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Chapter Text

On reflection, Luna had to admit that lugging a large potted sapling up a hundred stone stairs without assistance was a bad idea. If term had already started she could have asked a couple of year sixes to help her out. Or a few first years? Then again, Professor Sprout had requested she take good care of the fledgling tree: exposure to raging hormones or unbridled anxiety was almost certainly the last thing it needed. Had it been less sensitive to magic she could have levitated it up to her room, but a few hours earlier Sprout had sternly shaken her head at Luna’s suggestion that they cast a diagnostic to find out why the poor thing was still so frail and small.

“That’s the thing with SG, Miss Lovegood,” Sprout had explained, “it is affected, indeed directed by, hungry for emotion. Magic, drawing as it does on our emotions for its efficacy, confuses it at the best of times. What this tree needs is good old-fashioned care and consistency. I believe it will do very well with you.”

As she rounded the final turn of the staircase (just ten more steps to go), Luna heard voices up ahead. If she wasn’t mistaken, it seemed her remaining roommates had finally arrived. And were already bickering.

“Listen Miss Gryffindor, I don’t know what you want me to say. However shocking that you weren’t personally consulted by McGonagall over these appointments, here we both are.” Yes, Luna thought, that teasing tone and perfect diction could only belong to Draco Malfoy.

“Ha! As usual you have missed the point. I don’t expect to be consulted on anything, I’m merely shocked that you’ve returned to a place of education when as far as I can tell you’re convinced you already know everything.” And that, Luna concluded, could only be the fierce reply of Hermione Granger.

“Hello?” Luna called out towards the voices up ahead, unable to see past the large pot cradled in her arms.

“How could I pass up an opportunity to spend more time with you, Granger? Perhaps this will be the year your righteous indignation causes you to finally spontaneously combust. I’d hate to miss that.”

“Righteous indignation?! Don’t make out that caring for this school is some flaw in my character Malfoy. I know it’s a foreign concept for you but caring for things other than oneself isn’t typically considered a fault.”

“Hello?” Luna tried again, willing herself not to drop the sapling having made it this far (now just five steps to go). She could only imagine the havoc a repotting would wreak on its frail constitution.

“Granger,” she heard Draco drawl, “have you already exhausted me to the point of hallucination or do you too see a plant pot with legs making its way up the stairs?”

“Luna?”, Hermione ventured, still hidden from view, until suddenly Luna’s load lightened, the pot moved aside and her schoolmates’ bemused faces appeared instead. Hermione’s arms appeared to be full of Crookshanks, but Draco’s were now wrapped around Luna’s Herbology coursework.

“Thanks Draco!” Luna beamed, straightening her dress from the climb and gathering her hair into a topknot which she secured by spearing her wand straight through the middle. “Hot work carrying an emotional tree all the way to our dorm.”

“An emotional… tree?” Draco raised his eyebrow and peered down at the feeble sapling.

“Yes.” Luna nodded. “It’s very sensitive to feelings.”

Hermione smiled. “It should be alright with Malfoy then. He tends to be unfeeling.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at Hermione and sent her a thin smirk then directed his attention back to Luna. “When did you get here?”

“Yesterday. My Dad had promised to visit a friend and I didn’t much fancy being home alone, plus Sprout had already sent an owl asking I come and collect S-“ Luna corrected herself mid-sentence, deciding not to tell her roommates too much “-ome specimen when I get a chance, which turned out to be this tree.” She motioned at the pot. “When did you two arrive?”

Draco looked over at their luggage then back to Luna, answering with an isn’t-it-obvious “Just now. Luna can’t you use a spell to hold up your hair instead of the wand itself?”

“Well, safety first. Last week I wasn’t concentrating and used fimere comae instead of figere comae. Gave my poor Dad an awful shock. Lucky I was distracted though: my aim was off so I just lost a bit.” Luna twirled a chunk of hair in her fingers. It had already worked its way loose from her topknot; these strands were considerably shorter than the rest of her hairdo and ended in the blunt frazzles typical of singed hair.

“Oh dear.” Hermione said, leaning closer to Luna to inspect the damage but straightening again as Crookshanks, pressed between the two, wiggled in protest.

“Shall we go inside?” Luna asked. “You’ll be wanting to get settled.”

“Lead on.” Draco agreed, still balancing the unwieldy pot but motioning towards the doors of the dormitory as best he could.

Luna stepped forwards as the large double doors creaked open and Ernest Macmillan emerged. He was a little taller than Hermione remembered, and lean and tanned, as if he’d spent his summer surfing, which would also explain his longer blond hair that fell in windswept waves to his shoulders.

“I thought I heard voices!” He said. “Welcome back.”

“Hello Ernie.” Hermione smiled. “Good to see you. Congratulations on making Head Prefect.”

“Thanks Hermione, same to you. Same to all of us!” Ernie smiled warmly. “Anyone for tea?”

“Yes please,” Hermione agreed, “I’d love a tea.”

Ernie nodded. “Super. Draco? Luna?”

Luna shook her head and looked over at the sapling with obvious concern. “None for me thanks Ernie. I just drank most of a pot with Sprout. But I’ll join you all as soon as I’ve settled the tree in, poor thing must be quite overwhelmed with all these new people to feel.”

Ernie shot a confused look towards Draco who replied with raised eyebrows and a shake of his head. “Best not to ask. Any Earl Grey going?”

“One Earl Grey, absolutely. I wasn’t sure of favourites so I brought a few different varieties, just in case.”

“Of course you did. Considerate to a fault.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Funny the things people consider to be faults in others,” she said, carrying Crookshanks through the doors. “Anything’s fine for me, Ernie,” she called, disappearing into the common room.

Draco’s lips thinned. “I assume hexing a fellow Head Prefect is forbidden?” he wondered aloud.

“I imagine it’s almost certainly frowned upon,” Ernie commiserated, levitating the remaining luggage inside and closing the doors behind them.

=======

“And another thing,” Hermione said, gesticulating wildly, “what was that about rooming with me?!”

Luna didn’t bother attempting a reply, having realized five minutes ago that Hermione was there to talk at Luna rather than with Luna, whose official role seemed to be that of Good Listener.

“Any questions about the Head Prefect role? Or perhaps concerns about your accommodations Mr Malfoy?” Luna smiled, Hermione did a passable impression of McGonagall, though somewhat exaggerated.

“No questions so far, Professor, and my only concern regarding the shared dormitory is that Miss Granger and I may be inclined to argue.” Luna chuckled; Hermione’s impression of Draco was less accurate than her McGonagall but no less amusing, especially given her dramatic reenactment of Draco’s facial expressions. “That makes it sound like I’m somehow provoking this madness!”

Luna raised her eyebrows as Hermione paced back and forth in front of the bathtub for the hundredth time.

“Don’t look at me like that Luna, I’ve got no interest in fighting with Malfoy, I just can’t bear to stand idly by and let him be so… disgustingly himself all the time with no one nudging him back into his box!”

Hermione sat down on the edge of the bathtub and sighed. She crossed her legs, stretched one arm across the bubbling water to hold the tub for support and pointed the other accusatorially at Luna as she spoke. “This is not my doing.”

Luna realized the time had come to voice an opinion. “Hermione,” she began, holding her hands up out of the water in mock surrender, “I don’t think this is all you. But Draco isn’t bickering with himself either, is he?”

Hermione snorted but allowed Luna to continue.

“And as for him being too himself… I’m not sure you can level that at him as a grave offense… who else is he supposed to be?”

Luna dipped her head to catch Hermione’s eye. “I’m not saying you two need to be best friends,” she decided to let Hermione’s dramatic eye roll slide without comment, “but you don’t need to be mortal enemies either. A lot has happened to us all. And now we have a chance to be…”

“Normal?” Hermione offered, her tone making it clear that she doubted that would be possible.

“Students.” Luna said. “We have a chance to worry about lessons and coursework. Maybe even our love lives.” Hermione scoffed, then frowned and looked at Luna a little more closely as if to check that in her rage she hadn’t overlooked a promise ring or perhaps a boyfriend sitting with her in the bathtub.

“If nothing else, think of the Wrackspurts. They love drama. They’ll be all over our dorm if we’re not careful and that’s the last thing we need with N.E.W.T.s approaching.” Luna’s look was so serious Hermione resisted the urge to scoff. “We’ve only just come out of a terrible war. Can’t we try and keep the peace?”

Hermione swallowed and nodded. Perhaps she wasn’t seeing things as clearly as she thought. If Luna was trying to move on after everything she’d been through, after everything her father had been through… surely Hermione could try and do the same. “Ok. You’re right. Sorry Luna.”

Luna smiled brightly. “That’s alright.” Luna sank a little deeper into the water. “I’ve never had a bath with a friend before. It’s quite entertaining.”

Hermione smiled and let her fingers drift along the marbled surface of the bubbles until Luna’s voice brought her out of her thoughts. “And if Draco really drives you wild I won’t stop you from stuffing him back into his carton.”

“Stuffing him… oh putting him back in his box, Luna.” Hermione laughed in spite of herself, letting it roll to a real laugh, the first in weeks. Laughing with a friend, that felt… good. She returned Luna’s smile. “Thanks Luna, this was… helpful. I’ll try. Enjoy the rest of your bath. I’ll leave you in peace.” She hopped down from the bathtub and padded to her door, closing it gently behind her.

Luna looked over at the sapling, stationed in the girls’ bathroom until she had a chance to properly unpack and create a calm environment for it in her bedroom. While Hermione had ranted it had curled its little leaves and wilted as if to cower, and now, emboldened by Hermione’s laugh and the resulting calm it began to unfurl itself and straighten a little. “Well SG,” Luna said, addressing it directly, “it looks like we’ll have our work cut out for us this term.” Serperet Gaudi, to creep with joy. Luna turned the ancient words over in her mind like smooth pebbles. “Let’s creep forwards together, shall we?” And as she tipped her head back and began to slip under the surface of the water, she was sure she saw the very top of the tree give a tiny, cautious nod.

Chapter Text

Hermione pulled on her jacket as she left Scrivenshaft’s, the late August sky rumbling with the threat of a gathering thunderstorm. Mr Feathertop waved to her as he slid the bolt and turned the sign. A closed door indeed, Hermione thought, waving goodbye. She caught her reflection in the shop window, with its elegant feather quills and ink pots of colorful promise, deep pearly blacks through to the softest, brightest dandelion yellows. She sighed softly as she fluffed her hair out of the collar of her jacket.

She’d been sure the quill shop would be a great fit as an after-school job, and kind Mr Feathertop (all but inevitable he run a quill shop with a name like that, she smiled) had been welcoming and relaxed, but one trial afternoon was enough to send her back to the drawing board. Despite a few customers and a steady stream of owl orders to fill there had been rather too much downtime and a few patrons with rather invasive questions. Time alone with her thoughts and time spent discussing the war were two things she was trying hard to avoid.

Fat raindrops started to fall as she turned up the lane towards Hogwarts, the sky brightening with the first flash of lightning. One, two, she began to count, but the thunder was already rolling and cracking overhead before she got to three. Oh wonderful, she thought, it’s already close: in a minute the heavens are going to open. Up ahead the door of the Three Broomsticks opened and a wizard stepped out, orange light spilling onto the darkening cobble stones. A better idea, Hermione decided, hurrying towards the Inn and hoping Madam Rosmerta would already be serving food.

“Good evening Hermione!” Madam Rosmerta called, smiling as Hermione scurried inside and shook the raindrops from her hair. “Just waiting out the storm, or?”

“Actually I was hoping, sorry, good evening Madam Rosmerta, I was hoping to have some dinner?”

“Of course, kitchen just opened. Special tonight is cottage pie.”

Hermione smiled and went to answer but found her words stuck in her throat. She felt slightly off-balance and realized she couldn’t quite remember how to speak. She swallowed as she watched Madam Rosmerta tilt her head, quietly appraising her, and coughed an answer out as best she could. “Yes, thanks, perfect.”

To her relief Madam Rosmerta only nodded. “Butterbeer ok?”

Hermione nodded too in reply, not trusting her voice just yet, and headed to a small table in the back. She tried to even out her breathing and shook out her fingers. It’s just cottage pie, she told herself, there’s no danger here, but her nervous system was reluctant to agree.

She closed her eyes and leaned against the carved wooden backrest of the bench, pushing away the rising, cloying grip of memory and focusing instead on the sounds and smells of the Inn. She’d been here a hundred times. She’d sat here, at this table, with Harry before, could imagine his voice and the warm smell of his jacket, his hair, his hands calloused from carelessness and Quidditch. Harry smelled of warm wood and something sweeter; the notes changed sometimes but were always comforting. She opened her eyes again, her breathing a little deeper now. “Thanks Harry,” she whispered, taking off her rain jacket and and hanging it off the chair opposite to dry.

Madam Rosmerta carried over the Butterbeer and set it down in front of Hermione. “I’m not used to seeing you alone, Hermione. Where are Harry and Ron? Are they joining you?”

“No. Harry should be back in a day or two for the start of term.” She paused, then dismissed her caution, deciding it was no great secret. “And Ron’s not coming back.”

“Oh?”

