal of thought to her reaction that Draco was seeing someone, and she had come to the conclusion that she did not care at all. Which is why she replied with a normal amount of frostiness when she said, 

‘Finders keepers. Sorry Malfoy. You can borrow it after Christmas.’ 

‘How is that fair,’ he moved towards her, arms crossed. ‘You don’t need it for your essays, but I do.’

‘You’re writing your essay on concepts of Time?’ she asked, always able to be distracted by the work. 

‘Obviously,’ he rolled his eyes. ‘Otherwise, I wouldn't be removing it from the library where people actually need it.’ 

‘I do need it,’ she said, because he wanted it and therefore she didn’t want to give it to him. 

‘For what?’

‘Background reading.’ 

‘Background reading?’ He arched a perfect brow. Hermione wished she didn’t know what his eyes looked like in the firelight. 

‘I’m catching up! You’ve had three years of studying this, I was doing something totally different!’

‘Granger, you’re basically a clinical scientist. You don’t need to bloody catch up.’ 

‘I was never actually a scientist,’ she retorted in whispers. ‘It’s not like I ever worked in a lab or -’

‘Oh semantics, it always comes down to semantics with you doesn’t it?’

‘Excuse me if I have a desire for accuracy in my daily life.’ 

‘Look,’ he sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘You can catch up all you want after I’ve read it, how’s that? Please, Hermione. I’m stressed enough as it is.’ 

She took a moment to mark the smudges under his eyes, the slight pallor of his skin. And she stepped towards him, weighing the book in her hand, deciding whether she should relent. She bit her lip and looked up at him. 

His eyes flicked to hers. She was sure he had just been staring at her mouth. And she wanted to close the gap between them, but he had a girlfriend, or someone he was seeing at least, and she shouldn’t want this anyway, but there was something between them that felt to her like magic did - intoxicating and impossible to ignore. 

A shelf suddenly slammed into the both of them, and they yelped. 

A terrified fresher poked their head round the end of the shelf, squeaking out a sorry before literally running out the library.  

‘What -’ Draco began, but Hermione dissolved. 

‘Oh God,’ she whisper-laughed. ‘The shelves are moveable,’ she explained to Draco who still looked both perplexed and furious. ‘You can wheel them about.’

‘I thought we were back in Hogwarts for a second and this was the Oxford version of the bloody staircases,’ he said, still slightly dazed. Hermione continued to snigger. 

‘They really were the worst,’ she said with a sigh, handing over the book finally. ‘Here. Can I borrow it when you’re done?’

‘Always,’ Draco said, taking it and tucking it under her arm. 

‘Can I read your essay also?’ She said, aware that whatever tension had built had evaporated thanks to moving shelves and unobservant freshers. 

‘It depends,’ he shifted. 

‘On?’

‘If I think it’s any good.’

‘I’m sure it will be,’ she glanced up, smiling. 

‘We’ll see. No internet in the Manor, obviously, so I’m trying to get as much work done here first and then take what I can.’

‘Ah,’ Hermione said, nodding with understanding. “I’m going to have a similar issue at The Burrow.’ 

‘You’re spending Christmas there?’ 

‘Yes.’

‘Not Australia?’ 

Hermione swallowed. 

‘No.’

‘Okay,’ Draco said, awkwardly. 

‘How did you do a distanced learning degree while on house arrest somewhere with no internet?’ Hermione asked suddenly.

‘Oh,’ Draco started, then grinned. ‘Theo and Blaise would take turns printing and typing things up for me. I did it all by hand. And then I spent a fortune on muggle books. There's a whole new wing of the Malfoy Manor library. My mother was obviously thrilled.’ 

‘Of course,’ Hermione rolled her eyes, even though the idea of the Manor library, now with anthropology section, intrigued her. 

‘If you ever want to go back one day, I’ll give you a tour.’ 

It felt like more and more they were approaching the things they both tried very hard to forget. Hermione swallowed, and nodded once. 

‘If that ever happens, you’ll be the first to know.’

‘See you next week,’ he replied. She was comforted that they were both uncomfortable with the way the conversation had turned. ‘Don’t steal any more of my books.’

‘I can’t make any promises,’ she said, as he disappeared into the distant stacks. 

Chapter Text

Week 8, Michaelmas 

‘Cheers!’ 

They all raised a glass, despite the fact that there was barely room to move around the cramped kitchen table they were using for their Oxmas feast. 

Hermione was wedged in between both Draco and Will, something she was completely fine about. She was also completely fine that on the other side of Draco was Jenny, who looked incredible in a short, purple sparkly dress, paired with enormous earrings shaped like chandeliers. They reminded Hermione slightly of Luna. Alice had commandeered Sasha’s house once more, saying it was the one with the most space. Hermione hoped Draco felt guilty about not revealing his monstrous abode. 

She tried very hard not to study the way he and Jenny interacted, but she hadn’t been able to ignore the way Jenny had pressed her body up against his, or the brief squeeze on Draco’s upper thigh. Which had brought her attention to his upper thigh, encased in black evening trousers. Which Hermione really could have gone without studying, if she was honest. 

It had been Alice’s idea to dress up, of course. Hermione’s contribution to the dinner had been a bowl of the punch her parents always made for their street’s Christmas party. She had only cried a little bit when mixing the near-lethal concoction, and had made sure that none of the tears had gone into the mix. 

They were all a couple of glasses in, however, which meant that the evening was already a bit fuzzy and light. The adrenaline of finishing their first term coupled with the heat of the room resulted in a slightly tilted, celebratory air. Candles scattered across the table added to the heat, already overwarm thanks to the sheer number of bodies shoved together on every available chair in the house. 

Most of those in suits had removed their jackets and bow ties, as well as rolling up their sleeves. Condensation coated the inside of the windows. Hermione was grateful that the dress she had chosen to wear was backless, enjoying the faint breeze (more of a movement of sticky, hot air, but beggars couldn’t be choosers) that passed her by every time someone moved. They hadn’t even gotten to the main course yet, and judging by how quickly everyone was drinking, Hermione wasn’t sure they would make it. She shoved a samosa into her mouth. Tahirah had run out of time to make anything, and so brought the remainders of the emergency rations her mother had packed into her freezer. Everyone was talking slightly too loudly over each other. 

‘This punch tastes like juice, Granger,’ Draco leaned over to murmur in her ear. ‘Which can only mean one thing. We are all going to die.’

She nodded, sagely. 

‘In hindsight, I should have adjusted the quantities. I wasn’t thinking - normally there are more people drinking it and they’re - they’re grownups,’ she hiccuped slightly. Draco snickered. 

‘Well, if you ask very nicely,’ his breath was tickling her ear now, and Hermione knew she would be flushing red. Will was staring at them, she could just tell. ‘If you ask nicely, I’ll give you a hangover potion tomorrow.’

‘Ooooh,’ she turned excitedly to realise he was right in front of her face. She could feel his body heat, and smell him for the first time. She breathed in reflexively, taking in something that smelled complex, rich, like money. Fig, perhaps. With notes of oud - something heavy and intoxicating. ‘Deal,’ she said as normally as she could manage. 

‘There’s no deal,’ he quirked a lip. ‘You just have to ask nicely.’ 

‘What are you saying about hangovers,’ Will cut in. Draco met Hermione’s eye and grinned. 

‘How lethal they’re going to be tomorrow,’ he replied smoothly. One of his arms was slung over the back of Hermione’s chair. Jenny was staring daggers at the both of them. ‘Especially after a cigarette. Makes it worse, you know? Nasty habit. Care for one, Hermione?’ 

‘Always,’ she said, slightly breathless. Draco stood, pulling out her chair for her and helping her up. It would have been smooth had there been more room to manoeuvre. The reality was that Draco had to make a sort of jerking motion to unstick her from the throng of bodies, and then they both had to clamber inelegantly over both Jenny and Will who were still alternating between glares and pretending not to look. 

They stumbled slightly outside, leaving the kitchen door open at the request of Sasha lest she ‘pass the fuck out.’ 

It was odd how easily they retreated to their side of the yard, Hermione thought proprietarily. 

It was freezing outside, and slightly damp, but she relished the bite of the cool air after so long inside. Her hair was twisted up into a sort of chignon, so the frizz could do menial damage. Draco was patting himself down for a wand. 

‘Bugger,’ he sighed, eyeing Hermione’s dress speculatively. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got -’

‘There’s always space if you try hard enough,’ Hermione said, shoving her hand down the front of her dress, to where she had stashed her wand, tucked it between her taped together boobs. Draco gallantly looked the other way as she fished about. 

‘Voila,’ she brandished. He took it, and turned away to cast the spell.

‘You know I can just see what spell you’ve used now,’ she reminded him, taking back her wand. 

‘I suppose,’ he swayed slightly unsteadily, ‘but I don’t think it takes a genius to realise that I've had rather a lot to drink, and therefore am less able to scheme.’

‘I shall have to think of all the things I want from you then,’ Hermione replied tartly, inhaling. 

‘About that,’ Draco said, leaning against the wall and sighing. 

‘Oh no,’ Hermione tried to joke. She’d only glanced at his thigh, surely he couldn’t think that -

‘Jenny thinks that something is going to happen between us.’

‘You and me?’ Hermione may have sounded slightly squeakier than normal.

‘No, me and her,’ Draco took the cigarette off her, ‘and I’d very much like to disabuse her of that notion.’

‘Oh,’ she said, trying to sound casual.

‘I don’t - I don’t like her like that,’

‘And you can’t just tell her?’ 

‘Well, I would but it’s all a bit awkward isn’t it because nothing has actually happened - well we snogged once but that hardly counts - anyway I don’t know how to bring it up without sounding horribly presumptuous.’

Hermione sighed, thinking of her own horribly presumptuous issue with Will, and not thinking about what it would be like to kiss Draco.

‘Where do I come in?’ 

‘I want to flirt with you so she gets the message and fucks off.’

Hermione’s stomach did an odd little flip. 

‘And what do I get out of this arrangement?’

‘You have a similar issue of your own, don’t you?’ he asked, raising that damn eyebrow again. 

‘Is it that obvious?’ she sighed. 

‘I’m just observant,’ he said, almost piercing her with the intensity of his gaze. 

‘Right,’ she said, feeling suddenly very at sea under the force of it. ‘Alright, I suppose. That would be handy.’ 

‘Marvellous,’ Draco exhaled and grinned. ‘I’m only asking you because I know you will be able to withstand the force of my considerable charm.’

‘You know, every time I believe you’ve matured you say something that reminds me how much of an arsehole you actually are,’ Hermione rolled her eyes, feeling rather snappish. ‘Your request for my services obviously has nothing to do with the deeply sexy way I pulled a wand out of my dress.’

‘Anything you do with a wand is sexy Granger,’ he said with a wink. She shoved him a bit. That also backfired though, because it meant she felt the hardness of his chest underneath his shirt. She really needed to stop drinking. They finished the cigarette. 

‘Ready?’ he asked her. She took a deep breath in. 

‘Ready.’ 

Draco slung an arm round her shoulder, pulling her into his side. Already slightly unsteady, she toppled into him, gasping slightly. Her hand went back to his chest to steady herself, and his arm tightened around her waist. She could feel the palm of his hand, slightly calloused, along the edge of her dress. They walked back into the kitchen.

‘Try not to look like you’re plotting my murder,’ he murmured before they sat down. 

Hermione’s body was a traitor, and her scowl had been directed at the way it reacted around her former childhood bully. She tried to remember all the awful things he had said to her in an attempt to regain some of her sanity. Unfortunately, the booze that had made Draco incapable of scheming also seemed to be working hard to make her memory not work properly. Her cheeks were bright red, heartbeat racing, and she pressed her legs together slightly as a low sort of ache started in her belly. 

The meal was continuing in a haphazard sort of way. Everyone had just piled food onto their plates, no longer caring about ‘courses’. The punch had, mercifully, been drained, and various bottles of cheap red wine were scattered across the table. Draco’s arm was still slung across the back of her chair. She avoided looking at Alice, Will and Jenny, which meant most of her attention was directed towards Tahirah, who sat opposite, and her plate. 

‘When do we get to do presents,’ Sasha called out as their devouring of the food began to slow down. ‘I want to see what everyone got!’ 

And then the chaos of the table was added to, as on top of plates of various kinds of food, empty bottles and glasses, wrapping paper was added. At one point, and Hermione wasn’t sure when it was, but at one point she forgot it was Malfoy she was pressed up against, and fully relaxed into the frame of the man with his arm around her chair. Occasionally, his fingertip would stroke the curve of her shoulder, and each time a shudder of something pleasant ran through her. Underneath the hazy air she stopped feeling as though this was strange, even leaning her head against him as she laughed at one of Alice’s dirty jokes. 

Tahirah, who was playing Father Christmas, withdrew what looked like a crumpled ball of newspaper from the ‘sack’ (a Tesco bag for life). Someone had scrawled ‘Draco’ in black marker on it. Hermione laughed because she could feel Draco tense next to her, even as an easy grin made its way onto his face. 

‘Alice - is this particular delight from you?’ 

Alice scowled. ‘I can’t believe you guessed it so easily,’ she pouted. He smiled for real, unwrapping the lump. 

There was no disguising the confusion on his face however as he withdrew the thick cream cup, emblazoned with the words ‘Secret Santa is for Mugs’ on the side. The room erupted in laughter as Draco studied it. 

‘You’re going to have to explain this one to me,’ he said, turning to Hermione instead of Alice. Alice grinned at her. 

‘Because you’ve never played secret Santa before!’ Alice was still cracking up at what she considered to be an excellent joke, ‘and you’re also a mug!’

‘Lots of people give mugs as secret Santa presents,’ Hermione murmured in Draco’s ear. He still looked confused. And then he sighed. 

‘Thanks Alice. I will treasure it.’

‘I should bloody hope so,’ she was still laughing. 

‘This one’s for you Hermione,’ Tahirah said finally, as the number of presents had eventually diminished. Will had been pleased with his wraps, which Hermione had held out secretly charming for him, telling herself sternly that occasionally using magic around muggles was not the same as charming items for their personal use. She was holding out a small square box, wrapped in green. The paper was thick, with a bright red and gold ribbon tied round the box. Hermione knew as soon as she saw it who it would be from. She blushed. 

She unwrapped it slowly, carefully, enjoying the feel of the ribbon slip through her fingers. Draco had stiffened slightly beside her, as though he, too, was waiting. Suddenly, the ease with which she was sitting next to him felt alive, and buzzed with strange things that set her teeth on edge. 

She lifted the lid of the black box to reveal a gold ‘G’ keychain, a small lion in the corner. She grinned. 

‘I think I can guess who this is from.’

‘Well, who else calls you Granger,’ Will rolled his eyes.

‘G for Granger, goddess, genius,’ Draco shrugged, sending another thrill through Hermione. ‘They all mean the same.’ He winked, and bent to whisper in her ear,

‘I’ll give you the rest outside.’

She blushed again. Ignoring the whistles from around the table, she took the keychain out of the box to display to the rest of the crowd. The gold caught the low light and seemed to shimmer, and it was heavy. Hermione frowned. 

‘You better have stuck to the price limit,’ she said, turning to him sternly. He rolled his eyes. 

‘Obviously, Granger. I wouldn’t get you a rule-breaking present.’

She stuck her tongue out at him, and then swiftly withdrew it as she thought of the red wine consumed and how it undoubtedly had stained her mouth. Thank goodness for beauty charms, she thought to herself. At least they’re slightly more reliable than muggle lipstick. And then she censured herself because Hermione Granger had worked very hard to no longer be the kind of witch who cared about how she looked. She had a vague idea of why this change had occurred, and she did not care for it. 

‘Is that everyone?’ Sasha called. After the chorus of yeses, she declared that it was time for dessert, and threw the contents of an entire tin of Quality Street across the table. A fair number of them splashed into half-drunk glasses. Hermione was pretty sure a green triangle gave her a black eye, and she was forced to retreat further into Draco’s side. 

‘Muggle chocolates, I assume?’ His voice was in her ear again, breath warm against the side of his neck. 

‘Exactly,’ Hermione said, focusing on unwrapping the foil and carefully smoothing it out on the table. ‘Here,’ she went to hand it to him.

‘Oh my GOD,’ Sasha’s voice rose above the din. ‘You’re giving him a green triangle ?! It must be serious. Alice, I owe you.’ 

‘I - what?!’ Hermione spluttered as Draco said ‘You’re betting on us?!’ 

‘What he said,’ Hermione repeated, trying to look cross. At least with the heat and the wine and the copious amount of blushing she had already done, she couldn’t get any redder. 

‘Obviously,’ Sasha said, clearly too drunk to ignore Alice’s slightly frantic (and not at all subtle) gestures to stop talking. ‘Alice said first term, I said you wouldn’t get together until - oh. Right.’

‘We’re not together,’ Draco drawled, still the picture of ease. 

‘Did you know about this?’ Hermione squawked, turning towards Draco. 

He glared at her. ‘Of course I didn’t. And if I had obviously I would have stopped them.’

‘Yes obviously, because there’s obviously no way -‘

‘No way in hell,’

‘Right, for SO many reasons,’

‘Many reasons. Obviously.’ 

They were both glaring at each other, the space between them once more a living, tense thing. Hermione felt like she had failed somehow, that people were laughing at her, though she couldn’t work out why. Was it because Draco had been so definitive that there was no way they would be together? Was it the idea of the others talking behind her back? 

‘Let’s go for a cigarette,’ Draco said with a sigh, two spots of pink on the top of his cheekbones, marring his usually perfect complexion. Hermione couldn't understand what he could possibly say to her, but stood anyway. ‘At least then you can berate me in private.’ 

‘Awh, like a married couple,’ Sasha cooed, not quite cottoning on that she had accidentally ruined whatever spell had been holding Draco and Hermione together. Alice snorted. 

‘I don’t know how many married couples you know,’ she said, ‘but my parents take great pleasure in fighting in public.’ 

Hermione and Draco, who had only the one parent currently between them, left quickly. 

‘Well?’ She rounded on him as soon as they were outside again.

‘Don’t look at me like that, I had no idea,’ he had brought his jacket out and conjured the cigarette himself. He halfway shrugged it on, before seeming to remember his manners, taking it off and offering it to her. She shook her head out of stubbornness, though in truth she would have appreciated the warmth. 

‘Am I supposed to believe that? You wanted me to play pretend. And then denied it - what the hell is any of this supposed to mean?’ Hermione was on a roll now, the injustice flowing through her. ‘Is this a joke to you? Am I a joke to you? Did you make a stupid bet with Alice about how easily it would be to string me along or something -‘

‘Granger, Hermione - please,’ Draco held his hands out in supplication. ‘Please - I wouldn’t, I would never -‘ he broke off, and it hung between them, the fact that he might say he would never, but he had. This kind of humiliation is exactly what he had done. ‘I’m not that person anymore,’ he said quietly, running a hand through his hair. ‘I’m sorry.’

He was looking at the floor, unable to meet her eyes. ‘I didn't realise they’d made a bet. I just thought it would be a neat result to both of our problems, if I’d known I never would have -‘

‘Oh I know you never would have actually wanted anyone to think we were together for real.’

‘What is that supposed to mean?’ He looked up, finally, anger stirring in his eyes. Hermione faltered.

‘I don’t know,’ she lied. ‘I don’t know why I said that.’ 

They both deflated. She accepted the cigarette and took a drag. The smoke was starting to feel pleasant, she’d have to quit before she got too addicted. 

‘Look, this is terrible timing as you’re cross with me, but can I explain the rest of your present now?’

‘Fine,’ Hermione said after a beat, not able to meet his eye for longer than a moment. 

‘Right,’ Draco exhaled, shoved his hands into his pockets. Hermione realised he might be nervous, and that made her panic slightly. She didn’t think she could handle Draco being nervous right now. 

‘Right,’ he repeated. ‘Well, firstly, I charmed the keychain. It’s nothing major, just a faint muggle repellent and a tracking spell. I thought you’d be able to use it on your bag, in case anyone tried to steal your books or computer or whatever. And even if they did take it, say, perhaps, a certain wizard who was looking to repatriate his own reading list, you’d be able to turn up and shout at him.’

‘Oh,’ Hermione said, because it was such a small, thoughtful thing that she didn’t know how to react. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’ 

There was another beat of silence, and alarmingly Hermione thought that she probably should - should hug him or something. Some kind of expression of gratitude, seeing as she clearly couldn’t speak right now. Luckily, Draco spared them both the mortification by continuing to speak. 

‘And then, this is just a joke and I swear it fits within the price limit, actually I probably should have given you this first seeing as it’s not as good - anyway, here. These are also part of your present.’

He took a tiny box out of his pocket and tapped it with his wand. It expanded, and suddenly Draco was holding a box of her favourite -

‘Sugar quills,’ Hermione breathed, and then laughed. Because he had bought her her favourite sweets, had somehow known they were her favourites in the first place. ‘How did you? Did you ask Ginny?’

‘Can you imagine me asking the Weasel anything?’ He said, returning to some of his former bravado now that she was obviously pleased. ‘Of course not. I remembered they were your favourite at school.’ He shrugged, as though knowing this was not a big deal at all. 

Hermione reached out and took them, running her hands along the familiar packaging. 

‘I haven’t had one of these in ages. Thank you - they’ll taste just like -’ she faltered slightly. She had almost said they’d taste like home. 

‘Happy Christmas,’ he said, smirking slightly, though there was enough vulnerability in his gaze that Hermione felt utterly confused once more. 

‘Happy Christmas,’ she repeated, not quite able to smile in return.

—- 

Draco woke the next morning with a hangover to rival any of the comedowns he’d experienced, back when his house arrest had just started and he had nothing to occupy his time except experimental brewing. 

His mouth tasted dry and cottony, his head pounded, and there was a lingering sense of shame that seeped through his body most unpleasantly. 

‘ Accio hangover potion,’ he murmured, just about managing the magical exertion necessary to bring him relief. He downed half in one go, choking slightly. It immediately improved the dry mouth and headache, though the sense of shame was still lingering unpleasantly. 

He could get up, go for a run or something to try and shift the gloom. But Draco was not in the mood to make himself feel better. He wanted to wallow. 

He rolled to his back, propping himself on one elbow to finish the hangover potion and hopefully displace any of the nausea that was starting to threaten. Then, he flopped back into the many pillows (Draco liked to sleep in the human equivalent of a nest made from soft furnishings, with numerous pillows, blankets, and a sinfully thick duvet), and stared at the ceiling once more. 

He couldn’t help but notice he’d spent a lot of time staring at the ceiling since spending time with her. 

(Draco was still too embarrassed to think her name). 

He was an idiot. Truly, the worst of the worst. What had possessed him to even suggest that they - he couldn't finish that sentence either. It was that bloody punch. That and the dress, which dipped so low he could see the dimples in her back and really, that kind of thing was designed to render a man’s mental faculties fuzzy at the best of times, let alone when pressed against her and highly intoxicated. 

He could no longer deny that he found Granger attractive. 

There - he was able to think her surname. Maybe all this ‘Hermione’ nonsense had resulted in him becoming over familiar with her, and a return to a more distanced relationship would be best. 

He found Granger attractive. It was fine. She had become a very beautiful woman. She was also very smart, and not at all impressed by him, and clearly he was not the only one who realised what a catch she was. When his thoughts turned to Will, they soured. He was not jealous, obviously. He just disliked a man not intelligent enough to realise that the woman he wanted did not care for him. 

Attractiveness aside, he could not and would not be with her. She had been appalled last night, and disgusted at the thought that people had actually assumed they might be together in one way or another. He knew that they had developed some kind of friendship, but clearly that friendship had strict limits and he had accidentally pushed them too far. 

He never would have, he thought angrily to himself, had it not been for the dress and the punch, both of which were actually Granger’s fault. 

Yes - this was actually her fault. She was the one who had decided to become incredibly attractive. Not that she was that different from school, really, it’s just that he had been so blinded by hatred and jealousy at first, and later by his own hideous home situation playing landlord to the Dark Lord, that actually he hadn’t had much time to notice her attractiveness. Here, in neutral territory with the past far (but never far enough) behind them, Draco could finally understand that Hermione Granger was beautiful, intelligent, engaging, and utterly not destined for him. 

The thought added to his depression. And his resentment of her. 

He wondered if he should send her a hangover potion or not. He could text her. Perhaps she had texted him. His phone was laying on the nightstand, next to his stupid mug from Alice. He had just about got into the habit of charging it regularly, and the thought depressed him. No wonder there were plenty of muggles who spent their lives staring at the little device. It was oddly reassuring when it was close to him. 

A quick check revealed that she had sent no message, and he was too scared to reach out to her. He wished suddenly that he didn’t have to see her again, but he didn’t know when she was leaving Oxford, and it was such a small city he was bound to bump into her had she not already left. He also didn’t fancy retreating to the Manor early. For one thing, he had actual work to do that he needed access to the internet and libraries for. For another, it meant spending more time with his mother, listening to her long and pointless stories about who was currently engaged to who, and avoiding questions about Ginny Weasley. 

He indulged in a lengthy sigh. His phone, shattering his den of misery, rang. 

‘What do you want?’ He croaked, seeing Alice’s name pop up on the screen. 

‘Hiya!’ She chirped, not at all sounding worse for wear, even though she’d drunk just as much as everyone else. 

‘If you’re not hungover then leave me alone.’ 

‘But then how will I bring you your apology pastries?’ 

Draco paused. 

‘Oh?’ 

‘I’m sorry about last night and I want to explain and I’ve spoken to Hermione and she didn’t say anything that was any use to me except that you liked sweet things so I’ve come to atone.’ 

Draco ignored the thrill that went through him at her name. 

‘I will meet you for said apology pastries, as long as there’s an almond one.’

‘There is,’ she said, as the doorbell rang. 

‘Hang on - Alice -‘

‘You’re going to have to apologise yourself once everyone finds out how massive your house is,’ Alice chirped. ‘Surprise!’ 

Draco had no idea what Granger was thinking, giving the address of his wizard home to a muggle. But he made his way downstairs, dressing gown on, vaguely casting repelling spells anywhere that looked a bit strange. He and Alice would sit in the kitchen. 

‘You look like some sort of Victorian vampire,’ she said as he yanked the door open, wincing in the weak winter sunlight. ‘Mary Shelley would fancy you for sure.’

Draco eyed the bag of pastries. Finding it appropriately sized, he stepped aside, gesturing for her to come in. 

‘Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein, not Dracula.’ Alice rolled her eyes in a way that clearly said she knew that. ‘Just go through to the kitchen,’ he muttered. ‘Right through to the back.’ 

‘Did you decorate this place yourself? I knew you were rich but really how rich are you Draco? If I don’t get some kind of heirloom jewellery for my birthday I’m going to be cross,’ she chattered, as Draco privately thought that she wouldn’t like most of the jewellery festering in his family vaults, and most of the jewellery would certainly not like her . He probably should do something about that.

‘I’m very rich,’ he said with a sigh. There was no point denying it. He gestured for her to sit once they reached the kitchen. ‘I don’t have access to the vault,’ he lied, ‘and yes, I decorated it mostly myself, but had an old friend help out.’ 

‘Would this be another one of your and Hermione’s mysterious boarding school mates?’ 

He just about avoided wincing at her name, but Alice noticed all the same. 

‘Yes,’ he said shortly, drumming his fingers on the table. Alice ripped the brown paper opening, displaying her wares. An enticing variety of croissants lay there gleaming slightly. Draco felt slightly less murderously towards her. 

‘Right,’ she said, settling herself opposite him on the other side of the marble island (charmed against stains, Pansy had insisted). ‘Draco Malfoy, I am sorry that we made bets. It was not done out of cruelty, but just excitement about two friends who I care very much for. I am a romantic and fanciful woman, filled with girlish whims, and I was carried away.’ 

‘That is the worst apology I have ever heard,’ Draco said through a mouthful of almond. Alice was many things, but he didn’t think anyone had ever described her as whimsical. 

‘The sentiment is sincere,’ she said, picking a pastry for herself. Draco said he could offer her some water but had run out of anything else. Alice accepted the water, and told him smartly that anyone with a house like this ought to be a better host.

‘Is this supposed to make me feel better?’ 

She cocked her head to the side, nostrils flaring slightly as she scented blood. 

‘Do you feel bad?’

‘Obviously, I’m hungover.’

‘Are you hungover, or are you feeling sorry for yourself?’ Draco glowered at her from under his eyebrows. 

‘Hmm,’ she said, smiling thoughtfully. 

‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘I’m not getting involved,’ she said with a sigh, that suggested if he wanted her to get involved, she could.  

‘Then don’t,’ Draco muttered, finishing his croissant and selecting a second. They silently ate pastries together, until Draco felt the edges of his gloom start to recede. 

‘What did you say to her?’ He asked. 

‘To who?’

He glared again. 

‘Granger, obviously. I want to compare apologies.’ 

‘She did get the more sincere one,’ Alice admitted shamelessly. ‘But she was genuinely upset.’

‘And I’m not?’

Alice shrugged. ‘What are you upset about?’ 

Draco paused then. He wasn’t sure. 

‘Do you feel upset we bet over you?’ 

Draco considered this some more. He realised that he didn’t, and he told Alice so. 

‘Then you can’t be grumpy with me,’ Alice pointed out unhelpfully. 

Draco shrugged. It was his house, and he could be grumpy with whoever he wanted. 

‘So if you’re not grumpy with me -‘ Alice prodded.

‘You really want me to start another feud with Granger?’ Draco scowled. She rolled her eyes, impervious to his mood. 

‘Firstly, call her Hermione you idiot. Secondly, obviously not. If you’re annoyed at her (or, more probably yourself), I’m just asking you to consider why.’ 

Draco was silent for a bit, and then Alice hopped off a stool. 

‘You know, Hermione was exactly the same.’ 

‘What does that mean?’ 

‘Exactly what I said,’ she shrugged. ‘She said she was more annoyed at you, but she couldn't really explain why. Funny that.’

A while after Alice had left, Draco realised that she hadn’t promised not to bet on them anymore. Which made him feel better and worse all at the same time. Alice would have told him to examine why. He ignored it. 

Chapter Text

Michaelmas holidays 1

Draco wound his way through Diagon Alley, shoulders raised to his ears, head down. Tension radiated through and around him. He was aware of every stare, every mutter, every time someone realised with a small gasp who he was. He should have worn a hat. 

He’d become soft, it turned out, in Oxford, too accustomed to the anonymity that the institution provided him. So accustomed, that he’d thought going to town mere days before Christmas to do some last minute shopping was an advisable idea. He was paying for his foolishness now.

He’d decided bravely to walk the Main Street to his target, Flourish and Blotts, with only a half-formed idea in his brain. 

The weather was foul, almost-but-not-quite snowing. He was sodden and the warming charm he’d cast was not quite strong enough to fully ward off the chill. He’d also forgotten an umbrella. Another mistake. 

The bell rang as he entered, and he immediately skulked down a side aisle, trying to avoid the curious glances that turned his way. Glances that, in a moment, would turn to outright hostility he was sure. He didn’t intend to give them the chance. 

He had found himself in the biography section, the handsome leather bound books standing proudly on the shelves. Draco browsed for a moment, slipping into the meditative concentration that a good bookshop always encouraged. He wondered if Flourish and Blotts would ever consider expanding underground, like Blackwells in Oxford. The section here appeared rather limited. 

His half-formed idea was a present for Hermione. 

Draco had turned over Alice’s words again and again in the weeks he had stayed in Oxford, and had come to the conclusion that he was an arse, their falling out had been driven by too much booze, and he might as well make amends. He would send her a book (she liked books), with an apology (she liked apologies), and then everything would go back to normal. That is, normal friendship where he did not try to convince her to pretend to be his girlfriend and she did not use him as a buffer against Will. It was a very good plan. 

He had avoided their usual Oxford haunts as a precaution, because while it was a very good plan he also would rather apologise first from a distance, just in case she threw it in his face. Draco was many things, and coward was close to the top of the list. 

So he was reviewing the names printed on the sides of the books, wondering if there was anything here she might not have read, until he came across something which chilled him even through his refreshed warming charm. 

Flourish and Blotts, like most bookshops, placed tables sporadically throughout the store, where the latest and most popular releases were displayed. Draco had been so distracted by avoiding eyes that he had not realised what the latest Christmas stocking stuffer they were pushing was. 

He was staring at a black bound book, silver and green staring starkly out from the cover. 

The Skull, the Snake, and the Spy

Inside Severus Snape’s last days 

A compulsive thriller detailing the last weeks of Voldemort’s regime, told from the perspective of his most famous traitor. 

Draco suddenly felt sick. The air was too tight, his skin itched. His breath was coming fast but he was unable to move. He knew without checking that his hands would be trembling. 

It was written by Cormac McLaggen - a man Draco had mostly forgotten about, but was fairly certain that had no idea about anything. A giant arsehole, sometime keeper of the Gryffindor quidditch team. And hadn’t he had a thing with Hermione? 

His vision blurred. McLaggen had no idea what Snape had actually done. No idea who the man who had taken him under his wing truly was. No idea how he had kept him alive but not living in that tortuous sixth year, the things that -

Draco broke off, breathing in for six, holding it, and then releasing for the same count. 

He would not have a panic attack here. He could not collapse. Not when the whispers were gathering at the edges of his consciousness. He wanted to reach out and touch the book. He wanted to set fire to the whole table of them - every copy. 

‘Draco!’ 

A voice cut through his fog. 

He looked up, blinking, to find Hermione standing in front of him. At some point, she had reached out and grabbed his hand. He remembered vaguely the incident with the ice from the pub. How she had managed to help him come back to himself that first week when everything had been so overwhelming. Her hand was a faint pressure in his, bringing him back to his surroundings.

She had chosen to greet him, publicly, in front of all wizarding society. Call him by his first name as though they were friends. 

‘How are you?’ She asked it lightly but there was enough undercurrent that he understood she understood he needed help. He hated it. 

‘Fine,’ he cut out. His voice was brittle and cold and he saw his tone register on her face as the light in her eyes dimmed slightly. He had done that. 

There were more whispers this time. Draco blinked stupidly. How much time had passed? Was he supposed to say something? Was she? 

But Granger was saying something. She had turned to the couple loitering on the other side of the table, the main source of the whispers, and she was berating them. Too late, Draco realised it was on his behalf. 

‘…if you don’t have faith in the justice system then there are steps you can and should take,’ lecturing. Hermione was lecturing. ‘But fundamentally I believe in both the possibility and the necessity of rehabilitation, and so should you. A society cannot function if it does not offer people second chances. Or I suppose you are both so blameless that you have never done anything wrong in your entire life?’ 

Draco had been at the receiving end of Hermione's lectures so many times that he didn’t know what to do with himself in the reversed scenario. 

‘Not like him,’ the man had hissed, holding his arm in front of his wife as though Draco would somehow leap, snarling over the books and Avada them all for fun. 

‘What he has and has not done,’ Hermione continued shrilly, her voice rising so loud that everyone in the shop must have been able to hear, ‘is actually nothing like whatever trash,’ here she picked up the book, disdainfully flicking through it, ‘you think is factual. I would expect a level of media incomprehension from first years, perhaps, but certainly not from the likes of you. And I would know,’ she cast the book down, denting the spine (Hermione dented a book! For him!), ‘because I was there. Or do you like to skip over that bit too because it doesn’t fit neatly into what you want to believe?’ 

There was a stunned sort of silence in the shop. Draco was now able to breathe properly, but he didn’t dare. Hermione whirled towards him, her hair spinning round with her, a cloud of shampoo that he didn’t recognise - she must be at The Burrow, he thought - and slipped her arm through his. 

‘Come on Draco,’ she said, marching towards the exit with her head held high. It was all he could do not to fall over his feet. For a very small person, she was surprisingly strong. ‘Let’s catch up elsewhere.’ 

And then they were out, Hermione still marching him, still holding his arm, and Draco’s mind was left somewhere in a puddle next to McLaggen’s latest flop. 

They calmed their walk (which was trailed by whispers, of course), when Hermione pulled them into a side alley. Then she looked up at him, guilt warring with the righteous anger she felt. He didn’t know whether to laugh or smile or feel shame for needing her.

‘Sorry,’ she said rather breathlessly. ‘I don’t actually know where to go. I was so angry I just wanted to get out of there.’ 

‘I -‘ Draco shook his head. ‘Bloody hell Granger.’ Then he winced, because he sounded like the gormless Weasel. 

‘You shouldn’t listen to them,’ she said, grasping his upper arms. He may or may not have flexed. Some reflexes just couldn’t be kept down, even during panic attacks. ‘They’re idiots, cowards, they weren’t involved and yet they swallow all this garbage about what it was like. Honestly, Cormac was barely involved and he’s a terrible writer and yet they still think they’re getting something out of that crap. They just want the world to be black and white, yet they can’t even admit that they are far from perfect themselves,’ she was babbling again, another tirade directed at the world on his behalf. 

‘Hermione,’ he tried. She stopped, looking up at him. Looking at him full in the face, her own so full of trust and goodness that he felt something sick break inside of him. He didn’t deserve her.

‘We’re going to be in the papers,’ he warned her, a cold sense of dread slicing neatly through the joy. ‘People are going to talk.’

‘Let them,’ she said with a shrug. ‘I don’t care. I’ve had far worse.’ (Yes, she had, and that was partly his fault too. He winced).

‘No,’ he said, stepping away from her. ‘We can’t - you can’t’ he struggled with what he wanted to say. He wanted to tell her that she was far too good for him and he couldn't taint her with his presence - she was the Golden Girl, beloved by the world and he was scum and there was good reason for that. But he was scared and didn’t know how to start, and didn’t want the apologies to come out here, now, in this freezing shitty alley. 

‘I care,’ he tried to say. ‘I care what they say,’

‘You shouldn’t,’ she said, before he could say ‘ about you.’ 

‘It’s not that simple -‘

‘I’m not saying it’s simple, I’m saying you shouldn’t care anyway.’

‘You can say that because it’s easy,’ he snapped. 

‘Easy for me? Oh sure. Yes - my life is so easy! You’re right!’ Her shrill defence had now mounted into hysteria. Draco was aware he had taken a wrong turning, but didn’t know how to correct the course. 

‘You’re not listening to me,’ he tried again. ‘You should stay away from me. We can’t be seen together.’ 

Hermione took a step back.

‘Well,’ she said, and for some reason her eyes filled with tears. Alarm bells rang in Draco’s mind. ‘You made that much clear in Oxford. I should have listened then but clearly I’m an idiot and thought we could be friends. I guess you don’t want me to get in the way of all your fun new rowing friends and now you have heiresses sniffing after you here and all the meetings your mother must have set up with -' here she broke off and sniffed. Before Draco could begin to correct his mistake, she turned and stalked off without even a ‘Merry Christmas.’

The snow fully turned to rain while Draco stood in the alley, staring after her a long while after she’d left. 

——

Draco spent the run up to Christmas agonising over what he had said and how he could make it better.

The papers had been just as bad as he’d expected, a picture of Hermione taking his arm while he looked on, dead-eyed, in Flourish and Blotts even made the front page. He winced every time he saw it. 

His mother had been thrilled, even though the article had explicitly suggested that Hermione had been imperiused, that he was her charity pity project and that she was a gold-digger all in the space of one column. Rita Skeeter, it appeared, held a grudge. 

‘It doesn’t matter what it says, darling,’ Narcissa had been told sharply that he and Granger had bumped into each other and nothing more by an irate and dripping wet Draco, ‘it matters what it looks like. And if we ever want to be welcomed back to wizarding society, then this is exactly the image we need to promote.’ 

Draco felt sickened by it, both by his mother’s callous desire to use Granger, but also because she was right. The day after the picture, the Greengrass family had sent an embossed invite to their New Year’s Eve gala. Narcissa had been thrilled. 

He was also irritated by how much he cared. First he had to acknowledge that Hermione was attractive, and now he had to realise that he also liked her and wanted her friendship? It was too much feeling. He didn’t want things to be like this between them. Had he been younger and rejected, he would have said something awful and started a years long feud (hello, Potter refusing a handshake in first year). But the reformed Draco wanted to mend their friendship, because unfortunately it appeared it now meant a lot to him. Sometimes he wished he was still a dick. That would at least have been easier. 

He skulked about in his rooms drafting pages of his essay, more out of a desire to avoid his life rather than a desire to write it. But even that reminded him of Hermione, because he was using the Gell book she’d tried to steal from him, and because he hadn’t actually ever managed to clear up whether or not she had used a Time Turner, and he wanted to know. 

Plus, the whole reason why he’d been in Diagon Alley in the first place had been to buy a gift for her, and now he wasn’t just without a proper Christmas present, he had also made things worse. 

His moping came to a head on Christmas Eve, when Blaise and Theo both barged into his study halfway through the afternoon. 

‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ He said as he greeted his two closest friends in the world.

‘We’re the reinforcements,’ Theo said, flopping into one of the large leather chairs Draco used in his study. The other chair near the desk was buried under a mountain of screwed up paper. Blaise waved a wand to clear it.

‘Seems like you’re spending too much time around muggles if you can’t even clear this up,’ he drawled, elegantly folding his tall frame into the chair, crossing an ankle neatly over his knee. They both surveyed Draco through slightly narrowed eyes. 

‘That’s my essay you’ve vanished,’ Draco moodily plonked his quill on the desk (ahh, it was lovely to be back using proper writing implements). 

‘It was probably shit anyway.’ 

Draco inclined his head slightly in defeat. It had been utter drivel, even he could admit that. 

‘So,’ Theo said, taking a sniff out of the decanter and pouring them all a healthy measure of firewhiskey. ‘When can we expect the engagement announcement?’ 

‘Excuse me?’ Draco blinked stupidly. 

‘Have you not heard?’ 

Draco hated it when they tag teamed him like this. He knew he was an arse, and mostly deserved any opportunity they had to rip the piss out of him, but not when he was feeling so vulnerable goddamit. 

‘I’m assuming you’re about to enlighten me,’ he said through gritted teeth. They both grinned, wolfishly. 

‘Why, Skeeter’s little article has already started a furious betting market. Odds currently favour a summer wedding next year,’ Theo said with an entirely false air of insouciance. ‘Course, the wider wizarding world don’t know about your noble ambitions in muggle higher education, so I’ve put my money on the summer after.’

‘I can’t imagine that you would ever interrupt your studies for something as frivolous as a wedding,’ Blaise continued, grinning even wider at the shade of puce Draco had turned. ‘I of course said the following autumn. Better humidity for her hair.’ 

‘Shut. Up.’ 

‘What a clever comeback,’ Theo said, nodding. ‘You know, I was sceptical when you said the best muggle university in the world had let you in without any magical involvement, but with a wit like that it’s not hard to see why they welcomed you with open arms.’ 

‘Firstly,’ Draco nearly threw a glass, ‘I got in on my own fucking merit, yes with great thanks to the both of you. And secondly,’ here he had to inhale for a count of four before continuing, ‘secondly, Granger and I are friends, who happened to have a little disagreement. We got to know each other after we found ourselves both at the aforementioned muggle institution.’ 

‘Hang on,’ Theo sat up, ‘she’s at Oxford too? You didn't tell us that!’

‘I saw you the other week and you didn’t mention anything of the sort!’ Blaise had also straightened, looking at him accusatorially. 

‘You were in the middle of something,’ Draco replied nastily. ‘Besides, you know I can’t have owls flying about at all hours - I have to keep correspondence to a minimum. If you just got a phone, or opened your floos every once in a fucking while -‘ 

‘Don’t think you’re getting out of this you little snake,’ Theo said mildly, something amusing and calculating glimmering in his eye. ‘You and Granger, cosying up in Oxford? Why didn’t you tell us earlier?’

‘She’s not studying the same thing is she?’ 

Draco grunted. They both laughed loudly. 

‘Oh imagine, it’s going to be like sixth year all over again,’

‘Moodily staring at each other over library tables,’

‘Squabbling over books,’

‘Pretending he’s not checking to see if she’s there -‘

They stopped when the glasses exploded in their hands. 

‘Little rough, darling,’ Theo cooed. 

‘If you’re not careful, Theo is about to be terribly passé and say these muggles are making you violent and uncouth.’ Blaise winked.

Draco gave them both his best withering glare. They were not withered in the slightest. 

‘Right, well, now we’ve got that out the way,’ he muttered, swirling his wand to mend the glasses. ‘Do either of you want to explain why you’re here?’ 

‘You invited us,’ Blaise rolled his eyes. ‘Weeks ago. And you need reinforcements.’

‘For what?’ 

‘For your general moping,’ Theo waved a hand at the study. ‘Narcissa said you’ve been back for days and this is the first we’ve heard of it, not to mention your little publicity stunt.’

‘No picture should have that much unresolved sexual tension,’ Blaise added unhelpfully. 

‘We came to find out what’s been going on. And then here we turn up, only to find that you’ve spent the last few months flirting with your old enemy over anthrologicalbee things.’

‘It’s anthropology,’ Draco corrected half-heartedly. ‘And I'm fine. I’ve just got quite a lot of work on.’ This was a very noble understatement in Draco’s opinion. He was drowning in essay drafts. 

‘And that work I assume involved a nice little jaunt to Diagon Alley?’ They were now totally serious as they regarded him. Draco was painfully aware of how knackered he probably looked. 

‘You haven’t really been out in wizarding society since your probation was lifted,’ Theo said softly. ‘The first time in ages and you end up on the front page having an argument with Hermione Granger, of all people. We wanted to check you were okay.’ 

‘We would have come earlier, too,’ Blaise added, ‘but we wanted to give you space. In case you wanted to come to us, first.’ 

Draco buried his head in his hands to hide the guilt. He knew he did not deserve friends like these, as interfering as they were. It was added to the roiling pit of things he considered he did not deserved, like Hermione Granger. 

‘Alright,’ Draco mumbled through his hands. ‘What do you want to know?’ 

There was shuffling, as the two men sat back into more genuinely comfortable positions. They filled up his glass, and Draco was able to lift his head to drink deeply. Wherever this conversation was going, it was going to need alcohol. 

‘When did you first realise she was there too?’ Blaise started gently. 

‘The first departmental social. Literally the first week,’ Draco sighed. ‘We have a mutual friend, so it turns out we spend quite a lot of time together.’ 

‘Like in a group?’ Theo prodded. 

‘Yes. Well, not all the time,’ Draco shifted as he realised that after Alice and rowing people, Hermione was the person he saw the most frequently. ‘She tried to steal my book, I gave her some chocolate coins in exchange for information on Secret Santa.’

‘Secret what?’ 

‘It’s a muggle Christmas thing, I got a mug,’ Draco said absently, as he suddenly had a thought. ‘Hang on,’ he grabbed a scrap of parchment and quickly scribbled down an idea. 

‘Right,’ Theo said, eyeing him suspiciously. Draco was too absorbed in what he was thinking to notice the glance he and Blaise shared. 

‘And has she…you know?’ Here Blaise paused delicately. 

‘If you’re asking has she forgiven me, it appears so,’ Draco avoided their eyes. ‘Though we haven’t really - it hasn’t…well it hasn’t come up explicitly.’

‘So you just kind of,’ Theo waved his free hand about airily. ‘Pretend that it’s all cool?’ 

‘I mean, yeah,’ Draco said lamely. ‘Sort of. We told people that I bullied her at school because, well, I did, but obviously they don’t know about everything…else.’ 

Theo and Blaise looked at him. Draco felt as though he was being interviewed. 

‘Right,’ Blaise said, exchanging another glance with Theo. Draco saw it this time. ‘And is it? ‘Cool’?’ 

Draco shrugged. 

‘I don’t know. Well, I had actually bollocksed it up a bit which was why I was in fucking Diagon in the first place, but then I made it worse by freaking out and then she thought I didn’t want to be her friend and said some weird stuff about meetings that I still don’t understand even though I’ve been thinking about nothing else since it happened and I’ve got an essay to write which is going terribly because I can’t ask her about time,’ Draco inhaled sharply. Theo and Blaise were still looking at him, though now there was humour in their gazes. Draco narrowed his eyes. ‘What.’ 

‘You’re in a bit of a tizz, I’d say,’ Theo said mildly. 

‘You do seem to be quite worked up darling,’ Blaise agreed. 

‘Well, yeah,’ Draco said lamely. ‘She’s my friend.’ 

He wished he hadn’t blushed when he said that last bit. Theo let out a hoot of laughter. 

‘Oh sweet little friends! This is too much. Skeeter would die if she knew the truth.’

‘She’s not going to,’ Draco snarled. ‘I haven’t even apologised to Hermione for pissing her off in the first place, let alone this shite.’ 

‘Hermione,’ Blaise murmured, steepling his fingers and gazing at the ceiling. ‘Hermione. What a lovely name. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say it before.’ 

‘Enough,’ Draco warned. 

‘This has been much more illuminating than I thought,’ Theo nodded, topping up his drink. ‘I think there’s only one thing to do.’ 

‘Ah, yes. Brilliant,’ Blaise sat up straight again. ‘I agree, doctor Nott.’ 

‘I don’t want to do whatever you want to do,’ Draco mumbled quickly. 

‘Time for a patient visit,’ Theo nodded. ‘We’ll have to come and inspect this Oxford ourselves.’ 

‘Absolutely not.’ 

‘Why?’ Blaise pouted. ‘It’s not like we can’t mingle with muggles. We spend most of our time in muggle London now.’

‘And you look like you’re in need of a proper night out,’ Theo jerked his chin at Draco’s eye bags. ‘All work and no fun or whatever the saying is.’ 

‘Are you afraid of what we’ll say when we see Hermione ?’ 

‘Blaise and I have impeccable manners,’

‘And we didn’t aggressively bully her at school either. We’ve got a way better chance than you.’

‘Chance at what?’ 

‘Who knows,’ Blaise grinned. ‘I, of course, am semi-taken, but Theo might be on the lookout for a brainy witch to keep him occupied.’

‘She really is quite pretty - course, she always was after the teeth thing. You were the only person too stubborn to see it.’ 

Draco sat and squirmed. He knew they were baiting him, yet it was working all the same. 

‘You can do what you like,’ he tried to say breezily. It came out a bit constipated instead. ‘We’re just friends.’

‘Of course,’ Blaise agreed. 

‘Lovely little friends,’ Theo nodded.

‘Well, once you solve whatever little drama you’ve got going on at the moment.’ 

‘Ah, yes. I don’t suppose you’ll tell us what it all started with in the first place?’

‘Absolutely not.’ Draco would rather give up magic forever than admit to them that they’d fallen out after he’d drunkenly convinced her to flirt with him under some terribly thin pretence. 

They both let out overdramatic sighs. Draco pretended he didn't care, though his body felt prickly all over and his stomach was churning. Really, eight weeks of semi-friendship and suddenly he was reduced to this. He had to make it up to Hermione, if only to warn her about Theo and Blaise’s incoming visit. 

‘Now that you’ve both ascertained that i’m not about to kill myself, are you going to fuck back off to wherever you came from?’ 

It was their fault that Draco was being defensive, really. 

‘Not at all,’ their grins deepend. Theo withdrew a small vial from his breast pocket. Whatever was inside was dark green and slightly iridescent. 

‘We’re going to have a wee bit of festive fun.’ 

Draco, at least, managed to smile back at that.  

Chapter Text

Michaelmas holidays 2

‘Is that all you’re going to eat?’

The dining room at The Burrow was filled with people. While it was customary for all of the Weasley’s to return to their home for Christmas, once you added partners and grandchildren into the mix then the usually cramped conditions multiplied by a thousand. Despite the anonymity that the chaos provided, Hermione was wedged in between Ginny and Ron. While Ron may have not been the most observant, and was currently engaged in a heated debate on the Chudley Cannons’ latest season with Bill, Ginny’s focus was laser sharp.

Hermione sighed as she pushed her dinner around her plate. She had done a lot of that, recently, sighing and not eating properly.

‘I’m not that hungry, Gin.’

‘If you’re going to insist on moping and crying you might as well be full and unhappy.’

Hermione glared at her, and Ginny glared right back. She had only cried once and that was immediately after she’d returned from Diagon Alley. She’d nearly splinched herself; she had been in such a rush to apparate back. Ginny had found her hiding in their room, dripping wet and snivelling. Hermione had refused to explain what had happened, until the Prophet the next day had come out and then all hell had broken loose.

Molly had burst into tears when she read it, demanding answers to increasingly ridiculous questions to prove she wasn’t under some kind of evil enchantment. After Hermione hadn’t been able to remember what colour jumper she had been wearing the first time they’d ever met in Diagon Alley, Arthur ushered her out of the way, before coming back to gently ask if everything was okay.

That was when Hermione had told the rest of the Weasleys that her and Draco were friends at Oxford. Ginny had added that he was slightly less odious than he had been at school, and then George had pointed out that if he was less odious, how come Hermione was more upset than they’d seen her in years? Ron had then added that Ginny was exaggerating - he wasn’t a terrorist anymore but he was still a dick, and then he was interrogated as to why this development hadn’t been mentioned before. Ron mumbled something about forgetting, prompting a full-scale argument when Hermione tried not to cry again and was forced to loudly exclaim that no, Draco was no longer a Death Eater and was in her eyes fully reformed, but actually they probably weren’t even friends anymore because he didn’t want to be and she was totally fine with that so if they could all just drop it, that would be great. No matter how hard the rest of them tried, she refused to elaborate further.

Hermione told herself that it was because privacy was hard enough to come by in The Burrow and she’d hold onto whatever she could, but if she was being honest with herself, it was mainly because she wasn’t really able to fully articulate why she was so upset in the first place. Her and Draco had squabbled at the party, but the more Hermione thought back to their argument, the less she had been able to explain why she’d been so cross. After reflecting that it was probably induced by too much drinking, she had resolved that when they returned in Hillary term, she would track him down and make amends.

But then she had seen him in Flourish and Blotts.

Hermione felt like such an idiot for not considering the implications of him being out and about in wizarding society. She had become so accustomed to seeing him pottering about Oxford that she had forgotten who he had been. What he represented to their society. But she had recognised that eerie tension in his body, the slight trembling, the blank expression as he stared down at the table and Hermione had felt so sad for him she had to help. She didn’t even think twice about taking his hand, or defending him, and had genuinely believed what she said. Draco was reformed, and deserved a second chance.

Of course, then he’d been such an arse to her. He hadn’t wanted to be seen with her because it was probably damaging to all those old pure blood ideals and families that Narcissa was definitely still courting. Hermione knew that while the war had outwardly brought an end to the beliefs that had led to it, those same beliefs still lurked out of sight. She knew that Narcissa probably still held onto them, as much as the other pureblood families. And Draco was a Malfoy at the end of the day, blip in personal record notwithstanding. He was rich, eligible and would become powerful again at some point. The thought depressed Hermione. Not the fact that he would be able to return to a way of life, but the fact that his way of life didn’t have space for people like her. The boy who had teased her at school was still there, it turned out.

And that was why she had cried. Because she hadn’t realised how desperately she had wanted to believe the Malfoy she knew in Oxford. The man who had grown to think for himself, was slightly silly and played around with party magic just to make her laugh. But how could she begin to articulate that to a family who rightfully hated him, and everything he represented? There was no way she could start to convince Molly or Arthur that Draco was a different person, especially now that she wasn’t sure herself. Not even Ginny had heard the extent of their disagreement, and Hermione could tell her friend was sad she hadn’t confided. Hermione just felt so stupid saying it all out loud that she couldn’t bear to put it into words. She had been humiliated. The last thing she wanted was for people who never would have given him a second chance to look at her as though she was silly for doing so.

She thought back to his Christmas gift with a deep ache of embarrassment. How ridiculous, to go to all those lengths based on an off-hand comment. As if they could ever share inside jokes. The certificate of spell authenticity, which she had used her own influence with Kingsley to rush through in time, lay accusatorially in her trunk upstairs. All for a stupid little spell that would staple more than one page together. She had planned to owl them to him tomorrow. Now she’d rather eat it.

‘We might as well help clean up,’ Ginny interrupted her miserable reverie. She’d been gentle with Hermione at first, but seemed to understand that Hermione wanted to be moody by herself, so she’d quickly reverted to her own kind of tough love. ‘That way you don’t have to explain to mum that you’re not hungry.’

Molly had, despite many conversations from pretty much every member of the family, become convinced that Hermione was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. This had, of course, engendered her own nervous breakdown. She could barely watch Hermione move throughout the house without tearing up, or loudly whispering that were they sure that Malfoy boy hadn’t done something to her?

Hermione plastered on a smile while they awkwardly moved around, shouting for all plates to be deposited at the kitchen end of the table. Molly patted her hand in thanks, eyes tearing up from a combination of worry and the champagne that had been Fleur’s Christmas gift to the proceedings.

They managed to heave most of them into the kitchen with ease, using a combination of carrying by hand and wandwork. Hermione levitated the last of the plates into the sink, walking over to check everything was up to Molly’s strict standards, when she was stopped in her tracks.

A large owl was waiting patiently by the kitchen window. Hermione was stunned. She had never seen a black owl before, but this one’s feathers were almost iridescent; they were so deep and glossy. It would have blended seamlessly into the night, were it not for the eyes that reflected the moonlight. Hermione stared at it over the sink. She knew, in the same way that she knew what her name was, exactly who’s owl it was.

‘You don’t have to do that by hand,’ Ginny’s voice interrupted their staring contest. The owl blinked, once, as if daring her to waste any more of its time.

‘I’m not -’ Hermione replied, shaking herself out of it. ‘Sorry, I was just staring at this owl?’

‘What ow-oh,’ Ginny came next to her to see the bird, her voice softening as she took it in. ‘Wow,’ she said softly. The owl ruffled its feathers slightly, much more pleased with this reception. Hermione’s mouth flattened into a line.

‘Quite.’

‘It’s from him, isn’t it.’

‘I think so.’

There was a pause. Hermione didn’t move, Ginny fidgeted throughout.

‘Well?’ She finally asked, nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet.

‘Well what?’ If Hermione snapped, it was only because of the owl.

Ginny rolled her eyes. ‘Oh come on. Are you going to open the window or am I?’

The sound of the Weasley Christmas Eve festivities were beginning in the room next door. Ron’s voice floated over the others, declaring that it wasn’t fair he was going last in their annual board game. Arthur had insisted on Monopoly this year. Hermione thought this was a surefire way to ensure Weasley Civil War. She weighed up retreating to listen to twenty people squabble over game rules, then sighed and wrenched open the window.

The owl hopped in, landing over the sideboard instead of perching on the mountain of washing up merrily churning away in the sink. It hooted once, then stuck out its leg with the grace of a prima ballerina. Hermione managed to stop herself from rolling her eyes at its dramatics, but only just.

‘Hello,’ Ginny cooed, offering a treat. The owl sniffed it, then took it gingerly, still holding its leg out. Ginny went to unwrap the small gift and scroll attached, but it snapped at her.

‘Oh!’ They both jumped. The owl hooted again, clearly getting impatient now.

‘I think you’re the only one who can take it,’ Ginny said, slightly breathless still.

‘Right,’ Hermione drew herself up and tried to stop her hand from trembling. She didn’t want this dumb owl to get any more of a superiority complex, when its ego was clearly as big as its master’s. She reached out, quickly untying the scroll and box, and moved away. The owl hooted once more, blinked at both of them, and disappeared into the night.

‘Why do I feel like we’ve just been judged by a bird?’ Ginny said, somewhat dazed.

‘Probably because we have,’ Hermione sighed. She looked down at the scroll. Whatever he had written, it appeared to be long.

‘Well?’ Ginny asked again, following her eyes.

‘I’m not going to read it in front of you!’

‘Oh, come ON Hermione! You’ve been moping for days, I deserve a little excitement! This can be my Christmas present!’

‘I already have your Christmas present.’ Hermione hid the scroll behind her back. She had been rotten company that was true, but that didn’t mean that Ginny was allowed to read her correspondence. ‘I’ll tell you what it says after, alright? I just think I should read it myself first.’

Ginny rolled her eyes spectacularly. ‘You’ve been an absolute nightmare since becoming ‘friends’ with him,’ she said. ‘So dramatic. So secretive. So Slytherin. I can’t wait for us all to go back to hating him.’

‘May I remind you that you and Alice took great pleasure teasing us about getting together on Bonfire Night?’ Hermione flushed, but that was only because it was so hot in the kitchen.

‘Yeah, well, that was the gins.’

‘We hadn’t even drunk anything at that point.’

‘I was drunk on the atmosphere.’

Hermione gave her a look, to which Ginny raised an eyebrow that clearly said ‘hurry up and read it so you can finally tell me what’s going on.’

The only room with a working lock in The Burrow was the downstairs loo. So that was where Hermione found herself, sitting down on the toilet seat, propped up amongst the various old wellies, Quidditch boots and slightly mouldering wizarding comics that were stashed down the side for entertainment.

She steadied herself as she surveyed the letter and box. There was a seal on the scroll, probably made with the signet ring that Draco wore on his pinky finger. It seemed the right size, after all. The wax was a deep green, almost black, with a slight sheen throughout it. The one difference with the ancient Malfoy seal was the lack of motto. At some point, he'd had a new ring and  seal designed, one without Sanctimonia Vincet Semper. Hermione didn’t know when he’d done that, and wondered if it mattered. There was a slight tang when she touched it, another sign of enchantment, and one likely to indicate that only Hermione would be able to open it.

Intrigued now by the lengths Draco had gone to to ensure only she would receive his missive, and buoyed by the idea that if it was awful she was already surrounded by everyone she loved, she ran a fingernail underneath, popping it open.

Hermione,

Hermione was slightly surprised she hadn’t returned to Granger. She was also annoyed that she was pleased.

Hi. This is about draft one million of this letter, because the words keep coming out wrong, so I'm sorry if it’s rubbish. If I draft it again, I’ll go blind (or my mother will get so irritated about my absence and she will blind me herself.)

I have a lot of explaining to do, and I’m sorry I’m taking the cowardly way out and doing it by letter. I was way too scared to turn up at the The Burrow and risk Molly Weasley’s wrath. I saw what she did to my aunt, and I don’t fancy getting in the way of that. That’s probably the smallest thing I should be sorry about in the grand scheme of things, but it’s a start.

I am sorry.

I want to explain the other day. I was in Diagon because I wanted to get a Christmas present for you. I felt so shit about how I’d behaved at the dinner, and I know Alice came to talk to us both, but honestly I can’t even remember what we squabbled about because I was a drunk arse and I wanted to make it up to you. So my plan was to buy you some kind of book that you hadn’t yet read, say I was sorry, and then we could go back to exchanging chocolate coins and bumping into each other in the Gladstone Link without animosity.

Instead, I had a panic attack in the middle of the bookstore and you were wonderful and defended me. After that, everything I said came out totally wrong. I wanted to say, and I should have said, that I cared about being photographed for you. I would never be ashamed to be seen with you, and I am sorry if my conduct made you think that I hadn’t actually changed the awful opinions I held as a teenager. I want to make it clear that I do not believe any of that rubbish, and never will again. I was more concerned that your reputation would be damaged by your association with me. I know we’re not exactly spending a lot of time in the wizarding world at the moment, but we will return to it eventually. If I negatively impact your reputation in it, then I would never forgive myself.  

So what I’m trying to say is - I’m sorry for being a dick. You deserve better from your friends - having now been at the receiving end of what you do for them (thank you, by the way), I feel doubly ashamed that I wasn’t able to stand up for you when it mattered.

I also want to thank/warn you. Because while your reputation may have been damaged, the uncomfortable matter is that mine has been improved by association with you. Mother received an invitation to the Greengrass’s New Years party the day after - not a coincidence I am sure. I would love to invite you as a friendly thank you, but also understand if you don’t want to come. Also, it’s going to be incredibly boring. But I don’t want you to think that I’m using you? Because I would not do that either. I would at least hope that you have enough faith in my abilities to be a terrible person, that if I was using you I would be better at it.

(Here there was a sentence that had been scribbled out so thoroughly Hermione couldn't even begin to guess as to its meaning).

Anyway, I’m going to wrap this up now. I have many more things I need to apologise for, but I need to do those in person. You deserve much more, but I can at least promise you that.

Finally, before my embarrassing little display in F&B, I realised that you probably have read every book in there, so my present idea was crap anyway. You also must get given books all the time, which I'm sure is lovely, but sometimes it’s nice to have something else. Please accept the attached offering as a token of my forgiveness. It’s charmed too, so you’ll never lose it.

Your friend,

Draco

P.S. I would also apologise for the meetings, except I’m not having any meetings and I’m not sure what that bit meant? So please accept my slightly confused apology. Well, I did see Blaise and Theo, but that was only yesterday. You can probably blame them for the absolute state of this, I don’t think my brain has kicked back in yet. Also, Happy Christmas.

Hermione’s hands shook slightly as she placed the scroll down and picked up the small box. It was a proper jewellery box, one of those leather ones with a faint gold outline that had clearly faded over centuries. It opened easily for her. It was lucky Hermione was not the romantic sort, because otherwise she would have got carried away that it had been waiting, just for her.

A gold coin on a fine chain lay nestled on a velvet bed. The coin itself looked ancient, and Hermione felt a thrill go through her as she traced its face. It looked almost Roman, perhaps, or Ancient Greek, except there was no way that Draco would give her something so priceless.

But that looked an awful lot like Athena on the front, holding her sword aloft.

Hermione didn’t have much jewellery - she was a practical person and didn’t think much of it. At least, that was what she had told herself. Staring at the medallion, Hermione realised that actually she liked jewellery very much. She quickly lifted it out of the box, clasping it round her neck. It lay perfectly just above the hollow of her chest. The gold was subtle, not too yellow, and warmed her complexion. In the cracked mirror over the sink, Hermione thought she looked pretty.

It was a ridiculous gift, of course. Totally unnecessary in every way. The letter was enough - (the letter, Hermione had so much to think about that) - and yet she was thrilled he had thought to give her something. Draco had been right, of course. She did get given an awful lot of books. Which was lovely, because she adored books.

But still, books and necklaces were very different kinds of presents. He had clearly known how rattled she would have been by their encounter. His letter was rambling, but it had cut to the heart of her insecurity and managed to ease her fears. Whether she believed him or not she still had to consider, but he at least had understood why she had been hurt.

She wasn’t sure when she had started comparing her relationship with Ron to her friendship with Draco, but she was sure that Ron hadn’t once employed the requisite emotional intelligence to understand exactly why he had upset her. He always apologised after their fights, but never without her explaining it first. Whereas Draco…

She needed to reread the letter again to digest everything it had said. She didn’t want to just forgive him outright, didn’t want to say it was all fine just because of one letter and a nice necklace, because his actions had brought up a whole shared history of pain. But she couldn't escape the lightness in her chest any more than she could escape the smile threatening to overtake her face.

The rest of the night passed quickly, Hermione’s lighter mood making her laugh louder and smile brighter. She found herself able to enjoy the champagne properly, and knew that Ginny would be eagerly waiting for an explanation of her change of mood.

Despite all the Weasley children now being fully grown up, Ginny and Hermione still shared a room. Hermione had tried to suggest she room with Ron (as weird as that would be), but Molly had refused. When Hermione had pressed the matter, Ginny told Hermione under her voice that Molly was trying to hurry a wedding up, and was waging a war of attrition through sleeping arrangements.

Hermione was very grateful for it that evening however, as they tumbled into their bed.

‘Well?’ Ginny whispered as the lights went out. They had cast muffliatos, but there was something about whispering in the dark that just felt right.

‘He apologised,’ she whispered back.

‘Obviously, you walked back in like a completely different person. What did he say?’

‘He said he had been worried about being photographed together for my reputation,’ Hermione replied. ‘And I thought - Gin I was an idiot. I thought he didn’t want to be seen with me because of the whole mudblood thing.’

Ginny shifted uncomfortably, but Hermione ignored it.

‘And that’s not it?’

‘No. I believe him,’ Hermione realised she did as she said it. ‘He was horrified, I think, that his behaviour could have been seen as that. He had a panic attack in the bookshop, we genuinely had just bumped into each other. I think he was staring at Cormac’s new book,’ Ginny made a sound of distaste, ‘and it brought it all back. I don’t know. We haven’t spoken about it. But he was having a panic attack and I stood up for him, and then when we walked out he freaked out. I thought it was because he had been seen with me but now I realise it’s because I was seen with him.’

‘He’s got a point,’ Ginny sighed. ‘You saw how mum was - and she loves you.’

‘You don’t think I care, do you?’ Hermione asked, shocked.

‘No,’ Ginny snorted. ‘I know you better than that. I just think he was wise to be aware of it. It’s a small world after all, and you’ll come back to it eventually. I know it’s weird to say, but you could do a lot worse than having a friend who at least has an understanding of how these things are perceived.’

‘You know I’m never going to get used to this. It’s stupid.’

‘It’s people. And you’re famous,’ Ginny reminded her. Hermione squirmed. ‘Anyway, if he is so worried about you being seen together, why was he shopping on the busiest day of the year?’

‘He wanted to get me a present,’ Hermione had gone slightly pink in the dark. ‘We had squabbled over something stupid - I can’t even remember now, we were drunk - and he wanted to get me a book and say sorry.’

‘Oh,’ Ginny said. Hermione could tell by her tone that she was turning things over in her mind. ‘The package wasn’t book-shaped.’

‘No,’ now Hermione really was grateful for the dark, because it was hiding the nice shade of raspberry she had turned. ‘He had the panic attack first so didn’t have time to get anything. And then, well he gave me a necklace instead.’

‘A necklace?’ Hermione hated Ginny’s tone. It told her that there were many questions Ginny could ask her right now, but she had decided to take pity on Hermione, only if for a moment.

‘A medallion. Here,’ she looped it over her neck and held it out. Ginny whispered a soft lumos so she could see.

‘Oh,’ she said softly.

‘Yeah,’ Hermione replied uneasily. ‘Yeah.’

Ginny gave it back to Hermione, turning her wand light off. There was a pause that was filled with the rustling of sheets.

‘It’s a very nice necklace.’

‘It is.’

‘Not a book.’

‘No, not a book.’

‘You get a lot of books.’

‘Yes.’

‘Not a lot of necklaces.’

‘No.’

They were silent for a while, and Hermione was sure that Ginny was drifting off. Her own mind was whirring so fast that she knew rest was a long way off. She also now had to think about what to reply.

She could give him the stapling spell after all. She had even wrapped it before he had been a dick. Was she giving in too easy? But then, tomorrow was Christmas.

She would sleep on it tonight, she decided, losing the battle against her smile. She would sleep on it, read the letter again in the morning and see how she felt.

‘I’m glad you’re friends again,’ Ginny said, surprising Hermione.

‘Me too,’ she whispered.

Ginny’s breaths deepened while Hermione turned over her thoughts. She wanted to say yes to the Greengrass party but there was no way she’d be able to get away from the celebrations here without making an enormous fuss. Given the drama of the past few days, she thought it was best not to. Besides, she had been at Hogwarts with that crowd but she had never known them. It would be like walking into a crowd of strangers, except this time there would be no anonymity afforded by a university, and the wizarding world’s eyes would be on them.

No, she decided, slightly crestfallen, she would write to Draco tomorrow and send him his present, along with her apologies. And then she would see him in Oxford, and everything would be normal again.

Chapter Text

Hillary Week 0-1 

Hermione pushed her way to the front of the Porter’s Lodge, suitcase in hand, deja vu strong. 

‘Hi,’ she said, smiling brightly in what she hoped was an encouraging way. The porter smiled back. This was promising. 

‘Hello, Hermione. Nice break?’ 

‘Oh, yes - lovely thanks,’ she lied. Well, half lied. ‘You?’ 

‘It was good, yeah. Nice and quiet round here!’ 

‘I bet it was,’ she politely laughed. She really liked Sid. But he loved to chat, and she just wasn’t sure how long she could wait before getting to the point. 

‘How can I help you?’ 

Perfect. 

‘Well, I understand that the building works -’

‘Ah yes, you were in the hotel last term weren’t you?’

‘Yes,’

‘Right. Well, it’s not great news I’m afraid,’ the smile remained very fixed on Hermione’s face, ‘but we are gradually moving people out as we’re rejigging some other accommodation.’ 

‘Oh, okay. So does that mean…’ Hermione trailed off. 

‘The new accommodation isn't finished, but at some point this term you’ll probably get moved into a house. We’re offering out welcome packs to those still in the hotel though!’

Sweet, kind Sid held up a paper bag. Hermione could see a term calendar, a packet of crisps and judging by the weight of it, an apple. She wanted to scream. 

‘I just don’t understand how or why this is even allowed? I mean, surely this isn’t legal?’ The anxiety was driving the pitch of her voice up. If Ron were around he would joke that she was approaching banshee levels of fury, and everyone should take cover accordingly. 

‘I know, and between you and me they’ve handled it terribly,’ Sid leaned forward, pushing his glasses further up his nose. ‘But there’s some clause or something which means technically it’s all above board. We can’t do anything else I’m afraid, except let you know when we can move you into off-site accommodation.’

‘So I won’t even live on-site?’ Hermione asked. All her aims to be friendly and approachable were melting away in the face of the sheer incompetence she was facing. She wanted to scream. Or break things. Or curse the lot of them. That would be quite the headline for Skeeter - Golden Girl Goes Dark! And Hermione would go to Azkaban for Avada-ing the entirety of the University College Board. At that moment in time, it felt worth it. 

‘I’m really sorry Hermione, I know this has been a total nightmare for all of you. Although on the bright side - you will have your same room again!’

‘Great,’ she replied, trying very hard not to cry out of anger. ‘And is everyone else in their same rooms too?’

‘I can’t really tell you that, ‘cos of privacy, but as long as you promise not to tell anyone -‘ Sid said, quickly understanding her tears were imminent. He checked the computer. ‘Looks like the same gang. Alice has been moved out - they’re working alphabetically, but otherwise the three others are still there!’ 

Hermione didn’t bother to hide her tears that time. She just nodded and left, riding the bus with her stupid suitcase and her stupid hopes all the way back to the miserable hotel she had hoped never to set foot in again. 

It was her fault for coming back early. She had told herself after New Years at The Burrow that she could no longer put off the mountain of work she had to get through. She had been steadily chipping away at her essay and was actually pretty happy with how it was coming together. Not that it was due in - for the Medical Anthropology strand they had four timed essays at the end of Trinity term instead of deadlines scattered throughout the year. But Hermione thought it best to get on top of the topics studied in first term while the information was still fresh in her mind, so she had set herself little essays to help her digest what she had learnt. 

She may have felt on top of course work, but research for her parents had taken a terrible back seat and she was starting to lose sleep over it.

She was running out of time, she knew it. If she could make it to the summer, perhaps, then she’d have enough research to at least attempt to make some changes. As long as she could stabilise the decline first, then she’d be able to bring them back to the UK. Of course, she could always use magic and make them come with her. But after the Obliviation, Hermione knew it would take more than another war for her to attempt casting a spell on them again. Besides, any more cognitive magic might really impact the way their brains were working, and she just couldn’t take the risk. 

So Hermione had read and written essays by hand and quill and missed her laptop and her access to the library until Harry had quietly told her the day or so after New Years that if she needed to go back everyone would understand. 

Hermione had hugged him, hard, and once again felt the relief that she had ended up friends with Harry James Potter. Harry and Hermione did not talk much about her parents - he understood that the topic was forbidden unless she brought it up (normally while drunk and slightly morose), but he understood better than the others how Hermione felt. And he never pushed her too hard to engage when her mind was so clearly elsewhere. George had made a few comments about her ‘Darling Draco Distraction necklace’, but Harry at least had comprehended that Hermione’s real distraction had nothing to do with the man and everything to do with the number of impossible tasks she had set herself. But really, if she was as clever as everyone said she was, then why couldn’t she fix it? 

--- 

Draco wished he hadn’t been quite so indulgent over the Christmas break, as the stress of typing his essay up right before the deadline combined with a cumulative three-day hangover was giving him heart palpitations. 

He’d finished it to a degree which he considered reasonable before the New Year’s party, then gone on a (very mild and sensible) bender with Theo and Blaise, and then remembered too late that it wasn’t actually finished because it was still lying on the parchment he’d scribbled it down on and not anywhere near the laptop that had been mouldering in his bag ever since he’d returned home. 

There was a small mercy in that he hadn't needed to remember to number his pages, because they were stapled together with Hermione Granger’s brand new spell, invented just for him. 

When he thought about that he went a bit giddy. But that was probably more to do with the cocktail of potions still in his bloodstream than anything else. At this point a sober-up potion was also a bad idea. Anything more in his stomach was likely to do more harm than good. He cursed Blaise, Theo and his lack of control, and then for good measure cursed the entirety of pureblood society too. If they weren’t so boring, he would never have been forced into revelry of a Bacchanalian standard and would have had a nice and polite time, instead. 

Admittedly, it had been very fun. Unfortunately, he didn’t think that would count as an excuse for a late hand-in. 

And so Draco was pulling a Granger and sitting, disillusioned in the Upper Radcliffe Camera way past closing time, trying to type as quickly as he could before the deadline the next morning. 

As an afterthought, he also cursed the Social Anthropology faculty for setting handins disgustingly close to Christmas. Didn’t they want him to have a break?! 

He wished he was quicker at typing, but every time he tried to speed up he kept making errors. He also hadn’t formatted any of his footnotes and it was - he checked the time on his mobile, resurrected now he was back in the muggle world - 3am. Handin was online at nine. This would be fine, right? Six hours was a long time? 

He wished Hermione still had that time turner. 

Actually - maybe…? 

He was too desperate to second-guess messaging her at three am. 

‘SOS: Don’t suppose you’ve still got that Time Turner…?’ 

She replied much too quickly for the middle of the night. 

‘I never had a time turner, no idea where you got that idea from… And why are you up?!’

‘I could ask you the same thing’

‘Research’

‘Of course’

‘You?’

‘Hand in soon. Typing up. Not v fast and references still to go’

‘Need a hand?’ 

‘Seriously?’ 

‘Am hidden in DH. I can withdraw your lifetime ban if you truly are on the brink of a mental breakdown.’ 

‘I know the goddess thing was a joke but am starting to believe it’s real. Am in RadCam. See you in a sec’  

Draco snuck through the Gladstone Tunnel, alohamora-ing as he pleased. It was times like these that he really had no idea how muggles functioned without magic. 

Hermione was hidden in one of the alcove desks, right underneath the portrait of Elizabeth I. The library was almost pitch black, though the smell was the same - that mix of old books and wood polish. There was a stillness in the air that might have been eerie had Draco not grown up in various creepy old houses, with shelves rising seemingly out of nowhere. The only source of light was the small puddle emitted from the desk lamp that Hermione had switched on. 

‘I spelled the blinds so light won’t leak, don’t worry,’ she whispered as he approached. 

‘Granger, I am far past worrying about light leakage,’ he replied slightly hoarsely. It was the first time they had seen each other since Diagon Alley. Her face was lit oddly by the lamp. With one side in light and the shadows stretching across her she looked mysterious, powerful and, now Draco looked at her properly, tired. 

‘You look knackered,’ she said, appraising him just as intently as he had been appraising her. 

‘Piss off. So do you. And why are we whispering if no one is here?’ 

‘It just feels right,’ she sniffed. ‘This is a library after all.’ 

He grinned, despite himself. Sometimes she was so…Granger-y. 

‘Did you have a nice Christmas?’ He asked. She rolled her eyes. 

‘Let’s do small talk another time. You have five and a half hours, I’m sure you don’t want to fill it with news about the Weasley family’s celebrations,’ Draco shuddered. ‘Now, what do you need help with?’

‘Everything,’ Draco said only a little dramatically, as he flopped into the chair next to her, pulling out his laptop and essay draft. 

He spread out his work across the long dark wood desks, feeling slightly calmer now he was in the presence of someone who could type marginally quicker than he could.

‘It just takes me so long,’ he whined. Now that he was saying it out loud he was slightly embarrassed to have called on her for help typing, but really, it was an emergency. She was fighting a smirk, the corner of her lip twitching. 

‘Do you want me to type and proof the essay, or start on the footnotes? I can do them on my laptop and then email them across if you like.’ 

‘Salazar, Hermione,’ he almost moaned. ‘Would you? Would you actually do the footnotes?’ she was cupping her chin in her hand, smiling. Her eyes were bright with amusement, and she didn’t look so tired anymore. 

‘I will really do the footnotes. I find them quite soothing anyway. Besides, I'm hitting a bit of a wall with this,’ she shuffled her papers out the way, turning the spines of the books away from Draco. 

‘This is why Potter managed to kill the Dark Lord, isn't it. Because he had you, sorting all the footnotes.’ 

She snorted. ‘There weren’t many footnotes involved in that. And I’m only helping you if you get on with it - I’m not doing the whole thing,’ she reached across and lifted his laptop lid up. ‘Come on,’ she said, rapping the top of it sharply. 

‘Yes ma’am,’ he replied, ‘or perhaps Your Holiness? Omnipotent footnoter? Which would you prefer?’ 

‘Shut up and write your bloody essay,’ she whispered back, grinning slightly. 

They passed an hour in fairly companionable silence. Draco was occasionally distracted, thinking about the evenings they had spent in the Hogwarts library, glaring at each other over books. He would occasionally experience pangs of sadness for his younger self, and the many years he had wasted being a complete twat. If only he had been less unbearable, perhaps he and Hermione would have become friends earlier and their academic rivalry could have been fun instead of the destructive thing it had been. 

But then he’d catch a glimpse of Hermione’s movements - the way her fingers flew over the keyboard (Draco was jealous), the slight movements she’d occasionally make stretching out her neck or shifting her hair over a different shoulder - and he’d feel glad that at least they had this time now. 

Draco brought a thermos of coffee out of his satchel after a bit and was about to pour himself a cup when Hermione gasped. 

‘What is it?’ He asked, peering over at her screen. Had he cited something terrible? Was he making a huge mistake and his essay was an enormous pile of shit, as he had feared? 

‘You can’t drink in here,’ she hissed, glaring at the offending thermos. 

‘Oh for Godrick’s sake,’ he muttered. ‘You scared the crap out of me.’ 

‘I’m serious Draco! No liquids in Duke Humphries!’ 

‘No one is here,’ he reminded her, rolling his eyes extra dramatically to hammer home what a silly good-two-shoes she was being. 

‘The rules are here for a reason. These books are very old,’ she eyed the rows of ancient tomes meaningfully. They were carefully restrained behind thin wire. ‘Besides, they’re alarmed .’ 

Draco tried not to snort but alas, he caught it too late. ‘You think the books are going to tell on me?’ 

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she snapped. ‘In your state you could easily spill it over them.’ 

This wasn’t a million miles from the truth - Draco’s hand was shaking, but only slightly. 

‘I’ll drink it right in the middle of the aisle, how about that,’ he replied in a supreme show of goodwill. ‘I’ll be far away from the books.’ 

‘I really disapprove of this,’ she told him disapprovingly.  

‘You have made that very clear,’ he said, standing and pouring out a cup. He could tell the moment the aroma hit her because she started to eye the cup. He made a bit of a show of inhaling and taking the first sip. 

‘God this is delicious,’ he sighed, hiding his smile in another sip. ‘Coffee is such a great invention, don’t you think? Much more pleasant than pepper-up.’ 

Hermione turned back to the screen. Draco grinned. 

‘This blend, for instance, was a Christmas present. I have an obnoxiously expensive coffee machine of course, and if I don't use the best beans then I feel it’s offensive.’ 

‘Of course you do,’ she muttered. 

‘What are you drinking these days? Instant?’ 

‘Piss off,’ she muttered. ‘Or I shall reference everything incorrectly.’ 

‘Just seeing if you would like a cup that’s all,’ he said quickly, ‘no need to be vindictive. Leave the innocent footnotes out of this.’ 

She turned to look at him through narrowed eyes. But he could tell she wanted one. 

‘Go on Granger. I didn’t put any milk in either. Just how you like it.’ 

‘You’ve only got one cup,’ she replied, with great force of will. 

‘Lucky I’m a wizard then, isn’t it,’ he said, bringing his wand out of his pocket to duplicate the lid of his thermos. He poured a cup and went to set it on the side next to her. 

‘Not there!’ she squeaked. And then sighed as he froze, cup of coffee held out towards her. ‘Fine,’ she whispered, climbing out of her seat to move far into the middle of the dark central passage of the library, practically miles from any books. ‘But only this once, okay?’ 

‘Absolutely,’ he replied. ‘I’ll never break another library rule again, I promise.’ 

‘Hmph.’ She clearly didn’t believe him, which was good, because he was lying. Still, there was something quite fun about winding her up. 

They sipped in silence. Draco enjoyed watching Hermione try to not enjoy it. 

‘So how actually was your Christmas?’ He whispered after a bit. 

‘It was lovely,’ she replied a bit stiffly. ‘Thank you very much for the necklace.’ 

‘No problem,’ he said, shifting. ‘Sorry I was such an arse.’

‘You don’t need to apologise again,’ she muttered awkwardly. 

‘And thanks for the spell,’ he added quickly. ‘That was very cool.’ he could see the flash of her teeth in the dark. 

‘It’s my pleasure,’ she repeated. ‘I’m glad you made good use of it.’ 

‘It’s great,’ he grinned too. ‘And thoughtful.’