“He’s been helping his Dad with a couple of projects at the Ministry this summer and I think… I think he felt coming back to Hogwarts would be…” Hermione lifted her glass and turned it slowly, the cold glass and weight of the pint grounding her nicely in the present, deciding how best to finish her sentence as she met Madam Rosmerta’s eye. “Difficult.”

“I see. Well he was never exactly an academic, your Mr Weasley,” Rosmerta teased, smiling absently as if remembering the boy he’d been, the children they’d all been before they had to grow up fast.

“No. True. And... I mean just so… he’s not my Mr Weasley. At least not like that. Not any more.”

“I’m sorry, Hermione.” Madam Rosmerta looked it, too. “Your business is none of my business.”

“No, it’s alright. We haven’t fallen out or anything, not really it’s just…” She put her glass down again, the words escaping her.

“War and grief complicate things.”

“Exactly.” Hermione smiled at Madam Rosmerta, relieved to speak with someone who understood and who wasn’t afraid to speak honestly to the consequences of the war, someone who seemed to be motivated by genuine interest rather than a thirst for gossip.

“Why are you back early?” Madam Rosmerta asked.

“I’m Head Prefect for Gryffindor this year.”

“Head Prefect?”

“It’s a new idea of McGonagall’s. A sort of house representative.”

“I see. So there are four of you?”

“Exactly. One Head Prefect per house. It will mean a bit more work because we have additional responsibilities: helping ensure student welfare, attending occasional staff meetings, that sort of thing. But it’s also a chance to make a difference. And it comes with perks too; we have our own dorm with private bedrooms and we can go into Hogsmeade on weeknights. Anyway we were asked to return a few days early and get settled in.” Hermione took a drink from her glass. “And I’d lined up a trial afternoon at Scrivener’s today.”

“Oh yes? Harald will be glad of your assistance I’m sure, what with the back to school flurry. Though I wouldn’t have thought he’d need much help otherwise?”

“No, well… that’s the problem. I don’t think he does. I wanted an after-school job a few days a week, just enough hours to keep me busy and help pay my way this year. Scrivener’s is wonderful, I mean it’s a real institution, it’s just…”

“Quiet.”

“Exactly. And…”

“Go on?”

“I felt very on show. Customers asking me for details I’d rather not remember, battle tales and war wounds and… I’d rather not rake over the worst time in my life while ringing up two bottles of Thinker’s Ink.”

“I see.” Madam Rosmerta paused, then added “I don’t suppose you’d fancy helping out here?”

“At the Inn?”

“Yes.”

Hermione began to consider the proposal in earnest as Madam Rosmerta continued. “I’m short a barmaid since Martha decided she was getting too old for it all. I wasn’t going to replace her, but last night the town council approved a proposal that means new events and a lot more visitors this year and… honestly I’d be glad of the help, especially help I already know, and help that’s not dense as steamed pudding.”

Hermione laughed. “God I love steamed pudding.”

“Me too. But only on the menu, not behind the counter.” Madam Rosmerta made a face that indicated she spoke from experience.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, you’d be doing me the favor as I said. If it works out I’m sure we’ll agree on rates and hours. If you don’t like it you can keep looking.”

Hermione smiled. Why not? “Alright. Yes. Ok.” she said.

“Can you pop in tomorrow evening? I’ve a chap starting community service and I’m showing him the ropes anyway.”

“Yes, that’s fine, when should I be here?”

“Come for nine. That’s past the dinner rush but before last orders.” Madam Rosmerta looked pleased and turned to go. “I’ll see about that cottage pie.”

“Thanks.” Hermione paused, then “And… thank you Madam Rosmerta.”

“Of course my dear,” Madam Rosmerta replied, adding as she walked away, “us wounded witches have to stick together.”

=======

The next evening, Hermione made her way down to Hogsmeade, turning the events of the day over in her mind and preparing herself for the evening ahead. She wasn’t anticipating that becoming a competent barmaid-slash-waitress would involve anything terribly difficult, at the very least she hoped it wouldn’t be more difficult than her dreaded N.E.W.T. coursework, but she’d never worked in hospitality before (unless handing out snacks at her parents’ Christmas parties counted, and she was pretty sure it didn’t). And besides, she was determined to make it work even if it was difficult. She’d mulled over her options this past twenty-four hours and it seemed unlikely that a better job opportunity would present itself. The Inn was open longest in the evenings which meant more hours and more money. And even if she didn’t need the money she certainly needed the distraction. And she did need the money, she reminded herself, or at least she’d rather earn her own, if only for now.

Her mind drifted again to home, her parents, the sound her pocket money would make rattling around in the piggy bank she’d had as a child, the blue checkbook she’d had when she opened her first real account… Best not to go down that road right now, she decided, not when she’d be expected to concentrate on barkeeping in five minutes’ time and especially not when she was determined to avoid having a second panic attack in front of Madam Rosmerta.

She picked up her pace, the warm lights of the Three Broomsticks welcoming against the darkening pastels of the summer sky. This is a good thing, she told herself as she approached the door. One might even say it’s an unexpected bit of good fortune. She stopped, smiled, fluffed her hair and put her shoulders back. “Hermione Jean Granger,” she told herself, “let’s make the best of this.” And she was determined to do so. Unfortunately, fifteen seconds later, she walked into the Inn and saw two familiar figures standing behind the counter of the bar discussing the tap handles: Madam Rosmerta and Draco Fucking Malfoy.

Chapter Text

Hermione was still cataloguing kegs and casks when Madam Rosmerta joined her.

“Are you finding everything alright?” she asked. Hermione nodded. “I thought the cool air of the beer cellar might offer a welcome respite for your boiling blood.”

Hermione whipped round ready to protest her innocence, but Madam Rosmerta didn’t give her the chance.“Forgive me if I’m wrong, Hermione, did I not detect an undercurrent of outrage upstairs?”

“I was surprised to see Malfoy, that’s all.”

“Oh? I told you there’d be two of you tonight.”

“Yes, I just… Wait, Malfoy is the one doing community service?”

“Yes.”

“Did he… Was that… was that your idea?”

“It was Minerva’s,” Madam Rosmerta replied, “well, Professor McGonagall to you. Apparently Muggle schools tend to give back to their communities and she decided it might be a good idea for students wishing to gain experience or… rehabilitate themselves.”

“I see.” Hermione tapped her pencil on her notebook, considering.

“You don’t seem to like him very much,” Madam Rosmerta observed, raising her eyebrow with a smile and leaning back against the cellar wall.

Hermione paused. She didn’t dislike Malfoy. She just didn’t… like him? She hadn’t spent much time with him outside the classroom, she considered. Of course during the last months of the war there were times their paths had crossed. He had been a silent bystander on one of the worst nights of her life; she was screaming at his feet while his Aunt - no, she decided, don’t unpack that. As for time in the classroom, well… Potions had been ok, he wasn’t awful when he was concentrating. Try as he might to be nonchalant she could tell he had a talent for it, that it mattered to him; not even Malfoy had managed to act cool for six years. She remembered how his hair used to fall in his eyes when he bent down to stir his mixtures, observing changes on the surface as he turned the liquid clockwise, counter clockwise... And then in fifth year he’d had that habit of pushing his hair back unconsciously when he was considering something. He’d started growing it out that year, the longer hair suited him. And… Madam Rosmerta was still smiling at her. Oh Gods, had she still not replied? She felt her cheeks beginning to flush: she really must be losing the plot. “I… we’re very different,” she said quickly. “I don’t dislike him.”

“No?” Madam Rosmerta’s smile grew broader. “Does he know that?”

“Did she ask if he could work here?” Hermione asked, deciding it was best to change the subject, “McGonagall I mean.”

“I offered.” Rosmerta replied.

“You offered?” Hermione repeated, her tone a little incredulous.

“You seem surprised?”

“I mean, he did curse you only last year.”

“Do you think I’m making a mistake? That I’ve been tricked again?” Madam Rosmerta was no longer leaning nor smiling and Hermione was sorry for it. She hadn’t intended to drag up the past.

“I just… no.” Hermione took a deep breath. “I’m sorry Madam Rosmerta. The decisions you make for your business are none of mine.”

“But?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on Hermione, out with it. We can have different opinions but we can’t work together if we can’t be honest with one another.”

Hermione took a deep breath and held Madam Rosmerta’s gaze. “I’m not saying it’s a trick, I’m sure he’ll be fine. I’m just still… adjusting. I know the war is over and things are returning to normal, whatever that is. But the war took a lot from me, I… I lost a lot. And he played a part in that.” She paused, gathering her thoughts as they threatened to unravel. “I’m still reeling from returning to Hogwarts to find Malfoy is Head Prefect; sometimes it feels like there are no consequences, other times I know it’s impossible anyway, no reasonable punishment would ever be enough. I just wasn’t expecting to find him here as well it’s… a lot.” Hermione wondered if she’d been too honest, but Madam Rosmerta’s calm face was reassuring.

“I understand. At least, I think I do. It’s not easy to move on when pieces of the past are still strewn all over the present.” Madam Rosmerta paused and looked Hermione in the eye. “But don’t let those parts of you that were damaged take over, Hermione.”

She moved a step closer before continuing in a softer tone, as if sharing a confidence. “I’ve always been open-minded. It’s what made me a smart choice of victim for Mr Malfoy in the first place: no one who knows me would ever have suspected me a Dark Lord sympathizer, much less a Death Eater’s puppet. And I am determined to remain open-minded; I don’t want to become less myself just because my good nature was once used against me. And I don’t want to be around anyone who’s happy to be intolerant. I’ve turned away enough closed-minded customers in the past to be quite certain I don’t want any closed-minded bar staff.”

Madam Rosmerta let her words sink in before catching Hermione’s eye again. “I’m well aware Mr Malfoy has done some bad things. And in your mind he must be a poster boy for a war you didn’t want and are yet to fully escape. But before young Malfoy was ever a player in the game the Dark Lord was rising; don’t forget you can only make a different choice if you have more than one available. Are there no deeds or words that you turn over in your mind late at night, ashamed or fearful to remember? Nothing you’ve done that you sometimes dream of undoing?”

Hermione frowned in reply, snapshots of past moments flashing through her mind like a slide show: words spoken to Ron that she knew would have been better left unsaid; her parents’ cosy quiet when she stood behind them slowly erasing herself from their consciousness… She shook her head to quiet her memory and gave Madam Rosmerta a brief nod of understanding.

Madam Rosmerta continued, “There are a few bad people, a few with evil etched into their bones. And a few truly good ones, who will do the right thing at great personal cost. But the rest of us are much the same, in the end. We’re all doing our best to live a life we can live with.”

Hermione gave her a thin smile. “You’re very understanding. I admire it.”

“I understand that dark deeds need dark corners to thrive. That someone who is lonely can become desperate. That a child who took the Dark Mark was a child all the same. Don’t be too hard on him.”

Hermione nodded once, then looked away.

“And don’t be too hard on yourself either.” Madam Rosmerta gave Hermione’s shoulder a firm squeeze. “You’re still just crawling out of the weeds of something awful, and you’re doing better than you think. Give it time.” Madam Rosmerta gave her a smile of encouragement then turned to leave. “Come back upstairs once you’ve finished taking inventory, I’ve a few things still to tell you both.”

Hermione watched Madam Rosmerta disappear back up the stairs and took a deep breath of the cool cellar air. First Luna, now this… it seemed the Universe was determined to remind her that even when you’d been wronged it was possible to move on, to keep the faith. To leave people’s mistakes in the past, where they made them. To give people a second chance, maybe even give yourself one. To be around Malfoy without wanting to murder him. “Not best friends, not mortal enemies, just… colleagues,” she said aloud, remembering Luna’s request. She checked off the casks once more against her list before fluffing her hair, putting her shoulders back, and heading upstairs to join Draco fucking… no, she corrected herself, Draco just-my-colleague. One step at a time, she said, repeating the mantra as she climbed the stone steps that rose before her to the bar above.

=======

“Last orders are at half ten Monday through Thursday, that gives you time to get the orders out and for the punters to drink up before closing time which is at…?” Madam Rosmerta looked expectantly at Hermione and Draco.

“Eleven,” they answered in unison.

“Excellent. On Friday and Saturday nights the pub closes at?”

“Midnight.”

“Which means last orders are at?”

“Half eleven.”

“And Sundays we close early at?”

“Ten.”

“Which makes last orders on a Sunday at?”

“Half nine.”

“We open every day at?”

“Eleven.”

“And the kitchen opens for hot food at?”

“Six.”

“Full marks you two, no wonder McGonagall’s got you heading up houses.” Madam Rosmerta chuckled to herself and came round to the front of the bar. “Right Mr Malfoy, three Butterbeers please.” She sat herself down on the bar stool next to Hermione and watched as Malfoy walked behind the bar and took three clean glasses down from the shelf.

“Now, whilst I expect you both to be reliable I appreciate this is a demanding year, what with N.E.W.T.s and your Head Prefect duties. Try not to cancel at the last minute if you can help it, but remember your studies come first, else Minerva will have my hide. If you can, I’d like you both to come in two nights a week, one of which should be a Friday or Saturday when we’re busiest. Six ‘til closing both days. I’d rather you’re both in together so that once you’re settled I can take breaks and leave you to it. Occasionally I’ll need you to cover whole weekends, if there’s a party booked in or a festival on, but we’ll discuss those as and when. And I must ask you to please walk back to Hogwarts together after closing. The war might be over but there’s never any shortage of chancers and ruffians and I don’t want to worry about you getting back safe.”