‘Did you have fun at the party?’ She asked mildly. Draco sighed. He was glad, in the end, that she hadn’t come. He had regretted inviting her almost the moment he had - it was extraordinarily selfish of him to bring her along to one of those events and expect it to all go fine. Even as a group, even as a friend. He shouldn’t have been so callous to expose her to that. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. 

‘It was a bit boring, and then it got out of hand.’

‘Oh?’ 

‘Stuffy old people for the most part. And then Theo and Blaise and I decided to take it out of hand.’ 

‘How did that go down?’ 

‘There’s a reason I’m pulling an all-nighter,’ he said, as she laughed softly. 

‘Did your mum have a nice time?’ She asked after another moment of silence. It was raining outside, and the wind would occasionally rattle a window. 

‘She did, thanks for asking.’ 

Narcissa had been triumphant. She had fussed over Draco’s robes for hours, insisting on new ones for both of them. The tailor had even come to their home, and Narcissa got to play hostess for the first time since the renovations. He was under no illusion that the number of hothouse flowers that had been brought in were to demonstrate just how different Malfoy Manor had become, and the team of seamstresses were probably still gossiping about the visit. 

It had paid off, much as he’d resented the whole production. He’d watched his mother return to who she had been pre-war, in the glimmer of candlelight, glass of champagne in hand, moving adeptly from group to group. By the end of the night there was no one who she had not spoken to, and there were many murmurs in her wake. Draco had danced with her for the first few, and then Theo and Blaise, and then she had spent the rest of her night swept around by various other distinguished, posh old men. While he had hated that bit especially, he couldn’t deny that she had thrived under some attention. Plus, having a full social card made her much less likely to badger him about home visits. 

‘Granger unable to make it?’ Pansy had said, sidling up to him and handing him a full glass of champagne. Draco had been drinking steadily, if sensibly, through the night and was pleasantly tipsy. 

‘She’s busy,’ he replied, raising a brow at her. Pansy grinned widely. 

‘Who would have thought. How do you know her again?’ 

‘Work,’ Draco had replied stiffly. He’d had many similar conversations over the night, and was bored of them. More evidence that he had been stupid to ask her to come. He tried to feel relieved she had turned him down. 

‘I thought she was at the Ministry?’ 

‘Independent project. Can’t talk about it too much,’ he replied loftily, unwilling to explain to Pansy that they were studying together even though she had literally decorated his Oxford house. 

‘In London or in Oxford?’ 

‘Given up interior decorating and gone straight into investigative journalism, have you Pans?’ 

Pansy snorted. ‘Don’t be crass. How is Oxford, anyway? Are you having fun with all your new muggle friends?’ 

‘Feeling neglected, are we Pans?’ Theo had drawled, arriving just at the right moment. 

‘Feeling bored, more like it,’ she replied. ‘This is dead - don’t tell Daph or Astoria of course. Got anything to make it a bit more fun?’ She asked Theo, eyeing up his breast pocket to see if she could spy a hint of a bulge in the shape of a flask. 

‘I’m so glad you asked,’ Theo flashed a wicked smile. 

And then, it had descended into chaos. 

‘We snuck out right after the fireworks,’ Draco informed Hermione, ‘and then I only just got back today. Well, last night I guess. And came straight here.’ 

‘How are you still upright?’

‘I have no idea.’ 

‘Right, well come on. Coffee break over. You have,’ she checked her watch. ‘Three hours and twenty-seven minutes left. How’s it looking?’ 

Draco made a sort of squawking noise that he was pretty sure was new. 

‘Best crack on then,’ Hermione nodded. 

---

Hermione must have been the biggest idiot in the world, she reflected, as the sun began to rise over the spires of Oxford. 

Her and Draco had finished at eight. She had helped him format the footnotes, scanning the text for any last minute typos, before he had declared that he no longer cared if it was a work of genius or a complete disaster, if he had to read it one more time he’d pluck out his own eyes. 

Hermione had told him it was quite good, and secretly she had felt annoyed that it genuinely had been. No one coming down off a magical bender deserved to be able to function at that level, but Draco appeared, as always, to avoid the rules. 

She had meant to do her own research. She had intended to use the night to get to grips with some writing and a letter that had been in her pidge from the kind Healer from St. Mungo’s, and really start thinking about the beginnings of a treatment plan. The tone of the letter - while kind - was unable to disguise the urgency of the situation. Without care soon, Hermione’s parent’s memories would become corrupted into a kind of magically-induced early Alzheimers. 

If she didn’t find a cure, Hermione would be the cause of her parent’s death.

It was heavy stuff, and she had just been starting to panic when a distraction in the form of Draco had arrived. But then the distraction had proven too distracting, and she hadn’t managed to get back to her own work. 

‘We should pack up,’ Draco said yawning. ‘It’ll be opening soon.’ 

They were both bleary-eyed and slightly grey in the face. Hermione reflected that she was getting too old for this kind of nonsense. 

‘I might just hide in the loos and then crack on with this,’ she gestured weakly to the pile next to her.

‘Granger,’ Draco replied, rubbing his hands over his face. ‘Please don’t be stupid. You need to sleep, I need to sleep. You haven’t even got hand-ins.’

‘I’ve got other stuff,’ she replied, slightly snappy due to the lack of sleep. But Draco was apparently too exhausted to take offence to her tone. 

‘I’m not having any of it. At least let me buy you breakfast. You just saved my life.’ 

Hermione considered this. On the one hand, if she lost her momentum she risked being too tired to start studying again. On the other, she was hungry, and a hashbrown could cure all manner of ills. 

‘Fine,’ she relented, waving a wand over her things to pack themselves up. ‘I agree to breakfast, but only if it's fried.’ 

‘There is no other kind worth having,’ he nodded. ‘Let’s go to Brown’s. I want to be in a thick sausage coma. Wait - not like that -’

It was too much, and she was too tired. Hermione started to giggle slightly hysterically as Draco flushed beet red, stammering over his accidental innuendo. 

‘Stop laughing, please,’ he begged. ‘I swear I didn’t mean it like that -’

‘Stop,’ she gasped, wiping tears from her eyes. ‘I can’t. I’m too sleep deprived for this.’ 

They cast their disillusionments once more, and then Hermione had to silencio herself just because stray giggles kept on coming out. By now library staff were opening up the building, and they had to dodge the number of muggles who kept the Bodleian running. 

‘I can feel you practically vibrating even if you can’t make any noise,’ Draco whispered to her on the stairs. ‘Just pretend I never said anything, alright? We’re going to get caught if you insist on abandoning your sanity.’ 

They didn’t dare surface until round the corner from Brasenose. After checking the coast was clear Draco wordlessly cancelled both their enchantments. Hermione tried to hold it together, but the residual blush on Draco’s cheeks set her off again. 

‘I’m not getting you breakfast if you keep laughing at me.’ he was so stiff-backed that it just made her laugh more. 

‘Oh come on,’ she said in between breaths. ‘Don’t be such a prude.’

‘I’ll be as prudish as I like,’ he muttered as they strode down towards the Covered Market, ‘Just because I wasn’t brought up with all this,’ he gestured at the world around them. 

‘Ah, I forgot about your Victorian upbringing,’ Hermione replied, now back in control of her giggles as she tried to keep up with his long stride. ‘Forgive me, good sir, for the insult.’ She tried a curtsy and tripped over her own feet.

‘Go away Granger.’

‘No. You promised me hashbrowns.’ 

‘I promised you breakfast.’

‘Among other things…’ she laughed again as he ducked into the Market. 

It was busier here than Radcliffe Square, the tourists not yet up but the people who worked in and around Oxford already bustling around. The wide windows of Brown’s eagerly released warm orange light onto the flagstones outside, and the January misery was further dispelled by the fragrant smell of bacon. Hermione’s mouth started to water. Draco sighed. 

‘God, I’m hungry.’ 

They had to resort to more muggle repelling charms to get a seat, and soon they were nestled in the back corner table, sticking slightly to the plastic seats, piles of hot and as promised, fried, breakfasts in front of them. Draco looked like he might genuinely faint from joy as he inhaled reverently. 

They didn’t speak for a while, until Hermione’s plate was at least half empty and Draco’s wiped clean. 

‘I honestly think that’s the first proper meal I've had in days,’ he moaned, eyeing up Hermione’s remaining sausages. She cut into them daintily, and made a show of savouring them. He endured about a minute before getting up to order seconds. 

‘You know, I would probably be jealous of how much fun you had if I hadn’t seen the aftermath,’ she gestured with her fork at him. He was still grey, but the breakfast had managed to take the worst of it off. 

‘I never want to do that again, and I am eternally in your debt, and you are the best and brightest and cleverest witch and woman that ever existed.’ 

‘Ugh. It still feels horridly strange when you’re nice to me.’ 

The truth was Hermione wasn’t sure how many more times she could endure being called brilliant, when the evidence of her stupidity was a hot stone of shame in her bag. 

Draco snorted, luckily still too tired to notice her discomfort. 

‘I can go back to being an evil little bully, but at least let me have a nap first.’ 

His sausage sandwich arrived and he bit into it with gusto. Hermione wasn’t sure how someone could eat so quickly and yet still have such impeccable table manners. A pureblood upbringing certainly counted for some things, she thought privately. 

‘Is Alice back yet?’ Draco asked her, in between mouthfuls. 

‘I don’t know. I should text her.’ 

‘We should all go for a drink when she is.’ 

Hermione once again reflected on the strangeness of sharing a friendship group with Draco Malfoy. 

‘Sounds good,’ she replied, already scheming how she could pretend to drink G&T’s and have lime and sodas, so that she could work after. 

‘Come on then,’ he said after they had finally finished. ‘Bed.’ 

‘Congratulations on your essay, Draco,’ Hermione said, stifling a yawn. ‘You did it.’ 

‘I wouldn’t have without you.’

Hermione shrugged. She’d helped Ron and Harry with their schoolwork too many times to count, by this point it felt like muscle memory. 

‘Seriously, I owe you.’

‘Nah, the breakfast was payment enough.’

‘What about the payment for undoing my lifetime ban of Duke Humphries?’ he asked, managing a grin despite looking dead on his feet. Hermione laughed. 

‘I’ll think about it. Now go home before you pass out.’ 

‘A good idea,’ he nodded. ‘But you have to as well.’

‘I’m going to the High Street - bus.’ 

‘Cool. See ya Hermione,’ he yawned so loudly people stared. Hermione got to watch the amusing instances where people gave him a second glance to check Draco out, ruffled and gleaming in the misty morning sun. Hermione watched him stagger slightly down to Broad Street, before sighing and heading back to the library. 

Chapter Text

Hillary Week 2

‘So it’s sheep intestines?’ 

‘Well, sort of.’

‘And there’s a poem about it?’ 

‘Honestly, you really don’t know this? We went to school in Scotland. How do you know nothing about Burns Night?’ 

‘Because he was a - you know, Granger, don’t make me say it here.’

‘But he was one of the few muggles that actually accurately recorded magical activity - his poem Tam -’

‘No more bloody poetry, alright?’

‘You’re an intellectual heathen.’

‘So I keep on being reminded.’ 

Draco and Hermione were squabbling in hushed tones, standing nestled against the side of the staircase that led to the Balliol College dining hall. Draco had taken one look at the menu and one look at Hermione, and she had rather begrudgingly, he thought, followed him outside for a ‘cigarette’. Well, Draco was smoking. Hermione had rejected the offer. He was trying not to feel put out, but he had accidentally imbimbed a lot of whisky already to really get into the spirit of the evening, and things were ever so slightly blurry. 

‘How pissed are you?’ Hermione asked, as his hand missed the large stone buttress in a casual attempt at a lean. Someone was playing bagpipes somewhere. The wind was blowing against their warming charm, the triangular shape of the dining hall roof adding to the gothic sense of the evening. Draco was rather taken with it all, even if he wasn’t so sure about the reason for the celebrations. At least there was lots of whisky involved. 

‘I thought that was the point of Burns Night,’ he slurred. ‘Drink hard liquor, whirl ladies around, eat innards.’ 

She sighed and folded her arms. 

‘Alright.’ 

Hermione had been funny all evening. He had no idea why. She had skipped pre-drinks and had arrived late, out of breath and slightly frazzled looking. Draco had thought he was being jovial when he asked her whether she had been electrocuted, but perhaps that was a mistake. 

‘Did I say you looked nice?’ He asked, in a valiant attempt to get her back on side. He really should slow down on the whisky. She raised an eyebrow at him, then looked at the nearly finished cigarette between his fingers. 

‘We should go back inside if you’re done. We don’t want to miss the address.’

‘What address?’ he asked stupidly. It had been on the programme he was sure… 

‘Oh come on Draco,’ she snapped. ‘The Address to a Haggis - the poem about the pudding. I thought this was why we were out here in the first place?’ 

‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, looking at his feet so he could sort out which one to put in front of the other.

‘Oh bloody hell,’ she sighed, taking his arm. Her hand was small, and warm. ‘Don’t flex your stupid muscles, Jesus Christ,’ she muttered, rummaging around in her little bag.

‘I’m not flexing,’ Draco lied. 

‘Have a sip of this. Only one mind - I haven’t got loads left.’ 

‘Ooohhh, drugs Granger? I like your style,’ Draco waggled his eyebrows in a show of dashing sexiness and took a tiny fairy sip. Then he spilled some down his chin, and the vial was snatched back. 

‘You owe me another one if you’re going to waste it,’ Hermione said, and her voice was getting clearer by the moment. 

‘Not drugs,’ Draco said, pouting slightly. Hermione really did look cross. And cold. 

‘Can we go back inside now?’ She said, glaring at him. 

‘Sorry for wasting your sober-up,’ he said, able to feel sorry now the worst part of his whiskey fog was fading thanks to the potion.

‘You can brew me another one,’ she said wearily, starting to climb the steps. 

‘Alright,’ he agreed happily. If Hermione wanted to be grumpy he wasn’t going to let it ruin his night. Her ankles flashed up the stairs, Draco feeling every moment of his so-called ‘Victorian upbringing’ as he followed her, slightly more steadily, up. 

Draco had been surprised both he and Hermione had been invited, given Jenny was at Balliol and therefore keeper of the tickets. But it would have been awkward if they weren’t, and Draco supposed that the fight he and Hermione had at Christmas probably had done enough to appease her jealousy. 

Jenny, at least, was on good form, only pressing herself against Draco once when they all sat down again, and then immediately turning to the man on the other side of her who’s name Draco had already forgotten. He was slightly put out when he noticed that Hermione took a seat on the edge of the group (did he smell?), but then Alice asked him which of the portraits he’d rather shag and he allowed himself to be distracted. 

Sort of distracted. It would have been more fun to play the game at Hogwarts, where the portraits would have put their own opinions in. He wondered if Granger had ever had a crush on one of them. There had been a voluptuous, valkyrie sort of woman on the second floor that Draco had always thought very fondly of. She had used to wink at him when she caught him staring at her tits sometimes on the way to charms. It had all been very formative for his eleven-year old self.

Women, unfortunately but not surprisingly, were few and far between on the Balliol walls however, so Draco generously decided to go for the man with the most jewellery on instead. That way, he explained to Alice, at least he’d get something out of being allied with the richest even if he might not enjoy the experience. Alice suggested that he’d probably enjoy it more than he thought, and anyway going for the richest was such a classically him thing to do. (She went for Christopher Hill, the eminent Marxist historian who Draco had never heard of). 

The haggis was processed in along with the bagpipes, poems were read, and when the whisky looked like it was about to run dry Draco surreptitiously refilled it. Hermione hadn’t even noticed his appalling but impressive use of non-verbal magic, as she was talking to the man on the other side of her, too - another Balliol man who Draco had never seen before and who appeared to be very tall, even when sitting down. The lanky sort of tall, though. Not nearly as muscly as Draco. And wearing nerdy glasses that didn’t suit him at all. And his suit was atrociously fitted… he stopped himself. Granger could talk to anyone she wanted to. He had good evidence of her terrible taste in men after all. That bloke was probably exactly her type. He went back to talking to Alice. 

He endured a confused pudding, which after all the whisky appeared to be a creamy sort of blob that even Draco didn’t like very much, and finally the dancing could begin. 

The four long wooden tables (sometimes this place was slightly too similar to Hogwarts) were drawn back against the walls and the band came in, setting up where the top table had previously been. Draco was rather impressed with the efficiency of the entire thing, even if it had been done without magic. He made his way over to Hermione to tell her so, and was confronted by the back of her head bobbing animatedly as she was talking to the tall man. Draco stood up a little straighter. 

‘ -that’s really fascinating, I had no idea. And so when you mean it’s degenerative, what does that actually look, oh, hello Draco. Draco, this is Jack, he’s doing a clinical medicine DPhil looking at,’

‘Nice to meet you,’ Draco stuck his hand out to shake Jack’s. He had a firm grip. Draco made sure his was firmer. 

‘Likewise,’ Jack said, totally oblivious to Draco’s sudden and inexplicable dislike of him. He turned to Hermione. 

‘The dancing’s going to start.’ Draco said, obviously. 

‘I can see,’ Hermione replied. ‘I think I’m going to head off though. Got to get up early in the morning.’

‘Don’t be boring, Granger,’ Draco said and immediately regretted it as she stiffened. Oops. He grabbed her hand and started to tug her towards the floor. ‘Come on. Just one.’ 

‘Draco,’ she hissed. ‘I don’t know how to do a ceilidh.’

‘Neither do I,’ he whispered to her as he pulled her into the starting position. ‘Who cares. I thought the whole point was that they told you what to do, anyway? Come on. You love that shit.’

‘Why on earth would you think I love dancing,’ she replied nastily. 

‘Not dancing, Granger.’ He made a show of smiling slowly, ‘doing what you’re told.’ 

The music started as Hermione turned the most delicious shade of puce, her lips almost disappearing, she was pursing them so hard.  

And so Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger opened a dance together, Draco laughing and Hermione furious. 

She was wearing dark blue, the skirt a floaty kind of material that lent itself very well to being spun around. Draco had no idea what the caller was saying, but luckily it appeared no one else did either. The hall was soon filled with a joyful chaos, and Draco gave up trying to follow the steps and instead just settled for galloping around the room with Granger, occasionally giving her a twirl, and trying not to bump into anyone. He realised that she had started laughing, at him or at the caller’s increasingly desperate attempts to regain control, or just the general giddiness of it all and he laughed too, because seeing her enjoy herself was infectious. 

After the first dance he fully expected her to make her excuses and leave as she had promised, but she looked up at him with brighter eyes and pushed a stray curl off her forehead and caught her breath back and so Draco suggested just one more, and she agreed. 

This time the caller had readjusted the microphone and so his instructions were heard loud and clear over the chaos. Draco and Hermione followed him to the letter, but even years of dancing lessons couldn’t make up for all the whisky he had drunk, and they both kept getting the steps wrong. Instead of being cross at him for not following the instructions, Granger laughed more. They were meant to be going round in groups of six, swatching places and partners and then moving around in some way (the details were fuzzy), but Draco didn’t like letting go of Hermione. She was trying valiantly to prod him in the right direction (quite forcefully) and while she was attempting to follow the steps a bit better than he was, she was unable to direct him and they crashed into a side table. 

Before Hermione could make her excuses and in between laughs, Draco yanked her back onto the floor, where they recommenced nearly injuring themselves at every turn. 

‘Please be aware of your surroundings,’ the voice of the now slightly irate caller floated over the crowd. ‘And mindful of other people!’ 

Draco may or may not have purposefully collided into the back of Jack, quickly whirling Hermione away before they could start a conversation. Ceilidhs were fun. 

‘I feel like we’re playing human dodgems,’ Hermione said breathlessly as the tune finally came to an end. Even Draco was out of breath now, and his jacket was making him very warm. He shucked it off, loosening his bow tie. He was by far the most formally dressed person there anyway, muggle ‘black-tie’ standards being a source of eternal confusion to him. 

‘No idea what a dodgem is but if it’s anything like this, then I’m in.’

‘It’s not - well I’ll take you some time. I have a feeling you'll like them.’

Draco grinned at her. ‘One more?’

She was teetering on the edge, he could tell. But then the music started and he knew she didn’t want to leave just yet, so he took her hand and brought them into the long line of couples, filling the centre of the hall. There was lots of clapping in this one, which Draco was able to do without injuring himself or anyone else, and the main point of it seemed to be to wait until you got to the top of the line, then cross your hands over with your partner’s, and spin round as fast as you could till you got to the end. Granger was definitely getting nervous the closer they got, and she should have been. Draco was planning on making at least one of them sick with the momentum. 

‘Hope you’ve got a sticking charm on your shoes,’ he murmured to her once it was their turn. 

‘Please don’t spin me too-’ 

Hermione stopped talking because Draco had started moving. 

Her hands were small in his but they held on tightly. As he went faster and faster her scream had turned into more laughter, and Draco could feel her feet coming up from the floor. 

‘Draco -’ she tried to say as he whirled them down the middle. ‘Slow down!’

Draco pretended not to hear her because slowing down was boring, and spinning the Golden Girl so fast she literally left the floor was a much, much better plan. 

When they reached the end he had to catch her to stop her from falling over, and despite the fog and the heat of the room and the chaos around them, Draco’s attention was suddenly zeroed in on the feel of her waist in his hands. She was close to him, much closer than she had ever been before, her legs tangled in his and his hands bracketing her body, holding her up. She was laughing, breathless, one strap of her dress hanging off her shoulder and hair nearly undone. He wished he hadn’t admitted to himself that she was attractive. He wished he could look away from her face, anywhere - not there - he course corrected as his eyes accidentally travelled to her chest, but anywhere other than her mouth or her eyes or the curve of her nose. He propped her up quickly, moving to stand on the other side of the line as they had to finish the dance. No one had noticed that the redness in his cheeks was from something other than dancing, or that he had paused for a moment too long, or even that his fingers had uncontrollably flexed to feel her waist. But his heart was thundering in his chest and he couldn’t hold Hermione’s eye and suddenly he really, really didn’t want to dance anymore. 

The dance finished and Draco was about to move away when the caller said they had time for ‘just one more.’ Hermione looked up at him expectantly. He should make an excuse, say they should dance with other people. But he was weak when it came to her, it turned out, because he took her easily into his arms as though they had been dancing together for years. 

‘We’re going to finish with a simple polka round the floor,’ the caller was saying. Hermione had turned to face him, listening. Draco was looking at Hermione. ‘I think that’s probably the safest way forward,’ the caller said to the band, as they all laughed. ‘Off you go!’ 

Draco was still staring at Hermione as he started to lead her round the floor. This at least was a dance that he knew how to do, and suddenly he was doubly glad that Hermione had made an excuse and not come to the New Years party. He didn’t think he would have been able to bear dancing with her. There was no way he would be able to hide whatever this was from Theo or Blaise. He really had to stop them from visiting. 

‘How are you so good at dancing,’ Hermione said as he turned her one last time. Her legs had started to tangle with his again - clumsily because she kept forgetting the steps, but it was charming, really, because it was her. 

‘I’ve had lessons my whole life,’ Draco tried with great effort to sound normal and drawling. ‘Didn’t you, Granger?’ He couldn’t call her Hermione ever again. 

‘I can’t believe I forget how posh you are sometimes,’ she mused, grinning at him. He couldn’t smile back. The music ended, and he bowed to her. She watched him, amusement still sparkling in her eyes. The lights were dim and he wished he could move the hair out from her face, but she did it for him, blowing it back. 

‘Okay, that might be the sexiest thing you’ve ever done,’ Alice broke the spell, her voice effectively pouring cold water on Draco’s torment. 

‘Please,’ Draco scoffed, secretly thrilled. 

‘Never trust a man who can dance though,’ she replied, nudging him. He grabbed the bottle of whisky she was holding, swaying slightly. ‘We’re all going to Hanks, you coming?’ 

‘I can’t,’ Hermione said quickly. Alice pouted. ‘Sorry,’ she said, not sounding that sorry. 

‘I miss youuu,’ Alice trotted to Hermione’s side, flinging her arms around her. ‘Please come!’ 

Hermione laughed and squeezed her back. ‘I know. Next time, I swear.’

‘You’re a horrid liar.’

‘True.’ 

‘Draco?’ Alice turned back to him. He shrugged. 

‘I’ll walk Granger to the bus stop then come find you,’ he said. Why had he said that? He should not be looking to extend contact. He had just realised that he felt…He had just realised that he felt things about her. He should be running a million miles in the opposite direction. 

‘You don’t have to-’ Hermione tried to say but was cut off by Alice. 

‘Of course he does,’ she said. ‘He’s a gentleman, and all of us are far too drunk to be left unattended.’ 

Draco didn’t point out that Hermione was stone cold sober, and he was much more likely to be the liability in this scenario. 

They snuck off, Draco sensing that Hermione didn’t want to make a fuss of leaving. He had a little trouble with the heavy wooden door however, heaving it open on his second try while Hermione watched him and tried not to laugh. 

He offered her his jacket instead of casting a warming charm over them. 

They walked up Broad Street, turning up to Radcliffe Square. The Bridge of Sighs was illuminated, the rest of Queen’s Lane in darkness. The spires of All Souls college were also dark, and there was a fat moon hanging low in the sky. Hermione, to his surprise, paused. 

‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it,’ she sighed. 

‘Yes,’ he replied. 

‘Sometimes I can’t believe this is my life. You know what I mean? We were literally fighting in a war and now we're here...’ she trailed off, shaking her head. Draco did not want to think about the war. ‘It’s bizarre.’ 

‘Life is unpredictable,’ Draco said, referring to his newly discovered feelings towards her, and absolutely not the war. Hermione sighed again, taking in the square with a small smile on her face. A few bikes were still attached to the railings around the Radcliffe Camera, the dome stretching elegantly into the sky. The Bodleian library was a comforting stone edifice behind him. They were the only ones around. 

‘I have an idea,’ Draco blurted. Hermione looked at him, eyebrow raised. ‘We haven’t really used magic, have we? Aside from getting tables at the pub and pulling all nighters.’

‘That’s quite a lot of magic in a muggle society,’ she said, frowning. 

‘We haven’t really made the most of it.’

‘I don’t understand what you’re saying, and it’s making me nervous.’ 

‘Want a better view?’ He nodded towards to the roof of the Camera. Hermione scoffed, then considered, and then…

‘How would we get up there?’ 

-----

‘ Iungo saxo ,’ Draco muttered, holding his wand over Hermione’s disillusioned hands. The shape of them glowed slightly. ‘Try now,’ he said. Hermione placed her hands against the rock, or he assumed she had, because she gasped. 

‘They’re really sticking!’ 

‘Can you move them up?’ 

‘Yes…’ she trailed off, and then her voice emerged from above him. ‘Can you do my feet too?’ 

He chuckled to himself, then felt around in the dark until he made contact with one foot. Holding it carefully he cast the charm on one, and then the other. He did not let his fingers linger on her ankles. 

He started to climb after her, the charm enabling hands and feet to attach themselves to the stone like handles. He went slowly, not wanting to walk into her by accident, but he heard her breathing above him steadily, and then as she pulled herself over the thin barrier running around the roof of the building, a faint oof as she toppled onto the narrow viewing platform that no one was allowed on. 

He pulled himself up and she had cancelled her disillusion, crouching under the balustrade to keep hidden. 

They both grinned at each other, hearts racing after the adrenaline of their forbidden climb. 

‘I’m seriously impressed with your spell knowledge,’ Hermione said. ‘As well as deeply jealous. I haven’t come across that one before,’ there was a tension in her voice that he didn’t understand.  

‘You literally invented a spell for me - I’m the jealous one.’

‘That was easy,’ she said with a shrug. If anyone else said something like that he would have said they were looking for compliments. When Hermione did, he knew she was just being honest.

‘For you,’ he replied. She lay back along the curve of the roof. 

‘Do you think anyone will be able to see us?’

‘Nah,’ he said, copying her. ‘No one will believe their eyes even if they do.’

Hermione chuckled, tilting her head back. 

They were slightly awkwardly bent around the curve of the dome, leaning against the structure to see the stars. But Draco couldn’t complain, because he’d convinced Hermione to break the rules and had managed to spend more time with her. He remembered when he had first realised he had wanted to be friends with her. Had he understood he wanted more than friendship? Did he even want more than friendship? Was that the conclusion this evening had brought? The thought terrified him. 

The view was stunning. The sky was so dark it was almost black. Even being in the centre of the city, the light pollution barely stained the sky. Stars dotted the canvas above them, the moon illuminating the numerous spires Oxford had become known for. He couldn’t have picked a more disastrously romantic place. 

She was nestled in his jacket, the sleeves pulled over her hands to keep them warm. The deep blue of her dress made her skin appear creamy in the night. A glint at her neck made him realise she was wearing the medallion he’d given her.

‘It looks good on you,’ he wasn’t able to stop himself saying, flicking his gaze up to hers. She blushed. 

‘It’s a very generous gift. I don’t even want to know where you got it from.’

‘It’s been lying around for ages, don’t feel bad.’

‘Ages is the thing that worries me. It should probably be in a museum.’ 

Draco chuckled. It probably should be. 

‘I won’t upset you then,’ he replied. ‘It’s provenance will remain a mystery.’ 

‘Sometimes it’s best not to know,’ she nodded. 

‘I know you don’t actually believe that.’

‘Maybe you’ve found the one thing I really don’t want to know.’

‘I shall put it to the top of my list of achievements.’ 

‘What else is on there?’ 

It was an innocent question, but it brought up answers that were too serious. 

‘I’d hate to brag,’ he tried to keep it light. But Hermione was clearly feeling contemplative.

‘Give me one thing.’ 

He could say something horribly trite. He could be a dick and say something stupid, too. But there was something about her that made him want to be better, and so he answered her honestly. 

‘Coming here. I don’t have many, actually, achievements. I’m not proud of a lot of things I’ve done. But coming here was the culmination of the first time I actually…thought for myself. I did this for me - my mother hates it, my father probably would have tried to forbid me if he could have, my friends think I’m mad. And I knew that, and I decided to do it anyway. No one knows who I am here, or who my family is. They let me in because I was good enough. Just me.’ 

He hadn’t meant to go on for so long. Hermione was quiet and he risked a glance to see if she was laughing. But she wasn’t laughing at all. She had turned towards him, her hand propping up her head, and she was crying. 

‘Don’t,’ he said alarmingly, tracking a tear that was making its way down her cheek. She was elegant even when weeping, it appeared. 

‘I think you should be proud of yourself, Draco,’ she told him. His throat felt tight, bobbed as he tried to swallow.

‘Thanks,’ he said hoarsely. 

It was probably the whisky, but he reached out and carefully, gently, wiped the tear. His thumb traced the curve of her cheek. Her skin was soft. He could lean in and kiss her. 

But she was Hermione Granger, and he was worthless, and a coward. He withdrew his hand, turning to lean back against the roof. 

‘What’s one of yours,’ he asked, when he could trust himself to talk again. 

Hermione shook her head. 

‘There’s nothing that you don’t already know.’ 

It was only later, when he was turning her words over before bed, that he realised how sad she had sounded when she said it. 

Chapter Text

Hillary Week 3

Hermione was browsing for a catalogue of old manuscripts that she thought might - just - help her. It was a long shot, and at the moment she couldn’t even find the book that would tell her which book which would tell her what manuscript might mention something about a medieval memory charm, but at this point, anything was worth it. 

There weren’t many centrally held libraries in the wizarding world - Hermione refused point blank to think of the information held in Malfoy Manor - and her letter to Hogwarts requesting access had so far remained unanswered. Not that she was particularly surprised. If term was underway then McGonagal would likely have little time for her request, worded very carefully to not let on how urgently Hermione needed the information, or even what it was for. 

So this was where she had decided to land. If modern science couldn’t bridge the gap and wizarding medicine was stumped, then perhaps there would be something in the past. Some scribble in an obscure sheaf of papers, or something. Most inscriptions dated to the early medieval period were a confusing mix of real magic and muggle religion, but any mentions of incantations or ingredients, even if they were slightly heavy on the ‘Our Fathers’, were generally good starting points. 

She was the Brightest Witch of Her Age. If no one knew the answers, then she was going to invent them herself. 

The issue was, of course, that Hermione wasn’t that up to date on her Latin (charms not witchstanding), and she also didn’t know how to navigate the manuscript reading rooms. She’d only just been stopped from trying to force her way onto the rooftop balcony earlier by a kind man in glasses. 

‘I’m afraid it’s locked,’ the voice had said as she had rattled the door. 

‘Oh,’ she whirled around, heart in her throat. She hadn’t heard him arrive behind her; she had been so intent on getting just a little fresh air. Plus, ever since her rooftop excursion with Draco, she had wanted to see the spires again. 

‘But we open it every Thursday,’ he offered. ‘I’m the Head of Special Collections,’ the man moved forward, hand outstretched. Hermione shook it, and it was firm and reassuring. ‘We host a coffee morning. You should come by! It’s quite fun, we bring out some of the new acquisitions to show and then open the balcony, weather permitting.’ 

‘Oh,’ Hermione repeated, but this time it was slightly less breathless and slightly more interested. ‘Thank you. Yes, that would be wonderful,’ she stammered slightly. ‘I’m Hermione,’ she added as an afterthought. ‘I’m doing Medical Anthropology.’ 

‘Brilliant,’ the man had smiled. ‘We don’t often get scientists. You should definitely pop in.’ 

She had retreated to the lower shelves after that, still bright red from the interruption despite how kind he had been. 

The lower shelves of the Weston Library ran around a glass mezzanine floor, levitating above the open entrance of the main library building. Exhibition spaces, a lecture hall and a cafe were below, and Hermione could watch patrons mill about in front of the large, fractured tapestry, while she searched for what she needed. Watch them anonymously, until two familiar figures emerged below her. 

‘Hermione!’ Alice’s voice had been loud enough to pierce the window. She was jumping up and waving at her. Next to her, Draco raised a hand in greeting also. Alice beckoned, clearly indicating for Hermione to come down and join them for lunch. 

She hesitated only momentarily, glancing down at the scrap of paper where her reference number had been scribbled, before nodding at both of them. She could take 20 minutes, that would be okay. 

Minutes later Hermione was in the queue with Alice and Draco. Alice was babbling on about their morning seminar, which did sound interesting. But Draco was quiet, watching her. She couldn’t help thinking back to their whispered conversation on the roof, what he had shared with her. 

‘Anyway,’ Alice was saying as they reached the front of the queue, ‘you missed a fun night at the quiz,’ 

They had started going to a pub quiz every Tuesday, she had seen them organise it on the chat. Hermione’s research had demanded that she turn it down, though she knew it was bad she hadn’t spent much time with the group in weeks. Without Alice literally banging on her door and forcing her out, Hermione found herself slipping back into old patterns. 

‘I know,’ she said, selecting a toastie from the limited selection. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve just got a lot on at the moment.’

‘In the Weston Library?’ Draco asked her, the first thing he’d said since she’d arrived. Hermione nodded, as he plucked the sandwich from her hands to pay.

‘Don’t -’ Hermione tried to say, but he had already tapped his card, as well as adding a large coffee on for her. 

‘I don’t know why you even try and resist,’ said Alice, thanking Draco. ‘He loves to pay for us plebs!’ Draco rolled his eyes, but affectionately. Hermione tried to act like she could be normal around them, but it was harder than she had anticipated, forcing herself to be present. Her brain still felt like it was upstairs. 

‘So,’ Draco said, as Hermione gratefully wrapped her hands around the steaming mug. ‘What’s in the Weston that you could possibly need for a medical anthropology thesis?’ 

Hermione frowned. ‘It’s for a personal project.’ 

‘How on earth do you have time for a personal bloody project,’ Alice muttered, biting into her cake. 

‘Exactly,’ Draco said. Hermione did not like that she could feel his eyes track her, clearly taking in the dark bags under her eyes, the slightly hunched curve of her shoulder from too many hours reading and not enough time outside. ‘Welcome to the golden girl show,’ he tried to joke, but Hermione stiffened.

‘What a nickname,’ Alice laughed, trying to cheer Hermione up. But she had folded in on herself further, as though she might be able to disappear into her mug. 

‘They do a coffee morning every Thursday,’ she said, to try and change the subject. ‘I’m going to go next week.’

‘What kind of coffee morning?’ Alice asked. Draco was still watching her. She wished she wasn’t so aware of his eyes on her. 

‘The kind run by the Head of Special Collections. They show off new acquisitions, and then open the rooftop too so you can see the view,’ she parroted, blushing slightly at the memory of their meeting. She tried a smile. ‘It sounds really interesting.’ 

‘I can’t go next Thursday, but I’ll do the one after that?’ 

‘Sure,’ Hermione’s heart sank slightly. Since Alice had moved out she hadn’t seen her much. And yes - a lot of that was her fault, but she just didn’t have time in the evenings to go to the pub, and whenever there was a big group she just got swallowed up in it and didn’t really talk to anyone. 

‘I might tag along, if you don’t mind Granger,’ Draco said mildly. 

‘No,’ Hermione replied, ‘of course not.’ She realised that there was not one part of her that did mind. Perhaps then he’d stop staring at her as though she was about to collapse. And he’d been good company at the Balliol dinner, even if she hadn’t wanted to stay. He’d made it fun. 

She grimaced as she bit into her toastie. It was only half-warmed, and the mix of cold and hot made her stomach turn. 

‘Sorry. I’ll finish this later,’ she lied, as she headed back upstairs. ‘See you Thursday Draco!’ 

---- 

Hermione checked her watch again, nervously chewing the inside of her lip. It was 10:27, and the coffee morning was due to start at 10:30. Three minutes of course was enough time to get upstairs if she knew where she was going, but she didn't, and she could only spare an hour and then she really had to get back to her research. Stupid Draco. Stupid her for saying he could come along - she never should have mentioned it -

‘Sorry,’ he burst in the door, slightly out of breath. ‘Sorry - my alarm,’ he was flushed, jacket held loosely in his hand even though it was freezing outside. He must have run here, the red on his face on his neck too, his chest heaving slightly… Hermione averted her eyes. 

‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said in an attempt to sound relaxed. 10:28. Draco flung his belongings into a locker and slammed it shut, fiddling about for a coin to put in. Hermione managed to stop herself from tapping her foot, but only just. 

‘Right,’ he sprang up again, running his fingers through his hair. A bit flopped forward, like always. ‘Shall we go up?’ 

She turned to hide her glower. Of course they should go up. They should have gone up minutes ago. 

They made their way to the lifts, the begrudging directions Hermione had begged from the security guard hopefully accurate. She’d never met anyone more grumpy. Aside from her, at the moment. But Hermione didn’t have time to think about being palatable. She was letting herself have a treat - an hour off studying - and then she was going straight back to the manuscript reading room and to her medieval pages. 

It was achingly slow going, her head swimming with new vocab and verb conjugations that didn’t seem to fit any of the rules. The puzzle-nature of the language reminded her of Arithmancy, except she had last studied Arithmancy a very long time ago, and without a desperately pressing urgency. She resented the fact that under normal circumstances she would probably relish figuring out a new language. 

‘Granger,’ Draco’s voice cut into her. She looked up at him, blinking. 

‘What?’ she asked, slightly dazed. Had he been speaking to her? 

‘I said, are you going to leave the lift, or shall we just stand in here the whole morning?’ He raised a brow, but she could see the concern flicker in his eyes. Since when did she know Malfoy well enough to note anything flickering in his eyes? 

‘I,’ she opened and closed her mouth but no words came out. What was she trying to say? Her brain felt like it was skidding over ice. 

‘We don’t have to go,’ Draco said, softer now. He had moved closer to her, a hand gently against her elbow. As though he was happy to guide her back downstairs. ‘Why don’t we go and rest, instead? Or get some food. When was the last time you had breakfast?’ 

‘Don’t be silly,’ she snapped, avoiding the question. ‘I want to see the books. I’m just tired,’ she finished lamely. 

‘Hermione,’ his mouth had tightened in frustration. ‘They’re still going to be here next week.’

‘I said I was going to come this week,’ she said, trying to explain that she had to come because she had said so, and she couldn’t add the nice man who had been so enthusiastic about the view to the list of people she had let down.

Draco was still holding her arm, his hand curved round it just above her elbow. He gave it a small squeeze. 

‘You’re going to work yourself to death, you know that?’ He asked, still unwilling to move out of the lift. Hermione forced herself to laugh, and he winced. 

‘Don’t be silly. Let’s go and look at the books.’ 

There were lots of people milling about, but a desperate look towards the coffee table revealed they had run out of mugs. No problem really though, as thanks to Draco’s tardiness the presentation was about to begin. 

One glance at the table revealed the books were hand printed, probably rare, and very beautiful. She tried to listen. She really did. She just couldn’t help the fact that her brain was still stuck trying to translate one of the passages she had achingly transcribed yesterday. Although Hermione was happy to break into the Bodleian overnight, she felt too guilty to do the same to the manuscripts, and so she was restricted to muggle study hours to get to grips with them. 

Someone close to her was asking a question, but Hermione was lost to her own thoughts. Perhaps Draco was right, and she shouldn’t have come, maybe she’d skip seeing the view and head back - there was a good dictionary she could check because she had never seen ungue used in that context…

Everyone started to move, and Draco’s hand gripped her arm again, helpfully guiding her towards the roof. She let him. 

Even the sight of the spires from this angle wasn’t enough to break her out of it. Draco tugged her along to the end of the balcony, away from the other muggles. The day was perfect, a beautiful, sunny winter's morning. Her breath misted in front of her and she shivered slightly. Before she realised what was happening, Draco had draped his jumper over her back. She inhaled deeply, the smell of him grounding her slightly. She took another breath, looking out at the Sheldonian Theatre in front of them. 

‘Thank you for bringing me,’ he said quietly, contemplatively. 

‘My pleasure,’ she replied automatically. He hadn’t stopped staring at her since they’d arrived. 

‘We’re pretty good at spires, aren’t we Granger?’ He grinned. She smiled weakly back. 

‘We are.’ 

Draco swallowed and looked at the view. 

‘What were you thinking about downstairs?’ He asked her casually, after a moment. 

‘Hmm?’ 

‘Downstairs. When they were talking about the books - your lips were twitching.’ 

‘Were they?’ 

‘You seemed pretty distracted.’ 

‘It’s this Latin,’ Hermione heaved a sigh, scrubbing her hands along her face to try and wake up, to be present. ‘I’m having to teach myself and these medieval manuscripts are unbearable to get through.’

‘Latin? Granger, why are you learning Latin?!’ 

‘Oh, that project I mentioned,’ she waved a hand. ‘Anyway, it’s all proving quite time consuming, which is obviously the one thing I don’t have…’ she trailed off, bracing herself against the balcony rail. No, she did not have time, especially not for this. She should go back down. 

‘Don’t go yet,’ he said, holding her once more. ‘Stay.’

‘I can’t, I really have to get a move on with this,’ she said, pulling her arm back. ‘Thanks for coming with me…’

‘Hermione,’ he said, and it sounded like her name on his lips had broke him. ‘Hermione, please. You’re not…you. What is it? Please, let me help.’ 

‘What are you talking about?’ She asked, her voice hardening. She was fine. She was coping. She did not want…this. 

‘No, you’re not,’ he replied, mirroring her tone. ‘You’re barely here. You were just in a room filled with old, rare books and you couldn’t focus. You can’t hold a conversation, you look like you haven’t slept in weeks,’ 

‘I know exactly what you think of my appearance Malfoy, so we don’t need to cover that,’ she snapped. He flinched, physically moved backwards as though she had struck him.

‘That’s not what I meant,’ he replied, his voice low and angry. ‘And you know it. I am trying to help you,’

‘I don’t want your help,’ she replied evenly. ‘I can’t think of anything worse, actually.’ 

‘I don’t care,’ he snarled. 

‘People are going to notice if you start shouting at me.’

‘I don’t give a shit what people think,’ he snapped back. ‘You’re working too much, and it’s going to make you sick. You need to drop this stupid project - it’s clearly the thing that’s making you a library spectre and you weren’t like this last term, you need to -’

‘Don’t. Ever. Speak. About it. Again.’ she seethed. He blinked, taken aback by the venom in her voice. ‘Don’t ever talk about my project. Don’t ever talk about me. Don’t even think about coming anywhere near me again.’

‘What -’ he tried to say, but then Hermione, finally, broke. 

‘I don’t care if you think it’s dumb, I don’t care if you think I should stop, I don’t care what you think at all.’

‘I didn’t mean it like that - I’m just trying to understand why -’  

‘It is the only reason I am here,’ she cried. She couldn’t even feel grateful that Draco had clearly silenced the world around them so they would be left alone. ‘That stupid project is the only reason that I am here. And I can’t - I cannot stop it,’ she stopped herself, trying to calm herself but she was trembling now. 

‘What is the fucking project Hermione!’ He was nearly shouting at her now. ‘There is nothing worth you disappearing! Don’t you get it? There is nothing that is so important that you should be destroying yourself over!’

The pressure was building inside her, the pressure to tell him, to say it out loud, to explain to someone what she was doing and why she needed to do it. Why she wasn’t the golden girl, or the brightest witch of her age, or anything worth celebrating at all. 

‘Tell me,’ he begged her. She had never imagined Draco would be begging her for anything, but his hands were out, beseeching, reaching for her. ‘Hermione, please. Please tell me. Let me help.’

‘You can’t,’ her voice finally broke, and the tears started falling. ‘You can’t help me,’ she whispered. 

‘Why not?’ 

‘Because I’m killing them,’ Hermione sobbed. Draco froze. ‘I am killing my parents.’

‘They’re in Australia,’ he said, wildly. Hermione cried harder. 

‘That’s because I sent them there,’ she managed to say. ‘I obliviated them before the war. They have no memories of me, or magic. When I went back to reverse the charm,’ she cried harder. ‘I don’t know if I can. I don’t know what to do. And every year their minds deteriorate even further and it’s my fault. I took their memories and now what I did to save their lives is killing them.’ 

----

‘I took their memories and now what I did to save their lives is killing them.’ 

The words rattled around Draco’s head. He couldn’t make sense of them. He’d watched Hermione shrink into herself more and more. Ever since Christmas break, it was as if only half of her had returned. He had assumed something had happened at The Burrow that she didn’t want to talk about, but this - with her parents - it was the last thing he had anticipated. 

He wished he knew what to say. He wished he could understand what she was trying to tell him. 

He’d thought her mood at the dinner was just because she hadn’t really felt like it. He hadn’t realised that she was slipping into something worse until he’d seen her last week, and then this week… it had shaken him. 

Hermione had always been together. She got stressed by exams, he vaguely remembered that from school, but Draco’s real memories of her had been of her victorious, competent, brow furrowed in concentration and lit up by her magic, not this shadow of a person. But she was barely here now, as though something was consuming her. 

‘You…obliviated them?’ She was no longer looking at him, and he wished he could turn her so he could see her face. But he’d touched her too much already today. He had needed to, to feel connected to her when her mind was so clearly elsewhere.

‘It was to protect them,’ she murmured, still crying. ‘I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I knew that if… if you found them they’d be a target. They’d be hunted immediately and I just,’ she sighed, heavier than any 24 year old ought to have sighed. ‘It was the only way I could get them to leave.’ 

Draco’s mouth was dry. How could he possibly have thought maybe they… 

‘And reversing it?’ He tried to say. Hermione just shook her head. 

‘I go back once a year,’ she said quietly. ‘To try and track what’s been going on. The last three years have shown that the damage is exponential. My spell was too powerful. Soon they’ll have early-onset magically-induced alzheimer's. They won’t remember anything, their brains will fail, and then they’ll die.’ 

It was the remote-ness of her voice that made him want to weep for her. The almost-clinical resignation in her tone. The idea that she might have to face that. 

‘Who knows?’ He asked. 

‘Ginny, Harry, Ron,’ she said. So few people… ‘But I don’t like to talk about it. They don’t know that I’m still…that I’m still trying. Or even that they’re in any danger as a result of it. I couldn’t…’ 

He understood. 

‘I never made any mistakes,’ she said, her voice small and cracked. ‘I never made any mistakes. Do you remember what my boggart was? It was Professor McGonagall giving me a fail grade,’ she snorted. ‘I never did. Not once, when we were tracking Horcruxes, or destroying Voldemort however many times we did it. Never a wrong step. Except -,’ she hid her face then, weeping softly. 

The roof was empty, but thanks to his spell they were left up there, the muggles long-forgetting that the two of them had even been there in the first place. 

‘Granger…Hermione,’ Draco's voice broke. ‘You did the right thing.’ He let the words hang in the air between them. 

‘You can’t know that,’

‘Yes. I can.’ He turned away from her, wishing that he didn’t know this. But he did. And if he could give her any comfort, then he would, no matter if it reminded her of who he really was. ‘You made the right choice.’ 

Granger’s whole body seemed to fold in on itself. 

‘Oh, God,’ she muttered, burying her face in her hands. 

His head filled with memories he had worked very hard to forget. The Carrows discussing what muggles they’d torture first, Bellatrix egging them on over dinner, Avery grinning as he explained exactly how he wanted to gut that ‘Granger bitch’s parents’’ and make her watch, and then other, worse things that he wanted to do after… 

He was shaking again, but he couldn’t succumb to the panic, not when the one person who actually deserved comfort was so distraught next to him. He forced himself to breathe. 

‘I am so sorry,’ he said, even though it did nothing to change the past. ‘Hermione, I am so sorry.’  

Sorry seemed like a pathetic excuse for how he really felt. The guilt was almost enough to rip him apart. This was worse than the trial, worse than watching his mother fall apart to protect him, worse than hearing his father had finally died. 

And underneath the guilt, the anger on her behalf. The fact that so many people, himself included, were able to move on and move past the war. But the woman who they all owed so much to couldn’t. She had sacrificed everything - and she was still paying the price. A choice that she had made while still a teenager, while being a child - he hated himself for his part, he hated them all for forcing this person who Draco was quickly realising really was every definition of good, to make such a hideous choice. 

‘I swear - Hermione,’ his voice cracked again. ‘I swear I wasn’t - I didn’t-’ he could barely get the words out. ‘I swear I wasn't involved. I just heard them one night -’

‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘I know. I knew you couldn't, that you were just as stuck as we were,’ 

‘I don’t deserve,’

‘I forgave you for it a long time ago, Draco,’ she said, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. She was still beautiful, even wasted away, even exhausted, even distraught. His chest hurt. 

She just looked so bereft, and because he didn’t have any control, or knew what else to do, Draco wrapped his arms around her. 

She was small, and fragile, and he rested his chin on the top of her head, as she sobbed easily into his chest.  

They stood like that for a long time, until her shaking subsided and her crying stopped. She was too thin, too slight. But he relished the feeling of her in his arms even though he shouldn’t have. Still, if this was the only time he’d be able to hold her, then he would do it for as long as she wanted. As long as she let him. 

Draco realised that he was no longer in danger of wanting her. The wanting was a part of him, probably had been for some time.  She pulled away slightly, and he conjured a handkerchief, offering it to her. She smiled at him - at him even though he had just admitted that he had overheard the planned murder of her parents. His throat constricted. 

‘Thank you,’

He shook his head. 

‘You should not be thanking me.’ 

She rolled her eyes, and the gesture was so normal that he nearly laughed with relief. 

‘I really should go back now,’

‘Granger,’ he said, even though he wanted to call her Hermione again. ‘You can’t possibly be serious.’ 

She sighed. 

‘I’m running out of time -’

‘Let me help you,’ he offered. ‘Let me help. Two brains have got to be better than one.’ 

She looked up at him, gaping slightly. 

‘Come on,’ he tried teasing, ‘we make a good team now that we no longer hate each other.’ 

A slightly startled laugh came out of her mouth. 

‘I can tell you can’t think of a good reason not to say yes,’ he pushed. ‘Come on.’

‘I wouldn’t even know where to begin,’ she frowned. ‘I’ve been working on this for the past five years and I don’t…I mean, it’s quite complicated,’ she eyed him. ‘Sciencey,’ she warned. 

‘It’s lucky that I’m very clever then,’ he said, bristling even though he should have been pleased she was feeling better to even consider it. ‘Tell you what,’ he said, thinking that maybe she just needed to be forced into letting him help her, ‘you go home and sleep for about ten hours. Then, come over for dinner. I’ll force you to eat something other than one bite of a toastie, and you can explain everything you’ve done so far. The research, all of it.’

And the gods must have been looking down on him that day, because she nodded her agreement. 

Chapter Text

Hilary week 4 

Draco returned home immediately. 

First - dinner. Hermione was coming for dinner, and he had to cook her something. Something delicious, obviously, but also not anything that made it seem like he’d tried too hard. 

Without a second thought he apparated to the Manor, hoping his mother was out. Luckily, Narcissa was nowhere to be found (he was sure she had said something about her social life in one of her many letters that Draco was useless at replying to), which meant that he could plunder the cellars without any prying eyes. 

A few bottles of some very nice red picked out, (no elf-made wine, Granger wasn’t the type), he then went upstairs to the larder. 

The houseleves that had run Malfoy Manor were long gone after the war. But after Draco had moved out, his mother had brought in a cook and a cleaner to help with the work of keeping such a massive house running. She did all the gardening herself. 

It had been during the period where they’d had no help at all that Draco had learned to cook, mainly from necessity. He’d realised quite quickly that he enjoyed it. The process of putting something together had brought him comfort at a time where there was not much comfort anywhere in his life. 

He checked his watch. He could make bolognese. That was something that muggles made all the time. Never mind that Draco’s version was the authentic one that involved hours of cooking and, if he said so himself, was utterly delicious. Bolognese was a normal thing to make a friend. So was making pasta from scratch. This was a relaxed dinner, after all. A relaxed, friendly dinner. Hoping that the cook didn’t have plans for the meat, he returned back to his house. 

He had seminar reading that he desperately needed to do before tomorrow, but Draco spent the rest of the day cooking, making sure the house was clean, and collecting the number of dirty pants that he had scattered around his room. Not that she was going to be in his room. Just in case she wanted a tour. 

He realised too late, as he dressed for dinner in a shirt and trousers, fiddling with his hair and his cufflinks, that he was acting like he was about to go on a date. 

Hermione was on time, of course. She rang the bell so promptly that he wouldn’t have been surprised had she waited outside until it hit 7:30 exactly. 

He couldn’t help himself from taking every part of her in as he yanked open the door. But she had slept, he could tell. And she looked less sallow, as though the act of sharing what had been pressing her down had somehow lightened her, just a little bit. 

He took her coat as she walked in, wondering what it would be like to actually go on a date with her. To hold a door open at a restaurant, to graze the bare skin of her neck with a finger, to wonder if he could kiss her. 

‘I keep forgetting how big this place is,’ Hermione said, as he led her through to the kitchen. He’d laid the table in the dining room, before panicking it was too formal and moving to the breakfast island about a minute before Granger had appeared. 

‘It’s not too bad,’ he said, modestly. Compared to the Manor. 

‘Did you cook?’ 

He grinned at her surprise. ‘I did,’ 

‘I didn’t know you could cook,’ she said. He supposed he ought to enjoy the sight of her struck dumb. 

‘I’m quite good. Wine?’ 

‘Sure,’ she said. He watched her settle on one of the stools. She sniffed the wine, swilling it slightly. He shouldn’t have been surprised, but a flicker of it appeared anyway.

‘You know wine?’ 

‘We went to France a lot, when I was younger. So I know a bit.’

Any guilt that he may have had about pilfering the most expensive bottles disappeared. 

‘I just need to finish this up, it shouldn’t take too long,’ he said as he waved a wand for the pasta to be cut. 

‘Sorry, I would make conversation but your domestication has struck me dumb.’ 

He chuckled, stirring the sauce. His cufflinks, a simple intertwined DM, glinted slightly in the low lighting. 

‘I’m not just a spoiled brat,’ he replied. ‘I mean, I am a spoiled brat, obviously. But a spoiled brat who can cook.’ 

‘I’ll reserve judgement until I've tasted and not got food poisoning, but if it’s as good as it smells then I’ll have to concede.’

‘How are you doing?’ he asked before he could say something stupid like ‘I missed you.’ 

She exhaled heavily, and took another sip. ‘I’m okay. I feel…better, actually, than I have for a while.’ 

He nodded. ‘When I was struggling the most, immediately after the war, the trials, talking really helped me. First with Theo and Blaise, and then a Mind Healer,’

‘You saw a Mind Healer?’ 

‘Of course,’ he said, turning at her surprise. ‘Didn't you - ?’ 

‘Um, no,’ she said quietly. ‘No, I didn’t. I thought about it, but it seemed like everyone just needed one more than me,’ she shrugged. ‘And then I forgot, if I’m honest.’

Draco stared at her in shock. 

‘But you won the war for us. The three of you - how could you,’ he shook his head, not believing how stupid Hermione could be. 

‘It just wasn’t a priority for me,’ she said in a small voice. 

Draco exhaled. ‘Okay,’ he said. He shouldn’t be angry. It was just infuriating, how appalling her sense of self-preservation was. Hermione sipped her wine and looked away from him. ‘Do you want to talk about it now?’ 

‘You really don’t have to,’ she said. ‘You don’t have to do all this,’ she waved a hand, her voice sharp. ‘I meant what I said - I forgave you a long time ago.’ 

Draco blinked at her, the knife slipping behind him. 

‘Granger,’ he began, as he finished cutting the pasta by hand, focusing on precise slices to make sure he didn’t say anything stupid. ‘Do you think I'm trying to help you because of guilt?’

‘Aren’t you?’ 

‘I mean - in part,’ he allowed. ‘Of course I am. I feel awful. And absolutely responsible. But also,’ he sighed, setting the pasta into the water. ‘Look - don’t take this the wrong way,’ he risked a glance at her, and her attention was on him, eyes slightly narrowed. For someone so small, she really was quite scary. ‘I don’t get the sense that you let people help you very much.’ 

‘I don’t think being self-sufficient is a bad thing.’

‘Neither do I. Until you have a mental breakdown over some dead language.’ 

‘I didn’t have a mental breakdown,’ she snapped. He tried not to roll his eyes. ‘And Latin isn’t dead -’

‘Please let me help you. Not because it’ll make me feel better, but because I think you deserve to not have this consume you. You deserve the best possible chance to bring your parents back.’

‘And you think you are that chance?’ The scepticism was mildly insulting.

‘Yeah, I do,’ he said baldly. ‘I was second under you every single year in that school. I have resources that you need - money, space, access to an ancient wizarding library. We’ve proven that actually we can work pretty well together. I’m not going to be able to keep up with the muggle science but I don’t need to, because we’d be a team.’ 

She was chewing on her lip, considering it. He tried to stay focused. 

‘It feels weird to talk about this,’ she confessed. ‘I’ve been studying it for the past five years and I’ve never told anyone the details. Honestly I don’t even know how I’d begin.’ 

‘You said that it’s getting worse. What does that mean?’ 

‘How much do you know about how obliviate actually works?’ 

Draco shrugged. To be honest, magical theory had never really been an interest of his. He was a wizard, he didn’t spend much time thinking about what that meant. But he couldn’t tell Hermione that, when she was clearly concerned with his ability to keep up. 

‘A bit, but why don’t you explain it in the most simple terms possible. It might help you organise your thoughts around it.’ 

Hermione gave him a look that revealed she knew exactly what he was trying to do. He distracted her by a huge bowl of pasta. Carbs, it seemed, were an effective Granger placating tool. He filed that information away. 

‘Ookay. Well, current research suggests that memory consists of three separate processes: encoding, storage and retrieval. Your memories are encoded into your brain, they are stored, and then when you go to recall them that’s the retrieval aspect.’

Draco nodded, to show that he was following. 

‘This is delicious, by the way.’

‘It’s an easy recipe,’ he lied. 

‘I used to think that obliviate attacks the retrieval process. That the memories were still there, but the spell made it impossible to dredge them back up.’

‘How do you know?’ 

Her lips pursed - a sure sign of displeasure, though this time it wasn’t directed at him. ‘Well, that’s why I’ve been speaking with this Healer. There’s not much lab work that’s been done on this,’ she said drily, and Draco smiled at her ire. Perhaps he would fund a Granger-Lab as her next Christmas present. ‘So most of what I know comes from observation only.’

‘But some obliviates can be reversed?’ 

‘They can,’ she nodded. ‘As long as the time period isn’t too long between the spell and the reversal, and it’s not a particularly powerful spell.’ 

‘Ah. But you’re a very powerful witch.’ 

‘I had a powerful incentive in ensuring the spell wouldn’t be able to be reserved. Even under torture.’ 

Draco nodded. Hermione sighed. 

‘But the research we’ve been doing - it’s worse than just figuring out how to mend the retrieval process. I think that obliviate impacts the actual storage of the memories. When it first happens the retrieval process is immediately targeted, as the spell is effective immediately. But if the spell is strong then it starts to attack the storage of the memories themselves.’ 

‘Oh,’ Draco said, sipping his wine, feeling like an idiot already. 

‘Following from discussions with the Healer, and a few tests,’

‘What kind of tests?’ He asked sharply. He had a horrible feeling he knew. 

‘They were mild and I was monitoring myself this whole time,’ she said quickly, confirming his suspicion. 

‘Salazar, Granger,’ 

‘If you’re going to be squeamish about experimental medicine, then this is not the project for you.’

‘Point taken. Continue,’ 

‘So. If left alone, obliviate starts to attack the stored memories at the root. I suppose you could describe it as a parasite. The spell will burrow in and continue to attack the rest of the memory functions in the brain,’ she swallowed. ‘That’s why I can’t give up. I can’t leave them. Once it starts to corrode the rest of the brain then I’ve as good as killed them,’ she said quietly. 

‘So the memories are gone?’ Draco didn’t want to tell her, but it sounded like Hermione was trying to do the impossible. 

‘Not quite. The total corrosion takes a long time, and it’s been too long already, of course, but I don’t think they’re totally destroyed. I’m envisioning a three-step process,’ she continued. Now she had loosened up she was gesticulating, and despite the obvious strain she was under, this evening she appeared more relaxed than he had seen her in weeks. ‘One, stabilise the brain. The corrosion - I can show you the x-rays another time - I can’t use any more magic on the area until everything is controlled. But that’s a fairly simple procedure.  

‘Two, re-build the neural pathways that have been impacted by obliviate. I can reverse the pattern of damage caused by the spell - it will take several days, but I think on the surface you can undo that level of brain impact and basically stitch things back together. That will mean the retrieval process is healed.’

Draco tried not to gape, at what sounded like an incredibly intense and arduous magical operation, which Hermione, an Anthropology student, should not be able to just do.  

‘The final stage is what I’m stuck on - some of the memories will still exist, but most of them won’t. So I need to recreate, or replant, the memories.’ 

‘And you’re focusing on the final step right now?’ He asked instead of ‘do you actually think you can recreate memories’. Because that was insane. 

‘I’m fairly certain that I could re-build the neural pathways. I’m nervous about the stabilising process, but don’t think it would be impossible. But memory is tricky, and different for everyone. If part of the memories still exist, then I can use them to fill in the blanks, but I’m not sure how I’d go about doing that.’ 

‘Is this where the Latin comes in?’ 

‘This is where the Latin comes in.’ 

‘Right,’ he inhaled. Sipped his wine. Ate some more pasta. ‘Sorry,’ he said, startling her out of a bite. ‘I know you hate this so I'll only say it once - but, you are brilliant. No -’ he held up a hand, stopping her from objecting. ‘You really are. Obviously I knew that, but this is the first time I've been exposed so violently to it, so you have to let me be impressed.’ 

She rolled her eyes, and ate more pasta. It was much better than crying. 

‘Why medieval manuscripts?’ 

‘ Ars memoria . Have you read any Carruthers?’ She asked suddenly. Draco shook his head, mute with his own idiocy. But Hermione didn’t seem to mind.

‘No worries - you probably should if you do want to help, she’s brilliant. Anyway, once I’d exhausted modern writings I started looking back at beliefs about memory. Even muggle research into alzheimer's and dementia didn’t begin until the 80s so there’s a limited pool of information. But the field (sort of) dates back to Aristotle,’

Draco should not have been aroused at the sight of Hermione lecturing him, especially not about such a serious subject. He was grateful for the breakfast bar nonetheless. 

‘It really gets interesting around the 12th century, and while their worldview, which found unity between body, mind, soul and memory, might be problematic from a muggle perspective, it’s actually very useful when it comes to magic.’ 

‘So you think this early muggle science will help?’ 

‘The art of memory, it’s difficult to use a term like ‘science’ to describe medieval medicine,' (she really couldn't help herself), 'and yes. Muggles and wizards and witches integrated much more back then, and early manuscripts are likely to involve spells or potion suggestions that could be useful. Given the interest of study around memory, I think they might hold a key.’

‘And you’re looking for an ingredient? Or a spell?’ 

‘I’m not sure. This is where I’ve been getting stuck. I know there’s something there, it’s just taking so long…’ 

Draco exhaled, trying to wrap his head around everything she had told him. Trying to work out how, and where, he could help. 

‘Considering the complexity of what you’re trying to achieve I doubt it will be an incantation alone that solves the issue. Not to mention, it’ll be a time intensive process and potions generally work better over a long period.’ 

‘You were always number one in Snape’s class.’ 

Draco smirked, despite himself, because he loved that she held a grudge about that, of all things. ‘You know, that wasn’t all favouritsim.’ 

‘Oh, sure,’ Hermione rolled her eyes. 

‘Anyway, I had to do something to keep me busy over my house arrest.’

‘An undergraduate degree and learning to cook wasn’t enough?’ 

‘I have a broad range of interests,’ he replied mildly. ‘I think you’d be just as pleasantly surprised at my experimental brewing as my cooking.’

She snorted a laugh. ‘Right.’

‘Course,’ he allowed, ‘you might disapprove slightly of the contents. But the principles are still there. The main issue would be testing.’

‘We’ll figure that out when we get to it,’ Hermione said. He frowned. He did not want her to start drinking experimental potions. 

‘What, exactly, are you trying to recreate with the potion? What do you need it to do?’

Hermione paused, trying to put it into words. He watched her think. 

‘It needs to be something that doesn’t just repair the storage of memories. It needs to recreate the essence of who they are. Everyone’s thoughts and feelings look slightly different, if you’ve ever been in a pensieve you’ll appreciate the different ‘flavour’ of peoples minds,’ Draco winced at his memories of pensieves. ‘That's what I'm struggling with. I can rewire all those pathways. But I still need to get hold of the true essence of them .’ 

‘Have you thought about other places that store memory?’

‘What do you mean?’ 

‘You know, muscle memory, things like that. I know it’s probably not sciencey, but given we’re dealing with magic…’ he trailed off, but Hermione was sat bolt upright, blinking quickly. 

‘I hadn’t thought of something like that,’ she said, lighting up at the idea. ‘Obliviate only targets the brain, but there might be other places where the body holds memories…’ 

‘If we could extract that then we’d know what kind of colour or texture the memories are,’ Draco replied excitedly. ‘We’d be able to add it to the base potion,’

‘Like a sort of polyjuice,’ Hermione said. ‘Oh my god. Yes.’

‘We’d need to make the base first, and then figure out how to access what we need from the body.’

‘I can’t believe…’ she shook her head, her eyes bright. ‘That is actually a good idea.’

‘It’s just a theory,’ he said, roughly. ‘We shouldn’t let ourselves,’ 

‘No, we’ve got a long way to go,’ Hermione sighed. ‘And we’ll be restricted to the holidays mainly too.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, I can hardly brew up potions in the Premier Inn.’

Draco just stared at her. 

‘Firstly - what do you think all this,’ he gestured at his enormous kitchen, ‘is for? I’ve got tons of space Granger - there’s even a bloody shed if we don’t fancy using the top floor for a potions lab.’ 

‘Oh,’ she said, turning a bit pink. ‘I mean, I don’t want to put you out -’

‘I said I was going to help,’ he held up a hand. ‘So just let me. I’m under no illusions that you’re going to be the main brain of this. So I can play to my strengths.’ 

‘Your strengths are not just having money,’ she said, in an actual compliment. 

‘Secondly,’ he said, frowning, ‘what do you mean Premier Inn?’

‘Alice didn’t say?’

‘She’s moved out though?’ 

‘Ah. Sadly, they haven’t reached G yet.’ 

‘G?’

‘They’re moving alphabetically.’

‘So you’re just living there, all by yourself?’ 

Hermione nodded, a bit sadly. 

‘That must be -’

‘Don’t. It’s part of the reason I stay so long at the library. It’s just - it’s not great. And I know when I get stuck into any kind of research I get so sucked in, I stop doing things that I should. Like socialising, or sleeping, or -’

‘Why don’t you live here,’ he blurted, and then blushed, and then cursed his stupidity. 

‘Here?’ she blinked. 

‘Not in a weird way, obviously,’ this was a terrible idea, he’d just admitted to himself that he fancied her and now he was forcing himself to spend more time with her? He couldn’t live with her. He’d die from wanting - ‘so don’t make it weird, okay? But I'll make sure you don’t lose your mind, and you can have a floor to yourself, and you can use the floo whenever you like, send as many owls as you need,’ he shrugged, like he wasn’t also freaking out. 

‘I don’t know-’

‘The offer is there.’

‘I mean -’ she considered. ‘It would be - I’ve been corresponding with the Healer, but obviously very slowly. So that would really help…’

‘Look, there’s tons of space, and it’s closer to the library,’ he really needed to stop trying so hard to convince her, but Draco wanted her here. He wanted to come home and there be someone else to chat to in the evenings. Even if he did have a tiny crush on her. He could be flatmates with Hermione Granger, and nothing bad or weird would happen. 

‘It is closer to the library,’ Hermione turned to him. He could tell, a thrill going through him, that she wanted to say yes. His lip quirked, though he fought the smile that he wanted to give her. 

‘I could give you a tour?’ 

--- 

Hermione peered down the enormous central staircase to the ground floor. 

‘This is really bloody big,’ she said, as Draco opened the doors to the totally empty rooms on the top floor. There were two rooms and a bathroom on this one alone. 

‘You could use these, if you want. Have your own bathroom,’ he shrugged, still a bit pink. She could tell he was also feeling a bit awkward about the whole proposal, but for some reason she was…tempted. They were friends now, there was no denying it. It would be just like moving in with Harry and Ginny. Nothing weird about that. In fact, this would be less weird, because Draco didn’t have a live-in girlfriend he clearly wanted to share a space with. 

‘Are you sure?’ 

‘If you ask that again I’m going to say no,’ he said with another smirk that made her heart race. 

Everything this evening had been a surprise. Since she’d walked in to see Draco cooking, she had felt utterly off-kilter. 

When he said he was making bolognese she had laughed. Years ago, before Hermione had even known she was a witch, her mum had told her that one day she was going to go to university, and when that day came there were certain things she would need to know. Cooking a bolognese had been one of those things. 

What she hadn’t expected was Draco to have made bolognese the traditional way, cooked for eight hours, paired it with hand made pasta. He’d literally made tagliatelle for her. When she had asked why, he’d just shrugged, said he enjoyed cooking and thought it was easy, and that store bought just ‘wasn’t the same.’ Molly Weasley, the best cook that Hermione knew, hadn’t ever made pasta from scratch before. She was going to her grave with that secret though. 

The wine also - Hermione was feeling light-headed, but really, how was she supposed to resist? 

Draco hadn’t said anything, so she just assumed that he was accustomed to these things. But cracking open a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape on a Thursday was definitely not on her list of things that were ‘normal’. She wondered if living with him would involve this level of decadence every night. 

Domestic Draco was a surprise. It was also…attractive. He’d flipped a tea towel over his perfectly pressed shirt and she’d nearly spilt her wine. He was also dressed to perfection. She didn’t know why she had assumed a casual Malfoy dinner would mean her old jumper was appropriate, but she’d clearly need some new clothes if she was going to move in. 

And sexiest of all was the fact that he had quickly grasped five years of research and suggested things that might have really made a difference to her proposal. It would be a terrible idea to move in with someone who she fancied. Well, she didn’t fancy him. Maybe a bit. He was very good looking, it was just a normal reaction. And for her research this might actually be…

‘You can see the stars,’ Draco said quietly, pointing up through the skylight. ‘And it’s obviously dark, but the garden is a good size. If you need to punch a tree, or whatever you do to burn off all the stress.’

Hermione grinned. ‘You are being persuasive, I will give you that.’ 

‘Really?’ He leaned against the bannister, crossing his arms and cocking an eyebrow. Sweet Salazar this was going to be… 

‘Really,’ she swallowed. 

‘We can build out the garage for the research. Get some boards so you can display everything you need to. It’ll also mean there’s a bit of a gap between it and you,’ he eyed her seriously, daring her to contradict him. When had this happened? When had Draco started to make her feel safe? Cared for?

‘Okay,’ she said, smiling despite herself. 

‘I can cook for you,’ he offered, and she nearly swooned. 

‘How many times a week?’ She fought to keep her voice neutral. 

‘Hmm, a good question. Let’s say guaranteed Sunday dinners, plus whatever I get round to making, depending on the week. I get first dibs at leftovers, but you get free and unlimited floo access of course,’

‘Of course,’

‘But you will have to bring me some caramel brownies every now and then.’

‘Aaah, that does seem like a high price,’

‘I like to think I’m worth it.’

Hermione hated how giggly she suddenly felt. This morning she had woken up, exhausted and full of despair. And now she was about to move in with her old childhood enemy. 

  ‘Okay. You’ve convinced me,’ she said. By the way both his eyebrows raised, she could tell he was surprised. A slow smile started to take over his face. Hermione felt hers mirror his. 

‘Really?’

‘Really,’ she nodded. ‘Fuck it.’

‘Okay, roomie. When do you want to move in?’

‘Whenever suits you, really.’ 

‘Blaise and Theo are coming next weekend,’ he started to say, suddenly shifting. ‘So maybe,’

‘I’ll come after?’ 

‘Sure. Yeah. Cheers, Granger. We’ll solve this in no time.’ 

Hermione expected Draco to kick her out after they had agreed, but he seemed happy for her to linger. He’d ushered her into one of the sitting rooms, the same one she had flooed Ginny from all those weeks ago, and they finished the bottle of red. Draco had put some music on while they lounged chatting, Hermione with her feet tucked up under her, Draco stretched out in an armchair. He’d made her laugh some more, and hadn’t asked further questions about her parents, and only when she’d yawned did he wave his wand for her coat, and gently show her to the door. 

‘Are you going to apparate?’ 

‘I am’ she tried to hide another yawn. She had already slept so much today, she couldn’t believe she was still tired. ‘Draco,’ she turned to face him. ‘Thank you,’ she said, as sincerely as she could bear. ‘I know when I get into these…moods it's hard to be around. But I really appreciate everything that you’ve done and if you change your mind about the house thing,’

‘I’m not going to change my mind,’ he said, shifting slightly. ‘I promise.’

‘Okay,’

‘And you’re not hard to be around Hermione. I had a really nice evening.’ 

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Yeah. I did too.’ 

‘No more all-nighters, alright?’

She rolled her eyes. 

‘You know, you and Ginny are both as naggy as each other.’

‘Please don’t tell me the Weaselette and I have anything in common. If I have nightmares I’m going to blame them on you.’

‘You do realise that she might now be coming to visit?’ 

‘Go home before I change my mind.’ 

‘Fine,’ she stuck out her tongue. 

‘Granger?’ he called, as she brought out her wand. 

‘What?’

‘I’m not going to change my mind.’ 

She smiled slightly, felt the familiar squeeze of apparition, and disappeared. 

Chapter Text

Hilary Week 5 

‘But it’s fifth week.’

‘So? Come on, live a little.’

‘I live too much! That’s why I’m in this situation!’

‘We’ve got three weeks till hand in, that’s loads of time.’

‘I still haven’t decided on a topic, Draco!’

‘Just pick one now, and then come,’ Draco pouted. After all the times she’d managed to talk him into going out, Alice owed him. ‘Come on. They’re only coming up for a night. You really want to make me look like a friendless loser?’ 

‘Get Hermione to come instead, at least she knows them.’

‘You really have lost it if you think I can get Granger on a night out in fifth week.’ 

‘You’re the only person she would consider it for,’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Draco snapped, annoyed he was blushing. Alice gave that stupid smug little smile she reserved solely for teasing him about Hermione. 

‘How was she on your little dinner date?’

‘It wasn’t a dinner date, it was an intervention,’ Draco repeated for the millionth time that day. He regretted telling Alice they’d had supper more every hour. 

‘Date, intervention, whatever. How did it go?’

‘She seems slightly more sane.’

‘So tell her to come out!’

‘No way. I’m not pushing my luck. But you owe me, Alice.’

Alice snorted, finishing the cake he’d bought her. 

‘Are you calling in all my cake debt? Because I think I'd rather pay you back than go out.’ 

‘I actually meant about the sheer number of times I've gone out, solely to try to help you pull, and then gone home alone.’

‘No one is stopping you from hooking up with someone.’

‘It’s not my style,’ he sniffed. Alice raised an eyebrow in an uncanny impression of him. He didn’t relent, even though it was one of the more transparent lies he had told. At the beginning of the year Draco had high hopes for an endless parade of gorgeous, clever women coming home with him. His nights out with Theo and Blaise in London had suggested at least that Oxford would be equally successful.

Unfortunately, things had not gone to plan. And now he maybe fancied his future roommate and former childhood enemy. 

‘If I go out,’ Alice started to say,

‘THANK YOU,’ Draco grasped her hands, kissing them in a way he knew she’d hate. 

‘Ew. I said IF,’ she snatched them back, wiping the backs on her jacket. Draco just grinned. ‘IF I got out, I want all drinks paid for,’

‘Obviously,’ Draco rolled his eyes. 

‘AND, I want you to host a dinner party.’

‘What?’ Draco blinked. 

‘You heard me. I want a dinner party, at yours, for the gang.’

‘Why?’ He asked stupidly. 

‘Because,’ Alice shuffled, smirking outrageously. ‘Hermione was talking about how good of a cook you are, and I want to see for myself. Plus you live in a mansion and I want to snoop.’ 

‘You just said you didn’t want to go out because you didn’t have time, and now you want to go out twice?’

‘You have until Trinity to fulfil your dinner party promise,’ she replied. Draco paused, considering it. 

‘Did Hermione really say I was a good cook?’ 

Alice cackled. 

‘You’re so obvious. Yes. She said you made bolognese and then went bright red, kind of like you are now.’ 

‘Fine,’ Draco rose above her teasing, with the patience of a saint. ‘I’ll host a dinner once Granger’s moved in.’ 

‘We have to talk about that, by the way.’

‘There’s nothing to say. We went to boarding school together, it’s not weird.’

‘It’s a bit weird.’

‘It’s only weird if you make it weird. Which you are not going to do.’ 

‘Come on Draco, you’ve got to admit it’s kind of -’

‘Do you want her to seriously hurt herself?’ he snapped at Alice, for the first time in their friendship. ‘She’s isolated, and stressed about things that are deeply personal, and none of our business, and I can help her out so why the hell wouldn’t I.’ 

‘I was just teasing you Draco,’ Alice said quietly. Draco deflated slightly. 

‘Sorry,’ he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. ‘It’s just complicated, and I don’t want her to freak out and change her mind.’ 

‘Is she okay? Genuinely? She won’t talk to me.’

‘She won’t talk to anyone,’ Draco avoided the question. ‘That’s the problem. I’m just hoping this will help.’ 

‘You’re not the only person who cares about her.’ 

Draco just shrugged, folded his arms and avoided Alice’s stare. He knew that lots of people cared about Hermione. He was just unconvinced they were very good at actually looking after her. 

Course, it wasn’t like he was particularly good at it either. She definitely didn’t deserve friends who had started to fantasise about her regularly, or got distracted every time they smelled her shampoo, or fixated on the way she sucked her lip when she concentrated, or anything like that. 

Despite Hermione not moving in till after Theo and Blaise had come for the weekend, Draco had started helping her with research whenever he could. This meant long hours alongside her in the Weston, teaching himself paleography (the study of old handwriting, it turned out) and Latin, and working achingly slowly through the number of manuscripts Hermione had bookmarked. In the evenings, they’d chat about the day’s work, and then go their separate ways to get on with any seminar readings and translations they hadn’t gotten around to in the day. It hadn’t even been a full week, and Draco was absolutely exhausted already. He was starting to realise how Hermione had seemed on the brink of a breakdown. Short of an addiction to illegal substances, and that didn’t seem to be Granger’s bag, he had no idea how she did it.

In fact, now Hermione was no longer working alone on the project she appeared better every day. This Thursday she had arrived at the coffee morning with genuine enthusiasm, a marked difference in only a week. 

Draco was unable to allow himself to think that it was because she enjoyed spending time with him in that way. For one thing, it would be utterly impossible for them to be together. And even if there was the slightest chance she was even vaguely interested, it was not fair to distract her at such an important time. It was a mild crush, and therefore, it would be easily smushed into the dirt. And there would be absolutely no way that Theo or Blaise would hear anything about it. 

That was also why Draco didn’t want to invite her. Because if Theo and Blaise were feeling observant and saw them together, then… 

‘What’s the plan then, if you’re so keen to impress your cool London friends.’

‘I’m not trying to impress them,’ Draco snapped. 

‘You know, Draco, you have been kind of a dick this whole week,’ Alice replied mildly. ‘Considering you are trying to get me to do you a favour, I would have expected a little more sucking up.’ 

Draco rolled his eyes, folding his arms and generally adopting a pose that could be described as ‘sulking’. Alice watched him, eyes narrowed. 

‘Right,’ she said. ‘Well. I’m going to head back to the library.’ 

‘Already?’ He asked. She just glared. ‘Okay, fine. Alice - I am sorry about being a dick.’

‘I will consider your apology.’

‘Can’t you just forgive me now?’

‘No. I want you to stew in guilt and also admit to yourself that your obsession with looking after Hermione is making you unbearable.’ 

‘I will do no such thing, because that’s not true.’ 

‘Tonight - why don’t we start at Freuds? That’s close to yours, right?’ 

Draco sighed. He could make a shitty comment that of course Alice wanted to drink at a cocktail bar when he had promised to pay, but also he was well aware that he was asking her to come out in the worst week of all time, when the weather was gross, to hang out with people that she did not know. 

‘I’ll put something on the group,’ he replied instead, crossing his fingers that Hermione wouldn’t turn up. ‘Thank you Alice.’ 

‘You’re welcome Draco,’ she said, heaving her bag up. He knew he was forgiven, because she stuck her tongue out as she left the coffee shop. Draco opened his laptop and started translating again. Granger had already done half since last night. When did she have the time?! 

------ 

‘Knock knock, darling,’ Theo cooed, as he and Blaise emerged from the floo, dusting off their best muggle clothes. As nervous as Draco was for about a hundred different reasons (all related to Hermione), he grinned at the sight of them anyway. 

‘We missed you,’ Blaise gave him a wink, as he rose to greet them. 

‘I missed you too. Although I think the break was necessary. I've only just started to recover since New Years,’ he joked, slapping them both on the back. ‘Tour, then drinks?’

‘Drinks first. We’ll find our way around at some point,’ Theo waved a hand, caring not a jot about the impeccable aesthetic that Draco (Pansy) had curated. 

‘Sounds good to me.’ A flick of a wand and the bags were taken upstairs. The whiskey came out (‘muggle only, sorry, they’ve figured out where I live’), and then they started on the important business of the evening: drinking. 

-----

Draco should have thought to pace himself better, but all his sensible decision-making had been spent on medieval Latin and helping Hermione, so really, he told himself as he surveyed his slightly blurry reflection in one of the already quite disgusting toilets at Freud’s, he was doing as well as he could under the circumstances. 

Freud’s was, in typical Oxford fashion, a cocktail bar held in an old Victorian church. It had large, fancy columns outside the front that Blaise said reminded him of home, and the pews had all been removed to make space for tables and a dance floor. The DJ booth was in place of the altar. The bathrooms, however, could have used some work. 

They’d been drinking since the late afternoon, but Jenny and Alice seemed well on their way to catching up. Will, to Draco’s annoyance, had also arrived, probably because he wanted to see Hermione. He’d even had the nerve to ask Draco about her, but Draco had pretended not to hear him. 

Theo and Blaise had also asked about her when he wasn’t too drunk to just flat out ignore them, and he’d replied as evenly as possible. 

‘Did the beggy letter work?’ Blaise had asked almost immediately after their first sip. 

‘We’re friends again,’ Draco had shrugged, casually. 

‘How friendly?’ Theo had then pressed. 

‘Friendly enough.’ 

Draco knew they’d find out she was going to move in, probably tonight because Alice couldn’t keep her mouth shut, but he wanted to hide behind a bunch of muggles and avoid the kinds of questions Theo and Blaise wanted to know the answers to. 

‘Blaise, do you remember the first time Pansy sucked off Draco?’ 

‘We never heard the end of it.’ 

‘It was honestly disgusting, the level of detail that was involved. We paid our dues listening to you bang on about things we didn’t want to know, Draco. Now it’s pay back time.’ 

‘Nothing has happened,’ he insisted, and the two paused. 

‘What do you mean?’ 

‘Granger and I are friends. That’s it. Nothing has happened. I don’t know what you want me to say,’ he shrugged it off. They both stared at him, slightly disbelievingly. 