“You want me to walk Granger back to Hogwarts after every shift?” Malfoy asked, passing Madam Rosmerta a pint and beginning to pour another.

“I do. Do you have any objections, Mr Malfoy? Would you prefer not to do so?” Madam Rosmerta asked.

“I’m not sure that’s necess-” Hermione began, but Malfoy was already speaking.

“I don’t have any objections. I’d prefer to.”

Hermione looked at him in confusion. Was he… teasing her? He didn’t seem to be but something was off. “You’d prefer to?” she repeated. “Why would you prefer to walk me back?”

Malfoy glanced up at her then focused again on the glass in his hand, slowly filling with beer.

“I’d worry about you getting back safely.” He grimaced briefly, as if experiencing a fleeting spasm of pain, then added, “And I’d be glad of your company.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows and looked to Madam Rosmerta who was taking a long draft of her Butterbeer but appeared to be smiling.

“Ok,” Hermione said, not quite convinced.

“You may have heard that Hogsmeade was recently twinned with a village in Germany.” Madam Rosmerta continued. “To celebrate we’ll be having a few German-inspired festivals this year, starting with a mini Oktoberfest at the end of September. Just a heads up that I will need you both to work the weekend of the 25th: we’re expecting a lot of visitors so it’ll be all hands on deck.”

“Shouldn’t Oktoberfest be in October?” Hermione asked, looking at Draco as he passed her a Butterbeer.

“No, or rather, nein.” Draco smiled. “But I appreciate the name is confusing. I believe it was brought forward to avoid bad weather.”

“How do you know about it?” Hermione asked.

“I went.”

“Oh?”

Draco looked at Hermione but didn’t offer any additional information. Perhaps better not to ask, she decided, taking a mouthful of Butterbeer instead. Who knows what dark deeds were discussed over beer and pretzels.

“Marvellous. In that case, you two can help set up the Inn,” Madam Rosmerta said, looking pleased. “Sorry to rope you in but we’ve only a few weeks to go: and as you’ve actually been Draco, you’re our best hope of impressing, or at least not offending, our German visitors. Talk it over together and let me know what you want in terms of decorations. And what sorts of refreshments we might offer.”

Hermione opened her notebook to add a reminder.

“I’ll ask my mother if she has any suggestions,” Draco offered, leaning forward on the bar holding his own Butterbeer aloft, adding before taking a drink, “she loves entertaining.”

“Excellent.” Madam Rosmerta smiled. “Oh and you’ll need to be in costume.”

Draco snorted and made an unpleasant choking noise. “Costume?” he hissed, wincing and thumping a fist to his chest.

“Yes, costume,” Madam Rosmerta confirmed, “all the Hogsmeade traders will be wearing them to get into the spirit of it all. It was Harald’s idea,” she added, smiling at Hermione. “I’ve never worn a Dirndl before, have you?”

“No,” Hermione replied, looking over at Malfoy who was still trying to thump Butterbeer out of his windpipe. “But it sounds wonderful. I can’t wait to see Malfoy in a pair of those marvellous leather shorts,” she added, biting her lip to avoid laughing aloud but not managing to subdue her grin.

Her eyes sparkled as they met Malfoy’s, while his were narrowing with irritation and… embarrassment?

“What are they called, Draco? Do you know?” she asked, keeping her tone deliberately innocent.

Draco’s nostrils flared as he replied. “Yes. Lederhosen.”

“Excellent,” Hermione replied. “Wunderbar.” Perhaps, she thought, taking another drink of her Butterbeer and raising her glass to him, working with Malfoy would have its perks after all.

Chapter Text

Luna Lovegood - Serperet Gaudi observational notes

9th September ‘98 — 23:20

Took SG into the bathroom with me again tonight. As previously observed (see notes 6th Sept.) SG unfurled all (13) tendrils and appeared to visibly ‘relax’ once I was in the tub. Will continue to monitor but am confident SG is responding positively to ‘bath time’ which may prove beneficial for stabilizing him (her?). Am considering getting a small stand with wheels to make it easier to

At her desk Luna paused, her quill in midair. She could hear muffled voices coming from… Hermione’s room? No… the corridor? But if that were the case whoever it was would have to be really shout— A loud bang cracked from the direction of the lounge jolting Luna from her train of thought. What was—?! Ah. The dormitory doors. The shouting was now rather less muffled.

“-down! Good Gods, is the wall intact?”

“Oh don’t tell me to calm down. Merlin Malfoy you are insufferable!”

“Fine. At least consider lowering your voice.”

At that the volume dropped so that Luna could no longer hear the conversation, at least not well. It appeared that Draco and Hermione were back from the Inn. 

Initially, Luna had thought it almost too convenient that her roommates would be forced to spend a little more time together; a workplace would require that they interact with some level of civility and perhaps they would find enough mutual respect to lay the foundation for a polite, potentially even amicable relationship. After three shifts together she was realizing it was probable that their working relationship would instead be the death of her Herbology project. If she was to have a chance at success she needed them to stop bickering. 

Luna left her desk and moved closer to the door. She couldn’t hear much more than before but they were still talking. She quietly turned the handle and eased it open, putting her ear to the crack. 

“-glasses.”

“Oh Gods give over Granger. Not the bloody glasses again.”

“It’s alright for you Mr. Six-foot-tall. Not all of us have long stepladder legs.”

“There were plenty of glasses on the first shelf.”

“For the last time there were not! Gods Malfoy. You need glasses.”

“I’m not the one rant—”

“Glasses as in spectacles. Do you need some?”

“No, Granger, I do not need spectacles.”

“Well there weren’t plenty on the first shelf and just like last time with the broom-”

“No, not the broom Granger! Please, in the name of all that is sacred, don’t start with the broom again!”

Luna looked down at SG, gently quivering and beginning to slowly re-furl one of its tendrils. She took her dressing gown from the back of her door and slipped it over her pyjamas, then gave the sapling a soft little pat and stepped out into the lounge, closing her door behind her.

“Good evening.” Luna said, taking in the scene. Hermione was pacing the rug while Draco sat sprawled on the far sofa, his right foot balanced on his left knee, his left hand idly twirling his wand. He acknowledged Luna with a brief two-finger salute. Despite having spent all night at the pub, she mused, he looks like he could use a drink.

“Hey Luna.” Hermione said. She seemed to be both weary and fired up: Luna couldn’t quite decide whether she was ready to collapse or to pounce. 

“Are you two alright?” Luna asked.

“Separately or together?” Draco asked, pointing his wand at Hermione as she rounded the coffee table once more. “She is not alright.”

“Don’t say ‘she is not alright’ like that, as if you’re fine but I’m being difficult.” Hermione looked at him and narrowed her eyes, then added, “And don’t point your wand at me.”

Luna leaned against the back of the empty sofa opposite Draco, watching as he massaged his temple with his right hand, his left twirling again. She turned her attention to Hermione. “Are you alright?” she asked.

“No. Yes.” Hermione stopped her pacing to look at Luna. “Sorry I’m just…” She closed her eyes and gave a little sigh. “I should go to bed probably. I’ve got Potions first thing. Gods Luna, did we wake you?”

“No no, I was just taking some notes. And then… I thought I heard you come back.” Luna replied, glancing at the dormitory doors.

“Ah,” Draco said, smiling at Luna. “Do you mean when Granger tried to take three thousand pounds of ancient oak off its hinges?”

“Stop it, Malfoy.” Hermione pointed her finger at him. “Stop winding me up or I won’t sleep. I’ll be rubbish in the morning and I’ll tell Slughorn that Draco Malfoy kept me up all night.”

“Well,” Draco began, attempting to suppress a smile, “I wouldn’t suggest wording it exactly like that, Granger.”

Hermione emitted an frustrated groan and snatched her jacket and bag up off the floor. “Listen Malfoy, just admit that you were a selfish prick earlier and we can call it a night.”

Draco’s half smile disappeared as his jaw tightened. “Tempting as that is Granger, I think not.”

Hermione’s nostrils flared. “Why? Why won’t you admit it?”

“Because it’s not true. I didn’t do anything; in fact, at no point did anything actually happen, you just began catastrophizing over glasses.”

“I was about to run out!”

“You were not, there were plenty left!”

“You shouldn’t have used mine!”

“Oh for the love— Granger I did not use your glasses.”

“Except you did.”

“I did not.”

Hermione was now stood in front of Draco, gesturing with the belongings she clutched as she argued. Maybe I should get my wand? Luna considered. A brief Aguamenti might cool them off?

“Malfoy, you were selfish and—”

“Granger.”

“You were.”

“I didn’t use the damned glasses.”

“You did!”

“I did not.”

“I know I’m right.”

“Ah, but you’re not right.”

Luna raised both eyebrows as she looked between the two, snarling and huffing at one another. “I hate to interrupt this… debate,” she began, “but what exactly are you two fighting about?”

“I’m buggered if I know, Luna.” Draco replied, briskly sweeping his hair back off his face and resting his head on the back of the sofa.

“Don’t be so ridiculous, of course you know.” Hermione jabbed her finger towards him. “You started it.”

Draco’s head snapped back upright. “I started this?” he asked, his voice all incredulity.

“Yes you, you told me I should really relax a bit because, and I quote, ‘It’s barkeeping not Acromantula wrangling.’”

Draco’s eye caught Luna’s. “You can see my point.” Luna gave him half a smile as Hermione continued.

“Just because you don’t want to take it seriously—”

“I never said—”

“I don’t have the time or energy to go over the rules every shift—”

“I know the rules—”

“Well then you should know that the glasses—”

“Oh Merlin’s balls Granger, why are you so obsessed with the glasses?”

“You keep making out I’m crazy, but I’m right!”

“Are you?”

“I did what I was supposed to do and you didn’t.”

“Ughhh,” Draco moaned, “What does it even matter?”

“Of course it matters!” Hermione loomed over Draco, once again pointing her finger at his face to better punctuate her argument. “It matters that you don’t follow the rules and I do. It matters that I do what I’m supposed to do and I still get shafted!”

This argument, Luna realized, had nothing at all to do with glasses.

“I think I’d remember shafting you, Granger.” Draco attempted a smirk, but it quickly evaporated in the fire of Hermione’s outrage. Hermione had slung her bag over her shoulder and resumed pacing around the coffee table.

“Don’t be vulgar, Malfoy. You’re so used to doing exactly what you want and bugger the consequences.”

Draco’s brows lowered, narrowing his eyes. “Excuse me?”

Oh Gods, Luna thought. This won’t end well.

“Let silly Granger follow the rules, I’ll just do what I want.”

“Granger—”

“I’m Draco Malfoy, I can do whatever I like, someone else will clear up my mess.”

“Are you—”

“And worst case,” Hermione stopped again in front of Draco to better see the impact of her words as they fell, “I’ll just call Daddy.”

A deep line had appeared between Draco’s brows. Luna watched as the corner of his mouth twitched, his lips thin. “Is that what you think of me?” Draco asked.

Hermione bent down a little, closing the distance between them. She looked him in the eye as she replied, “That’s what I know of you.”

“Fuck me Granger. Well how can I disagree with the girl who’s always fucking right.”

Hermione scoffed. “It just kills you that I call you out on your bullshit.”

“Does it now?”

“You know I’m right, you—”

“You’re not right.”

“Ughhh why won’t you just admit it? You used those glasses.”

“Granger.”

“You couldn’t be bothered to inconvenience yourself, so you thought I know, I’ll inconvenience Hermione instead.” 

“Granger.”

“I know I’m right, you know I’m right, you just—”

“Granger!” 

Luna started at Draco’s tone. He was sitting forwards now, both feet on the floor, his wand clenched in his fist, his eyes fixed on Hermione. “I am really trying to be patient, but—”

“Patient?!” Hermione repeated, her tone an octave higher than before.

“Patient. But you are like a dog with a bone at the moment, it doesn’t matter what—”

“Like a dog?! Isn’t it a bit rich for you to call me a dog, Malfoy?” Hermione’s eyes flashed, but that only seemed to ignite a spark in Draco’s. 

Luna bit her lip as she saw his calm expression crack, his chin rising in defiance. As he straightened his spine his countenance shifted, taking on those wonderful, awful sharp angles that so beautifully incorporated the arrogant cruelty of the Malfoy line. She hadn’t seen this Draco since the war, had hoped he had shed that terrible skin once and for all. His lip curled back as he replied.

“Gods Granger, is it so impossible to think you might have simply been wrong? I know you’re the greatest and brightest and the rest of us should just stay in your fucking shadow, but you are not beyond fucking things up on occasion.”

Hermione was now watching Draco with caution; she too had seen something shift in him and taken a step back, but now she held her ground, determined not to yield. “Don’t—”

“I’m not finished.” Draco snapped as he rose up off the sofa, his eyes still locked with Hermione’s. “Why can you never be fucking wrong? What are you so afraid of?” 