‘But you got her to pretend to be your girlfriend, gave her not one, not two, but three thoughtful Christmas gifts (one of which was an heirloom), and can barely say her name without looking like you want to die. What the hell happened?’ 

Draco shifted awkwardly, trying to brush off their astonishment. 

‘Firstly, she was not pretending to be my girlfriend. We disastrously pretended to be hooking up for like half an evening, and only because both of us had situations that needed to be sorted,’

‘You cannot be serious,’ Theo muttered, sharing a glance with Blaise which clearly said ‘this intervention is needed’. 

‘Secondly,’ Draco ploughed on, ‘the gifts were part of a 'Secret Santa' thing okay so don’t start on that. And the heirloom was just lying around. And finally - I can say ‘Hermione’ like a perfectly normal person,’ he finished, also finishing his first drink. He coughed a bit. 

Blaise looked like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or shake Draco. 

‘Sure,’ Theo snorted. ‘Of course you don’t want her. Of course every single time she’s brought up you don’t get all defensive and snakey and avoid the questions and go all red and shift about in your chair like you’re literally doing right now.’ 

‘Fuck off,’ Draco muttered mid-shifting-about. He forced himself to stay still, sitting straight upright and not moving. 

‘Now you look like you’re in a job interview,’ Blaise mused. ‘Tell us about a time when you overcame a challenge?’ 

‘Fuck off,’ Draco repeated. ‘Or you can both piss off home.’ 

‘Oh no, we’re staying.’

‘We promised at Christmas we would come to check things out. Clearly, you need our assistance.’ 

‘With what?’ 

‘With seducing Hermione Granger,’ Theo rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t be dense Draco.’ 

‘I don’t want to seduce her.’ 

They both looked at him doubtfully. 

‘Look, tease me as much as you want. But both of you have to promise not to get involved or say anything to her. There’s a lot going on that you don’t understand and it’s not my place to explain, but believe me, Hermione doesn’t need another thing on her plate right now.’ 

He was pretty sure the Hogwarts Express could have fit through their mouths, both Theo and Blaise’s jaws had dropped so open. 

‘Oh fuck,’ Theo said softly. 

‘What?’ Draco snapped. Theo and Blaise glanced at each other again. ‘Will you stop doing that?’ Draco said, rolling his eyes. ‘You’re making me feel like you’re my fucking parents.’ 

‘Shotgun being Narcissa,’ they both said at the same time. 

‘How do you know what shotgun is?’ 

‘Never mind that. But fine. You don’t want us to get involved, we won’t.’

‘You promise?’ 

They both held their hands up. ‘Promise. We’ll all go out, have a nice time and get trashed. No helping you seduce anyone.’

‘In fact, we’ll do the opposite. We’ll make sure by the end of the night everyone there thinks you’re repulsive.’ 

‘Fine,’ Draco sulked. It wasn’t what he wanted, but it was good enough. 

A brief knock on the bathroom door brought Draco back to the present, and then Theo and Blaise were inside the cubicle with him. 

‘How’d you get past the security guard,’ Draco said, slightly losing his footing and crashing against the sink. The guard was in place to make sure this - multiple people crammed into one toilet booth - didn't happen. 

‘We’re fucking wizards,’ Blaise said as he put the toilet seat down. ‘You need to come home, you’re being too muggle-y.’

‘No thanks,’ Draco slurred. ‘What have you got?’

‘I’ve been working on a little something,’ Theo grinned, bringing out a small vial filled with a golden liquid. 

‘That,’ Blaise said, with a connoisseur's eye, ‘is beautiful.’ 

‘Possibly my finest yet.’ 

‘What’s in it?’ 

‘A combination of felix felicis for luck, amortentia for that euphoric rush, and muggle MDMA to really bring it home.’ 

There was a moment of silent appreciation. 

‘That’s going to kill us,’ Draco said. ‘How do we take it?’ 

‘I’ve already tested it,’ Theo said. ‘Don’t you worry. And just a sip will be enough for the whole night.’

‘Who with?’ Blaise said, slightly hurt. Theo just winked. 

‘Bottoms up?’ 

‘Bottoms up,’ they repeated. Draco watched as the others drank, and then took the vial from Blaise, pouring the smallest amount of liquid onto his tongue and…

Fuck. 

He leaned his head back against the mirror. 

‘That amortentia reeeeaallly hits you,’ Blaise grinned. They were all grinning. Draco’s eyes wanted to flutter closed but he tried to hold it together, knowing that the others would know exactly what…

He couldn’t resist the taste of it. Of her, because who else could it have been? Black coffee and the almond scent of her hair and something deeper underneath it, like how he would dare imagine her skin would taste were he ever able to run his tongue along it, and then right at the end peppermint, of course. He inhaled deeply, as if he could taste it again. He wanted to drink all of it, chased his lips with his tongue to see if there was anything left. 

‘You can congratulate me properly tomorrow,’ Theo’s own eyes were heavy lidded. ‘But we’re probably missing the party, and it’s not like we can share this around.’ 

They left, Draco feeling the rest of the potion starting to hit his system, that same sense of buoyancy, of the promised euphoria starting to loosen his limbs, making him feel weightless. 

Reality slammed into him literally on the way back to their table. 

‘There you are!’ The voice said. That scent intensified, the amortentia feeling more real, more solid around him. Draco’s arms went to the voice’s arms and held them by its side, and they were familiar. He stroked them a little, enjoying how soft the skin was, how every movement seemed to release more of that scent. 

‘Hey,’ he said, still grinning as the room morphed around him, and Hermione peered suspiciously up at him. 

‘You are totally fucked, aren’t you?’ 

‘Fuck,’ Draco said, letting go of her arms and stepping away immediately. He needed some fresh air. ‘Smoke,’ he choked out, hoping for the first time Hermione would say no. But she was following him outside and…fuck fuck fuck fuck. 

Draco thought of his sober-up potions, sitting neatly in a row in his bathroom cabinet. He thought of the bezoars in his potion storage (he’d converted the garage for Hermione already), he thought of a massive pile of chips that might soak something up. He tried to think of anything except the witch standing right in front of him, dressed in jeans and a tight, mesh top, with her hair swirling around both of them like some kind of cloud. 

‘Dare I ask what it is?’ She asked wryly, shifting her weight to one side. The drugs made Draco feel as though everything was happening at a slight distance from him, but at the same time every movement she made seemed so vital. He had to concentrate on acting normally. He wouldn’t ruin this, not because of some stupid fucking -

‘Potion,’ he managed to get out. And then somehow, conjured a cigarette. ‘Theo made it,’ he said again, focusing on sentences and not Hermione, looking so perfect, so real, so urgent right in front of him. 

‘Ah,’ she said, taking the smoke from him and having a long drag. ‘It’s been a while,’ she said, nodding towards it. Draco leaned his head back and took a gulp of clean air. Now that the shock was wearing off, the buzz was starting to feel a little more manageable. 

‘Yeah,’ he said, breathing slowly again. ‘Fuck, I’m sorry.’

‘What was in it?’ she said, half-laughing, half-concerned. Draco just shook his head. There was no fucking way he was about to admit that he’d just ingested amortentia, and it was making him lose his mind.  

‘Granger?!’ 

Just his luck. Theo had found them, and Draco was pleased to admit, he looked slightly alarmed at Hermione’s presence. 

‘Hello, Theodore,’ Hermione said politely, offering a small smile. ‘How are you?’ 

‘Yeah,’ he nodded, moving closer to them, swaying into Draco a little. ‘Yeah. really good. Great to see you,’ Theo was trying hard to remain normal but he seemed to be having just as much trouble as Draco keeping it together. 

‘Do you want some?’ He blurted out, and Draco froze. He didn’t think he could handle watching her taste something that wouldn’t be him, and then be around her when they were both high. What if her amortentia tasted of Will and he had to watch them get together? Or worse, it was still the Weasel and she would apparate to be with him - 

‘I’m okay thanks,’ she said laughing slightly. ‘Cocktails are enough for me.’ Draco buckled in relief and she gave him a look that clearly said ‘why are you being so weird’. 

‘I need to go,’ he slurred. ‘Love to stay, really would but,’ he shook his head. ‘Bad reaction. Gonna just go and sort myself out.’

He was lying, he was flying, but he knew that if he stayed near her any more than he’d do something or say something that would ruin their friendship, most probably forever, and Draco couldn’t bear the idea of her rejecting him while he was high. Because it would be even worse if she didn’t reject him, and the felix felicis certainly might make that possible and he couldn’t, not the first time, not ever. Not like this. 

——

‘Do you think we should tell him it’s a dead end?’ Hermione asked Theo, watching Draco stumble to the end of the smoking area. 

‘Nah,’ Theo Nott, Draco’s best friend, lounged against the wall next to her. ‘He’ll figure it out.’ She offered him a drag. ‘Cheers Granger. Didn’t take you for a smoker.’

‘It’s Hermione. And I’m not really. It’s a sort of shorthand for Draco and I. If we need to sneak off to talk about witch stuff,’ she shrugged. Theo was staring at her quite intently, though he didn’t appear to be nearly as incapacitated. 

‘Makes sense,’ he said after a while. ‘How are you?’ 

‘I’m good, thanks. Nice to see you again,’ she said. That was true, she realised. There was something about going through a war together, even on opposite sides, that brought you together. 

‘It’s an absolute pleasure Hermione,’ Theo said, making her laugh. ‘I mean it,’ he did sound very serious. Hermione wondered what on earth was in that potion. 

‘What -’

‘Trade secrets, I’m afraid,’ he patted his pocket. ‘But it’s good.’ 

‘How come you’re not like,’ she waved a hand towards Draco, who was staring over the wall, breathing deeply. He snorted. 

‘I mean, I’ve done this before and Draco and Blaise - who’s inside, by the way - haven’t. And then I think the general surprise probably threw him a bit off-balance.’ 

‘Why would anyone want to take a drug that makes you surprised?’ 

Theo looked at her strangely. He was very handsome, she realised belatedly. His eyes were warm and brown, his hair had a slight curl, and Hermione realised that he and Draco were attracting a fair amount of attention from the rest of the crowd in the smoking area. 

‘No, Hermione,’ he replied, slowly. ‘Draco was surprised - actually, never mind. It doesn’t matter,’ he smiled at her and she smiled back. Theo was easy to be around, and she thought she could understand why he and Blaise had been able to bring Draco back from himself after the war ended. 

‘Theo - have you seen Draco? Apparently - oh,’ Blaise joined them. 

Had all the Slytherin’s been handsome at school? Blaise had only grown into his looks, which Hermione had seemed to remember were very well reviewed anyway. His lips curved into a smile, with the kind of slowness that implied he knew exactly what he was doing. Judging by the size of his pupils, he too had fallen victim to Theo’s little experiment. 

‘Granger, a pleasure.’

‘It’s Hermione,’ her and Theo said at the same time. Theo nodded towards Draco, still in the exact same position in the back. Blaise nodded, then turned back to her. 

‘Sorry about our friend.’

‘Oh, I’m used to it,’ she joked. Clearly Theo’s potion also wasn't making Blaise feel awful either. 

‘Has he taken a funny turn?’ Blaise asked Theo, an eyebrow raised. Hermione understood then that was where Draco got it from. 

‘You could say that,’ Theo replied. They both turned their attention back to Hermione, who swallowed reflexively. 

‘You need a drink Gr- Hermione,’ Blaise had withdrawn a cocktail and was pressing it into her hand. 

‘I’m actually not staying long,’ she tried to stay, but they both pouted so sweetly she had to laugh. 

‘No, stay with us.’

‘We have so much to catch up on,’ 

Her hand seemed to automatically close around the glass. She sipped. 

‘Oh, I love a whiskey sour,’ she said in surprise, glancing up at Blaise. 

‘Serendipity,’ he replied smoothly. Both he and Theo had taken the opportunity to elegantly lean either side of her. Blaise conjured another cigarette, Theo a cocktail, (Hermione really had to ask him how he did that), and they continued to pepper her with questions. 

‘How’s your research going?’

‘Draco said the Griffyndor contingent came to visit - how was that?’

‘Do you also know Alice?’

‘Do you miss wizarding London at all?’ 

‘What’s your thesis on?’

‘How’s the essays going? You’re probably doing more work than Draco…’ 

‘How -'

‘Am I being interviewed?’ she tried to say, slightly fuzzy from the cocktail. She hadn’t drunk since the wine at Draco’s, and it was hitting her harder than she had expected. 

‘Where are our manners,’ Blaise looked shocked. ‘I am so sorry Hermione,’ he took her hand. ‘I really can only apologise.’

‘It’s fine,’ she replied, stopping herself from rolling her eyes. She wished that they at least might stop taking everything SO seriously… 

‘Is everything okay?’ 

Draco had appeared in between them, shouldered right in front of Hermione. She couldn’t help the relief she felt when he was there, even when he was out of it. 

‘You don’t have to drink that Granger,’ he said, spying the drink in her hand. 

‘Blaise gave it to me,’ Hermione replied slightly quizzically. Of course she wouldn’t drink it if she didn’t want to. But apparently that was the wrong answer, because Draco had snatched it and was sniffing it cautiously. 

‘Jesus mate, you honestly think I’d drug someone?’ 

Hermione was also shocked at the assumption. 

‘Just checking,’ Draco muttered, looking slightly green. But although Hermione was outraged on Blaise’s behalf, he and Theo appeared to already be over it, exchanging a glance that she was pretty sure meant ‘we’re going to talk about this later’. 

‘Sorry I spilled your drink Granger,’ Draco said, looking less green but more guilty. 

‘Do you need to go home?’ She asked, concern mounting. ‘Seriously, I can walk you back if you need a hand?’ 

Draco's mouth opened, and it didn’t close for slightly too long. 

‘Okay,’ Hermione said, straightening up. ‘Let’s go back. Draco, come on,’ she leaned across to him to grasp his wrist. The space was crowded though with the three giant men around her, and she had to squeeze through the gap between Draco and Blaise to get out. Even though she definitely shouldn’t have, she breathed him in as she moved past. 

Her touch seemed to have shaken something in him, because while she was pressed against him he moved, tugging her close to him in that inbetween, huddled in the dark in the smoking area. Hermione’s heart picked up. Maybe Blaise had drugged her. She wasn’t sure she minded right now. 

‘Hermione,’ he muttered to her, hand on her hand, as though they were the only two people in the world. She was vaguely aware of other people, but the feeling of his touch on her hand, stroking slightly as he had stroked her arms when she’d first walked into him, was overwhelming. How long had it been since anyone had touched her like that? His head dropped onto the top of hers, and he breathed in deeply. 

She couldn’t move. She didn’t want to move. She knew she had to, that she didn’t understand whatever was happening but that she probably should stop it, because, because, she couldn’t quite work out why it shouldn’t, her brain was working too slowly to keep up with what her body wanted. And that was…she tilted her head up slightly. 

And then Draco lifted his head, jaw still slightly slack, said ‘sorry,’ and disapparated on the spot. 

‘Fuck!’ 

They moved quickly to cover Draco’s insane display of public magic. Blaise kicked a table over to try and make a distraction, Hermione coughed, and Theo clapped. No one appeared to have been watching Draco, as their attempts to cause a distraction had resulted in everyone turning to glare at them for being so loud. 

‘I don’t think anyone saw anything,’ Theo murmured. ‘But my occlumency isn’t as good as Draco's, ' he sighed. 

‘Draco’s an occlumens?’ Hermione asked, distracted. 

‘A bloody good one,’ Blaise replied. ‘I’ll head back,’ he nodded at Theo. With another nod to Hermione, he stalked out. A number of people stared after him. 

Hermione was still trying to work out exactly what had happened when she turned back to Theo, who was, yet again, watching her closely. 

‘What -’

‘I have no idea, Hermione darling,’ he replied. ‘Draco is a weird little freak sometimes. Nothing he does ever makes sense.’ 

Despite herself Hermione laughed. ‘I guess so.’

‘I’m glad he’s here,’ Theo mused, taking a seat at one of the freezing metal chairs. He conjured Hermione a cushion before she sat on hers.

‘You have an absolutely appalling sense of what magic is appropriate in public muggle settings,’ Hermione grumbled. 

‘You know, I like you a lot, Hermione.’

‘Oh. Thanks. I like you too?’

‘You don’t know me as well,’ Theo shook his head. ‘But I actually know quite a lot about you. Did you know Draco talks about you?’ 

‘Erm. No. I didn’t. That’s nice though,’ she stammered slightly. Theo smiled wider. 

‘It is, isn’t it. I’m very pleased he has you.’

‘I’m pleased to have him. For this, obviously. It’s nice to do something like this with someone who understands exactly where I’m coming from,’ Hermione wished she had another drink so she had something to do with her hands. Theo nodded in approval. 

‘Very healing, I would imagine. Draco is getting there - obviously he was a massive arse, and you and I both know him well enough to admit he sort of still is, but he’s turning out alright. And all it took was a war, a psychopath and the death of one of his parents. All in all, a pretty good deal I’d say.’ 

‘Would you?’ She replied weakly. 

‘Oh yes. For both of us. Obviously, I got out slightly better than him in many ways, with only an abusive and useless father but,’ Theo shrugged. Hermione tried not to be shocked with the casual way he referenced the war. Her and Draco avoided the topic with a sort of pre-agreed upon diligence. ‘You don’t talk about it, do you?’ He said, cottoning on to her awkwardness. 

‘Not really.’

‘Mmm.’ 

‘It’s not like we don’t - I mean, we’re obviously aware of everything.’

‘Right.’

‘And we don’t ignore the consequences or anything,’ Hermione continued. She had no idea why she felt compelled to defend their own friendship in front of Theo, but she wanted to. ‘Draco’s actually been great. I’ve got some stuff to sort out and he’s helping me with that too, so,’ she trailed off. 

‘That’s very good to hear.’ 

‘Yeah. Well.’ 

‘Must have been quite a surprise, bumping into him?’ 

‘Yes,’ Hermione laughed. ‘For both of us.’ 

 ‘And now you’re fast friends.’

‘Is there something specific you want to know Theo?’ she asked him sharply. His questions seemed to be attempting to lead her somewhere, into some sort of confession that he could then squirrel away. 

‘Not at all,’ he replied, ‘just trying to get to know you a little better seeing as we’ll be seeing so much more of each other.’

‘Oh, you’re sticking around next week?’ 

‘No?’ His brow furrowed. 

‘Now I’m confused. I thought you might be because I'm moving.’

‘Moving?’

‘He didn’t say?’ Hermione trailed off. Should she have not said? Was it a secret? ‘Draco’s letting me move in. I need somewhere to stay, and given he’s helping me with some other stuff it just made sense…’ 

‘Oh, he did say something about that,’ Theo said, staring quite intently at her. ‘Yep. I remember it now. Which is exactly what I was referring to, of course. I’ll see you a lot because you’re both going to be roommates.’ 

‘Cool.’

‘Well Hermione, it’s been a pleasure. I have to say I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.’

‘I’ve been terrible this term, so I thought I’d make the effort.’

‘Just out of curiosity, when did you decide to come?’ 

‘Not long ago actually. I’d just got back and thought - fuck it. So I apparated to Draco’s and walked over,’ she said with a small laugh. ‘Not normally my style, but was good to get out of the hotel I’m staying in.’

‘Right. The hotel - because you need somewhere to live and Draco has loads of space,’ he nodded again. ‘This all makes perfect sense.’ 

‘I’m glad you think so,’ Hermione allowed. ‘Let me know if you need any help with Draco or anything,’ she said, as they both stood up. ‘He’s got my number so you can give me a ring or text,’ she fidgeted slightly nervously. He really hadn’t looked well, and had been acting strangely, and he had been so conscientious to her that she didn’t want to just abandon him. 

As though he could hear her thoughts Theo put a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

‘Wanna walk back and check in on him before you head home?’ 

‘Would that be weird?’

‘Not at all.’ 

-------

Draco was sitting under the shower, fully clothed. 

‘Feel nice bud?’ Blaise opened the door slowly to watch his friend fail, once again, to cope with his feelings. 

‘Did you know?’

‘That Hermione was going to be there? No. Theo never would have given it to you if we did.’ 

‘Fuck.’ 

‘How you doing?’ 

‘I can’t - I asked her to move in with me.’

Blaise considered his friend, prone on the shower floor, sopping wet, eyes closed. 

‘…What?’

‘She needs somewhere to stay and I told her to come here.’ 

It was much more serious than Theo and he had expected. And they couldn’t do anything about it, even though he wanted to shake Draco and get him to admit that he wanted to be with her. He wondered if Theo was doing any better with Granger. 

‘Right.’

‘I know.’

‘So you’ve brought the fairy princess to your lair -’

‘Please don’t joke about this.’

‘I wasn’t joking.’

There was silence on Draco’s end. Perhaps he needed to change tack. 

‘What do you want to happen?’

‘I want to stop feeling like this.’

‘And can you describe how you're feeling?’

One eye cracked open, glaring at him. 

‘You’re not my therapist Blaise.’

‘And thank Salazar and Jesus and whatever else for that. When was the last time you saw Julia though?’

‘Too long probably. Do you think I need to go back?’

‘Honestly? No, Draco. I think you’re in love with her, and you just need to face it.’ 

‘Cooeee!’ Theo called up. Blaise exhaled in relief. Draco’s little meltdown had ruined his buzz, and he wanted to head back out once they’d taken the little prince to bed. Not to mention, quiz Theo aggressively on who exactly he had experimented with this one of his creations. Blaise and Draco had normally been the number one Guinea pigs. 

‘He’s up here,’ Blaise called back down. Two steps of footsteps started clattering up the stairs, which could only mean…

‘Don’t let her in here,’ Draco snarled, lunging for the door and slamming it shut just as Theo banged into it. 

‘What’s going on?’

‘Draco?’ Hermione’s voice rang out. Blaise watched him physically blanch, his grip on the handle tightening. He surveyed his friend with interest. The severity of the reaction that Hermione’s presence had brought up was especially intriguing. Blaise had recognised parts of his amortentia - the taste of Luna’s Nargle-repellant was mingled with various other things, but he didn’t let it bother him, merely enjoying the flavour and letting it relax him and infuse the general evening with a tone of longing and the slow kind of pleasure he especially enjoyed. But Draco, in the presence of Hermione (who obviously was Draco’s amortentia), seemed to be desperate to avoid what Blaise could only imagine to be an intensification of the experience. 

‘Why don’t you want her here,’ He murmured, holding the bathroom door close. ‘I’ll get rid of her if you need me to, but don’t turn her away just because you’re scared.’

‘I cannot be around her,’ he was muttering animatedly to himself. ‘Blaise, I’m serious. I want - I want her so badly and it can’t happen like this.’

‘She’s not sober either,’ he offered. ‘If you factor in the cold shower you’re probably both at the same level, if that’s what you’re worried about,’

‘For fucks sake Blaise. She deserves better than this.’ 

Blaise clapped his oldest friend on the back. 

‘You are an incurable romantic. I love you very much, and I will get rid of Hermione.’ 

He inched through the door to see Theo and Hermione standing there, arms crossed. Hermione, he was pleased to note, looked very worried indeed. 

‘Is he okay?’ she demanded, before he could say anything. This was perfect. 

‘He’s fine,’ he said in a reassuring and avuncular tone. She didn’t look convinced. ‘Look, Hermione,’ he continued, sensing she was in need of greater encouragement. ‘He doesn’t want to see you right now - he’s embarrassed.’

‘Why?’ she pressed. 

‘He’s pissed himself,’ Blaise said cheerfully. He heard Theo choke out a laugh as Draco’s voice rang out,

‘No I FUCKING HAVEN’T BLAISE,’ 

Hermione’s lips were pursed, and Blaise took the opportunity to study the woman his friend had bullied, and then fallen spectacularly for. 

He couldn’t fault Draco’s taste, even if Hermione wasn’t really his ‘type’. She was brilliant, yes everyone knew that. But she was also beautiful, clearly didn’t take any bullshit, and had a great pair of tits that he had never noticed before. Which he knew wasn’t that important in the grand scheme of things, but still, they were very nice nonetheless. 

‘Seeing as you are all clearly well enough to piss about (no pun intended), then I am going to bed. Thanks for walking me back, Theo,’ she said, turning to his other friend who offered her a small bow. Granger disapparated on the spot. 

Once the crack had gone Draco barrelled out of the bathroom, sending Blaise sprawling onto the floor. He was laughing in between trying to fight Draco off, who was still sopping wet, and now absolutely furious. 

‘Are you going to help?’ He called out to Theo, after Draco had managed to land a blow that hadn’t been playful. 

‘And stop the show? I doubt it,’ Theo had leaned against the bannister, sitting on the top step. 

‘You fucking dickhead,’ Draco snarled. 

‘She knew it was a joke.’

‘What if she didn't!’

‘Of course she did. She’s Hermione fucking Granger, not an imbecile.’

‘She looked like she was trying not to laugh,’ Theo added helpfully. ‘So you have nothing to worry about.’

‘She clearly fancies you too alright,’ Blaise shouted, bucking to try and get Draco off him. ‘And are you working out again? Cos you’re fucking strong,’ he massaged his ribs, now that Draco had given up. 

‘Helps with the rowing.’

‘The rowing? You do need to come home.’

‘You’re moping, exercising, pining, falling in love,’ Theo picked up where Blaise had left off. That was the trouble - when they all got on it it was quite hard to stop. And Draco did not seem to be in the mood. 

‘I swear to the fucking Hogwarts founders, if you two don’t stop being dicks I’m sending you home.’ 

‘We’re sorry Draco,’ Theo sprawled over their sad, damp friend. ‘So. Sorry.’

‘I hate you both,’ he said into the carpet. 

‘Do you wanna know something interesting, though?’ 

‘No.’

‘Hermione didn’t decide to come out until you’d drunk the potion.’ 

‘So?’

‘So the potion works.’ 

‘It obviously works,’ he said, shoving Theo off him. ‘I was fucking great until it wasn’t.’ 

‘You’re not paying attention. The felix felicis works even in combination with the other ingredients. Hermione was your amortentia,’ Draco let out a squeak they both ignored, ‘and the luck brought her to you.’ 

‘You’re a fucking genius, Theo,’ Blaise said, grinning at his friend. ‘Have you got any more?’ 

Theo winked. 

‘I’m never drinking that shit again.’

‘Don’t worry, I have plenty of other options.’ 

‘That is exactly what I’m worried about.’

Chapter Text

Hilary Week 6

Draco spent the next five days writhing in mortal embarrassment. In an ideal world, he’d be able to avoid Hermione entirely. 

Unfortunately, life was cruel, and Draco dutifully sat next to her in the Weston library, pouring over more mouldering manuscripts. By this point, he hated them. 

‘I need to apologise,’ he’d tried to say the first time they returned to work after the weekend. Well, the first time Draco returned to work. He would have bet his remaining shred of dignity that Hermione did not know the meaning of ‘weekend’. She’d just held up a hand. 

‘Please, we really don’t need to talk about it.’

‘I am so sorry, Granger,’

‘I know you didn’t actually piss yourself, Malfoy,’ she’d replied. The return to the surname had stung, even if he’d started it. He had wanted to put some distance in between the two of them, and hated it. 

He also wanted to say that Blaise’s joke was the last thing he needed to apologise for. But he couldn’t say sorry for wanting her so badly it made him sick, without admitting to wanting her in the first place. Which was difficult, because he was trying very hard to pretend that he didn’t. 

She seemed just as keen to move on, though they were both awkward with each other. Which was made all the more awkward because they were both furiously trying to pretend that everything was normal. He had no idea why she was embarrassed, as Hermione had done absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing like taking drugs and falling over himself to be close to her and then locking himself in the bathroom and throwing a tantrum. 

But they ploughed on, Draco bringing her a coffee every morning in a sort of apology-without-admitting-anything-to-be-sorry-for, and Hermione sipping it in stilted silence before they went upstairs to wrestle with old handwriting and bad Latin. At this point, Draco was seriously regretting offering to help her. He wished he’d just stuck to what he was good at: throwing money and resources at the problem, instead of also trying to impress Hermione with how clever he was. After a few weeks of translating, there wasn’t much brain left. He was basically brain soup. 

But the awkwardness and the weird silences had to stop at some point, because Hermione moved in that weekend. It was terrible timing, but really, it couldn’t be helped. 

Draco didn’t sleep the night before. He couldn’t work out whether it was worry or anticipation that kept him up, but he tossed and turned all night. The thought that soon Hermione would be sleeping in a room somewhere above him was both thrilling and mortifying. He tried very hard to set boundaries with himself. Now that she would be living in his space, he could not fantasise about her in the way that he had, occasionally, let himself. There would be no space for errors, because she needed to stay here more than he needed to think about her. He tried to tell himself that they would be so busy they’d barely see each other anyway. Not like they already spent a large amount of time sitting next to each other or anything like that. Or that he’d promised to cook for her at least once a week or…

He groaned, rolling over onto his front. The sky already seemed slightly lighter. If he didn’t sleep now then he might as well just get up. 

Several hours and no sleep later, she arrived, standing in the rain with only one smallish suitcase. He regarded it with surprise. Not to be stereotypical or anything, but didn’t women need more than that? Draco certainly did. Then again, Hermione was probably too much of a serious academic to need ‘stuff’. She probably thought he was a pompous dandy. She’d look at all the little vases and things Pansy had forced him to buy to fill shelves and probably laugh out loud. He miserably took the suitcase from her before waving her in. It was surprisingly heavy. 

‘What have you got in here,’ he asked as he heaved it up the stairs. Outside the drizzle was continuing, which seemed appropriate, given his mood.  

‘Oh, not much,’ she replied, appearing slightly flustered. He raised a brow - that normally seemed to work. 

‘Well, if you must know,’ she muttered as he closed the front door quietly, ‘I'm quite good at extension charms.’ 

Draco forgot his mood and his lack of sleep as he grinned.

‘Finding out about all the illegal things you do brings me immense pleasure Granger,’ he said. That wasn’t too flirty, was it? But she laughed, so he was safe. 

‘I’m sure you will ply me with G&T’s at some point, and all my secrets will come spilling out.’

‘Will I learn you’re secretly a massive rule-breaking rebel?’

‘I did help lead an actual rebellion, remember’ she snorted. ‘So if being a rebel is news, then I think any surprise is more a reflection of you than me.’ 

‘I promise I’m normally slightly more intelligent. Just not in the mornings.’ 

‘That makes two of us,’ she sighed, coming to a stand at the bottom of the staircase, and stretching out her neck. ‘I barely slept last night.’

‘Me neither,’ he said, oddly warmed that at least they were both feeling nervous about it all. ‘Welcome home,’ he added, awkwardly. ‘I’ve got keys somewhere around, and I’ve added you to the magical wards too,’ 

‘I really can’t say thank you enough,’ she started to say, but Draco was having none of it. 

‘It’s the least I can do.’ He meant it. 

She took a deep breath in, as though she were steeling herself for something. 

‘Theo and I were chatting the other night,’ 

The bottom of Draco’s stomach fell out. Oh God, what had he told her? That stupid man, he’d promised not to fuck anything up, he was going to kill him, he was going to - 

‘and it made me think. We don’t talk about what happened, do we?’ 

‘What?’ What happened when? Did she know? Did she know how many times he’d been close to kissing her? Draco didn’t think he could breathe. 

‘The war,’ she added, finally. 

‘Ah.’ 

Was this better, or worse than knowing about the fantasising? Better, Draco decided. He thought he’d rather go through the war, Voldemort, his father dying, everything again, than face her knowing that he had a crush. Definitely better. 

‘And we probably ought to. At some point. Clear the air. I don’t know,’ she inhaled again, and suddenly Draco realised what an arse he was being. 

‘I should have been the one to bring this up,’ he said gently. ‘Because there’s nothing - you did nothing wrong, Hermione. I have owed you a proper apology for a long time.’

‘I don’t mean apologies. You’ve already done that, and I’ve already forgiven you. I told you - it happened a long time ago. But I meant more like, more like a discussion. What it was like. For both of us.’ 

His heart squeezed slightly. And the small, possessive part of him that he couldn’t convince to let go of wanting her purred, because it meant that she wanted to talk to him. 

‘I think that would be great,’ he said. ‘I mean, obviously not great but -’

‘Yeah I know. I just,’ she sighed. ‘I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said about talking and I think that maybe it’ll help with the research.’ 

Draco quietly thought it wouldn’t help with the research, but would most likely help with Hermione’s own mental stability. He didn’t point that out though. 

‘We could have some tea,’ he offered. 

‘Now?’ She blinked. 

‘Whenever you want. We don’t have to schedule it in or anything if you’d rather not. But whenever you feel up to it, just say the word.’ 

Apparently satisfied with that, and unwilling to open up any further, Hermione nodded. And then because he didn’t know how to cheer her up, he offered to show her the ‘lab’. 

Showing Hermione his makeshift laboratory in the garage was a good idea. Draco had been toying with the idea of setting it up in the house, but decided that they might need bedrooms more than a garage. It wasn’t as though he was going to learn to drive or anything. So he’d spent one evening going back and forth to The Manor, nicking most of the stuff from his old set up and warding it to the high heavens. 

It was worth the effort. Hermione was overwhelmed by it, quietly walking round and inspecting everything he had brought from home or purchased himself. And then she’d wasted no more time, heaving that damn suitcase in, opening it up and starting to bring out an outrageous amount of research, all the while peppering him with questions about the ingredients, the number of cauldrons, his preferred brewing techniques etc., without pause. 

Hermione had of course been lying about being ‘quite good’ at extension charms. Judging by the sheer amount of work she managed to haul out of the tiny suitcase, she was close to permanently bending the rules of space. Shelves that had lain empty were now filled with binders full of notes. Scans of the brain were hung at intervals around the room, enchanted to move slightly to show the impact of the passage of time on certain key areas. She explained what each one meant as she went, and Draco mainly nodded and tried to keep up, though not very successfully. His overwhelming feeling was one of total inadequacy. How was she this brilliant? It didn’t seem fair. 

Draco forced them both to stop for lunch, though Hermione was clearly itching to get started. He almost had to drag her out, promising her things like homemade pastry and copious cups of posh coffee. 

The kitchen, despite its size, was warm when the oven was on and the sun was up. The large windows were soon steamy, and without a second thought Draco had whipped his jumper off, standing in just a t-shirt and jeans and barefeet, whisking up a quick filling for a quiche. 

‘Your tattoo,’ Hermione said quietly, and Draco jumped as she appeared by his side. He tensed, expecting the judgement, but of course Hermione was only looking at it with curiosity. ‘Can I see it?’ 

Draco set the quiche filling to whisk itself, and extended his forearm. 

His forearm, and most of his dark mark, had been almost totally covered by a dragon (of course). But instead of obscuring the evil design underneath, the dragon's jaws encircled the fading skull. He tapped his wand against it, and it flexed, the dragon almost coming to life on his skin, writhing around his arm, crushing the skull in its teeth. Another tap, and the tattoo reverted to its initial state. 

‘Oh,’ Hermione said, reaching out and grabbing his arm by instinct, pulling it closer to her face so she could peer at it. ‘This is incredible.’ 

Draco felt her breath on his skin and had to swallow. 

Her fingers were tracing the design, running over it. ‘You didn’t cover it entirely?’ 

‘No,’ he said simply. ‘It didn’t feel right to totally cover it up. I wanted to remember - in case anything like that ever happened again. I wanted to remember what it cost me.’ He tried to keep his voice even. 

‘Peacocks?’ She asked smiling, her fingers lingering on the mixture of foliage and animals at the base of his wrist. Her fingers on him felt just as good, even without the amortentia. He swallowed again. 

‘I had to kill them,’ he said quietly, not able to meet her eyes. ‘You probably heard that my father had these peacocks at The Manor. They were so stupid - they’re not very clever birds,’ he snorted. ‘But my dad loved them. It was so silly, but he really did. He used to feed them every morning and tell them all the news, and whenever he wrote to me at Hogwarts he’d always include a postscript letting me know how they were. 

‘Anyway, the war started, and I had to learn how to use the Unforgivables.’ He sighed heavily. ‘It was the Cruciatus first. And,’ he shook his head. ‘I had to do a bunch of awful stuff as part of my ‘training’,’ he sneered. ‘But hurting and then killing those birds - for some reason that was one of the worst parts of it.’ 

He let the words hang between them, but Hermione didn’t let go of his arm. 

‘I think they were chosen to hurt my father as much as they were training for me. He couldn’t look at me in the same way after that. I think that was one of the first times he had really realised what he’d gotten himself, what he’d gotten all of us, into.’ 

She ran a thumb over one of them, and he shuddered. She dropped his arm, as though she had realised what she was doing. 

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, taking a step back and a deep breath. ‘That’s - that’s awful, Draco.’ 

‘Not really, in the grand scheme of things. But I think that’s where Voldemort’s evil really excelled. Chipping away your humanity, the things you loved, one bit at a time.’ 

‘Who did the tattoo?’ She asked, and he smiled again, able to look at her once more. 

‘Blaise did. He learnt all kinds of traditional techniques on his ‘travels’,’ at Draco’s air quotes, Hermione laughed. ‘Anyway, the first time he and Theo were allowed to see me on my arrest they sat me down, we got absolutely hammered, and we talked about what I wanted to do once I got out. I said I wanted to cover this up, and the next time they came over, he’d brought all his stuff with him.’

‘He’s very talented,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know you could make them move.’

‘Ah, that’s one of his specialities,’ Draco put the quiche in the oven, turning to make a quick salad. ‘I figured out how to make an ink mix that reacted to magic. It was the first project that made me feel almost normal.’

‘That’s quite impressive,’ she replied, faintly shocked. Draco preened slightly, pleased that he had at least not written his intelligence off entirely, though he pretended he didn’t care. 

‘It was fun, and I had nothing better to do. I gave him the recipe as a thank you - it’s now his signature style.’

‘That’s what he does full time?’ 

‘When he feels like it. He’s got a shop, though he mainly does personal calls.’ 

‘Wow,’ Hermione retreated to the breakfast bar, propping herself up on ‘her’ seat. 

He slid lunch towards her, and they ate in comfortable silence. It was strange, being in short sleeves in front of Hermione. Her eyes flicked every now and then to his forearm, and her distraction meant he could watch her, enjoy the way she licked dressing off the prongs of her fork…

He looked away. This was exactly what he was supposed to not be doing. 

‘Have you listened to much muggle music?’ She asked suddenly. He realised her gaze was on his chest. 

‘All part of it,’ he said. ‘I had to do a muggle learning programme for the first year of my house arrest, and then after I was able to find stuff I liked myself.’ 

‘And ABBA?’ she grinned, referring to his t-shirt. 

‘In my defence, this was a present.’ 

‘Ah, of course.’ 

‘It’s not my fault that they’re catchy,’ he said, feeling oddly embarrassed. ‘And it was the first muggle film I ever saw, so I have a soft spot.’ 

‘They are very catchy,’ she nodded. 

‘What do you like, if your taste is so superior?’ 

‘Bit of everything,’ she shrugged. Draco found himself oddly entranced by the conversation. It was the first time that he realised that living with Hermione would really mean he got to know her. ‘I’ve got a soft spot for the stuff my parents listened to growing up though. Fine Young Cannibals, Rolling Stones, Fleetwood Mac, that kinda stuff.’ 

‘Do you like to work in silence or with music?’ 

‘Hmm,’ she considered, finishing off the pastry, ‘I think that depends on the work. If I'm reading something, either silence or background noise, you know, like in a library. But if I'm doing something practical, like if I’m in a lab, the radio or music is good.’

‘Is that what you did in your undergrad?’

‘My final year, yes. We all got really into Radio 6.’

Draco didn’t know what that was, but he made a mental note to get one for the garage. 

‘Do you keep in touch?’ 

‘With my undergrad cohort? Not really. I didn’t make many friends,’ she gave a small smile, blushing slightly. The pink in her cheeks suited her. 

‘How come?’ Hermione was well-liked, even without anyone knowing who she really was, and even though she only made sporadic social appearances. It seemed strange that there wouldn’t be anyone she’d still talk to from London. 

‘I wasn’t really in the right headspace. It was also pretty overwhelming, going from not being able to walk down the street without someone stopping you, to suddenly being back in the place I’d grown up but totally alone…’ she trailed off. ‘I don’t know. Ginny always tried to convince me to go out, or have people over or whatever. I just didn’t want to. Also,’ she added as an afterthought. ‘I don’t know if you remember, but I’m not always the easiest to make friends with.’ 

Draco knew she was making a joke, but he couldn’t quite laugh. 

‘We were 11.’

‘I still hate the whole production. Small talk, all of that nonsense. I think that’s why Alice and I became friends in the first place. She’s not exactly a private person,’

‘That's true,’ Draco agreed, thinking back to the hundreds of extremely graphic conversations him and Alice had shared.  

‘What about you?’

‘What about me?’ 

‘Are you still in touch with friends from school? Did you meet anyone from your undergrad?’ 

‘I keep in touch with the standard crowd, though the rest of the year aren’t really - it’s a bit trickier,’ he said wryly. He had already shared about the peacocks, he didn’t feel up to explaining what it was like having everyone from the world you grew up in hate you. ‘But from undergraduate, no. I knew that I would never be able to meet up, have coffee or whatever so I didn’t bother. Group projects were always a bit of a nightmare.’ 

‘What about working - music or no music?’ 

‘Music when brewing, always. Mainly classical music as well as ABBA,’ he rolled his eyes. ‘So that I guess? Although if I’m hanging out with Blaise and Theo then we take turns.’ 

‘Do I want to know their preferences?’

‘Theo is a huge Taylor Swift fan. He knows all the words to every single album. Last year he tried to track her across London - that was bad, Blaise and I had to step in.’

She was laughing, delighted by the thought, and he wanted to make her look that happy all the time. 

‘What are your afternoon plans?’ she asked, stretching again in a clear signal that lunch was over, and she wanted to go back to work. 

‘I assumed we were going to start the base serum process.’ 

Hermione beamed at him. 

----- 

The sun was beginning to rise, and she was exhausted, but Hermione heaved herself up anyway. She’d stayed up too late, but that wasn’t her fault. If Draco wanted her to sleep then he wouldn’t have shown her his ‘small’ library on the way up to her room. She had fallen asleep in one of the arm chairs in front of the fire, and woken up at the crack of dawn, a blanket over her, to the sound of the front door clicking shut. 

Draco had mentioned something about rowing the night before, and she assumed he had been the one to place the blanket over her on his way to practise. That alone made her feel confused. Ever since they had run into each other last year Hermione always felt a bit off-balance around Draco. But it had gotten much worse this week - after the disastrous night out she hadn’t known how to even pretend to be normal around him. She had wanted to kiss him! She had blatantly lifted up her head, not just in front of Draco but his friends and… 

She hadn’t realised she had felt like that about him, and the realisation was inconvenient, to say the least. And deeply annoying, now that she was living with him. She’d woken up hoping that it had been the alcohol, but after the sight of his forearms she had to concede that unfortunately, it had nothing to do with the booze. 

Forearms, she had learnt, were attractive. Draco’s tattoo was also particularly attractive. (This was upsetting - it was a Dark Mark and she was salivating?) Watching Draco move about a kitchen - attractive. Watching him move about a potions lab - even more attractive. She rubbed a hand over her face. 

He was clearly motivated by guilt, so she shouldn’t read too much into the care that he was showing her. Soon they’d fall into a normal housemate rhythm, and if she was left with a massive crush on him, then she’d be ruined. Not to mention the whole point of her being here was to work, not moon over him. Not that she did that anyway. She was just appreciating, as one would art. Or sculpture. All very normal. She got up and headed to the kitchen, searching out coffee. 

Despite most of the rooms being empty, the house didn’t feel it. She supposed she ought to give Pansy credit where credit was due, because it was quietly luxurious without being over the top. (Had he and Pansy restarted their relationship? She shouldn't care). Coming from The Manor, Draco probably did think this was restrained. 

She shivered slightly as she thought of that place, her arm prickling in memory. But she tightened the blanket wrapped around her, told herself that she was a long way from that, and padded silently down the stairs. Not that she could have made noise even if she wanted to. The carpet was so thick it absorbed footsteps. 

The kitchen was beautiful, gleaming, spotless, despite dinner last night. Had Draco cleaned before bed? They ought to arrange a rota. 

By far the best part about it were the large windows overlooking the garden. They took up the entirety of the back wall, a few pendant lights hanging down. While Hermione got to grips with the coffee machine, she watched two squirrels wrestle on the lawn. A large and old tree squatted at the bottom end of the garden, but other than that there was no furniture. Perhaps Pansy hadn’t expanded to gardens yet. To the side Hermione could see the wall of the shed/garage, and she thought once again of the lab already set up there. For the first time in a long time, she felt excited to get to work. She had places to hang up her x-rays, storage to organise her notes, multiple cauldrons just waiting for brewing as well as an ingredient stock that made her mouth water… Draco’s generosity was overwhelming. As was the house, and, well, everything about the past few weeks. 

Hermione couldn’t find any mugs other than Draco’s Secret Santa one. She hoped he wasn’t proprietary, and filled it right up to the top. As ugly as it was, at least Alice had made sure it could hold a decent amount of coffee. 

And the coffee. This was probably worth moving in alone. Draco had obviously been right, when he’d teased her about drinking nothing but instant. 

The coffee, the blanket, the winter sun starting to filter across the lawn after a day of rain all seemed peaceful. Hermione’s thoughts wandered, for the first time not lingering on anything stressful. Despite her nervousness about her own feelings for him, being in a home and not in a hotel room had made such a difference to her outlook. It felt cosy, like she had a place where she could properly rest. Hermione was happily in her reverie, leaning against the wall looking out of the window, when a noise brought her suddenly down to earth. 

She turned round to greet Draco when -

Muscles. 

She blinked.

‘Sorry Granger, I thought you’d still be sleeping,’ there was a voice attached to the muscles, and Hermione forced herself to look up. 

Draco was throwing his filthy rowing clothes into the wash. There was a slight spatter of mud on his cheek, his hair was sweaty and falling into his eyes. He’d had practice hadn’t he? Had he said something about that before? His cheeks were red, as were his hands. Perhaps he’d run back - he was breathing slightly harder than normal, and he seemed almost glossy from a sheen of sweat that covered his torso. 

Hermione tried to get her brain working. All it wanted to do was stare at him. 

‘Oh,’ she managed to say. ‘No, I’m up.’ Obviously. 

‘Cool. Got any spare coffee?’ 

Was he not going to put on a shirt? Was he really just going to stand on the other side of the kitchen, half naked? This was obscene. Her traitorous eyes flicked down his body once more. Were that many muscles necessary for daily life? What was the point? And Hermione had never seen Draco workout. Surely you didn’t look like that just because of rowing. It all seemed very unfair. Maybe she actually hated living here. 

‘I think there’s some,’ she said, nodding to the machine. She had, actually, made enough for several cups, normally needing a boost in the morning. Given Draco’s dramatic entry, she probably had enough adrenaline in her system to survive off one. 

What was wrong with her? Hermione did not think she was one of those witches who was particularly attracted to the way people looked. She valued what was inside so much more. Ron, for instance, wasn’t necessarily considered conventionally attractive, but before everything had gone to shit she had been able to see him for who he was as a person, and had genuinely loved that person. But Draco - perhaps she should go back to calling him Malfoy, she thought as she took another careful sip of coffee - he was. Well, he was very attractive. There was no getting around the fact that she thought he was. 

‘Cheers,’ he said cheerfully, striding towards the coffee machine in - 

Merlin’s balls. 

Actually, Hermione didn’t want to think about balls. Draco had taken everything off, save for some very small and very tight shorts. Everything had muscles. Even his muscles had… she turned to the garden again. It would not be good to be caught ogling. 

‘Is that my mug?’ 

Hermione swallowed. She was going to have to look at him. 

‘I couldn’t find any others except some very posh looking teacups, sorry,’ she said, making an enormous effort to sound unaffected by his nearly-naked body. Any closer and she’d be able to smell him… 

‘Those are the cups,’ he said, grinning at her. 

‘What do you mean?’

‘I only have one mug.’

‘But what do you do for guests?’ 

He snorted. ‘They use the tea set, Granger. You can’t serve guests coffee in a mug. ’ 

Was this a weird pureblood thing? 

‘I need more than a thimble of coffee in the morning,’ she warned. She was doing a very good job of not looking, she told herself. She was being very sensible, just looking at his face. Which was handsome - yes - she’d already admitted that to herself so it was fine to think and - 

‘You’ll have to get your own mug next time,’ he was saying. 

‘Really didn’t take you for a ‘don’t touch my mug’ person, Draco.’

‘My mother always said she called me Draco for a reason.’

‘I’m afraid I’m not following,’ she replied, only slightly breathlessly. 

‘Dragon’s are possessive,’ he told her. And then he sauntered towards her and plucked the mug out of her hand. 

‘Cheers Granger,’ he said lightly, not a care in the world. Hermione watched his back muscles wave goodbye to her as he went to shower. She swallowed at the thought of water running off him, and then exhaled very, very slowly. 

This was going to be totally fine. 

Chapter Text

Hilary Week 7

She had been checking him out. 

Hermione had been checking him out. 

Draco forced himself to walk away from her at a normal pace. He swore he could feel her eyes on him. He had to keep it together, not grin like an idiot, not run up the stairs. He was Draco Malfoy. He used to be a literal Death Eater. He’d almost killed Albus Dumbledore (ish). He wasn’t going to start giggling because some witch had looked at his arms. 

They were impressive, he knew that. Honestly, he couldn’t blame Granger for taking a peek… The grin defeated his attempts to banish it. 

He’d had a shitty practice. They’d nearly capsized a coxed four (apparently impossible to do, though Draco felt that was unfair as the boats were very wobbly), and their coach had screamed at them for being ‘incompetent idiots who wouldn’t know one end of a blade from another’. His run back was muddy from the rain the day before, and he was getting tired of the freezing mornings when he was also pulling long hours doing everything else. 

He hadn’t realised Hermione was up, had assumed she’d be sleeping for hours still given how late she undoubtedly had fallen asleep. So he’d taken his shirt off in the hall as soon as he came in, like normal, made his way to the kitchen to shove it in the wash, and then she was there and she was looking at him. 

And maybe he wasn’t insane for wanting her. 

That was an insane thought. 

But was it? 

She’d certainly been distracted. And who could blame him for showing off a little bit? His tracksuits were filthy because of the mud so they obviously needed to be washed too, it wasn’t like he took them off for no reason. It had nothing to do with how his legs looked after years of playing Quidditch or anything. Plus, it had been a long, long time since he’d hooked up with anyone. Hours studying and not much else had turned him into a sort of unwilling monk.

He was still grinning to himself when he got into the shower, mulling over exactly what this meant and whether or not he should pursue it. 

The pros were obvious. 

• He wanted to sleep with her
• He really wanted to sleep with her. 

The cons were slightly more intimidating. 

• Sleeping with your roomates generally wasn’t a good idea 
• There was a lot of complicated history there 
• What did he even want beyond sex? What if she didn’t want the same things? 
• What if their friends found out 
• What if the wizarding world found out

This last point interrupted his hands, which were still caught up on the pros and therefore travelling down to his now very hard body. 

Because the truth was that it was easy to imagine sleeping with her here. Here they only had a handful of people who knew them. They had their work, and each other, and the only contact to their previous lives was through the people in that other world who cared about them. 

If Christmas had proven anything, it had shown that the rest of the wizarding world was not ready to move on as easily as Hermione was. His mother, he was sure, was collecting mentions of them in the press like they were pardons, but he had refused to even hear about the rest of the fallout since it had happened. But what if people found out about them and it ruined Hermione’s reputation? Or worse, what if they slept together and it ruined their friendship?

He was getting ahead of himself. She had just looked - she hadn’t done anything or said anything that even indicated that she might want him like that. They were still friends, and she was still under a hell of a lot of pressure. 

But when she had been pressed against him the other night, what if she hadn’t moved away, but had moved… 

Draco’s breath came slightly faster as he allowed himself to fantasise about what might have happened, had he not come to his (admittedly extremely muddled senses). What if instead of jerking away in fear, he had moved closer. What if he’d allowed himself to pull her against him, to tilt her chin up to his, to hold her in place and make her moan. 

Draco washed his sin down the drain and emerged a calmer, more philosophical version of himself. There were far too many ‘what ifs’ in this scenario. What was one more research project? 

She was already in the lab/garage when he went downstairs.

‘Not getting dressed today, Granger?’ She was still in her faded jeans and jumper from the day before. Her hair hadn’t been brushed, but she’d shoved it on top of her head with her wand holding it in place. The blanket she had been wrapped in was thrown over a chair on the way in, and there was a tiny bit of mascara smudged under her eyes. She looked, in a word, ravishing. No, perhaps gorgeous was more appropriate. Sexy. 

‘Hmm?’ she looked up from a research paper she had most likely written herself, his mug in her hand once more. 

‘That’s my mug,’ he frowned. Hadn’t he taken it off her?

‘I duplicated it, since you stole my coffee,’ she said mildly, turning the page over. 

‘We can’t have two of the same one.’ 

He was pouting, mainly because of the mug, but also because she had gone right back to being totally unaffected by his presence. Had he imagined earlier? 

‘I’ll change the colours then,’ she withdrew the wand and tapped once, before twisting her hair up again. All while she was still glued to that stupid paper. The mug was now red and gold. Draco tapped it as he passed her to check on the cauldrons, and it flashed green and silver.

‘Very funny,’ she said dryly. Draco pretended to ignore her, lighting the fire under the smallest cauldron. He had started to brew yesterday, taking inspiration from Pomfrey’s general draught that she used to dole out to keep everyone healthy. Unfortunately, the liquid inside was far too viscous to work.

‘This needs to be thinned out some more,’ he told her. If she wanted to work, he could work. She was by his side in a flash, peering into the bowl. 

‘I’d turn the flame down - too much heat and it’s just going to thicken quicker than you can add the right ingredients.’

‘I know that,’ he replied nastily. 

‘Just checking.’ 

He decided that he was not a fan of the preliminary findings from this experiment. 

‘What’s going on with your seminars this week?’ he asked, to change the subject. Maybe they could try this over a dinner, see where a more romantic setting might take him. 

‘Hectic,’ she replied, returning to her paper and filing it away. ‘I’m heading in in a minute. It’s so annoying. We don’t have any essays this term but they insist on all these courses and they’re interesting but I could really do with the time,’

‘I also hate it when the degree I came here to do interrupts my projects,’ he deadpanned. She glared at him. Jokes about the project - clearly also off-limits. 

‘You know this is the main reason why I’m here.’

‘I was just joking,’

‘Next time, try actually being funny.’ 

‘Ouch,’ he said, eyebrows raised. Okay, maybe not indifferent. Anger was better than ignoring him, after all. ‘And here I thought we were friends.’

‘That was before you stole my coffee,’ she replied. And then - and then! Her eyes flicked down. Once. But once was enough, if you were waiting for it. He gave her a smug smile.

‘Oh, I fully intend to take it every morning, Granger.’

‘I’ll hit you if you do it again.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

Ropes pinned Draco to the metal shelving at a speed that literally stole his breath. His arms were yanked up against the higher shelves, pulling the bottom of his shirt up slightly to reveal a slice of his stomach. His legs were parted slightly wider than his hips, and again, pinned back. It had happened so quickly he hadn't even seen her reach for her wand. But Hermione was standing there, wand pointed towards him, watching him carefully. He could not - he could not get aroused. 

But she had cocked her head ever so slightly and was examining him in a way that made his toes want to curl. It was scientific, almost, but it promised that if she wanted to be, she could be very, very thorough and Draco - 

‘You’re right. I don’t think I will hit you. I have far more creative ways of exacting my revenge.’ 

He might have moaned. 

‘No more stealing coffee, got it,’ he said hoarsely. 

She smiled at him, and it was full of the promise of violence. His cock twitched. 

‘I’ve got to get ready for class. Remind me to let you go before I leave.’ 

----

She must have lost her mind. Not just lost it - she must have fully descended into insanity with the force of a watermelon being dropped from a 40ft high tower.

Hermione’s hands shook slightly as she showered and dressed, knowing that Draco was currently strung up in the lab below. 

What the hell was she doing?! 

He’d just wandered in, so cool and collected and she wanted to throttle him. She was sick of his sauntering about, acting as though she was nothing, just a funny new flatmate, all the while she had to endure his perfect body, and perfect face, and perfect suggestions for her project. She was going to scream. 

And she hated that after being pinned back he had looked…interested. 

Oh god, had she just discovered that Draco Malfoy liked to be tied up? 

It wasn’t as though she was opposed to the idea, of course. Plenty of other people had all kinds of sex. Hermione had had the normal kind so far, and it was perfectly serviceable thank you very much, even if it didn’t happen that often. Even when in relationships, it had all been a bit…

Well it had all been a bit fine, but never anything like that, and actually she was fine with it being fine and other people could do what they liked, but she didn’t want to know what other people were doing. 

Namely, she didn’t want to know what Malfoy was up to. 

It was probably good, though. Exciting. Dangerous, even perhaps. 

No. 

There would be no sex. Not now, not ever. And she was going to walk downstairs like the woman who had hunted horcruxes, had robbed a bank, and had survived a perilous quest with only two teenage boys for company. She had absolutely nothing to fear. 

‘How do you know I’m not going to tie you up when you release me,’ he drawled as she reentered the space. His head was tipped back slightly against the shelf, and he looked utterly bored. 

Reminding herself of exactly who she was, Hermione scoffed. 

‘Having to copy my work again, Draco? I thought we were past that.’ 

Real irritation flashed across his features. 

‘I never copied your work,’ he replied frostily.

‘No, but you were second in - well, pretty much everything.’ 

His mouth tightened in displeasure and she stifled a chuckle. He clearly was still just as competitive as always, and the thought reassured her. It made any guilt about tying him up while she showered and changed ease. 

‘I really don’t think you know what you’ve started, Granger.’ 

‘I’ll take my chances,’ she said. She made a mental note to go see Ginny. If anyone could help her, it was a Weasley. And there was no way she was losing this, whatever ‘this’ was. Because she was pretty sure that she didn’t want to know what the forfeit would be. 

She flicked her wand, releasing him. He brought his arms down slowly though, absentmindedly rubbing his wrists, his eyes not leaving her. They seemed to pull her in. She swallowed. 

‘See you tonight,’ she shrugged, walking out the room at a normal pace, as though she was not flustered at all, as though she was indifferent to the almost predatory look in his eyes, that promised things she really, really wanted to find out. Hermione was very close to wanting to feel like the prey, and this would not do at all.  

She fled to the safety of her classes, where the demands of medical anthropology managed to edge Draco far from her mind

A few days later, she found herself with an unexpected pocket of time. 

Draco had mainly been brewing various attempts at a carrier base, while she continued to trawl through old manuscripts to find some ideas on what the actual potion would involve. Their current version was sitting, stewing away (‘If you touch it Granger I swear to God there will be hell to pay’). 

The library had closed so she was cut off from her end of the assignment. She had finished all her seminar reading for the following week, she was up to date on all her practice assignments that she tested herself on, and Draco was nowhere to be found - most likely out with the college rowing team. There was, for the first time in a very long time, nothing that Hermione had to do.

She wandered round the home, looking for something to amuse her until she stumbled upon Draco’s study. She smiled to herself as she took in the space. The room was almost stereotypically masculine - all dark wood, thick carpets and leather seating. But it smelled like him, and she liked the fact that whatever tidying and cleaning charms were imbued into the rest of the house, they didn’t appear to work here. 

While she wouldn’t call Draco messy by any means, this room had a warm air of intellectual chaos. Books were spilling out of the shelves (how did he have so many books? Hermione was jealous), into random piles across the floor that appeared at first to have no meaning to their groupings. Most of them were filled with all manner of bookmarks and sticky notes, mainly consisting of scraps of parchment and old receipts, and nearly all their spines were cracked. A brand new stack of parchment towered on one side of the desk, and various scribblings covered most of the other surfaces. A generous double bay window lay behind the enormous desk. Hermione jumped when she saw Draco’s owl perched to the side of the window. 

The owl blinked disapprovingly at her, which seemed to inform her that she was remembered, and was still found wanting. Hermione cleared her throat awkwardly.

‘Hello,’ she said again. ‘Sorry - didn’t mean to pry. Actually,’ she said, as a bolt of inspiration struck her, ‘I was wondering if you would deliver a letter for me?’ 

The owl hooted, once, and turned away. 

‘No worries then,’ Hermione said, walking out of the study and clicking the door shut behind her. Her heart was racing. Damn that stupid owl - and she had been caught snooping. 

But still, the idea to write to Ginny to see if she was around was now lodged in Hermione’s mind, and she trotted back down the stairs to the floo. 

Given she had no way to warn Ginny, Hermione felt vaguely guilty about sticking her head through the fire, on the off chance their wards were open. But she hadn’t spoken to her friend in a long time, and they had a lot to catch up on. Like, the fact that her and Malfoy were now roommates. And she maybe, sort of, potentially, had a crush on him. 

‘Hello?’ She called out once the wards let her in. 

‘Hermione?!” Ginny’s voice squealed from the hall. She threw open the door. 

‘Hi!’ Hermione grinned at the expression on Ginny’s face. ‘Long time no see!’

‘Oh my Godrick I am SO happy to see you. Come through RIGHT NOW!’ 

Hermione clambered rather inelegantly through the fire, emerging as delicately as she could while brushing soot off her clothes. Ginny was there immediately, clenching her in a hug with a strength that only a professional Quidditch player could achieve. 

‘I hope I’m not interrupting anything,’

‘I just got back from practice and had no plans this evening, this is perfect,’ she squealed, not letting Hermione go. She laughed, and hugged her back.

‘Missed you, Gin.’

‘That’s what we need. Gin.’ 

‘I didn’t mean -’

‘Come on. I’m not playing this weekend - I wanna have fun!’

Ginny pulled her towards the kitchen. The familiar smells of Kreacher’s cooking began to waft towards Hermione. And suddenly, her eyes were pricking for no reason. 

‘Are you okay?’

‘Just happy to be home,’ she sniffed slightly, giving Ginny a watery smile. 

‘You are such a softie. Come on, I bet Kreacher will be thrilled.’ 

They both laughed, knowing that the ancient elf would rather crawl over glass than admit he was happy to see Hermione again, the woman who was responsible for him being paid a wage (a side project that she had undertaken in her eighth year at Hogwarts), and having time off. 

Ginny was bouncing by the time they were sat by that long, ancient wooden table. 

‘What?’

‘I have something to tell you,’ she blurted out. ‘But you have to keep it a secret.’ 

‘Oh my God,’ Hermione said, eyes darting instantly to Ginny’s hand, where the disillusionment charm was cancelled and - Hermione screamed. So did Ginny. Kreacher muttered to himself and left the room. 

‘WE’RE GOING TO GET MARRIED!’ 

And then Hermione really was crying for both her friends, holding onto Ginny’s hand and sobbing as she took in the ring. 

‘It’s huge,’ she cried in between sobs. 

‘I know,’ Ginny cried back. ‘It’s so beautiful. I always knew we’d - we’d -’

‘But I can’t believe it's actually happening,’

‘I know,’

‘God, I’m going to cry so much at the wedding,’

‘Please be my bridesmaid,’ 

And then they were both crying too much to say anything for a bit, just half-formed sentences and nodding and clutching each other. 

Another gin had to be drunk before they managed to calm down enough to speak again. 

‘I have so many questions,’ Hermione began, not knowing where to start.

‘When you popped up I thought you might have known but couldn’t work out how, we haven’t told anyone yet,’

‘I just thought I’d pop in,’

‘Hang on - ‘ Ginny held up a hand. ‘From where? Were you with Malfoy?!’ Her mouth dropped open. Hermione knew she had gone bright red. Maybe she could blame it on the drinking. 

‘Not like that. Er - we moved in together because I was still having loads of shit with my accomodation,’ she said. ‘But it’s not a big deal. I want to talk about the real news,’ she said, shaking Ginny’s hand again. ‘How did he ask you?’ 

Ginny’s face softened as she was, for once, able to be distracted. 

‘It was perfect. It was the weekend, over a roast, just the two of us. No big production, no nonsense, he just got down on one knee as I was taking the potatoes out the oven and that was it,’ Ginny’s eyes welled up again. ‘I just felt so loved,’ she sniffled, and Hermione was crying again too. 

‘That really is perfect.’

‘I know. We’re going to tell Mum and Dad this weekend, but wanted a bit of time to soak everything up first, you know?’

‘Will he mind you told me?’

‘Don’t be stupid. He’ll be gutted he missed you.’ 

They both grinned at each other, though through slightly watery smiles. 

‘Okay,’ Ginny sniffed, dabbing her eyes. ‘Now - you and Malfoy are living together?’

‘I really thought I’d managed to distract you.’

‘Nu uh. How on earth did this happen? Are you two…?’

‘No!’ Hermione exclaimed far too vehemently. ‘No, nothing like that. He just knew I was having a bit of trouble and offered to help out.’

‘Offered to help out.’ Ginny raised an eyebrow in an uncomfortable mirror of Draco. Hermione sighed. 

‘With…with my parents,’ she said, staring at the table. She traced a whorl in the wood. But if she told Malfoy - she sure as hell owed the truth to Ginny. ‘I haven’t stopped researching. Actually,’ she sniffed. ‘The whole reason I’m at Oxford is to try and undo it. The memory charm.’ 

Ginny was silent. Hermione dared to glance at her, and wished she hadn’t as she beheld the pain on her friend’s face. 

‘I know it’s probably stupid,’ Hermione muttered, but Ginny grabbed her hand. 

‘It’s not,’ she said, giving it a squeeze. ‘It’s not stupid.’ 

Hermione had to swallow the lump in her throat before she could reply. 

‘Thanks,’ she whispered. And then took a deep breath in. ‘But yeah. He’s turned the garage into a potions lab actually and is helping with the research and,’ she realised that she was blushing as she talked about it but it couldn’t be helped. ‘And it’s just been amazing,’ she finished, trying not to sound so gushing. 

‘I bet it has,’ Ginny smirked. 

‘It’s not like that,’ Hermione swiped at her. ‘Although,’ she sighed. She really did need to come clean.

‘Although?’ 

‘I may have tied him up.’ 

Ginny choked on her drink. 

‘BUT,’ Hermione held her hands up. ‘This was after he was sauntering around in just his underpants.’ 

Ginny choked on her drink again. 

‘Hermione -,’ she spluttered. ‘What the hell is going on?’

‘I keep asking myself the same question,’ she buried her head in her hands. ‘But it’s not my fault. He brings the worst out of me - he’s always so haughty and annoying and honestly Gin, the other morning I'd literally just woken up and then I was surrounded by all these muscles and he was all sweaty from rowing and it’s not fair! People can’t just walk around like that without any repercussions! How am I supposed to work!’ 

‘When did the tying up occur?’ 

‘Beginning of the week,’ Hermione replied. 

‘Has there been any tying up since?’

‘No. I think he’s waiting to get me back. So I need to come up with something good. Offence is the best defence etc.’ 

Ginny just stared at her, disbelief all over her face. 

‘Hermione. Are you flirting?’

‘Absolutely not.’ 

‘Right. Of course. And going bright red is a normal response to that question,’

‘It’s the gin,’ Hermione tried to mumble.

‘But let’s both continue to live in ignorance. Fine. Do you want to flirt with him?’

She shifted in her chair. She didn’t know what she wanted. She just wanted to have not noticed that he was attractive, to just go back to normal and -

‘Okay, so you want to flirt with him,’

‘Ginny,’ Hermione warned. 

‘COME ON HERMIONE,’ Ginny said loudly. ‘It has been YEARS. Years! I can’t even remember the last time you even showed the slightest amount of interest in anyone.’

‘Well, I’ve, you know,’ she tried to say. ‘I’ve been busy.’ 

‘You need to get busy.’

‘Ginevra.’

‘I’m serious. No wonder you’re so uptight.’ 

‘Ginny Weasley.’

‘You need to get your back blown out.’

‘With Draco Malfoy!?’

‘Ah,’ Ginny sat back, draining her glass. ‘Is this what it’s about?’ 

‘I don’t mean like that,’ Hermione said, but Ginny was having none of it. ‘I mean. It’s just weird, isn't it? Is it weird?’

‘That he’s super hot or that you super want to bang him?’

‘I do not -’

‘Alright FINE. You’re potentially interested in licking him all over, but only in a chill, friendly way.’

‘I want to stay friends,’ Hermione managed to say, finally formatting her thoughts enough for this conversation. ‘I don’t want to ruin our friendship.’

‘Do you think he’s interested?’

‘In me?’ Hermione blinked. ‘No. Of course not. I mean,’ and then she hesitated. Because he wasn’t un interested. He was very attentive. But what if that was just politeness? ‘It’s hard to tell,’ she finished lamely. ‘I don’t think he is, not like that.’ 

She was depressed by the thought of it. Ginny was watching her closely. 

‘Want me to invite him to the engagement party so we can assess?’ 

‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ Hermione scoffed. ‘I don’t think Ron could handle being near him again, not after Christmas.’ 

Ginny’s eyes went to her chest, where she still wore the medallion. 

‘Haven’t taken it off?’ she asked mildly. 

‘It was a present,’ Hermione replied frostily. ‘And I like it.’

‘Of course you do. It’s perfect for you. You’ve got to admit he does know you very well…’

‘Can we not? I don’t want to think about how perfect he’d be because,’ she broke off. Because he probably didn’t want her. And she couldn’t put herself in that position, not right now. She could not hurt herself when there was so much else at stake. 

‘Alright,’ Ginny replied softly, cottoning on to her mood. ‘But what about reinforcements?’ 

There was a bright mrraow , and Crookshanks jumped onto the table. 

‘Crooks!’ Hermione buried her face in his fur. ‘My sweetest boy. Do you want to come and protect me?’ 

----

Draco stumbled slightly to the kitchen. He hoped Hermione was in bed. He didn’t think he could handle being near her right now, not when he was meant to be trying to seduce her. She’d take one look at his inebriated state and be turned off forever. 

‘Food,’ he muttered to himself, slumping into the chair and opening his takeaway chips, smothered in every sauce that the burger van did. He started shovelling them in his mouth, before scrunching his face up in distaste and accio-ing a fork from the drawer. He knew it was poncy, but Hermione wasn’t around to take the piss out of him for it so it didn’t count. 

‘Fuck,’ he jumped, nearly falling off the chair, as something large and warm and orange leapt into his lap. 

Crookshank’s beady orange eyes stared up at him, the cat rubbing its face against the side of his hand. 

‘Hello,’ Draco grinned, happy to see the animal. Since his midnight corridor roaming a in sixth year, he’d always had a bit of a soft spot for him, even when he’d hated Granger. ‘Nice to see you again. Has your mum brought you over to keep an eye on me?’ 

Claws kneaded his groin in warning. Draco only just managed to keep his yelp from waking the whole road up. 

Chapter Text

Hillary, Week 8 

‘I’m so bored, aren’t you Crooks?’ 

The cat nestled in his arms, rubbing his face along Draco’s jaw. 

‘I know. She’s being boring, isn’t she?’ 

‘Draco,’ Hermione warned, her hair bigger than the cauldron they were working around. 

‘Mrraow,’ Crookshanks said, purring as Draco scratched the underside of his chin. 

‘You’re just jealous he’s so happy to see me.’ 

And Crookshanks was happy to see Draco. He’d gone so far as to alternate sleeping on Draco and Hermione’s beds. Even if he was occasionally woken up with a cat foot in his mouth, Draco loved how much it pissed Hermione off. 

‘You’re going to contaminate the brew if you get cat hair in it,’ she said instead, making Draco chuckle slightly. 

‘I know how to brew a potion, Hermione,’ he replied mildly, still tickling Crooks. 

‘Oh for God’s sake,’ she muttered, pushing him slightly out the way. She took up her vigil over the cauldron, using her body to attempt to block him from it. He peered over her head easily, standing slightly too close. 

They’d been doing a lot of that. Standing slightly too close to each other, brushing against each other, looking for excuses to touch each other when there weren’t really any. Draco had taken to touching her elbow to say either hello or goodbye, and Hermione last night had even given his shoulder a squeeze when she went up to bed. He still could feel the phantom imprint of her hand there, and had stayed up a long time imagining that caress on other parts of his body. And it was casual, and friendly, but every single time made him think his heart was going to fall out of his body. At some point he’d get used to being near her. Perhaps. But he didn’t think he’d ever really get tired of that little feeling of accomplishment every time her hands met his flesh, and lingered slightly. 

His research was going well, if you could describe a project where the data was inconclusive but he was even more infatuated with the subject as successful. He bet there were laws against that kind of thing for actual scientists. If Hermione knew what he was thinking…He needed to get a grip. 

But then Hermione would do something, like flex her hands ever so slightly against his biceps, or let her eyes linger slightly too long on him, or blush slightly if he caught her staring at him, and all of his attempts not to want her fell apart. 

‘Are you going to just watch it for the next eight hours?’ He asked, finally putting Crookshanks down. He loyally twirled round his mistress’s legs, before bounding out of the room. 

‘Do you have any better ideas?’ 

He gaped at her. The weather had finally started to turn, the sun was shining, the days were getting longer. It was their last week of term. And she wanted to spend it inside, in a dark garage? 

‘Can we go outside?’

‘Are you a dog?’ She asked nastily. ‘Do you need to be walked?’ 

‘I need to be exercised,’ he grinned, stretching to underline the point. She turned away from him. Bollocks. 

‘I’m busy.’ 

‘Hermione,’ he said, slightly crossly. ‘You are not. And if you keep yourself locked up then you will burn out all over again, and I will accidentally ruin your project if I am left unsupervised, and it will all fall apart.’

‘I’m fine,’ she muttered, ignoring him. Draco ignored that in turn. She was fine, he knew that. He would also rather cut out his eyes than mess up the project. But he was selfish, and wanted to spend time with her. 

‘We could go punting,’ he suggested, leaning next to her after carefully examining his clothes for cat hair. ‘That looks fun.’ 

More than fun, it looked funny. Draco had seen the muggles attempt it under the Magdalen bridge, watched them crash into each other. College had private punts they could take out, and Alice had been on a date last week involving one that had gone very well indeed. Draco was still looking for an opportunity to get Hermione in a more romantic situation, and this might be the perfect opportunity. She sighed, but he could tell he was winning. 

‘Come on. How many ‘Oxford-y’ things have we done yet?’

‘We’ve been busy,’ she repeated, chewing her lip. 

‘We’ve got eight hours until this is done,’ he countered. ‘What else do you have to do?’ 

‘Nothing,’ she sighed. ‘And it would be nice,’ she trailed off, absentmindedly stretching her neck out. Draco loved to watch her when she was thinking. He didn’t think she knew how graceful she was, even after hunching over a laptop or parchment for days at a time. She did everything with a kind of all-absorbing focus that was itself absorbing to watch. 

‘Alright,’ she sighed, turning to him. He almost felt guilty for encouraging her, but her eyes were lit up with a kind of cautious anticipation. ‘You’ve tempted me.’ 

His heart stuttered a bit over those last words, but he forced himself to smirk at her instead. 

‘I’ll make us a picnic.’ 

This was going to be perfect.  

----

‘Fucking fuck sake,’

‘We need to go left,’

‘I am going left.’

‘No - you’re about to-’

They crashed into the bank. 

Draco swore again, so viciously that he heard someone on the bridge gasp and then laugh. There was a line of professional punt people (he didn’t know what to call them, aside from a long list of rude names), that were idling about on the bank, watching him and snickering. Hermione herself was trying not to laugh at him. And he was hot and cross and hated them all. 

‘I thought this was meant to be fun,’ Hermione drawled in a horrid impression of him, while he wrestled with some tree roots. 

‘Shut up,’ he snapped, too absorbed in not falling over to remember he was trying to see if she liked him. The pole was far too long, that was the problem. It was bloody unwieldy. And the boat was also too long. Who had designed these contraptions? They were stupid.  

‘Do you need some help?’

‘No,’ he sniffed, his masculinity already smarting. ‘I have this all in hand.’ 

‘I can see that,’ she replied, settling back into the cushions. ‘Alternatively,’ she started to suggest, but Draco was having none of it. Whatever it was. 

‘I can do this,’ he snapped, shoving away from the bank at just the right angle to at least turn them the right way and… 

They slammed into the other side. Hermione burst into laughter. 

‘Please, please let me help,’ she begged, wiping a tear from her eye. ‘God you look so cross, ’ 

‘Hermione,’ he pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘I mean it. I am fine. This is all fine. All part of the plan.’ 

He rolled his shirt sleeves up, sweat already making him slightly sticky. From about 10 minutes of work. They hadn’t even managed to get out of the bloody docks yet and his hair was probably a disaster. How on earth Alice had managed to pull after an afternoon in this… he should have asked for lessons. 

The boat, miraculously, floated to face the right way. 

Hermione was innocently avoiding all eye contact. 

‘There are a lot of muggles watching,’ he murmured so quietly only she would be able to hear. 

‘And isn’t it nice that we no longer have to have them as an audience?’ she replied, batting her eyes. He narrowed his, miming using the punt so that when they started to float away it didn’t look so suspicious. There was, much to his horror, a round of applause as they drifted round the corner. 

‘I don’t think I’m ever going to live this down.’

‘Probably not. I’d have to say in the grand scheme of things, I am definitely winning.’ 

‘Winning? Oh. I don’t think so.’

‘Really?’ She crossed her legs daintily to avoid the water already in the bottom of the boat, nestling against the back support and looking up at him. Curled up on a cushion, wearing a loose dress with a jumper over the top, it was as though she was enticing summer itself. ‘Because if I were to make a tally, I think tying you up, then besting you at punting probably has an edge on stealing my coffee. That’s positively amateur.’ 

Draco had taken to enchanting it at various times to solidify, cool down too quickly, or once, return to the natural state of beans. He thought it was quite funny, and told her so. She just rolled her eyes. 

They hadn’t outlined the rules of this…competition. That was the problem. If he knew what they were trying to win then he’d be better at it, he was sure. The problem was, he wasn’t sure if he did want to win. If losing meant getting Granger to tie him up, then there were worse things. 

‘Quantity, not quality,’ he tried. She just laughed again. ‘When can I put this stupid pole down?’ 

‘You can’t. If someone sees us -’

‘I didn’t ask to use magic!’

‘Keep your voice down. And you didn’t, but it’s not like you’re asking for me to stop, is it?’

‘Fine. Cancel the spell. Now we’re out of the dock thing it’ll be a breeze,’

‘I really don’t feel like spending hours smashing into the banks Draco,’

‘Isn’t that the point of punting?’

‘You promised me a picnic.’ 

She pouted prettily and for a moment he stared openly at her mouth and then -

‘Fine. Let’s just get to the meadow and then you can picnic to your heart’s content.’

‘There’s a meadow?’ 

He smiled at her enthusiasm. And allowed some self-congratulation on a fantastic idea for a day out. Even if he was humiliated and sweaty. 

‘We can moor up ahead I think. Picnic away. And be back in time to check on potion progress.’

She settled back with a small contented sigh, her attention snagging on the various branches and roots that were trailing in the water. He pretended to punt, and watched her instead. 

‘Do you think there are fish here?’

‘Probably,’ he replied, hiding a smile at the way she peered over the side. Always so curious, always wanting to know. 

‘I wonder if the punting industry has impacted their breeding or the kinds of fish that live here.’

‘You are such a nerd, Granger.’

‘Takes one to know one, Malfoy.’ 

He snorted. ‘For what it’s worth, yes, I do think that - obviously. But the punting industry in Oxford has been going for hundreds of years, right? So it surely isn’t a recent change.’ 

‘It started in the Victorian era actually,’ she replied. A font of all knowledge, always. ‘So it’s more recent than you think, I believe the first pleasure punt was 1860. But boats with flat bottoms had been used for years for industry.’ 

Draco was tempted to murmur something about his pleasure punt, but valiantly restrained. He needed to get a fucking grip. Finally, the mooring for the meadow appeared. 

Meadow was probably a generous descriptor of the long grassed bank that disappeared into hedgerows, but the Magdalen grounds were extensive, and beautiful. He couldn’t really have picked a better spot even if he had tried. Plus, it was restricted to college access only. Which meant rather more privacy than anywhere else, if everything went to plan. 

Hermione tied the boat up next to a tree, muttering a quick spell, before adding a sticking charm onto the other end of the punt so it didn’t drift into the rest of the river. Draco lifted the picnic basket easily, not bothering to use a featherlight because he knew it made his forearms look good. 

They waded through the long grass, the tips of Hermione’s fingers trailing over them. She was quiet, humming to herself as they hunted for the perfect spot. A little away from the boat the grass had been cut next to another river bend, and Draco shook out the rug, a multi-coloured woollen thing that was woven from strands of blacks, greys, greens and tiny silver threads. Hermione looked at it sceptically. 

‘What?’

‘Isn’t it a bit stereotypical? All the Slytherin colours?’ 

He tried not to be stung. 

‘How much green is there in my house Granger?’

‘Not that much,’ she admitted. 

‘And do you think, if my parents had already bought me a picnic rug in my second year for the summer to sit by the lake, that I would have put ‘repurchase rug’ high up on my priority list?’ 

‘Fair enough,’ she sighed, settling down. She looked slightly strange against the dark colours, a golden spot in the centre, as though they were trying to leech the light from her. He kept his musings to himself. 

‘Right,’ he said, sitting himself opposite her and opening the basket with a flourish. She visibly brightened.

‘I don’t think you know how much I love your cooking,’ she said, trying to sneak a glance inside. 

Draco did not tell her he would happily cook for her every night, if she would let him. She’d been strangely reluctant to let him do the bulk of it, and he’d seen the sad bowls of pesto pasta that she had put together whenever he was not allowed to spend hours trying to make something to impress her. 

‘Sausage rolls are a picnic necessity,’ he started, and she was already laughing at him, but this time he liked it, ‘we’ve got some chargrilled chicken, a giant couscous salad thing,’ he waved his wand and the dishes were floating out. Hermione belatedly cast a shield charm around them, hiding them from any muggle eyes. Excellent. ‘A greek salad, of course, plus some baked feta with honey, and then carottes rappées, they were a big part of my childhood so have to have those, some macarons - oh, we’re getting to the pudding section - early strawberries from The Manor’s greenhouses, I hope you don’t mind,’ she mutely shook her head, though he felt a twang of guilt for not warning her, ‘and then I’ve also whipped some fresh cream. Oh - and a bit of brie, some fresh bread. I think this butter is local too,’ he sniffed the one thing he had purchased and not made (aside from the brie and the macarons - Draco couldn’t bake to save his life despite his sweet tooth), and, satisfied, placed it in front of Hermione, a bright yellow offering for the golden goddess. 

He enjoyed the way her mouth hung slightly ajar, her eyes sparkled as she beheld the feast. 

‘Oh!’ He said, startling her. ‘I forgot. We’re at the start of spring so,’ a crisp bottle of a local sparkling wine was withdrawn, condensation beading down the side. ‘To celebrate. With the magic I don’t think we need to worry about punting under the influence,’ he said wryly, twisting it open and pouring into the two crystal flutes that were spelled against breakage. 

‘To be honest,’ Hermione said, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, so he knew she was about to make a joke, ‘you were so bad I don’t think it would make a difference,’

‘Perhaps a little liquid confidence is what I need,’ he offered her a glass, and their fingers brushed. They felt a little fizzy, a bit like the wine after that, and he stopped himself from clenching them. 

She started immediately, tearing into the bread. That was another thing he liked - her enthusiasm. When he had first met her again it had almost shocked him. His view of her at Hogwarts had been of an uptight know-it-all who wasn’t able to appreciate the world around her. 

But he soon realised that her desire for knowledge was fed by that enthusiasm, the appreciation of a world that had previously been secret. It made sense, he reflected, that someone who had been thrown into an entirely new world found learning an anchor in it. Even about things that she wasn’t really interested in, like cooking, she was still interested in knowing. 

‘How did you make the chicken?’ She said, dabbing at her mouth with a monogrammed napkin. 

‘It’s an old family recipe,’ he admitted, not wanting to get into house elves or war time reparations because this was supposed to be a seduction, ‘I spent most summers in France when I was younger. Before everything,’ he broke off, as they always did. ‘My great grandmother lived there. And this was one of hers.’ 

‘One of hers, or one of her house elves?’ 

He sighed. So much for that plan.

‘Both, really. My great grandmother grew up with a house elf called Eloise. They loved each other very much - it wasn’t like my father and Dobby,’ he forced out even though his voice cracked slightly. ‘She was my great grandmother on my mother’s side, and so they did things. Well, they treated elves better than the Malfoys. Anyway. Eloise taught her how to cook, because this was her favourite recipe and she wanted to know how to make the chicken in case anything happened to her. The recipe was handed down to each of the women in my mother’s family to take with them on their wedding night to their new homes.’

Hermione, for unknown reasons, laughed. 

‘Your family handed down a chicken recipe as a wedding present?’

‘Why is that funny?’

‘I was expecting cursed jewels or something,’

‘Ah. Well those are just everyday presents. You need something special for a marriage union.’ 

‘Of course.’ 