Drawn to his full height, Draco was formidable but moved with cold grace. His voice got quieter, softer, but no less sinister as he stepped closer to Hermione. She stood still, her chest rising and falling as he closed in on her. “I know you’re trying so fucking hard, Granger. I can see it. Do you know what I think? I think anyone who is that afraid of being wrong must have a lot riding on being right.”

Hermione’s face betrayed her emotions just barely, tiny cracks of emotion flickering across her facade of indifference. Luna tried to catch Draco’s eye but he was still focused on Hermione as he continued. “Do you think that if you can just keep holding the pieces of yourself tightly enough, no one will ever find out that actually you’re not perfect? That in fact… you’re in over your head?” 

Hermione’s nose twitched involuntarily, her eyes still trained on his. Draco stepped forwards, now standing so close to Hermione that she had to tilt her head back to hold his gaze. It’s calculated, Luna realized. He’s getting her off balance, physically too. “But I’ve seen it, Granger. I’ve seen what you’re trying to hide. And do you know what I saw?”

Draco’s voice dropped almost to a whisper, the ghosts of his words tumbling into Hermione’s ear as he tilted his face closer to hers. “You’re terrified that you’ve already fucked up and now you are destined to be bitter and lonely: not exceptional, not special, just a fool who sacrificed herself to a cause that will never repay the debt.”

Hermione flared her nostrils and raised her chin, her face now only inches from Draco’s, their eyes still locked. Luna could see the lantern light catching and flashing on her unshed tears. 

“Fuck you, Malfoy.” Hermione said, her voice too only a whisper. For a heartbeat they held their positions. Then Hermione broke away, turning and walking into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Luna looked up at Draco, who was still staring at the space where Hermione had been.

“Draco?” Luna ventured. 

He didn’t reply at first, then closed his eyes. “I know, Luna. But she was provoking me all night.”

“Draco.” Luna waited until Draco looked at her before she continued. “That was uncalled for.” 

He looked down and sighed, the tension beginning to ebb from his body as he sank down onto the edge of the sofa. Luna watched his face soften, his dark mask dissolving like smoke.

“Fuck.” He said.

“Indeed.” Luna agreed, putting her hand on his shoulder and giving it a sharp squeeze. They stayed that way for a few moments. We should all get some rest, Luna decided. “Time for bed.” She stood up then added, “Good night Draco,” patting his shoulder before padding over to her bedroom.

As she opened her door her eyes fell to SG, its fronds curled inwards, as if for safety or comfort or both, its head bowed. She stepped inside her room but as she turned to close the door she stopped, just for a moment, when her eye caught on Draco and she recognized that same shape, that same curvature, in him, still motionless on the edge of the sofa, his head now in his hands.

Chapter Text

To Luna’s relief, the next two days passed without further incident. Whether Hermione was intentionally avoiding Draco was unclear, but she kept to her room for the most part when she was in the dormitory, emerging at irregular intervals to make a tea, search out a notebook from the coffee table, or gather snacks.

On Friday morning, Luna awoke and saw that overnight SG had carefully rearranged its tendrils to edge away from the bathroom door. It was now flopping, somewhat forlornly, towards her waste paper basket. For a moment Luna wondered whether she had misinterpreted its fondness for bath time, then realized the sapling may just be trying to avoid Hermione’s low spirits; Hermione’s bedroom lay on the far side of their shared bathroom. Luna sat up in bed, opened her Herbology notebook, added a quick sketch and a brief entry to her observational notes and decided to give it a couple of days.

When the September sun glinted through her window the next morning however, illuminating SG in all its limp and pathetic glory, Luna decided she would have to think of some way to help it or risk waking up to find the poor thing had strangled itself. Emerging from her bedroom into the early morning peace of the lounge, she was pleasantly surprised to find Ernie leaning against the kitchen counter, filling the tea kettle.

“Good morning Luna,” Ernie said, settling the kettle and firing up the gas hob. Luna took in his bare feet, bronzed legs, grey cotton shorts, his pale red cotton t-shirt with a little surfer logo on the arm. Ernie stretched up his arms, his t-shirt rising and revealing a slice of golden stomach muscles as he yawned.

“Are you still growing, Ernie? You seem to get taller every day.” Luna tilted her head to one side to look him over properly; the summer break had done him good, or perhaps the return to peace. He was taller and broader, but although he took up more physical space he also seemed lighter and looser than before, as if he had casually unfolded himself into the ether. Perhaps he has, she thought. Ernie’s laugh brought her attention back to the kitchen.

“I don’t think so. It might just be that I’m not hunched over in perpetual gloom like our dear roommates.”

“Ah.” Luna smiled, a little sadly. “Yes, Hermione is rather quiet at the moment. How’s Draco?”

“Also quiet. With an undertone of murder. I almost used his hairbrush by mistake yesterday, can you imagine?”

Luna chuckled. “That would earn you a Cruciatus at least, I should think.”

“At least. I do feel a bit sorry for him though. Did you want a tea?”

“Yes please, milky.”

“I know. Give me some credit, Luna, two and a half weeks rooming together must be at least… forty teas give or take. Made or observed.” Ernie opened the cupboard above Luna to get out a second mug as he continued. She read the writing on his chest, Instructor, washed and faded but still legible. “Milky English Breakfast first thing, Darjeeling, also with milk but not milky, over the day. Lady Grey of an evening, and once, when I believe you were having a bad day, milky English Breakfast just before bed.”

Luna smiled. “I always assume no one is taking any notice of me, Ernie. I’m flattered.” She raised her eyebrows in jest. “Unless I should be concerned?”

Ernie chuckled. “Flattered, please.”

“Alright. Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

Ernie took out a tray and began gathering plates and napkins for the breakfast pastries the house-elves had sent up. He hummed a little while he moved about the kitchen and motioned for Luna to go into the lounge. “Take a seat. I’ll bring it all in once the tea’s brewed.”

Luna left the kitchen and sat down on the edge of the sofa, bending forwards to clear a space on the coffee table for the breakfast tray. She could still hear Ernie humming and found herself smiling. It was nice to be up early and have a breakfast companion. It was nice to have a cheerful roommate too, it made her feel a little brighter. She sat back on the sofa and found herself relaxing into the soft velvet of the cushions, listening to Ernie’s clinks and rustles, the creaks of the wooden beams above. A moment later Ernie walked over to her, tray in hand, smiling warmly, and as she looked at him a possible solution slotted into place in Luna’s mind like the answer to an elusive crossword clue.

“Everything alright Luna? Why are you looking at me like that?” Ernie asked, noticing her silent appraisal as he approached.

“I know this is a bit random but… I’ve just realized you might be exactly what I’m looking for.”

Ernie, settling the tray on the coffee table, glanced up at Luna, his eyebrows raised.

“In fact,” Luna continued, “what I need. You’re relaxed and warm and… you make me laugh.”

“I try.” Ernie was now standing by the coffee table, looking down at Luna. He looks slightly confused, she realized. I should reassure him.

“Sorry, I’m just thinking out loud. I didn’t realize it until this morning but I really like being around you, you make me feel good. I woke up worrying about Herbology but now, for the first time in ages, I’m not. Instead I think I’m… excited.”

Ernie’s eyebrows raised a fraction higher. “You’re excited?”

“Yes. Thanks to you.”

“Luna, I’m not sure I understand.”

“It’s the way you make me feel. I think it’s what I’ve been missing. I mean I don’t know for sure, but I think there’s something here.” Luna tapped her finger against her bottom lip while she ruminated.

“I see.” Ernie said. He didn’t.

“If you don’t mind, I want to explore this.”

“Explore what exactly?”

“This feeling. This… vibe I can feel when you’re around.”

“Oh. I… do you feel a vibe?” Ernie’s brows were now furrowed.

“I definitely feel something.” Luna smiled at Ernie. He swallowed. “Do you think…” Luna began, “actually, perhaps I shouldn’t be thinking so much, just feeling instead. And… this feels like a good idea.”

Luna stood up, walked towards her bedroom door, then turned and looked back at Ernie. “Would you come into my bedroom, Ernie? I need you.” Her eyes ran down his body in quiet consideration. “And your strong arms.”

Ernie was looking at Luna as if she were an exotic animal: uncertain whether he should approach her or climb a tree to escape. “You… need me?”

“Yes. I mean I don’t want to be prescriptive but… is that ok?”

Ernie swallowed. “Luna, am I getting this right? You want to explore the… feeling between us?”

Luna nodded. “Yes.”

“Which is why you want me to come into your bedroom?”

Luna nodded again. “Yes.” He’s a bit slow, she thought, it’s not that complicated.

“Are you… are you sure about this Luna?” Ernie asked.

“Well, no. But if we don’t try then I can’t be sure.”

“It just seems a bit sudden?”

“Maybe. Perhaps I’m being too impulsive. Would you rather wait? Or shall I ask someone else?”

Ernie shook his head. “No, but… right now?”

Luna smiled brightly. “Yes please. I know you’ve just made us tea but I don’t think it’ll take us long.”

Ernie grimaced. “Try to have a little faith, Luna. So you need me… in your bedroom?”

“Yes, Ernie. And then the lounge.”

“The lounge?” Ernie looked slightly horrified. She wondered why, for a helpful person, he was so reluctant to get on with it.

“I at least want to give it a go in here. I’m not entirely sure of the position yet but we can just try a couple. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Bloody hell, Lovegood.” Ernie shrugged in pleasant disbelief as he walked towards her. “I wish I’d told you sooner that I know how you take your tea.” He raked a hand through his hair and followed her into her bedroom.

Chapter Text

Ten minutes later, much to Ernie’s disappointment, he and Luna sat opposite one another on the sofas, chatting and drinking their lukewarm tea. SG, pot and all, was installed at the base of the column closest to the coffee table. Luna had chosen a spot halfway between her and Ernie’s bedrooms, which opened off opposite sides of the lounge. The column was wide enough to offer protection from knocks and closer to the kitchen than the corridor, in case of drafts.

“What about you, Luna?” Ernie asked. “Anything you miss from home?”

“Just my Dad.”

“Any pets?”

“No. We’ve always had animals around; we live in the countryside so there are loads of birds and all the woodland things like badgers, hedgehogs, even otters nearby. Do you have a pet?”

Ernie swallowed a bite of pastry and smiled. “I have a Pygmy Puff.”

“Do you?”

“I got it for my Mum. But then our dog sort of adopted it against its will and my Mum kept panicking he’d chew on it so… he’s mine now.”

“Do you have him here?”

“Oh yeah, he’s in my bedroom. I can’t let him roam around in case Crookshanks takes a shine to him.”

“Can I see him? What’s his name?”

“Of course. His name’s Walter.”

Over Ernie’s shoulder, Draco’s bedroom door creaked open. Draco’s yawn emerged shortly before he did, still sleep drunk in a pair of green boxers, one hand sweeping his hair from his face.

“Hello Draco.” Luna said brightly.

“Fuck!” Draco’s eyes snapped to Luna and Ernie, their empty tea cups and half-eaten pastries. “What are you two doing up already?” He paused behind the sofa. “Suppose I should put some clothes on.”

“Please do.” Ernie agreed.

Luna smiled at Draco. “Ernie said if I go into his bedroom he’ll show me his Pygmy Puff!”

Draco grinned. “Did you really Ernie? Don’t sell yourself short.”

Ernie rolled his eyes as Draco stretched. I must remember to thank McGonagall for rooming me with a surf instructor and a Quidditch captain, Luna reflected.

“Oh good.” Draco said. “The emotional tree is here.”

Luna nodded. “Ernie helped me.”

“Is that right?”

Ernie turned to face Draco. “Yes. Luna told me she needed me and my strong arms in her bedroom because she was excited to try out different positions.”

Draco laughed loudly. Gods, Luna thought. Ernie can even get Draco to relax.

“Ah,” Draco said, clapping a hand onto Ernie’s shoulder. “I can only imagine your disappointment when you saw the tree.”

Ernie nodded with playful resignation. What on Earth are they talking about? Luna wondered.

Behind her, she heard Hermione’s bedroom door softly brushing open as it swept over the thick carpet that covered the stone floors in the girls’ bedrooms. Draco straightened immediately. Luna turned to look at Hermione who was still bent over, pulling on her slippers, Crookshanks curling around her ankles.

“Good morning Hermione,” Luna called. “Fancy some breakfast?”

“Yes please, I’m starving,” Hermione replied. “I think I fell asleep during an essay on Ancient Runes last night. I had weird dreams with abstract lines dancing about, like wandering through a Kandinsky.”

“That sounds unpleasant,” Ernie commiserated, standing up. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

“Good morning Granger,” Malfoy said.

Luna watched as Hermione glanced over to him, her tone cool as she replied, “Run out of clothes, Malfoy?” Her eyes, Luna noticed, skated over his body a little longer than necessary considering the dismissive tone of her remark.

“No. Just wasn’t expecting an audience.” Draco turned to walk back to his room. “I’ll get a shirt.”

Hermione gathered Crookshanks and came to sit, cross-legged, next to Luna on the sofa, placing the ginger cat in her lap. He padded around, kneading the bottom of Hermione’s t-shirt while she stroked him until he found the right spot to settle down.

“What do you miss about home, Hermione?” Luna asked.

“What?” Hermione looked up from rubbing Crookshanks’ ears. She looks wary, Luna realized, already defensive, poor thing.

Luna smiled at her and reached over to pat Crookshanks on the head in greeting. “Ernie and I were just talking about home, about things we miss. He misses the family garden and Sunday lunches. I miss my Dad. What about you?”

“I miss…” Hermione looked down again and began to scratch under Crookshanks’ chin. “I miss…” She looked up at Draco as he wandered back into the lounge and sat down on the couch. “Can you miss everything?”

“Everything… how?” Draco asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t asking you Malfoy, I was thinking out loud.”

“Forgive me,” Draco said, “for imagining that your looking at me whilst talking might indicate the start of a conversation.”

“Oh no, forgive me Malfoy. I’m the fool.”

“What?”

“Not exceptional or special, just a fool. Isn’t that right?”

Draco winced. Apparently Hermione had not forgotten their argument. Nor his choice of words.

“No that’s not right—”

“Oh I’m terribly sorry but actually I think you’ll find I’m always right.”

Excellent, Draco thought. This is all going to shit in record time. “Granger, what do you want me to say?”

“Don’t bail on me now, Malfoy. Can’t you just look deep into my soul again to find the answers?”

“Granger, that’s not—”

“Draco,” Luna interjected, “you might want to apologize.”

“Absolutely not, Luna!” Hermione said, whipping her head back to look at Luna, nostrils flaring.

“Why not?!” Luna asked.

“The only thing more awful than listening to what he thinks of me would be listening to him lie about it to keep the peace!”

Draco saw Crookshanks bristle as Hermione huffed at Luna. Circe, he thought, no wonder her cat’s so feral, she’s always so bloody fierce.

“Listen Granger—” Draco began.

“Oh please don’t bother, Malfoy.” Hermione rolled her eyes with a sneer so dismissive that Draco’s resolve not to rise to the bait vanished in an instant.

“Oh fine.” Draco snapped. “Be the merry victim, enjoy yourself.”

Hermione looked back to Draco, her eyes narrow. “What did you say?”

“Draco—” Luna began, seeing the tiny fires in her roommates’ eyes beginning to rekindle all over again.

“I said enjoy being the victim.” Draco repeated.

“You think I like being the victim?” Hermione hissed more than asked.

Draco leaned forwards, his eyes fixed on Hermione’s. “I think you love being the victim if it means I’m the villain.”

Hermione scoffed and shook her head. “Don’t flatter yourself, Snake Boy.”

“Snake Boy?!” Draco exclaimed, “What… what does that make her,” he pointed at Luna, “Bird Girl?!”

Luna’s patience was beginning to wear thin, she had expected Draco to learn his lesson last time.

“Birds have been known to kill snakes, sometimes pecking out their eyes,” Luna said, looking at Draco with one eyebrow raised in a silent warning.

Draco was not interested in heeding it. “Gods, cheerful! Thanks Luna, be on her side!”

Luna huffed, “I’m not picking a side!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Don’t be pathetic, Malfoy.”

“Right,” Draco answered, “like calling someone Snake Boy. Or Lion Girl in your case.” Damn, Draco thought, Lion Girl sounds a lot cooler than Snake Boy.

“Oh please!” Hermione replied, her eyes blazing. “I wish I was a Lion Girl, I wouldn’t have to put up with any of this!”

“Oh I don’t know,” Draco replied, his eyes narrowing, “a venomous snake could take down a lion.”

Hermione’s nostrils flared as she inhaled before hurling her answer at him. “And a lion could tear a snake apart!”

Hermione felt the pricking of tears. How dare her eyes betray her when she was so damned angry. She turned away from Draco. Over Luna’s shoulder, Ernie was returning from the kitchen. Kind, warm Ernie, no doubt about to ask her why she was crying, damn him. She looked to Luna and the pity she saw in her sweet face was the final straw. “It could claw a raven from the sky,” she roared at Luna. “It could rip a badger to pieces!”

“Hey!” Ernie countered, his eyes wide, “Steady on Hermione! Why does the badger have to die?!” He shook his head a little. “Ripped to pieces! What did I do?”

Hermione paused, stepping outside herself for a moment as she took in the scene: Draco, lips thin, his hand raking through his pale blond hair, sat hulking on the sofa; Luna, eyes wide, still in pyjamas, curled defensively around her tea cup; and Ernie, his sandy hair sleep-swept, carrying a large tray with teas and pastries and looking at Hermione like a… well like a badger who’d just stumbled upon a lion.

Hermione, unsure whether to yell, apologize or burst into tears, found herself quite unexpectedly beginning to laugh. Soft at first, it gathered and swelled as her tension finally released, rolling through her like an avalanche gathering snow. How on earth did she get here, Hermione wondered. Hardly awake, her chest already tight with stress, yelling at her roommates. Malfoy could wind her up just by breathing, no regrets there, but Luna and Ernie were now collateral damage and had done nothing to deserve it.

“I’m sorry. I’m really… I’m sorry Ernie.” Hermione took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. “I’m sorry about the badger.” She smiled and bit her lip. She was being ridiculous. But the rage inside her was giving way to… sadness. She felt her eyes tear up again and this time she had no desire to stop them.

Chapter Text

Hermione’s tears fell soft and warm onto her cheeks. Luna, of course, noticed first. “It’s alright, Hermione,” she said.

There was a moment of quiet. Hermione sniffed. Then, unexpectedly, Ernie began to speak again. “Actually, Hermione,” he began, sinking down onto the sofa next to Draco and, Luna mused, creating a tableau that unintentionally imitated two concerned members of a boy band, “I think we might owe you an apology.”

“Why?” Hermione was genuinely baffled. She knew well enough that she wasn’t herself, that instead she was being mean and fractious and… perhaps this was her new self but she hoped not.

“Well…” Ernie began, “I was thinking about it the other day. Things are different for all of us: the war is over but friends are missing, the world is different, we’ve all changed too. But us three,” at this Ernie gestured to indicate Luna and Draco, “we’re all from wizarding families, Hermione. We’ve all got relatives who lived the whole thing alongside us, who saw the darkness creep in. But you… your parents don’t have any context for everything you’ve been through. Even if they believe your stories and can empathize… it’s not the same. You must feel alone with it all sometimes.”

Hermione looked down at Crookshanks who sat stoically in her lap, his eyes closed. 

“Sometimes. I suppose it is different.”

“I’m sorry everything is so… difficult.” Luna said, reaching out to squeeze Hermione’s knee and eliciting a grumpy look from Crookshanks.

“Thanks,” Hermione replied, looking at Luna with no small amount of embarrassment. “I’m still sorry. I shouldn’t be erupting like this.”

“It’s my fault,” Draco said. His eyes slowly shifted focus from his hands to Hermione’s face. “I’ve made you feel bad.”

Hermione sighed, brushing a stray tear away with the back of her hand. “Yes. But to be honest, Malfoy, I’ve been feeling bad for months.” She watched as his brow furrowed, his face falling into a look of what appeared to be genuine sorrow. 

“It seems to be taking me longer than everyone else to recover from the war.” Hermione said, resuming her ministrations to Crookshanks. “I mean I do want to move on, of course I do, I just… maybe I don’t know how.”

“Have you spoken to Ron and Harry about it?” Ernie asked. “I thought we’d see them more often now that you’re our roommate, to be honest.”

Hermione shook her head. “No, I don’t want to bother them. Ron has his work at the ministry and… he’s already having a hard time moving on and leaving the past… well, in the past. I don’t want to open a fresh wound. And Harry…” Hermione closed her eyes and tilted her head back, willing herself not to cry again. “For the first time since I’ve known him, Harry seems genuinely happy. He can be… himself. Without fear of bringing death down on those closest to him. I can’t be the person to drag him down again. I won’t. I love him.”

Hermione opened her eyes and found Luna’s. She smiled as she gave Hermione a nod of understanding. 

“I know what it is to love someone enough to want to spare them the pain of your own suffering,” Luna said.

“Me too.” Draco watched as three pairs of eyes snapped to him. “Believe it or not.”

“Right you two.” Luna was all seriousness as she looked from Hermione to Draco. “I know we’re all still recovering but the war is over. For all our sakes, but especially yours, this animosity has to stop. It’s not doing any of us any good.”

Ernie nodded in agreement.

“Least of all my poor tree.” Luna continued.

Ernie stopped nodding, but glancing at the wilted sapling he had to admit, it did look like it was not long for this world.

“We’re four of the brightest minds at Hogwarts, we’ve just survived the worst wizarding war in living memory, surely we can find a way to make this work?” Luna looked to Ernie and raised her eyebrows in silent appeal.

“Luna’s right. I know it’s not easy but… none of us need the stress.”

Draco gave a stiff nod. 

“So.” Ernie said. “What do you like about each other?” 

“What?” Draco asked.

“What do you like about Hermione?” Ernie repeated.

He watched as Draco inhaled and wrestled against his instinct to fire a quick, potentially ill-considered reply. Better he takes his time and overrides whatever internal battle he’s waging, Ernie thought, or it will all unravel again. On the sofa opposite, Luna and Hermione sat and listened with cautious curiosity.

“I like Granger,” Draco replied. For a moment Ernie thought Draco had misheard the question, then he continued, “I like her ability to dedicate herself to tasks and causes, however… lost or whimsical; I like her unwavering sense of loyalty; I like her determination to learn and improve; I admire her courage.” Draco looked up and caught Hermione’s eye. “I like that she gives me as good as she gets. Often more.” Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“Your turn, Hermione,” Ernie said.

“Ok.” Hermione looked down at Crookshanks. “I like Malfoy’s…” She paused and swallowed. Draco propped his elbow up on the arm of the sofa and rested his head on his hand, looking at the carpet. Oh Gods, Luna thought, she won’t think of anything, this is going to be awful. To her relief, Hermione cleared her throat and continued, “I like Malfoy’s attention to detail. In potions he always… he had a way of observing whatever was unfolding.” Luna watched as Draco slowly raised his head, intrigued but wary. He hadn’t expected her to think of anything either. “I like, well, I understand his commitment to his family and the… heavy weight of expectations. I like…” Hermione looked up and her eyes locked with Draco’s. She swallowed but held his gaze. “I like his hair.” Hermione raised an eyebrow as if to dare Draco to laugh, but mocking her was currently the last thing on his mind. He held her gaze and noticed a blush starting to spread across her cheeks. 

Unbidden, he recalled the blush of his mother’s pale skin whenever his father did something gallant. Or wicked. His eyes stumbled to Hermione’s lips. They were the colour of the dahlias his mother would cut and leave in his bathroom, their blushing reds luminous against the grey green tiles. They were the colour of the apples that fell in his orchard, the ones Lena would turn into crumble if he gathered them and brought them, tumbling from his hands and pockets, into the kitchens. He wondered if her lips would taste as sweet. His gaze returned to her eyes. 

“Is that enough?” Hermione asked. Perhaps she was asking Ernie, but her eyes stayed on Draco. 

“Yes.” Draco replied.

“Do you think you two might be able to focus on the things you like?” Luna asked.

“The things that don’t make you want to kill each other?” Ernie clarified.

Hermione turned to Luna, smiled and shrugged her shoulders in theatrical resignation. “I can try.”

“Draco?” Luna asked.

“Of course. Anything for Bird Girl,” Draco replied.

Hermione’s head whipped back to him but he smiled and raised his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry, Granger. Forgive me. Too soon.” 

Then he did something so brazen, so utterly un-Malfoy and entirely unexpected, that Hermione thought she had hallucinated. He winked at her. 

=======

Hermione flung herself into the lounge, tying her hair up while searching for her scarf. She was sure she had it yester— ah. There it was, on the coffee table. With her Charms notebook and… Malfoy?

“I thought you’d be gone already.” Hermione said. 

Draco stood up, his jacket folded over his arm, ready to leave. “I thought we might walk together.”

“To avoid ruffians?” Hermione asked, gathering her scarf and stuffing it into her bag.

“No. To practice being courteous.”

“Doesn’t even more time together only increase the likelihood of failure?” Hermione asked. Where was her wand?! She literally just had it.

“I hope not,” Draco replied. He watched her lifting the scatter cushions from the sofa. “Looking for something?”

“Yes actually. My wand.”

“The one… you’re holding?” Draco asked. Hermione followed his gaze to her right hand and the wand in it.

“Yes. That one.” Gods, he was infuriating. 

Luna and Ernie opened their doors and emerged from their respective bedrooms in tandem, like figures on a cuckoo clock. 

“Off out?” Ernie asked.

“Shift.” Draco replied.

“Ah. Have a good one.” Ernie headed for the kitchen. “Fancy a snack, Luna? Shall we see what the elves have got?”

Luna nodded. “Got everything?” she asked Hermione.

“Think so,” Hermione replied, giving Luna a quick hug. “Even a companion slash bodyguard.”

Luna smiled. “Be good.” 

Draco held the door while Hermione strode out to the corridor. “And keep your tempers!” Luna added.

“Yes, mother.” Draco called, as the door closed behind him. 