‘Whereabouts in France,’ she asked in a charitable attempt to change the subject. 

‘Dordogne,’ he replied, and her eyes lit up. 

‘Oh! We used to holiday in the Loire Valley a lot when I was younger.’

‘Tu parles français?'

'Un p’tit peu, j’ai presque tout oublié maintenant.’ 

They ate more, he topped her up. The afternoon sun was still bright, the hedgerows were filled with new activity. It was easy to forget that a city lay behind them, easy to forget that there were any other people in the world. 

‘Are picnic rugs also family heirlooms?’ Hermione asked him after a while. He grinned. 

‘In a way. When my father gave me this one, he told me that he had spent many enjoyable evenings on his, and he hoped that I would make good use of it, especially once I got older.’

He waited for it to sink in.

‘You were thirteen!’

‘If that’s the thing you find most shocking about my dear old dad, then,’

‘Am I sitting on your teenage makeout blanket?’ She scrambled back, alarmed. 

‘It has been washed,’ he offered. 

‘Eurgh,’ she replied, dipping a strawberry into the cream. Draco looked away. ‘I suppose some heavy petting is alright.’

Despite himself, he snorted. 

‘What?’

‘Oh, come on Hermione,’ he teased. ‘Did you really think it was just heavy petting?’

He turned back to her in time to watch her chase a bit of cream into her mouth with a finger, her eyebrows shooting up as he raised one of his. 

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she warned.

‘Like what?’

Draco tried to calm his body down. He took a quick mental inventory - palms were slightly clammy, but he could wipe them on the blanket when he moved closer. Tummy was trembling but again, she wouldn’t know that as long as his hands didn’t shake. Perhaps the blanket was spelled to transport him back to being 13, if he was acting like this about a potential kiss.

‘Like you’re pretending to seduce me,’ she scoffed, and his plans, the secret project, the need for privacy, all went up in flames. 

‘I’m not,’ he tried to say normally, because he wasn’t pretending, not at all, though he had no idea what it actually sounded like, because he was currently a very, very long way from his body, screaming into the ether. 

‘So was the lake your location of choice,’ she was still talking, and he was still burning. 

‘It holds sentimental attachment,’ he forced himself to reply, bringing himself back into his body. She didn’t want him. It was understandable. 

‘Do I want to know why?’

‘My first handjob, if you insist, Granger,’ 

‘Eurgh,’ she regarded the blanket again.

‘I repeat, it has been washed.’ 

‘Are you and Pansy, (I’m assuming it was Pansy), still…?’ 

Great. House elves, a seduction ban, and now ex-girlfriends. It must have been his terrible punting skills. He would never know happiness. 

‘No, not for a long time. Even if we hadn't basically become wizarding outcasts it would never have worked out. I wasn’t a great person in sixth year (shocker) and I very much was a shit friend to her. She would sometimes pop over - she was on my approved visitors list so we’d hook up occasionally - but not really for a long time,’

‘So she was like a mail order hook up.’

‘You make it sound so romantic Granger,’

‘That is quite awful.’

‘She liked it. Leaked info to The Prophet - said it made her look like a rebel and it pissed her dad off so,’ he shrugged. 

‘Sounds transactional.’

‘Most pureblood relationships are, if I’m honest. It never bothered us.’ 

‘Hmm.’

‘What about you and Weasel?’ He asked, because if he would never be happy, then he might as well make himself as unhappy as possible.

‘What about us?’ she replied, calmly tucking into a macaroon. He’d never eat another one of those again. 

‘What happened? If you’re allowed to judge my love life then I want to judge yours.’

‘It didn’t work out.’

‘Obviously. But why?’

She gave a sigh, and for a moment he thought she might not answer. 

‘We just wanted very different things. For Ron, the war brought home everything that was most important to him - family, kids, settling down. Whereas I just wasn’t ready for that. I wanted to study, and of course the situation with my parents.’ She looked out over the river, her face falling into its familiar pattern of pain that happened whenever she thought about them. ‘He wanted me to leave them,’ she said quietly, after a moment. ‘That’s why we broke up in the end. He said they were happy, and I should just leave them be.’

Draco’s body had locked. He didn’t - he couldn’t - Years of animosity that had been built off of nonsense, really, suddenly becoming validated as he considered what that bastard had said to Hermione. 

‘Merlin.’

‘It wasn’t great before that if I’m honest, and I doubt we ever would have stayed together, but that was the final straw.’ 

‘But you still see him? He came last year?’ 

Draco was reminded of the slightly disastrous evening at the fireworks, where he and Hermione had once again been standing too close to each other, and the way she had looked in the firelight at the end of it. For the first time, he wondered how long this had really been going on. How long had he wanted…? 

‘We're friends again. We have too much in common, Ginny, his parents have basically been my wizarding parents anyway, it would be impossible for us not to end up friends. He’s with Susan now and she’s pregnant I think, Ginny mentioned something, but no. I just couldn't do it. Couldn't be who he wanted me to be.’

‘You know, I never did understand it.’

She rolled her eyes.

‘No I’m serious - we all assumed it was you and Potter.’ 

‘I know, I have you to thank for mine and Skeeter’s feud, after all.’

‘That was shitty, wasn't it,’ he referred back to the lies he’d spread in fourth year about her and Potter. Oh Christ - had he been jealous then? 

‘So was keeping her in a jar for a year.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘She’s an unregistered animagus. I blackmailed her.’

‘You might be the most perfect person I have ever met,’ he told her, because it was true. Even if she wasn’t interested, it was still true. 

‘You have a very funny definition of perfect.’

‘Ex-Death Eater, remember?’

‘You’re a reformed muggle-loving idiot, you can’t fool me.’

‘So you and Potter honestly never?’ In for a penny, he supposed. 

‘No! Harry is like my brother.’ 

‘The three of you even never tried it out?’ He asked, more to wind her up than because he thought they might have. 

‘Jesus Draco, no. Not even when Ron left us did we even try to hook up. Happy?’ 

He was not. 

‘He left you? When did he leave you?’ 

‘Now everything is coming out. Did you spike the sparkling wine?’

He shouldn’t have enjoyed the fact that she didn’t refer to it as champagne, but he did, because he was a snob and she was perfect and he was doomed. 

‘I’m just aware of your propensity to speak truthfully after a glass.’ 

‘Bugger. Well, yes. It was when we were tracking down Voldemort’s horcruxes. Once we found one we’d take turns carrying it until we had a way of destroying them,’ Draco once again marvelled at just how much of their current freedom had relied on three children. Fucking Dumbledore. ‘You were probably too young to ever come into contact with the one your father had to notice, but they - they weren’t pleasant to be around,’

‘Shocking.’

‘I know. Anyway, they always affected Ron the worst. He was a jealous person, and the horcrux knew that and would use it. It poisoned him, making him think that Harry and I - it got too much for him and he left one day. Just walked out. It was awful. Probably the lowest point of the whole thing, other than watching Harry get carried out of those woods,’ she shuddered and Draco did too.

They were talking about it, then. They were talking about the war, and he didn’t dare try to steer them onto lighter things, because Hermione did not talk about the war, and if he couldn’t have her as a partner, then at least he could have her as a friend, no matter how unbearable it might be. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he started to say.

‘Please don’t,’

‘No, Hermione. I am sorry. I should have done something.’ 

She looked at him, and he saw all the hurt there. But she smiled, anyway. 

‘You did, when it mattered. You did as much as you could have done.’

'Not enough,' he said quietly. She was still looking at him, and he didn't understand what her expression meant. 

'You've done more than most. Especially now. I forgive you, Draco. It's okay.' 

He swallowed. ‘It really was just the three of you, for nearly a year then?’ He asked carefully. He had read the articles of course, there had been nothing better to do on house arrest, but to hear it from her made it all the more real. 

‘It was,’ she sighed heavily. ‘Sometimes,’ he watched her choose her words carefully. ‘Sometimes I feel very angry,’ she said slowly. ‘I feel angry about what we had to do. And the way it was left to us. I understand why he made those choices, Dumbledore, I mean, but I can’t help but feel…angry. We had our childhood taken from us, and it was necessary, and I wouldn’t do it differently, but I still sometimes just feel so furious about it. I mean - I came into contact with Voldemort every year, since I turned 11 years old. 11! When I think of how young we were, I feel so angry I can’t breathe.’ 

Draco thought she might stop, but she carried on, as though she had been holding these words in for years, letting them harden inside her, polishing them and smoothing them until they were bright burning pebbles of rage.

‘I don’t understand why we were allowed to do those things, or why we were sent to do those things without any kind of help, or even why we weren’t given proper training . I mean, Harry obviously had a bit of Occlumency but Snape taught him and they hardly had a good relationship so it was bound to go badly, and that was only when he was 16 or whatever, and he was left to get on with it. Honestly, the number of times we nearly died, and it was only because I had read some obscure spell or something that meant we could stay alive. Do you know how I knew the boat spell? Because as a last case scenario I learnt it in case we needed to escape in a row boat to the continent, or wherever else we could get to. I had to prepare for us to die in ways that I couldn't even imagine, and people just assumed I would do it. They just assumed, because they told me I was brilliant, that I’d be able to get them out of things and sometimes, when I look back to the pressure I was under, I feel like I am going to lose my mind. I’m just going to let that rage overwhelm me and I’m going to burn alive. And then I feel so, so guilty. Because for Harry it must have been so much worse - he had to literally be a willing human sacrifice - and I’m just moaning about wanting more lessons or whatever, but it was... I feel awful and angry and,’ she broke off, breathing almost hard, in surprise at how much she had spoken. She couldn’t meet his eyes, but he understood. And he burned with that rage for her, too. 

‘Dumbledore knew that I had been ordered to kill him,’ Draco said, soothing her the only way he knew how, by offering her his own truth. ‘He knew, and I knew why that fact was kept from me, why I couldn’t know that Severus wasn’t allowed to bring me in. But I had been trained as an Occlumens since birth. And my mother made an Unbreakable Vow to get him to protect me. And not once, not once , until right at the very end when it was already far too late, did anyone think that they could get me out. That I could go to the other side. I was used by the Dark - by him to get back at my parents. But I was used by Dumbledore, too. So I understand, Hermione. I know what it feels like to want to burn.’ 

‘How do you manage it,’ she whispered. 

‘I came to Oxford,’ he offered her a grim smile. ‘I talked to my friends, to a professional, and then I ran away from everything that I knew, and sometimes it still doesn’t feel like it’s enough.’ 

They let the words sink in, listened to the bird song, the signs of life that had proven they had gotten out. That they were safe, now. 

‘I can’t bear it when people call me the Brightest Witch of My Age or any of that crap,’ she said quietly. ‘I can’t bear it that people think I’m some genius. Because I didn’t have a choice - it was that or die. And I know without a shadow of a doubt,’ her voice finally cracked. ‘I know that if people found out about my parents they would call me a monster.’ 

He didn’t dare move closer to wipe away the tears that were beginning to gather. 

‘I know they would. I hate being famous. And I hate it the most because I have done everything for this world, and it would turn on me in a second. No one would help me with the one thing I actually need help with.’ 

‘I’ll always help you,’ he said, quietly. The birds still sang, and the river flowed, and not that far away, a city lived. 

‘I know,’ she whispered back. 

It had ended in tears, which was not the way he had wanted things to go. But as Draco and Hermione made their way back in the boat, Hermione pretending to punt while Draco sat underneath her, he thought that it had not been a waste of time. And even if there would never be a ‘them’, never a world where they were together, at least she knew that he would always be there. 

Chapter Text

Easter holidays 

‘Granger!’ 

Hermione sighed, pushing her hair onto the top of her head as she got ready for the day. Her and Draco had been working non-stop, turn in nice weather notwithstanding. They’d finally stabilised the base potion, much to her delight and surprise, and now the next stage, which was relying mainly on what she had found in manuscripts and therefore was a disaster, was upon them. 

‘Yes?’ She yelled, trotting down the stairs from her room. Perhaps he’d found something instead of her, and then she wouldn’t have to feel like she was letting them both down. Draco had poured almost as much of his time as Hermione had into the project, and she still couldn’t believe that his offer to help had really extended this far. She didn’t deserve it, she knew that, but he never seemed anything other than eager. Apart from when he had decided that she had worked too hard and force fed her, or made her go to sleep. Was she really so unused to working with other people that this was a surprise? 

Harry and Ron had often tried to make her do things, but they’d never eased the burden of research so that she felt able to rest. But Draco had. And she was trying so, so hard, but she couldn’t stop wanting him. Even though he was only doing it as a favour to her. Even if he was purely motivated by guilt, she couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like if they tried… 

But he had been unfailingly polite at every turn, and had never indicated that she was anything more than a friend. 

Draco was standing at the bottom of the stairs, covered in mud, clothes mercifully still on. She swallowed slightly. 

‘Rowing?’

‘Terrible,’ he replied, clipped. ‘I mean, the rowing was fine,’ he shifted, ‘but the way back - look - I need to ask you something and you have to promise not to laugh at me.’

She tried to stop the smile that always emerged when he asked that, as the punting had proven just how much he hated being bad at things. Even if it was one of her favourite days in Oxford. 

‘I promise,’ she repeated, solemnly. He sighed. Fidgeted. Looked away. ‘Just tell me,’ she snapped. 

‘I need you to teach me how to ride a bicycle.’ 

Whatever she had been expecting, it certainly hadn’t been that. 

‘You don’t know how to ride a bike?’ She asked, surprised. 

‘Of course not. I grew up riding brooms.’ Ah. ‘And I cannot run to the stupid boat house any more.’ 

Hermione looked at him carefully. His weight was slightly off and -

‘Did you hurt yourself?’ Worry infused her tone. 

‘Maybe,’ he muttered. Her lips twitched. He’d come a long way, she supposed, since the hippogriff incident, if he was trying not to make a big deal out of it. Although he had been thirteen, so. 

‘I will teach you how to ride a bike,’ she replied. It was the least she could do, really. ‘As long as you let me have a look at that ankle.’

‘My ankle is fine,’ he muttered. ‘Besides, how did you even know? I was being brave, Granger.’ 

‘The way you’re standing,’ she descended the rest of the stairs and pointed to them. ‘Sit there and take off your socks and shoes.’ 

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Draco,’

‘I’m sweaty,’ he whined. ‘Am I not allowed to shower first?’

‘You’re a terrible patient. I’ll let you keep your socks on, unless I need to check the rest of the foot.’ 

He hesitated, clearly weighing up the pain versus the embarrassment. She took his arm, forcing him gently, but firmly to sit. He let her, and she knelt between his legs, pushing up his tracksuit leg. She would not blush, or stutter, or let herself marvel at his calf muscles because he deserved better than her salivating over him. She also wasn’t going to think about how close she was to...everything. She was going to be professional. 

She had to touch him, though, if she wanted to know what was wrong, so she ran her hands over the slightly swollen joint, pressing slightly until he hissed and then tapped her wand on the affected area. 

They both watched the diagnostic spell hover in the air, the different colours of his ankle muscles showing exactly what was hurting. 

‘It doesn’t look bad,’ she murmured. Certainly not bad enough to warrant not wanting to run anymore. ‘Did you fall over?’ 

An embarrassed silence answered the question for her. Hermione ducked her head to avoid being caught smiling. 

A few spells later and she was rotating the joint easily in her hands. She didn’t know why he was self-conscious about sweat, as the undercurrent of him that lingered under his body wash was warm and rich and made her want to inhale. 

‘Another war leftover?’ 

They talked about it much more easily now, no longer skating over the memories or topic as they came up. Hermione hadn’t realised how badly she had needed to voice all the poisonous things she had thought, until they were out in the open. 

‘Absolutely. Most first aid magic is pretty easy, and the diagnostic spells are generally quick to pick up. And then, the undergrad degree definitely helped refine what I had already learned.’ 

She stood, offered her hand to help Draco up. He took it, his warm palm and fingers wrapping round hers. 

‘How does that feel?’

‘Brand new,’ he replied. 

The next day, two bikes were waiting in the hall. 

----- 

They were posh bikes, of course, and likely to be stolen as soon as they went anywhere. But she knew it wasn’t worth trying to convince Draco to buy worse ones, just like it wasn’t worth suggesting stabilisers. 

‘Shall we go to the park then?’

‘Not yet,’ he turned, alarmed. ‘I can’t even sit on one of these, Granger. I’m not about to embarrass myself in front of the whole of Oxford.’ 

She told herself not to laugh. There would likely be many times where she would want to laugh, and she would have to work very hard not to. 

‘Alright. We need a smooth surface though, so unless you want to disillusion yourself on a road, we need to think of something.’

‘Can’t we use the drive?’ 

She considered it, sighed, and then only because they’d never get out of the house unless he was confident, agreed. 

‘Only until you’ve figured out how to sit without falling over. There’s not really enough space to go anywhere.’

‘I only need to go to the boat house and back,’ he muttered, wheeling it out of the front door. He got the handles stuck in the frame and she did not smile as he rattled it free. 

‘But if you can ride a bike then we could go explore places,’ she tried to tempt him before he abandoned the whole thing and sulked. ‘We could go to The Perch, have a pint on the river and see the horses.’ 

He turned back to her. 

‘I didn’t know there were horses by The Perch.’

‘Do you like horses?’ Draco horse-lover Malfoy? It didn’t seem to fit. 

‘We used to breed Granians.’

‘What are Granians?’ It wasn’t often Hermione came up against something she was totally unfamiliar with, but it made her feel slightly uneasy whenever she did, a hangover of that fear that they’d be killed by something she didn’t even know about. 

‘The flying race horses. They’re nearly extinct now.’

‘What happened to the ones you had?’ 

‘Voldemort,’ he shrugged, and she noted that it was the first time he’d said his name. ‘He killed them all.’ 

‘I’m sorry,’ she told him, and that was that. 

Draco was much better at riding a bike than Hermione had been when she had tried flying for the first time. She supposed she should have been pleased, but she was a bit annoyed that it meant she didn’t get to tease him. It wasn’t often he was bad at things, especially not physical things, the punting being an unexpected treat. Years of flying were obviously good not just for staying on a broom. 

‘This is easy,’ he remarked after a few circles with barely a wobble. ‘Can we go on a road now?’

‘You didn’t buy helmets,’ she pointed out, ignoring his pout. ‘I’m serious Draco. Muggle cars are dangerous and you could splat yourself all over the road. Then what am I going to tell your mother?’

‘Isn’t there a spell? Some kind of magic helmet we could use instead?’

‘Firstly, I don’t think so. And secondly, we don’t want muggles to see us without helmets and think they can cycle without them too, especially not young children.’ She did try not to sound so lecture-y but really, this was important. ‘What is the big deal anyway? Everyone wears one.’

‘I’m surprised you can even fit one over your hair,’ he gestured towards her, where Hermione’s hair was once again on top of her head. It had been a long time since he’d taken the piss out of her for it, and so there was obviously something really stupid going on if he was resorting to insults like that. 

‘Draco,’ she began, not bothering to hide her amusement anymore, ‘are you worried about your hair?’ 

‘It doesn’t just fall like this naturally you know!’ He exclaimed. ‘There are spells involved. Charms. I don’t wake up looking perfect!’ 

She couldn’t decide whether his vanity was funny or insane. 

‘You - how many?’ 

‘How many what?’ He snipped, bike still between his legs. 

‘How many charms, obviously.’ Hermione used some every now and then, mainly for formal occasions. But to charm her hair every single day. It was ridiculous. 

‘Only three, and before you say anything else, it takes about 5 minutes so don’t give me a lecture about time wasting.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ she replied, stopping herself from interrupting him and doing just that. 

‘I can see you desperate to,’

‘No you can’t,’ 

‘You do realise I know you quite well Granger?’

‘Not well enough to call me by my first name,’ she snipped back. ‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed I’ve not been Hermione for about a week. If this is part of the competition -’

‘You’re right,’ he blurted out. ‘That’s exactly what it is. I was waiting for you to say something about it.’

‘Well it's a terrible idea of a prank,’ she sniffed. ‘So I’m still winning, and I can go back to being Hermione.’ 

He looked slightly pained, and not for the first time Hermione wished she knew what he was thinking, because she could not make any sense of him. 

‘Anyway,’ he said, getting back on the bike. ‘Helmets. We’ll make up a spell tonight -’

‘You don’t just make up spells, Draco.’

‘You did, for me.’

‘Yes, well,’ Hermione went pink. ‘That took a few weeks.’ 

There was a pause. She refused to look at him. Refused to admit that yes, she had done something thoughtful for him and yes, it was because she liked him and probably had liked him for a while before even realising what that meant, and yes, if he wanted to right now she would very much not object to kissing him. 

‘Oh,’ he just said. Which said everything, really. 

‘Let’s continue tomorrow.’

She tried to go back inside, but he scrambled after her, stopping her at the door. His arm had shot out, holding the handle closed while his body was still behind her, so she was trapped in between. 

It was closer than they had been in a while, ever since the punting and the discussion about the war had stopped the casual touches that she had gotten accustomed to. She had focused on not thinking about it, the new distance between them. Because she had thought the conversation had gone well, and had helped them both but - maybe he had realised just how pathetic she was. Maybe he had realised how badly she liked him, and maybe he was doing the gentlemanly thing of putting distance between them so that she didn’t get hurt. 

The distance only served to reinforce the impact of being so close to him now. She was blushing, obviously, and she tried not to swallow, or show any sign of nervousness because she didn’t want him to misinterpret it and move away again. Or she didn’t want him to correctly interpret it, and move away because he was embarrassed for her, for her stupid feelings… 

‘I never said thank you.’ 

He was looking down at her and she was enveloped by his scent, the sense of him that had always, always been overwhelming and she wished she could avoid this. 

‘You did,’ she replied evenly. 

‘Not properly.’

Her mind went blank. She pressed the palms of her hands against her thighs to try and stop the tremble. 

‘You don’t -’ 

‘No, I do.’ He was staring at her intently now, and the force of his focus was enough to make her want to fall into him, press herself against him and forget everything, even her own name. 

‘What would a proper apology entail?’ 

Her voice had gone husky, hoarse, and at the sound his eyes widened ever so slightly, only noticeable because of how close they were to each other. And then, right when they teetered together on that edge, feeling that maybe, perhaps there was something between them that was worth acknowledging, his phone rang. 

Hermione jerked back so hard her head slammed into the front door. Draco stumbled away, nearly dropping his phone as he scrambled to pull it out of his pocket, the shrill tone of it making her teeth ache. 

‘Alice,’ he said, and it was clipped because maybe she wasn’t insane and maybe he had also wanted that terrifying, unnamed thing that had taken over Hermione. It was impossible, but perhaps it didn’t have to be. 

‘Sure,’ he continued, rolling his eyes at Hermione. She tried to smile but it was probably fake, and he stepped back even further, walking down the front porch steps again and picking the bike up with one hand. 

‘Yeah we’ll come. We could go tomorrow, Granger and I have some stuff on tonight. No, work stuff. Yeah. Yeah.’

Right. Of course they did - the next steps. She sighed, leaving Draco outside the front and slipping back into the cool foyer. She hated that she’d noticed she was back to ‘Granger’. Hated how shaken she was by wanting him. Hated it especially because it had meant she’d forgotten the work. The one thing she needed more than anything, especially more than his mouth on hers. She could want him, that was fine. But wanting him to distraction? It was a dangerous, stupid thing. And it had to stop.

------

They had managed to avoid each other for the rest of the day, until the evening timer on the brew went off, and they were both required in the lab. 

By now, six vials of suspension liquid were spaced along one of the walls. They were nearly totally see-through, the viscosity something like water. In fact, they looked a lot like water, and it was only detailed labels with Draco’s perfect tiny script that indicated anything out of the ordinary about them. 

Hermione’s notes, with her own scrawl, were plastered on the wall next to them. These were far less carefully tacked up, spaced out in various groupings associated with different parts of the brain, or different areas of research. 

But so far nothing had come close to suggesting any jumping off point for a spell or incantation or other potion that would be a good base for the next brew, the serum that would actually do the job of bringing her parent’s brains back. Not even the rows and rows of ingredients that had been carefully set out across the shelves had offered any inspiration, and it wasn’t just dread for seeing Draco again that made Hermione reluctant to reenter the room. 

He seemed to have anticipated that, though, because he handed her a mug of fresh mint tea (remembering that she didn’t normally accept coffee in the evening unless they were about to pull an all-nighter), and a plate filled with biscuits. Judging by the look of them, he had made them this afternoon. Was she so pathetic that she needed biscuits to be let down? 

‘Biscuits?’ She asked, unable to keep the misery from her voice. 

‘You’ve been hard on yourself about the research for weeks. I figured biscuits might help.’ 

It was thoughtful, and that was why she hated it. She took a biscuit anyway, and nearly cracked a tooth. 

‘I, well, I’m not very good at baking,’ he cringed as she tried very hard to chew. ‘But, you know. I figured it might help cheer you up?’ 

And for whatever mad reason it was working, because instead of hating herself and hating him and hating the project, Hermione was laughing as she attempted to swallow what only reminded her of Hagrid’s rock cakes. 

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, taking a half chewed bit of biscuit out of her mouth. ‘This is so rude, but I actually don’t think I can finish this.’ 

And although he hated not being good at things he was laughing too, and relief had filled his face, and they were back to normal once more. 

‘I want to say they can’t be that bad, but I’m also scared to try one for myself.’

‘You know, this would be a much better prank,’ she told him lightly. 

‘Perhaps,’ he allowed. ‘Perhaps I’m trying to lose.’

‘What would the point of that be?’ 

He just smirked slightly and turned back to the brewing table, lighting a fire under the smallest cauldron. 

‘I think that might be a bit optimistic,’ Hermione sighed, staring at the flames. ‘I really haven’t found anything.’ 

‘Why don’t you talk me through your ideas?’

‘But they won’t work if I haven’t found anything.’

‘No one has done what you are trying to do,’ he told her, his voice getting that firmness in it which he usually reserved for telling her to go to bed, or to stop panicking. ‘You’re using the research as a crutch.’ 

‘Research is the only reason we’ve got this far, Draco.’ She bristled, trying to hide her irritation with him. But honestly - the research was everything. 

‘True. But you want to find someone else who’s done it first. There isn’t anyone.’ 

He had turned his full attention on her once more, and she sipped at the tea carefully under his stare. 

‘You’re never going to come across even a fragment of what you need, because no one in the history of wizard-kind has attempted to re-implant an entire lifetime’s worth of memory. And I’m not telling you this to freak you out, I’m telling you this to remind you that you are brilliant. What has got you this far are your own thoughts and feelings and ideas, and yes, research that you have done, but also experiments that you have run. So talk me through your ideas, and then we will try them one by one. And we will keep going, until we find something that looks promising. And then we will pursue that until it either works, or we have to start from scratch.’ 

Hermione exhaled slowly. His faith in her, in her abilities, was utterly overwhelming in a different way to everyone else’s ideas of her intelligence. His was overwhelming because he saw her. He saw the work, he knew what she was like, he had helped her work through problems. And he still believed that she could succeed after all of it. 

She looked at the tea. 

‘Do you know about the language of flowers?’

Draco, to her surprise, let out a chuckle. 

‘Gr- Hermione. I was raised in a pureblood household. There’s nothing but Victorian shit like that. I could probably recite our copy to you word for word.’ 

‘Wait, really?’

‘Oh, absolutely. We have a lot of - I suppose it’s kind of like dating but also it’s not at all. Courting would probably be more accurate a descriptor. Pure blood men are intended to go and sow their wild oats,’

‘Ugh,’ 

‘I know. But once we’d done all that it was very much expected that we’d settle down, probably around 19,’

‘Bloody hell,’ she muttered, unable to stop the interruption. No wonder Ron had been so…ready. 

‘Yes, Hermione, 19. And start courting some nice pureblood girl. And this would involve the most ridiculously elaborate set of rituals, including various flower arrangements put together to express just the right amount of romantic affection, tea parties with the mothers, formal engagements, balls, and then after a few months, a marriage contract signing.’ 

‘That is. I mean, that's bizarre,’ Hermione wanted to gape at him. ‘And that’s still the norm? Even after the war?’ 

‘I guess,’ he shrugged. 

‘But you, and Blaise and Theo,’

‘Blaise’s mother doesn’t particularly care what he does, Theo’s parents are dead, and yes, my mother is frothing at the bit for grandchildren and absolutely furious that I'm wasting my time doing this.’ 

‘She really thinks that?’

‘She told me I was selfish, and ought to think of the Malfoy line when I first got in. I think she’s warmed to it now, although that's maybe thanks to you,’ he eyed her pointedly. 

‘What about your female friends? What about Pansy and - the others?’ 

She realised belatedly that she didn’t know their names. But he didn’t seem to mind. 

‘Again, Pansy is perhaps a little different. She hates her father and is waiting for him to die before she can do what she wants. Which probably won’t be long, considering. Anyway. And then Daphne and Astoria are both engaged, although I don’t think they’re married yet. Both of them went abroad after the war and found husbands in France, I think. Which also tends to happen quite regularly even in normal circumstances.’

‘Why?’

‘Lot of incest, if I’m honest.’

‘Ah,’ she said, laughing slightly. ‘I suppose that’s easier to escape over an ocean.’

‘You’d be surprised, but yes, in general. Anyway. Flowers?’ 

‘Right,’ Hermione reeled her mind back in, away from Draco courting someone and hothouse flowers and elegant balls. Balls like the one he had invited her to, at New Year’s. She blinked. 

‘What if those meanings came from things?’ 

‘What do you mean?’

‘As in, what if those plants actually had those properties? What if forget-me-knots literally helped you remember something?’  

‘Oh,’ he said, and she got to watch him think it through. ‘That’s a great idea.’

‘It’s a bit basic,’

‘No, Hermione, it’s brilliant. I mean it, best ideas are the simplest. Plus, we need something that has the same viscosity as the base, right? Which means we’re going to have to make some sort of concentrate, or essence. And if we’re using plants then that actually would work perfectly. Of course, we’ll have to do hundreds of combinations, not just flowers but different amounts of each to see but,’ he trailed off, moving through the space to pull out various boxes and bottles. 

‘We should make our own concentrates,’ he said, muffled slightly by sticking his head in a cupboard. ‘Given that we’re working to such a specific end point, it doesn’t make sense to use any old lavender oil or whatever.’ 

‘I was thinking about cutting times as well,’ Hermione propped herself on one of the tables, waving a wand to the stacks of paper to summon one towards her. ‘We should plant at the new, and maybe harvest at the full? Or the new? I can’t tell what would be better.’

‘You want to grow from scratch?’ 

‘If we could find the ingredients already growing I think that would be fine and we’d just harvest at different points of the moon cycle, but I’m not sure where we’d look.’ 

Draco was eyeing her contemplatively from across the room. His shirt sleeves had been pushed up again, his hair doing that thing which even if she knew was the result of many charms, still managed to have a rather devastating effect. 

‘Would you have an issue if the plants were growing in The Manor?’ 

Hermione froze. Draco had mentioned The Manor plenty of times. She’d eaten strawberries grown there. But to think about returning, that felt like a step too far.

‘I don’t know if I could go back,’ she said truthfully. ‘Not yet.’

‘You wouldn't have to,’ he was quiet, and sincere. ‘I would go if you weren’t ready. I know everything that’s grown there, and my mother always plants at the new moon.’ 

Hermione bit her lip, considering. 

‘You have already helped so much,’ she voiced her real concern. ‘And I feel so guilty, making you run back and forth for however long on this fool’s errand and -’

‘Stop,’ he commanded her. He crossed the space, and took her hands. The first time he had willingly touched her in a week. ‘Hermione,’ he sighed. ‘You have nothing to feel guilty for. Nothing. Do you understand me? I know you hate letting me help,’ he tried to joke and she tried to smile, but both of them were sore and vulnerable and once again that damn desire was rearing its head, ‘but you have to let someone. I can apparate through the wards, I won’t even have to see my mother. We can keep it a secret if you want. But it’s not a problem, and you have to stop feeling like you are an inconvenience.’ 

‘Draco,’ she tried to say, but he shook his head. 

‘I’m serious. It’s not a fool’s errand. And if this is how I can help then I will,’

‘You already have helped.’

‘Have we finished the potion?’ He asked her. She shook her head. ‘Exactly. Then I have not helped enough.’ 

‘I -’

‘Nope. Besides, you can’t kick me off now. Circumstances aside, I am enjoying this you know.’ 

Hermione smiled even if she wished he would move closer. 

‘I am too,’ she confessed. ‘I really, really can’t thank you enough and,’

‘Then don’t bother trying to. I’m sure I’ll think of something by the end.’

‘Deal,’ she said, giving his hands a squeeze. ‘You have to come up with something though.’ 

‘Sure,’ he replied. Looking at her so earnestly it made her ache. For the first time the thought of finishing filled her with a kind of horror. A kind of shock that actually, one day maybe this would end, and then the hours in each other's company might not feel so effortless, or even useful. And they would go back to how they were before, except she would never be able to forget this closeness. Or the way that he had looked after her. The way he would one day look after his pureblood wife. 

‘I was thinking rosemary,’ she croaked, depressed by her thoughts. ‘To start with, why don’t we stay simple? Rosemary and forget-me-knots.’ 

He nodded, let go of her hands. 

‘We grow both of those. Full moon is next week, so I can cut then, and we can take cuttings at the new moon a couple of weeks after too, to compare.’ 

Hermione’s tea had long since turned cold, but she drank it anyway. 

Chapter Text

Trinity, Week 1

The Easter holidays had gone far too quickly, if anyone cared to ask Hermione. Draco had, true to his word, returned to The Manor twice to collect ingredients. And in between the brewing experiments (currently, all eight of Draco’s cauldrons were occupied), work for her actual degree, and afternoons with Draco cycling around Oxford, the time had just gone. 

She had meant to go back to London to visit everyone, see Ginny again with Harry to congratulate them properly after the engagement, but then something would come up, or they’d make a bit of a breakthrough, or she would just collapse into bed or onto the sofa and all thoughts of socialising would leave her mind. 

But despite how quickly the time had passed, Hermione couldn’t remember the last time she had enjoyed herself so much. The work was satisfying and progressing well, the city was beautiful in the early spring, and the thing between her and Draco was back, this time around apparently not so willing to be banished. As soon as she stopped working that would be the first thing on her mind; what he was doing, thinking, feeling. And often, he would be right next to her, looking at her in a certain way, as though she was both a frustrating question that he couldn’t figure out, and also the answer. She didn’t understand any of it. And she was, for the first time, totally fine with not knowing. 

‘I have to have a dinner party,’ he told her one evening as he was cooking. 

‘Do you?’ 

He often did that, start conversations completely out of the blue and wait for her to catch up. He sighed. 

‘I promised Alice.’

‘Why?’ Her lips turned up, but if she was honest with herself she often smiled at the things he said, whether or not they were amusing. 

‘Someone told her I was a good cook,’ he glared at her and she wanted to giggle (giggle? Who was she?), even though she felt slightly embarrassed that her compliment had gotten back to him, ‘and it was a condition of making me not look like a loser when Blaise and Theo came over,’ he cleared his throat slightly awkwardly. ‘Of course, I made myself look like a massive tit that evening anyway, but I already tried to get out of it and Alice isn’t letting me.’ 

Hermione did laugh then, a proper belly laugh. That felt so long ago - that evening, the week after it that had again been filled with that strange tension. But here they were again, dancing round each other.  

‘So have a dinner party. We can charm away anything that might look bad, hide the floo powder and all that. It’s not a big deal.’ 

‘I don’t like having people in my house,’ he muttered, moodily stirring his ‘spring risotto’. (Hermione had asked what a spring risotto involved and he had pointedly told her that it was ‘green’). 

‘Do you think that’s a war hangover? Are you scared you’re going to let Alice in and she’ll turn out to be the next Voldemort?’

‘Can we not psycho-analyse me when I’m trying to do the right thing? It throws me off.’ 

‘Really? That’s very interesting…’

‘Oh piss off,’ he muttered, grating some cheese. ‘If I’m going to do this I’ll need your help.’

‘Of course I’ll help,’ Hermione was almost affronted that he had to ask. ‘I can do some decorations, we could eat outside if the weather’s nice, and my shield charms are second to none if I do say so myself. That literally is because of the war, by the way, if you also want to make a joke,’ she offered charitably. 

‘I need you to make a pudding.’ 

Hermione paused. 

‘Really?’ 

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to help. It was that she really, genuinely, couldn’t cook. 

‘Really.’

‘Perhaps someone else could bring one?’ 

At that, Draco stopped cooking all together, looking at her as though she had just been transfigured into a particularly disgusting slug. 

‘Are you suggesting that I invite people to my home and expect them to cook?’

‘It’s a normal thing, Draco. Especially because we’re students.’

‘Absolutely not. No. Not in a million years. I would never, ever. If my mother ever found out she would drop dead of shock. I refuse.’ 

‘Okay,’ Hermione sighed, cursing all bizarre pureblood rituals that appeared to solely exist to make her life difficult. ‘Can I buy it?’ Draco pulled a face which told her that she could, if she had to. He would just disapprove. Stupid Victorian upbringing. ‘Fine. I will try and make something. Does it have to be fancy?’ 

‘No. Although,’ he hesitated. 

‘What is it?’ She asked wearily. 

‘Well, it just can’t be a cake, alright?’

‘Sure,’ she said, brow furrowing, mentally crossing off lemon drizzle loaf with a sigh. ‘And are you going to explain that strange request or?’

‘Cake is never served at dinner, only afternoon tea. Biscuits, too.’ 

At least he had the grace to blush, even if he didn’t stop himself from making the request. She sighed. 

‘I’ll have a think about what I can do.’ 

‘I owe you,’ he said, sliding a perfectly plated risotto towards her and cracking over a little black pepper. She inhaled. He wasn’t wrong about the green - it even smelled like the colour. 

‘What are you going to make?’ she asked as she dug in. ‘You could do this? This is very, very good.’ 

‘Maybe for a starter,’ he muttered. ‘Although probably needs a little more panache for a dinner party.’

‘Again, Draco. Students. Everyone will freak out if you start bringing out the lobster.’ 

‘Would never serve shellfish unless I had professional help,’ he shook his head. ‘Too risky. Anyway.’ He changed the subject, watching her enjoy the dish, a small smile around his mouth. ‘How did the potions look this afternoon?’ 

------

Hermione had grown up on the upper side of middle class, but she had not realised how much work was involved in hosting a dinner party if you were Draco Malfoy. She’d managed to restrain him from sending out physical invitations and a seating plan, but the smart dress code was apparently unmoveable. There had been crises about napkins (the wrong kind or the wrong monogram was used), cutlery (a fish knife was missing) and the number of courses he wanted to make (‘I can’t just take out the fish course, Granger,’). 

After the fish course squabble, Hermione had decided to stay completely out of it aside from her pudding and shielding duties, and left him to it. 

She’d made a meringue for a pavlova earlier the morning of the event, and then spent the rest of the time charming the house to repel muggles from anywhere even vaguely mystical. The owl was locked in the study, the garage was layered with a series of complex wards that even if broken would only reveal one of Hermione’s best illusions of an empty room, and the floo powder was locked in the cupboard. She’d charmed the tables, lengthening them to sit underneath the squat old tree in the back garden, and then hung small globe lights throughout its branches. The whole effect was rather magical all by itself, she thought, as she placed numerous pillar candles along its length. She would have offered to properly lay the table, but she didn’t fancy being told off for putting the wrong knife somewhere. 

The mysterious future pureblood wife would occasionally raise her head at times like this. Hermione knew that there were women who trained their whole lives to marry men like Draco and run functions like this, just as she knew that she would never be one of them. 

It didn’t stop her dressing with extra care that evening. She had decided on the backless one she had worn at Christmas, charming her hair so it hung in more orderly ringlets, and twisting it up as she usually did for the evening. She left a few of the curls hanging looser than usual, brushing her collar bone, adding some simple gold drop earrings that hung to the same length. She kept the medallion on, even if the high neck of the dress hid it. 

Her lips she kept neutral, but she smudged some eyeliner along her lash line, added a little more blusher than usual and then, because she told herself she always dressed and applied makeup with this much care when she went out, she charmed her heels (worn only a handful of times even if she tried to pretend she was accustomed to dressing up) to stay comfortable for the whole night. 

‘You look lovely.’ 

Draco had stopped on his way to the kitchen to wait for her to come down the stairs, and took a moment to take her in. She wanted to say something back, but then he was off, rushing to finish the cooking before people arrived so she barely had time to take in his own dinner jacket. She tried not to feel slightly put out, even if she wasn’t sure what she had wanted him to do. Cancel the evening and sweep her off her feet? 

---- 

The food was ready. The table was laid, the house spelled against anything that could possibly go wrong. 

And Draco couldn’t do it anymore. He could not sit through another evening of wanting her. He took a few deep breaths, and then when they weren’t working, a shot. That didn’t seem to help either. 

He’d had her to himself for nearly an entire month. A whole month, every day, of them acting like they were the only people in the world. And now the rest of that ugly, loud and brash world would invade their bubble. He would have to endure Will trying to sit next to Hermione, and Alice seeing far too much as she always did, and everyone else making jokes and talking about his home and his cooking and he wouldn’t be able to tell the person he actually cared about that all of it was for her. 

Hermione had made an extra effort tonight. He hated that he had noticed. Hated the reason why. 

Will was coming, and he was sure to make a move. He’d been more cowardly than even Draco had this year, but there would be no way he’d be able to resist, not when she looked like that. Not when she glowed . Hermione had talked Draco out of a seating plan and he had agreed because he’d do anything for her, but now he was furious at himself. If they’d had one he’d be able to keep them apart. And now he’d have to watch them together instead. 

He’d thought, as they’d circled each other this month, that maybe his hopes didn’t have to be ruined. But she’d come down in the backless dress, and wanting her was useless all over again.

People were arriving, and Draco was playing at being a host, fielding jokes about why they’d never come over before, complementing each person as they turned up (except for Will). But inside he was gritting his teeth and wanting it to be over. He wanted whatever was going to happen between the two of them to happen, so he could get over her and move on. 

The evening actually was going incredibly well, even if he was forcing himself to smile through most of it. Although hosting dinner parties without magic and staff was an absolute nightmare, and not something Draco would be in a hurry to recreate. 

He would never, ever tell her, but Hermione’s pleas to simplify things, to get people to help, started to make a bit of sense when he realised that he couldn’t just charm the dishes to float out whenever the next course would start. 

They ended up running back and forth to the kitchen for most of the meal, but the starter, the main, the palate cleanser all were received well, and the praise that was heaped on him as the meal and the wine progressed did make him feel slightly less murderous about the whole thing. His mood was also improved by Hermione sitting in between Alice and Tahirah, opposite him. He tried not to look at her too often. 