Ernie’s head popped out of the kitchen. “Snack or dinner?” 

“Snack,” Luna replied, “But let’s get dinner too before the rush. Shall we try out your film projinkter tonight?”

“You mean my film projector?”

“Yes. Didn’t you say you have to watch something this weekend for Further Muggling?”

“Advanced Muggle Studies please, Muggling sounds like a carnival act. Or a crime. And yes, but it might be boring.”

“More boring than reading An Extended Study of Roots?” Luna asked as she headed over to check on SG.

“I doubt it.”

“I’m game.”

“Ok, I’ll put in our dinner order and get some plates.” Ernie’s head disappeared again.

“Oh and Ernie?” Luna asked, bending to stroke SG’s leaves and double check tendril tension, “Earlier, when I asked you to help me out…”

“Yeah?” Ernie called.

“Did you think I wanted to have sex with you?”

=======

The Inn was quiet when Hermione and Draco arrived, the evening crowd not yet arrived, the afternoon crowd already dispersed. Madam Rosmerta stood alone at the bar, refilling the shelves of glasses and tankards.

“May I take your coat?” Draco asked as they approached the bar and Hermione began to unpack herself.

Madam Rosmerta looked up and raised an eyebrow. “Taking her coat? Am I mistaken or does a glooming peace this evening with it bring? Apologies to Shakespeare of course.”

“Something like that,” Draco replied, smiling as he gathered their outerwear and headed to the coat hooks.

“I thought I was going to have to intervene last shift,” Madam Rosmerta said, looking pointedly at Hermione. “It’s been a while since we’ve offered our patrons a free show with dinner.”

“I suppose we owe you an apology.” Hermione made a mental note to apologize properly later to Luna and Ernie. She and Malfoy must have been insufferable if Madam Rosmerta was making the point three days later. “I’m sorry, Madam Rosmerta.”

“Shall we be pardoned or punishèd?” Draco asked as he returned.

Madam Rosmerta laughed. “Very good, Draco. Let tonight be a story of less woe and I’ll pardon you both for now.” 

Hermione smiled absentmindedly as she leaned against the bar, running her hands over the brass railing. “I love that play,” she said.

“I wasn’t sure anyone knew the Bard these days,” Madam Rosmerta said. “Do you study his plays at school?”

“No,” Draco replied. 

“I grew up not far from Stratford,” Hermione said, her gaze still on the bar, her mind clearly elsewhere. “I used to go to the theatre with my father twice a year. It’s less than an hour’s drive from home and he loved the ceremony of the theatre, and Shakespeare of course. I haven’t been for years though.”

“And is Romeo and Juliet your favourite?” Madam Rosmerta asked, pausing to look at Hermione. Her memories seemed to be tugging her into the past; she was a little softer spoken than usual, not reluctant but perhaps a little… hesitant to remember.

“Probably. I also love Macbeth. Actually I don’t think I can choose, the first one I saw was A Midsummer Night’s Dream and… well anyway.” Hermione shook her head as if to clear the echoes of past times. “Time to get on.”

Madam Rosmerta smiled to herself. Leaving childhood and growing up was no joke, she mused, as the door of the Inn creaked open, heralding the next customer. 

Chapter Text

Narcissa Malfoy tapped her teaspoon on the edge of her cup and placed it down on the saucer, her eyes focused all the while on her son. He sat on the chair opposite her, slowly stirring his own tea, and although the table separated them by only three feet he was apparently miles away. 

“Your father sends his best wishes,” she began.

Draco murmured an acknowledgment, his gaze focused on his tea. He continued to stir it.

Narcissa raised an eyebrow and considered how best to proceed. That was her fourth attempt at starting a conversation this afternoon and it had, like the attempts before it, immediately run aground. She had no doubt that Draco was happy to be there; they had always been close enough to truly enjoy one another’s company, even if that meant sharing comfortable silences. But this was not mere silence: Draco was distracted. Happily or unhappily, she wondered. 

“He’s taken up fishing,” she said, careful to keep her tone light and nonchalant, “inspired by that Muggle castle we stayed in when we dropped you off for training a few weeks back. He’s got two pair of those long waders now. And some rather extraordinary knee-high Wellington boots.” 

No response.

“It’s all cluttering up our mud room at the moment. I’m rather concerned he may have developed a bit of a rubber fetish. He did ask me to leave my Mackintosh on once during a conjugal visit… perhaps that was where it all began.”

Draco was absentmindedly nodding.

Ever since the war Draco had been more guarded, even, she suspected, with himself; he kept his emotions on a short leash and seemed loathe to share them with anyone else, even with her. She kept asking and hoping he’d rattle on, let her in, let her know whatever he was really thinking about, worrying about, but nowadays he was all short answers and brooding looks. 

“I’m not entirely sure about wearing rubber at my age.” She tapped a finger against her bottom lip in contemplation. “But perhaps I should indulge him and wear Wellingtons to bed? Perhaps just Wellingtons…” 

Suddenly Draco’s head snapped up and he looked at Narcissa in concerned irritation. “Mother? What in the Gods are you talking about?”

“Hmm? What’s that darling?”

Draco shifted in his seat and leant a little closer, hoping Madam Puddifoot, who was only a few feet away and closing in on them with a cream tea in each hand, could not hear them.

“Were you just casually discussing… fornication?!”

Narcissa smiled beatifically. “Don’t be ridiculous, darling. Why ever would I talk about that, with you, over afternoon tea?”

Draco sat back, frowning, as Madam Puddifoot set down their scones. “There now,” she announced, fussing about with the clotted cream and smiling at Narcissa, “Will that be all?”

“That looks lovely,” Narcissa smiled. “Thank you.”

Draco resumed stirring his tea.

“You know, I have a spell to keep that spoon going if your hand starts to cramp,” Narcissa offered. “You finished stirring the milk in five minutes ago.”

“Sorry mother,” Draco put down the teaspoon and sat back. “I’m a little distracted.”

“Yes, I noticed. Is everything alright darling?”

“Yes, everything’s alright.”

“How’s the school work?”

“Ramping up slowly. I get the sense they’re taking it easy on us.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know. We’re their war wounded and they want to help us limp over the finish line?” 

Narcissa smiled a little sadly and took a drink of tea. “You’re not overdoing it at the Inn are you? Rosmerta said you’ve been a great help.”

Draco smiled. “I’m definitely not overdoing it. I’m there two evenings a week, Rosmerta has to be reminded to delegate and you know Granger, she’s a quick study who always does more than necessary.”

Narcissa took a drink of tea. “How is Hermione? I was at St. Mungo’s last weekend, I thought I saw her.”

“Oh? I think she’s alright, still… recovering I suppose. Otherwise pretty much herself. When were you at the hospital?”

“Last Sunday.”

“Could be… we weren’t working Sunday, I had Quidditch. But what business would she have at St. Mungo’s?”

“She might be considering a career as a Healer, who knows?”

Draco scoffed, “A Healer? I don’t think so mother. She’ll have her sights set a little higher. Or she should have.”

Narcissa smiled to herself as Draco took a drink of tea and began cutting into his scone. She followed suit and accepted the pot of jam he held out to her, nudging the clotted cream towards him in exchange. Dance of the scones, Lucius called it. Her smile broadened as she imagined him ever voluntarily wearing a pair of waders. Draco’s brow was furrowed again. 

“What are you thinking about darling?” Narcissa waited for the usual perfunctory retort of ‘nothing, mother’ and raised her scone to take a bite.

“Hermione. It’s her Birthday today. I’m on the fence about getting her a present. Any opinion?” Draco lifted his thumb to his mouth to lick off an errant smear of cream, saw his mother’s eye and her scone still suspended inches from her mouth and laughed. “What?”

“To be perfectly honest, I didn’t expect a real answer. I’m pleased and… somewhat startled.” She smiled and took a bite. 

“I’m embracing honesty,” Draco replied, returning her smile.

“I like it. I can work with this.” Narcissa winked at him, then asked “Does she know you like her?”

“What do you mean exactly?”

“Does Hermione know you… like her?” Narcissa repeated, smiling at Draco in the don’t-even-bother-I’m-your-mother way that he loved and hated.

Draco swallowed. “No, I… I don’t think she does.”

“And is she… might she be interested-”

“No, mother. She’s still very angry. I doubt that will ever change. And besides, she’s with Ron.”

“Ah.”

Draco picked up his teaspoon again and Narcissa repressed the urge to snatch it and fling it into the nearest potted plant.

“So,” she began, determined to prevent him from stirring a hole in the china, “I think the present is an easy yes. You’re spending the evening together-”

“At work,” Draco interjected.

“Nevertheless,” Narcissa continued, “it only seems right that you acknowledge her Birthday. Nineteen…” she pondered and continued to eat her scone.

“I thought… I thought I might get her a book. Of some sort.”

“Right. Anything in mind?”

“No. That’s the problem.”

“I see. I assume jewellery is out of the question?”

“Yes; I think that would raise eyebrows mother, in that I am neither boyfriend nor best friend.”

Narcissa gave an understanding murmur then asked “What are her interests? Has she left anything out in the common room that gives you an insight… or mentioned anything she misses from home?”

Draco sighed, counting her questions off on his fingers as he answered. “I’m reasonably sure she’s interested in most things; she tends to leave notebooks and hair ties out; and, she didn’t specifically say she missed it… but she did mention to Madam Rosmerta the other day that she hasn’t been to the theatre in Stratford for years, and often went with her father when she was younger…” Draco drifted off in thought as if trying to remember any other details.

Narcissa topped up their teacups. “I assume you mean Stratford as in Shakespeare?”

“Exactly. She grew up less than an hour’s drive away.”

“Is that close or far?”

“I haven’t the foggiest, that’s just how she described it.”

Narcissa nodded in quiet contemplation. “I think that’s it, Draco. Do something with that.”

“With what?”

“Something that connects to Shakespeare. After all, he’s a favourite of yours too. And it shows an interest in… her world.”

“Alright. Perhaps. I’ll think of something. Thank you mother, that was actually helpful.”

Narcissa gave a soft laugh and clinked her teacup against his in mock celebration. “Excellent.” She settled into her chair with a satisfied smile, adding, as she raised her cup to drink, “Now tell me all about those cheeky little Slytherins, so I have tales to tell your father at dinner.”

Chapter Text

When Draco walked into the Inn that afternoon he was not expecting to find Hermione leaning over the counter of the bar, her face in the hands of a blond wizard who appeared to be studying her lips. 

“No, no Hermione, vuh vuh villkommen.”

Hermione giggled. Draco slipped the small parcel he was carrying into his jacket pocket.

“Ok,” Hermione said, “I’m concentrating. Willkommen. No! VILLkommen.”

Draco, having moved unnoticed to stand at the corner of the bar, watched her in profile, her curls bouncing, the tip of her nose rising as she annunciated.

“Genau! Yes, exactly, excellent. Villkommen. I want to see your teeth right here”, the wizard pointed at the middle of her bottom lip, “until it’s easy.”

“Here,” Hermione confirmed, pointing at the soft swell of her lip.

“Exactly,” the wizard smiled, his eyes shining with what appeared to be an interest in more than just phonetics.

For the first time since the war, Draco’s hand instinctively flexed with the desire to carve a curse through the air and see someone suffer.

“Ah, Draco, I see you’ve met Max?” Madam Rosmerta’s voice came from over Draco’s shoulder. He turned to let her pass as Hermione and the blond wizard looked over to him.

“Not exactly,” Draco answered. “Draco Malfoy.” 

He extended his hand to Max, who shook it with enthusiasm and replied “Max Stange. From Hohwacht in Germany.”

“A pleasure. What brings you to Hogsmeade?” 

“Max is part of the twinned towns team,” Rosmerta explained.

“And I am a student,” Max added, “like you and Hermine.”

“Hermione,” Draco and Hermione corrected in unison, their eyes snapping to one another in surprise.

I’m not sure I’ve ever heard Malfoy say my name before, Hermione thought, breaking eye contact as her cheeks grew warm, focusing instead on wiping the cloth in her hand carefully across the surface of the bar top that she’d already cleaned. Draco took off his jacket. Have I called her by her name before, he considered, still wondering whether her cheeks had flushed with surprise or indignation.

“Ahh, apologies dear Hermione. Force of habit.” Max smiled warmly at Hermione, then turned back to Draco. “I’m interested in international relations.”

Draco held his eye. “I’m sure you are.” 

To Draco’s surprise Max’s smile only broadened and his eyes flicked between Hermione and Draco. “Hermione tells me you have all sorts of wonderful decorations to hang. I wish I could help.”

“Do you have to go already?” Hermione asked.

“Soon comes Klaus to collect me. We said six, it’s six now?”

“Almost,” Draco replied. 

As if on cue, the door of the Inn opened and a tall gentleman strode towards them, dressed in dark travelling robes. His clothes were well tailored and, Draco noted, expensively accessorized. He removed his dark grey Homburg hat as he reached the bar and hooked his silver-topped cane into the crook of his arm. Max rose at once and began to gather his things.

“Good evening, Klaus,” Madam Rosmerta said.

“Good evening Rosmerta,” Klaus replied, inclining his head in greeting and returning her smile. “I am here to collect Max for dinner. I asked him to invite you. You will join us I hope?”

Madam Rosmerta smiled. “Thank you, yes I’ll be glad to. Hermione and Draco will manage alone for a few hours.”

Only last shift Madam Rosmerta had reminded them to run things past her as often as they wished, no foolish questions, she wouldn’t be expecting them to run the bar without her any time soon… Draco raised an eyebrow but held his peace as Klaus turned to greet them. “Klaus Wolffer,” he said, extending his hand with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hermione, Draco, my pleasure.”

Madam Rosmerta seemed to be exchanging cryptic looks with Hermione, who grinned and said “We will manage and be absolutely fine and don’t want to see you before last orders. Isn’t that right, Malfoy?”

“Absolutely,” Draco replied, before realizing Hermione was sending him a rather pointed, expectant glare and adding, “at the earliest”.

He walked behind the bar to take his place next to Hermione. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a black scoop neck top, a long silver chain disappearing below the neckline, the pendant nestled presumably somewhere in her cleavage. As she bent and stretched to restock the glasses on the shelf above the bar, her top shifted to reveal the edge of her bra strap, a glint of dark emerald green lace. Dark emerald lace which presumably wrapped around her cleavage like soft gift wrap. A gift for whoever might be lucky enough to unwrap her. He shifted uncomfortably. It was going to be a long night. 

“We’ll be at the Hog’s Head if you need anything,” Madam Rosmerta said, pulling on a thick cloak as she turned to leave through the door Klaus now held open for them, checking his watch. A silver pocket watch on a chain, Draco noted. “And anyway, Geoff’s in the kitchen, he’ll help if-”

“Go and have fun, Madam Rosmerta. We’ll be fine,” Hermione said, smiling at Rosmerta and gesturing for her to go.

“I’ll be seeing you later, Hermione,” Max said, his hand raised in farewell. “You too Draco.” He smiled at Draco and turned to leave. “Tschüß!” 

“Bless you!” Hermione called as the door closed. Draco laughed, flicking a tea towel over his shoulder and assessing the levels of the spirits that hung above the bar. “It means goodbye,” he said.

“Oh? Do you speak German?” Hermione asked.

“Yes.” Draco answered. 

“Klaus seems nice.”

“Nice is excessive.”

“You don’t like him?”

“I don’t dislike him, he was… perfunctorily polite.”

“Yes, well, I think he’s rather more interested in Madam Rosmerta than in us. Why do you speak German?” Hermione was looking at him with curiosity and a little mistrust, he noted. 

“Why not? I learnt as a child.” He smiled at Hermione. “Don’t worry you didn’t miss an opportunity for an additional study group.”

Hermione smiled back, eyebrows raised. “Ha ha. Who taught you?”

“Our cook.”

“Oh?” Hermione tried to imagine a small Malfoy in the kitchen, covered in flour, declining German verbs. “Don’t you have house elves to do the cooking?”

“Yes, but we also have a cook.”

“Hmm. Will you teach me?” Hermione was leaning against the bar, watching Draco check the spirits. 

“I suppose so. To impress Max?” Draco asked, looking down at Hermione with mock seriousness, his eyebrow raised.

Hermione scoffed. “For Oktoberfest of course. That’s why Max was trying to teach me.”

Draco gave a thin smile. “No doubt.”

“Oh come on, you can teach me while we do the decorations.” Hermione walked behind Draco towards the end of the bar. How does he always smell so damn good, she wondered. And why do I always notice? She shook her head to clear it. “You get the garlands. Most things we can hang with magic but Madam Rosmerta said we should wrap the garlands around the beams and secure them without magic, because they’ll stay up until the new year, and if they’re up with magic and the decorations are up with magic and we want to swap decorations but leave the garlands it all gets confusing.”

Draco looked at her with bemusement and nodded his head. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“I’ll get the ladder.”

Draco watched as Hermione strode off purposefully towards the kitchens. Her jeans cupped the curves of her thighs, the softness of her… right, he thought. I’ll climb the ladder, I am absolutely not going to look up at her arse all evening. Then, while he briefly considered whether it would be more masochistic to watch her from below or to deny himself the opportunity, Hermione returned with the ladder.

“Are you still standing around? Get the garlands,” Hermione said, half hidden behind the steps but apparently still able to scold him.

“Right, and where are they exactly?”

“In a box over by the stairs… oh hang on do you know what a garland is?”

Draco, having already turned towards the stairs, stopped and slowly pivoted back to Hermione, one eyebrow raised. “Yes, Hermione. What are the chances that I, Draco Malfoy, son of Narcissa Malfoy, don’t know what a garland is?!”

“Sorry,” Hermione said, setting the ladder up under the closest beam. “Don’t get excited. Ron wouldn’t know.”

Draco grimaced. “Please don’t compare me to Ronald Weasley.”

“Fine. Get the garlands then Draco, son of Narcissa.”

“Ja, Hermione.” Draco turned towards the stairs to fetch the box.

“That means yes,” Hermione called to his retreating back. Christ, she thought. He’s wearing that shirt well. It’s probably tailored to fit him… son of Narcissa indeed. She shook her head softly. Don’t be ridiculous Hermione, stop checking him out, you absolute lunatic. Perhaps it was some sort of Birthday hormones derailing her from the task at hand.

“What do you want to know then?” Draco asked, returning with the box. “What would you like to be able to say. For Oktoberfest of course, please don’t make me teach you how to flirt in German.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Can you flirt in German?”

Draco pursed his lips. “Can I or can one?”

“Both I suppose,” Hermione replied. Adding with a smile, “Actually don’t answer that. I presume you can flirt in any language.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment, Granger?” Draco asked, smirking at her.

“No.” Hermione considered, her brows knitting together. “Well maybe. I suppose at times you could be considered charming.”

“Gods, careful,” Malfoy replied, clutching his hand to his chest, “I’m not used to that kind of full frontal flattery.”

Hermione laughed. “Oh get up the ladder, you do just fine.”

“Oh yes?” Draco asked, taking the steps.

“Don’t you?” Hermione asked, a little jolt of… something buzzing through her. What was that? Jealousy? No, definitely not. Perhaps frustration that he was playing dumb. Heir to the Malfoy fortune, captain of the Quidditch team, generally considered to be disgustingly handsome. Hardly a set of handicaps when it came to dating.

“What have you heard?” Draco asked, his tone more concerned than amused. 

Hermione scoffed. “Oh you’d love that wouldn’t you: Malfoy, the collected fawnings.” She looked up at him. Gods, his arse. What was wrong with her? Perhaps she was missing Ron more than she realized. Ron’s arse didn’t look like that though, she mused. Hermione sighed in frustration. Get. A grip. She held the ladder steady.

“The collected scornings, more like,” Draco replied, looking down at her. Great, he thought. Not only has she heard some inane gossip about me, by avoiding her arse I now get a bird’s eye view of her cleavage. 

Definitely time for a change of topic, Hermione decided. “What words would be useful then, for the fest?” She handed Draco the end of a garland and a length of twine.

“I don’t know,” he said, considering how best to begin fixing the garland in place. “The usual… welcome, how’s it going, what can I get you?”

“Max taught me ‘welcome’,” Hermione replied. “What’s ‘how’s it going?’”

Draco looped the twine around the beam, fastening the end of the garland in a snug knot and beginning to slowly loop the rest of the leaves around the beam. “Well let’s assume friendly and casual and go with wie geht’s,”

“Veegrates?”

“Ha. Wie, spelt w-i-e, pronounced vee, as in, the letter ‘v’, the one after ‘u’ in the alphabet,”

“Wee, pronounced vee,” Hermione repeated. She passed him another length of twine as he reached the end of the first garland. 

“Exactly. Geht’s, g-e-h-t apostrophe s, pronounced gates, as in, country cross code, they keep the sheep from getting out.” Draco looked down at her with a smile, reaching for the next garland. 

“Gates,” Hermione repeated, passing the next one up. “See also Malfoy Manor, keeping the riffraff out.”

He smirked. “Ha ha.”

“Vee gates.” Hermione said. “Like that?” Draco had fixed the second garland to the first and now began looping the garland over the beam, twisting the thin branches to ensure it sat securely. He’s very dexterous, Hermione mused. 

“Yes, I mean we’re butchering it a bit but that’s good enough. I’m sure most visitors will speak enough English to order a beer. If you know a few phrases to show willing, we’re winning.”

Draco descended the ladder, moving it further along the floor by a metre or so then climbing back up. “Does this look good to you?” he asked.

“Yes,” Hermione replied. “Looks good from down here.” I assume he means the garland, not his muscular thighs, she thought. “I mean the garland,” she said. Gods I didn’t need to say that out loud, she cursed.

Draco looked down at her in confusion. “What?” 

Hermione coughed. “So, vee gates, how’s it going, and then?”

Draco turned back to the beam. “I assume most people will say gut, danke which means—”

“Wait, goo tanker, is that something to do with a tankard?” Hermione asked.

Draco slowly looped more and more of the garland onto the beam as he explained. “No, gut, spelt g-u-t, pronounced goot like root. It means good.”

“Goot.” Hermione passed up more twine and the end of the third garland.

“Ja. And danke, pronounced dank, as in dank and dingy, with an ‘e’ on the end, dank-e.” Draco climbed down the ladder to move it closer to the end of the first beam.

“Ok. Danke.” Hermione repeated, watching him climb up again. 

“That means ‘thank you’,” Draco said, looping the foliage into place. 

“Ok. Ok so vee gates, goot, danke.” Hermione listed. 

Draco looked down and smiled at her. “A natural,” he said, before fixing the third garland in place at the end of the beam.

“Ha ha.”

“Does this look right from down there, now they’re all up?” Draco asked. “Before we move onto the other beam…”

“Let me see,” Hermione said, stepping back. “Hang on though. No sudden moves I’m not holding the ladder.”

“Noted,” Draco replied.

It looks good, Hermione thought. Perhaps just a few more branches could hang down. And it’s… more fun than I expected, doing this together. She moved back to hold the ladder steady as the door to the Inn opened.   

“Ok,” she called up to Draco. “Looks good. Just unfold some of the squashed branches a bit.” Draco moved to do as she asked, his forearms stretching and flexing to curl the greenery into place. She bit her lip as she looked up at him. Getting on with Malfoy and chatting together is… nice, she decided. Definitely need to stop checking him out though.

Hermione turned her head to welcome the new customer and ask them to wait a moment, but then cried out in surprise, shaking the ladder a little with spontaneous glee. “Harry!” she exclaimed.

“Hello Hermione,” Harry replied. “Happy Birthday.”

Chapter Text

“Bloody hell Granger!” Draco exclaimed, one hand on the beam to steady himself.

“Sorry, Malfoy!” Hermione called up. She grinned, holding the ladder while Draco descended. “Harry! I wasn’t expecting you!”

“Couldn’t miss your Birthday.” Harry pulled her into a strong warm hug as Draco reached the floor.

Hermione closed her eyes as she hugged Harry back. It felt like months since she’d seen him, although they’d met for coffee a week before she returned to Hogwarts. It certainly felt like months since she’d been properly hugged. She heard Malfoy and Harry exchanging last names in greeting, somewhat muffled by the thick knit of Harry’s jumper and the arm he’d wrapped around her. 

“I brought you a gift,” Harry said, smiling as he pulled back and held up a gift bag. Over his shoulder Hermione saw the unmistakable red hair and bright brown eyes of Ginny, waiting to congratulate her. 

“Ginny!” Hermione said, all thoughts of the gift bag gone. 

“And I brought you Ginny,” Harry said, smiling and stepping out the way so Ginny could give Hermione a hug of her own.

“Happy Birthday beautiful,” Ginny said, her familiar smell a little sweeter than Harry’s, her embrace just as strong.

“Thank you,” Hermione replied. She could feel herself tearing up as she realized they were both really there, for her; they’d found her and thought of her and they’d brought her a gift, and she hadn’t even told them where she’d be. “Oh thanks for coming, it’s so good to see you both!”

Draco watched her. It was rare to see Granger openly flustered. He smiled. “Right, go and have a drink then,” he said, picking up the ladder to put it away.

Hermione spun round to face him. “I can’t take my break yet, Malfoy, the shift’s only just started.”

Draco slowly, pointedly looked around the Inn, then back to Hermione, the corner of his mouth curling to a half smile. “Hmm, crazy as the current onslaught of… two people nursing pints at separate tables may be, I think I can manage the bar while you have a chat. You can always join me if things pick up.”

Hermione smiled. “Ok,” she said. “Thanks Malfoy.”

“No problem. Can I bring you all a drink?” 

“Two gin tonics please, Malfoy,” Harry said. “And a butterbeer,” he added, gesturing to Ginny who gave Draco a perfunctory wave. 

“Coming up,” Draco replied, heading to the bar as Hermione ushered Harry and Ginny towards a quiet table in the corner. 

“What were you up to when we came in?” Ginny asked.

“Hanging decorations for the Oktoberfest next weekend,” Hermione answered. “There’s loads to do but… I don’t know, I’m sort of looking forward to it to be honest, it’s something totally different.

“Yes,” Ginny said, “but what were you doing exactly?” 