Then it was time for Hermione’s pudding. 

She’d asked if a pavlova was acceptable, and he had deemed it to be so. She’d made it that morning, and it had looked okay, even if the meringue had collapsed a little bit. But she had expertly covered all of that with cream and passionfruit and lemon curd so it didn’t matter that much, and she’d stuck a sparkler in as she brought it out to the table, and it was beautiful. 

He liked it especially because of the way it lit up her face. 

She caught him staring at her, and even though a blush rose in her cheeks she didn’t look away. Happiness seemed to exude from her, as it had done so for the past month really, and he realised, suddenly, that perhaps none of this was for Will. As she lay the pudding on the table, and started to slice it up, her eyes did not leave his, her smile did not falter. 

Draco had told himself many different times, in many different ways, that she was not for him. But when she handed him a plate, there was hope among the passion fruit seeds. 

It was the most disgusting pudding he’d ever eaten. 

‘Oh God,’ Hermione moaned, as they all exploded into laughter. 

‘I’m so sorry,’ Alice said, hiccuping slightly, ‘but this is potentially inedible.’

‘I’m going to give you all food poisoning from a pudding,’ she laughed, because it was stupid and it was funny and Draco tried another spoonful but it cracked on his teeth and how could someone mess up a pavlova? 

‘I’m sorry, Draco,’ she said, grimacing slightly. 

‘I forgive you,’ he sighed, though how could he pretend to be cross when he was hoping ?

‘If you pick off the fruit it’s not too bad,’ Tahirah offered, in an attempt to help save it. But Jenny had wrinkled her nose. 

‘I think it’s the cream. There’s something not quite right about the taste…’ 

Hermione caught Draco’s eye, and he understood that she had used magic, and it had gone very, very wrong. 

‘Why don’t we do something else,’ he offered in an attempt to save the topic from veering too close to the truth. ‘I could make espresso martinis?’ 

A chorus of yes’s, including one ‘Why didn’t we do that in the first place!’ from Hermione, and they were in the front room while he mixed up martini after martini in the kitchen.  

And even though everyone was having a lovely evening, including Draco by that point, he wanted them to leave. He wanted to be with her. 

‘ Omnis excedere’ he murmured over the glasses, and the martini making came to a close. 

---

The door shuts behind the last of the guests, and Hermione brings out her wand with a sigh of relief, ready to use magic to start to clear everything up.

The night is bright, illuminated with the stars and half moon, and the candles still flicker on the table. The air is warm, almost unseasonably so for late April. 

‘Leave that for the moment.’

Draco comes out, leaning against the table. He offers her a cigarette, even if it has been a long time since either of them has used it as an excuse. After an evening playing hosts has kept them apart, Hermione agrees. And she could have conjured one of her own now, but she waits to share one with him. 

‘I think that went very well,’ she says, as she exhales. He agrees. They don’t need to be sitting out here, they don't need to smoke. But the night is beautiful, and so are they, and they linger. 

‘I really do like this,’ Draco says, shifting even closer, even though they are next to each other on the seating bench. He traces the line of her dress, the way it curves round her lower back and Hermione stops breathing for a moment. His fingers stay on the silk of the gown, but they are so, so close to slipping onto her bare skin. And maybe it could have been a result of all the friendly touches that they had shared, but they linger there. 

‘Thank you,’ she manages to reply. And she wants to say more, she wants to ease the squeezing in her chest because she isn't sure if she is going to explode, but she can’t. Draco is looking at her, his eyes almost half closed as the tips of his fingers make that small movement, from silk to skin. He runs a thumb, the lightest of touches, along the line of the dress, all the while watching Hermione carefully, agonisingly, waiting for her to tell him to stop. 

They are both waiting for it. For the interruption, the thing that would halt this, the thing that has always gotten in the way before. 

But the garden is quiet, out-of-time, and even the noise of the road doesn’t filter through into their bubble, and Hermione shivers instead of pulling away. 

‘Are you cold?’ he asks her, an almost last-ditch, desperate attempt to halt himself, to stop both of them from going through with this because the wanting had been so exquisite that to acknowledge it feels like its own particular brand of torture. 

But Hermione has faced many things more terrifying than her longing for him. So she swallows, and she shakes her head, not trusting herself to speak. 

Draco’s thumb stays on her skin, skating up her spine. He reaches her neck, and his hand opens, holding her, caressing behind her ear. Her head has tipped back at some point, she doesn’t know how or when or particularly care about the sequence of events either. And he is still looking, still hoping that she would save him from what would inevitably ruin him. 

He moves then to cup her cheek properly, that same thumb running over her cheek. He moves like he treasures her, like she is precious. 

She knows exactly what is about to happen. They both do. 

The kiss is light, just like his touch. It tastes of Hermione’s disaster of a pavlova, and the espresso martinis that were the rescue attempt, and the cigarette that was his way in, even from the beginning, to spending time with her. But most of all it tastes like wanting and incredulity that it is happening, that it has taken so long to happen. 

Hermione’s hands find his shoulders and she holds him against her. Draco’s other hand moves to her back, pulling her closer. And the kiss moves slowly, but perhaps it doesn’t, because soon they are intertwined, and she is straddling him, and running her hands along the body that she has been aching to touch all this time, and he is holding her firmly, not letting her go, as he has wanted to hold her for months now. 

She gasps a little and he uses the moment to kiss her deeper, and through his trousers she can feel how badly he wants this too, and so she rocks, just a little bit into him. She isn’t thinking about where this will go, or whether it should, and neither is he, because the sensations of his hands on her is enough to momentarily drive all common sense from her mind. 

She runs her hands through his hair, the sides of his face, his neck, and she is pulling slightly to undo his top button. It’s not enough, the tiny fraction of skin at his collar, not when his hands feel so good against her back and she wants to know what it might be like to stroke his chest. 

She rocks against him again and he moans, and she undoes another button, and then another. 

And then the doorbell goes, because Tahirah has forgotten her scarf. 

Hermione answers it, because Draco can’t stand up, not yet. 

They meet afterwards in the hall. 

‘Hi,’ Hermione says first. 

‘Hi,’ he laughs a little. He still isn’t sure if that happened. She twists her hands, anxiously. He could cross to her and hold them, but he doesn’t. He’s anxious too. 

‘So,’ she exhales shakily. He nods. Neither of them know how to do this. 

‘I don’t,’ she tries. 

‘We’re friends,’ he says, as though he knows what she is going to say. She looks relieved. 

‘We’re friends.’

‘It doesn’t have to be awkward,’ he says, as though he knows how to do that. 

‘No. It doesn’t have to be at all. And we’ve had quite a lot to drink and everything so,’ 

‘It’s been a full on week.’ 

‘I don’t want it to be awkward,’

‘We’re working closely together,’

‘We’re friends,’

‘Yes. We’re friends.’ 

‘Okay.’ 

‘Cool.’ 

‘I guess I’ll see you in the morning,’ she blurts out. She climbs the stairs quickly. He stands there and watches her. 

They both touch a finger to their lips when the other isn’t looking. And even though they tell themselves and each other that nothing needs to change, it has. 

Chapter Text

Trinity term, Week 2

When Draco was finally able to fall asleep he was plagued by dreams of her. He’d answered many of the questions that had occupied him. He knew exactly how soft her skin was. He knew how potent she smelled up close. He knew how her hair felt when he ran his fingers through it. And how her hands had felt in his hair, all over his body. 

It wasn’t enough, obviously. 

He didn’t know how they had stopped. Or even why they had, why they hadn’t started again after the interruption. He wished it had never happened, he wished it would happen again. He didn’t know what to do about it, didn’t know how he could go back to the before. The before when he didn’t know how it felt to have her move against him. She’d gasped into his mouth and moaned and he wanted to lick every inch of her until she made those sounds over and over again. And he’d had a wank, but he’d woken up rock hard all over again after dreaming of her making those noises, and came in minutes just by recalling the way she had bitten his bottom lip ever so slightly. 

They were friends. He should not. They had agreed they were friends. He had been the one to say it first. And clearly, neither of them wanted to complicate things. They would never be together - Hermione would never be able to be with someone like him even if she did want to - and so perhaps this was for the best. Perhaps stopping before he got too far in was a good idea. Perhaps he should be grateful that Tahirah forgot her scarf, because it meant that he still had part of himself that was not wholly ruined by her. It was the thought of it going further that terrified him. Because while she might be happy to snog him, there was not a world where they would ever be together. And as soon as they crossed that line, there would also not be a world where Draco would ever be able to forget her. 

He avoided her as best he could, and he had no doubt she was doing the same. He had been pushed to the brink by his desire for her, and he was sure that the extended hours in her presence over the holidays had made it worse. Some distance was necessary if he was to be able to return to a state of coherence. Because he had wanted her for a very long time, but it wasn’t until that evening that he had been unable to resist any longer. 

It was the dress, it was the wine, it was the way she looked at him over a pudding. It would not happen again. 

As though they had agreed, (an impossibility, given that they’d barely exchanged a few words since the Incident), they started to haunt different libraries. He escaped to the Sackler, while Hermione retreated to the Social Sciences. They were both buildings devoid of warmth or romanticism, and this was for the best. Over Easter, if neither of them had to get books out they had taken to working across from each other - Draco in his study and Hermione in the small bedroom opposite that he had turned into a library upon moving in. They would keep the doors open in case one needed to shout a question to the other, and Draco would be able to look across and see the top of her hair rising above the winged chair as she devoured books by the window, or hunched over the desk, scribbling furiously. He missed the sound of her typing, and found it hard to focus without her. This was exactly why he needed space. 

He also noticed that she had been cooking for herself again, despite him insisting at such frequent intervals over the holidays that she had eventually relented and let him do most of it. The sight of her pots and pans steadily washing themselves when he got home depressed him. As did the thought that she was coming home early to avoid him cooking for both of them. He had gotten too accustomed to making dinner for two however, and every time he had the leftovers the next day for lunch, they tasted like ash, or her, or of the futility of staying away from her. 

The distance was supposed to be helping. Instead, it was making everything worse. He wasn’t supposed to be missing her, yet her absence filled every moment of the day. 

To further ruin things, Alice had noticed. 

‘So,’ she started, as she dragged Draco out of the Sackler with promises of caffeine. There was nowhere nearby, so they had ended up in the Ashmolean museum, wandering round various Roman and Greek artefacts that Draco was vaguely looking at, sipping their coffees. 

‘That’s you,’ Draco said, pointing at a half ruined bust. Alice ignored him, because she was going in for the kill. 

‘You and Hermione.’ 

He didn’t spill coffee over himself, but it was a close thing. 

‘Yes?’ 

‘How’s it going?’

‘Good. She’s clean, keeps to herself, all that typical flatmate stuff.’ 

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘Cos it seems like you two are cosier than ‘clean and keeps to herself’,’

‘We have known each other since we were eleven,’ he tried to shrug it off. ‘It’s not weird that we’re comfortable around each other now.’ 

‘Tell that to Michaelmas term you. Anyway,’ she contemplated a large marble head calmly. ‘You both seemed very… I’m not sure how to describe it,’ she sipped as Draco informed her that if she didn’t know what to say, she was perfectly capable of keeping her thoughts to herself. 

‘You both are very aware of each other,’ she said instead, which was totally unnecessary. 

‘Well, I mean, we live together, and, well that doesn’t even make sense.’ He didn’t think he had ever been so incoherent in his life. Even when on trial he’d at least been able to string sentences together.  

‘I’m just saying you both seem to almost move in tandem with each other. It’s like you’re connected or something.’

‘We spend a lot of time together.’

‘I know. You bailed on me twice last month because you were busy ‘working’,’ Alice snorted. ‘You’re behind on seminar reading already, Draco. I don’t know what work you were doing, but it definitely wasn’t for your degree.’ 

She eyed him meaningfully. 

‘Am I in trouble,’ Draco muttered, shifting. Out of all the people in Oxford, he was not expecting Alice to be the one who made him feel thirteen and in trouble with his father all over again. 

‘Don’t be stupid. I’m thrilled you’re together, I just wish that -’

‘We’re not together,’ Draco blurted out. ‘We’re just friends.’

‘Sure, friends with benefits, whatever,’

‘We’re not. We haven’t. We - nothing has happened.’ 

She tore her eyes from the bust of an unidentified woman with one breast out. 

‘Nothing?’ 

‘I,’ he hesitated. ‘We kissed, once. Then we decided we were friends, and it wasn’t going to happen again. Do NOT tell her I told you,’ he said quickly. ‘I don’t think, we’re not talking about it.’ 

She gaped. 

‘I thought,’ she exhaled. ‘Wow. I thought you guys had spent the entire Easter shagging furiously if I’m honest.’ 

Draco did spill his coffee at that. 

‘Bollocks,’ he tried to surreptitiously cover the splash on the floor before a security guard could shout at him. ‘And no,’ he turned back to Alice. ‘Absolutely no shagging.’ 

Not for his lack of trying, he thought back to the punting. But still. He had not been successful. 

‘Why not?’ 

‘It’s not that simple.’

‘Do you want to shag her?’ 

He just gave her A Look. 

‘Okay. So you’re hopelessly in love and,’

‘I am not,’ he ground out. ‘It’s fine. Look, I can’t - we can’t get together. We’re not going to. We’ve both got a lot on, and it’s complicated for like a million different reasons, and you are not supposed to know any of this anyway. So just drop it, alright?’ 

‘Does this go back to the school stuff?’ She asked with that pained look whenever the subject of Hermione and Draco’s mysterious past was brought up.

‘Kind of. Look, I’m not being wilfully obtuse by saying I can’t talk about it. I literally can’t.’ 

‘Did you have to sign NDAs?’

‘Something like that,’ Draco replied, finishing the coffee. 

‘You don’t seem great, Draco,’ she said softly. ‘I think you should tell her how you feel. If you can’t be together then you shouldn’t torture yourself over it.’

‘No,’ he shook his head, not realising that he was basically admitting that there were feelings to talk about in the first place. ‘It’s not fair to her. She has no idea and she shouldn’t - she shouldn’t have to change everything because of me. It’s fine. I’m fine,’ he finished, though he wasn’t. It didn’t matter. 

Alice didn’t believe him, but in an uncharacteristic display of gentleness, she dropped the subject. He waited for as long as was polite for her to finish her coffee and then made his excuses to be alone again. She was right - he was already behind on seminar reading. He’d spent the morning staring at the wall instead. It was time to move on. 

He got home before her, that evening. It was much lighter now, almost warm, and he felt guilty for his mood not matching the brightness of the evenings. He wished it was still dark and raining, at least then he’d be able to mope around with the curtains closed. 

But he opened the windows in the kitchen, stared at the kitchen cupboards to try and think of what to eat, told himself he wasn’t waiting to hear her key in the lock. 

She arrived an hour later, as the sun was beginning to set. 

‘Hi,’ she said, walking into the kitchen as though everything was normal. 

‘I - Hi,’ he replied, clearing his throat. 

‘How did your day go?’ She asked, as she opened the fridge. Draco was in the middle of eating his own dinner - salmon, fresh veggies, lots of potatoes - and there was obviously enough for her. Were they being normal? He didn’t know how to act. Didn’t dare put food in his mouth in case she asked him more questions. 

‘Good, yeah,’ he replied, because he was hardly going to admit it was a disaster. ‘There’s enough of this, by the way. If you’d like some?’ 

Hermione closed the fridge. He watched her peer over at the plate. 

She looked tired again. Her shirt was ever so slightly oversized, enough that it made him think about what she’d look like in one of his, and her hair was frazzled even by Hermione standards. She hadn’t bothered to tie it up, or perhaps it had eaten her hair tie at some point in the day, and it bloomed around her. 

‘Do you mind?’ She asked. He had to rearrange his face into something casual when she looked up at him. He tried for nonchalant. They were friends. 

‘Not at all.’

She took a plate, sat opposite him. They ate in silence. 

She started coughing, a bit of potato stuck in her throat, and he was out of his chair in a second to grab his wand before,

‘I’m good,’ she croaked, waving the wand away. ‘Sorry. Just some -’

He handed her a glass of water. 

‘You sure?’

‘Thanks,’ she replied weakly. He didn’t want to go back to silence. 

‘How was your day?’ 

‘Alright,’ she sighed. Seemed to sit up straighter. Looked right at him. ‘It’s a bit weird, isn’t it?’ 

He almost collapsed with relief. 

‘A little,’ he half-smiled. She mirrored him, and both of them felt the tension thaw. 

‘Right. Well, I guess neither of us are particularly good at talking about things,’

‘No,’ he stumbled a bit as he acknowledged it, and she went bright red, but they both continued. 

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘if I made things awkward.’

‘No, oh my - I was the one who…’ 

‘I feel like I got carried away,’

‘I was definitely, erm, into it,’

‘Okay because I. I mean, yes. It was good and. Yes.’

‘Right.’ 

‘So. We’re normal again?’

‘We can be normal again,’ Draco nodded, because he was too much of a coward to tell her that he didn’t want normal, he wanted her. 

‘Have you been into the brewing room?’ Hermione asked, in a remarkable attempt at said normalcy. 

‘Popped in this morning. We probably need to start thinking about,’ he smiled as she grimaced, ‘trying a new combination,’ he finished. She sighed, folded her knife and fork on the plate. 

‘I know. Thank you, by the way, for the dinner.’

‘My pleasure. I felt bad after watching your washing up the past few days…’

‘If I never eat pesto pasta again, it will be too soon,’ she replied wryly. He chuckled. 

‘I’ll teach you how to make your own. It’s easy and tastes much better than the stuff you have to buy.’

‘If you say so,’ she clearly did not believe him, but now was not the time for such conversations. They had work to do. And the project was always the priority for her, and because it was the most important thing in her life, it was the second most important thing in Draco’s. 

----

Hermione felt better once they walked into their lab. 

After the third unproductive day in a row, she had to admit to herself that she needed to bring it up with Draco. They had to discuss it, the kiss, because it was driving her insane. It kept her up all night, playing it over and over again. 

The night of the dinner, after everything had exploded so spectacularly she had given in to her cravings, touching herself until she came so hard she had to bite her pillow. The next day she had been so mortified she hadn’t been able to face Draco, convinced he would somehow know what she had done, and so she had started avoiding him, trying to minimise the time around him. He would know, she was convinced, of how badly she wanted him and he would pity her and she would be humiliated and everything would be awful.

Because she realised that she wanted more from him. That kiss had not been enough. The touch of her own hand was also nowhere near enough. She wanted to be with him, wanted it to be his hands and his mouth instead of just a memory of them. 

Which is exactly why she had to avoid him, because even if he was happy to go along with it, there would come a point when he would tire of her. Hermione did not fall easily, or quickly, and she knew if she got her heart broken it would take her a long time to heal from it. She couldn’t risk that kind of pain. Not when everything else in her life was so unstable. 

But she missed his friendship, his cooking, even the stupid things he thought were a good excuse for a prank. 

She also missed being able to concentrate. 

‘I don’t understand why it’s not working,’ she was saying. It took a little effort to sound normal, but still. Practice made perfect. And maybe she’d be able to talk herself into not wanting him too. ‘I mean, we’ve tried every single variation and it’s still not…’

They both came to a halt by one of the big cauldrons, where the result of their latest experiment had brewed into a fine black powder that smelled of rotting eggs. 

‘Has the program thingy said anything?’ He asked, frowning down at the mixture. Hermione scooped a vial of the ash before vanishing the rest. She held it up to the light, examining the slightly porous-looking grains, and grimaced. 

Over the Easter holidays, and while they were working their way through various different ingredient combinations of the concentrate, Hermione had tried working with a software that would help them narrow down the various different likelihoods of success. Unfortunately, that also was a bit of a dead end. For a start, Hermione wasn’t the strongest at anything computer-related, the years she had spent out of touch with technology not helping her literacy with any kind of code. She had taught herself out of necessity for her undergraduate degree, but she would hardly describe herself as competent. 

But more difficult than her passable computer skills was the fact that it was very tricky to program something that involved a magical outcome. She could not, though she tried, teach it about magic. While they had some results, the muggle tech and their magical needs did not mesh well, and these were all vague and inconclusive. 

She shook her head.

‘No. It doesn’t work, really. At least, it makes it clear that there is something missing, but not what that might be.’

When results had indicated something off-balance about the formula, Hermione and Draco had been filled with confidence that they’d quickly figure out what that missing piece was. That confidence had waned over the last week of holiday, however, and Week 1 had been especially abysmal. They hadn’t touched it this week, aside from the work they did before the party, both likely too embarrassed to enter their shared workspace and risk running into the other. 

Everything that they had added had destabilised what was there. Continuing on the original polyjuice theme that Hermione and Draco had first discussed, they were trying to put together a concentrate that, when added to the base serum, would be able to implant the memories back into the brain. And because of the polyjuice associations, they needed something of the ‘person’ to add. So her and Draco had tested hair, nail clippings, swabs of their skin, literally any part of their body that could be removed without actually chopping off a finger. Each of the experiments had resulted in explosions of various potency. Draco had been mortified when one of his ear hairs had given off a putrid brown cloud that lingered for days. 

After the bodily things hadn’t worked, they had moved onto memories. That had, at the beginning, not ended up in an immediate disaster, and it seemed like they might be onto something. They tried different kinds of memories - traumatic ones, joyful ones, ones that were made when they were using magic, ones that were made when they weren’t, all number of variations. Unfortunately, they had all given out at various stages of the brewing or simmering process. And Hermione was holding the result of that final failed experiment in her hand.  

‘What do you want to try next?’ 

He always asked her first, before offering his own suggestions. And though it shouldn’t have been, his presence next to her was a comfort. 

‘I don’t know,’ she admitted, carefully sprinkling a small sample of the ash out to examine under a microscope. ‘Honestly, I was expecting the memories to work. The structure of the concentrate when it was first added really seemed like it would…’ she trailed off, muttering to herself as she examined the ash. It looked like every other sample that had ended up in that consistency, and she sighed again. 

‘Perhaps I should write to the Healer again,’ she mused, rubbing a hand over her face. ‘We haven’t spoken in a while and I was thinking of writing up our experiments so far anyway, and introducing her to you.’

She noticed Draco stiffen. 

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ he said carefully. His face was drawn and eyes shuttered, blank, as though he’d switched something inside him off. Occlumency, she assumed. 

‘You have paid your dues,’ she said quietly. 

‘A lot of people don’t see it that way,’ he warned her. She knew it was probably unfair to force him to consider this when they’d only just started speaking again, but really, he’d have to return to the wizarding world eventually. 

‘Do you really care about that? You’re not walking down Diagon Alley, you’re not in any danger here. And Helen is kind, so kind, she’s not going to think anything other than how impressive what you have achieved so far is.’

‘You don’t know that,’ he retorted. ‘The problem with being a good person, Hermione, is that you don’t realise that most people aren’t.’ 

‘If anyone should be angry, honestly, it’s me. And I’ve forgiven you, so everyone else should too.’

‘That, unfortunately, is not true, or how this works at all.’ His answers were so clipped he was barely opening his mouth. ‘I let people into the castle in sixth year. All the other Death Eaters are either dead, or in prison. I’m the only person left to blame.’ 

‘That’s ridiculous -’

‘You cannot tell people how to grieve, Granger,’ he snapped, losing his temper at her finally. She didn’t know why she'd pushed so hard. 

‘I just think you deserve better,’ she carried on blindly, because she couldn’t stop, because she wanted him. ‘You deserve people to know how much you’ve changed, how good you are,’ 

‘Just stop, alright? Please, Hermione. Just.’ 

He took a deep breath, and then another. 

‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered. 

Before, she would have crossed the small space between them and held his hands, or touched the side of his arm, or something. 

Now, she stayed where she was. 

‘You expect the best from people,’ he said, but his eyes were still blank, ‘but people aren’t - people don’t forgive easily. Even the ones who are supposed to be good. And honestly,’ he inhaled sharply. ‘Honestly, I don’t blame them. I deserved to be punished. I don’t get to just suddenly live my life again like I've done nothing wrong.’

‘You didn’t go out for five years, Draco. You were sentenced for your wrong. You carried that sentence out. You don’t have to punish yourself forever.’ 

He looked at her and she saw the moment his Occlumency slipped, because his eyes seemed like they were burning. She caught her breath. 

‘How did we even get onto this,’ he turned away from her slightly, and she understood he wanted a moment to collect himself. 

‘I wanted to write to Helen, tell her about the progress,’ Hermione busied herself tidying away the sample. ‘I still think your involvement should be recorded, but I can keep it out for now if that would be best.’

‘I don’t know - how long is it going to take to write everything up?’ He asked, slightly strained. ‘Perhaps we should keep going for a bit before we reach out.’ 

Was he angry at her? Did he want to finish the project, did he want space from her? Did he want out? 

‘Sure,’ she swallowed. ‘That’s a good idea. It probably would take me about a week, given I have exams to prep for.’

‘Oh, yeah,’ he said lamely. ‘How is that going?’

‘Fine,’ she waved a hand. Compared to the kiss and the project, the exams were the one thing Hermione didn’t think about with a huge pit of doom in her stomach. ‘Exams are fine, I can do exams.’

‘You certainly can,’ he murmured, and he sounded almost normal again. 

‘Okay, so if we’re not going to write to Helen, let me have another think,’ she tapped her pen on the workbench. ‘There’s got to be something we haven’t tried.’ 

‘I could discreetly enquire as to whether or not there are any further plants we have missed,’ he offered, and Hermione knew he was talking about his mother. She shook her head. He had avoided Narcissa so far, and she was very reluctant to have anyone else know even the tiniest fraction of what they were attempting to do. Let alone Narcissa Malfoy. She still wasn’t sure what she thought of the woman. On the one hand, she clearly harboured no further ill will to Hermione, or as Draco said ‘believed any of that crap anymore’. On the other, she was mostly thrilled about their friendship because of her son’s standing in the social scene of wizarding London. And she did not like feeling used, any more than she liked thinking about how many suitors would be attracted to Draco because of it. 

‘Maybe not right now. What about muggle drugs? We could see if any of those work well?’

‘You’re the expert,’ he said easily. ‘If you think it’s worth a try, then let's go for it.’ 

‘I suppose it’s better than nothing,’ she muttered. The room was depressing her again, and even though Draco’s voice had returned to normal, she could see the ghost of the hurt in his eyes. She knew him too well, and she hated that she wasn’t able to express the one thing she actually wanted to do. Which was to throw herself at him. 

When Hermione returned to the library to do some more reading, she was surprised to find Harry and Ginny’s owl waiting for her. Draco, about to turn into his study, was also distracted by the bird. 

‘Everything okay?’ He asked, as Hermione stared down at the most ridiculous envelope she had ever seen. 

‘Ms. Granger’ was inscribed in ridiculous calligraphy onto a very thick card stock. The moment she touched the piece, the letter was jerked into the air, the thick letters spooling out into a sort of ribbon in deep, burnished gold. It was a very pretty piece of magic, and so utterly unlike her friends that she snorted. 

‘We request the honour of your presence at 12 Grimmauld Place, to celebrate the impending nuptials of Harry James Potter, and Ginevra Molly Weasley.’ 

Draco was still behind her as the envelope announced further details of the party in an imperious voice even posher than his. 

‘Doesn’t really seem like their style,’ she said for his benefit once the envelope had finished, and a small scrap of paper had fallen out the bottom. She bent to pick it up. 

‘I wouldn’t have expected Turnbill’s and Scrivener,’ he drawled.

‘Who?’

‘They’re the oldest wizarding stationer.’

‘You know them?’

‘They’ve designed the Malfoy stationery for over 600 years,’ he shrugged. ‘They do all the purebloods. So I guess that’s why Potter decided to go for it,’ he trailed off, frowning slightly, as though he too couldn't quite work out why Harry had been seduced by such an obvious waste of money. 

‘Oh,’ Hermione said, feeling once again like she was on uneven footing. How had she not heard of them? 

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he gave her a small smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘They don’t keep premises, and any orders are made by appointment only.’

‘I wasn’t worried,’ she lied. She opened the scrap. 

‘Bring your flat mate ;)’ Ginny had scrawled. ‘P.S. don’t even start on the invites.’ 

She snorted slightly. 

‘You’re invited, if you want to come,’ she offered Draco. It wasn’t a date, obviously. It was just a friendly outing. 

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he said, that same stiffness returning. This time, Hermione didn’t push it. She’d turned him down, after all. She had stayed away from the New Year’s ball. It was only fair that he turned her down too. 

‘If you change your mind, it’s next Friday.’ 

‘I’ll let you know.’ 

He went straight to bed, leaving Hermione to let the owl out. 

Chapter Text

Trinity Week 3

Hermione fidgeted at the side of the room, twisting her fingers round the stem of her glass. 

It was a long stem, fancy, the overlarge bit at the top so enormous she was sure it had its own centre of gravity. At any rate, after only one glass she felt far too unsteady to not risk spilling something over herself. Given that they were already enchanted to keep the drinks at the perfect temperature, Hermione also couldn’t transfigure it into something smaller. She sighed. 

Harry and Ginny’s engagement party was absolutely mental. It didn’t help that both the bride and bridegroom-to-be were staring mutinously at the entire affair, glaring at anyone who dared laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. 

Molly Weasley, it turns out, had accidentally outed them to the press. In an unfortunate turn of events (and poor judgement on her husband's part, who had shared the news with her via emergency owl), she had been popped to Diagon Alley for last minute ingredients when she heard. She had been overwrought with joy at the idea of Harry being permanently part of her family, and had promptly erupted into what could only be described as a fit of hysteria. After much joyful sobbing and loud announcements to everyone else in the apothecary, it had taken mere minutes for the various gossip rags to find out, and even less time for an odious woman named Araminta to appear. Araminta claimed to be some sort of wedding planner, and she wasted no time at all in pouring hideously expensive honey into Molly Weasley’s ears about what a Potter/Weasley wedding ought to look like. 

Given that the last Weasley wedding had taken place during the War, and that neither of them were particularly interested in planning anything, both Harry and Ginny hadn’t minded giving Molly a little bit of control over the party. One look at both their faces, and it was clear that this would be the last time either of them let her out of their sights. And likely the last time Araminta had a commission. 

The ground floor rooms had all been magically extended for the party, and the decor was an excessive amount of royal purple edged with that same deep burnished gold, almost bronze, really, from the invite. There were ribbons tied to each bannister, clouds of twittering birds and painted foliage wafting in an imaginary breeze around the guests, and bronze trays bearing never quite enough canapes that floated among the guests. Hermione had watched Neville actively follow one, trying to swipe something to eat; it had floated just out of his grasp at every moment. Hermione wished Draco was here, at least so she’d have someone to talk to. 

She was being ridiculous and had clearly relied on him as a crutch for too long. All her friends were here, and she should have no trouble whatsoever talking to them. 

But as she looked round the room, she was once again overwhelmed by that same sense of looking in that had often followed her at Hogwarts. 

Everyone seemed so comfortable in themselves, moving through the crowds with barely a backward glance or a frown at a comment they might have made and regretted after. They talked together easily about work, and families, and though Hermione wanted to scream at them that they weren’t old, they weren’t that old yet, she felt it when she looked at them. She felt like they’d all agreed, all grown up far too quickly after the war, and now a group of twenty-ish-year-olds were talking about buying houses and babies and promotions. And as she didn’t have any of those things, conversations were rather one-sided. 

She didn’t know when it had started, whether she had always been odd or whether this was a recent development, perhaps borne out of some trauma or something. But Hermione couldn’t quite fight the feeling that she was on one wavelength, and everyone else was on another. 

After a while, Harry came and stood next to her. 

‘Alright?’ He asked heavily, drinking deeply. She smiled at him. 

‘That bad?’

He exhaled. ‘Nah. It’s fine. Gin’s fuming though, obviously. Won’t even talk to Molly. That’s probably the worst of it,’ he snorted. Hermione laughed gently too. Ginny’s wrath was not something to endure lightly. 

‘Lovely, er, colours,’ she said, feeling that she probably ought to say something nice. 

‘You’re a terrible liar,’ Harry grinned. ‘Still, thanks for coming.’

‘Of course I would!’ She exclaimed. 

‘I know. But after Easter,’ he snuck a glance at her. ‘I know you’ve got a lot on at the moment.’ 

‘Workload is,’ her throat tightened. ‘Yes. Lots on.’ 

‘Not taking on too much, are you?’ He asked her softly, and she finally guessed at why he’d come over. 

‘I’m fine,’ she said placatingly. ‘Honestly. You’re almost as bad as Draco,’ she said without thinking. Harry choked a little bit on his drink. 

‘Yeah,’ he tried to say in a normal tone. Hermione had gone bright red. ‘Gin said you guys were friends again.’ 

Hermione ignored the slight emphasis he had placed on friends. 

‘We are. He makes sure I eat, sleep, all of that stuff.’ 

‘Dunno how,’ he mumbled. ‘You never listened to Ron or me.’ 

Hermione’s lips quirked. 

‘Well. Good to know you’re happy, and everything,’ Harry continued. ‘Besides, no point hanging onto the past. Did you see Blaise Zabini? He’s here tonight,’ he said, as though pointing out the other ex-Slytherins in attendance proved something. Still, Hermione’s curiosity was piqued. 

‘Is he? Where? I saw him the other week actually, in Oxford,’ she told him. 

‘Er yeah. Him and Luna are,’ Harry trailed off, trying to find the right words to define whatever their relationship status was. 

‘I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘making sweet, exquisite love on a very frequent basis,’ Potter,’ Blaise drawled with a grin, knowing exactly how uncomfortable it would make Harry. As though they’d hung out before this, as though they were almost friends. 

‘Hello Blaise,’ Hermione said with a laugh. 

‘Hello darling,’ he replied, coming in to kiss her on both cheeks. ‘Great party Potter. Who’s the lunatic who planned it? I might suggest her to my mother,’ he smirked. 

‘Araminta,’ Harry said gloomily. ‘She’s next to the photographer.’ 

Hermione had been hiding from them, as they had been attempting to get a photo of the ‘famous trio’ doggedly for the past few hours. Luckily, Ron was more than happy to be photographed on his own, and Susan also smiled blandly whenever required, a hand placed on her barely-there bump. 

‘Charming,’ Blaise said, as he took in the most stupidly attired woman Hermione had ever seen. She was tucked, pushed and squeezed into what might have been robes, once, but had been tailored to such extreme lengths that you couldn’t really describe them as such anymore. Hermione didn’t think she’d ever seen so much shivering cleavage, or nails to rival Skeeter’s before. 

‘Crap, Ginny wants me,’ Harry said, catching the furious eye of his fiancée who appeared to be wrestling a canapé tray. ‘See you in a bit.’ 

Blaise switched Hermione’s glass out with something more manageable-sized as Harry left. 

‘Where did you -’

‘Found Kreacher muttering under a cupboard,’ he informed her. ‘Anyway. How are you? You look radiant, I must say.’ 

She had made an effort, but it was only because she was excited to see her friends, and not at all because she thought it might tempt Draco to come with her. 

‘Thanks,’ she replied slightly awkwardly. ‘You and Luna, huh?’

‘Indeed,’ he said, grinning in a way that told Hermione exactly how well everything was going. She blushed. 

‘That’s nice.’

‘It certainly is. Speaking of romance, where is that flatmate of yours?’

Hermione spluttered slightly and managed to explain that he was still at home. Blaise looked distressed at the news. 

‘Is he? I suppose you don’t want to pull focus, although one look at Potter and mini-Weasel and they’re practically begging for it,’ he trailed off under Hermione’s frown. 

‘What?’ Hermione asked, feeling slightly like she was about to be caught out, even though she didn’t know why yet. Her hands were clammy, she clutched the smaller glass like a lifeline. Blaise examined her thoroughly. 

‘I could have sworn,’ he broke off. ‘Did you know my great great grandmother was a seer?’ He said instead, suddenly. 

‘No,’ Hermione replied, because Draco hadn’t told her very much about him at all.

‘She was,’ Blaise mused. ‘There’s a touch of it in the blood still. Makes the world look a bit different sometimes. I never thought I’d meet someone who understood that.’

Despite her impending sense of foreboding, Hermione smiled as Blaise’s face lightened with talk of Luna. 

‘But you did,’ she said softly, happy for them both, even if something that felt suspiciously like jealousy encircled her heart. 

‘I did,’ he replied. ‘You shouldn’t ignore stuff,’ he told her, returning to whatever he wanted to say that had demanded the change in subject. She laughed to try to dispel the unease. 

‘Is this your mysterious prophecy?’ She couldn’t quite keep the disdain from her words. 

‘I do remember hearing about your divination meltdown,’ he told her. ‘I know you’re a sceptic and that the future is capricious. And you know your own mind better than anyone else. But…don’t get in the way of yourself. You know? Anyway,’ he abruptly straightened, the earnestness melting away as his dashing and debonair mask slid back into place. ‘Don’t listen to me any more. Let’s get you good and drunk Granger. You deserve it.’

‘Why on earth do I deserve it?’

‘You’re living with our mutual friend, the Little Prince of Darkness. I did that for years, remember, so I know exactly how annoying he can be.’ 

Hermione laughed again, absolutely not about to admit that the past few months had been some of her happiest. 

----

As Blaise was describing him as the Little Prince of Darkness, Draco was staring moodily into his empty glass. 

Hermione had popped her head into his study before she left, asking if he was sure he didn’t want to come, as Ginny had invited him after all. He’d taken one look at her and shaken his head, and then as he heard her depart through the floor, got started on the whiskey. 

It was going to be one of those evenings, he thought to himself. So he might as well get drunk. 

She’d looked perfect, glowing, gorgeous, blah blah blah. Draco was running out of compliments to think whenever he stared at her. Not that he’d ever get to voice them to her, or see how many different ways he could make her blush when he whispered them into her ear. 

She was bound to meet someone. Rekindle some forgotten school romance or something. Or worse, start dating someone in Oxford. He had been lucky it hadn’t happened so far, but it was only a matter of time. She was fucking stunning, and brilliant, and it didn’t take a genius to realise that everyone else knew that too. 

He knew he shouldn’t be jealous. He should be welcoming that possibility with open arms, because it would mean that she would be even less accessible than she was now. But he was feeling sorry for himself, and he missed her, and he wished he could have gone with her. He wished he could have gone to a party by her side, and danced with her and drank with her and made rude comments about things he thought to be passé (it was a Weasley party, of course it was going to be passé). Instead he was sitting here, too grumpy to even refill his glass. 

He sighed, summoning his remaining energy, and topped it up. Calliope, named after the Ancient Greek muse of epic poetry, hooted disapprovingly behind him. 

‘Yeah, I know,’ he muttered, taking a generous gulp. He didn’t need to be judged by his owl on top of everything else. ‘I’m going downstairs,’ he told her. She eyed him reproachfully, especially as he took the decanter with him. 

Draco had made good headway when the floo flashed to life. 

Hermione stumbled slightly through, pulling up in surprise to see him lounging on the sofa, dressing gown half open to reveal his monogrammed pyjamas beneath, glass slung in his hand. 

‘Oh,’ she said, hiccuping slightly. 

‘I wasn’t waiting for you,’ he blurted out, cursing himself for not thinking of somewhere better to go than literally the place she was going to come through. ‘Sorry, I mean, hi. I didn’t mean to ambush you. My owl was being judgy.’ He sat up, awkwardly, rearranging his dressing gown.

‘That’s alright,’ she said, giggling slightly. She came towards him, and to his surprise, sat down heavily on the sofa next to him, plucking his glass from his hand and taking a sip. While this week had been less awkward in the grand scheme of things, the memory of the kiss tended to pop up far too frequently for his liking. 

‘Good night?’ He asked lightly, as though he didn’t care. But he was burning to know, wished there was a way of getting every little detail without looking insane. 

‘It was alright,’ she flopped her head back against the sofa. ‘I mainly hung out with Blaise, which was fun.’ 

‘Blaise?’ Draco blinked stupidly. Maybe he was more drunk than he thought, if it was making him slow. 

‘He was there with Luna,’ she said, twisting so she was facing him. 

They were closer than they had been since That Night. And he was very aware of just how easily he could touch her, and all the ways he might. He could shift his knee the tiniest fraction of an inch and it would brush hers. Or he could reach across and in seconds be stroking her skin again. 

She pulled her knees up, still leaning against the sofa back. 

‘Isn’t that nice?’ She said to him. Her eyes were ever so slightly glassy, and he thought his probably were too. They were in dangerous territory. The room was filled with the crackling of the fire, and the pounding in his chest. It was far too dim for it not to be romantic, with only a few candles lit, filling the space with flickering, hesitant light. 

‘Lovely,’ he swallowed. ‘How did he go down?’

‘Very well,’ she said frankly. ‘I don't think it’s the first time they’ve hung out. It’s not like school any more Draco,’ she chided. He thought she might be trying to tell him something, but he wasn’t sure. ‘We’re just one big happy family now.’ He snorted. 

‘How about the rest of it? What else happened?’ Merlin he sounded desperate. But she thought back over the events of the evening and indulged him anyway. 

‘Molly Weasley has hired a terrible wedding planner called Araminta who made everything purple and bronze,’ she said, and he was already smiling at the ridiculousness of it all. ‘They tried to give me a goldfish bowl as a wine glass but Blaise found a smaller one from Kreacher. I was forced to take photos,’ she pouted, and he laughed, ‘Ginny was furious with her mum for how OTT everything was. And then everything else was kind of,’ she shrugged slightly, the movement hampered by the sofa. ‘It was boring,’ she finished. 

‘Boring?’ He repeated, not believing that she’d spent the evening with everyone and possibly found it boring. 

‘It was,’ she nodded earnestly. ‘I think I’m too used to you,’ she broke off then, looked away. ‘Draco,’ she started, and his heart started beating faster. 

‘Yeah?’ He licked his lips slightly, they were dry. 

‘Do you think I’m boring?’ 

He was not expecting that.

‘What? No.’

‘Really?’ Her face had twisted into some sort of anguish at the idea. 

‘Where has this come from?’ 

She took another sip of his whiskey. 

‘I don’t know,’ she said in a small voice, still not meeting his eye. ‘It’s just that everyone else was having more fun than me. And I thought it was boring but if no one else is bored then what if I’m the boring one?’

He tried to follow her logic but only ended up confusing himself.  

‘I don’t think you’re boring Hermione,’ he told her, reaching for the glass. 

‘I think I’m boring,’ she turned back to him finally. 

‘Who made you feel like this,’ he asked, suddenly furious at the party. He’d hit everyone there if he had to, even Blaise. 

‘No one,’ her smile was slightly watery. 

‘Something must have happened,’ he pushed. ‘You’re - you’re brilliant,’ he said lamely, choking on what to say. ‘You’re the least boring person I know.’