“Oh,” Hermione said, “holding the ladder?”

Ginny raised an eyebrow as she bent closer to Hermione. “You were checking out Malfoy’s arse.”

“Ginny!” Hermione exclaimed. “I was not!” Gods had she been that obvious?

“You definitely were.” Ginny’s eyes flashed with amusement as she settled back on the bench. “I don’t blame you, he has a nice arse.”

“Right, that’s my cue to get the drinks myself,” Harry said, getting back up and heading to the bar.

“Not as nice as yours, Harry, obviously,” Ginny called.

“Ginny, I was not checking out Malfoy’s arse.” Hermione could feel her cheeks flushing. Traitors.

“Suit yourself.” Ginny’s smile slipped into something closer to concern. “How’s it going with him anyway? How is prefect life with Draco Malfoy?”

“It’s… fine. It’s been a bit…” Hermione wondered whether to tell Ginny that they’d fought non-stop until he’d casually torn her darker fears about herself out of her chest and then waved them in front of her in the lounge. Ginny’s eyes had narrowed while waiting for Hermione to continue. “Well anyway, we were fighting a bit but it’s ok now. We’ve called a sort of truce.”

“Oh yes?” Ginny tilted her head, leaning forwards a little, studying Hermione. “Whose idea was that?”

“Luna’s. Well… Luna and Ernie.”

Ginny nodded and Hermione felt those bright brown eyes raking over her as if looking for clues. She was fairly sure Ginny was going to make her tell the whole tale but then she looked over to where Harry stood and relaxed back onto the bench.

“Good for them. Malfoy seems to be making an effort, anyway.”

“Does he?”

“Well he invited us tonight and he’s shooed you away from your shift. And he was just up a ladder doing manual work while you directed him, which seems like his basic nightmare.”

“Malfoy invited you?”

“Yeah, he asked if we’d already made Birthday plans when we saw him at practice on Thursday. And when Harry said no he told us we should come here for a drink because you’ve got work.”

“Oh. Yes well… that’s nice.” Hermione wondered why he’d do that. It did seem nice, but as a rule Malfoy wasn’t nice to people.

“Mmm.” Ginny was smiling.

“What?”

“Nothing. So he’s not being entirely insufferable?”

“No, well… I don’t know. Sometimes it’s better when it’s just the two of us.”

“I bet it is.”

“Because?”

“You can check out his arse without interruption.”

“Ginny!”

“Oh I’m only teasing, Hermione. I just… I know you’ve been really down and… it’s nice to see you looking a bit… normal.”

“Thanks.”

“You know what I mean. And I know it’s almost certainly the fault of my idiot brother, at least in part, but—”

“It’s not Ron,”

“No?” Ginny’s eyes flashed with something approaching concern. “Well what is it then? Why aren’t you talking to me?”

“I… I am talking to you!”

“Hermione, this is our first proper conversation since I last saw you at the Burrow in June. So if it’s not Ron, what’s going on?”

“We have spoken-”

“No. We’ve briefly chatted in corridors and on stairs, and we’ve waved across the courtyard and the dinner table, but you’ve been…” Ginny sighed and shrugged. “I thought it was Ron.”

“It’s not Ron. It’s just… well I suppose it’s Ron only in the sense that he’s your brother so unpacking our break-up with you seems a bit like asking you to be disloyal.” Hermione watched Ginny’s eyes roll. “But it’s really more… me. I just don’t feel like myself.”

“Maybe you’re not yourself. Not your old self I mean.”

“No.” Hermione looked up and out the window. “I don’t think so. But I don’t know exactly how to… you know, what to…”

“Yeah. I think I get it better than you realize. Everything is… different now.”

“Yes.”

“But Gods, please Hermione, don’t disappear on me. Maybe you don’t need me anymore but I definitely need you.”

Hermione snapped her eyes back to Ginny. “Of course I need you! I never thought you might need me.”

“Well I do. You know Harry better than anyone and you’re a girl. I had to stop myself from hunting you down a couple of times over the summer.”

Hermione shook her head. “You two were on holiday for weeks. Why didn’t you write?”

“I did! I wrote to you in August, remember? You sent that weird, sad, miniature letter back. I assumed you needed some space.”

“Oh, no. Not really. Not from you, not from Harry. He didn’t… I mean we did get coffee.” Ginny was watching her, waiting for her to explain. “I just… I didn’t want to be the rain on your parade when you finally have a chance to be… happy.”

“We don’t want to be happy without you though, Hermione.” Ginny’s face remained stern, but she reached out across the table to take Hermione’s hand and squeeze it.

Hermione smiled in spite of the heaviness she felt, the thin smoke of her unhappiness dissipating in the warm light of Ginny’s earnest reassurance. “Thanks, Ginny.”

“Of course.” Ginny smiled and held Hermione’s eye before pulling her hand back and her hair over one shoulder. “Now, anyone fit I should know about?”

Hermione chortled. “Ha. No.”

“Maybe next time you should check out Malfoy’s arse then,” Ginny suggested, just as a tray of drinks came into view.

“Oh Gods, can we please stop talking about Malfoy’s arse?!” Harry set the tray down on the table with a strangled sigh.

Ginny giggled. “Sorry Harry, we’re done. We’re done.” 

Her eyes sparkled as they met Hermione’s, who snorted and took her glass from the tray, shaking her head. Her eyes moved unbidden to Draco, now stood behind the bar with, she noted in embarrassment, both eyebrows raised.

***

The evening rush came later than usual, many arriving for a drink only after eating dinner at the Hog’s Head. Augusta Longbottom had re-opened the pub in mid-August after extensive renovations, but the inaugural twin town committee dinner held there tonight was the first official occasion to be hosted at the pub and for many the green light to give the old pub a new chance. 

Hermione had to admit, she and Draco worked well together. He was, as Madam Rosmerta would say, no sponge pudding. She had assumed he would struggle, forced to interact with commoners, but he was surprisingly good at small talk and very efficient behind the bar. Perhaps another skill he’d picked up as the son of Narcissa Malfoy, she mused. Whipping up cocktails and handing out canapés, all just part of the Malfoy family boot camp. 

Hermione divided her time between the bar and the booth where Harry and Ginny sat drinking, laughing and holding hands. She didn’t begrudge them an ounce of their happiness: if anything it was nice to have a supporting role in their relaxed, romantic evening. She focused on refreshing their drinks and nursing her own as she listened to their Quidditch pitch tales and watched them flirt and bicker about game plays. In honor of her birthday, she allowed herself a brief pang of melancholy for her own non-existent love life. And when, at ten thirty, Max returned to the Inn and once again installed himself on a stool at the end of the bar, she told him she was nineteen today and let him buy her a celebratory drink.

“And why you are working on your Birthday, Hermione?” Max asked. “No plans with friends?”

“They’re here.” Hermione gestured towards the booth where Harry and Ginny sat curled into one another.

“I see. And your other friends, your family? Will you celebrate?”

“No. No party or anything. My roommate’s busy writing a Herbology paper otherwise she’d be here too and… a couple of friends and a nice evening is enough of a celebration for me.”

“I’m wondering,” Max tilted his head and looked at Draco who was currently pulling a pint at the other end of the bar. “Is Draco a friend?”

“Well he’s… yes in a way.” Hermione took a sip from her glass. “It’s a bit complicated.”

“I see.” Max smiled, then shook his head. “Well no, to be honest I don’t see, would you explain?”

Hermione chuckled. “We get on ok. But we didn’t always get on.”

“Oh?” 

“He used to be… mean.”

“Mean?” Max’s brow furrowed with curiosity.

“He used to tease me. Say things that weren’t very nice.”

“Ah. But not any more?”

“Not… at the moment. At the moment we’re friends. Well, colleagues.”

“Colleagues, perhaps friends. But I think perhaps not friends perhaps… perhaps something else.”

Hermione looked at him, confused. “Something else?”

“Do you like him?”

She considered. “Do I like him? Yes. I suppose.”

“You are not sure?”

“I…” Hermione blew out a breath. “I’m just not sure that I really know him.”

“But you don’t like him… not as… a boyfriend?”

“Oh that’s not…” Hermione shook her head. “No. That would never happen.” She swirled her glass and watched the lime circling, the ice melting.

“Oh?”

“Malfoy, he…” Max watched her searching, still shaking her head. “He would never… I’m not his type.”

“Not his type?”

“No.”

Max nodded. “Is he yours?”

“Well… it’s sort of irrelevant isn’t it?”

“Not to me.”

Hermione smiled and put her glass down, wrapping her arms around herself. “I don’t… maybe. No. I don’t have a type.”

“But he does.”

Hermione nodded. “Yes.”

“And it’s not you.”

“No.”

Max raised an eyebrow and took a large mouthful of his drink. “Ok.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Out with it Max.”

“What does this mean, out with?”

“It means tell me what you think. You’re thinking something.”

Max gave a warm laugh. “Ok,” he said, “I’ll tell you what I think.” He held his glass up between them. “But only because I have had four of these and you have a Birthday. But I’m afraid I can’t translate it Hermione.” He smiled and shrugged. “I think he’s Feuer und Flamme für Dich.”

Hermione laughed. “He’s what?!”

“Feuer und Flamme,” Max repeated, smiling at her with no intention of translating, instead lifting his glass to her health before draining it.

***

At eleven o’clock, Madam Rosmerta and Klaus returned to the Inn with the rest of the senior committee members. Klaus ordered a round, and of course a drink for Hermione and Draco too, as a token of appreciation for holding the fort. At eleven thirty, when she rang for last orders, Hermione found herself drinking her fifth gin and tonic of the evening, a parting gift from Harry, but congratulated herself on feeling remarkably lucid. Shortly before midnight she agreed to drink one of the shots Madam Rosmerta served to the committee in a gesture of twinned town solidarity. And shortly after midnight, she helped Madam Rosmerta close up the Inn and stood outside, breathing in the cold fresh air like a glass of cool water while the last customers ambled off into the night. Only when her employer made her way upstairs to bed and left Hermione and Draco to clean up the bar and see themselves out did Hermione realize she was on her way to being really rather drunk. She would not, she decided, tell Malfoy this. He’d think she couldn’t handle her spirits and Luna would force her to drink some sort of sober-up potion to avoid poisoning the wifflebats that danced in her aura or something. All she needed was a walk home to the dormitory. And perhaps a slice of cake.

“Malfoy,” she called, then, when he didn’t immediately respond, “Malfoy!”

Draco turned to look at her, cloth in hand. “Yeeeees Granger?”

“Are you ready? I’m tire.” No, she thought, that’s not right. “I’m tired.”

“Hmmm. Are you… tipsy?”

“No. Nope.”

“Drunk then?”

“Ha ha. No. Come on. I’m just tired.” She picked up her bag and headed towards the Inn door.

“Alright. I think that’ll do for the bar. I’ll… Granger?”

Hermione looked over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“You’re not wearing your coat?”

“Ah, yes.” She made her way back to the bar. Was she weaving a little, she wondered? No. Just in case she circled one of the smaller tables to make it look like she was checking it was clean. 

“Here you go,” Draco said, holding it out to her as she slipped her arms in. “Want a glass of water?”

“Why?” Hermione asked, eyes narrowed and nostrils flaring. “I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself,” Draco answered. “I’m having one for the road. Long night. Important to stay hydrated.” And, Draco thought to himself, a better chance of getting you back to the castle in one piece, the way you were just weaving between the tables. 

Hermione slowly, and with steadfast concentration, did up the buttons of her coat. She pulled its belt closed as Max’s parting words came back to her.

“Malfoy?”

“Mmm?”

“Max said something I didn’t understand. I think he was teasing me.”

“Mmm?” Draco was swiftly drinking the glass of water he’d offered to her moments ago. She watched his throat move and found herself swallowing too. “He said to have a good night with you… and then he said feel arse?”

Draco made a soft strangled noise as he coughed and snapped his face to hers. “He said-” he began, but had to stop to cough again.

“He said,” she repeated, in case he hadn’t heard her over all the sputtering, “see you again soon. Feel arse.”

Draco’s face was rather red. From the coughing she assumed. He rubbed his hand against his chest to dislodge some of the water that had made its way into his windpipe.

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked.

“Perfectly,” he replied. “Did he, by any chance, say viel Spaß?”

“Feel… oh sparse? Schpars? What’s that?”

“It means have fun,” Draco answered, putting the glass of water that had almost been his last into the sink behind the bar.

“Oh,” Hermione said brightly. “Well that’s ok then.”

Draco pulled on his jacket and they walked to the door of the Inn. He opened it and ushered her out into the cold night.

“Actually,” Hermione said, trying and failing to suppress a laugh, “I’m pretty sure he was teasing me you know.”

“Oh?” Draco tried to look neutral but felt his lip curl.

“He said he thinks you want to do something to me in a foyer, with a flannel.” She laughed again, then shivered as the cold wind whipped around her curls, stumbling a little on the cobblestones.

“He- hang on,” Draco shook his head as he turned the heavy key in the lock and held out his arm to Hermione, who took it, she told herself sternly, only for the immensely practical purposes of stability. “Right. Start at the beginning, Granger, and tell me exactly what he said.”